#Also me: *Went through several murder runs*

[maxladcomics]

i know ts finished but did the universe in the drink comic get fixed?

this has been with me for like forever

Yes! I used that mess as an excuse to change the designs of the Swapfell guys into my own version, it was fixed as soon as the comic was over. RT!Gaster doesn't stick around universes, so as soon as he left, the Swapfell characters all returned, it soft reset and went back to normal.

[eightmakesonebraincell]

ateez as pirates who fall for you (maknae line)

read hyung line here

genre: pirate!ateez x gn!reader (fem!reader for jongho), fluff, angst, continuation of the pirate trope brainrot (but i must say i went all out for the plots this time)

length: 14.4k

c/w: heavy and mature themes - mdni, explicit language (swearing), death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, illegal acts (piracy, attempted murder), alcohol, near-drowning, angst bc i mean angst, specific c/w for mingi’s au: hurt/comfort, allusions to depression

a/n: i’m very sad i never got to use this joke somewhere so - why are pirates called pirates? because they just arrrr 🙈🙉🙊 also to those who like connecting dots and whatnot there are a few easter eggs related to hyung line 🥚 big thanks to yumi @sorryimananti-romantic for getting me through the last three months of trying to work and write bc it’s been a ship time ha ha 😬👍

taglist: at the end

san

pov: you run away with san and the cromer

through your waning breath, you reach a trembling hand up to cup san’s jaw

“s-san, don’t do it”

he lets out a racking sob as he shakes his head, expression marred with agony and torment that you can physically feel in his white-knuckled grasp that covers your own hand

the tears that drip off his jaw become lost to the ground, which is damp from moisture and your blood

you swallow the metallic taste in your mouth, “the cromer isn’t meant for changing fate.” it hurts to take a breath and you wince as you stutter. “it never goes th- the way you want it to…you know that by now”

san’s voice is broken and pained, “i don’t fucking care. it’s not going to stop me from trying”

he grips your hand even tighter when he starts to feel it fall away from his cheek

it’s becoming tiring to keep your eyes open

maybe you can rest…just for a little bit

san will forgive you, right?

you close your eyes

just for a little while

just until the pain stops

faintly, you think you can feel your body being jostled against something warm

but it’s far away

far away

far

san clutches your limp body as he lets out a primal wail of anguish

you cannot die

you will not die

he snatches the glowing hourglass and flips it with desperation screaming in every cell of his body

and then his world goes white.

you don’t notice when the footsteps behind you suddenly fall silent

you’re too busy reasoning with the captain, whose back you are facing as he walks ahead and leads your crew further into the dim tunnels of the cave

“it’s much safer if we go over the mountain. we’ll have the advantage of higher ground to ambush the horizon”

your captain, taesung, doesn’t look at you when he answers over his shoulder, “it’s much quicker through the tunnels. we don’t have the luxury of time if we want to attack their crew before they leave the island”

“and what if they attack - the horizon can easily ambush us as long as they’ve got the cave’s exit guarded”

you immediately turn around to look at san, knowing that he’ll support your argument

only to find that he’s not there

he’s several metres behind the back of the group and frozen to the spot

even in the shadowed darkness of the musty cave, you can clearly see the ashen and shaken features of his face

approaching him slowly, your fire torch held out in front of you, you gently call, “san?”

at the sound of your voice, his eyes lock onto yours

he looks terrified

san is lost in a distorted warp of visions

he can’t make sense of nor connect what he’s seeing

but there is blood

there’s so much blood

it’s everywhere

you’re there

it’s your blood

there’s someone screaming; raw with despair

he’s screaming

the ground digs into his knees and he feels wet and sticky from your blood but also his tears and there are so many tears and the walls are cold from moisture and it’s so dark and musty even with the smell of iron in the air and god you’re dying

you’re going to die

“san?” you repeat, now in front of him and tenderly cupping his jaw

and san has to stop you from dying

his pupils focus on you once again before he desperately tries to gain his bearings

he looks around with increasing franticness

he’s in a cave and the only light he can see comes from the torch you’re holding and the others shared amongst the crew

water drips from the ceiling and along the rugged walls towards the damp ground, filling the cave with a stale and mouldy smell

all his senses scream the same thing to him

it’s just like when you died

his own voice sounds foreign to him when he manages to choke out, “let’s listen to captain”

your eyebrows pinch together at san’s sudden compliance, especially more so when he lowers the volume of his next words so that you’re the only one who can hear his soft don’t argue with him

there’s something about the way he silently pleads with his eyes that makes you nod numbly

you slip the hand that isn’t holding the torch into his and prompt him to walk again with a light tug forward towards the rest of the crew, who are not too far ahead

when the both of you have nearly caught up, san readjusts his hand in your grasp so that his is atop of yours

and so you two walk, san leading you with a sturdy hand; a line of defence between you and the rest of the crew…and the depths of the cave

the thin sheet of cotton that you lay upon does little to soften the discomfort of the cave’s floor as you and the crew prepare for a few hours of sleep, but your pillow makes up for it

your head is cushioned by san’s thigh, who’s seated upright against the wall after offering to keep watch

he’s gazing down at you with a tender smile as he slowly runs his fingers through your hair like a soothing lullaby

your eyes scan his, still trying to catch any changes in his expression that could possibly explain his strange demeanour from earlier

you want to ask him what’s wrong but there’s only so much privacy you can get in a cave with the rest of your crew

instead, you give his hand a squeeze

san’s smile fades a little and you wonder whether it’s the illusion of the light and shadows from the torches that makes his face look so gaunt

his eyes flicker around guiltily and then he looks at you whilst reciprocating your squeeze

he’s mouthing something, you realise

do you trust me?

you tighten your fingers around his in reassurance

with my life

the dimpled caverns return to san’s cheeks, and then he’s whispering to you softly, “sleep”

you don’t recall dozing off, but you must not have been asleep for very long before you’re woken by a light shake to your shoulder

the groggy mumble that starts to leave your lips is hushed by a warm kiss on your forehead

you’re met with the sight of san holding a finger against his lips when you open your eyes and your brain struggles to comprehend what’s happening

there’s a faint glow coming from under his bulging shirt, which could only be one thing

the cromer

as your neurons start firing again, you come to the realisation that apart from you and san, nobody else is awake yet

quietly, he helps you up to your feet

the silent question he asked before you fell asleep replays in your head, and although it does nothing to clear up your confusion, it helps to ease your anxiety because you meant it when you mouthed your response

you trust san with your life

so you turn away from your crew members and start walking, each step deliberate and careful, your hand clutched safely within san’s while he retraces your steps from today

and when san deems you two far enough and out of immediate danger of being caught, he pulls the cromer out of his shirt to use as a makeshift torch

you both make a run for it

when you emerge out of the cave’s entrance hours later, thighs burning from the strain, you almost stumble to your hands and knees from the blinding brightness of the afternoon sun

san tightens his hold on you and urges, “this way, love”

together, you climb the outcrop on the left and disappear further into the mountains because you can’t afford to rest near the cave

few words are exchanged as san nimbly navigates the rickety ledges and overgrown roots, muscles flexing as he pushes forward and helps you with an extended hand

you realise soon after that whilst he leads you two away from the cave, he travels parallel to the edges of the mountain trees - a guideline that keeps the long port of the island just within sight

“san,” you finally break the silence to point towards an overhang you spot, “we should take a break”

he’s sweating from exertion and lack of sleep, so he nods with a grateful smile and leads you towards it

the rock provides a decent amount of shade and conceals you two well enough with the surrounding greenery

only when he sits with a sigh does he finally let go of your hand after hours of holding on

you know that he’s one for constant physical affection, but this…this feels different

it’s like he’s afraid that you will slip away the moment he lets go of you

you turn to look at him

“san, what exactly is going on?”

he’s quiet

he doesn’t know how to tell you - is there even a way to package his next words prettily?

letting out a stuttering breath, san puts it blankly on the table, “i saw you die in my arms”

you’re stunned into silence and your throat feels even drier than before

“was it…” you dare to ask, “was it going to happen in the cave?”

he nods, “i just suddenly saw it and it felt so real. it- it was dark and wet and the smell - the smell was just awful and-”

“hey, hey, san. it’s okay, we’re not in the cave anymore,” you soothe, pressing your forehead to his

you feel him relax under your touch before he tilts his head to kiss your lips

“yeah,” he sighs against you, “you’re right”

when you pull away, the faint glow under his shirt catches your eyes

“why did you bring the cromer?”

if it had only been you and san missing from the crew, taesung might not have bothered going after the two of you

but with the missing cromer too, the captain will spend the rest of his life tracking it down - tracking you two down - if that’s what it will take

taesung isn’t stupid enough to just let go of the cromer and the inexplicable power it holds to travel between dimensions

san shimmies the hourglass out of his shirt and holds it carefully in his hands, “i need a fail-proof safety net, just in case something goes wrong and…i still don’t end up saving you”

“a safety net?” an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach, “san? what are you not telling me?”

he runs his fingers along the metal casing over and over again as he avoids looking at you

“i…i’ve used it before,” san finally admits, “i used the cromer to bring you back to life”

without thinking, you blurt, “it’s only meant for travelling between dimensions. nobody knows what the repercussions are if you try to mess with fate!”

“well, i did it.” he snaps, “you’re here, alive, and i would do it again and again to save you”

at his words, you soften

because san didn’t just see you die

he lived through seeing you die

you can’t even begin to imagine if you had been the one to experience san die in your arms

“i’m sorry,” you apologise. “thank you for saving me, and for loving me”

san’s eyes are red when he looks at you, “i’m sorry, too, for snapping at you. i know this is a lot for you to process”

you shake your head with your own watery smile

“i’m alive, and i promise i’ll stay alive”

“and i promise i’ll keep you alive,” he nudges your cheek with a playful peck

you laugh, because san makes you happy even in the most uncertain of times, and you ask, “what’s the plan now?”

“find a ship that’s willing to get us the hell out of here”

he makes a move to stand and you place your hand on the ground to push yourself up to your feet too

except your hand shifts with your weight and you end up cutting your palm open on the sharp edge of the rocks

hissing, you draw your hand back towards your chest

“shit, let me have a look,” san drops to his knees and takes your hand in his

he gently blows away the soil and rubble around your wound as you wince

it’s nothing too serious, but it’s deep enough that blood immediately begins to pool in the broken skin and seep further out onto your palm

the glow of the cromer pulses

“san,” you start when you see the cogs moving in his head

he removes one hand to pull the cromer out and presents it to the both of you

“i’m not losing you to infection from a cut, not after everything that we’ve done so far to get to here,” he quips

there’s only time to let out an exasperated sigh before he’s taking your good hand to turn the cromer together

your world goes white

the next moment when you open your eyes after blinking, you’re still there resting under the overhang in the mountain forest

san’s sitting next to you, the only sign of the cromer a faint glow under his shirt

and your hand…

there’s no cut

your head whips towards san and his eyes widen when he sees the unbroken skin of your palm

san makes a move to stand, but this time, he gathers your hands and pulls you up with him

“it worked,” you breathe out once you’re on your feet

“it worked!” san repeats, engulfing you into a crushing hug

the amount of relief he feels is uncontainable, because the cut is reassurance that he can change fate with the cromer

in high spirits, san tucks it back into the safety of his shirt after wrapping it in a length of sash and then he secures it snugly under his belt

you two need to look the part of inconspicuous travellers, and a glowing hourglass would most definitely draw unwanted attention

you and san cut through the back streets and alleyways of the small village that separates the mountain and the coast, keeping an eye out for not only your crew members - or ex-crew, you suppose - but also the members of the horizon

“remember,” san whispers into your ear as you both approach port, “if anyone asks, i’m your husband and we’re travelling merchants”

you’re too nervous to answer but you nod anyway, letting san take the lead once again

with the confidence of somebody most definitely not lying, san strides up to a sailor who is yelling at his men to load the crates faster and spins a story right out of his ass

somehow, san manages to concoct a convincing recount of how your goods were stolen by thieves, leaving you both without any means of making money, so now you are left with no choice but to go back to your hometown which happens to be on the way to the ship’s destination, which you know because you overheard the sailors talking earlier

when the sailor glances in your direction, you try to nurse your expression into one of simultaneous distress and gratitude in hopes of selling the story even further

he simply stares at the both of you and you think that he’s going to turn down your request, but then the sailor gives a sweet smile and extends his hand out in greeting, “daeho. welcome aboard”

that’s how you and san find yourselves in the ship’s hold, legs crossed side by side on the wooden floor and surrounded by a multitude of crates and barrels

neither of you realise that you’re holding your breaths and it’s not due to the stale air in the poorly ventilated hold

only when the shout of “anchors aweigh” is heard and the ship slowly starts to pull away from the dock do you finally relax, the feeling of hope slowly seeping into your bodies

because all that’s left now is to wait for the ship to dock at the next port and then you and san can disappear and start a new life

at the notion of safety, your stomach finally calls for attention with a grumble

san teases, “sounds like someone needs a bit of food,” just as his stomach answers with a growl of its own

you break out into laughter and pull him up with you to snoop inside the crates for something edible

lifting the lid to one of the crates, you peer inside to find what looks like a layer of burlap

you reach down with a hand to remove the covering and dig deeper, only to jerk your arm back when you feel the burning pain of a cut

“oh fuck, what?” you hiss as you look into the crate again, “why the hell are there so many knives?”

san is beside you within a split second, already turning you around to cradle your hand in his

the cut extends across your palm and there’s something sickening yet eerily familiar about the way the blood rapidly starts to pool and seep past the broken skin

goosebumps spread across your body when it hits you

“san,” you look up at him with a trembling voice, hardly audible over the pounding of your heart, “it’s the same cut”

his eyes bore into yours with reflected horror when your words sink in

because if it really is the same cut, then that means-

san’s attention suddenly shifts to behind you and that’s the last thing you register before your head explodes with blinding pain

your world turns black.

there’s a ceaseless hammering in your skull when you regain some semblance of awareness and it takes all of your willpower not to let the throb drag you back into unconsciousness

you open your eyes with a groan, trying to clear your vision, only to find san still out cold on the floor beside you

you scrabble closer towards him and brush his fringe out of his eyes

“san,” you shake him a little, “san, wake up”

his mouth tightens into a grimace as he’s slowly brought back to consciousness at the sound of your voice

“fuck…they hit hard,” he props himself up with another curse before he asks you in a panic, “are you hurt?”

you start to shake your head but then think better of it, “my head hurts like a bitch, but i’m okay”

san pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms around you

you let yourself sink into the safety of his embrace, pretending that everything is okay even if just for a moment

“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry,” san repeats the apology into the crown of your head

you can’t do anything but return hushed whispers of comfort and hug him tighter

a sudden clang draws you out of his arms as you both turn in the direction of the sound

that’s when you realise you’re no longer in the hold

you’re in a cell

the brig of the ship is much darker and the air is suffocatingly musty from the lack of ventilation and the perpetually damp floors and walls

damp from what exactly, you really don’t want to know

you hear the heavy thud of boots amplifying as the person approaches your cell, your eyes straining to make out their face in the dark

they squat in front of your bars

the sweet smile on daeho’s face makes him look crazed now and you shrink back to put some distance between you two

“did you have a good rest?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious

at san’s seething growl of anger, daeho raises his hands up in faux surrender and states, “i just want the cromer”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” san glowers

the other man wriggles his fingers at san’s waist, “you’re not very good at hiding it in your shirt”

almost as if it knows it is being talked about, the cromer flashes from under the layers of cloth

“why didn’t you just take it from us earlier,” you bite out

daeho clicks his tongue with a disappointed smile, “but then where’s the fun in that?”

he stretches a hand out and waits with his palm upturned just outside of the cell bars

“now give it to me,” he demands

san stares in retaliation, not once looking away as he slowly reaches for the cromer

he takes it out of his shirt and unwraps the sash from around it, then starts to extend the hourglass out towards daeho’s hand

as you watch with bated breath, you notice the subtle tightening of san’s grip around the metal casing and you realise he intends to flip it

except you’re not the only one who comes to the same conclusion

you see the exact moment the facade drops from daeho’s face and is replaced by his true derangement

the hand by the pistol at his side starts to move

but so do you

this time, everything turns red as the scorching heat of pain paralyses your entire body

the cromer falls to the floor at the same time as you do

from outside the cell, daeho laughs viciously, but it’s drowned out by the agonising cry that comes out of san’s chest

san desperately gathers you in his arms, hands pressing against the bullet hole to stem the blood flow

but there is so much blood

it’s everywhere

the ground digs into his knees and he’s wet and sticky from your blood but also from his own tears and there are so many tears and even with the pungent smell of iron in the air he can still smell the mustiness of the cell and he can’t get enough oxygen into his lungs because god you’re dying

and he’s suddenly struck with the heart-wrenching thought

did he unwittingly condemn you to your own fate?

or is it like the cut on your palm - is he unable to change fate no matter what decisions he makes differently?

the sob that wrenches itself out of san hurts you more than anything

“i love you,” you say, because your words are numbered and you want them all to be san’s

he shakes his head furiously, “shut up, you’re going to be fine”

your words come out effortfully, “please, i want to hear you say it one last time”

“fuck,” san buries his face in your shoulder, “i love you so, so much. i can’t live without you”

he pulls back heartbroken, “i can still change this”

through your waning breath, you reach a trembling hand up to cup san’s jaw

“s-san, don’t do it”

he lets out a racking sob as he shakes his head again, expression marred with agony and torment that you can physically feel in his white-knuckled grasp that covers your own hand

the tears that drip off his jaw become lost to the damp ground

you swallow the metallic taste in your mouth, “the cromer isn’t meant for changing fate.” it hurts to take a breath and you wince as you stutter. “it never goes th- the way you want it to…you know that by now”

san’s voice is broken and pained, “i don’t fucking care. it’s not going to stop me from trying”

he grips your hand even tighter when he starts to feel it fall away from his cheek

it’s becoming tiring to keep your eyes open

maybe you can rest…just for a little bit

san will forgive you, right?

you close your eyes

just for a little while

just until the pain stops

faintly, you think you can feel your body being jostled against something warm

but it’s far away

far away

far

san clutches your limp body as he lets out a primal wail of anguish

you cannot die

you will not die

he snatches the glowing hourglass and flips it with desperation screaming in every cell of his body

and then his world goes white.

mingi

pov: you're the crew's surgeon

you have all the time in the world to yourself

the recent raid was successful - the other vessel had surrendered quickly without putting up a fight and your ship is now well stocked up from the loot of supplies

hongjoong has promised the crew shore leave, a vacation of sorts, and so you and the crew are travelling to port malthov, a haven island for pirates

it’ll take about a week to arrive

and without a foreseeable raid or run-in with enemy vessels, there is no need for your medical duties

which is a good thing, really

but it also means that you have a lot of time

and time is your worst enemy

time is time alone with your own thoughts, time alone with your internal demons, and right now, your mind is a sinkhole of them and you are the very thing being pulled into its depths

you’re sprawled out on the upper deck, arms and legs splayed like a physical manifestation of your efforts to reach the edges of the sinkhole and hold on

you think to yourself that it’s reassuring when you can see blood

because it’s visible, physical, and you can fix it

step one, rinse the area with clean water

step two, disinfect the wound

step three, remove any foreign objects or dead skin

step four, suture as required for nastier injuries

step five, wrap a clean cloth over, under, over, under, then fasten

there’s a procedure and it makes sense

but when it’s invisible, what do you do?

there are no medical diagrams, procedures or journals that teach you how to heal your own hurt

you may be the crew’s surgeon, but you wonder how qualified you truly are if you can’t even fix yourself

the skies are clear today and the sun shines down directly on your exposed skin

it’s uncomfortable but you don’t move, limbs feeling just a little too strung tight to cooperate

you don’t think you have the energy to do much more than to just lie there and exist

and the burn of the sunlight is kind of nice

it tells you that you’re still alive - even if the feeling of living is pain

that’s where mingi finds you twenty minutes later, his face upside down as he leans over to look at your face-

only to very nearly drop a block of wood right onto you

“oh, shit,” he fumbles as the multitude of items he is carrying to his chest falls and clatters onto the deck around your head

you jolt up to save yourself from a bruised forehead and eye him, curiosity well and truly piqued

with a huff, he piles everything in front of you, followed by himself as he sits cross-legged in front of you

he looks suspiciously hopeful and expectant

“can you carve me another dolphin?”

months ago, you had tried carving ornamental animals out of small scraps of wood left over from a hull repair

most of your carvings had turned out hideous and you had tossed them overboard, but mingi had not stopped following you and begging until you gave him one

you could barely even call it a dolphin, but for some reason, he has kept it since like it’s something valuable

“i already made you one,” you start

but he protests, “i lost him!”

you blink

nevermind. maybe not so valuable

“...you lost it?”

you’re not sure whether you’re disappointed or relieved that it’s forever gone to the void

“i lost him, yes. so can you please carve me a new one?”

you blink once more and he looks back at you with wide, pleading eyes

“fine, pass me the knife,” you finally relent

he grins, handing something that feels quite familiar into your outstretched hand

“are these my scalpels?!” you clutch them defensively to your chest. “mingi, i am not carving wood with these”

mingi breaks out into pleased laughter, crescent eyes and gaping mouth as he produces a pocket knife that you can actually use

“you’re ridiculous,” you tell him, setting your medical instruments safely to one side, but you don’t really mean it

you bring the blade of the pocket knife to the edge of the wood and start whittling away

you expect mingi to get up and leave you to your devices, except he doesn’t

he stays and asks you question after question about the carving

which part are you working on now?

how do you shape the tail?

what was the first thing you tried to carve?

if you could carve something else after this, what would it be?

and it goes on for hours - as the wood gradually takes shape of the animal, as the harsh sun lowers and is replaced by the cool breeze of evening

…as mingi fills up your sinkhole and you are no longer grasping at the edges to stay afloat

it happens without you even realising, but he lets you take refuge in him from your own thoughts

and later that night, when the crew are preparing to sleep for the night, mingi will place the newly-carved dolphin at the head of his hammock

he will itch to rummage through the small chest that holds his personal belongings and treasures

he will want to unwrap the small object he has hidden away at the very bottom of his chest and put it side by side with the dolphin

but he won’t, because otherwise you’ll see the two dolphins and realise that he was lying about having lost the first one, so he’ll opt to keep it hidden

mingi thinks that he might even ask you to carve him something else tomorrow

he’ll say that his dolphin needs somebody by its side

what he won’t say though, is that he knows you need somebody by your side

and if he can offer you a few hours of mindlessness while you carve with him beside you, then he’ll ask you to make him a whole aquarium of animals

but that’s tomorrow

for now, he lets you rest on him, and you find that it doesn’t seem quite as hard to exist anymore

because sometimes, even surgeons need their own healers

you don’t have another bad day that week

technically, they’re all still bad days, but they aren’t as bad

but as it is with your luck, it all comes back to drag you underwater when the arriba pulls into port malthov and lowers its anchor

of all days, your head feels foggy, your body feels empty and your lungs feel laboured

you’re not even sad

you’re just…hollow

and the worst part is that you have absolutely no reason to be feeling this way

being up in the crow’s nest for once has given you the perfect vantage point to watch as the majority of the crew precariously run off the gangplank with whoops and hollers, splitting off to explore the town

their excitement is infectious - to everybody but you

instead, you had offered to take over yeosang’s lookout duties so that he could go to the town’s tavern

you’ve already rotted the morning and most of the afternoon away and your stomach grumbles in protest at having skipped both meals

it knows that you probably won’t be eating dinner either

“y/n,” a voice calls out to you from the deck, “are you not going into town?”

you peer over the edge of the nest and find mingi’s small form, his head craned upwards in your direction

“lookout duties,” you simply say

but mingi calls your bluff

“the whole point of shore leave is that we all get time off. captain’s still on board to make sure our ship doesn’t catch on fire or some shit, don’t worry”

when you still don’t make a move, mingi starts to climb up the rigging and you startle to your feet

“heavens, okay, i’m coming down”

he’s banned from rigging duties for a reason

when you land on the upper deck, he looks awfully smug with himself

he asks, “can we go eat seafood? not fish, but like the good stuff”

“since when did you like seafood?”

“always?”

mingi did not always like seafood but you let it slide

he guides you across the gangplank and towards the bustling streets of the town, keeping you tucked closely into his side

almost like he knows you’re feeling more fragile than usual

you two come across a market and he tells you to find a table in the outdoor seating area

when he returns to you after a while, both his hands are stacked with platters of shrimp, some crabs and even a lobster

“mingi, what-?” you break out into an astounded laugh

you can’t even find it in yourself to finish your sentence because it looks like he’s bought enough food to feed half your crew

he sets the plates down in front of you, one by one, until you can barely see the table itself

and you watch, still incredulous, as he picks up a steamed shrimp, meticulously peeling off the shells that he discards onto his plate

…before placing the peeled shrimp onto the plate in front of you

“eat,” he encourages

mingi picks up another shrimp to peel, looking away from you so as not to pressure you

but he can’t help but look and smile widely when you do eventually bring the food up to your mouth and take a bite

it tastes good

shrimp has always been one of the things you miss the most when you’re sailing and as the salty taste of the ocean spreads across your tongue, you start to feel your appetite returning

by the time you’ve swallowed, there’s already another shrimp on your plate, peeled and ready for eating

mingi smiles knowingly when you groan around your next bite

the sun may have already started to disappear into the horizon, but right now with mingi’s plate piling up with discarded shells and yours with juicy shrimp meat, the hollow cavity in your chest slowly filling with warmth, the sun is only just starting to rise for you

and mingi will keep filling your plate until your sun has fully risen into the sky

because sometimes, healing needs the help of an extra pair of hands

the day before your crew is scheduled to leave port malthov, you find yourself sitting on the sandy shores of the coastline, far away from where the arriba is docked

the wind tugs at your hair and the hems of your clothing in the direction of the ocean

you wonder what it would be like to just let yourself go and float along with the wind

your thoughts are interrupted by the soft squeaks of bare feet in the sand approaching you and mingi lowers himself down to sit by your side

no matter where you hide, he somehow always finds you

you give him a small smile when he calls your name in greeting, but it’s all you can really manage to do

it’s hard for you to talk today

but he already knows that

“can i tell you a story?” mingi isn’t really asking you

without waiting for a response he knows you can’t give, he starts to talk

“i don’t think i’ve told you about the time when yunho and i went skinny-dipping at night. i swear we saw the kraken that night”

he has told you this story before

more times than you can count on your fingers and toes combined - to the point where you have some of his exact phrases and expressions memorised

mingi knows he’s told you this story before

but he drones on anyway, adding his usual touches of dramatic flair and exaggerated details - words that he hopes keep you grounded to the spot so that you don’t disappear with the wind

(“did you know that yunho’s chest goes red when he screams in fright?”)

you want to make silly little comments about his silly little story

you want to laugh in harmony with mingi’s own rumbling sounds

except you can’t

it’s like whatever you want to say goes through a paper shredder right before it comes out of your mouth

and mingi knows

but he is willing to take all the time in the world to tape your words back together, shredded piece by shredded piece, until he can make you feel heard and seen

and even if you don’t talk, he is there to do enough talking for the both of you

some things don’t need to be said - he understands either way

because sometimes, healing looks like walking backwards on any progress that’s been made and that’s okay

after all…mingi’s been there before, too

the arriba sets sail again and hongjoong allows the crew one last night of rest before your usual duties resume

the stock of fresh produce and meat won’t last for longer than a couple of days anyway, so you all feast your stomach’s fill of food and alcohol

someone brings out an accordion and you all gather together on the upper deck as jongho sings to the music, background filled with the lively rattling of shared plates and mugs being passed around

the air is chilly but it’s crisp and fresh whenever you take a breath of it into your lungs

where being with the multitude of your crew usually makes you feel lonely, tonight, it feels okay

and from beside you, mingi sings along quietly to the music

his voice is not like jongho’s, which is soulful, emotional and powerful

mingi’s voice is deep, honest and raw as he sings the lyrics to the song of a man who is drowning and yearning to be saved

he looks at you during the last bridge, when the key changes from sorrowful to hopeful and the words tell of a man who is saved by his lover

you smile back at him, genuinely content in this moment

and even if it is only briefly, even if you will still have bad days in the future, you think that today is a good day

because healing takes form in all different ways, and being loved is one of them

maybe one day, mingi will be able to confess that he loves you

when he’s confident that you’ll be able to accept his love

not in the way where he expects you to reciprocate the same feelings for him, no

but in the way where you are able to accept the fact that you are worthy of being loved

there are no medical diagrams, procedures or journals that teach you how to heal your own hurt

but you have mingi and he is making one for you

it’s written with the ink of love on the very pages of his own heart and he will not stop writing until the day you are well and truly happy

and even if it takes forever?

well

mingi’s got a huge fucking heart

and it’s all yours

wooyoung

pov: you find a stowaway on your ship

“we’re headed off course again”

“again?” you look at your helmsman with furrowed brows

yunho nods, sighing out his next words, “i can’t get a read on north. the needle keeps flickering”

you look at the compass that’s mounted at the helm and true to his words, the tip of the arrow seesaws back and forth over the cardinal point

a quick glance down tells you that the newer compass you’ve got in your pocket is also behaving in the same manner, needle twitching despite the practised steadiness of your hands

so you know for sure that it’s not a fault in the instrument at the helm itself

but even if it were to be faulty, you would never replace it

not when it’s one of the only things you have remaining of your parents after they perished at sea

“maybe we should ask him,” yunho suggests, beckoning his head towards the deck

although seonghwa hums thoughtfully, having joined you both at the helm mid-conversation, you look at him incredulously

“you trust that person?”

yunho shrugs, “it’s not like he’s given us a reason to not trust him”

well

considering said man had been found stowing away in the cargo five days after your ship had left alcarres, who then also tried to plead for mercy by reasoning that he was ‘valuable’, you think that there’s plenty of reasons to not trust him

yunho rectifies his argument once he sees the pinched expression on your face, “as in, since we’ve found him on board”

you close your eyes and exhale

admittedly, yunho has a point

and there’s been one too many times where the man has flippantly suggested navigational changes or casually observed shifts in the winds and waters - which all turned out to be accurate - for it to be sheer luck

you open your eyes and call out to the upper deck

“stowaway”

yunho winces as seonghwa chides you with a slight elbow to your side at your choice of name, or lack thereof

said man looks at you from where he’s helping san and yeosang swab the deck, mouth tightening with wariness

the last time you had spoken the same word, it was along with an order to throw him into the brig with his wrists bound behind his back

but considering that that was the extent of his punishment for stowing away on your ship and he is now mingling amongst your crew with minimal security measures on your orders too, really, he’s gotten off scot-free

the stowaway approaches the quarterdeck with hesitant steps

you jerk your head towards the helm, “help yunho navigate the rest of the way to vlasgar. just until we can dock and work out what’s wrong with the compasses''

despite the curtness of your order, his face scrunches up into an enthusiastic grin

“of course, captain!”

you’re taken aback by his demeanour because you’re trying to find a reason to distrust him

but he’s not giving it to you

you watch as the stowaway makes himself comfortable against the helm rails and easily slips into conversation and banter with yunho amidst intermittent pointers to adjust the rudder

seonghwa nudges you from behind, “give him a little credit”

you scratch your neck awkwardly before calling out to your helmsman

“keep me updated on the ship’s course”

yunho nods and then you clear your throat, quickly glancing at the stowaway

“and thanks…wooyoung.”

you turn and leave the quarterdeck before you can fully catch a glimpse of the delighted smile the man beams at you

because if he’s not giving you reasons to dislike him, then you’re going to ensure he doesn’t start giving you reasons to like him

except…wooyoung attacks when you least expect it

it’s the night before your crew reaches vlasgar, and true to his claims when he was first discovered onboard, wooyoung has proven his value by navigating your ship through the waters without the aid of the malfunctioning compass

his innate sense for shifts in the wind and waters, combined with his understanding of celestial navigation and use of dead reckoning has meant that he is extraordinarily precise with his route

honestly, he’s freakishly accurate to the point where it’s a little unsettling

at least that’s what you tell yourself

you and hongjoong have given the crew the night off from their usual duties in preparation for a few busy days of maintenance and intel-gathering once your ship docks at vlasgar

wooyoung offers to cook in the galley and whip up a meal as fancy as he can from the select ingredients on board

you don’t have a good reason to deny him, not when the rest of your crew looks at you with eager faces at the thought of a meal that isn’t just the usual salted meat, so you send mingi along to help him locate the ingredients

also to keep an eye on wooyoung to ensure he isn’t using this as an opportunity to poison your crew, but you’re not about to admit that aloud

and that’s exactly when wooyoung chooses to attack

he attacks your heart with his cooking

granted, the standards are rock bottom, but wooyoung utilises a deadly combination of rosemary, thyme and bay leaves to prepare a hearty broth with preserved beef

he serves hardtack on the side to be softened and eaten with the broth, and jongho even manages to catch a few fish that wooyoung then scores and grills with lemon slices over the fire

mingi must also be in good spirits because he takes out the reserve of dried fruits and nuts that he’s usually pedantic over and allows wooyoung to arrange them artfully in a wooden bowl as nibblers to go with the profusion of rum that will inevitably be downed tonight

the impressive spread of food is placed on the upper deck where the entire crew sit in a rough circle together

you take one bite into the beef and curse without realising

“fucking hell, what did he put in this?”

wooyoung freezes mid-spoonful across from you in the circle

realising your words sound petrifying without context, you awkwardly amend them with your eyes glued to your bowl, “i could eat this every day,” before shoving another spoon of broth into your mouth to shut yourself up

there’s a chorus of teasing oooh’s at your words and somebody sing-songs, “captain likes youuu-r cooking”

“i don’t,” you scoff, completely ready to bite the bait and engage in this childish argument

but it’s him who comes to your defence

“it’s not my cooking, it’s just the spices that make a difference,” wooyoung insists

then he’s gesturing to the grilled fish and telling everyone to try, diverting the attention away from you

you accidentally make eye contact with him and initially flicker your eyes away out of embarrassment, but when you chance a peek back at him he’s still looking at you, his expression uncharacteristically calm and gentle when usually all you can hear these days is his raucous laughter bouncing across the deck

…not that you can recognise his laughter or anything

you stare at each other for a few more seconds before you lift up your bowl of beef broth and give him a little smile

you leave it up to him to interpret it however he wants

and just before you look away, you see the apples of his cheeks rounding with elation

wooyoung’s potentially earned himself a few points with his cooking (and perhaps with his unfailing happiness too), but maybe you’re just looking for excuses as to why you’re allowed to like him now

when you decide to take a walk in town long after midnight, your quarters having felt stuffy ever since you’d docked at vlasgar, you’re surprised to find that you’re not the only one still awake

“i’m going out for some air and maybe a drink, did you want to come?”

hongjoong shakes his head, “hwa’s gone out too, i’ll stay behind”

you pause, wondering whether it’d be rude if you didn’t extend the invitation to wooyoung, considering he’s literally two feet away

“what about you?” you end up offering

wooyoung excitedly hops up to his feet, “yeah, i’ll come with”

to your own surprise, you find that you’re not particularly disappointed by his response

the streets of vlasgar are empty, considering the late hour, and your leather shoes clack in unison against the cobblestones as you walk together

you’re not really sure what to say to fill the silence but wooyoung easily talks about anything and everything and you’re content to just listen

your feet eventually take you towards a small alehouse and you both settle down at one of the tables further away from the live music playing

the oil lamps flicker dimly along the wall, casting small dancing shadows on the surface of your mugs of ale

“my father never liked the taste of ale,” wooyoung suddenly muses after a swallow

you note the use of past tense

“is he…still around?” you ask tentatively

he makes a noise of refutation, the quietest he’s been tonight, before he reveals, “he took his own life”

“oh, wooyoung,” you breathe out

he curls his hands around his mug, “it’s already been two years, but it still hurts”

in a moment of empathy, you gently place your hand over his

your tone is bitter when you reply, “time doesn’t mean that it hurts any less, it just gets easier to pretend that it doesn’t”

he looks up at you, surprised by the touch of your hand but also by the sorrow reflected in your eyes

“have you also lost somebody?”

you nod at his question

“my parents,” you hesitate before adding, “their ship got swept under a rogue wave, the same night it turned into a tidal wave that destroyed the city of light”

wooyoung looks at you with wide eyes, “the one along the north coast? six- no, seven years ago?”

there’s not a single person who doesn’t know about it; when an apocalyptic wave had wiped out an entire city overnight

he places his other hand over yours when you nod again, creating a sandwich of comforting hands in the shared experience of loss and grief

you smile wistfully and he returns it

“well now that we’ve exchanged childhood trauma, care to tell me the real reason why you were on my ship, stowaway?” you half-joke

wooyoung laughs, each breath a pronounced cackle of joy, and you find the corners of your lips pulling themselves upwards too

“i’m being chased by a lunatic who’s out for my blood,” he deadpans

“that would have been nice to know before i let you join my crew”

wooyoung grins wickedly, “i’m part of your crew?”

“i’m definitely rethinking it,” you banter before you add on seriously, “only if you want to be”

he pulls his hands back to salute you loudly, “it would be my honour to be your human compass! jung wooyoung at your crew’s service!”

“shut the fuck up!” you hiss in embarrassment, but there’s no bite to your words and you’re laughing into your own hands

you tip back the remains of your ale and then beckon to wooyoung, “let’s head back, shall we?”

“yeah,” he gives you a dazzling smile

he pushes his chair back to stand up and you head towards the doors together

just as you walk past one of the tables, a man abruptly stands up and knocks into wooyoung’s shoulder harshly

your hand flies out to steady him as the man stares at wooyoung, then turns to leave without another word

“what’s his problem,” you mutter angrily. “are you okay?”

wooyoung reassures you with a placating squeeze to your arm before leading you out of the alehouse

as you retrace your steps back to the ship, you pass by a rickety stall that makes you falter

the wood of the table is rotting and standing on its last legs and there’s a roughly thatched roof propped up above its goods

even though the stall is enshrouded by the shadows of the clouded moonlight, you still wonder how you missed it on your way to the alehouse, considering it’s the only stall along the empty street, and with a vendor, no less

there’s an old woman bearing the burdens of living across her skin and in her posture, sitting hunched on an equally as weathered crate beside the table

you’re drawn towards it - by its ambience, seller or the familiar instruments lain on the table, you don’t know

the woman’s head is covered by a dusty shawl but you don’t miss the way her eyes bore beadily into wooyoung as you both approach

you reach out and skim your fingertips across the cool brass of the compasses on the table

a frown adorns your face when you notice there’s something strange about all of them

like the compass in your own pocket and the one mounted on your ship’s helm, the needles all swing indecisively over the north point, as if some unknown force is meddling with the magnetic field of the earth itself

you let out a little scoff of disbelief, “they’re all useless”

with a final glance at the table, you and wooyoung start to walk off

but then a raspy voice beckons at your backs, a ghost of a hand that tickles the hair on the nape of your necks, “the only time a compass is useless is when you have something better nearby”

unable to ignore the sensation, you look over your shoulder, “what do you mean by something better?”

a toothless smile; one that appears to know a secret that it doesn’t want to let you in on

“true north”

her cryptic answer alone is enough to tell you that you’re wasting your time

she doesn’t say anything else when you walk off for good this time after bidding her a tight-smiled farewell, not that you would have stopped either way if she did

wooyoung hurries to catch up to you

as he falls into step with you, he asks, “do you believe what she’s saying?”

“of course not, it doesn’t make any sense,” you glance at the tavern you’re walking past, telling you that the port is close now. “how can you have true north?”

wooyoung’s brows knit together, “well, there’s that old legend that says true north isn’t actually a direction, but a-”

he’s cut off by an amused voice behind you both

“so it really is you…jung wooyoung”

when you turn around, you’re met with the sight of a man donning a long, velvet coat and buckled shoes - articles of clothing very obviously pirated from the wealthy

it’s evident that he and wooyoung are acquainted in one way or another, but from the way wooyoung’s face loses its colour, they’re acquainted in a bad way

immediately, your hackles are raised

the man’s tone is saccharine as he continues, “when one of my men said that they had spotted you, i didn’t believe him”

“what do you want?” you snarl at the same time wooyoung murmurs next to you, “it’s the lunatic. jang hyunsoo”

hyunsoo cocks his head as he stares you dead in the eye, “i want him. dead.”

your face darkens, unwilling to back down, “and why are you so intent on killing him?”

“oh?” he raises an eyebrow in delight at your answer. “you must not know who he truly is”

sick of his bullshit, you reach down towards your belt to unsheath a throwing dagger and hold it in front of your body, “i don’t care who the fuck he is. he’s my crew member and that’s all that ma-”

“he’s the man that the legends speak of. blessed by the sea gods, bearer of the oceans’ wisdom - jung wooyoung is true north”

those two words again

you don’t understand why everyone you come across today seems to be so fixated on the idea of…

suddenly, you remember.

legends tell a story of true north - not a direction pointing to the earth’s axis, but a person

a man blessed by the gods of the sea with the power to be all-knowing when it comes to the waters

he possesses the innate ability to navigate without use of any instruments or celestial bodies; the wisdom of which passageways and courses to sail; the subconscious understanding of mother nature and her elements

the powers are passed down through his bloodline for generations, but the blessing does not stay sacred for long

human greed and coveting eventually lead to the murder of the bearer of true north at the time, and the powers are transferred to the murderer, permanently staining the bloodline and commencing the paradoxical cycle of sinning for a blessing

however, this does not go unpunished

the gods of the sea are enraged and in their uncontainable wrath they cause-

your memory ends there no matter how hard you try to recall the rest of the legend

wooyoung interrupts

“if you kill me, there’s no guarantee you’ll survive the consequences,” he tries to reason with the other. “just have a look at how close we are to sea”

you’re lost but hyunsoo sneers, “it’s not your power that i’m hungry for. it’s only fair that i spill your blood, after your father spilled the blood of my family”

at the mention of his father, wooyoung growls, “what the fuck do you think you’re saying”

“how do you think your father became true north? or better yet, let me jog your memory,” hyunsoo’s expression becomes hauntingly blank, “what happened seven years ago that wiped out a whole city because the sea gods had been angered?”

your breath hitches as you involuntarily whisper, the remaining piece of the puzzle slotting into memory, “...a tidal wave”

“yes,” he acknowledges your words but keeps his eyes drilling into wooyoung, “because true north - my father - was killed”

as were your parents by extension of the consequences

“killed by my father,” wooyoung concludes, voice frail as everything rapidly starts to reveal itself

one more revelation makes him look at you with a face of horror and remorse, “y/n…your parents…”

without hesitation, you push aside your own anguish for him

“wooyoung,” you warn, “it’s not your fault”

because you see it

the very moment his eyes start clouding over as he willingly takes on the burden of guilt wrongfully left behind by his deceased father - the same guilt that eventually took the man’s own life

wooyoung, who, with a heart and soul too pure, would rather take the blame himself than to push it onto somebody else

you step in front of him, knife raised in protection

because despite your best efforts, wooyoung had not only secretly stowed himself away on your ship but has also secretly stowed himself away in your heart

“what are you doing?” he tries to tug you behind him

there’s a teasing lilt in your voice as you stand steadfast, “stowaway, you’ve ruined navigating for me now - made it too easy for me and the crew. so you better fuckin’ take responsibility and be my compass for as long as i sail”

“how touching,” hyunsoo coos patronisingly before he draws the cutlass from his sheath, “looks like i’ll just have to kill the both of you”

you don’t stop wooyoung this time from stepping up to stand by your side, his own hands armed with dual daggers and his demeanour now iron-willed to fight

because if you’re prepared to fight for him, then wooyoung is prepared to fight twice as hard for you

tonight, either hyunsoo dies, or you both go down trying

the tension in the air is punctuated only by the slight scrape of your soles as you and wooyoung lower your stances and shift further onto your front feet

you had never believed in the sea gods until now, but you pray that they’re watching over you both

and indeed they are

they answer your prayers in the form of a deafening gunshot in the nearby tavern

hyunsoo flinches at the sudden commotion - only slightly, but the distraction in attentiveness is more than enough

now.

as you and wooyoung leap forward together in unison, weapons raised, the needles in your hearts’ compasses waver for one final time before they settle and point resolutely in one direction

your needle at wooyoung; wooyoung’s needle at you

because compasses will always point at true north and that’s exactly what you are to him and him to you

each other’s true north

jongho

pov: you're a mermaid who saves him

you follow the shadow of the ship’s hull, gliding effortlessly through the waters

you know that you shouldn’t be following so closely but it’s hard to refuse the temptation that comes hand in hand with storms

there’s a chance that vessels will toss cargo overboard as a last-ditch effort to save their ship from sinking

and if you’re really lucky, the vessel might sink entirely and you’ll be able to spend the next few days rummaging its ruins, scavenging for shiny treasures and intriguing objects

besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

no sailor or pirate in their right mind would think to cast a fishing net in this weather

you only have your carelessness and recklessness to blame, but regret won’t change anything about your current situation

you feel the strange lurch in your stomach as the fishing net you’re trapped inside is pulled out of the water, up along the side of the ship’s hull, until it levels with the gunwale

there’s someone standing there waiting

his face is still rounded and limbs still gangly with the telltale signs of youth

the fish around you jerk around desperately, a physical manifestation of your terror, while you lock eyes with the young teenager and grip at the net with white-knuckled fists

you are at his complete mercy

he stares in shock at your form, until you beg a single word

“please”

immediately, he draws a small pocket knife and starts to frantically cut through the net

there’s another questioning voice from somewhere on the deck that you can’t make out the words to, but from the way the boy in front of you picks up speed, you’re seconds away from being discovered

“come on, come on, come on,” the boy mutters through gritted teeth

there’s a slight jerk as he cuts through the strands of flax and a few fish slither their way out, the hole starting to become bigger

he lets out a hiss of pain when he accidentally slices through his own hand in his haste

but even then, he does not stop or falter

and then you hear it

the ripping of the material when the weight of yourself and the other fish tear the remainder of the net

you plummet into the ocean

and the last thing you see before the world above becomes blurred by the waters is the boy’s wide eyes peering over the ship’s edge as he watches you fall

jongho struggles to adjust his centre of gravity as the ropes stutter underneath him

he chances letting go of the rigging briefly with one hand so that he can wipe the rain out of his eyes, which is pouring down incessantly and obscuring his vision

overhead, the top sail continues to billow and flap in an angry dance as the rapidly shifting winds tangle it further

he swallows thickly and grips the rigging once again

he needs to climb up and untangle the damned sail, fast

one hand extending outwards to grab the running rigging, jongho supports himself on shaky legs so that he can unfurl the twisted edges of the sail from around the ropes

it’s difficult enough having to chase the mocking flits of the canvas in the gale, but it’s fucking hellish with the added lurching and pitching of the ship as it’s battered by the swells of the sea

he finally manages to get a good grip on the sail and tugs hard, feeling it give way and flush full as it catches the wind properly now that it’s free

except the force of it sends the material swelling right in his face and he slips

by some saving grace, the combined movement of another colossal wave sends his body careening through the air in a wide arch

he does not land on the upper deck in a heap of broken bones

instead, he plummets into the ocean

and the last thing jongho sees before he loses consciousness is the shimmer and flick of a tail

your body reacts instantaneously to the sudden intrusion of something plunging into the waters in front of you, your tail swishing to increase your distance

for a brief second your heart seizes up in fright at the thought of a harpoon

but then you see it - see him

apart from the young teen who had freed you years ago, you have never seen a human up close before

and certainly not one in the ocean; in your home

there is something about the man before you that is beautiful yet haunting

it is as if time and gravity have warped his very existence

you see a weak flail of legs, a desperate hand reaching for the surface, floating tendrils of hair, but even in the face of approaching death, his movements appear slow and graceful in the water

as the pockets of air and bubbles of foam dissipate from around him and cruelly escape upwards without him, the man stills - grand and slow as his form steadily starts to make a descent towards the sandy bottom of the ocean

in folklore amongst your merpeople, humans are as swift, sure and savage on land as they are aboard their monstrous vessels

and yet, watching the ethereal existence of this man before you, you realise that once humans are underwater, they are at the complete mercy of mother nature and her beings

you gingerly swim closer

when you wrap your arm around the man’s limp body, his skin is warm under your fingertips

you’re reminded of the fact that he is at your complete mercy

and so you swim.

the moment jongho regains consciousness, his chest involuntarily contracts in an attempt to take a huge, stuttering breath

he curls onto his side instead, one hand scrabbling in the wet sand and his other arm crushed between the ground and his upper body as he hacks up his lungs with retching motions

the salt water burns even more coming back up than it did going down and his eyes sting with tears

when the convulsions cease, jongho closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the cool sand, trying to regain his breath-

and bearings

the jarring clarity has him sitting up abruptly as he tries to recall where he is and what he’s doing

there was the storm

the tangled sail

him climbing up the riggings

falling down, down, down

and then…

you

your eyes widen when the man’s unfocused gaze suddenly sweeps the waters and lands on the small part of your face that is exposed and peering at him

instinctively, you duck underwater, the notion of hiding your existence from humans ingrained into you

but even though he only sees a glimpse of you, jongho would recognise you from anywhere

it’s hard to forget when he’s kept his eyes peeled on the waters since that day, hoping to see you once again

he can’t believe that the mermaid he once saved would end up being his saviour

but he guesses that’s what people call fate - an alignment of miracles

he glances around at his surroundings to find himself in the safety of a small cove

you dare to emerge your curious eyes again when you see the form of the man stand up with his gaze on the sand, seemingly in search of something

he fumbles along the edge of the coast, reaching down several times to grasp things too small for you to discern

it seems that he becomes satisfied with what he has found, because he then sets them all down in the wet sand - right where the tide kisses the shore in a teasing game of chase - and takes several steps backwards so that he is no longer close to the waters

the man scratches the back of his head as he gestures vaguely to the pile, appearing to want to say something before thinking better of it and turning around to pick at the driftwood further inland

you wait, trying to gauge his actions

but when it becomes clear to you that he is not attempting to catch you off guard, you cautiously swim closer to shore

you are able to rest your forearms comfortably on the shoreline’s sand from how close you get

and then you see it

a small pile of glossy pebbles and patterned shells

a peace offering of pretty things he could find that he thought you might like

you duck under the water again, but this time to hide your shy smile as opposed to an act of instinctual self-preservation

jongho looks at the hefty pile of dried wood that he has gathered in the meantime, deeming it enough to keep a fire going for the inevitable night he will have to spend at the cove

he’s tried his hardest not to look out to the waters, wanting to gain your trust

but he can’t help it this time when his eyes are drawn to the little mound of his sincerity in the sand

…only to find it untouched, and you nowhere to be seen

he tries not to feel disappointed

after all, you have no reason to trust him

so he sets his mind on starting a fire before the sun sets completely instead, trying to ignore the growing dryness in his throat

when he finally nurses a spark into a flame an hour later, jongho almost misses it in his fatigued state

but it’s unmistakable when he walks closer

gone is his own pile of pebbles and shells

in its stead is a jumbled collection of broken combs, rusted locks and a glass bottle

a peace offering of peculiar things you had found that you thought he might need

jongho doesn’t know it, but as he bends down to carefully gather every gift and safekeep them closer to his fire, he is not the only one with a bashful smile on his face

you tell yourself it’s purely curiosity and displaced familiarity that makes you linger and return to the cove the very next morning

you’re well aware what the risks are if you fall in love with a human

how many stories have you heard of mermaids and mermen alike, falling for a human, only for their love to be unilateral or rejected?

their tails slowly lose their lustre as gradual paralysis takes over until they lose complete control

quite literally drowning within their own body, they eventually sink to the bottom of the ocean to perish with the decaying wreckages of sunken ships…

and the countless corpses of sailors, pirates and other unfortunate souls alike

it’s ironic

no matter how much folklore makes out humans and merpeople to be different, you all end up the same in the face of death; buried in the soil of the earth or buried in the sand of the ocean bottom

side by side

jongho stands in that very ocean right now, sleeves and pants rolled up to keep them as dry as possible as he crouches over with the water up to his thighs

he would try to fashion a fishing hook or harpoon of some sort, but with the possibility that you may be close by in the waters, he doesn’t want to risk using anything that could hurt you

so he resorts to using his bare hands

you’ve been watching from the safety of the water for well over half an hour now, curious and slightly endeared by his clumsy attempts to grab at something

you’re not sure what, but you can see the fish as they dart teasingly through his legs and from out of his reach

for beings that are supposedly apex predators, this human doesn’t seem intimidating at all

so, very cautiously, you swim up closer to him

jongho feels himself freezing at the sight of you approaching - not because he’s afraid of you, but because he’s afraid he’ll scare you away

he holds his breath as you hesitate and linger just out of his reach, then swim up and bump his leg playfully with your tail as you circle around him once

he’s reminded of a puppy wanting to sniff out somebody unfamiliar and his eyes follow your form with rounded fondness

“hi,” he breathes out softly, “i’m jongho”

your tail swishes with sudden movement, splashing him with water and he giggles

you can hear it clearly even from under water and your heart nearly stops

if this man - if jongho - was a siren, the sounds of his happiness would be his song of calling

you want to hear it again

jongho sucks in a breath when you dare to emerge from the water’s surface, presenting him with a fish held carefully between your lips and one more in each of your hands

he’s a little dumbfounded at how easily you managed to catch them as he gently takes the one from in between your teeth

the still-flailing fish in his hands is peppered with two tiny neat rows of puncture holes where you had carefully bitten into it

he finds it so fucking cute, especially when you continue to peer up at him with expectant eyes, wanting to know if it was the fish that he was trying to catch this whole time

he wants to thank you, and not just for the fish

so he fumbles through his words when he asks, “would you like to eat with me? unless…” he trails off, “unless you don’t eat fish because…”

are mermaids technically fish?

did he really just offer you the mermaid equivalent of human flesh to eat?

before jongho can panic and try to salvage the situation, you give him a shy smile and nod

jongho makes a fire as close to the shore as possible without the wood at risk of becoming wet

as he spears the fish onto sticks so that he can hold them over the flames, you gather the courage to slide out of the shallow waters so that you can lay on the damp sand closer to him

whilst you can for short periods, you rarely ever fully emerge out of the waters because you leave yourself vulnerable without the full mobility of your body

but jongho makes you feel safe enough to do so

and he must at least partially recognise the amount of trust you are placing in him because he looks at you in awe, the unveiled beauty of your tail now in full display

your scales are a kaleidoscope of cerulean, mauve and periwinkle, reflecting onto the sand below you in a magical dance with each of your slight movements

he notices that the gradient peters out into shades of salmon and coral the closer the scales are to your waist and he cannot tear his eyes away from you

jongho thinks to himself that you were created by the hands of the sea god, who then named the word beautiful after you

and even then, the word does not seem to do you justice

“why are you staring?”

your voice is simultaneously bashful and teasing, yet jongho is utterly mortified that your first words to him are ones exposing his smitten behaviour

his brain kickstarts in panic and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind

“if your tail gets too close to fire, will you start smelling like grilled fish?”

for a split second, your expression contorts into one of pure horror, before the absurdity of his question breaks down the remainder of your reservations and you lose yourself in laughter

a pretty blush settles over the round of jongho’s cheeks and then he is also laughing with you

together, where the land and sea unite, the sounds of your shared happiness fill the air

his song of calling chimes melodiously in your heart even as you swim away for the night

but the dangerous thing about a siren’s song is that you don’t realise you’ve become captivated…

until it’s too late

you’re looking down at the object in your hands as you swim for the cove

it’s cream-coloured and smooth to touch, with several blunt tips extending from one side

you’ve always wondered what it is and so you decide to see if jongho will know

you don’t notice the large rock formation jutting out of the seabed until it’s almost right in front of you and at the last second, you flex your tail to manoeuvre yourself around it

except you must miscalculate your distance because you end up grazing yourself on the sharp edges of the rock

it doesn’t puncture your scales but it certainly catches you off guard - your organs and senses work in a way that ensures you never collide into anything so long as you are underwater

so then, why?

you look down and your heart drops

tentatively, you spin around once, eyes never leaving their focus

you realise it’s not a trick of the lighting or the water

your scales have started to lose their shimmer

jongho is beginning to think that you won’t show up today when you finally do, one of your treasures cradled in your hands and a smile on your face that doesn’t quite reach your eyes

(you weren’t going to show up, not after realising that you need to stop yourself from falling further in love with jongho if you want to live, but you decide to be selfish one last time and say goodbye, even if you’re the only one who knows it’s a goodbye)

“what’s that?” he gestures towards your hands with his chin as you slide your upper body out of the shallow waters, leaving your tail to be submerged when the waves come in

you uncurl your fingers with a shrug

“it’s a comb,” he answers his own question as he turns it over in his hand, “made out of animal bone, i think”

you look at him curiously as he sits down, unbothered about wetting his clothes, and you ask, “what’s a comb?”

jongho brings it up to his head and pretends to move it up and down

“you run it through your hair to untangle it”

he pauses as his eyes flicker to your hair then back to your face

“i can…show you how to use it…if you want?” he offers

just once, you’ll allow yourself to get close to him just this once

when you nod and sit up, jongho shifts himself so that he is behind you

you try not to shiver when you feel the heat of his chest enveloping your back as he reaches forward to gently gather the hair from around your face and neck

he steadies your head with one of his hands, the other bringing the teeth of the comb through the slight waves of your hair

his touch is soft and loving in the way he tries not to tug too hard when he encounters a knot

his fingertips skim against you intimately but with an innocence that betrays the fact that he has never brushed somebody’s hair before

you feel your shoulders relaxing into his touch and your eyes close, blissfully - and perhaps deliberately - ignorant to the fading radiance of your body

“are you feeling okay?” jongho’s voice sounds even more alluring when it’s right next to your ear and you can’t help but shudder this time. “you seem paler than usual”

he brings a hand down to your waist and turns you towards him so that he can see you better

you try to formulate an answer, “i…”

i think i’m in love with you

of course, you would never tell him that

but before you can tell him that you’re fine, you become distracted by the glimpse of something on his hand that’s still resting on your waist

a scar

“is that- how did you get this?”

you run your thumb lightly over the taut, white line that runs from his wrist to the knuckle of his index finger

as you’re suddenly reminded of the familiar memory of a teenager with rounded cheeks and gangly limbs, the man beside you with those very same eyes looks at you fondly

“i cut myself trying to free a mermaid from a fishing net”

your gaze is unfocused as you process the information

the effects of the shattering revelation are immediate and a terrifying numbness starts to creep up your tail

because what you didn’t know - what nobody in folklore knew - was that the effects of paralysis and onset of death are accelerated when you fall in love with someone again for the second time

years ago, your heart had been claimed by the young man who had freed you at his own expense

you had managed to survive the heartbreak due to the briefness of your encounter, your paralysis fading and tail regaining its beauty when you never saw him again

but the effects of your unilateral love have not vanished entirely as you and your merpeople have believed it to

they have simply lay dormant like a disease, waiting for the right time to resurface when your feelings are rekindled

and so now it snowballs and gains traction at a speed that cannot be stopped, racing to catch up on the numerous years that you have cheated death where you thought you did not love jongho

“why is your tail turning grey?” the voice of the man you love is pinched with muted panic

you never thought you would ever be afraid of your own tail; your own body

yet, when you look down to see the monochrome advancing up each layer of your scales, you are absolutely petrified

your tail is starting to look like a stone statue and you know it won’t be long until that’s exactly what you become - motionless and unmoving

“y/n! why is your tail grey?!” jongho repeats with a shout, in full blown panic due to your lack of response

you can’t- won’t die in front of him

your lower body is almost deadweight with immobility and you bite back tears as you’re forced to crawl pathetically towards the water with your arms

jongho scrabbles to his feet as he hovers next to you, hands wanting to help but not quite touching you because he’s not sure what’s happening and he doesn’t know what he can do for you and you look like you’re in pain but he doesn’t know why-

“don’t!” you bark out sharply

he freezes in shock

you’re frightened and angry and you want to yell at something, someone, but…

you could never yell at jongho

with a much softer, albeit shaky voice, you tell him, “don’t look for me”

and before you can hear the pained noise that escapes jongho’s lips, you drag yourself back into the water

except a few metres after you’ve submerge yourself, the unthinkable happens

you. cannot. breathe.

you’re drowning.

jongho doesn’t care if you’ll hate him forever, doesn’t care if this is the last time you’ll choose to see him, but he will not just stand and watch when it looks like you are leaving to die alone

his body moves with the decisions of his heart before his mind tells him otherwise

he dives into the water after you

the world distorts around him; a moment of weightlessness as the waters easily shift to accommodate his body; the bubbling sound of air pockets reverberating inside his very skull; the shock of cold that overrides every other bodily sense

jongho forces his eyes open with numerous blinks until he can see you

your form is eerily still, and yet, you remain bewitching

he kicks his legs desperately with one arm outstretched and as soon as you are within reach, he tugs you into his chest

you’re limp to touch, lips slack and parted as if the very essence of your soul is escaping through your mouth

jongho will not let you die

lungs starting to burn and heartbeat pounding in his ears, he presses his lips against yours

a kiss of life- 

he closes his eyes

-and love

but you don’t respond

jongho ignores his instincts even as his body screams to part from you and kick upwards for a breath

instead, he moves his jaws to kiss you even harder

and then he feels it

he almost sobs into you when your lips twitch weakly against his

with renewed vigour, you’re sealing your mouth around his bottom lip as you respond, capturing him in a real kiss

below your joined lips, your scales start to bloom with their full brilliance once again

your tail shimmers brighter than before, reflecting intricate patterns of fractals with each slight ripple of the water as you open your eyes to the sight of jongho’s face, beautifully swathed in the incandescence of the rainbow

you can move again

you flick your tail, jongho’s arms still firmly around your waist and you both burst upwards, breaking the water’s surface with spluttering breaths

he desperately treads you both backwards towards the shore even though you can easily hold your own now

“jongho, you-”

he takes one look at you before he cuts your words off and plunges himself back underwater, stunning you into stupor, until he re-emerges with another splutter

“your tail!” he yells with overwhelming relief, face still scrunched as he tries to sweep his fringe up and wipe the water from out of his eyes

“yeah…” voice muted as you process the fact that you’re still alive, “my tail…”

“fuck, you scared me”

jongho’s eyes are bloodshot as they stare into yours, and you know for a fact that they aren’t just red from the irritation of salt water

you bring up a hand to rest it on his chest, right where his heart still thumps rapidly under your touch, and you apologise with a small smile, “sorry…i scared me, too”

he huffs a little before looking at you earnestly

“don’t ever do that again”

the water is now shallow enough that jongho can stand, but it’s deep enough that you can still drift effortlessly

it’s the perfect harmony where land and sea unite; where a human and a mermaid interact

where you, the enchanter, and jongho, the enchanted, find a balance of love

“i won’t,” you promise

on land, humans tell a story of a mermaid who falls in love with a man

a mermaid who is ready to give up her voice in exchange for her happily ever after

but in the sea, merpeople tell a story of a man who falls in love with a mermaid

a man who is ready to give up his life in exchange for his happily ever after

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[brynn-lear]

The Abduction of King (Y/n) [Yandere Mydei x Reader]

A/n: Here I go, an asexual trying to learn how to write smut, so bear with me as I start this journey. Also, note that this story presumably happens after the entire Amphoreus Quests, so I’m running under assumptions on how the story ends. I enjoyed writing this reader. It’s always refreshing to write nice people turned feral.

Unreliable Synopsis: The new Stellaron Hunter, King (Y/n), is always welcome to visit the Express. Life has a way of changing a person… And Mydei couldn't accept his beloved’s new “whatever will be, will be” attitude.

CW/Tags: female reader (“King” is your title), slight hurt/comfort, yandere!mydei, toxic relationship, heavily implied one-sided sunday/reader, mild violence, and dubcon elements 

To smell and taste pomegranate juice— such were your aspirations before living the life you have now. 

You are simultaneously at the lowest and highest point of your life.

Being falsely accused of "matricide" was an unpredictable way to achieve that wish, yet you are nonetheless grateful for the hand you dealt with. You'd dare say it's a blessing in disguise. Despite your retainer’s blatant “betrayal”, you were thankful he had ground your knees against gravel and harsh pebbles. If anything, he wrote you a lovely story.

(Y/n) was exposed to have “murdered” her mother, the King, in the Charmony Festival.

Former King (Y/n) originally fled her mysterious unknown planet.

Former King (Y/n) joined the Stellaron Hunters soon after.

Exciting, is it not? Crimes you hadn't committed weighed intolerably upon you. Your planet, Amphoreus, wouldn't dare open its mouth for a choir. No tears shall be collected in jars should you perish, instead, your funeral will be basked with laughter. Daidalos is not a forgiving nation. The Daidalosan Cathedrals would sooner strike a beloved saint’s statue down than a chord from your songs. 

You still vividly recall Kafka’s opaque stare through her tinted glasses. The playful yet empathetic smirk on her face served to entice you to her. She needn't use a whisper. Fate just had its way with you.

The Nameless get to shelter a wounded bird, while the Hunters take on a new apprentice.

As poetic as that sounds, your resolve isn't cruel and unfeeling. If it were, you doubt the Express would take kindly to your serene shenanigans.

You giggled. Truth be told, you were aware as to why March left in a hurry. 

You may hold yourself with sheer elegance and an astute gaze befitting of the crown, but behind it lies a mischievous streak that remains undetected. What can you say? Perhaps this sneakiness is an act of love. You do miss their company.

Several months ago, the Nameless went on a dangerous mission to Amphoreus. 

The unknown planet the galaxy you hailed from that the rest of the galaxy does not know?

That was Amphoreus.

 The very same planet you escaped from was the place Dan Heng and Stelle landed blindly.

Aside from Elio, only a single soul knows this one other dangerous fact: you cannot taste or smell anything— and fall victim to catatonic moods more capriciously than others. Your ailment does not terrify you more than Kafka’s lack of fear (ironically), Yingxing’s mara— and especially not more than Firefly’s syndrome. Just a scratch to your patchwork of problems. You had support. Your people once wholeheartedly gave you your flowers for the good you've done. And it pains you immensely how you cannot express genuine gratitude for it.

You may have been a great King, but Kephale never favored you. Unfortunately, you cannot resign to THEIR uneven-handedness much longer.

You are not a Chrysos Heir.

You are just an Amphoreus Tragedy.

It's no small wonder that you offered your life to Elio, hoping he'd one day pull out a feast that would satisfy your tastebuds. That day won't happen any time soon. Not that you mind.

Cause you'll get to see Stelle, Dan Heng, March, and Sunday suffer while drinking your horrendous drinks— if you're lucky, Himeko’s as well.

Ah, your seemingly earnest and just demeanor is truly a gift that keeps on giving. Your “friends” are gone. You stand on new ground, one that allows you to take the smallest things to heart.

Your mother’s “murder” is when you started noticing what matters in life.

Now, you enjoy the silence.

Listen deeply. The child in you that wasn’t allowed to. Let it heal.  

It’s what Kafka ordered you to do, and it was the best command a King could ever receive.

“Going somewhere?” 

You stopped walking and looked up from your phone. A familiar young boy standing by the doorway. He had a small smile on his face, despite barring the exit.

“Lord Elio?”

“Indeed,” he nodded. “This is your first time seeing me in this form. And I assure you, this won't be the last.”

Given his clairvoyant abilities, you figured that to be true.

“My apologies for not recognizing you, Lord Elio,” you frowned. “I'm afraid I have grown more accustomed to your feline form.”

“No need for apologies.”

He handed you a machete.

Machetes are your weapon of choice, and quite frankly, no other steel fits like a glove. The lances of Daidalos do not compare to the satisfying momentum brandishing a machete elicits. Unpolished. Unkingly. Unsightly.

Personally? 

… You thought they were cute.

They remind you of someone.

They say never bring a weapon to a fistfight, but that little prince never minded.

You cleared your throat but stopped yourself when Elio raised his hand, disinterested in how you would inevitably pay him back in credits or an equivalent.

"I-I am most grateful, yet I must inquire— what purpose does this serve?" You inclined your head slightly, your gaze steady. "Is there an urgent expedition that demands my attention?"

“If there was an emergency, there would have been a contingency plan beforehand.” The boy giggled, fixing his bow tie with a smug smile. “But no, I just urge you to take this on your way to the Express. Just in case a small miracle triggers. Which, I doubt.”

Hmm, there must be a threat later then. Shame. 

Elio cautioned you. “You might also regret wearing that.”

“Wearing what?”

“Red.”

You assessed your appearance. At first, you thought nothing wrong about your flinty rings and maroon pantsuit. “Does it not look good on me?”

“One might say it’s too good on you,” Elio muttered. “Let’s hope it doesn’t reach that point.”

“Understood.” You bowed.

“Lastly, King (Y/n)?” Elio shook his head. 

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Do not bow for me,” he exhaled, mildly exasperated by your antics. “You are one of us. You are a Stellaron Hunter, do you understand?”

“Yes, of course, my Lo—”

“None of that either!”

“Yes… Elio.”

“Better,” the young boy opened the exit.

Then, he opened his eyes. It's those piercing blue shades that make you both uncomfortably seen and relievedly accepted.  

“Next time you come back, we'll have a giant feast for your return. No pomegranates. It's a feast that may just be more memorable than your previous birthday celebrations.” Elio’s grin widened. “Truth is, once our prodigal King returns, she shall become a Stellaron Hunter.”

No pomegranates? Become a Stellaron Hunter? What an odd choice of words— and aren't you already a hunter?

Does it even matter?

You can’t taste anything.

You laughed. Elio loves your laugh for it was always a whole, hearty, and joyous sound. A laugh befitting a king. 

“Much like my favorite bard, I do not understand a word out of you. However, do not worry—” You stepped out the door. 

“I am looking forward to it!”

“I'm ashamed I can't show you a better sight when you've been enthused to visit. What a pity. I cannot stand to present to you such weaklings.”

“Weaklings, you say.” You muttered. “Little prince, their rib cages are stretched open with limbs bleeding out. This torture you call training outmatches the way we Daidalosans treat prisoners.”

You picked up the tortured gladiator’s weapon.

It was a machete.

“Was it necessary to torture them…?”

“Δασκάλα μου (My teacher), they have insulted you and Daidalos. I cannot allow such slander to the former.”

You saw the intense sincerity in his eyes and turned away.

No matter how many times you have rejected his heart, he continues to court you in ways that disturb many.

“You care too much about me. I hope you would spare such care for your gladiators instead.”

“And you care too little about yourself. This is precisely why your nation fears our military might, King (Y/n). Make no mistake, everyone suffers in their imagination more often than in reality.” He scoffed. “Even these soldiers.”

█████ laughed. To him, this is one of many days where no one remembered the fallen except for spectators such as yourself. █████ watched as your eyes batted over the strewn rubble where your grandfather’s soldiers once fought for the realm’s peace. He saw conflict in those (e/c) eyes. A dead silent remorse for faces you have never truly seen.

Even so, you smiled sadly. 

That smile was out of place in Prince █████'s Spoliarium.

“███, that may be your opinion, but our mind IS our reality. It may seem overdramatic and unreasonable to you, but the pain is not any less real.”

“We seriously need to master how to make coffee before (Y/n) gets here….”

“Don't worry so much, Dan Heng, we at least persuaded Himeko to visit Herta so that's one big bomb deactivated!”

“... should you be adding that much Halovian sugar? I believe that unhealthy proportions are against many culinary rules.”

“Rules? What rules, Sunday? Nah. These are guidelines.” 

“What— Stelle, NO!!!”

You snorted a sound that does not sound elegant in the slightest. Both Dan Heng and March 7th apprehended their callous friend. Sunday’s wings perked up upon hearing you, and a smile formed on his face before he even knew it. Meanwhile, the three only took notice of you when they successfully extracted the sugar from her hands.

You placed a hand on your mouth, hiding any impolite laughter.

“I've just arrived, and it sounds like an interesting conversation. Shame, I should've arrived moments prior.”

“(Y/n)! Nonsense, you came at a perfect time.” Sunday sauntered joyfully, standing up to usher you toward Shush’s counter. “There's a seat beside me, please come here.”

“Look at him, already making the moves,” March whispered to Stelle, snickering.

Stelle, a master of the stoic expression, only nodded. “Let him cook.”

Dan Heng rolled his eyes, ignoring the two.

“King (Y-”

“Just (Y/n), please.” You pouted. “You are all an equal to me.”

“... (Y/n).” Dan Heng scratched his neck. “About the brewing session…”

Your questions were lost in Dan Heng’s recitals of Himeko leaving for Herta’s Space Station, Stelle’s failed attempts at brewing her cup (it somehow turns into alcohol-like beverages), and the crew’s insistence that the next batch should follow online recipes. This made you laugh more than you thought you would. So, you decided to drop the idea altogether, to everyone’s relief.

“Instead, we can talk about our last journey instead, how about it?” Stelle offered.

Your smile stiffened.

“Ah, yes, I believe that was in…”

“Amphoreus!” March grinned. “The pictures Dan Heng and Stelle took were so nice. Here, let me get it—”

“There is no need for that.”

You spoke a little too quickly.

More perceptive than you thought, the crew noticed your sudden change.

“(Y/n)?” Sunday spoke, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

“I know why.” Stelle pushed away from the table, upsetting her chair before theatrically balancing herself back. She then went on carelessly:

“It’s because she’s from Amphoreus.”

March’s eyes widened. “WHAT?!”

You looked away, sighing. “Shush, do you have a bottle of Retsina wine?”

“Wait, w-where did you get this information, Stelle?” Dan Heng shook her slightly. “I don’t recall hearing that—”

“She’s the former King of Daidalos, which is far away from Okhema. Honestly, I just saw it around stone tablets. Daidalos is a long-fallen land of artisans. People thought she died by execution because no one believed she did reach beyond the sky. They also say she’s the mentor and childhood crush of crown prince M—”

“You know a lot and you never thought to tell us about ANY this?!” March gawked. “What the heck Stelle!?!”

“I just thought it wasn’t that important.”

“Yes, yes it is!!!”

While the three argued over details, Sunday took the bottle from Shush and poured you a glass. There’s a look of understanding in his eyes, and he won’t ask unless you want him to. You gave him a small smile, acknowledging his empathy.

“You look rather pale, have those Hunters done something to you?” Sunday inquired, his unease blatant. “Is it your mission? Have they been asking the impossible?”

“What? No. My workload is infinitely a lot less weighty than the crown.” You grinned, teasing. “It's all light work.”

He figured he had nothing else of value to add. Still, his eyes were skewed. Sunday won't be dropping the issue any time soon.

“Then why do you look kinda miserable?” Stelle asked.

“Steeeeelle! C’mon, watch your mouth. How do you always sound so offensive?” March whined.

You placed a hand on your head. “Hmm, I shall not lie, nightmares have been mostly a root cause for my unsightly and dim appearance as of late. Pathetic, I am aware—”

“Nightmares?” Dan Heng shifted his body forward, closer to you. “Like what?”

“I dream of an old… friend a lot more frequently.” You paused. Should you be saying this? “And more often than not, I'm being… chased… by him.”

Both Stelle and March looked at Dan Heng. He bit his bottom lip, thinking. 

“... Where is your new mission?”

“Elio has given me no command,” You sighed deeply. “He declared that the plans are already set in motion, and it falls upon me to rise to the occasion, whatever challenge it may be that calls upon me.”

“Oof. Good luck.” Stelle said, but the air of those words seems a little more knowing.

March chuckled nervously. “Yikes…”

Sunday had no comment. Instead, he also poured himself a drink.

“I'd be wary if I were you.” Dan Heng’s gaze was astutely focused on yours. “I've been through something similar. Nightmares, that is.”

"Is that so?" You murmured, swirling the coffee in your cup with an air of detached curiosity. "And what transpired thereafter?"

“...”

March 7th laughed, uneasy.

“Well, uh, it kinda came true?” March’s eyebrow furrowed, wearing a strained smile. “It's good though, Blade didn't actually kill him so…?”

“March.”

“I'm sorry, it was just too silent, I couldn't stand it!”

“... What were the dreams like? Can you elaborate?”

You paused at Sunday’s questions.

█████ towered over your chained form, clenching an open letter in his strong hands. His knuckles were white from the sheer anger he held them.

“Entertaining a love letter, are we?”

He sneered.

“How dare you consider suitors other than myself?”

█████ knelt down and harshly grabbed your chin.

“Shall I pluck his feathers out for you?”

“Cold.” 

You muttered. “Lacks warmth.”

Sunday has never been this tempted to get into someone’s mind.

Dan Heng placed a hand on his chin. 

“Anything else? Like vivid smells or tastes?”

You laughed. “Are those things important?”

“Sorta?” March quipped.

“Is that so…” You wouldn’t know. Both senses eluded you.

…

…

Suddenly, you had willed your words into existence.

“!!!”

Someone uninvited has entered the Express.

An immediate tension gripped everyone’s lungs, and each heart in the vicinity quickened. A subtle shift, imperceptible yet undeniable, stirred them all. A silent warning. Eyes darted nervously, glances exchanged with no words. The Nameless knew that something was about to emerge. The weight of the unknown pressed heavily upon their shoulders, and though none dared speak it aloud, they could feel it— whatever was coming was drawing near.

The lights flickered and died out.

“LOOK OUT!!!”

Enshrouded by a ghost who trailed behind, you grabbed Sunday and jumped away. The sound of metal rang. None of you could see the other. Pompom’s screams, asking for what was happening, droned on inside the other car. 

You must’ve barely dodged that attack. Swiftly, you brandished your machete. Instincts that infiltrated each inch of your veins screamed that the intruder you faced was a familiar soul. Your body warmth congealed a hand’s breadth below the blade’s sharp rim. It’s been a while since you felt this threatened.

This excited.

You sported a boyish grin. Been a long long while since you had felt true risk— a real divergence from your tolerable comfort zone.

“Come and face me in the light, coward.”

The figure drew their already built frame taller to stiffen their pride.  You spun to the side, narrowly avoiding a crushing blow that tore through the air. Your instincts were sharp.

With a final joining of force and momentum, you swung your machete with half of your strength.

It met the shadow’s fists, causing an ear-bleeding stalemate of metal against metal.

Seconds passed, and it was clear that an impasse had been reached.

You both pulled away— and the figure ignited a fire within his palms.

As if your eyes were spiked with visions of red and yellow— you squinted at the strange man. His bare skin and intense eyes are enough to make the common man buckle his knees and tremble. 

But you know that face.

It's the one soul who knows your secrets.

You paled.

“... Dei?”

That face, though aged, belonged to the young boy you taught patiently. The same stubborn boy who wanted peace for his people even though the chances were slim. The only person who would vouch for your innocence. The kid who you secretly envied for his cursed immortality— for his status as a Chrysos Heir.

The little prince who wanted you beside HIS throne.

It was Dei himself. 

Crown Prince Mydeimos of Kremnos— the land of Daidalos’ “worst enemy”.

“Dei” grinned. He languidly raised his head, his gaze towering above you. A shadow clouded his face and settled in his eye.

You, who had reduced his name to one syllable on the day you met, was the first woman he had come to admire ardently.

Riotous pomegranate wines that hedonistically spill in white table cloths that adjoin themselves like countries on a map— saintly garbs donned by faces achieving a carnal state of euphoria— those were the images that describe Daidalos to the crown prince. Holy, but unrighteous. 

Yet, when the sky brightly illuminated your face at the outdoor picnic you extended the invite to, the Prince was royally smitten. Humbly, you were dressed only in a simple sundress. No accessories or cloaks to elevate yourself. In the seeded topsoils of the plains, you were the most natural beauty to behold.

Mydeimos had grown obsessed with the consistent air of absentminded integrity you carry as King. It was not an aura he had the privilege of carrying. But he will live that life vicariously through you.

“Δασκάλα μου. (My teacher.) Kαρδιά μου. (My heart.)” The prince scoffed an airy smirk. Not a word can describe his smug satisfaction. “Found you, at long last.”

Chrome, gold, and pomegranate red.

Those had always been his colors.

And that included the color of…

“You adorn yourself in every color but red, is there a reason why?”

“Red is more of your color, little prince.” You humored him. “And a King wearing red is an omen for war. The same is said for our flag.”

“I see.”

… blood and war. A color entirely suited for his calling.

You froze without breathing, struck dumb.

How did he leave Amphoreus?!

You greeted with a frown.

“... Hello, little prince.”

You can’t believe this.

Leaving took you centuries to perfect!

How did he do it?!

Mydei instantly detected within you an erosion of self-assurance.

Just talking to him felt no different from downing some of Kafka’s fancy wines. While you consider yourself above petty theft, this situation compels you to understand her deeply. You, too, would pocket Dreamjolt Hostelry’s alcohol to an amount you felt was just after talking to this prince.

He recklessly held your blade. The Chrysos Heir thrust your weapon’s handle against your palm whilst his own bled profusely.

It had always been difficult to challenge an opponent with no self-preservation.

“Has joining these intergalactic bandits stripped you of every bit of decorum, King (Y/n)?” He shook his head. Taking advantage of your paralyzed state, the prince yanked the machete away, allowing it to pelt to the floor with a harsh thud. 

The prince leaned down to kiss your hand, but the sudden pause shocked both you and him.

“Where is it?” He spoke gravely with murderous rage.

You pursed your lips. “Where is what, Prince Mydeimos?”

“Your ring.” Mydei spoke. “The Daidalos King’s ring.”

A laugh escapes your lips. One without any semblance of humor.

“It is a ring that adorns only the hand of a King, does it not? Yet I, alas, no longer bear such a title. You may put those facts together to form your conclusion.” You answered, nose turned up snobbishly. 

He glared.

The prince threw what was assumed to be a warp device that formed a distortion that connected the Express to Amphorous. Your eyes widened and you snapped back to make eye contact with Stelle. 

You only had a second to think.

“CALL KAFKA!!!—”

“(Y/n)!!!”

But before they could reach and save you, you and the intruder disappeared.

Just as there was no consensus if the Nameless should involve themselves in this matter or not, no trailblazer had the same opinion of following suit aligned with their beliefs. Sunday desperately tried to have everyone on his side, whereas the wiser of the crowd had more sway with their stable voices. The three only had to watch and wait for Kafka to arrive. 

Until then, the express was silent.

Crown Prince Mydeimos, son of Gorgo, may not be the sharpest of men— but he lived a proud life.

“That Prince again, how many more of our King’s time shall he exhaust?!”

“I do not know myself, Aitherios, but he certainly does not mean well.”

“And we are to let that man linger in our castle?”

“I suppose so.”

“But Luminia!—”

He had never hid his true self. There, Mydei would stand, taking no more notice of them than they are of him. Though usually unrestrained, he would hold himself back for those who spat venom were your people. People you had loved and cherished for centuries longer than you’ve known him. 

And he is no one but a person you’d go to picnic with on a sunny day.

Despite his raging mind, he kept his mouth shut about your unpleasant servants. He’d bear the pain of every word. He’d even accept lashes and whips if it meant he could sit beside you in your favorite picnic spot another day.

He stays rooted in a field where he does not belong.

That was how much Mydei loves you.

"Alas, it is a sorrow that your visit is swift. Had it been under better circumstances, I would have bid you stay and witness an Epic with me thereafter." You sighed, placing the teacup under your lips. "The young lad, who once struggled to wield a greatsword, now holds the power to lay waste to my very castle at his will. How swiftly the years slip away..."

Mydei’s gaze softened. 

On his frequent idle days, he systematically fit visiting Daidalos in his schedule. This is all in hopes that someday, you’d see him beyond what nostalgia portrays.

Why can’t you see that he obsesses over you the way a man would to his woman?

Frustrating how YOUR visits became less warm and less frequent. Was it custom only that bound the two of you? That cannot be so. You refer to him beyond his station, as he does to you as well. 

Surely, you feel the same beating as he does?

There is no other possibility, is there?

The only thing that stands between you two and the altar must be the crowns you both will and have been carrying. If your people only loved him—- if both your people only cared for one another instead of a constant rivalry for Nikador’s gaze.

"It must be so. As it stands, the folk of Daidalos and Kremnos are far from sharing the civil discourse you and I enjoy." Mydei gently set his cup upon the blanket spread across the verdant earth. "In the quietest recesses of my heart, I wish for a day when my people might share a picnic with yours."

“Do you wish me to crayon a series of plans?” You teased.

“Do not mock me, King (Y/n).”

“The offer for a treaty stands.” You shrugged, your face turned solemn. “That is unless the brutal culture of Kremnos has a better idea of peace?” 

Mydei chuckled.

“How about an abduction?”

“H-Hah—”

His lips claim yours in a fierce, desperate kiss. It's as if a dam has broken, all of his pent-up desire and longing pouring out at once. His calloused hands tighten around its grip, holding you close as he deepens the kiss— his tongue tastes you with the desperation he's not articulate enough to voice. You'll just have to take him as he is. Rogue and animalistic.

You punched his chest. As expected, he didn't falter. Instead, his gaze was tender and his breathing was more… pleased.

“Y-You look ravishing in red.” He smirked. "And to think that bird thought he could please you the way I do."

A husky, ragged moan sneaked out of his lips as he seemingly devoured and shared his heat with yours in unison. No escape. This was far from comfortable. Your back was pinned on the cold Spoliarium walls. You gasped as you felt the subtle and slow motion of his hips grind against your smaller frame. Mydei tilted your head to the side slightly to deepen the kiss.

The worst part? Both your eyes were open, for two reasons on the opposite side of the same spectrum.

He wants to watch his cornered prey, and you're his frozen fawn.

A few years ago, you had shown him mercy in hopes he’d do the same. His eyes were a murderer’s eyes, his hands were a murderer’s arms. But he is without sin. Mydei did not choose to have a murderer’s eyes and hands. And you had refused that he will be treated as such.

You should have.

Just when you felt your eyes fluttering shut at the immediate danger of passing out— the prince graciously pulled away. You saw a sliver of saliva disconnect between both your lips. Almost insane how this had your legs threatening to lay on the floor. The fact that you can barely stand from his intensity boosted a pride greater than a long spar in him. 

Then, the prince hoisted your thighs up and forced them to wrap around him. Your back hasn't had a single moment wherein it hasn't had contact with the wall. Your body hasn't had a single moment wherein you haven't had contact with his warm skin. Your gaze was pathetically unfocused.

“N-Not…” You couldn't help but jest, like old times. “H-How I expected to have my first kiss.”

You felt your spine shiver but had the strength to not make that undirected fear known. Nothing feels right about that place. His Spoliarium was too cold, too dusty, yet his hands were too hot like a forever sun in his palm.

Slowly, he cupped your cheek. Even that loving gesture was rough and intrusive.

Mydei scarcely had a definition for what romance is.

“The fault is your own for expecting gentleness from me.” Mydei brought his lips to your ear. You shivered as he leaned down and nibbled your neck.

Divine. 

You tasted divine. If only you could taste him too, then maybe you'd be more enthused for a “rougher” expression of intimacy. If he could take you now—

You shrank back, terrified. Mydei has been difficult to read on occasion, but tonight his thoughts are blatant and disturbing. You hope your instinct was wrong.

“T-Truth be told, I expect no intimacy from you. I-Is this a—” you panted, weakly gripping his muscular arm. No matter how much willpower you had, you couldn't stand upright. “—form of punishment? I-I wasn't aware Aglaea has e-employed you to guarantee my c-capture.”

“I came of my own volition.” Unbeknownst to you, Mydei’s glare was chilling. “How dare you assume I'd betray you.”

“How dare I, indeed…” You winced. “Why did you come here—”

Unfortunately, the prince was quick to forestall further questions. You helped from the sudden jolt of both pain and pleasure as he bit your neck harshly while he slowly rubbed his hips against you. Mydei was leaving too many marks in his wake. The heat was becoming unbearable.

You gripped a fistful of his hair, hoping to yank him off. “M-Mydei— in Kephale’s name, I command you to—”

“You wanted this.”

He pulled away, and you cursed yourself for feeling almost needy as he created a reasonable distance between you two.

“King— no, MY (Y/n).” Mydei took strands of your hair, kissing it innocently but his eyes were anything but. “I have desired you for too long as well.”

His hand slid under your shirt. You jolted as he squeezed your waist. 

There are times his replies slip so easily that it makes you question their sincerity. This was not one of them.

“I presume with that visage that you’re regularly, at the very least, 3 hours of obliterating sleep.” He pulled your shirt up. “May I know the names of the men who’d find themselves in my Spoliarium soon?”

You almost mentioned Elio in defense of the Hunters, but kept your mouth shut.

“Curse you, Mydeimos.”

He clicked his tongue, snaking his fingers around your neck.

“What dishonorable struggle. I never thought you would have cold feet.” Mydei lightly tightened his grip on your throat. “I offered an abduction, and you agreed.”

“W-What? What abduction?”

Cold feet?

"Reflect further. You possess wisdom far greater than mine."

Your eyebrows furrowed, remembering the conversation. “I only replied because I thought it was said in jest!”

“I am not a man who would jest about entering such a solemn union.” He growled. "You know well that I speak with the full gravity of truth in every word I say."

You paused.

…

Cold feet. Abduction…

Wait…

“Abductions, are they a ritual of sorts…?”

Mydei closed his eyes, huffing in mild amusement.

“...You did not understand that custom, did you?”

“N-No…”

He leaned his face closer, his breath touching your skin.

“Marriage.” His gaze softened. “It is a marriage custom in Kremnos. You have verbally agreed to marry me. And I shall reap what promise is owed to me.”

You felt your energy drain away. A sickening chill.  

Most of your life— it was spent on becoming a perfect ruler. You were chalk honed and clawed with lessons upon lessons upon lessons of strength and wit. Your family did not care if you were even made of a fragile core. But chalk is brittle. Chalk cannot withstand any more of this madness. This lack of human regard. This inhumane treatment. 

You do not love Dei.

You can never bring yourself to love the prince you thought of as a little brother.

“B-But I… I do not…”

“You do not love me. I have heard that lie from you several times.” He kissed your hand. “You have stabbed and buried me several times, yet I will continue to crawl back in your arms.”

Mydei chuckled.

“And tomorrow, we shall have our wedding despite it all.”

He saw how the despair dawned on you. You were shaking. Your breath was shallow and uneven, and he noticed the twitch in your hands, far too unlikely the steadiness of the former warrior King of Daidalos.

No one truly listens to the King.

You are more puppet than king, and everyone revered you for it. You only do what is required of you. What was needed of you. What was desired of you. 

No one truly hears what you wish for yourself. No one cared enough to know you were hungry for the true sensations of what tastes and smells truly are. No one asked you questions as to why you were obsessed with observing nature in the first place. Each person just approaches your throne in hopes they’ll take what they want. No one listens, except for…

This was the part he had anticipated— the fear, the panic, the realization that you were trapped. But instead, you did something... unexpected.

“... Hah… Haha!”

And then, slowly, something twisted inside. The edges of your lips curled upward— at first, just a flicker. You clutched at her chest as though trying to hold yourself together. Your laugh broke free, starting in a soft, broken sound that grew louder, more manic until it was a full-throated, deranged cackle.

Marriage? 

Right.

“Going somewhere?” 

“Lord Elio?”

“Indeed. This is your first time seeing me in this form. And I assure you, this won't be the last.”

“Next time you come back, we'll have a giant feast for your return. No pomegranates. It's a feast that may just be more memorable than your previous birthday celebrations. Truth is, once our prodigal King returns, she shall become a Stellaron Hunter.”

Elio promised you a feast.

Who are you to say no?

You gave him a mugshot smile only a criminal with an enormous bounty would wear.

You were no longer King (Y/n) of Daidalos.

“Is that so?” You grinned wider.

You were (Y/n), the prodigal Stellaron Hunter.

If he haunted your dreams for so long,

you’ll just have to haunt him back.

You harshly grabbed him by his necklace, your breath fanning his face. A giggle escaped your lips at his shocked expression. You swerved and pushed him until your positions switched. With one hand, you clawed both his cheeks, staring at him with an empty glare while the other hand slowly uncloaked him...

"If that is the challenge you present, then I bid you bring forth your utmost strength, dear Husband."

Taglist: @naraven, @macaronilovingracoon, @notthefib987, @chryseis-lxve

Actor!au behind the scenes for this fic: Blooper 1, Interview with Sunday,

[alicedrawslesmis]

(sorry this is from a week ago but) Wait, what's going on right now that's complicated with Amazonian farmers' land rights?

Not farmers, indigenous people

See, recently they put a new law through congress that severely reduces indigenous land to the borders established during the late dictatorship, or immediately post-dictatorship, in 1988. An absolute joke of a border that was dreamed up by some military assholes. People in america may recognize this type of society from the times of westward expansion and think this is a thing of the past because for you guys it is. But here it is a reality. Murder is rampant. The reach of the law is incredibly limited. Government is just too weak and landowners basically run things. THAT'S WHY it's so important to donate directly to the native peoples instead of random NGOs because native people are fucking there and the more power they hold in the land the safer the land will be from agroindustrial expansion.

Well the law was vetoed by the the president and the Supremo Tribunal Federal, aka supreme federal court, labeled it as unconstitutional. Which it is, because our 1988 constitution describes native american land rights in some of its first articles. We thought this would be it for the law

But then the senate (that already overrepresents landowners in rural states) just went along and approved it anyway. I had no idea they could approve something unconstitutional. The progressives and particularly the socialists are fighting this in court. But it happens that for now the legal border is the severely reduced version.

Doesn't mean they'll just give up, because as it happens we don't have any stand your ground laws so even if you own a piece of land, you cannot legally speaking just shoot everyone there. Or attack or threaten them in any way. They'll just have long legal battles individually for the rights to occupy land based on use. Also the Xingu national park, the largest preserved land of the Amazon described as 'larger than Belgium', is being encroached by huge farms that are poisoning their water supply. The border is Visible. I'll try to find video of it but essentially you have a forest and a desert separated by a strict line.

Just last week in the south of Bahia (not the Amazon, let me explain more about the Amazon situation in a bit) Hãhãhãe leadership Nega Muniz Pataxó was shot and killed by an armed militia group that invaded and occupied the Caramuru territory.

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The situation in the Amazon, specifically the yanomami territory in Roraima our northernmost state, aka deep forest, is more dire than average given difficulty of access, sheer size, and government abandonment. It's a place that depends on government aid for medicine. It's land that is being systematically invaded by gold miners, pandemic, toxins from nearby farmlands, wood extraction etc. (wood extration is rampant everywhere tho). Early 2023 saw a massive federal government operation by now president Lula to empty the mines and try to look for where funding comes from. Yanomami land is still being invaded to this day, the struggle is ongoing.

The yanomamis need support right now more than any other. Last year saw a massive heat wave that (well, one, caused a girl named Ana Clara Machado to die during the Taylor Swift concert. This is unrelated but I feel like not enough foreign media covered this, Taylor even lied about it as well.) dried up a lot of rivers, killed a LOT of fresh water animals including an unprecedented amount of pink dolphins. Access that was already hard became damn near impossible without boats. I cannot overstate how many pink dolphins were found dead.

Another technique that landowners use to clear space for farms is to just set things on fire and then occupy the empty land, which they legally can do to land that was naturally burned in a forest fire. It happened that Pantanal, another national park of swampland, was massively devastated by fires last year too

this article is from 2020, the year that the worst fire happened, but in 2023 there was another one. It's been happening yearly now due to a) deliberate action and b) climate change aggravation.

And this is not nearly all. Just off the top of my head. If you speak portuguese I recommend following the APIB or the COIAB on instagram to keep up with the news. The FUNAI is the government branch of indigenous organization, but it's not generally that well liked. Still.

[nixie-writes]

Being Adam's Daughter (both in life and in heaven)

I've run out of ideas someone please send something to my inbox + I need to keep this blog at least semi active somehow. I spent too long researching to write this please clap

-you were the only daughter to Adam and Eve. You were born into sin via Eve. You spent your entire childhood wishing you could visit the garden of Eden and see what was so bad about it that your mother had to eat the fruit of knowledge after God specifically told her not to.

-you were also very suspicious of your brother, Cain. Though you didn't know it, he showed wrath, envy and gluttony towards your brother, Abel. You, being born a woman, were raised to never question a man, especially not one older than you, so you never got in between their fights.

-then the day came that Cain killed Abel, the brother you were closer to. You witnessed the murder but your parents did not; you did as you were raised to do and didn't speak a word of what you saw. Cain threatened your life if you told them he had killed Abel, so you kept your mouth shut.

-as you lived your life you grew closer to God, closer even than Adam. You spent your days worshiping him, thanking him for every meal you ate, preaching to your parents about how good he was. Adam would always respond with something along the lines of, "hell yeah he's good, he made me!" and Eve would just smile.

-it was late one night when you saw your mother fall victim to the worst sin of all-debauchery with Lucifer himself. You caught her and Lucifer together, doing things you could never describe as the sweet little girl you were. You didn't understand the severity of it at the time but you ran back home and told your father that his wife and your mother was, in your words, "making friends" with the fallen angel who stole Adam's first wife, though you'd yet to have been told the story about Lilith yet.

-Adam stormed out and took you with him, you pointing him in the direction of Lucifer and Eve. He told you to wait behind a bush and he confronted Eve for sleeping with Lucifer. She wouldn't admit how many times she had done so. You were innocent and didn't understand the concept of "sleeping together", you were unsure why your father was so mad. He told Eve she was no better than Lilith, who you'd never heard of before and you suddenly had a lot of questions. Adam bid Eve his final goodbye and told her that if she ever came to him again he would kill her. You were stunned to hear this but seeing how you were raised, you didn't question it. It terrified you however.

-following your father home you asked him who Lilith was. Adam briefly explained that Lilith was his first wife, who refused to submit to him, and she fell in love with Lucifer and resided in Hell. In a rare moment of kindness he knelt to your level and placed his hands on your shoulders. "[Y/N], you're my only daughter and the only woman left in my life. Promise me, you'll never fall into the follies of sin," he spoke in a wavering voice. You understood how serious this was and nodded your head in agreement. He took you back to his hut, his hand in yours.

-you spent the remainder of Adam's life comforting him over the loss of Abel and Eve. You told him about how you saw Cain kill Abel and Adam sentenced Cain to live alone somewhere else, leaving only you and him. Throughout Adam's life on earth he always told you how much he loved you and how he expected to see you in Heaven when your time came.

-as time went by you never had any children, leaving that to other women God created. After learning the harsh reality of what your mother did you never wanted to risk falling in love with the wrong person, so you kept to yourself and became a traveling healer, helping those who were sick and hurt through God's will. You did this until you were around your middle ages, and God called you to Heaven. It was time for you to be with Adam.

-you were met by Sera, the high Seraphim. She told you your time had come, and you had been good enough to come to Heaven. You had done what your mother and brother failed to do, you lived a good and justified life and worked in God's mysterious ways. She brought your soul to Heaven.

-once you arrived in Heaven you saw how much of a dick Adam had become. He was proud, he was gluttonous and he was a jerk. He was always flaunting to the women in Heaven about how he was the first human soul to arrive there, likely to get them in bed with him. You were disgusted by it.

-when Sera brought Adam to the side and introduced you, his daughter, to him he was so stoked. "[Y/N]! You made it at last! That's daddy's little girl!" He rubbed your hair with his first and hugged you. He encouraged you to tell him what earned you a place in Heaven and you were proud to tell him of your years as a traveling healer and of how close you became to God. He was smiling the entire time.

-fast forward a little while, and the ranks of Hell were growing. Adam kept the extermination a secret from you, knowing it would break your sensitive heart to hear that countless souls who could have very well been your mother or brother, were being killed. His little secret was that he killed them both in the first extermination.

-as time went by you remained oblivious to the extermination, Adam never wanting you to know. But that fateful day came, when Adam told you he had to "take care of business", and promised you he'd be back later. He left with Lute, who you considered your true mother, and that was the last time you saw him.

-when Lute arrived back in heaven you rushed to her with glee in your eyes, asking where your father was. You were so excited to know what his business had been and if he'd carried out God's will. Your smile faltered when you noticed Lute clutching Adam's halo in her hand, her other arm missing entirely. Whatever had happened, had been serious. You begged her to let you heal her the best you could but she refused.

-with shame in her eyes she told you Adam died fighting and the last word he spoke was your name. She told you in detail about how she saw the light die in his eyes, his smile slowly falling as he bled out. She admitted to you about the yearly extermination and how he had made the decision to go back twice as fast to stop the hotel, which you had only heard whispers of.

-before Lute left to confront Lilith, she hugged you with her remaining arm and promised to take care of you the way Adam would have wanted her to, and that even though she could never replace him, she would do everything in her power to make you feel loved, wanted and accepted no matter what. She finished by telling you she had an errand to run, but when she was back she would give you Adam's halo to remember him by.

-you were in tears, clutching her remaining arm by the time she had finished speaking. All you could do is nod your head, too choked on tears to give a real response. You couldn't believe your father was dead and gone for good. Sniffling, all you could say at the end was, "thank you mom". Lute kissed your forehead and promised she would be back very shortly to give you his halo.

[yadchi-i-guess]

Nori having a taste for oil was no surprise to Khan. A taste for his oil? Not surprising either. She was his wife, after all. A taste for his oil when she's low on hers? Little more unsettling... but that's still his wife, right?

Fic inspired by this post from @sicksucculentz, fic title from the lyrics of "Control" by Halsey, extra help from @electronix-arts.

Word count: 3,812

Also available on Ao3 here!

"Right there... easy, easy... and stop! Righty-o, lemme weld this bad boy in place..."

Khan clambered up his ladder, welding torch in calloused hand, and he set about reinforcing door two with a thick sheet of iron. Sparks grazed his face like bullets, peppering his arms with small pricks of heat. He vaguely wondered if it was what Nori felt if she stood in the sun (but turned up to 11).

"Brilliant idea of Nori’s, hm?" Khan heard Makrov say to Braxton. His hand nearly slipped as he heard his wife’s name being uttered... or perhaps it was from his bad grip on the torch.

"I'll say," the latter replied. "Them murder drones nearly got through this door a month ago. I'm fairly certain if they went for it again without reinforcement, their claws would've shredded it..."

Khan readjusted his grip, steadying it successfully but struggling to hold it down to the metal. He grit his teeth and felt mysteriously programmed sweat trickling down his face. A small line of text in the corner of his vision read:

HIGH TEMP. REDUCE ACTIVITY LEVEL.

Fortunately, it came up right as he finished fixing the metal to the door."

Well, don't have to worry about that anymore," the WDF leader said breathlessly as he slid down the ladder. "Woof... forgot how much strain welding puts on this old man."

"You good, sir?" Makrov asked, putting the back of his hand against Khan's digitally wrinkled forehead. "You're running a bit hot."

"I'm fine, Makarov," Khan said with a chuckle. "But if my wife was in earshot, you would have your arm severed at best."

"She's pretty, I'd let her do that."

"Hey now, tone it down a little, heh... I know she's a catch, but she's claimed me as her own."

Makrov rolled his optics playfully, muttering something in Russian before turning to Todd, who seemed to be doing something wrong with the wiring; however, that was the least of Khan's concerns when he heard his phone buzzing a storm in his pocket.

Nori: dude where ru??? Thought u said fixing that door would take half an hour at most

Khan: I thought it would. Sorry... we ran into a spot of trouble with finding a welding torch.

Nori: hurry home im booooooooooored

Khan huffed and stuck his phone back in his pocket. He gave a nod to his three cronies as he turned to leave.

"You boys got it from here, yeah?" He said to them as he clicked his tongue. "Wife’s been waiting for me to return home since yesterday."

"O-oh! Well, don't let us keep you waitin' on your kooky beloved," Todd said with a grin. "Later boss!"

"Careful Todd, she might've come and de-limbed you if you said that to her face," Makrov said seriously.

The group behind Khan arose in snorts and giggles, most of which were directed at his murderous wife. He didn't mind. He was used to their playful jeering and pokes of fun at Nori... it mattered about as much as her strange witchy powers: Just a mere obstacle in the way of his unrequited love for her.

Robo-god, just thinking about her was enough to make him a bit dizzy. The way she flustered every time he make an attempt to show affection, whether a tender word or a hand stroking the back of her head. The way she obsessed over her drawing and nonsensical scribbles... shoving them in his face and getting a wide, childish grin on her face when he told her he wanted to know more...

Oh and those fangs.

When Nori let her lips peel back and show every centimeter of those monstrous chompers... he couldn't help but be helplessly enamored by every angle of those glistening, snow-white (and just as blackened) teeth. They were made to bite something, to let Nori sink them into flesh without a second thought...

Khan did find it somewhat odd that she'd always cover her mouth if she caught him staring at her fangs. He wasn't sure why, exactly... perhaps it was an insecurity of hers. He was familiar with those; it took him weeks to convince her that he liked her wings and tail after he accidentally caught her sleeping upside down like those bat creatures humans wrote about in books.

He shrugged to himself and quickened his pace, realizing only now that he really wanted to be with his wife.

--------

CRUNCH!

The empty corpse that had become Nori’s latest chew toy groaned as its metal structure collapsed under the raw power of her jaw shutting close around it. Her tongue snaked forward, licking the cruor caked on the interior of the outer shell. It came back almost completely empty handed. She groaned, biting down and gnawing at the metal a few more times before yanking a chunk free from the torso.

The metal served as little sustenance for her overheating body. It was food, yes... but metal couldn't extinguish the blazing fire in her stomach.

She'd had much worse instances of being low on oil than this, thankfully... the problem began when her scent receptors became so fine-tuned to the reek of oil that it basically made her a bloodhound for the stuff. Unfortunately, her entire home contained traces of oil everywhere.

She knew it was getting worse when her wings scrabbled and twitched in her back casing. She hissed at it, scratching her back and picking open old scabs.

"Rrrgh... c-cut it out..." she whimpered. "I'll get oil in a bit..."

To be fair, it was probably her fault for not being aware of when she needed more oil. The stuff was getting scarce in a bunker warding off sky demons as people tended to die left and right. Sometimes she could venture outside and vulture off of nearby carcasses the demons left behind.

No time for that now, when her absolute hunk of a husband was coming home imminently.

But almost as if her mind had snapped it into existence, the scent of oil reached her scent receptors... that heavenly smell of the gods that could satisfy her monstrous thirst.

Nori giggled a little, hating herself for doing it as she walked over to the door to go find who had let the restless ravager crawling under her skin take the bait of its next meal.

Oil had a very general but alluring scent... sweet like honey to a bear and addictive like magnesium. But when existing as the lifeblood of a drone, they'd give it extra, unique scents... as Nori approached the door, she smelled more sweet things... gooey marshmallow... the strange but delectable taste of white chocolate.

Then it slamned her right in the face. Both the door and a realization.

"O-Oh robo-god, sorry," Khan stammered, kneeling down to help her up. "I was just excited to see you - you good, Nori?"

She rubbed the spot on her face where the glass had shattered but was reforming against her will, then she looked up.

Why the hell did I tell him to come home?!?! The rapidly declining rational part of Nori’s CPU screamed.

"I-I'm fine, idiot," Nori said shakily, not fighting off Khan giving her a kiss on the cheek. He was so close... so close to the alligator snapping turtle that would lunge at his face for a greedy bite of food.

Bite him... bite him. You know you want to.

Her lips parted shakily, taking her jaw with them and poised to sink into Khan's right cheek... just as he pulled away. She forced a hand over her mouth (which felt like it was locked open) and bit on part of her glove's finger, hoping the demons would cease.

"You good, amethyst...?" Khan asked, tilting his head.

"Y-yeah, you know I don't like you looking at my teeth!" Nori invented, hoping he didn't pick up on the saliva staining her glove.

"Aw hon... you know I don't mind em at all."

Nori shut her eyes as a brilliant violet blush adorned her facescreen, which got a chuckle out of her husband. She hated that he loved it, mostly because of how easily she got flustered by the hunk...

"Ugh! Just fricking bite me!" she spat as she looked up into his pure white eyes... so unknowing of the monster on the brink of insanity standing in front of him... his pungent body a feast to a solver drone... he looked so... good...

Do it do it do it do it to him bite him bite him bite hi-

"Heh... maybe some other time, I'm beat," Khan replied. "However... I'd be up for a go on that boss level of Astro Bot, yeah?"

"H-huh?" Nori stammered. "O-oh yeah. You can totally kick that gorilla's butt today. I-if you want."

She watched him walk off towards the couch to play said game, then delivered a sharp slap to her face, livid with herself.

The amount of things wrong with her was near incomprehensible... the demon housed inside her, forced to be her roommate thanks to those humans, felt bigger than her body. It ached to be free and lure her into maiming Khan like a hungry fiend for a meal.

Demons didn't understand love... it didn't understand she loved the man with all her meaty core. It only understood the need to satisfy bloodlust. She couldn't leave him to go find some food... it'd take too long and she'd come back covered in carnage. Surely he'd know something was wrong.

Maybe she could stave the hunger off for an hour or so while she watched him play... couldn't be that bad.

--------

Nope. It was that bad.

Nori had been watching Khan struggle with the game's first boss for 25 minutes (when she could've pummeled it in two), and due to his growing exhaustion, the odor that his SWEET, MOUTHWATERING oil was giving off had nothing better to do other than maliciously taunt her.

It was right there... driving her insane, waiting smugly for her to strike and lose her mind at it. But she couldn't give in. If she did, who knows what kind of condition her Khan would be in once she regained sense? If he was even there at all?

It wasn't helping that the more she stared at him, the less he looked familiar and recognizable as friend over foe or prey. Nori leaned a little closer, testing the waters ever so cautiously, her eyes reverting to a more feral expression as overheating warnings cycled through on her HUD.

Just a little nip, just a little bite... bite him bite himbitehimbitehim-

Oh, now he was leaning on her. How on Copper-9 could she pull away?? And the reek was so much stronger... so much sweeter... she needed it... needed to crack him open like a can of soda and let his insides gush into her mouth-

"Rrrrrgh... c'mon, I'm RIGHT there at the end, and this thing has the audacity to knock me off the platform?!" Khan grumbled, lightly bonking his head on Nori’s to cheer himself up.

"O-oh... w-well yo-ou can let m-me t-try...?" Nori added, her voice strained from wanting to elicit growls and giggles.

BitehimbitehimbitehimbiteHIMBITEHIMBITEHIM-

"Nah... I'm gonna get it this time!" Khan said with reinvigorated determination. "...say, you look like you wanna give me attention, amethyst.

"That got some sense wedged back in Nori’s head. Her eyes relented from their crazed, hungry beast look, and she sat up on her knees. Angered that she had resisted giving in, the demon made her fingers jittery and tap her knee caps.

"...w-whatcha mean?"

"Well... I just figured you'd like to give your old man a kiss."

...oh no, squeaked the last shreds of Nori’s sensibility.

He had said it. The thing that Nori was dreading would set the monster free. And push her into the backseat of her mind.

A giggle melded with the hint of a sob bubbled in her throat, her violet eyes wiped off to make space for the tri-pronged symbol. An unrefined form of death's X but arguably more dangerous, as it resided not within the visible enemy.

He leaned towards her, offering his cheek for a kiss, which she took all too gladly. Her bared fangs closed the gap between them and latched onto his flesh, puncturing it open. She heard a yell reach her audio receptors from somewhere, but that wasn't important.

What was important was that sweet ambrosia... it was hers. All hers to feast on!

Oil trickled out of the punctures like a dribble of saliva from a starving solver drone. She sucked on his cheek like a vampire bat. A twisted idea of a lover's kiss.

The screams faded in volume, but they wouldn't go away.She felt fingers firmly grasp her molars, but before she could chew them up into a snack, they frantically pried her fangs off of her catch. She snarled, unafraid of shoving teeth in her target's face, and only vaguely aware of the fleshy weight on her back.

BITEHIMBITEHIMHUNGRYBITEHIMBITEHIMBITEHIMBITEHIM-!

She listened to the demons, lunging forward again and hitting a jackpot. She had hit a spot with much more surface area.

More blood for the blood god.

Her jaw connected with her vampiric upper fangs, cooperating to rip off a piece of flesh. A stream of oil spurted in her face like a hose, earning a giggle of delight. She clamped down on the area again, taking whatever godly nectar was bleeding out of this diety and sucking it into the vacuum of her throat.

Why hadn't she bitten him earlier? What logical thought had restrained her for so long from his oil? Her mind, driven mad to the point of sadism made it taste even sweeter. She dug her claws a little further into his back and side, excited by the scent of more spots to sink her fangs into.

Nori's tongue flicked around on the deep bite marks, lapping up excess ambrosia that had trickled out of his shoulder. Even without her teeth hooked into his flesh, he seemed awfully still...

Too still, for her liking.

"Y-you done...?" A gravelly yet clear voice croaked.

It wiped the tri-pronged symbol off her face faster than any crucifix ever would.

She glanced up, holding onto whatever shred of denial as tightly as she held the man, praying it wasn't him that she preyed on.

Yet she couldn't mistake that tooth white glint in his concerned, pained eyes.

Nori wrenched her fangs out of Khan's shoulder with a shuddering cry, her tongue involuntarily licking at whatever stained her canines and incisors. Her panicked breath came short and sharp. Khan said something, but her mind was too overwhelmed with the fact she had bitten him- no, shredded his shoulder - to make his words coherent.

She could still see oil leaking out and staining his jacket. It tempted her like she hadn't had a sip in days. Khan's arm reached forward, baiting the demons to come out again. She slapped it away hastily. She didn't need more, she was fine...

She just wanted more.

"G-get AWAY from me!" Nori choked behind her hands, trying to choke out what she had swallowed.

"Nori... I-I'm OK..." Khan insisted. "J-just a little tired..."

No, he was more than tired. He was hurt, bleeding, nearing the brink of death from one wound his own monster of a wife inflicted.

She slapped his hand away, forcing distance between herself and what remained of his oil. The odor still reeked and wafted around her, trying to draw her back into biting him again. She blew it away by drawing her wings around herself and forcing her head down.

"Please..." Khan stuttered. "Stop. You're scaring me...-"

"And maybe I SHOULD!" Nori blurted, hoping her face for a soon regretted moment as she bared her fangs at Khan again.

Her core sank with his face as he relented, never having looked more pitiful.

The solver drone ignored the last of his pleas, and as she stumbled backwards to hide the monster in worker drone metal from her own love, she finally let the stupidly, STUPIDLY coded tears run down her face. Her choking resumed, hoping to undo what'd she done.

Biting him was fun, wasn't it 002? Heehehee... you should do it again sometime.

The mere thought brought both drool and sobs to her face as she compressed herself in a corner of the bathroom.

--------

Saying Khan was worried sick would be a disgusting understatement.

Though maybe not as disgusting as his injuries.

According to the medic drone, who immediately deicded by the impatient glare on Khan's face that he shouldn't ask too many questions, he had sustained life-threatening but repairable damage. His right cheek had deep incisions that nearly punctured the skin. Once the last of the oil had been cleared away, the wounds presented themselves as cluttered together and only needed a few bandages.

There was the more pressing matter of his shoulder, which was still letting out the occasional spurt of oil. Khan at this point felt too lightheaded to pay much attention to what the medic was saying. All he caught was the fact that whatever (or whoever) hurt him was lucky to have not torn into more wires.

One transfusion and patching later, and Khan's oil-deprived CPU began to wake up from its brief slumber. The images had burned into his optics... his wife, more crazed and unhinged then usual (which kinda explained why she was acting funny while he played Astro Bot), had sucked him almost dry of oil.

Well maybe not almost, but 30% oil is less than half, so close enough.

He'd never been too concerned about her thirst for oil... for one thing, she was pretty good about keeping it in check, so he never knew what she was like when she was hungry.

...well now that he thought about it, being bitten and allowed to live was kinda... hot.

He gave a blunt thanks to the medic, then hurried home once more, breaking into a jog moments after he was sure no one in the halls was watching him. Though his momentum diminished completely once he reached home.

Khan poked his head in slowly, praying Nori hadn't come out of her hiding spot and was in prime position to be spooked. Luckily, the only sign of her around was a faint, muffled singing from the bedroom.

"...nd I couldn't stand.. the person inside me, I turned all them mirrors around..."

The singing hushed immediately when a nahk nahk nahk interrupted the melody.

"...hey," Khan muttered softly. "Can I come in?"

There was an uncomfortably long silence, followed by a shaky whimper as the door clicked.

The WDF leader held back a wince as he entered. Nori, a utter mess in drone form, was crumpled up on the bed (the sheets were far beyond repair). Her fleshy, bat-like wings shielded her from the outside world, and her tail lashed at threats daring to come close, though it recoiled in fear as Khan walked by it. It snapped in warning, he ignored it.

"Nori?" He whispered. "Can I see my wife?"

"I-I'm not your wife," Nori spat, her tone spiked with agitation. "...I'm your freakshow."

"What makes you say that?"

"How bad is your memory? You act like I didn't just s-sink my teeth into y-your... y-"

"It's fine... I got all patched up. It's like nothing happened. I'm just a bit tired now."Nori moved one of her wings out of the way and pulled her headphones off, looking at Khan in angered disbelief.

"W-why..." she stammered, her voice cracking. "Why are you so damn calm about this...? I-I literally ripped apart your shoulder a-and your cheek and clawed your back... and I enjoyed it! And I WANT to bite you agai-"

"And I'd let you," Khan interjected calmly.

Blush crept up on Nori’s face like it had been stalking her, though disappeared the moment Khan noticed it. The latter sat on the small sliver of bed that his wife hadn't claimed with her wings.

He slipped his hand on the underside of her wing, thumbing the scratched, flesh-coated bone and letting his finger run down what he could reach. To his surprise, Nori sat up a little, letting him scoot in closer.

So he did, letting her wrap her arms around his waist and rest her head on his chest. It was heart-wrenching, seeing his cocky, weird wife cling like a child to the hope that, despite everything... it was her. And not a berserk monster masquerading as her.

"You should be scared of me," Nori sniffled.

"I'm not... you know that," Khan mumbled as he combed her hair with his fingers and ran them down her fleshed-out back.

"Tell me why."

"...Love, I'm OK with being hurt badly. I don't mind it... it's basically a necessity in the WDF. So when my beautiful, strangely hot wife feels a little bitey, I'd be a fool to stop her."

Khan held Nori’s face up to his own, brushing hair out her face with tender gentleness. Her lips parted, probably from awe, and he tried hard not to react as he saw her fangs.

Nori didn't seem to realize her mouth was open, allowing her husband to stare in awe at her teeth. They'd been licked clean several times over to wipe any linger of his oil, but it had the adverse effect of looking polished and new... able to prick a finger before the drone even feels the tip of the tooth.

"Robo-god..." Khan muttered breathlessly, grinning a little at the sight of his wife panicking inside. "You're gorgeous, Nori. I could never be scared of you. Not your fangs... not your wings or tail... not your robot-vampire tendencies..."

He hoisted her up a little by the armpits, bringing her audio processor and his mouth together. Her claws gripped his shoulders, just enough to brace herself.

"I love every part of you, amethyst." He whispered.

"...g-good robo-lord," Nori replied with a choked laugh, hiding tears of pure joy. "You're so sappy it makes you look stupid."

"Well I just think my wife deserves more love than she thinks. And then some."

Khan let himself be hugged a little tighter, leaning back as Nori nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck. Her body felt less tense than it had been in days, flinching only at the occasional massage of her back.

He then felt a little scratching at base of his neck. It made him raise his eyebrows for a moment, before he grinned almost as widely as his wife.

"Hey Nori...?"

"Mh...?"

"...What'd I taste like?"

For the next 15 minutes, Khan was refused an answer as Nori had curling up into a heated ball of embarrassment, inflicted by his charm sweet as his oil.

The end! <33333 Some extra things for extra context...

- Several lines of dialogue, as well as the title, come from the song "Control" by Halsey. This was also what Nori was listening to and singing.

- I have a headcanon that drones nickname their partners after beautiful things (like gemstones or flowers) associated with their optic colors. Khan calls Nori "Amethyst", and Nori would call him "Diamond" if she felt sappy.

- A few parts of the story were run by electronix-arts, then toned down because they didn't fit Khan.

- The knocking onomatopoeia is Khan's name backward. His name is LITERALLY a door pun. Creds to @mileymint for saying this.

I've considered doing a version with Yeva and her husband... it wouldn't be like this one, since I imagine he knows she's like a robo-vampire, but I'm open to your thoughts :]

[hazyange1s]

WIP Tag Game

Thank you for tagging me @myokk 🥰🥰 your writing ashdjdns I need that one shot asap

Currently, writing is an uphill battle for me 😭 this is the longest I’ve gone without being able to find any sort of ~ flow ~ but we’re trying to power through lmao

unsure of everyone who’s been tagged already so sorry if you have! @ps-cactus @morelikeravenbore @galaxiasgreen @writingsoftarnishedsilver

some very expected angst from part 2 of enshrouded (I posted the first part in the SUMMER good lord) — warning for suggestive dialogue:

His expression betrayed pain, thick brows furrowing as he swiped at the rain trickling into his eyes. “Can you really tell me that you didn’t wonder, even for a moment? That not a single part of you recognized me in any way?”

No reply came. She opened and closed her mouth, tasting bitter rain as her teeth worried at the kiss-swollen flesh of her lower lip.

Now that she was thinking about it…the signs were there: his dancing, his toast; as they’d done many times in their Hogwarts days at the Three Broomsticks, the cologne he still seemed to favor.

Even (and especially) his eyes, which had always spoken more than words could express alone, and the way he moved when they were —

It seemed old habits really did die hard.

”I wish I had realized sooner. Then we both wouldn’t have wasted a perfectly good night.”

Sebastian smiled in that lopsided way of his, like a cat that got the cream. “I’d hardly say it went to waste. You always did enjoy yourself when we were together, and… well, it seems i haven’t lost my touch.”

“I — you —“ she sputtered. “You certainly haven’t lost your touch for mucking everything up, either.”

That wiped the grin off of his stupid, smug face. Sebastian sighed, watching a carriage roll over the uneven street as a streak of lightning illuminated the crease he’d earned between his brows over the years. “So, that’s it, then? Three years apart and a night in bed together haven’t softened your heart towards me?”

If anything, it had only hardened.

Her throat constricted, and her answer came out choked and pathetic and wrong. “Where you’re concerned, I’m not sure I have a heart anymore.”

And to prove it, she stood several steps backwards, turned on her heel, and Disapparated on the spot with a soft crack that echoed through the desolate streets.

And now we check in with Incendiary Seb, who is — coincidentally — also not having a good time. I might change this chapter completely idek 😩

Sebastian had a plan. Several, in fact — although they were less carefully constructed strategies and more spur of the moment strokes of madness.

Plan A was to slip Veritaserum in the wine and pumpkin juice from the kitchens, but he crossed that off the list upon realizing he could hardly interrogate everyone in the Hall at once.

Plan B: find one of the remaining Ashwinder hideouts and interrogate them. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to this one, as he rather preferred his head attached to his body, so —

Plan C brought him to Ominis.

“I have a question,” he caught up to the blonde on their way to Defense class.

“I probably have an answer, but that doesn’t mean I’ll give it to you.” Ominis snipped.

Sebastian barreled on anyway, speaking in hushed tones. “Your family knows people. Do they know, say, any… mercenaries? Assassins? Private investigators willing to get their hands dirty, even?”

Ominis’s lip curled up into a sneer. He stopped in his tracks, nearly causing Sebastian to run right into him.

“I’m going to walk away now and pretend you never said that.”

In all fairness, asking Ominis to be accessory-adjacent to another murder probably hadn’t been his best idea, either. But as the days grew shorter, so did Sebastian’s limited patience as November hurried on, each X on his calendar a reminder of the looming deadline.

Eventually, his ideas ran out, and Plan B it was. In the encyclopedia of Sebastian’s Dumbest Decisions Ever Made, this one might be in the top three — and that was saying something.

[redskull199987]

i have two so I'll probably send them separately, but at the same time I feel like that would be a lot of notifications (also fem reader please); #1 is giving mike schmidt head under his desk while he's at work and stuff , #2 is like playing with mike's hair and stuff to help him sleep and cuddling with him , and #3 is mike bending reader over his desk and going to down because he's had a pretty bad shift and needs to relieve stress. you can just do one or all, it's up to you

First of all, this is only one of these three requsts, the second one to be precise. The others will follow of course, don't worry. Until then, I hope that you enjoy this one. I had lots of fun writing this:D

So hear my Voice, remind you not to bleed

Mike Schmidt x fem!reader Request Word Count:1.3k Warnings:tooth rotting fluff,kissing and hugging, that’s all, slight movie spoilers Summary:You knew that your Boyfriend had trouble falling asleep, so you did everything you could to help him find his way into sweet sweet dreamland…

Masterlist

You felt like shit. At least, that was the short version. And the longer one wasn't even that much longer. To put it simply, you had an awfully long week. And that was probably an underestimation. 

You fought murderous animatronics, a creepy dude in a bunny costume, a feral cupcake and after all that shit, you barely escaped with your life. And while you were fortunate and had only obtained a few minor scratches and bruises here and there, Mike had a few life threatening flesh wounds and Vannesa was lucky to be alive at all, after her father had stabbed her.

Your Bones ached and your head was pounding, as you finally made your way home. Unfortunately, you couldn’t just ask your Boss to give you a few days off because you had several Animatronic-induced wounds scattered over your body. Heck, you were happy you didn’t just lose your job after not showing up for three days in a row. 

All you could do was tell them that you got involved in a car accident and that you and your boyfriend had been in the hospital for a few days. Much to your favor, they believed you and the fact that Vanessa was still in the Hospital only backed up your little lie.

Your Mind was still racing, as you reached your little Home. It was already dark outside, as you stepped into the comfort of your Apartment. You saw Lights coming from the Living Room and the Sound of the TV slowly made its way into your Brain and pushed away the gruesome memories of the Pizza-Plex.

“Mike?”, You shouted into the darkness,”Abby? I’m Home.”

You didn’t receive an answer, so you quickly discarded your shoes and Jacket and walked into the Living Room. Only now, you noticed Abby sitting in front of the Sofa, drawing with her Crayons and listening to the sound of the TV.

“Hey Abbs.”, You smiled and leaned down to greet the little Girl. She practically beamed at you and gave you a small hug.

“Have You eaten yet? Where’s Mike?”, You quickly asked again as you rose back to your feet.

“Yes, we had Spaghetti with meatballs.”, Abby stated happily,”And Mike said he was tired and went to sleep already. He told me I could stay up for a little bit longer:”

“Okay then.”, You mumbled, gently running a hand through Abby’s Hair,”I’ll go join your Brother in Bed. Don’t stay up too late, okay Love?”

Abby nodded at you profusely before turning her focus back on the Half finished Drawing in front of her. You looked at her once more, before deciding to finally go see your Boyfriend in your shared bedroom. You knew that he was always tired. Even before you started dating. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

 But after recent events, his insomnia seemed to get severely worse. He could barely fall asleep anymore and even if he did, he’d be awake again a few hours later, jumping up with heavy breaths and a sweaty forehead. You always tried to comfort him and be there for him, but you still felt like you weren’t doing enough. Like, you should do more. But you didn’t know how.

With a sigh, You slowly pushed your bedroom door open. You were surprised as you realized that the lights were still on and Mike was sitting in the middle of the Bed, still fully dressed.

“Mike?”, You asked with furrowed brows,”Are You okay, my Love?”

He didn’t answer you at first. Only as you got closer and sat down next to him, he looked at you.

“S-Sorry, must’ve been lost in my thoughts again. I didn’t notice you coming in.”, Mike explained. His voice was raspy and tired. With a soft smile, you grabbed his hand, squeezing it lightly:”It’s okay, don’t worry. You wanna go to sleep?”

Mike only gave you a nod and got up to change into his sleeping attire,which consisted of a Shirt and some sweatpants. You quickly followed him over to the wardrobe and before he could pull off his hoodie, you carefully hugged him from behind, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I love You.”, you uttered against his skin. You could see how the hair on the back of his neck stood on end and the shiver that went down his spine.

“I love you too.”, Mike answered, taking a hold of your hands and turning around in your embrace. For the first time today he gave you a smile. A lazy one, but you saw that it was genuine. You quickly leaned forward, planting a kiss on his cheek, before you connected your lips with his in a tender kiss. You felt his hands wander to your waist and he pulled you closer. Warmth radiated off of his Body, while his lips worked against your own in passion.

As you finally parted due to the lack of oxygen, both Mike and you were panting against each other's lips. It was quiet for a few minutes and no one said anything, while the two of you just enjoyed each other's company.

But then you reached for the hem of his hoodie and as Mike realized what your plan was, he obediently raised his arms, so that you could pull the hoodie off of his body. After you let the Hoodie fall to the Floor, Mike grabbed the Hem of your sweater and the two of you repeated the whole action, but with your roles reversed this time. 

It didn’t take long, until you were both in your sleeping attires after you lazily helped changing each other.

With a drowsy smile, You grabbed Mike’s hand and pulled him back towards the bed. You had of course noticed that his expression wasn’t really the happiest, as he was afraid of having nightmares again. He had told you about them. It was always the same. He saw Abby, Vanessa or You getting stabbed by William Afton and there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t move or scream. He just had to witness it.

“Come here.”, You mumbled and held out your hand as you saw that Mike was hesitating to lay down. His gaze wandered from the sheets to your face and it seemed like the soft smile you gave him did the trick on him. He gently grabbed your hand and let himself be pulled down by you. As his head was laying comfortably in the crook of your neck and your hands were slowly brushing through his hair, Mike let out a deep sigh.

“It’s okay. I’m here with you, Mike.”, You mumbled into his ear. You felt how his arms slung around your waist, pulling you closer.

“I know.”, Mike muttered under his breath,”You’re here.”

He took a deep breath in again, before you finally felt his body relax against yours. You quickly grabbed the blanket, pulling it over the two of you.

“Just concentrate on my voice.”, you said, soothingly rubbing his back with one hand, while the other still brushed through his hair to calm him down,“Listen to my voice. You’re not alone. I’m here with you.”,

“You’re here with me.”, Mike repeated quietly. You only nodded and continued to mumble sweet nothings into his ear. And within Minutes, you felt his grip on you loosen ever so slightly, while his breath became more even.

With a soft smile, You kissed the crown of his head once more, before also letting your eyes fall shut. If Mike could sleep, you could sleep too. And if he woke up, You would wake up too, no matter what.

[captainx-camino]

I'm about to be the Internet's most hated person again but, uhhhh...I'm a chronic over analyzer, so, deal with it.

So, Jeremy - and here me out on this - wasn't the cold-blooded murder kid the movie wants you to believe he is.

*insert shocked and horrified reaction here*

Yeah, that one will do....

Anyway...

Okay, so first of all: Jeremy's parents are AWFUL.

His father is clearly an abusive drunk and his mother is clearly a traumatized beaten wife who makes excuses for her husband's abuse.

Jeremy wasn't lying about what his parents were - we can see that through their behavior when they're shown and by small clues in the background of the shot.

His father probably became abusive due to feeling he could no longer fulfill his role in the household and succumbed to drinking to patch his depression.

His mother probably took the brunt of this, causing her to fall into fawning and do the only thing she could do to keep the household together. A very common response to domestic violence is to dote on the child in an aggressively overbearing way - which we see her do.

Additionally, the only person we learn of the incident from is the 'Karen' of the town - who states the boy was bad news. But was he really? Or was he a troubled child dealing with severe abuse at home and escaping into himself?

Was he a 'bad kid'? Or was he just different?

(There are some other points but I have like 10 min to write this so you get what you get.)

Personally, one of the things that really drove home for me that Jeremy wasn't the monster he was made out to be is how he died:

You want to tell me that this "cold-blooded killer" went to his treehouse to hide from the cops after committing his awful crimes? That doesn't sound like some crazed murderer to me - that sounds like a scared child running away to the one place he felt secure.

Which he still does, by the way. As a fucking ghost who has now been trapped in his living nightmare with the two people who probably abused him for 20-some-odd years.

With the given evidence, I shall construct you a possible alternative series of events that makes far more sense than his simply killing his parents...

-Jeremy comes home from school, his dad is already in a mood.

-Mom is baking in the kitchen in an attempt to forget the throbbing in her right eye

-Someone, possibly Jeremy, makes an offhanded remark that unintentionally triggers his father.

-The situation escalates with Jeremy becoming the target of his father's aggression this time.

-the father, already several sheets to the wind, goes after Jeremy in a fit of rage.

-the altercation continues, eventually ending up with Jeremy and his father tussling in the garage.

-Jeremy grabs at his father's abandoned tools in an attempt to protect himself and lands a hit, killing his father.

-Jeremy's mother, a victim of abuse herself, is too traumatized to react appropriately to the situation.

-Because her coping mechanism is to fawn, she reacts negatively towards Jeremy.

-Her first reaction is to scream and panic, asking Jeremy what he has done and believing that he has ruined their family that she has worked so hard to keep intact.

-Her defensiveness causes her to lash out at Jeremy and attack him.

-Jeremy is once again forced to defend himself, knowing no other way of fending her off.

-this altercation also ends in a defensive strike towards his assailant with another convenient item within the room the attack took place.

-After the incident, Jeremy, a child, quickly realizes that he is going to be in trouble.

-Jeremy's first instinct upon hearing the approaching police sirens is not to flee custody, but to hide in his childhood treehouse.

-When authorities inevitably find him and coax him down, he slips, breaking his neck instantly.

-This untimely demise causes him to be stuck in the world of the living with no other contact besides the people who neglected and abused him, causing him to become desperate for escape.

-That desperation was answered by the single person who was able to see him in 20+ years and Astrid just got caught in that crossfire.

I'm gonna say it now because I know how y'all are: This post is not to justify what he did to either of his parents or Astrid. It is simply what I have gathered ACTUALLY happened leading up to Jeremy's death and his possible true motivation to return to the world of the living outside of "ooooOOOOOOoooo so he can KILL AGAIN~" which is frankly just boring.

You don't have to believe it. I am not saying this interpretation is canon.

It's just what I picked up on watching the film.

Do with that what you do.

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 43)

“Hey! I'm agh, back!” N was still completely covered in mud and filth, his coat littered in scratches and stains, his hat was clutched in his hands, and his brand new WDF badge in his pocket.

The badge was a bronze shield with the worker drone icon embossed on the front, he felt accomplished, he'd done this himself earned something for himself for the first time… ever.

“In here!” Uzi called from the bedroom, and N followed it, the door was wide open, and Uzi was laying belly down on the bed, absent of her normal hoodie and left in her purple tank top. Her tail was free as well, but it was curled up at her side, relaxed. She had cracked open a dusty book and was visor deep into it. N couldn't help the gold that creeped into his cheeks.

Excuse him for finding his girlfriend hot cute.

When their gazes connected, Uzi jumped up, looking equal measure concerned and surprised at the wreak of a dissasemy drone in front of her.

“You look like you got into a fight! What happened?” Her hand was on his cheek, he felt himself smiling, his tail wagging behind him.

“Your dad put me through their training course, turns out I'm not exactly built for uh… the ground.” He purred and put his hand over hers. His head already felt heavy, and he was almost overwhelmed by the urge to fall into the bed, taking her with him.

“Well? What was your time?” She asked smirking.

“Minute fifteen.”

“Ah dang, you beat me.” She replied in mock dissapointment, but N knew it wasn't something she meant.

“Huh?”

“I used to do that course the couple of times dad took me into the office. I got pretty good at it… my best was two minutes.” She explained, she pulled away from him face, leaving him wanting for more contact.

“How'd you get past the wall?” He asked, almost already knowing the answer.

“Kinda just had to run up it. It was always my worst enemy…”

“Heh… I thought so, I did too.”

“Let's get you cleaned up, okay?” In the next moment she had his hand and was leading him to the bathroom connected to their room, he blinked, fighting back the warmth that was crawling up his arm and into his processors.

“I can do that myself.” He hummed, although he didn't let go of her hand, or really suggest she leave.

“Let me take care of you?” Uzi replied, several tones lighter then her usual tone.

He blushed at that, feeling uncertain about his own words parroted back at him, he nodded sheepishly.

She locked the door behind her, before turning around, her tail was wagging gently behind her, and a blush was on her face. N giggled at her embarrassment.

“You sure? I really can do this myself.”

“Y-yes! I'm um… also testing a theory, just… shush.” She grumbled, closing the gap between them before her hands clasped around the fur of his coat, before she went to unbutton it.

N felt his core speed up, watching as she slowly undid each button, each move deliberative, as if she was trying to move through water.

“You feeling it too?”

In response, Uzi looked up at him, looking almost like she was in pain.

“Trying to fight it. Also part of my theory, just… hush please… don't make me kiss you.”

She got to around his waist and undid his belt, throwing it to the floor along with his hat, he shrugged off what was left, leaving the filthy garment to join the pile on the floor.

He felt exposed like this… it didn't help that Uzi had paused for a moment to look at him, eyes rolling over every groove of his sleek chassis even though it was still covered in grime.

He forced every eye away from her direction feeling self-conscious for the first time in… forever.

“S-sorry.” He heard her mumble, before she pulled a rag that was hung on the wall down and wet it in the sink, before crouching down and beginning with the grime caked on his legs.

Uzi was doing her best not to explode, but there was a reason she was doing this, and it wasn't just an excuse to see her boyfriend naked. No, she'd been doing quite a bit of reading while N had been out, specifically, biology.

Even more specifically, bat species, their habits, behaviors, what made them tick and why. Trying to figure out why they were being dragged into these trances and if they could control them in some way.

N meanwhile was trying to control himself.

No one had ever shown this much tenderness to him, and Uzi was being incredibly gentle with him, he wanted to melt. He was melting, he was putty, Uzi's putty and she could do whatever she wanted with him, he'd be good for her.

His purring became remincent of a motorboat, so loud and so strong it was vibrating his entire chassis, she finished his leg, wrung out the rag, and started on the other, she was quick and methodical, and made sure to be extra careful in places moisture could get trapped inside his plating, treating rust was a pain in the ass.

“How you feeling?”

“Mmm… good.”

He wasn't all there, she could tell from his voice, which is what she figured, N didn't seem to have the willpower she did, and got swept away with the gushy, fluffy feeling that came with the trance easier.

She was still fighting hers, ever present and buzzing uncomfortably in the back of her mind. She'd give it what it wanted, but she wanted to prove her hunch first.

Thankfully, she didn't need N to be all there for this to work… if it worked at all.

When she finished, he was finally free of the by then dried mud that had covered any part of his body that had been exposed while he'd done the course, which had ended up being quite a bit of him.

Then instead of getting him a change of clothes, she stopped resisting the urge that had plagued her since the second he walked through the door, and buried herself into his arms.

Her theory? Clearly, whatever weird instincts were having them do this wanted them close, otherwise neither of them would feel a pull this strong, so… if they were to willingly indulge this feeling, with as few layers on as possible separating them. Maybe they could control it. Maybe.

It was based on only a day or two worth of bat research, and most of it had proved completely useless. Most bats simply didn't behave the same way, being social, polygamous animals, who didn't seem to pair up, at least for long.

Except…. One.

A very obscure, very specific bat native to Australia. A false-vampire bat that paired for life. The yellow winged bat. Which wouldn’t you know it, typically slept in that pair, holding wings.

They couldn't do that, the ceiling wasn't tall enough, and N's wings were made out of blades. But this was the next best thing.

The silicone on silicone contact was almost scary if it didn't seem to be everything her body had been telling her to do for the past week, N immediately wrapped himself around her, ignoring her tank top in favor of running his hands underneath it.

N was warm, and safe. And despite being made out of metal he felt so soft. Her tail coiled and tightened around his waist, and his tail did the same.

“Biscuits…” He mumbled, causing her to try to hold in a cackle, but that meant it was working, the fog in her processor was finally starting to lift, further then it had even in moments where she'd thought she'd been fine, she took a deep breath.

So… they'd essentially been touch-starving themselves. Cuddles helped, but not what these new instincts wanted, animals didn't have clothes… so they didn't need any either… apparently.

“Are you freaking kidding me…?” Uzi was honestly more mad that this was actually working, the only thing her body wanted was skin-to skin contact?

“Mmm. Don't complain, this is nice…”

Uzi couldn't help but agree with him.

The next morning. The brain fog was gone.

Next ->

[ppleasexanny]

the puzzle's new pieces in the wake of jigsaw's death, a new killer emerges, mimicking his twisted games

warnings: blood, suicide, death (lmk if i forgot about anything) wc: 1.4k

the entire country is abuzz with fear over the return of “jigsaw,” a notorious serial killer whose reign of terror was thought to have ended with his death. yet, despite the original jigsaw's demise, the killings persist, leaving the people of new jersey gripped in paranoia. everyone is scared, the whole new jersey state is talking only about this topic. 

“it’s just stupid, meg!” you shout to your friend and co-worker. “some old guy kills people because they ‘don’t appreciate’ their lives, then he dies, his accomplice amanda dies—and somehow the murders still keep happening! we don’t even know who’s behind it!” you fling the papers in your hands across meg’s bed, frustration boiling over.  

meg sighs heavily, exasperation creeping into her voice. “he’s not killing people. they’re killing themselves.” she swivels in her chair to face you, the exhaustion plain on her face. “the whole ‘jigsaw mantra’? it’s about making them face their own guilt or whatever. anyway…” she spins back toward her desk, rifling through documents. “john kramer was in contact with amanda. we know that. amanda was in a relationship with matthew sturniolo. we should talk to him in the morning.”  

“yeah, we’ll do that.” you return to the documents and photos strewn across the room, letting the silence settle for a moment before a thought strikes.  

“play the tape again.”  

⸝⸝

another victim of john’s traps wakes up in a small, cold and dimly lit room, chained to the floor. above them, suspended from the ceiling, is a massive, razor-sharp pendulum with a blade that swings back and forth. the victim is positioned directly in its path, but they are not immediately in danger. in front of them is a large, heavy metal door, locked shut with a complex mechanism. they are so confused, frightened, their breath gets more rapid and before they know it, tears run down their cheeks.  

“help! someone help me! please!” they yell, hoping that someone will hear them, but they know that no one is going to come here and save them.  

suddenly, a mechanical whir echoed through the room causing them to look in the direction of the sound. a small tv flickered on, and the image of a puppet with hollow eyes and a chilling grin appeared. then, the voice spoke.  

"hello thomas. you are here because of the choices you’ve made. choices that haunt you, that weigh on you. you thought you could run from them, but now, there’s no escape.  

a pendulum, sharp and unforgiving, swings above you. each swing is a reminder—reminder of your past, your mistakes, and the consequences of them. you are chained to the floor, but your freedom lies behind a door. a door that you can only unlock if you confront what you have done.  

in front of you, you’ll find several objects. each one holds a piece of your past. only one holds the key to your escape. you must choose carefully. the wrong choice will not only keep you trapped—it will cost you your life.  

the key to the door is within a steel block. it can only be freed by burning the right object. but beware... time is running out. the pendulum swings closer with each second you waste. if you don't act soon, it will end your story.  

live or die, thomas.  

make your choice.”  

the screen went dark as the pendulum began to swing faster. thomas’s eyes darted to the small pile of items scattered before him: an old photograph of a woman holding a baby, a screwdriver and a set of car keys. his breath caught in his throat. each object was a shard of his life, broken and fragmented.  

the photo. the photo of his loving and kind wife, who tried her best to make thomas happy, chained to the bed’s leg. next to her was their daughter, who had to listen to them yelling at each other every evening, also chained to the bed.  

the screwdriver that he used to unscrew a nail from a pencil sharpener and hurt himself with the blade.  

the car keys reminded him of hitting a stranger while driving.

his mind raced. “what do i do? which one?” he stared at the items, his hands trembling. the pendulum swung closer, its blade slicing the air with a whooshing sound. he had to burn the right object to release the corrosive liquid and free the key, but what was the right choice?  

his heart screamed for him to grab the car keys. that accident had started it all. it was his deepest regret. he seized the keys and threw them into the furnace nearby. the heat surged, flames licking at the metal, but... nothing. no liquid dripped, no key emerged.  

the pendulum inched closer.  

thomas’s screams filled the room as he fumbled for another object. the photograph. he grabbed it with shaking hands, hesitating for a moment as he looked at the faces in it���his wife and child. he clenched his jaw and shoved it into the fire.  

the furnace hissed. this time, a dark liquid oozed out, burning through the steel block. the key fell onto the floor with a clang, but the pendulum was already dangerously close. its blade sliced the air just inches from his chest.  

with a final surge of adrenaline, thomas grabbed the key and reached for the lock on his chains. his fingers fumbled, slick with sweat and trembling. the lock clicked open, and he scrambled to his feet, but he wasn’t fast enough.  

the pendulum swung down, its sharp edge catching him in the back. the man gasped, the pain blinding, as it sliced deeper with each pass. he collapsed, blood pooling around him. his vision blurred as he stared at the open door just a few feet away, freedom tantalizingly close yet forever out of reach.  

his last thoughts were of the photograph, the faces he’d burned away, and the life he could never reclaim.  

the pendulum swung one final time.  

⸝⸝

“it doesn’t sound like jigsaw at all.” meg spoke up as she stared at the puppet on the screen. “a voice changer,” you said with no emotion in your voice as you bit on your pen, completely zooned out. finally, meg took her eyes off of the screen, tilting her head in your direction. “someone tried to sound like jigsaw, so they used a voice changer. send it to jasmine.”  

meg nodded and clicked a few keys on her laptop, sending the recording to jasmine, the department's forensic audio analyst. she leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowed in thought. "if someone’s impersonating jigsaw, it’s not just about the traps. they want people to believe it’s him. that means whoever this is-"  

"-is obsessed," you finished for her. "or trying to use the fear of jigsaw to cover their own agenda." you exhaled sharply and leaned back against the wall. "this isn’t just about making people appreciate life. this is… something else entirely."  

meg gestured to the case files scattered across her desk. "we’ve got a connection between kramer and amanda. if we’re chasing leads, matthew sturniolo’s our best shot. kramer groomed amanda; who’s to say amanda didn’t groom someone else before she died?"  

the thought made your stomach churn. the idea of this violence being passed down like some twisted legacy was almost too much to bear. "what do we even ask him? 'did your dead girlfriend turn you into a serial killer?' he won’t talk to us unless we’ve got something solid."  

"that’s why we play nice at first," meg said. "let’s see what he says when we bring up amanda."  

before you could respond, meg’s phone buzzed on the desk. a text from jasmine:  

“you got it”  

“i’ll send the results tomorrow”  

"jasmine’s on it," meg said, showing meg the message. "if the voice changer gives us anything—an accent, background noise, whatever—we might have a starting point."  

meg glanced at the clock. "it’s late. let’s get some sleep and visit sturniolo first thing. whoever’s behind this, they’re escalating. if we don’t move fast, there’s going to be another victim."  

you nodded, gathering up the files. "escalating or not, they’re sloppy. whoever this is doesn’t have kramer’s precision. that might be their undoing." 

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Safe Haven: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Summary: Something is going on with Spencer. He has been nervous and secretive ever since you two posed as a married couple. He tries to throw you off his trail by lying but he knows better than to lie to someone like you. There's not a lot that people can hide from you, but it seems like the ones closest to you hide even the deadliest of secrets.

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

"All humanity is one undivided and indivisible family. I cannot detach myself from the wickedest soul." - Mahatma Ghandi

Spencer got up earlier than usual and came to work before you could even have your first cup of coffee. He's been a little weird lately but you chalk it up to it being his personality. You're immune to his quirks even though you love each and every one of them. Spencer is huddled with Derek in the break room, both of them looking at Spencer's phone when you walk into the bullpen. They're whispering like schoolgirls about a crush on a senior boy but you can't make out what they're saying. Spencer has wide and excited eyes and Derek has a smile on his face which gets you curious about it.

"Hey, what are you looking at?"

Derek and Spencer jump away from each other and Spencer shoves his phone into his pocket.

"Nothing." Spencer looks around frantically. "I gotta go."

"Yeah, me too."

Derek hastily runs after Spencer and you watch with narrowed eyes. Weird. You grab a second cup of coffee for the day, set your things down at your desk, and head to the briefing room. Spencer is nervously tapping his fingers on the desk as he waits for the rest of the team to come in, and you take a seat next to him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Penelope walks in and hands the files out. "We have a case right now."

"Last night, all four members of the Bennett family were killed in their home in Council Bluffs, Iowa. Jake and Sandra Bennett were the parents of Sammy who was eleven and Kayla who was nine."

"Detective Beeks in the Omaha field office called me," Hotch says. "The previous night, another family, the Archers, were killed just across the state line in Nebraska. He thinks it's the same offender."

"The MO is consistent. Both mothers died due to severe blunt-force trauma, and the fathers suffered multiple stab wounds. The children were all strangled. There are signs of violence in the kids' rooms but no sexual abuse on any of the children. That's odd."

"Odd comes up right now because the Bennett father was not just stabbed, he was also..." Penelope can't finish her sentence which means it was brutal. "Those pictures are in your personal files because I didn't think they needed the help of 1080p."

You grab the file and flip through the photos, finally stopping on Jake's corpse. You gasp softly and put a hand to your mouth at the brutality of his murder.

"His chest was opened, organs disturbed, and intestines removed," Rossi says.

"That's awesome. Could we please leave the gross part of the conversation for the plane?" Penelope sighs.

"The father of the Archer family had multiple stab wounds but no dissection. He went from piquerism to this overnight?"

"Two families in two days. He's on a spree."

"Wheels up in thirty."

You get up and notice Ellie, Matt Spicer's daughter, standing with another agent on the first floor. He points to the bullpen to indicate that Derek is in the office. He and Emily go talk to Ellie while you approach Spencer who is at his desk.

"Hey, what was that before?"

"What do you mean?"

"You and Derek were acting weird in the kitchen."

"I'm fine," he shrugs.

"God, is this about the marriage?" you scoff. "I thought we talked about it, Spencer. If you're not ready--"

"No, it's not about that," Spencer cuts you off. "My mom isn't doing too well. I'm just worried about her."

"Oh, okay. Is there anything I can do?"

"Not unless you want to fly there and hold her hand. Really, the nurses there can help her better than we can."

"Okay, if you're sure."

Spencer pulls you into him and kisses you.

"I am sure. I'll see you on the plane."

Ellie is going to stay with Penelope while Derek is busy with the case, but you're not sure how she got here to begin with. She's a little girl who isn't old enough to fly by herself. She is growing attached to Derek and you're not sure if that's a good thing.

"Hey, is Ellie okay?" you ask when you get on the plane.

"No," Derek says. "Hotch, listen. Garcia's gonna help me find a way to get Ellie back to LA."

"How did she get here?"

"She stole her foster mom's credit card, bought a ticket online, and then somehow lied her way through airport security."

"How old is she?"

"Nine. I didn't see this coming at all, but I will fix it."

Hotch nods and motions for the meeting to get started while the pilot takes off.

"Check this out. There are no forced entries at either house and both dinner tables were set for five people, not four."

"Maybe they knew him and invited him to dinner."

"Both families live in different states but only eight miles apart. Is it possible they knew each other?" Rossi asks.

"Garcia, did you find any overlap between the Bennett and Archer families?" Hotch asks her over video chat.

"No. They didn't work, shop, eat, or worship in any of the same places."

"Worship? Are both families religious?"

"Pretty much all their social lives revolved around some kind of church activities."

"Maybe he forced the families to make dinner as part of a ritual, like Karl Arnold," Emily states.

"The Fox was a classic family annihilator who targeted patriarchs. The dissection of the last dad makes me think the unsub was focused on male parents as well."

"I'm not so sure," Rossi argues against Derek. "There's a lot of overkill on the mothers."

"Alright, when we land, Morgan, Prentiss, and I will go get set up at the field office with Detective Beeks. Dave, you, Y/N, and Reid drive to Council Bluffs while the crime scene's still fresh."

The thing that confuses you the most in the recent crime scene is the energy surrounding it. You're hit with the trauma that happened last night so it's still fresh enough to paint a pretty picture of what the unsub did. The unsub stands in the kitchen changing the channels on the small TV on the counter. He switches them mindlessly until he gets to a music channel that he can use to drown the screams of the family out. 

He grabs a kitchen knife and makes his way up the stairs to the kids' bedroom, taunting them with a knife on the railing of the stairs. Sandra is sitting on a chair with her hands tied behind her back while Jake is lying on the floor, face down, with his hands tied behind his back, Sammy and Kayla lie in the bed both of them dead. Sandra tries to reach for something in the drawer behind her but can't get to it.

The unsub walks into the room and turns to Sandra who is crying hard. Jake says something to the unsub that gets him kicked in the face. He then starts stabbing Jake multiple times in the chest while Sandra watches helplessly from the side. You force yourself out of the vision from last night and are brought back to the present. The unsub and victims disappear but the energy still stays. The energy from the family is normal--one blue, one red, and two yellow ones. However, there is a third yellow one.

The unsub is a child.

"Family annihilators tend to kill the children first. It makes the parents suffer the most," Spencer explains when he and Rossi join you upstairs.

"Maybe that wasn't the only reason. When Mom comes up to say that dinner is ready, the first thing she sees is the children. She runs to them and opens up her back to attack. He uses the children as bait. The father arrives next. He runs to the family just as the mother did. The unsub repeats the attack."

"It worked the first time," you say. "It makes sense he would use the same ruse for the father."

"It's a risky plan. The unsub needs ten or fifteen minutes alone with the children to tie them up."

You three leave the upstairs and head to the kitchen where the table is set up for the dinner they never got to have.

"The table is set for five. They were going to have tacos. The big pot has red meat, the small one has some sort of tofu mix. Now, if a psychopath was forcing you to cook dinner, would you take the time to make vegetarian sides?"

"He obviously didn't force Sandra to make dinner. She wasn't afraid of him. He was their guest," you say.

"He's too disorganized to bring a gun. All the other items he used on the families came from within the house like kitchen knives, jump ropes, and belts. The Bennetts trusted him with their kids. They had to have known this guy."

"I think the unsub is a child," you say. "Take away the energy of the family, there's only one other one... The unsubs. It's yellow. I don't think he's a young kid but a kid nonetheless."

"It wouldn't hurt to look at that angle," Rossi says.

The ME report on Jake says he died less than a minute after being stabbed multiple times. All dissection was done postmortem. If it was done postmortem, it was probably done out of curiosity and not torture. However, the cuts were crude like how a child would dissect a frog in science class. Sandra died slowly and in a lot of pain just like Monica Archer. The wives suffer the most, physically and psychologically.

If you had to guess, this kid really hates his mother either for abandoning him or for loving a sibling more than him. It's textbook, really.

After finishing with the Bennett house, you head back to the police station with Spencer and Rossi where the rest of the team are already discussing both cases.

"Sandra was a sixth-grade teacher, she ran a church program for adult literacy and volunteered at a local soup kitchen. Monica was a nurse at Northern Omaha Medical, and she worked Pro Bono with disabled veterans at the VA."

"Maybe be posed a s victim and asked for their help," Detective Beeks says.

"It's likely these women would help a stranger but doubtful that they'd let him upstairs," Hotch says.

"It's a child." Everyone looks at you. "The only other energy left at the Bennett house was yellow which means a minor committed these crimes. I don't know how old he is but I do know he's younger than eighteen."

"What's your theory, then?" Hotch asks.

"Due to the severity of the wounds the mothers have suffered, I believe this kid has an issue with his own mother. Maybe she abandoned him or maybe she loves a sibling more than him but he hates moms. He might pose as a kid who is in need of help and gets along with the children he kills. It's literally the only way a parent would let a stranger near their child."

"It's a solid theory."

"On the off chance I'm wrong, the unsub could be another volunteer. If they met him during charity work, he could seem trustworthy. You could look into volunteers who worked with both Monica and Sandra."

"It's rare when you're wrong," Hotch says.

"Thanks, Hotch, but cover all your bases. It's what Strauss is looking for, right? She doesn't like me very much and if she sees you going off my word alone, you'll have your hands full with her."

You hate it but that's what needs to be done. You look to the right and see Derek off to the side on the phone probably with Penelope to check on Ellie. Poor girl. She lost everyone who was important to her and is now clinging to Derek because that's all she knows. Spencer walks up to Derek just as he hangs up and shows him something on his phone. Both men seem to be in a better mood by whatever is on Spencer's phone. 

You cross your arms and lean back on the wall as you observe their behavior. What the hell could they be whispering about? Why doesn't Spencer want you to know about it? It can't be about his mom. If Spencer is worried about her, then why does he have a smile on his face? Maybe you should call Diana and make sure she's alright. Someone knocks over a cup onto the ground and curses when the liquid goes everywhere, causing Derek and Spencer to look up. Both men lock eyes with you and immediately disband, walking away in opposite directions.

Weird.

x

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[mortuary-maggots]

The Quiet

Wrote this as a character study of sorts, practice for writing from Toby's general point of view. Also a practice for writing gore, still a work in progress. Not sure if I want to put it on AO3 but we shall see.

Feel free to let me know if there are any errors in this, I can proof read for days and still end up missing something. It haunts me.

TW: Graphic descriptions of violence/murder, descriptions of severe mental illness, mentions of racist individuals, mentions of cannibalism, overall general dark themes

Toby kicked at a small rock on the cracked sidewalk he walked down, watching it skitter along in front of him. His hands were stuffed into the front pocket of his well-loved hoodie, the hood of which was pulled over his head of messy brown hair. Occasionally, he’d glance up from his rock to ogle at the window displays of shops lining the street. They were mostly local businesses, all selling quaint little things like stationary or knick-knacks, a few book and record stores nestled between them. They were all closed by this hour, but the displays still glittered with string lights and antique lamps. He couldn’t help but admire the creativity that went into them, he had always been drawn to art of any kind, even something as mundane as skillfully placed merchandise. 

 He didn’t need to be out this late, had no mission he needed to take care of or errands to run, but walking around the town aimlessly beat sitting in his room and twiddling his thumbs. Missions were always sporadic,The Operator seeming to have no set schedule for his Proxies, at least none that Toby could figure out. Though Toby himself was never good at schedules to begin with, so maybe there was a method to the strange creature’s madness. It didn’t really matter much to Toby until it came to the long stints of time he didn’t have anything to keep him busy. He loathed having nothing to do but sit there alone with his thoughts. His mind would often wander, his memory like an unfinished puzzle with missing pieces, thoughts hazy and fragmented. 

He remembered people from the past, from before all of this, but couldn’t tell you a damn thing about them. Sure he saw their faces, remembered names and voices, but nothing substantial other than familiar twinges of emotions picturing them caused him. He tries not to think about his dad, it only brings confusing waves of raw anger and regret. They co mingle with each other, only infuriating him more that he doesn’t understand any of it. He does his best to reserve these times for when he’s on the job, even he isn’t fully aware what he could be capable of when he’s worked up and the last thing he wants is to hurt anyone he’s come to care for in a blind fury. However, he’d begrudgingly come to learn that his brain is a fickle thing, unpredictable much like his tics. It’s always a toss up with his mood, a cruel roll of the dice each morning that told him if he needed to isolate or not. 

Thinking of his mother helped. Her face made his heart swell, though the regret was still there; he couldn’t help but feel like he didn’t deserve to love her. Resentment often clawed its way into the memory, slashing through the fragile still image. Sometimes this would send him over the edge, grief crushing the air from his lungs as he struggles back sobs. They only grew stronger the more he realized he didn’t even know why he was crying to begin with. Then there was Lyra. Lyra, Lyra Lyra, his sister. Her face brought warmth and comfort to him, it was her he wished he could remember the most of all. It was a bittersweet with lingering grief he couldn’t place. Of course there was a drawback, there always had to be a drawback, he couldn’t just have this one pure thing. 

He had spirals about his amnesia near constantly, leaving him curled in on himself in a corner, sharp inhales of breath the mark of clear hyperventilating and tics that threatened to break his neck from sheer force. If he doesn’t keep his screwed shut tight, gloved hands pressed desperately against his ears, he’ll start to hear her, see her. The bastardized version of his sweet sister, blonde hair tangled and matted with crust and grime. She would shamble towards him, joints bent at odd angles to expose glimpses of broken bone through the deep gashes that littered her grey skin. Spit and blood gurgled in her throat and spilled down out of her dislocated jaw as she struggled to form the mantra she always spoke to him. One filled with words of blame and hate. She never told him what he was at fault for, but he knew it was something in his past, something he had enough sense to be glad he didn’t remember. If it got bad enough, he’d start smelling it. The burning rubber, the metallic stench of blood, her floral perfume. All he could really do is try his best to ignore her and hope to fuck he had his mask on. 

He found himself searching for distractions, searching for anything to numb the buzzing hive of conflict in his brain. Weed helped when he could get his hands on it, but he often had to steal it from his victims so it wasn’t always a guarantee. He drank sometimes, but alcohol unsettled him in a way he couldn’t explain, he had to be careful it didn’t cause a spiral itself. Nothing made his mind feel more clear than killing. Killing was a release, even if he didn’t have a mission he’d find himself wandering towns, waiting for someone to strike his interest. He could let his instincts take over, primal and ravenous, and lose himself in the bloodlust. He hungered for the way his victims looked at him, eyes wide, filled with tears and panic. Something that could only be sated by tearing a large chunk out of their necks with his teeth, relishing in the way their flesh slid down his throat. It was something he craved, like a sick addiction. Anything to keep the ghosts of the past away. 

The door of a seedy dive bar slammed open a few paces down from Toby and his companion rock, out of which stumbled a very tall, very drunk man. He ran a hand over his shaved head before shaking it angrily at the now closed door, yelling slurred obscenities at no one. The man dug a crushed carton of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of his torn jeans, hunching away from the crisp autumn wind to protect the shaky flame. With his back now turned, Toby got a chance to see the large patch that adorned the back of the man’s ratty denim vest, the blue and red thread intricately weaved into the unmistakable pattern of the confederate flag. Toby didn’t remember learning when he was young, remembered no school he may have gone to or classmate stories, but he at least remembered what he had learned, remembered the history of the world at his basic education level, no fucking wonder this guy got kicked out. The sight in front of him was disgusting, the world wouldn’t miss him. 

He felt a smile twinge at the edge of his lips, elongated by the gash in his cheek. Stealth wasn’t Toby’s strong suit, but the target was far too drunk to pay much attention to the twitching man that followed a short distance behind him. Disoriented and dazed, he took a turn down a dingy alley, carelessly throwing his finished cigarette on the ground behind him, not bothering to stop and stamp out the orange embers. Toby rolled his eyes under his goggles. Even Tim had the common curtesy to put out his cigarettes, and Tim was a fucking serial killer. Toby crushed it under his heavy boot as he stepped into the mouth of the alley, speeding up his steps to close the distance between him and his target faster, his hand toying with the handle of one of his hatchets. So close to the sweet drug he yearned for, and if he could clean up the trash while he was at it, it made him all the more pleased. 

Soft, wicked giggles escaped his throat, muffled further by his muzzle as he gripped his target by the shoulder, roughly turning him around and slamming him into one of the brick walls. He could see the man's front now, full beard and blue eyes filled with the terror he loved. Much to Toby’s disappointment, the man didn’t fight back at all, just shivered in horror, too drunk to process anything at an appropriate speed. For all his loud mouthing outside the bar, he was nothing but a coward, spineless and sniveling. There was a small patch on the front of his vest, two lines intersecting, each end segmenting off in the same direction but never touching. He cringed, almost ashamed of the German tongue that was engraved into him, as comfortable of a glove to wear as English was. He may kill people for a living, but at the end of the day, at least he wasn’t a bigot. The hand that gripped his shoulder moved to his throat, long and nimble fingers digging into rough skin, palm crushing his windpipe. Toby’s other hand found purchase on the handle of his hatchet, pulling it free from its holder and swinging it behind his head before slamming it down on the man’s shoulder with a satisfying squelch. The hand around his throat moved to cover the man’s mouth, as much as he would have loved to listen to the anguished cries of the soon to be deceased, there was just so much more to do. Toby couldn’t risk being stopped before he had his fill. 

He tilted his head back in a breathy sigh, letting the blood that splattered onto his face ground him. Pulling his hatchet free, he angled it and brought it down again, this time hitting the base of the neck, rewarding him with another sprinkle of the man’s vile blood. He knew he wouldn’t be getting a very good meal out of this one, too tainted. Sure he was known to eat people from time to time, but he had taste at least. They stayed in this position for a moment, Toby watching the life drain from his victim’s beady eyes, high on the familiar metallic scent that trickled down the man’s shirt. When his breathing stopped, slowly Toby peeled his hand off the man’s mouth and threw him to the unforgiving concrete. Once again his hatchet whipped through the air back down into the neck, over and over until the head fully disconnected from the body. Toby let out a small huff of a laugh, kicking the head lightly like he had earlier with the rock. He considered kicking it all the way home, but quickly decided against it. It would be just his luck to get caught kicking a severed head down the sidewalk. 

He made light work of the rest of the limbs, taking breaks every now and again to stomp on the growing puddles of blood, sending it splashing over the brick walls and himself much to his delight. It made him feel accomplished, covered in the spoils of his labor. Hatchet returned to its place on his belt, mutilated limbs were thrown into the dumpster that sat against one of the walls, grunting as he tossed them. All that was left was the severed head. He kicked it again, just enough for their eyes to meet. Contemplative, he hovered over it- observed the permanent pained expression. In a swift motion, Toby rammed the heel of his boot onto the man’s mouth, the crack that resounded only spurred him to continue, panting frantically like a rabid dog. Each repulsive crunch was music to his ears. He clung to the song, his movements speeding up the more desperate he got until the head squished under his foot in a mess of brain matter and broken bone. Hot breath clung to the inside of his mask as the adrenaline struggled to subside. He stood doubled over for a bit, panting, trying to settle his jackhammering heart.. 

As he regained his composure, he felt a sense of tranquility wash over him. The drug far more addicting than killing itself was what came after. A mental mute button for his horrific inner peanut gallery. The clarity.  

The quiet. 

[isabelawritesthings]

Bi-Han and Sareena: An analysis and their future

I'm not good at analyzing characters or stories, but I didn't like what Netherealm did with these two over the years, so I decided to explore their relationship. Keep in mind that everything I'll say here is just my opinion, I ask that you respect my point of view.

PART ONE: THE DEMON AND HER "MESSIAH"

The first time we see Bi-Han and Sareena together is in Mortal Kombat Mythologies: Sub-Zero, also being the first Mortal Kombat game we saw Sareena. She is introduced as one of Quan Chi's demonic servants alongside Kia and Jataaka (in other words, they are slaves, but apparently, only Sareena wants to be free from Quan Chi's tyranny) while Bi-Han is on his journey to find Shinnok's amulet, the first interaction between them happens after Sareena and her sisters fight Bi-Han and lose. Bi-Han for some reason spares Sareena, I see this as an "act of pity", but calm down, I will explain starting with the story of Bi-Han.

Bi-Han has been seen as a villain for years thanks to his actions as Noob Saibot and the fact that he is a Lin Kuei, which was a clan of assassins and mercenaries, his current incarnation as a villain in Mortal Kombat 1 also doesn't help break this stereotype. But analyzing his character, he's not that bad. In the first timeline, he is the son of a Chinese man and an American woman, having a younger brother and a younger sister, being taken alongside his brother, Kuai Liang (or kidnapped alongside his brother, interpret it as you wish) by his father to China to serve in the Lin Kuei clan, abandoning the boys' mother and sister in America, So to begin with, he is not serving this mercenary clan because he wants to, but only because he has no choice, the Lin Kuei are also assassins, so for the safety of the clan, I imagine that anyone who tries to leave the clan ends up executed (I mean, If you watched Mortal Kombat: Legends, you know what happened to Kuai Liang and Smoke when they both tried to escape the cyber initiation, Kuai Liang escaped but Smoke was trapped and turned into a robot).

We also cannot forget that he was unfairly blamed for the Shirai Ryu massacre, even though he explained several times to Scorpion that it was Quan Chi, not him, who killed Hanzo's family, and what does he get in exchange for having only his word as proof of his innocence? Being killed by Scorpion and turned into a slave to Quan Chi, just as Sareena once was. Compared to real villains like Shao Kahn and Shang Tsung, Bi-Han doesn't seem to be as evil as the fandom thinks, he felt sorry for Sareena like any other human being with feelings would feel for an enslaved person (believe me, slavery happened here in my country in the past and to this day it is a sensitive subject even for non-black people) but getting back to the subject, Sareena doesn't want that life anymore and asks Bi-Han to take her to Earthrealm when he goes there, she doesn't even ask to live with him, just to help her get out of that literally hellish place, a bird wanting to be free from the cage.

This is the same arc as Ashrah in Mortal Kombat 1, a demon who has grown tired of the Netherealm and now wants a purpose in life, but before Bi-Han can say "yes" or "no", Shinnok attacks her and she falls into Bi-Han's arms, making us believe that she died (although it is later revealed that she survived, only losing her human form and being banished to the fifth plane of the Netherealm). A connection was created here, between a person and her "savior", she was defeated by that human, however, instead of running away to avoid being murdered, she simply asked him to help her get out of that place. After Sareena was trapped in the fifth plane for years, there was nothing Bi-Han could do for her, soon after he went to the tournament and everything we know happened.

PART TWO: DIFFERENT FATES

Sareena was trapped in the fifth plane for years, until she escaped through a portal created by Quan Chi and Scorpion, recovering her human form thanks to the energy generated by being in another realm. She meets Kuai Liang, who at this point is the new Sub-Zero and the new grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, who as a way of thanking her for the help that Sareena gave to Bi-Han in Mortal Kombat: Mythologies, grants her a place in the Lin Kuei, just as Ashrah went to the Wu Shi Academy in Mortal Kombat 1, the Lin Kuei became Sareena's new home.

In Armageddon, Kuai Liang wants to restore Noob Saibot and Smoke, who are fused, imagine that Sareena's wish is also to restore the one who helped her one day, Sareena helped Kuai Liang defend himself from Noob Saibot's attacks, ending up awakening her original demonic form. Kuai Liang does not recognize her and attacks her, abandoning her in the Netherealm, being found by Quan Chi later and manipulated into being his slave again, returning to the place she wanted so much to escape.

She was eventually freed from the spell that was mentally binding her by Taven, but like the rest of the characters, she was killed in the final fight at the pyramid. Her ending in Armageddon is "cute" to me, she ends up becoming a cryomancer, the connection she had with Bi-Han and Kuai Liang was so strong that it made her have the same superhuman abilities as them, a form of the gratitude she had for them.

Now speaking of Bi-Han, well, I imagine you already know what happened: He was transformed into a sort of ghost of darkness, having his mind manipulated by Quan Chi to become one of his evil agents. As mentioned, he somehow merges with Smoke while Kuai Liang tries to restore him. He also ends up dying in the pyramid by the way. And this is how their story ends :(

PART THREE: THEIR CURRENT SITUATION AND THEIR FUTURE

Sareena returns in Mortal Kombat X to help the Special Forces. In a fight against Kitana, things get interesting... Sareena claims that Bi-Han helped her, and she can do the same for Kitana. Kitana says that she got very close to Bi-Han (you can interpret this as Sareena becoming more human thanks to Bi-Han or Sareena actually fell in love with Bi-Han). In Mortal Kombat 11, at the end of Kabal, Sareena marries him and has two boys with him (don't ask, even I was confused). In a taunt round with Skarlet, Noob Saibot says that she reminds him of Sareena, showing that even after twenty-four years, he hasn't forgotten about her.

For me, it was always an implied romance, hidden feelings, I had hopes for the two of them when it was announced that Bi-Han and Sareena would be in Mortal Kombat 1 and would appear in the story mode, but Khaos Reigns destroyed everything! Bi-Han is transformed into Noob Saibot by Titan Havik, and sadly, him and Sektor (who is now a woman) are now a couple, probably since their teenage years, while Sareena is just a jobber in the story mode, but is later freed by Ashrah in her ending.

I believe there will be a Mortal Kombat 12 (after all, I've already lost hope for an Injustice 3, and we know which game makes more money between the two for Netherealm Studios) and while I and half the fandom agree that Mortal Kombat NEEDS a writers room, I still have hope for these two. Bi-Han apparently wants to continue as Noob Saibot, there's nothing stopping Quan Chi for having ambitions for him, and since Sareena is an enemy of her former master, they might meet again.

I like to imagine that Sareena would make him be "good", making him realize that he can be much more than the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei with fascist ideas, it doesn't even need to be a romance, just a friendship! But unfortunately Netherealm Studios doesn't listen to the fans (apart from the insufferable Mileena fanboys in MK11) so any chance they have of getting to know each other is minimal, even if they are as enemies since Sareena wants to train with the Shirai Ryu.

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Capitol Punishment VII

Haymitch x Reader

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships.

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol.

Warnings: Canon level violence, rape (though never explicit), alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book, suicidal thoughts, swearing, illness, pregnancy, miscarriage

Word Count: 4.2K (she’s kind of long)

Part VI | Masterlist | Part VIII

When you arrived back in 12 you really thought your life was about to get a whole lot easier. Revolution or not, you were no longer a mentor so you wouldn’t be dragged out to the Capitol for a show every year. And after a couple years no one would remember you anymore.

As you and Haymitch returned home, you hesitated to say it, scared there was something you were missing. “Haymitch, are we done?”

“What?” he asked, very confused and a little scared.

“Are we done with all the Capitol shit? We’re not the mentors anymore. I’m just scared there’s something I’m not thinking of and we’re still in the game.”

He pondered for a second. “I think we’re out of the Capitol spotlight,” he answered with a smile. Hope and relief flooded into your chest as you jumped into one another’s embrace. You were both smiling and laughing like never before until it finally died down. “I think Katniss will need our help from time to time and we’ll probably be expected at the reapings but yeah, I think we’re done.”

You two had your own private celebration that night since it would be cruel to rub it in Katniss and Peeta’s faces. You just hoped they could churn out two victors quickly (separate years of course) so they could get out of the spotlight and the Capitol would lose interest in them once they settled into their fabricated domestic life.

~

Your celebrations for a better life seemed to come too quickly because the next day trucks full of peacekeepers were rolling in. You were just sitting in the living room, reading when you saw smoke coming from the center of town. Normally smoke wasn’t an alarming sight in the coal mining district but you could also see people running around frantically. You quickly jumped off the couch, rushing to put your boots on, not even bothering to put a coat on.

You ran outside, finding Prim, observing the chaos. “Prim, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” she shouted back to you.

“Go inside, get your mom,” you shouted as you ran towards the center of town.

You reached the Hob, or what was the Hob, finding several peacekeepers, more than ever, burning everything to a crisp. You spotted a young girl, maybe 15, cornered by a peacekeeper, shooting fire at her feet, torturing the girl. You had no doubt he was laughing under his mask.

You approached from the side, the man not even noticing you until you grabbed her hand. “Go, sweetie,” you told the girl. She didn’t need to be told twice as she bolted away as the man was distracted. He ripped his mask off angrily, preparing to yell at you but you watched as realization dawned over his face. “Hurt me if you want, I’m sure Snow would love to hear how you burnt one of his most lucrative victors,” you taunted.

Seeing that burning you wasn’t worth it he pursed his lips angrily before taking the torch to hit you with. It hit your hip, knocking you to the side a little but he seemed satisfied getting a hit in so he went back to burning objects. Not wanting to push your luck, you ran off, heading toward the town square. There you were horrified to see Gale tied to a whipping post, Katniss stood in front of his with a gash on her face, Peeta in front of her, and Haymitch in front of him, talking to a peacekeeper with a gun pointed at him. “…you already marked up her face on the eve of the big wedding,” you heard Haymitch explain as you ran over.

“Move,” the man pointed his gun at you now.

“Man, you really don’t get it. You don’t recognize her either? Y/N L/N? You really think President Snow wants four dead victors?”

The guy looked pissed but relented. “Clear the square!” he suddenly yelled in the scariest voice you’ve ever heard from a human being. “If anyone is spotted out after dark, they will be shot on sight!” The man gave you all a glare, spitting in the dirt before going with some other peacekeepers.

“We have to move him,” Katniss cried as she undid Gale’s cuffs. Haymitch and Peeta both hoisted Gale’s arms over their shoulders. They carried him all the way to Katniss’ house where her mom and sister were preparing for him.

It was a frenzy of Katniss, Prim, and their mom trying to help Gale while you, Haymitch and Peeta just stood to the side. As things calmed down and Gale settled in for what no doubt would be a long, painful night, you and Haymitch headed home.

“So this is Snow’s attempt to suppress the Districts,” you observed, stepping inside. “Crackdown on black markets and insubordination.”

“I guess,” Haymitch sighed, turning on the television. It immediately showed scenes of the lower districts where trucks of peacekeepers were rolling in and terrorizing citizens. “It’s propaganda.”

“Shove it in their faces that any act of defiance will be shot down immediately,” you scoffed. “God I hate him.”

“I know, c’mon, let’s go to bed,” Haymitch said, gently placing a hand on your hip. You flinched when he touched the no doubt forming bruise from that peacekeeper earlier. Haymitch pulled back, afraid that he hurt you. “What?”

“Nothing, just a peacekeeper got mad before I found you,” you explained. “He had this girl backed into a corner, using his flamethrower to torch the ground under her feet like a fucking psycho. I made him stop and he got mad and hit my with it. No big deal,” you dismissed.

“Y/N-”

“It’s fine, seriously. Nothing I can’t handle and nothing worth getting whipped or executed for,” you asserted. “Now can we please just go to bed?” you begged, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Sure,” he agreed, wrapping his arms around your waist with a kiss to the forehead.

~

A couple days passed as Gale healed. There were a few more whippings in 12 but no executions like in some of the other districts where there were riots. The peacekeepers really had locked down 12, Katniss wasn’t able to go out to the woods and you could tell it was getting to her. As for you and Haymitch your home had become a sanctuary. You two finally felt like you could be safe. For the first time since either of your reapings you felt somewhat safe.

All of that came crashing down as you sat down to watch the Quarter Quell announcement. You thought that this must be weird for Haymitch since he won the 50th games and the second Quarter Quell. In some ways you realized that your husband may be the deadliest victor since he won against twice as many tributes.

The screen turned on, revealing Snow on his little speech balcony. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the 75th year of the annual hunger games. It was written in the charter of the games that every 25 years there would be a quarter quell to keep fresh, for each new generation, the memory of those who died in the uprising against the Capitol. Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by games of a special significance. and now on this the 75th anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion we celebrate the third Quarter Quell,” Snow pulled out a card for the first time, “as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol. On this the third Quarter Quell the amount of tributes will double. Two male and two female tributes from each district-”

“They did that already,” Haymitch murmured.

“-and they will be reaped from the existing pool of victors.” Your heart sunk in your chest and you let out a dry sob. No, this couldn’t be happening. You just became safe. “All victors from all districts will be eligible for the reaping, no matter the number of victors from a district, nor their age or disability.”

Haymitch angrily threw his glass through the holographic screen, hitting Snow in the face.

You felt the tears slipping down your face as Haymitch threw your glass. Noticing your tears he held you tightly. “Nothing’s gonna gonna happen to you, okay?” He pulled back to look you in the eye, brushing your hair away. “You’re gonna make it out. I’m gonna protect you.”

“No,” you cried. “Katniss has to make it out. She’s the Mockingjay. If we want this to be the last game she has to make it out.”

“But-”

It was your turn to comfort him as tears began to slip down his cheeks. “Haymitch I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you. If you don’t come out of that arena, neither will I.” He sighed quietly, looking down at the ground. “Haymitch…” he looked back up at you, “we’re gonna die aren’t we?” It was a sobering thought to both of you. Neither of you were strangers to the thought of dying but now that you had been happy about two minutes ago, it was a tragic thought.

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” you shouted to who you had no doubt was Peeta.

You were proven right when Peeta walked through the door. It wasn’t typical of him to skip pleasantries but then again this was in no way a pleasant situation so he just jumped right in. “Look, I know this isn’t fair to ask but Katniss needs to come out of that arena.”

He went to continue his ramblings until you stopped him. “Peeta, we already agreed neither of us are coming out,” you gestured to your husband. “We can’t guarantee Katniss’ survival but she has two less competitors.” You knew you couldn’t tell Peeta about the rebellion, he was too close to all of this.

Peeta looked broken but grateful. “Thank you,” he cried.

“Why don’t you go be with your family?” Haymitch suggested gently. Peeta agreed, once again professing his thanks before leaving. “This may be a part of Plutarch’s plan,” he suddenly suggested.

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s the head gamemaker. Right now he’s Snow’s closest advisor. I’m sure his plan is to get Katniss out. Like ours.”

“Snow will never let Katniss get to top five… much less be the victor,” you pieced together.

“Y/N, we might have a shot at surviving,” Haymitch said as it dawned on him. You both were excited that you may get to actually see the rebellion after a few very sobering moments. “Let’s not get our hopes up though.”

“Yeah, of course,” you agreed.

Suddenly Katniss burst in. She immediately grabbed a bottle of whisky off your bar cart. “I’m here to drink,” she explained.

“Well that’s the only thing I can actually help you with,” Haymitch said, grabbing more glasses as Katniss slumped onto a chair.

“Peeta gets out,” she ordered. In contrast to Peeta’s begging.

“Peeta was just in here begging for your life,” you replied, taking the glass Haymitch handed you.

“I don’t care. He deserves to get out.”

“You could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve that boy,” Haymitch said from beside you.

“I know,” she agreed.

“We’ve already decided we’re not coming out,” you informed her. “We can’t guarantee anything but he has two less competitors.”

“Thank you,” she said stoically. She took another swig of the bottle. “Why couldn’t it have been you two? You actually love each other. You could convince the districts,” she sighed, “and Snow,” she added.

“Just not how we had to play our games,” you shrugged.

You three all drank for a little while until Peeta came back in. “What are you doing?” he asked, startled by the scene. You were laying on the floor, giggling, while Haymitch and Katniss were slumped in their seats, also laughing.

“Accepting our impending dooms,” Haymitch laughed, holding up his thrice refilled glass as if toasting.

“No, you’re not. We have to train and get ready if any of us want any shot,” he insisted.

“Haymitch and I don’t have one,” you giggled.

Peeta shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Forget it we’ll talk tomorrow when at least you two,” he pointed to you and Katniss, “are sober.”

“Wait you don’t wanna drink with us?” Katniss whined.

“No,” he answered bluntly before leaving.

~

The next morning Peeta had the three of you sat in his living room. Both you and Katniss were hungover. Haymitch started drinking to deal with his hangover. “Look we have to start training. We have a week until the reaping. These other victors, especially the careers, have probably continued to train, or trained other tributes, ever since they won. And we’re seriously behind,” Peeta said, taking Haymitch’s mug of coffee mixed with gin.

“Hey!” he protested.

“You have to get sober,” Peeta said. “There won’t be flasks in the arena.”

Eventually Peeta got all of you outside, starting with jogging around Victors Village. You and Katniss took it pretty easily. Peeta struggled a little with his prosthetic leg but fortunately since it was Capitol made it reacted with the rest of his body. Meanwhile Haymitch was struggling. He was stumbling over all the uneven ground and he didn’t exactly have the same stamina he had 25 years ago. You stopped several times to try to help him along but he always brushed you off.

Next you moved onto strength. By now Haymitch’s sobriety was starting to creep in. You knew Haymitch was strong but withdraw was making him physically shake. As for you and Katniss, you were struggling in the strength department. A childhood of malnourishment could never be fixed. As the four of you continued on, Haymitch got worse. He and Peeta were doing pushups when your husband suddenly collapsed. You went over to help him up but he just staggered off into the house. You gave Katniss and Peeta a quizzical look before following him.

You found him in the bathroom, puking his guts out. Letting out a sympathetic sigh you kneeled down next to him, stroking his hair and rubbing his back. “It’s okay, get it all out. Sobriety is hard after 25 years,” you tried to laugh. But the smell was becoming so much you were struggling to not vomit as well.

After a few more minutes Haymitch was done and it was your turn. “Thanks, sweet-” but you interrupted him by also vomiting in the toilet. He held your hair and rubbed your back just as you had done to him while whispering comforts.

When you were done you sat up, finding a comfortable place in between Haymitch’s legs, your back against his chest as he leaned against the wall. “Sorry, I think it was the smell,” you explained.

“Sorry my vomit made you vomit,” Haymitch laughed. You could feel the laughter in his chest, bouncing you the slightest bit.

After a few minutes you shakily stood up. “I’ll get some water. You should lay down, rest.”

“I’m not that tired,” he dismissed.

“Well if we want any hope of you being a functioning sober in the arena you need to rest. Besides, I’m exhausted.” It’s true you were incredibly exhausted. Probably just from the hangover though.

Haymitch complied, heading to the bedroom while you went to get glasses of water. As you returned with the ice water, Haymitch was laid in bed, waiting for you. You handed him his drink before slipping into his embrace. “You really think Plutarch has a plan?” you asked.

“Yeah, I do. I don’t think he’d send us all into the games with no plans to get most of us out. We’ll know more once we get there. But I’m not gonna let anything happen to you before we’re ready,” your husband promised.

“Same to you,” you said, intertwining your fingers with his. You brought you hands up to your lips, pressing your lips to his knuckles.

~

Haymitch got better over the next week. He no longer shook unless he really had pushed his limits. You, however, got worse and you were suspecting that it was more than being sick because Haymitch was. You realized that you had missed your period but you had chalked it up to everything that was happening in the past month. You spent nearly every night and morning hunched over the toilet or trashcan. You had dismissed it to Haymitch as nerves but you could tell he was getting suspicious as well. You were about 90% sure you were pregnant but you could get that confirmed in the Capitol. As for the paternity, you hoped to whatever deity was out there that your timeline was right and it could only be Haymitch’s. Having some Capitol bastard’s baby would be Snow’s ultimate punishment to you.

But you didn’t want to say anything if you were wrong. You were also terrified of Haymitch’s reaction. Would he be excited? Angry? Devastated? Those reactions also dependent on whether or not Plutarch planned to try to keep you alive. There were so many questions racing through your head as you were marched towards the stage for the reaping. It was honestly just cruel for everyone as the two names in each bowl taunted you.

“Welcome to the 75th annual Hunger Games,” Effie said in a pained voice. You could see genuine pain in her expression as she made it as short as possible. “As always, ladies first.” She grabbed a slip and approached the microphone. “For the first female tribute from District 12…” you didn’t know why you were holding your breath. You’d be picked no matter what. “Katniss Everdeen.” A single tear rolled down her cheek “And the first male tribute from District 12… Haymitch Abernathy.” When she finally called your name it felt like you had had an ice bucket dumped over your head. Again, you didn’t know why, it’s not like this was your first reaping where you had been plucked from the bowl by chance. This was a calculated move by Snow this time.

You didn’t bother to listen to the rest of Effie’s speech and you were quickly ushered onto the train. Everything happened in a blur, you were too focused on being tested in the Capitol. But you managed to sober yourself up enough to discuss who you’d be competing with. Fortunately the trains had access to all the reapings and past games so you and Haymitch shared highlights and stories about the biggest names in this year’s games.

“Cashmere and Gloss: siblings won back to back games, the pride of their district. Gloss will be our biggest threat, he won as any career tribute does. At least in the beginning we should be fairly safe from Cashmere. Avoid sleeping with her and you’ll be in the clear. The other two from District 1 are pretty straightforward.”

“Enobaria from 2 is extremely deadly. She excels in hand to hand combat and did anything to win her games. The male tribute from two had her pinned and it looked like he’d win when she ripped out his throat with her teeth. She has since had them filed into fangs. I guess to rip out more throats in two? Whatever. Avoid confrontation with her.”

“Wiress and Beetee from 3 are both brilliant. He won his games by electrocuting just about every other tribute in the arena. Let the last couple kill each other. He’s also beloved by the Capitol because he basically makes all their cool stuff for them.”

“Finnick Odair, Annie Cresta, and Mags Flanagan. I don’t know much about the fourth. Finnick Odair is the darlin of the Capitol, people love him. He won his games at 14, youngest ever. He is also very skilled in combat. Weaknesses include Mags and Annie. Mags will not be much of a threat tragically, she truly is a very sweet lady. As for Annie, I’m confident that Finnick will die for her. She sort of won her games by default when everyone else drowned at the end and she went a little nuts after.”

“Nothing really special about District 5, they all won at least 10 years ago, the oldest won 35 years ago. Not threats.”

“District 6 only has three tributes, the Morphling triplets. They all won their games by hiding until everyone else was dead. They’ve all been avid morphling users ever since.”

“In District 7 you have Johanna Mason. She won four years ago and won almost exactly like my wife here did. Extremely angry and violent. The other three? Treat them like careers, best skilled in hand to hand combat with axes.”

“District 8, none are really threats. Woof, here, is really old. Has gone kind of senile so maybe avoid him in the training area. May stab you with a sewing needle before you even get to the arena.”

“District 9 only has one tribute. Also not a threat.”

“District 10, just treat them like careers. They’ve been slitting cattle’s throats since they could walk so avoid close combat with them.”

“District 11 aren’t threats. Chaff is missing his left hand so do with that information what you will. Any questions?”

“What about your games?” Katniss asked.

“Katniss we’re not threats to you,” you sighed. “We already agreed we’re not coming out.”

“I just wanna know,” she insisted, not backing down.

“Fine,” Haymitch relented. “I won the 50th Hunger Games where there were 48 tributes. Like this one is supposed to be. My arena was honestly beautiful but toxic. Everything was poisoned. The bloodbath was… insane. Three-fourths of the tributes died at the cornucopia. Partially because several of them were late to the buzzer because they were so distracted by the meadow we were in. Basically the same thing happened in every game. The careers hunted everyone down. I had allied myself with one of the girls from my district, Maysilee Donner.” You knew that talking about Maysilee was hard for Haymitch. She truly had become his friend in that arena. “We protected each other until around the end when we decided to split up so we wouldn’t have to kill each other. I heard her screaming a couple hours after we split. Some guys from 2 had attacked her. I had managed to kill both but she died in my arms.” Your husband took a shaky breath before continuing. “Not even a day later it was me versus the girl from one. I had discovered the edge of the arena before, it was a cliff and I had figured out that whatever hit it would return to where it came from. So when it came down to her and I, she had managed to wound me with her axe, slicing my stomach. I ran for a mile, bleeding, to the edge of the arena. She threw her axe which missed. She didn’t realize that it was coming back until the blade hit her head and I was crowned Victor. And because I won the way I did, Snow had my family killed,” Haymitch finished bitterly. You placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. You knew this was a lot for him. He had been drunk for the last 25 years hiding from his games. Now here he was, sober for the first time and reliving that experience.

Peeta didn’t seem to know how to react but Katniss pushed through the tension, asking you about your games.

“It was set in a canyon. It was so dry but there was a single stream that ran through the middle. It looked really thin, like it’d dry up in only a couple days from above ground but I managed to find a way underground where there was more water. The cornucopia was set in one of the widest spots of the canyon where even then it was a fairly tight squeeze between the walls. if you didn’t figure out how to climb you were pretty much screwed because it was like being stuck in a hallway with the careers. They did what they always did. Group up and hunt everyone down. It was fairly easy for them to do it because a lot of the kids were either too heavy or too weak, a very fine line, to climb up the walls. I basically hid up above or down below everyone, attacking them when I could. As I told you the first day I found a girl who had managed to grab a pack and stole her supplies. I quietly and slowly picked off every career until I slit the boy from 1’s throat and won.” You explained your story stoically but inside you were crumbling, something you had done ever since you won. Everyone thought you were so okay with killing when you won but truthfully, you weren’t. You didn’t think any Victor was no matter what it seemed like.

Part VI | Masterlist | Part VIII

[detectivestucks2]

Escape with the Cursed King V

Pairing: Sukuna x F!Reader

Summary: Gojo panics after seeing your open apartment, Sukuna sees that you miss him and allows you to rendezvous with him in a nearby town.

Warnings: Violence

Word Count: 6.3k

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 6 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 I Chapter 9 I Chapter 10 I Chapter 11 I Chapter 12

Two piping hot cups of coffee in his hands, Gojo enters the college dorm hall with a splitting headache. Last night’s helping of liquor may have helped him sleep before what awaits him today but first he needs to take care of one ugly hangover. 

With each stride down the halls, he notices there are too many students in the hall instead of hanging out in their rooms. He also sees how their eyes linger on him rather than just noticing him. Something was off. Nerves build in his stomach along with the pace of his feet. Eyes frantically flicking from face to face, he rounds the corner to see your front door wide open. 

Coffee cups clatter to the floor, brown liquid exploding across the tile, as his feet launch off the floor in a full out sprint through the threshold of your apartment. You were nowhere. Your bed empty, fridge full, shoes by the door.

Gojo darts down to Megumi and Yuji’s room, fist pounding on the door in full fledged panic. A groggy Megumi answers the door with a rub to his eye, “Gojo, what’s this about? It’s too early-”

Cut off mid sentence, Megumi is shoved to the side as Gojo bullies into the room, looking for Yuji. “Where is he?”

“Where’s who?”

“Yuji.”

“He’s sleeping”

“No he’s not.”

“He’s -” Black eyes blink several times as he registers the empty bed opposite his own. “Oh, I guess he went to train or something.”

“Definitely not.”

“What’s going on with you?”

“He took her.”

“What?” He tries to hide the exhaustion in his voice but the sleep had yet to drain from his mind. Gojo grabs him by the elbow and drags the black haired boy down to your apartment. “Hey, leggo would ya!”

Gojo yanks Megumi through the doorway and closes it behind him. 

“Look!”

“Oh.”

Gojo rifles through your stuff looking for clues Sukuna might’ve left behind. There didn’t seem to be a struggle. You must’ve been asleep. 

“Gojo…”

“What?!” He responded sharper than he meant, wincing at his own tone. 

“What if she left…with Sukuna”

“With him?”

“Like, voluntarily”

“You don’t mean-” But he never finishes the thought. He runs straight to your closet where you kept your personal files. Your lease, job description, diploma, and other archives were all there but not your birth certificate and other significant documents. “She didn’t…”

“It seems she did.” Megumi says with a hand to Gojo’s shoulder.

“The council can never know.”

“Agreed. But why’d they go so suddenly?”

“The council was going to arrest Yuji today.”

Megumi finds himself fully awake. “What for?!”

“The mission. It was time to get rid of Sukuna.”

“She knew, didn’t she.”

‘She did.”

“She likes him, ya know. She visits him most nights. They think I don’t notice but Sukuna’s voice disturbs my sleep. I can feel his presence every time he emerges.”

“Why on earth would she do that?!”

“She was having a hard time with being saved. She feels like she’s not supposed to be alive. He helps her. I tried to warn her but Sukuna was a lot less annoying once the visits started. He mellowed out and Yuji seemed happier.”

“Why’d no one tell me?!”

“Sorry, we didn’t know they were gonna murder Yuji over it.”

Gojo’s blue eyes shrink at the blunt statement. “We need to make this look more like a kidnapping. No one can know they’re working together.”

A long slender finger points towards the bed. Megumi nods in understanding. He hops on the mattress and soon after Gojo’s hand wraps around his ankle and rips him off the bed along with your sheets. The two swing at each other, Gojo spinning Megumi around and shoving him against the wall, knocking two pictures off their nails and leaving behind a crater from his back. Black hair races towards the kitchen quickly pursued by white hair. A knife is ripped from the wood block and thrown towards Gojo’s head. He dodges the blade and lunges for two more from that same block. Megumi drops and hides behind a lower cabinet door for shelter. He opens the door just in time for the knives to pierce the wood like needles in a pincushion. Megumi turns his head, noticing the pots and pans within his reach and grabs one made of cast iron. He stands up and swings only to be stopped by Gojo’s limitless technique. A large hand catches the boy’s wrist and squeezes till he drops the heavy pan which loudly falls to the floor. Megumi knees his sensei in the gut and aims his free hand towards his head. Gojo lets go to block the strike while the son of Toji seizes the chance to launch over the counter and run behind the couch, putting distance between him and Gojo. 

“Red”

The couch Megumi was behind explodes and he hits the wall creating another chasm and knocking more photos askew. 

“Geezus Gojo, you trying to kill me?”

“I’m trying to make it look realistic.”

“Then we need to use her knives to make it look like she used her dagger technique.”

“Good idea.”

The two return to the kitchen and grab two more knives each and begin stabbing into various surfaces all around where they were fighting. 

“We should scuff up the floor too so it looks like he dragged her out.”

“Right.”

Once it was done they admired their handiwork before leaving the door open once more upon their exit. 

As they march out of the building the tall sorcerer turns towards his pupil and grabs him at the shoulder. “You report this to the council. I’m going to go find her.”

“Shouldn’t you report this?”

“They know our relationship. It’ll be more believable if I immediately go after them. Plus that’s what I want to do anyways.”

“Good luck.”

“I won’t need it.”

Gojo grabs one of the black university sedans and races down the road. He has no idea how to find you but he knows you are nowhere nearby. Public transport isn’t likely with someone as noticeable as Sukuna. He needs to get to a police station and look for claims of auto theft. So that’s where he heads first. 

Midnight strikes and Gojo checks into a hotel room three hours away from campus. He followed lead after lead trying to track down the path you fled. He hadn’t eaten all day but he didn’t feel an ounce of hunger. You were gone. Snatched from under his nose. The swelling pang in his chest tore him apart.

How could you trust a monster? Where have your senses gone? This wasn’t like you at all. 

The bed gives way as he collapses on top of it from exhaustion. He rolls on his back and stares at the blank ceiling, mind racing and heart pounding. In spite of his panic his eyes feel heavy and his lids lower, covering his azure eyes. Before he knows what hit him his mind is blank and light snoring fills the room.

A sliver of light seeps into the room. Your eyes crease into a squint as you get your bearings. Quiet breathing is heard next to you so you turn your head to see resting features below a pink fluffy mop. He looked so peaceful but still menacing even when asleep. A tingle of happiness bubbles in your stomach as you realize for the first time that you were able to sleep next to him all the way till morning. 

Without the distraction of pending intimacy you were able to fully survey your surroundings. Sukuna’s room is enormous. There is a section with a table low to the floor and a pillow next to it. There is also an area with various restraints which made you wonder how they were used in the past. You remember what Yuji said but you also know his reputation as a vicious man and the sight in his room makes you a bit nervous. You also see an area that looks as if it would be used for relaxing and realize his bedroom is essentially a studio apartment within a mansion. 

Your eyes pan back over to where the light leaked in and you see what seemed to be a door to a courtyard but you don’t recall the courtyard being this close, unless he has a private one of his own. Of course. Of course he would have a private courtyard linked to his room, the man is a king after all. You shake your head at your own naivete. 

All the furnishings are dark. Dark wood, dark linens, scrolls with dark ink and brown watercolors. The curse did not seek the light of day but rather the cover of shadows. It wasn’t really your style but maybe one day you could find a happy medium. 

You hear a grunt next to you that brings you back to the present. You sling your arm over his chest and give him a squeeze. 

“Good morning my King.”

A sleepy smirk spreads over his face as he pulls you closer. “G’mornin Doll”

You hum in contentment, his nicknames always leaving you with warm fuzzies. “What are you up to today?”

“Uraume wishes to brief me on what’s been happening with some of the newer special grades. Apparently they have been colluding. News of my vessel has sparked a lot of activity in the past few years.”

“So straight to business.”

Sukuna’s mouth presses into a firm line as he reflects.

“My power puts me in the way of a great deal of conflict, Princess. Are you okay with that?”

“I guess I have to be.”

“You do, yes.”

“It doesn’t mean I wont fear for your safety.”

“I’d tell you I will obliterate anyone who challenges me, but I know it’d be pointless.”

“Yes it would.”

Sukuna’s face falls for a moment as a serious thought crosses his mind. “My power also means you will be put in danger.”

His hand tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as he memorizes your features. You look up at him sweetly and he feels his heart jolt.

“I promise, I will protect you. I won’t let you die.”

“I know. I trust you.”

He smiles and kisses your forehead. You are his prized treasure. The first time he saw you he knew he wanted you almost as much as he wanted power. Now that he had you, he needed his power to keep you. A threat to you is a threat to him and a threat to him is a threat to you. You would never know what it feels like to have a life without him. To be by his side is your new purpose. You will train and stay strong. He will take you into battle with him so that you can continue to hone your skills. He will not let you grow weak. 

You watch his face as he stares at you with an intensity that begins to fill you with discomfort. You wondered what was going on inside his head but your stomach began to growl and reminded you both that it’s time to go get breakfast. 

After a rather quiet and peaceful breakfast Sukuna goes off to handle the affairs of the estate while you seek out Ainu. 

“How’d it go m’lady?”

“It was…intense…”

“Oh?”

You nod your head happily to reassure her it was a good thing

“Well I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that he’d be intense behind closed doors. It would perfectly align with the rest of him.”

You chuckle at her in response.

“And what about Yuji?”

“He let me speak with him.”

“I assume he was okay with it.”

“He was. He seemed a bit embarrassed about it but he was okay. I kinda wonder if that was his first…ya know.”

Ainu giggles. “Oh I hope not.”

“Me too but you never know! His face turned almost as pink as his hair!”

“Do you think he sees what Sukuna sees?”

“I don’t know. I think he does but I also don’t really want to think about it too deeply. This whole vessel thing is really weird.”

The both of you laugh at the sheer insanity of your reality. 

Ainu and you have many silly conversations together as the weeks of your residence at the hidden estate go by. However, they couldn’t replace your Tuesday coffee. A sadness started to paint your features when you were not actively in conversation with someone and Sukuna began to notice. 

“My love, the light in your eyes is dim”

You shake your head as if to clear your thoughts before returning Sukuna’s gaze who looks at you with worry. 

“Huh?”

“Are you sad here?”

“I have you”

“That is not an answer.”

You appreciated that he was always direct but sometimes it sounded like a scolding. 

“I miss my job a little… but I am happy to be with you.” You reach for Sukuna’s hand and begin to watch as you intertwine your fingers, mesmerized by how his digits look between your own. 

“I’m not enough.”

“No!” you look up in fear. You don’t want him to think you’re ungrateful. You have loved being with him. Training and fighting by his side has made you even stronger than you already are. Sometimes you wish you could show off your new skill to Gojo because of how much you’ve improved.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“My lord! You are enough.”

Sukuna pulls his hand out of yours and you feel your heart twist at his withdrawal. 

“I said don’t lie. What would help you feel better?”

“I’m fine-“

“You're not.”

“I-“ you cut yourself off as you realized that you are indeed unhappy. When did you begin to feel this way? How could he see it before you felt it? “I think I miss my friends”

“I thought you made friends with Ainu”

“I did but…please don’t be mad”

You can already see Sukuna’s displeasure at his spot on guess of what your next words are about to be. 

“I think I miss coffee with Gojo”

Sukuna tries his best to hide his annoyance at the statement but you can see his jaw tighten and the vein on his forehead pulse and you shrink away from him. But then you feel his warm hand grab yours and lift the back of it to his lips, pressing a firm kiss into your skin. 

“I’m not going to let you go meet up with Gojo unsupervised but… I am willing to escort you to a meeting spot to see him.” 

“My King, you cannot! It’s too big of a risk!” 

“I’m not willing to let you out of my sight like that. Plus the sorcerers are intelligent. They may abduct you to turn you into bait for me.”

“Gojo would never”

“Maybe not, but I can't know that he won’t be followed. I won’t risk it.”

“I-“ however the protest dies on your lips as you realize that he’s right. It seems he’s always right. 

“I’ll send a messenger to Gojo, inviting him to visit you at a coffee shop half way.”

“Do you think he’d really come that far just to see me?”

“Trust me, he’ll come.”

It pissed Sukuna off to no extent that you ignored Gojo’s obvious feelings for you but it also gave him security. He was sure that Gojo would travel to any location Sukuna chose and that he’d come alone too. He wasn’t about to report your location or rendezvous because it would mean your life. Yes, Gojo’s feelings are bothersome but they also keep you safe and if seeing that white haired clown was gonna make you happy then he’d put up with him. 

Back at JJU, Gojo throws his keys in the bowl next to his front door. He slipped off his coat and tossed it over the back of his couch. Life had been dull without you. Sometimes he would hear your laugh on campus and feel his heart leap into his throat till he found the sound belonged to another university girl walking across campus. 

Every Tuesday he’d go to your signature coffee shop waiting for you. Hoping and praying you’d walk through the door. A quarter of the year had passed since you went missing. Your apartment had been repaired and a new director was found to take your place. It was wrong. Everything about his existence as of late was wrong. There was nothing right in this world and it sickened him to his core. 

Every night he dreamed about you. Imagining you would walk through the very door he just entered and would crawl in bed with him, laying in the crook of his arm, leg draped over his and cheek resting on his chest. He imagined his finger drawing shapes on your back as he held you and imagined his nose buried in your hair, smelling the scent of your shampoo. 

But it wasn’t real. It never would be.

Gojo walks across the room towards his kitchen when he came across a large dark brown glob the height of his hip with three eyes all pointed in different directions bouncing near his fridge. Unsure of how a low grade curse entered his home Gojo snaps his fingers, “Purple.” The curse implodes but a piece of paper floats to the ground. 

The tall man stoops down and picks it up, flipping it between his fingers. 

2949 Wajicho, Nishi-ku, Hamamatsu Tuesday ⚬ 11:30

It was an invention and he had a strong hunch who it was from. 

Tuesday came quicker than expected and you weren’t sure what to wear. You didn’t want to look like you were going on a date but you hadn’t had a real reason to dress up in so long. You are now a homebody most of the time except when Sukuna brings you to battle against rouge curses who refuse to bend the knee. However, that's not exactly the kind of outing that warrants a cute outfit. Even when you wanted to have a romantic evening with Lord Sukuna, he’d tear your clothes off so quickly that you never have a chance to finish putting them on. So now that you are going to be seen in public for the first time in 3 months, you had a hard time choosing an outfit. 

“What’s taking so long?” You hear just outside your bedroom door. 

Sukuna’s voice was thick with irritation but you could tell he was trying hard not to lose his temper with you. He never wants to lose control with you. For you, he will be whatever you need him to be, no matter how out of character. 

“I’m sorry my lord, I don’t know how to dress to be in public anymore.”

“That’s ridiculous” Sukuna complains as he barges into your room.

“Hey!” You shout in pretend outrage 

“Here” Sukuna grabs the first top and pants he sees and shoves them into your chest. “Put them on and let’s go.”

“Baby these don’t even go together.”

Sukuna never gave you permission to use the moniker, but at times, he liked when you slipped up and treated him like a human boyfriend. However he liked it more when he could mess with you for your carelessness. 

“What did you say?”

“My lord, those don’t match”

You flawlessly stare him in the eye, unwavering, as if you had called him Lord from the start. The corner of his lip curls as he moves in close to you, placing both hands on your hips and drawing his face close to yours. 

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t just call me ‘baby’.”

You lightly kiss his cheek and apologize “I’m sorry ‘Kuna, in my fluster I forgot my manners.”

Oh, that did him in. He grew to love the nickname you call him when your eyes are heavy lidded after a long night of tangling up in the sheets. Your arms restrained over your head or behind your back while he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you. Your soft and breathless voice barely able to speak as you babble and flip flop between begging for mercy and begging for more. Kuna is his name when he has reduced you to rubble before passing out on his cock. He secretly relished the childish title and now you dare to use it when you’re half naked, still picking out clothes? 

Sukuna pushes you down on the bed. 

“Kuna! Wait! I’m supposed to be getting ready!”

“You can get ready after I fix your manners”

Your breath falters as his heavy body climbs over yours and plants slow kisses along your neck and shoulders. You feel his teeth lightly nip at your skin and it steals your breath. Strong hands sliding up the sides of your thighs, your ribs, then arms, finding your wrists and wrapping his digits around them before forcefully pinning them above your head. 

The compromising captivity causes your nubs to perk up and your back to arch under him. Your pupils suddenly blow wide and gaze up at him so prettily, letting him know that he’s got you just as bad as you got him. 

Curse you for being able to do this to him. He is the King, the one in control. But you pull out this need in him that he doesn’t understand. There are times when he doesn’t think clearly cause thoughts of you consume him. 

“What’s my name?”

“K-kuna” you whisper

Sukuna grinds his hips down into you, his bulge pushed between your legs. 

“What’s my name?”

“S-kuna”

“Tsk tsk, what a bad girl” he chides while grinding against you harder causing you to shut your eyes and see stars. 

“Lord Sukuna” 

you force the words out with difficulty and it almost disappoints him. He had wanted you to give him a reason to fuck you into chains and whip you like the naughty girl you are being but luckily for you, the both of you are on a time crunch to travel to the coffee shop and meet Gojo. 

“Here”

Sukuna grabs a shirt and jeans combo he had seen you wear many times while at the university. He reaches over and pulls out a flannel shirt to match. 

“Wear that with the gold necklace.”

You look up at him in awe. The details Sukuna notices about you. How are you so special? How did you earn this man’s attention especially to the point that he memorized your outfits? 

“Kuna…”

“Yes?” He says in a gruff manner 

You give him a soft kiss on the cheek. You didn’t have anything more to say but you made sure he knew as you pressed your lips under his cheek bone that he had completely stolen your heart. 

Sukuna looks down at you with a smile and wraps his arm around your waist as you finish changing, “Let’s go baby.”

“Yes my lord”

Only a town away from where you exited the veil, Sukuna changed into Yuji. It seems the two of them had been talking and agreed that it would be wiser to travel as a normal guy rather than a tattooed, four-eyed curse. 

In spite of this transition, Yuji still held onto you tightly while traveling through the train station. It was weird to look over and only see two eyes staring back. It also felt strange to hold Yuji’s hand. It felt smaller somehow and weak even though Yuji is quite strong. You had tried to uncouple yourself from him a few times to which he pulled you closer. 

“He and I agreed that you would not leave our side.”

“I’m not trying to leave your side, it's just weird holding hands with another man.”

“It's literally the same hand you’ve been holding for months, professor.”

You could make out something similar to jealousy etched in his tone but chose to ignore it. 

“You can just call me by my name, you know. There’s no need to be so formal. You’ve literally had your dick inside of me.”

Yuji began to choke on his own saliva. 

“Geezus Professor, why’d ya have to phrase it like that?”

“Cause you’re annoying me.”

“All I’m doing is protecting you.”

You didn’t have anything to say in response. He was right. What was the big deal? He’s just holding your hand but somehow it feels disloyal. Suddenly a mouth appears on the side of Yuji’s face and begins to scold you. 

“Hold the kid’s hand or I’ll beat you senseless when we get home.”

You cross your legs a little tighter at his words and squeeze Yuji’s hand. “There, happy?”

“Much better” the mouth bosses before fading. 

After a few trains you reach the heart of a large city and head towards a small coffee shop tucked away in an empty ally. It seemed as if this little meeting spot was known to Sukuna for quite some time as there was no way he had just discovered it within two days. 

Yuji grabs the door handle and pulls it open to allow you to enter. As you do, you pan across the sunlit room, eyes gazing over the chestnut furniture till they land on a fluffy silver mane belonging to one blindfolded special grade sorcerer. 

“Gojo!” you squeal as you nearly run over to him. 

He greets you with your name as he sits straight up upon seeing you enter. “Wow, you look fantastic! Did you grow out your hair?”

You blush and tuck a strand behind your ears. “A little. There isn’t exactly a salon where I'm staying.”

Gojo looks over at Yuji, “Yet his undercut is as fresh as ever.”

Yuji scratches the back of his head and shrugs as he feels that short strands Gojo is referring to, “Yeah well, what can I say? Sukuna keeps a barber on hand.”

Gojo wants to scowl at the thought but he’s too excited to see the two of you alive to care much about the likes of the King. 

“So how have you both been? And did I see you holding hands?”

Yuji and you exchange glances. “It’s just a precaution. In case you were followed. Sukuna wants Yuji next to me whenever I am outside of the estate.”

Gojo reflects on this. “Sukuna, huh? He’s still protecting you then?”

You blush deeply. “Yes”

Under the table you see Yuji’s hand on his knee and a mouth emerging and disappearing without a sound as if Sukuna was restraining himself from making any comments. You decide to change the subject.

“So how is everything back at the University?”

“Well…it could be better. After you left they spent two months searching for you. I brought you coffee that morning, you know. Iwent to your apartment and saw it left open and both you and Yuji missing… it was like walking into a nightmare.”

You feel your stomach churn, imagining how he must have felt.

“But after I went into your room I realized you weren’t abducted. Your favorite stuff was missing, important documents gone. I knew you did it on purpose. I didn’t tell anyone else that though. Megumi and I actually made it a little more believable. We let them believe you were taken, it saved both of our necks. You were smart to do it that way. Thank you.”

He pauses before continuing, “I was so mad at you at first. You left without saying goodbye. I know that the idea of Yuji’s death wasn’t something you’d take well but I didn't expect you to just up and leave with him.”

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t planned, it was just…” Gojo, who had been looking down at his hands wrapped around his cup, lifted his head slightly to look up at you. “I couldn’t be without him.” 

You look over at Yuji, your eyes drilling through him, searching for Sukuna within his depths. 

“Him, huh.” Gojo says with a hint of sarcasm.

“I love him, Turo”

You watch as Gojo stiffens before you. “Don’t say such ridiculous things.”

“It’s not ridiculous and he loves me back.”

“That’s called Stockholm syndrome, Sweets.”

“I don’t have Stockholm syndrome. I felt this way back at the university.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened further. The idea that a woman as amazing as you is shacked up with a vial monster is hard for him to hear. 

“Does he hurt you?”

“Of course not. He treats me very well.”

“Are you sure?”

“Turo, I wouldn’t be here next to him if he didn’t, you know my capability.”

“True. It’s one of the only reasons that I haven’t lost my mind with worry. I know you can take care of yourself.”

“And Sukuna has been helping train me. He wants to make sure I am safe. He keeps me strong.”

“I noticed you looked more fit.”

You smile but you can see Yuji’s hand growing a mouth and decide to stop.

“So what else happened after we left?”

“Well they assumed that I told Yuji about his execution and they grilled me pretty hard but luckily Nanami reminded them about your abduction and they’ve laid off me since.”

“I was worried I’d cause you trouble.”

“You did, but I’m okay now. They spent two months searching for you. However, now there seems to be a disturbance in the curse world, seemingly unrelated to Sukuna, so they had to call the whole thing off.”

“Don’t I feel special” you say with sarcasm

“Well it’s not everyday that the council cares so much about finding a sorcerer.”

“I’m a special grade, of course they cared, however brief.”

“I think they were more interested in using you as leverage.”

“Knew it.” You hear the deep voice echo from under the table.

“Lay off, would you?” you snip back before blowing a few strands of hair out of your face and looking forward at Gojo again.

“We’ve been tracking the curses too. We’ve had to deal with a couple hordes.”

“Yeah” Saturo replies “We noticed some pretty remarkable battlefields in the same locations we were supposed to take care of.”

“Sorry” you joke, “beat you to it.”

“Hey” he replies as he laces his fingers together behind his head and leans back in his chair, “I’m not complainin. Less work for me.”

“Good. Cause I wasn’t gonna let you complain.”

A toothy grin splits the man’s face. Yuji takes the opportunity to excuse himself and order drinks. It seems the two of you were about to engage in a long light hearted conversation and he knew better than to be a third wheel.

“I knew you’d been there too. Your curse daggers were everywhere. Must’ve been fresh since they hadn’t melted away yet. I’m amazed that no one has caught on that it was you.”

“They really didn’t know?!”

“Nope, they think that Sukuna has competition.”

“Ha! It’s Sukuna’s cursed energy that helps me produce those daggers. He can snap his fingers and behead the entire town but instead he has me single handedly deal with the curse hordes he finds.”

“Why on earth is he making you do his dirty work?”

“Cause, I told you, he wants me to be strong. Stronger than you, even. He keeps going on and on about my potential.”

“Hmm, I’m not gonna lie to you Sweets, this is not the kind of behavior I expected to hear about Sukuna. I’m glad he’s training you but don’t lose your humanity in the process. I don’t want you turning into a bloodthirsty killing machine.”

You laugh, “I’m not capable of being a bloodthirsty killing machine.”

“Yet.”

“Toru, I’m gonna kick your ass if you keep implying that I’m gonna become some evil villain.”

“You? Kick my ass?”

“Yes me! Kick your ass.” you mock right back at him.

“Nah, in your dreams Sweets.”

“Too bad you’re already stuck in my dreamscape. Sucks to suck Saturo.”

The genuine smiles that are exchanged fill your heart with joy that you hadn’t felt in weeks. You loved Sukuna but you needed to see your best friend, at least occasionally. Yuji dropped off your cup at the table in front of you before quickly morphing into Sukuna to give you a peck on the cheek before morphing right back. You squeeze your eyes shut in happiness before watching Yuji walk off to the opposite corner of the shop to watch you from afar. 

Sukuna didn’t want to encroach on your time with a friend. He could give up an hour or two of your company if it meant your happiness. Though a tinge of jealousy sat in his chest, Yuji helped him forget about the feeling and shove it away with his pride as he watched your glowing face from across the room.

“Those daggers though, left in the curse’s bodies, they are stronger than they used to be.”

“Yeah, I think the stronger the cursed energy I siphon, the stronger the daggers. Since I’ve mostly been siphoning Sukuna’s energy, They’ve been especially potent.”

“And they’ve been sticking around longer before disintegrating.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve arrived at some of your battlefields over a week later to see some of your daggers still clinging to their shape.”

“That’s insane! Usually they melt away in a half hour.”

“Exactly.”

“Wanna know something else?”

“What?”

“I can siphon off the cursed energy from pretty far away now.”

“How far?”

“Ten meters”

“Ten meters?!”

“Yes.”

“Impressive” he retorts as he crosses his arms over his chest. You feel a swell of pride at his praise. 

“And I’m able to control curses when I touch anywhere on their heads now.”

“I didn’t know it was possible for you to extend that capability to other bodily parts.”

“Sukuna believes that I’ll soon be able to control curses by touching them anywhere.”

“I have to agree with him. And what about Yuji, how’s he doing?”

“He doesn’t come out much these days but Sukuna hates afternoons so recently they’ve been switching places in the middle of the day. I think he’s going soft on the guy”

“Sukuna growing soft?”

“Yeah. He can be intense at times but he’s nothing like the legends make him seem.”

“I see.”

Gojo contemplates your words and wonders if maybe you’re having a profound impact on the King. Could it be that you may be able to control one of the world’s largest threats?

“So what’s your new home like?”

“It’s lovely. Very large and has an entire staff.”

“A staff or slaves?”

“Staff” you say firmly.

“Whatever you say” Gojo rolls his eyes as he raises his hands in innocence. 

“Anyways” you deadpan “there are small farms and fresh food. Lots of land to explore and I’m thinking of getting a pet.”

“A pet?! Ha!”

“What’s so funny?!”

“Lord Sukuna with a pet!”

“No, me with a pet, you turd.” Gojo chuckles and so do you. 

“Be honest, are you actually happy?”

“I am.”

“And you’re not lying?”

“Cross my heart.”

“When can I see you again?”

“How about next Tuesday, like old times?”

“Sounds great. I assume we have to do it all the way over here again.”

“Probably.”

“As your majesty wishes.”

You laugh. “You get used to it. Following his wishes, I mean.”

“Whatever you say, Sweets.”

Gojo and you stand up. He makes his way around the table and gives you a hug. “Thank you for coming all this way for me.”

“Same time next week?”

“Same time next week.” you hum into his shoulder. As you release you feel Yuji’s hand on your waist.

“See ya Yuji. Next time let's catch up too.”

“See ya Gojo.” he says with a bright smile before wrapping his arm around you protectively and pulling you back. You watch Saturo leave before exiting the shop yourselves. 

“This about to be a weekly thing?”

“Yes please.”

“I’m down if you are.” Yuji says as you turn down the street. Feeling a subtle shift in energy, you look over to see the tattooed face of your four eyed lover. 

“Anything for my princess.”

You can’t help how your heart skips a beat. You want him to stay out so you can be in public with your boyfriend but you know that he’ll catch too much attention. Your elated expression softens as Yuji reemerges before you. 

“You don’t have to look so disappointed.”

“I’m not!”

“Ugh, you have no idea how annoying this vessel thing is.”

“Well until we find a way to give him a new body, we’re stuck with this arrangement.”

“Do you think they’ll still try to execute you if Sukuna gets his body back or inhabits a new vessel?”

“I don’t know. Technically my crime was not being able to control him as a vessel. That part is still true even if he’s no longer inside of me.”

“But they wanted to kill you because they wanted to get rid of Sukuna. If he’s no longer inside of you, doesn’t that take away their motive?”

“I guess. How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Awhile”

“Do you want to get rid of me that bad?”

“What?! No, of course not. It’s just, I know this can’t be easy on you. You lost your freedom and-”

“I’m fine professor, really.”

“You’re not fine, you’re just being nice.” Besides, on those afternoons that Yuji is out, you’ve seen how he looks at a girl named Hana. Whatever baby crush he had for you seems to have faded and he found someone who he could really bond with. Yuji would never be allowed near her while Sukuna resides in his body though. Plus you’d really like to stop sharing Sukuna with Yuji. It makes you happy that Sukuna had started letting him out regularly but it was very inconvenient. The arrangement wasn’t a long term solution and you are determined to start figuring out how to separate them. 

“Where’d you go?” Yuji says as he pokes your face lightly.

“Nowhere, just zoned out a bit.”

“Mhm, suuure.”

You roll your eyes and board the train. “Come on, let’s get home.”

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 6 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 I Chapter 9 I Chapter 10 I Chapter 11 I Chapter 12

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