#I AM PERPETUALLY COLD ALL THE TIME I HATE BEING HERE

[mothirl]

Autism is HITTING If anything in this house changes I'm fully going to kill myself

[prettyboykatsuki]

HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO | PART 2

⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)

⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.

all sexual content present in this part.

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF NONCON, COERCION, AND SEXUAL VIOLENCE.

⊹ wc ; 18.4k / 36.1k

link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.

LINK TO PART ONE.

⊹ a/n ; here's part two!! miss ame has read it so im all good to post. i will upload to ao3 as soon as im awake i promise lol. hope you enjoy the fic and please heed the tags. likes and rbs always appreciated. also the last part is, relatively tame. the crazy gets amped up to ten so be careful.

⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.

"You must learn, once you have sampled the freedom of a life without a chain, that it is better to return and be chained again. Or you may learn that it is not—a fugitive is also a kind of dog." - andrew kane, how to be a dog.

⊹ PART TWO : SOMETHING TAKEN IS BORROWED. SOMETHING RUINED IS YOURS. 

Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white. 

Gojo Satoru sits on his hands and watches the blizzard outside from his window. His apartment is dark and there’s frost on his window. He can hear the wind from inside, and can feel the cold chill of glass as he stands close to it.  

Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white. Spring feels like an innocent century ago. 

Nothing’s changed, but everything is different. It’s starting to feel comedic. It’s so cyclical. He has two states of being. Being with you, and not. It dictates his internal world. He functions the same as usual. Repetition. Working, coming home, and waiting. 

Gojo feels like he’s waiting. Perpetually waiting for time to set again so he can see you. There’s something in him only you can fulfill - an itch only you can scratch. Gojo is drawn to irreplaceable people, so perhaps it’s no surprise that he’s latched onto you this way. 

There’s nothing to call it other than greed. Sometimes love, but mostly greed. A habit he can’t break free from. Gojo wants to see you. He doesn’t know why either. There’s not any particular reason. Or if there is, he hasn’t examined it too deeply. Gojo has always known in some innate way that he’s lonely. That his loneliness makes him untouchable - but not in the same way it might make a God. 

The thought of doing anything without you makes paranoia creep up in his throat like bile. Gojo is that sort of lonely. Is it too much to ask to be next to someone, who never goes anywhere he can’t see? Monopolizing your time and all the ways to do it best take up most of his energy. 

When was the last time anyone made him feel warm, in the cold white of winter? He thinks maybe he realized it too late, that he cares about you this much. 

The reality is that Jujutsu Sorcerers are better off learning how to cut their losses. You love people and they die. You like people and they die. Gojo doesn’t think he can accept that from you so easily. He doesn’t think he should have too.

Does he need a good reason to want to keep you?

Gojo doesn’t want to make you hate him. He just wants to make sure you’re alive even if it means you might hate him. You might never understand either. Because you are still foolish, naive and human. Is that really asking for so much?

It makes him hesitate from the call to action. That instinct in his bones. He sees having met you as a blessing from the Heavens who’ve banished him. Gojo Satoru is not god. He understands God, but he’s not God.

No matter how much Gojo reaches for omnipotence, his long fingers can’t stretch towards it. Godliness is uninhabitable, an abandoned house. If Gojo casts his eyes on you for more than one second, he can do nothing but long. How can God long? Perhaps if he were more godlike, he could treat your inevitable death like a sacrifice. A martyrdom, or proof of your undying love for him.

Despite that, he understands how God's love can reach. Inciting violence to bring you closer to him is merciful. It’s only then you’ll come to understand it to the highest extent. That Gojo loves you after all, more than anything mortal in his world. He can hold all of you in his hands, keep you safe for the rest of your life. It’s what he wants so badly. If you just give him the chance to protect you - he could do it so easily. 

Religion can be so much like a dog and its master. Maybe, you could understand Gojo’s feelings if you saw it as an animal instinct to protect you. Even if it’s a falsity, a fictitious tale, detached from what's true. 

He doesn’t want you to hate him. He’s your watch dog, your keeper, your divine love. He needs you all to himself and he needs you to understand that you’re his reprieve. That in a universe decided by fate, the two of you are also red strings knotted together perversely. 

He needs you. He needs you. He needs you. 

Snow is falling. 

__

Come Saturday, Gojo receives a knock on his door. 

He’s usually sleeping in on the weekends, so he’s startled by it. School doesn’t start till later and if it was an emergency relating to sorcery - Yagi would’ve dialed him personally. He answers the door with sleep still in his, rubbing his eyelids as he yawns. He’s dressed in his P.J.’s with his hair messy and mind jumbled. 

He’s not unhappy though, when he opens the door up to see you. You’ve got something in your arms, a bag it looks like and a look on your face that Gojo can’t decipher. 

“Oh,” He says after registering who he’s talking to you “What’re you doing here so early?” 

You sigh, deeply, rubbing your arm. That anxious little habit again, your eyes darting every which way.

“A pipe broke in my apartment. Like, flooded the whole thing. Spent the whole morning scrounging my stuff together a-and I called maintenance but they won’t be here for a while and.” You stutter as you explain yourself and Gojo stares at you in confusion “I need a place to stay but going back to my parents right now is gonna be so hard and plus there’s work,” 

Gojo soothes you silently, putting a hand up. 

“Hey, calm down,” He says first, smiling up at you. He reaches out to pat your head “I’m here. It’s okay. Slow down and tell me what's wrong?” 

You sigh, closing your eyes and bracing yourself. 

“Would it be alright if I stayed with you? Just for a few days, until I figure this all out?” 

If God exists, maybe this is his way of giving Gojo grace. Gojo takes a minute to pretend, leans against his door frame and watches you fidget anxiously. He blinks at you, the way your teeth are pressing into your lip. You fold underneath the pressure of his gaze easily. He hums and haws.

“Hm,” He says, leaving you uncertain for as long as he can before you try to react. He’s memorized all your tells by heart “Well, there’s no reason not to, right? You’ll have to sleep in my bed though.” 

He half-jokes, but not really. He waits on your reaction. 

“Oh, uhm, then,” 

He interrupts just then, raising his voice. You jump back. 

“Just kidding! Of course you can stay with me. I’ll take the couch for a few days so don’t worry your pretty little head about it, okay? Stay as long as you like.” 

You look relieved. It makes Gojo smile a bit watching you take a deep breath, leaning on the door frame as he stares. 

“What?” You ask when you notice. He shakes his head. 

“It’s cute when you get nervous,” He says, inhibitions lowered. You pout at him and Gojo has to stop himself from reaching forward to grab your face in his hands. 

“You’re so mean,” You say with a sigh, arms crossed over your chest “I was really freaking out just now,” 

“I know, I know - but it’s kinda fun watching you fuss. Dunno. Maybe it’s cause I’m sleepy,” 

“You're wide awake right now!” You point out. He snorts. 

“Noo, what? I’m half-asleep right now,” 

“Gojo,” You whine, and he has to stop the blood rushing through his body “Let me in? Please?” 

“Try Satoru. Sa-to-ru,” He says. You frown at him, sighing as you rub your face. 

“Satoru,” You say, hardly getting the syllables out “L-let me in,” 

He pats your head one more time as your frown deepens. 

“Good girl,” He purrs, before switching his tone to a more lax one as he welcomes you “Come on in!” 

Another sigh of relief. Gojo finds it fascinating that you can find relief in his presence. It speaks to how well he’s been doing to make sure he’s acting in accordance to expectations. Despite how easy the opportunity has fallen into him, he doesn’t think it’s time yet. You’re still skittish.

Still, he should get something out of your stay here. And he will, but he should let you settle in first. He gives you a hum as you shuffle inside, standing awkwardly in his living room. He shuts the door behind you and locks it up. 

“Don’t be so stiff,” He says, waving a hand in the air before yawning “My home is your home. Be comfortable. Is there anything you need or wanna do?” 

“Could I borrow your shower?” 

Gojo feels something pressing into his ribs at the idea of you using his things  - sharp and sinful. 

“I was gonna shower this morning but, y’know.” You gesture vaguely. He’s quick to agree of course, nodding his head as he points in the general direction of the bathroom.

“Pretty sure our places are built the same so you should know where it is. The towels on the rack are all clean. Feel free to use anything in there and uhhh,” He scratches his head unsure of what else he needs to add. Though he’s certain he’s missing something “Oh, and I’ll give you some clothes,” 

You flush at the sentiment. So maybe you do know what this seems like, at least on the surface. Gojo peers at you as you turn his words over, interjecting before you have a chance to refuse. 

“Don’t say no,” He says, voice sing-songy. watching your expression morph into something nervous again. Maybe you caught it, because you certainly jump in your skin, but he switches into himself with ease.  Over and over and over - startling you never gets less fun “Let me play out my domestic fantasies a bit as compensation,” 

“That’s a bad joke,” You say, throat thick.

 You want to trust him don’t you? He wants to praise you for that. 

“Aw, c’mon. It’s lonely. Let me indulge a little,” He begs with enough lightheartedness that you don’t run away. 

“Geez. I thought you were popular with the ladies,” You try and joke back, though it’s stilted and awkward. He can tell you’re getting prepared to squeeze to the  bathroom before the conversation is too much. 

“Old ladies do love me,” He says contemplative. You elbow him lightly. 

“Stupid.”

He gives you a soft smile as you pass by him.

“Is there anything else that you need while you’re in there?” 

“I don’t think so,” You reply back. Gojo watches you disappear into the hall, trailing after you silently. He waits, listening carefully for the sound of the shower to turn on. 

When the water rushes, he follows you. 

He almost has a conscious standing in front of the closed door. The water pressure in his apartment is a little higher than it’s supposed to be. The closed walls keep all the noise inside them, making it almost impossible to hear what’s going on outside. Even with heightened senses like him. 

For someone like you, it’s probably impossible. 

It’s knowing that he follows behind you, lying in wait. He counts up to 5  minutes as he waits, letting you settle into it before he puts his hand on the door knob. He finds it unlocked. He’s pleased with that. 

You trust him, or you try too. 

When he feels certain you’re relaxed, he opens the door. He could teleport in but it’s noisy. Steam plumes outward as the door opens. He looks around the bathroom. Your clothes are folded neatly, with your pants hanging on the rack next to you. 

He stares at the fabric for a long time, contemplating what he has time for. 

Ultimately, he suppresses whatever urges come up to do what he came for. Too many to count and even more that are risky to act on. Instead, he checks the tags of each piece, committing it to memory. After, he stares at the shower curtain until he’s sure he overstayed his welcome. 

He leaves right after though, shutting the door just as quietly as he opened it. 

The less you know the better. Gojo makes his way back into the living room. 

He sits on his couch when he’s back. The sun hasn’t come up yet and he’s only turned on a single lamp for light. It’s hard for him to describe how he’s feeling. Things have been different for weeks now, but proceeding normally hasn’t caused him too many issues. Strangely the sense of routine has been grounding. 

He’s been dealing with it better than he expected. For all of that restraint to unravel so quickly is funny.

 But, Gojo thinks, that everything leading up to now must’ve been a sign. There are so many instances that befall him that feel aligned with fate. He’s naive in thinking you're different. He’s the only heir of the Gojo clan, the only one with the Six Eyes for nearly 400 years. He hears the water rush faintly through the walls of his apartment, picturing you trapped in those four walls. He thinks of how you met. Your proximity to each other.

It’s only now and in such circumstances does he think that you’re the due that the universe is paying back to him. Robbed of everything, of every joy he’s ever had - it’s both righteous and fair to take you. Gojo doesn’t want you to hate him. Not necessarily. 

But they always say in sickness and in health. Through the best of times and the worst. If you were made for him like he suspects (like he knows, believes deep down) then he thinks it’ll be fine. As long as it's you. As long as it’s yours. Even if you cry or scream, what matters to Gojo is that it’s yours. That he’s yours. 

Holding back is starting to be too much. Gojo’s never been the type to sit on his hands and wait. Being scared is so much like starving. Deprivation like that always threatens to turn Gojo to ruin. 

But like anything he does though, he can’t take the easy way out. There’s a method to the madness. An order even among his most disorderly actions, there’s things that need to be done the right way for the best possible outcome. On less of a whim than it seems, Gojo decides that he’ll do his best to make that reality happen. 

The thought settles in his body and suddenly he’s present again. He feels a pang of hunger in his stomach, causing him to stand to his feet. He feels lighter as he waltzes into the kitchen, whistling to himself on what he should make. Maybe crepes? He’s not a skilled cook but he’s pretty good at making those. 

At the very least, he thinks you’ll like them too. He proceeds into a normal-ish routine. He follows the motions of making breakfast as he hums to himself silently. Grabs a bowl from the cupboard, eggs and milk from the fridge, and flour from the pantry. 

He thinks to himself, immersing himself in the practical ritual. His comment from earlier about domestic fantasies was a half-joke at best. Gojo really does want to do this kind of thing with you, and he doesn’t want to miss the opportunity to play the part either. Even if it’s temporary. He’s giddy at the thought of doing this with you everyday, a warm fluttery feeling spreading through his body. 

He grabs a whisk off of the wall as he dumps everything into an empty bowl, turning the heat of a non-stick low. He whistles a song he can’t remember the name of, cracking an egg on the metal edge. 

Despite living in a nicer part of Tokyo, Gojo has yet to have an induction stove top. It’s not uncommon to have gas for smaller, cheaper apartments. Most of the stovetops in the Jujutsu Tech dorms are gas and Gojo has no issue using them. He doesn’t cook for himself often in the first place, so he’s never thought to complain about it or get it changed. 

Maybe he should. Once you live here, it might get inconvenient. The thing about gas stoves is that they never heat evenly. It’s not impossible to work with, and the heat is easier to control - but induction lets every inch of the pan get hot the same way.

( He often thinks of the analogy for boiling a frog. If you put anything living in heat too directly, it’ll jump to save itself. But if you keep the heat tepid, gently raising the heat till it boils - it’ll let itself stay in the treacherous waters until the very end. It’s best to keep the heat even. It’s best to fix it sometime soon. )

The whisk makes a pleasant sound as it hits the bowl, metallic scratch softened by the presence of batter. He picks the whisk up and watches the yellow liquid drip off the edge, a hand over the pan. Still too cool to the touch, he clicks his teeth. 

He waits, idly. The shower turns off, he hears, and feels his breath hitch. He has to steel himself, curb his enthusiasm. 

Too much heat, and you’ll jump to save yourself. 

Once the pan is hot enough, Gojo busies himself with cooking.  It helps him distract himself, the monotony of pouring and flipping and waiting. He gets through almost 6 before he hears your feet pad gently across his hardwood floor, slipping into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your neck.

You’re wearing what seems like the only clothes you managed to bring. Gojo wonders how long it’ll last you. Despite it, he notices the way you smell. How you smell like all of his fancy bath products and soaps. There’s a twitch in his sweats that he barely gets under control. He lowers the heat and turns to you. 

“Morning,” He says. You giggle a little. 

“Morning. Are you making breakfast?” 

“Yes ma'am. The only thing I know how to make but,” He puffs his chest up “Pretty good, I’m told.” 

You roll your eyes at him, but smile anyway

“Guess I’ll be the judge of that,” 

“The audacity,” He says, full of theatrics “I’ll knock your socks off,” 

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” You say, flippant and giggly. Gojo decides then, maybe, in its entirety. That he’ll have all of you and soon “Can I help with anything?”

“Get started on some coffee maybe,” 

You nod your head and yawn. 

“Sounds good to me,” 

__ 

You decide to stay for a week. 

More precisely, Gojo convinces you to stay for a  week. That’s how long it will take for your apartment to get fixed completely. Concerned about inconveniencing him, you initially suggested 3 days - insisted you could find somewhere else or pay for a hotel for the rest of the time.

But Gojo insisted too. A week is more than fine (even longer would be better) and there’s no reason for you to go out of your way. Hotels are expensive, your parents live out in the countryside, and it’s not like you can’t board with a friend for a few days right? 

But won’t that trouble you? Of course not. Gojo doesn’t mind at all. It’s like having a week-long sleep-over. 

I don’t have the stuff I need. That’s fine. Gojo can take care of it. He already bought some clothes for you, an act of kindness. He can get the rest too. You can consider it a favor, if you really want to be sure. 

Are you sure? Of course he’s sure. More than sure. You’re doing him a big favor, he assures with nothing but affection. Being alone at home is pretty boring, anyways. What’s sleeping in the same room when we’re neighbors? 

Even with your unease, you agree to stay the whole week. You’re weak to being convinced, and hard-pressed on not fighting about things Gojo is adamant on. 

(He’d be stupid not to notice how your earnesty makes you easy to exploit. It’s a good thing it’s only Gojo who knows.) 

The first day passes quietly. You and Gojo go to your respective jobs and greet each other when you get home. At home, things are simple. Domestic. There’s no other way to view it. You graded papers and looked over lesson plans in the living room while Gojo got in his daily sets - TV playing in the background with neither of you particularly tuned in. Gojo sleeps on the couch. 

(He doesn’t make it a day without touching himself. The proximity is too much, too stimulating, and even with all of the restraint in the universe - it’s hard for him to stave it off.  What you don’t know can’t hurt you. Alone under the moon, he thinks of what you look like when you’re embarrassed and spills into his hand. 

Eventually, he’ll graduate to watching over you. You leave the door unlocked because you’re naive and Gojo stands with his cock in his fist, watching intently. You squirm in your sleep but you sleep deeply - because despite all the noise, you don’t stir one even once. He stops it from touching you, so close to your mouth, to your skin. ) 

On the second day of living together, the clothes Gojo bought you come to his door. You’re not home when it arrives, so he waits until you are home to open it with you. You come home a little later than usual (parent-teacher conferences, apparently). 

(“I have a surprise for you!” Gojo says, as finally comes back into the living room. You’ve returned from your shower, on  your last pair of PJ’s. You blink at him softly, tilting your head to one side as he hands you a package. 

“For me?” You ask. Gojo nods, grinning. 

“For you,” He confirms. He walks with you as you set the box onto the coffee table. You stare at it for a minute, glancing up at Gojo. Your eyes search for your keys. Once you find them, you take the sharpest key and rip through the tape on the top of its sides. An unceremonious krrk sounds through the room, echoing in the dimly lit living room. 

The clothes are wrapped in white, plastic packaging. You pick them individually, examining them closely. You look at Gojo again, more uncertain than before.

But Gojo shakes his head, nudging you towards opening the packages themselves. A promise to explain afterwards, silent in the air. You nod, confused, but do as he suggests. You rip the top open, dropping the thin plastic onto the table. More bags, this time clear. You repeat the action until the material flounces in your hands. You undo the careful folding for a minute, then stare at it. 

“...Clothes?” You repeat. 

“Surprise!” He says with his usual silly cadence “For you, free of charge.” 

A lot of things pass over your expression. Gojo watches each of them carefully, amused. He wonders what you’ll do. What you’re thinking, it’s a shame Gojo can’t read your mind.

“How’d you know my size?” You say first, inquisitive but not accusatory. Gojo shrugs. 

“Guessed. We’ve spent enough time together,” He says noncommittally. Your face changes, like you don’t quite believe him. But there’s not enough there for you to question him either. He can almost hear you narrate it in your head. The heart you wear on your sleeve, tender red and bleeding, thumps anxiously as you try to get a read on him. It’s not a sound he dislikes. 

He’s been good to you. He’s just being nice. You shake your head, regretful of your own doubt for a minute. You force a smile, and Gojo doesn’t hate it even though he knows where it comes from. 

The power of love, he thinks almost whimsically. 

“This is a big box. How much stuff did you even get?” You repeat, noticing the contents are up to the top. He feigns indifference. Pretends not to know that he spent countless hours looking over it. 

“Mm, dunno. Just whatever I thought you’d need.” 

“I’m only here for a week, Gojo.” You mutter, hands grazing over the cardboard edge.

“So? Maybe you need a lot of stuff. I don’t know what women go through.” He says with a pout, lips together. Joking with you to lighten the mood, which makes you huff through your nose. 

“You’re so dumb. It’s too much stuff,”

“I already bought it and I don’t feel like returning it,” He tells you, making it clear he’s not going to negotiate “Just think of it as a gift from Santa Claus.”

You snort. 

“You even have the hair,” You reply. Trying to make yourself feel better in the process, Gojo gives you a half smile “Still. I feel like I’m really indebted to you, lately.” 

“Yeah? You can count this week as one big favor, if that makes it easier.” 

“I don’t remember Santa doing favors for people,” You quip. Gojo laughs. 

“Change in management,” 

You laugh a real laugh at that, and Gojo watches you turn the situation over again and again. 

“Well. Thank you. Might as well look through the rest of it, huh?” 

“Take your time,” Gojo says, before checking the digital clock on his wall “I need to go get something from the store. Just leave the empty stuff next to the trash and I’ll take it out tomorrow morning.” 

“Oh, okay. Yeah. I’ll start on dinner. See you, Gojo.” 

“Yeah. See you” ) 

If you notice all the clothes come in shades of blue, you’re smart enough not to say anything. 

The third day passes in a blur. Nothing notable, but he’s content. You wear the clothes Gojo bought you and he’s careful not to stare while you know. He takes it upon himself only to do it when he knows you’re asleep, his nightly routine staring over the bare inches of your body in a dark room being a reprieve of his other desires. 

On the fourth day, he doesn’t have the restraint not to touch you. Too many days in the same room and he wants access to everything already. He hates being patient more than he thought, but there’s a method to this - he has to remind himself. 

Like taking out his aggression, he decides he needs more relief. Something to scratch the itch. With his infinity, you can’t feel his fingers ghosting over your legs. He checks if you’re wearing the other stuff he bought, settled at the bottom of the box. Not lingerie, but panties. Plain and cottony - white over your cunt as you sleep with your leg hiked up. Gojo knows you can’t feel him now, but part of him wants you too. He wants to know why you’re wearing them despite yourself. Gojo realizes too late that he’s interested in your misery just as much as he is everything else, and so far - that discovery has made everything all the more difficult. 

On the fifth day, things proceed the same. There’s a routine you’ve settled into together despite the time limit on it. That night over dinner, you and Gojo spend time together. There’s not really much to do - it’s a Friday. It’s the first time neither of you are completely occupied with any one task. 

You get to talking like that. On the fifth day, Gojo gets as close to opening up as he’s ever gotten in his life. Part of him isn’t sure why he does it. He thinks he’s seeking confirmation for something, but what that could be is lost on him. 

(“So, you’re the only person left in your clan?” You ask, half-way through a glass of tea he’s sure has gone cold by now. The T.V. is on but muted. Gojo looks at you in the low lights, fighting his own sleep.

“Mhm. Technically, I’m the sole heir.” He replies.

“...Is it okay to ask what happened?” 

Gojo laughs at you. You really can’t help your curiosity, but he still finds it amusing.

“It’s not a pretty story,” Gojo says honestly. 

“That’s okay,” You say, voice filled with an air of innocence that Gojo has a hard time wrapping his head around. 

“Most of them were wiped out. We had a lot of enemies, me included. A lot of them are dead, the remaining are somewhere far-away and have no combat abilities.” 

“You included?” You pick up on, naturally. Gojo nods and smiles a little. 

“Once I inherited my technique it was pretty commonplace. I went through a lot of assassination attempts,” He yawns in between, because this is an old, boring story “It took a lot of time for me to get strong enough to where I am now. But I got there eventually.” 

“You say that so easily,” 

Gojo peers at the frown on your face and laughs quietly to himself. 

“It was a long time ago, now. I never really had a lot to mourn, except for when I was a teenager. I’m used to it.” 

For a long time, you remain completely silent. Gojo almost thinks you’re going to cry. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. It’s proof of something. Of his ambivalence towards the idea of sympathy. Sure, it’s meaningless now for someone to feel bad for him. It’s a pointless endeavor, because Gojo is a selfish dick and the strongest - and he knows both of those things intimately. He accepts them as part of himself in the same way, he doesn’t know what he’s like without being frivolous. Without being the strongest. The line between misery and character is paper thin and Gojo hasn’t known it since he was born. 

It’s especially pointless for you to feel bad for him, because he’s going to ruin that very innocence you hold in your heart before the week is over. He’s going to do it with purpose and conviction. He won’t feel remorseful about it at all. 

There’s an irony to it. A dramatic irony that brings him closer to Godliness than he’s ever really been. Because Gojo knows that this conversation is confirmation that he needs you, just as much as he knows he’ll do anything to have you even if it means you can no longer look at him like this. 

He wonders how long you’ll hold sympathy for him. He decides for now, there’s no reason to not lean into it. It makes him happy that you care enough to feel sad. Even if it’s pointless. He doesn’t remember the last time someone did. 

Maybe when he was 17.

“You look like you’re gonna cry.” He says lightheartedly. Sincere in a way he hasn’t been in very well over 10 years. You sniffle. 

“How are you not crying?” 

“I never cry.” Gojo says smoothly, not blinking “I’m a heartless bastard.” 

“That’s not true.” You say, almost exclaim, turning yourself to look at him so seriously. It’s cute, he must admit, that you’re so sure on his character “You’re not heartless,” 

“But I am a bastard,” He clarifies, mischievous. And you pout, less eager to correct him on that 

“...You’re not heartless. Clearly.” You say again. Gojo laughs, a real laugh. He can feel it preemptively, how much he’ll cherish every minute of this conversation. He hums. 

“Oho, you almost sound like you’re defending me.” 

“From yourself, I guess. I know you’re not heartless,” You say, with some kind of clarity that you have him figured out. Maybe you do. It’s a little shocking. It’s not usually how this goes “You’re…weird. But you care” 

“That’s true,” Because it is, and Gojo has no reason to lie to you right now. “More than that, I’m hung up on the idea of the future.” 

“Isn’t it usually being hung-up on the past?” 

“Right? Usually, that’d be the case,” Gojo says, unsure of what to express “But the past is the past. I can’t go back to it. My technique is infinity. It means I can see infinite realities.” 

You sound like the winds been knocked out of you “That’s terrifying,” 

“It is. But you know, even in those realities, the past is the past. There are places where the past hasn’t happened. But it can’t be changed. It becomes part of infinity, when events occur. The only thing that can be changed is the future,” Gojo explains, though he leaves out so many intricacies “There’s a future I want to see. I’d like if my students could see it too,” 

“Because of your friend, right?” 

Gojo smiles. 

“Because of my friend. And for less selfless reasons.” 

“Like?” You ask, curious. 

“I like being able to do whatever I want, without consequences. Being strong lets me do that. For now it’s up to me, but eventually, I can raise strong comrades.” 

You’re silent for a while, again. 

“Seems lonely,” You say, simply. Easily. It’s true, and he knows that. It’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you’ve said it with little regard for anything. Almost mindlessly, a natural response to such a sad story. 

Gojo feels it again. Those stifling, pesky emotions that linger in the cavity of his ribs. He can’t bring himself to be honest, because when does he ever? But he does smile again, a little more melancholy than usual. You notice, certainly, but you have the courtesy not to say a word. 

“You think so?” Gojo says, passive and wilfully ignorant “Does it make you wanna hug and console me?”

He offers it sarcastically, but you don’t tear your eyes away from him. It’s almost enough to shake him. Almost. 

“...A little? You feel like a sad dog in the rain.” You say, too honestly.

“Jeez. Maybe you just miss Pokupan. Thinking about another man right in front of me. I can’t believe I’m the other woman,” He says, with a faux pout. 

You laugh, though it’s laced with sympathy. Gojo can tell you want to fuss. That you want to admonish him for being the way he is, and he’s almost willing to let you. That’s just the thing.

 You see Gojo as human, still. 

Gojo Satoru isn’t God. But he isn’t human either. If you want to know how God lives, asking Gojo is always viable. But you shouldn’t mistake false omnipotence for forgiveness, like you are now. You see Gojo for all of his humanity, but you're blind to his divinely violent tendencies. You will be until it’s too late. 

So, Gojo doesn’t think you need to comfort him how you’re thinking you should. Gojo wants you to depend on him. Because coveting you is an affair distinctly inhuman and crueler than even the heavens could be and he believes that you’re owed to him. 

 Gojo wants to protect this version of you, even at the sake of corrupting it. He doesn’t want to let you go ever, for any reason. And he wont. 

He turns the heat up gently. You’re none-the-wiser. The night swallows you both, but Gojo will remain untouched. He’ll hold you when it inevitably spits you back out. When reality washes into you, you should’ve trusted your gut after all. 

For now, he smiles at you. 

“If it’s any consolation, I’d be very sad if you disappeared.” Which Gojo hopes you can interpret without his interference. It seems like you do, because you smile to yourself. 

“Me too,” You reply. Gojo knows he’s going to ruin you. “I’d be really sad if you disappeared, Gojo. So, don’t, okay?” 

And if Gojo were an honest person, or a good one - he’d tell you you’re the last person who should worry about missing him. That you’ll be seeing him for a long time. 

But he’s neither, just like he’s not god or man. He lightens his tone and holds out his pinky, which you link with his. 

“Scouts honor,”

When he’s ready to look away, you pull a bare thread from Gojo’s clothes. Frowning at him, as you dust away the fabric with your hand. He stares at you. 

“What was that?” 

“You had a thread loose,” You say simply, unconcerned with anything “I just pulled it off.” 

Gojo stares. 

“Yeah. Thanks.”) 

The sixth day passes quickly. Gojo doesn’t think there’s anything worthy of saying. By then the routine is so practiced and so constant. The sixth day passes like a shadow in the night, disappearing through the woods before morning comes. A stepping stone. 

Today is the 7th day. 

On the 7th day, things are different. The same but different as they so often are. You don’t have work today, so you do what you’ve been doing. You and Gojo work in proximity to each other, share meals, and idly watch T.V.  

Night falls on the 7th day.

Gojo wants to take part in the act of creation, as the sun dips below the horizon. He’d set this in motion when the week started and now that it’s here - the anticipation is too much to bear. When Gojo Satoru sets himself out to be conqueror, the universe trembles at the sight of him. There’s no sound at all. The night reeks of death, in Gojo’s presence it trembles. Too fearsome to speak. 

Night falls today. Gojo starts his usual routine with less caution than he’s had the previous six. Where he usually bides his time and enters the room carefully - today he merely enters. He places his hand on the silver handle and pushes it open. A breath rushes from his lungs, adrenaline entering his system as he steps inside. His room has felt so unfamiliar to him lately, but like this - a sense of serenity washes over him. 

He stares at you. With his Six Eyes, with vision clear as ever, Gojo looks onto you as you are now. You can never reconstruct a flower crushed under steel boots. You’re not mud or earth, not adaptable like the sea. From the moment he’s met you - Gojo has known you to be so much like a flower. Gojo has never wanted to take the petals off of something so much in his life. 

And Gojo is in this instance, a natural disaster ready to pluck the root of you up from the ground. He’ll pick you up in a storm but return you to his feet. There’s a method to this. Gojo stares at your silhouette wrapped and tangled in his sheets, body so loosely dressed. Your visible figure rests easy. 

The night is glorious and silent. Gojo watches on in some cross of indifference and utter starvation. He blinks, leans on the wall. 

Like a call from fate, you start to stir awake.

Gojo moves towards you. He decides it might be easier just to join you in bed,  so he gently works himself into the sheets.. He creeps towards you slowly, and re-familiarizes himself with the feeling of his bed. It’d be lost on him for a week, but your presence in it makes it feel especially brand new. The bed dips under his weight, creaking. You shift lethargically, turning your head to look at Gojo. 

You look startled once you realize. For the first time in your entire relationship, it seems to dawn on you that something is wrong. Just a minute too late. He gives you a second to wake up. Your breath hitches, a stifled gasp as you greet Gojo’s expression. 

The hunger in his stomach is gnawing. Gojo feels like he’s starving. He thinks doing this will only half-way relieve the urge. This part of Gojo is inhuman as the rest of him. 

Gojo’s presence suffocates you so much in the moment, you can only barely open your lips to say your next words. 

“What are you doing here?” You sound still innocent. Gojo smiles briefly, under the glow of the moon. He can see your expression clearly. Sleep in your vision. A sheerness to your skin that comes with rest. Your bags are packed, and your things are cleared from his bathroom. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought. 

He knows he shouldn’t think it, but some part of him is vindicated. You’re leaving him today and Gojo finds abandonment to be the highest betrayal of them all. So, he’s vindicated. He licks his teeth, usual mirth coming back to him. 

Then he talks, his voice tender. 

“Getting my debts repaid,” And he means it, more than he’s ever meant anything he’s said “You owe me one, remember?” 

It dawns on you. Realization flickers in your eyes before it twists into fear. Gojo wants to encourage it. A curse starts to form, like tendrils around you. You’ll leave it here when you’re gone in the morning and Gojo will have a piece of you left with him. 

“W-what are you…? What do you mean?” 

He’s shrill, almost, leaning close to you. His sudden proximity makes you freeze. You know better, know so clearly it stops you from running. Gojo is tempted to see if you’ll do it. If you’ll run or if you’ll thrash or if you’ll fight. He’s not particularly sadistic, but he likes you - and he’s curious to know what your reaction will be to something like this. 

He eases you into it, He brushes his knuckles over your cheek as your heart sky-rockets like you’re being hunted. Gojo thinks he ought to be gentle with you. Regardless of how this is happening, it’s your first time together. Your fingers tremble as you reach up to grab his wrist. It seems like you’re trying hard to pull him off, and wiggle away from his grip. You ready yourself to give him push back and Gojo times it so that it seems like you’ll be able to break free. 

But Gojo is strong. Stronger than you by a lot, and you know that by now. When he finds that you’re trying to escape him, he’s quick to grab your wrists with his hands. They both fit perfectly in his palms. He pulls them up over your head and your eyes widen as you feel his grip - near bruising (though he is trying so hard to be gentle) on your body. He stares down at you. 

You look so frightened.

“Wh-what are you..?” 

“You owe me one for letting you stay here, right?” He asks enthusiastically, licking his teeth. Your eyes widen “I’ll take this as compensation, okay? It’s a good deal for us both I think,” 

“I don’t,” You squirm underneath him “I don’t—I,” 

“Shh,” He quiets you, humming softly “Don’t overcomplicate it. Just wanna see you,”

Gojo watches you turn it over in your head. He was wondering about this. What’d you do in these circumstances. If you’d act like you always do, pleasant and pliable trying to do what's best. Damage control for what's coming. 

Gojo pulls his hands away to undress you and yours fly to his shoulder blades. You heave as you push, mumbling something about how he doesn’t need to do this. Your expression is grief-stricken. Gojo soothes you. 

“You can bite, scratch, kick, scream - whatever works,” Gojo says, communicating his affection as best he can. He drives his hands under your shirt, laying his palm flat over the skin of your stomach. He runs his thumbs over your sides, committing every inch of you to memory. Without his infinity, Gojo feels every part of you “It’s not gonna hurt me,” 

You look like you’re at a loss for words. He gives you a warm grin. 

“Maybe we’re going about this all wrong,” Gojo says after some thought “Is this your first time?” 

You whimper, nodding meekly. Gojo  groans against your skin. You flinch. 

“Fuck, course it is. Shoulda known. Such a sheltered girl like you,” He adds the last part with a hint of condescension, watching your face curl up into a frown. 

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing you know,” Gojo is careful as he pulls your shirt higher and higher. Your breath is being held, afraid of what’ll happen if you let g.o “We’re tied together like this. Isn’t that nice?” 

“Gojo,” You say, swallowing something. Words that threaten to bubble up that you can’t find the strength to say. You’re not wearing anything underneath and Gojo feels a chill in his spine “Please,” 

“Not wearing a thing even though you’ve been sleeping at a man's house all week,” He reprimands. He lets the material sit over the swell of your chest, just under your neck where it stays. He can see the outline of your tits clearly now, just enough light from the open window to illuminate your skin. Your nipples are hard, heaving. Gojo can hear your little heartbeat thump against your ribs “I’m not telling you off you know? I’m glad you trust me. Great job, on that really. But you really should be more careful.” 

“Gojo,” You plead again, throaty. The sound goes through his system, sends blood rushing to his cock.  

“Satoru,” He insists on, knowing it will take more than that to convince him “I’ll try and listen to your requests if you say Satoru,” 

He doesn’t promise to stop, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to follow up on it. Still, with the level of desperation you show - Gojo thinks it’s worth it to gain something out of. You follow up his request almost instantly, lips wrapping around the syllables with a weak breath. 

“S-Satoru,” 

He gestures to take your shirt off. You’ve become more pliable, if only a little, letting Gojo see all of you completely bare as he tosses his clothes somewhere onto the floor. Shameless in viewing you, your instincts kick in to cover your chest. He clicks his teeth, pushing your wrists together again over your head. 

“That won’t do,” He coos at you softly “I wanna see you. All of you,” 

You hiccup, sobbing, Gojo reaches his palms towards your breasts, cupping them gently. Your nipples rub against his palms and he groans feeling how soft you are. 

“So pretty,” He admires you. Means it. Gojo lets his gaze catch on the edges and curves of you with enthusiasm. Your chest is sensitive to his touch, thumb and forefinger tweaking and teasing your nipples as you remain underneath him obediently. Your eyes look so watery, soft like lilies in freshwater “So cute,” 

“Satoru, please, I don’t—don’t want—” 

“So ungrateful,” He tsks. He smacks your chest lightly, enough to make you squeal “That’s the only request I can’t listen to,” 

You hiccup, looking away. Gojo hums as he hovers over you, seated over your figure. He pulls his mask off from his eyes, material falling into his fingers. Grabbing your wrists with his palms, he wraps the material around them - tight enough to keep you but with enough room so it doesn’t hurt. He places your hands over your head gently, kissing your covered wrists. 

“Don’t squirm too much, ‘kay? Stay like that. I’ll make you feel good.” 

“I don’t,” 

“Hey,” This time he’s stern, and you slink back into yourself. It’s the first time he’s had to use this tone on you and hopefully the last “What’d I say? You owe me this much, don’t you think? After everything I’ve done for you, the least you can do is not turn me away. It’s not like I wanna do anything bad with you, y’know” 

A pang of guilt passes through you. You stop squirming. Gojo keens, baring his teeth as he smiles. 

“Good girl.” He dips his head to kiss the place under your ear, where your neck meets your jaw. He scrapes his teeth on the skin so you can feel his teeth over your pulse “You learn quick.” 

You keep your arms over your head like he’s asked, hesitant and stiff. Gojo can work with that at least. He leans towards you, tipping your jaw so you’re forced to look at him. Tear-eyed and whimpering, a shudder passes through him. 

“So pretty,” He mumbles. He leans forward, presses his lips to yours - hand resting on the base of your neck. You make a noise of indignance but Gojo keeps you there. He eases you into obedience, forcing his tongue in your mouth, grazing the inside of your mouth. 

He swallows every sound you make. Distress and frustration and reluctance lend themselves to giving in  easily. Your body is sensitive to touch, a trail of goosebumps where his hands touch you. On your waist, trying to ease you into it. 

He pulls away from you, a string of saliva connecting you. 

“First kiss?” He asks. You shy away, clamping your mouth shut. Gojo chuckles, teeth nipping at you “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

You remain silent, so Gojo fills the space. 

“Mm,” Gojo presses kisses down the curve of your jaw, all the way down your neck where he stops and bites - hard enough for something to be there tomorrow. He undresses the rest of you. You try to resist this time too, but Gojo doesn’t bother putting up a show. It’s easy to overpower you. He tugs your shorts off with your panties and tosses them somewhere. Unceremonious and uncharacteristically impatient. 

He takes his time now that you’re all naked. It’s thrilling to watch distress fill your lungs, a ballooned breath and muffled protest. Gojo sucks hickies into your bare skin. It’s only fair to give you something to look at while you’re departed. Your blood rushes, capillaries breaking under the hardness of his incisors  - ridges pushed against your delicate skin. He licks the bruises afterwards, kisses them tenderly. 

“Gonna be a little sore for a while,” He says warmly. You’ve hit the stage of grief where you’re angry and resilient again but one look from Gojo is enough to make you slink back “Might as well enjoy yourself.” 

Despair flashes in your expression. 

“I mean it, you know.” He offers, stating it like he’s trying to appease you “You should relax a little, let it roll off your shoulders.” 

It seems like you register that Gojo is teasing you. He does mean it, about thinking you should enjoy it. Everything else is deliberate and you know as much. It’s good you’re starting to understand him a little better. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” You ask hoarsely. Gojo is surprised by your question. 

“Ah, it’s a secret, so you can’t tell,” He starts. He squeezes the fat of your chest in his palms, silver tongued and playful “I like things that I can keep.” 

A flash of true horror washes over you and you almost go ragged in realization. Weakened in your resolve once glimmering so brightly, Gojo takes the opportunity to please. He kisses down your sternum, runs his hands across the sides of your chest. He presses this thumb against your hardened nipples, rubbing lightly. Gojo takes them into his mouth. He bites then licks like he licks a wound

It pleases him immensely when you respond. When you gasp in a helpless sort of way and go to cover your mouth in shame. A sense of delight washes over his body and he does it again and again. He teases, changes from sucking harshly to lapping oh-so gently on the skin. Over and over until your voice can longer be contained no matter how hard you try - sharp gasps and cries of desire filling the air. 

When he thinks you’re worked up enough, he slots himself against you and nudges your legs apart. He can feel the heat from your bare skin against his body, clothed. How you tremble underneath him. He eases his hand down gently, fingers trailing down to your pussy. 

You hiccup. A sob of defiance stifled with obvious arousal, forced from you so easily. Gojo laughs. 

“You don’t wanna?” He pricks, intentionally. Gojo lets his middle finger ease along your slit, dragging his digits up and through - catching on your achy clit “Are you sure?” 

It’s torture for you. Of course it is. A pretty, sheltered little thing. It’s your first time with something like this and he’s sure all this is too much for you. Even if you tell yourself you don’t want it, your body can’t refuse him. You can’t either, try as you might. That’s why your legs are spread and why you’re practically dripping for him. Gojo thinks of it as admission. Your clit is hard underneath the pad of his middle finger, as he rubs too light and too gently. 

You cry out, pitchy and broken. Gojo laughs. 

“You need it here,” He punctuates, adding enough pressure that you gasp “Need me to touch you here, hm?” 

You shake your head at first. Gojo tucks himself against your chest, sucking the skin gently. 

“Be more honest.” He encourages a mockery as he so barely presses his finger inside of you - threatening to touch but never doing it “What do you want?” 

“Don’t, I don’t.” You say, or you try. 

“Liar,” He snips playfully against your clavicle “Your pretty little pussy is dripping wet and you want me to believe that?” 

Gojo smacks your cunt softly. Once, then twice, then three times for good measure as you cry. 

“C’mon,” He encourages meanly “Tell me what you really want.”

It’s a sick little mind game that Gojo is having too much fun playing with you. 

“P-please,” You stutter, so unbelievably broken with so little done to you at all. Gojo will take all of you at a later time. When you’re thoroughly pliable and broken and so beautiful all for him “Please.” 

So dependent like Gojo always thinks you should be. 

“Please what, hm? What are you asking for?” 

You swallow thickly. All your dread and doubt and disbelief gone as a sense of real and true need ignites within you. Of course this is too much for you. Gojo overwhelmed you like this on purpose. The resentment of wanting despite it all, despite how miserable you are makes for something so tragically Gojo’s. Whatever you have in your heart will always be for him. Good or bad, ugly or beautiful - like this you are all his and so perfectly too. It’s titillating, the sensation of control that wisps around him. It strikes him like a hammer on hot iron.

Gojo wants you to say it. Wants your selfless  little heart to beg for his mercy this once. You’ll understand some time later, that this is how Gojo loves. Selfish and twisted. Cruel. Intimate beyond mortal comprehension. All of him just for you, just like this. 

Strangely, it's perfect. Gojo teases you some more. Toys with your clit and feels a pool of arousal rush and drip from your sore cunt. He hits it with the palm of his hands as you try to form the words. You tremble in his arms, a vestige of your will to resist. 

You want to resist so badly, he can tell. But it hurts now to leave it alone and you want it despite yourself. It makes you so frustrated you cry. Limp, crystal tears down your face that Gojo licks up nearly immediately. Salty and bitter. Gojo kisses the apples of your cheek, nose nudging your skin. 

“So cute when you give up.” Gojo praises sincerely. You sob somewhere deep inside of your “Be good and be honest. I’ll reward you, hm? How’s that?” 

Gojo can feel the moment you give in completely. When acceptance settles over your hazy and contorted mind. You let the tides take you, curling into yourself.  A sound like you’re in pain even though you’re not hurt. 

“Please touch me.” You whisper, hoarse and defeated. Gojo laughs airy, peppering your face with kisses. You wince. 

“Good girl.” He coos, dipping his fingers down lower and lower. Heel of his palms pressed into your swollen, needy clit “That’s all you had to do. Easy, right?” 

You scowl at him (you try too).

“Open your legs, baby,” 

You listen this time, opening your legs wide enough for him to touch. Your pussy is so wet for him. Sticky and soft like you’ll fall apart, Gojo thinks it feels divine, wants to squeeze and grope and touch until you’re disintegrated. He likes feeling you like this. Vocal chords strung tight, all the noises throaty and gone. You throb against him like you’re begging. Gojo doesn’t stand to let you acclimate, flipping between three fingers in a gentle rub to a soft and well-practiced spank. 

Only when your words start to come out t0gether, like you’re spitting them out because they fill your mouth  too quick - does Gojo bless you with any mercy. He lets his hands sink lower, deeper - until his middle finger brushes your twitching hole. Your breath hitches, and the hands once stuck to your side, reach for Gojo’s hard to hold. 

He licks his teeth, some unspoken feeling sending an bullet through him as he feels your body resist. Needy thing you are and so untouched that even the point of your middle finger makes your breath slower. You’re wet enough he doesn’t need anything else to aid him. He pushes in slow, slow, slow - painstakingly carefully as your wetness envelops you. 

Because he intends to cherish you in his own way, he resists the urge he feels to flip you right over and take you. He’s being kind, and you’ll realize it later - when you’ve adjusted to him a bit more and know when to pick your fights. If he didn’t think it’d ruin the set-up, he’d have flipped you on your back just feeling. Fucked you without any consideration, just to feel your pussy around him in a vice grip. 

It’s all he can picture, but he shows restraint. He’ll fuck himself off on you when you’re sleeping maybe, just to scratch the urge. You might pass out before then. 

He comes back to you like that, a promise to himself to give the relief he needs with the body he finds oh-so tempting. He pushes his perversion aside to touch you. You let out a little sound every time he fucks himself deeper, gets his middle finger down to the first bend the all the way to the knuckle. 

When he thinks you’re adjusted - ready for more, he gives it to you without making you plead. He uses his ring finger this time - his longest ones and feels you stretch around. He groans, deep and appreciative, as he feels how tight you are. You preen, squeeze your thighs together and call his name 

“Oh, Satoru, its.” 

He shushes you before busying himself with tasting your skin. Closes his mouth around one of your tits as he repeats the process. In, in, in until he’s all the way to his knuckles. Fucks you till it’s easy, till you’re wanting more. 

If he were more merciful, a good man or a better one - he’d stop here. He doesn’t though. A third finger has your eyes widening. You gasp. Gojo kisses your face again and again. 

“Easy, easy,” He coos, voice coarse but encouraging “It’s a good exercise for the future.” 

You don’t register the words and Gojo doesn’t expect you to. Even still, he thinks giving you the heads up is quite nice. 

Three fingers proves to be more than enough. It pushes you to an edge he has seen before. He fucks you with three. Your mouth falls open, slack jawed. Gojo curls his fingers. He rubs up like he’s motioning for you to come here, deep enough until he feels it. That spongy spot inside of you, apparent through the sounds you start to make as he touches it. 

He hits something of a stride like that, finger fucking you with pressure on your clit and his mouth on your skin. Gojo takes to watching you once he knows he’s getting you to that edge. Your body stiffens underneath him, breathing going noticeably shallow. Mouth wobbly, lower lip trembling. He can tell you’re feeling it, just as much as you’re resisting it. Gojo coaxes you by whispering against your skin. 

“C’mon,” He hums, nudging his nose to your neck “You wanna cum don’t you? I can tell you. You too scared? Need me to help you.” 

You whimper “Aah, aah,” Gojo can feel you pulse. Can feel your insides tighten. He’s doing it on purpose, tipping you just over the edge. He wants to hear you beg. Wants to know what it sounds like when you beg for him. He fucks into you slowly, until you’re no longer able to put on a show of being composed. 

“S-sato—oh, please, oh—please m-make me,” 

“Want me to making you cum? Say it. Say, ‘Satoru, please make me cum,’ can you do that?” 

A bitter sob leaves your lips and Gojo can’t think straight. It strains you. 

“S-satoru, pleasemakemecum—please.” 

Gojo grins. “Of course I can,” He quickens his pace enough to make you feel it. Your eyes shoot open before screwing closed again “All you had to do was ask me.” 

He watches you intently. How you fall apart under his fingers, delirious whimpers of no, no, no - even though you begged so sweetly a minute ago. He hums as he feels the walls of your pussy start to tremble, a soft squelching sound hastened now. You say something he can’t decipher, words too jumbled for him to make sense. Gojo stares hard. Lets the infinity bleed away so he can feel you just like this, feel you cum on his fingers despite everything. 

He feels giddy to the point he’s sick with it, moaning as your hands grip at the roots of his hair. He kisses your breast tenderly, just over the latest lovemark. 

“Don’t hate me too much, kay,” Gojo says, whispering, means it so you carry it with you because he can feel the resentment nudged so deep into your heart by now “Come on. Cum for me, sweet girl. Want you to feel so good.” 

And so you do. You cry, scream - but the noise amounts to nothing. A cosmic thing, like you’ve been struck by a comet. Gojo fingers you through it, absolutely delighted at the hot rush of liquid that comes pouring out of you. Your first orgasm from him and you’re squirting all over his fucking wrists, soaking his sheets and his arms and his PJ’s with your back curved in a beautiful arch. You break apart in an almost violent way, like the pleasure’s vicious. It tears into you and you succumb with a whimper. 

Gojo shushes you as you break down finally into a teeny, tiny sob. You must be exhausted because you don’t pull away when he comforts you, despite the little angry why, why, why that you whisper. You hit his chest softly. He kisses your forehead and listens as your breathing goes still and you fall asleep in a heart-beart, still curled up into his bed and too tired to run away or go anywhere. 

He stays with you like that, relishing in the warmth of your body until you’re deep asleep. He flips you onto the side of the bed that isn’t wet, and presses a kiss to your forehead before moving out of the sheets. . 

When he stands to his feet, it’s to collect the curse that’s gathered itself on the foot of the bed. It manifests as a white snake with blue-eyes. Gojo finds himself amused. Of course the curse you’ve made is pretty. Gojo grabs it by the neck, watching it as it pries its mouth open and bares his fangs at him. He grins, pricking himself on the teeth to see if it makes him bleed. 

It hisses loudly before wrapping itself around Gojo’s arm. It doesn’t take any effort to subjugate it, sensing his power it stills with some effort. Gojo tilts his head as he walks out of the room, glancing at you before turning his head back at the snake. 

“Better warm up to me,” He whispers in the dark, a contentment to his words “You won’t be seeing your mama for a while,” 

—

Communication stills. 

Radio silence, more like - a busy bunch of messages deftly still. Suddenly, a raging storm of grief and anger disappears. The morning after Gojo assaults you, he wakes up to see you off like nothings happened. 

He mostly does this because he wants to see what you’ll do.

You spend the morning perplexed and confused. You eat breakfast with him. You sit at the table, contemplative and silent and Gojo chats away at you idly. About the news and the weather and the classes he has today. You chew your food but don’t taste. You listen but your replies are short and stilted - out of touch. 

Gojo learns that when something bad happens to you, you respond to it by detaching yourself. Though yesterday you were hot and fiery, the day after you seem to be mourning. Your grieving process starts early, and Gojo thinks rather amused—that you remind him a lot of himself.

He thinks you’re a little closer now that you understand the apathy of losing something that can never come back. And once this whole thing is over, once you find yourself back here - he’ll tell you all about it. You get it now right? It’s painful to feel like you can never be the same. 

They say that mankind was fashioned from their Lord. Gojo supposes he’s made you in his image. You look a little empty, and though you’re both so different - you can become close by having the same wound. You can understand him a little more this way, all while retaining your sense of resilience.

What is mankind not known for if not perseverance? Of course he knows, once you recover from your grief, you’ll return to your usual spitfire. He’s counting on it, counting on you to fight and run. Escape from him and never come back. 

But that cat and mouse game is more than okay. Gojo isn’t looking for your obedience, really. You’re too defiant of a character. Gojo thinks it’d be pointless if you’d just stayed the same.

You need to have hope to stay the way you are. Thus, Gojo doesn’t plan to rob you of it. He figures it’s best to give you breathing room. After all, he has full confidence in his ability to find you. He could hear the rhythm of your heart a continent away and chase it down without thinking twice. But it’s better if you’re able to show him some resistance. He thinks of it like a compromise. That sort of thing is typical for married folks, he thinks. He gives and you take. 

Eventually, you might realize that the endeavor of running away is fruitless. Maybe you’ll be clever enough to recognize that it’s not that you’re succeeding, but that Gojo is letting you. You’re definitely smart enough to do so early, but just stubborn enough to believe that there’s hope in spite of that. If you try hard enough, persevere a little more, etc. 

Gojo likes this part of you. Always will. You always put your best in everything and this is his own way of nurturing it. 

It’d be a shame to take that from you. Gojo has remained out of your sight for the time being to try and reinstate it. While he raises the curse up in his apartment, he watches you through windows and flitters into your bedroom to peer at you before disappearing again. He makes sure that you can’t sense him or that he’s gone before you can. The more ease you feel, the easier everything else will go. 

Feeding the curse you’ve left behind in his house has been taking most of its time. It’s obedient to him since he’s strong, and it’s big now. Longer and wider and more sinister looking (he feels a weird affection for it, maybe just because it’s from you), more hostile. He’s been careful to maintain it. Too much feeding will make it overgrown. 

It’s currently on Gojo’s floor, on a dog bed like a disobedient pet - all in a single coil. He has to be careful not to endanger you by making it too strong or giving it too much range. It’s just meant to be a showpiece - a prop at best and a scraped knee at worst.

He’s been building it up for a long time. Then, though, it wasn’t such a clear desire. He figured sewing seeds of fear in you would benefit you in a different way. But that’s fine. The means don’t matter as much as the ends and in doing so - he’s made this all sort of seamless. 

It’s not a complicated plan, ultimately. He’ll tell the curse to let loose, freak you out a little, and eventually - you’ll call the only person you know who knows how to handle it. Gojo will save you, and when you’re finally caught in his arms, you’ll have a little reunion amongst yourselves. He’ll reprimand you (but only lightly) and you’ll thrash (but only for a little while) and then he’ll keep you by his side again. 

Except this time he won’t be so quick to let go. He’s sure you’ll protest (and be all gung-ho about it). He’ll feign cruelty and push you to the edge. Whatever response you do have, he’s thought of a way to reply. 

A way to tend to it. 

Like any relationship, things take time. He’s not expecting this to settle right away - but he’s confident eventually it’ll work out how he wants too. Gojo can make that happen as long as you’re within view. 

He watches you through the window as you come in from your classes. You’re dressed up today despite the chilly weather - a blouse and nice pants with bangles on your wrist. He wonders what the occasion is given the time of year. Your bag is hanging loosely off of your shoulder - having only just returned. 

A sense of warmth spreads through him as he peers at you, a smile on his face. He really does like looking at you quite a bit. 

The curse hisses at the sense of your presence and Gojo waves a hand at it to keep it quiet. 

“Calm down or I’ll exercise you right away,” Gojo says coldly. It retracts itself. “I’m getting impatient, too, you know? It’s been a long time.” He says wistfully. 

He keeps looking until you’ve effectively disappeared from his sight. He listens for you outside of his door. The sound of the building buzzer, soft footsteps, and the slight jiggle and turn of keys before you’ve gone in - sound by a dull thump. 

He leans against the wall near his door where he was listening, eyes up at the ceiling as he turns over his options. He should wait it out a little longer. Giving everything enough room to mellow out before it picks up again is an important part of the process. 

But he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait. Plus, keeping this curse around is starting to be troublesome. He’d much prefer you back in his arms, in his bed - all back to that kind domestic fantasy that he’d been thinking about again for weeks. 

He supposes there’s no right decision, in this case. Just what he wants to do, versus what he should do, and some kind of middle ground he’s been spending too long looking for. 

He stands to his feet, no longer leaning on the wall before glancing at the curse from the corner of his eyes. 

“Today seems like it’s too soon yet too far,” Gojo pauses between sentences, scratching his head woefully “But it should be okay, right?” 

__ 

At 7pm, the curse slips underneath the door of his apartment into the hallway. Gojo sits comfortably in his living room, one leg crossed over the other with his phone in hand, a warm mug of tea cooling on his coffee table. 

The news is playing. A general and loose sense of anticipation fills him as he pays attention to the newscaster. Another storm is going to hit and the temperatures are dropping to an impossible low. Officials recommend buying bottled water and keeping warm as it continues to blow out. 

There’s a soft hiss as the muscled curse squeezes itself underneath the tight crack of his door. It’s unfortunate he can’t monitor it directly. Though the instructions ( and subsequently the consequences of disobedience) were made clear - curses are greedy as they are stupid. This one in particular seems to be self-aware enough not to try to go against Gojo’s word. 

So, when the time comes he sits patiently and waits. Watches the news. His ears itch and his skin pricks as he listens for the first whisper of your voice. He wonders if you’ll scream. You didn’t when he thought you should’ve but maybe there's a reason for you to do so now. 

The clock ticks away. It’s unceremonious. Gojo thinks to himself that maybe this entire thing is esoteric. Capturing you is a tragedy that he writes to himself and he’ll re-tell it to you all the time in different ways. 

The clock ticks. Again and again, the monotony is starting to settle in. Time moves slower than you could imagine. Like trying to pipe honey into straw, thick and impossible. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

At 7:02, a dog barks outside. It sounds cagey, and it’s not Pokupan because Gojo knows what that mutt sounds like. Nor is it cosmic. It does sound desperate, though - like asking someone to be let in. And if Gojo didn’t have such a pressing matter to attend to, he’d go outside and do it himself. After all the wind is frosty and the air is unforgiving and winter devours things so slowly it's painful. 

Gojo can’t abandon his task. It’s too important for him to stick his neck out for a being he doesn’t even know. He hopes briefly that it survives. That someone lets it in before it gets anymore violent (or desperate or willing) 

At 7:03, he reaches for the tea on his coffee table to drink it. It’s still piping hot, but Gojo can swallow it with his infinity. He does for a reason he can’t name. It’s just a compulsion, inspired by the fact it will probably be too cold when he comes back for it. He thinks, instinctively, that he should cherish the warmth in the glass despite the barrier that prevents him from feeling it. Ultimately it’s still milk tea. It will still fill his stomach and taste vaguely sweet where he permits. He ought to drink it when it’s warm even if it’s just an illusion. 

The clock ticks again, this time to 7:04 and Gojo regains a sense of bravado that’s riveting. There’s a commercial airing now for a new type of kitchen gadget, an airfryer with more settings than any one person knows what to do with. The advertiser is enthusiastic and loud. He wonders what happens when it switches to the next one. Do actors on set feel awkward when the cameras turn off? He knows a thing or two about performing, which is why he finds himself so curious. 

At 7:05, the first whisper of your pleading filters through the hallways. Though Gojo figures he’s not meant to be able to hear it - because however vague it is, the sense of shame that it holds is hard to ignore. Despite his urge to run to you, Gojo is reminded of the fact he is teaching you a lesson and this is all a show for you and in a way for him too. There’s timings and cues and calls, so Gojo lets your first prayer get passed through the winter winds. He’s sure it gets dropped off somewhere in the snow. 

The dog outside bares its teeth and barks louder than before. 

At 7:06, the feelings of fear and negativity start to weasel their way into his apartment. Through cracks in the floorboards and the aeration in the spackle - he can feel it come through his door and penetrate his being like waves of wind. With no barrier and no filter, your fear is a familiar presence in his life. It comes to a crescendo as he leans his head back on the couch and blinks up at the ceiling. He’s pleased with it so far. It’s proving to be just right. All the months of delicate orchestration have culminated into such a lovely overture. A symphony of sobs. It enchants him like a bird song, or maybe the whistle of a blizzard. 

He waits for it to die down. He waits for it to start back up again. He waits for the sniffling to become sobs and for the sobs to become demands and for the demands to go back to sniffles. He waits for the dog outside to be let in because he can hear the buzz of the gates all the way from his apartment. 

When Gojo has had enough of waiting, it’s 7:15 sharp. 

He stands to his feet and walks through his door with not so much as a look back. The T.V. is still playing where he fazes out and he leaves it because this will be quick and easy. 

You’re right across the hall. The walk is short. The building moans like it’s dead. 

He stands in front of your door and presses his ears to it and there’s some semblance of an altercation. Mostly the sounds of shattered glass. 

If you were any more familiar with this world, you’d know the thing is stalling. It has harmful intent but Gojo’s presence is too risky. If you knew anything about anything, then you’d know you were never in any real danger and even calling Gojo’s name when you hate it so much now would be pointless. 

But Gojo has done his due diligence in keeping you in the fateful dark. 

So this part is easy. He reaches for the door but it’s locked, so he teleports. 

When he enters, your apartment is in terrible shape. The curse itself notices his presence but does not stop to act. He stops to take a look around. He figures you’re cornered and holed up in your bedroom. A trembling figure in the corner praying for God to save you. 

Your house is effectively thrashed like there’s been a robbery. He’ll have to make up something in the report. Officials will come, but they won’t question his word. All the glass is broken and scattered and everything is torn up. Papers ripped and fabric shredded. 

(The stuff Gojo demanded not to be touched has remained that way. Even he’s not so much of a monster to ruin your students' keepsakes. He’s sure you’ll look relieved when he returns them to you later. How kind he is.) 

He prepares himself like an actor might for a role. He thinks of the lines he’s practiced and the way things will play out. This simple, choreographed tragedy. A manifestation of your fears. Gojo thinks that he is probably good at becoming the thing people love yet resent. 

He’s sure you and Suguru would have a lot to talk about in another life. 

He checks the time on your digital clock, left unscatched in all the destruction. 

At 7:18, Gojo phases himself into your bedroom like he’s only just arrived. He hears you gasp in a sharp fear that quickly breaks into a sob of relief. He glances at you where he stands. He’s never been in your room. Kind of a waste it’s happening like this. 

The first thing he does is check if the door is locked. When he finds that it is, he laughs to himself but covers his face before he turns to you. You are exactly how he predicts. Something curled tightly into your fists, fearful and backed into a corner. He coos internally. At what he's done to you. How this has played out. 

It wasn’t enough to break you a little. This part is necessary. 

Like he starts most interrogations off, he asks you question.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, Satoru.” Your voice sounds shattered in such a way he finds it almost hard to stomach “Oh, it’s—Oh it’s you.” 

“Happy to see me, huh?” He says, tilting his head. You close your eyes instead of replying. 

“H-how’d you…?” 

“I can feel cursed energy,” He says, and it’s not untrue “I felt something very strange in your apartment. It’s been a while.” 

You still can’t find it in yourself to say anything. Maybe desperate, maybe afraid, maybe exhausted by your own paranoia - you relent. 

“Yeah.” You say. Gojo can feel the curse grow impatient. It lets out a loud hiss and you gasp in fear.

“Hey, you didn’t answer. Are you okay?” 

You stare at Gojo for a long time. 

“I’m not hurt but,” You swallow thickly. Upon looking at you closely, you look exhausted. He feels a little sorry for you. He’ll let you rest for a while when you’re home “I’m s-scared.” 

“You’re right to be scared,” Gojo says, and he means it a little. Not about the curse, but in general “It’s a pretty powerful class. A special grade, probably. You share cursed energy.” 

You look agape as he relays this to you. 

“Share…?” 

Gojo gives you a look. He can feel the creature coming towards you door down, slinking across the wood slowly. A coy, soft smile appears on his expression as he reaches down for you. You flinch from his hands but Gojo doesn’t falter. He strokes his thumb across your cheeks, peering at your eyes and how they reflect light from the outside. 

“It was made with your cursed energy,” Gojo explains very gently to you. You look at him in disbelief “Curses are negative emotions. So something like this isn’t uncommon. No idea how it got so strong, though. But that’s all your.” 

He watches you closely as a wave of horror settles over you. A nauseous feeling that has you cupping your hand over your mouth like you’re ready to throw-up. He masks a smile, but he doesn’t condescend you. Not openly, at least. Not to the extent he would like too. He reprimands you like a teacher - a sensei and his beloved mentee. 

“I told you didn’t I,” Gojo says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as you quell your own disgust at the thought “You have to be careful. And you can’t fight all by yourself, so you’re kind of helpless. What were you gonna do if I wasn’t around?” 

You look like you’re going to cry. Gojo keeps going. 

“You can’t call the police, you know. They can’t help you at all. Good for nothing bunch, really.” Gojo states, gesturing vaguely. He tugs his masks off of his eyes so you can get a better look at him “But you can rely on me if you need to. I’ll always protect you. Next time just give me a call, okay?” 

It must dawn on you, just then, what exactly Gojo is doing. Or some extent of this is hitting you for the very first time. The look on your face is picture perfect. It’s exactly what he wanted. An understanding he’d be hoping for for so long it’s unbelievable. 

“I’m the only one who can keep you safe, understand?” But he’s not really asking. You know that too “Can you nod your head and agree?” He pricks. You don’t hold back your tears but you don’t cry them either. You break down  silently nd you nod. 

Gojo reaches down and wipes them off for you. 

“Don’t be so sad,” He says to you, and he means it because what a shame it would be to wallow too much on such a nice day. Winter is for warming up next to your loved ones, isn’t it? “I’ll protect you now.” 

Left with no choice, you nod again slowly and clutch your pillow. Gojo kisses the crown of your head and leaves you to untangle your feelings. 

Then, almost on cue, the curse itself bursts through the door. The wood breaks off with the hinges. 

It’s really a weak thing. If Gojo was trying to keep his powers contained, he might’ve put up more of a fight as it lunges at him in your bedroom. It knocks over your things left and right but he’s mostly busy trying to muffle the noises so he doesn’t disturb the neighbors.

 It’s as fast as a gust of wind as he strikes out, neck elongated and jaw as unhinged as far as it can go. This time, Gojo can feel the weight of its desire to kill. A rampant sense of bloodlust in it’s every action, Gojo dodges each attempt and swipe at him. He leaves a barrier over you temporarily so that it can do you no harm.

It doesn’t go for you either. He figures maybe it has some understanding of its own predicament. Desperate animals can be clever too. Perhaps those things have always been linked together. 

But he figures a fair-ish fight is as much as Gojo can do to stave the thing off before he sends it off officially. Plus, he can feel you watching his back - like you’re trying to measure how strong he is. It’s a smart thing to do. You’re learning. It’s probably better to show you now, since there’s not much left to hide. 

So this time, when the snake comes flying towards him - Gojo reaches his hands out. He uses his infinity to stop it in its place. A noise of anger leaves its mouth, a low hiss as it hits the wall in front of him. Wide blue eyes stare at Gojo, a predator with its fangs bared. 

Gojo stares back, a predator with its fangs bared.

He uses a reversal of his Limitless, the infinite blue. The creature is pulled into him closely, crashing first into the space he’s created before disappearing into nothing but smoke and ash. It’s gone just as quickly as it happened. A curse so inferior, it can’t have been more than ten minutes to fight even with all the purposeful delays Gojo set in place to finish it off. 

It’s gone now, the product of you and him. A weird part of him is sad. But now he has you, so he cuts his losses. Now there is only you and Gojo, and a ruined bedroom and broken apartment. 

Gojo, who has no intention of enlightening you, turns his back to look at you. 

“Don’t know how long it’ll be gone but,” He shrugs, rolling his shoulder and cracking his spine “But it’s gone for now. Some officials will be here in the morning but with the way this place is, you might wanna come back to stay with me for a while.” 

This is all a formality. He’s sure you know too, but instead of turning away - you’re shivering figure wavers in the dark. You’re terrified enough to reach for his hand and hold it. You know what’s coming, but that knowing does nothing to save you. You were a victim to fate from the moment you met. Yet, you still look to him for comfort in safety because even knowing better, there isn’t anything you can do. 

And it’s just like you, to want to trust and forgive him. To reach your hand out hesitantly and try. Everything is tangled up and you are terrified and Gojo Satoru loves you. 

“Come on,” He says, encouraging you to get closer. He reaches over your bed to scoop you into his arms and you don’t do so much as protest “Let’s go home.” 

__

Gojo brings you home quietly. 

When he enters, the T.V. is still on. You are curled up in his arms. He has no idea how long you’ve been crying and about what in particular - but that’s okay. Tonight, to him, is something like an anniversary. Like any time before, he has no intentions to treat you roughly. 

It’s a good night, he thinks. Even in the state you’re in, Gojo can only think of making it even more memorable. You’re an injured thing in his arms. A delicate bird with clipped wings, or a butterfly with a missing antenna. Without Gojo there to pick you up in all your broken pieces, you might’ve really fallen apart. 

It’s reasonable enough. For someone like you, he’s sure tonight has been so scary. It makes him feel a little sorry for you. It makes him want to make it all worse before he makes it all better. 

He can’t describe it, but there is something so right about seeing you like this. 

All angry and resentful and volatile. All lonely and scared and saddened and somber. All Gojo’s forever, permanently through everything. He’s made you so completely in his image, something he’s always wanted to do. Maybe you’re a trial run, in its own right, of all the things Gojo will be able to do in the future. What he’s capable of creating with enough effort. 

Gojo is gentle to you. Tender, as he carries you into the apartment. You help him turn off the T.V. and put the mug into the sink. He carries you too afterwards, rewarding you with a kiss to your temple, before pulling through the threshold of his bedroom. 

Just like that, you find yourself again in Gojo’s bedroom like you were so many weeks prior. You’re weakened and exhausted, so willing that he is endeared. Like this, he hovers over you. Looks at your tearstained face and smiles so lovingly. 

Regardless of everything that’s transpired, above all - this is a reunion of two lovers to Gojo Satoru. So in the midst of it, he wipes your tears and kisses your cheek and you don’t pull away. Now you’re so ruined you relish his comfort if only a little, and this time it’s perfect. It’s everything he’s always imagined. 

He’ll give you hope and freedom and let you be. Eventually, you’ll come to realize you’ll always need him a little. And it doesn’t matter, does it? That he’s made it that way on his own. Because it’s true. It’s righteous and religious and godly. Gojo Satoru is not god, but he does understand the urge to make something that listens. 

He kisses your soft cheeks and hums at you, nose nudging your skin. 

“Still feel like crying?” He asks you. You blink up at him like you’re only just now realizing where you are. Some emotion overwhelms you, but ultimately you shake your head no. Gojo grins impishly. 

“That’s good,” He says tenderly. He kisses your lips this time, and you kiss back. It catches him off guard but he doesn’t dislike it “You didn’t get hurt did you? And now we’re together again.” 

This does seem to incite waterworks in you but you don’t look like you have the energy to cry. He doesn’t push you too much. Though it is fun seeing you like this, Gojo is grateful he has some time to cherish you. 

“Scary world out there, y’know?” Gojo says between kisses. He adjusts you, your arms around his shoulders loosely “Hold onto me okay? I’ll make it all better.” 

You whimper under your voice but don’t go to thrash. There’s something about you that feels limp. A spirit softened and dampened, like wet soil. Gojo is okay with anything as long as it’s you, and there is some part of this he likes too. How pliant you become under the weight of your fear, so tantalizing to Gojo he can’t help himself but kiss you.  Riper than the fruit of Eden. Just as sweet.

He kisses you for longer than necessary. It’s intimate and hopeful. All tangled hands and pulling different parts of you up to his lips.The occasional press of his teeth in your skin, with his senses so high he can practically feel the blood rush through them. Your mouth is soft and warm, the breadth of mint on your tongue. He pushes his tongue past your lips but this time around, you don’t do anything to refuse it. 

So accepting like this. Gojo thinks life with you will prove to be exciting. 

He rests his hands on your waist and you don’t pull away from him. Such soft skin covered in a sheer layer of sweat. It’s making him dizzy to have you like this, to kiss you in his bed. Again, again, again. You belong here with him and nothing has ever been so true. The euphoria of everything is overwhelming. He can’t get enough of you. Even if in the moment he carved a spot into you forever and buried himself there, he cannot help but want to be spoiled by your lenience and affection. He can’t help himself but to possess all of you so even time cannot spoil iit. 

Despite yourself, you touch Gojo back gently. Knowing you, it is a way to deal with the pain. You want to forgive him as much as you want him to save you. You hate him as much as you love him. 

From the beginning, everything has been exactly like this. This was the end of all ends. 

This is a lesson in divine truth. 

You’ve made Gojo this way as much as he’s made you. If Gojo Satoru is to play as God, then he supposes you are much like an owner. Some part of you has made him love you unconditionally. A dog and his master. An animal with a love so violent it shakes windows. Gojo Satoru makes you love him through violent means, and like a dog left abandoned in the snow - your own empathy for his unconditional but broken love makes you protect him. It’s cyclical. It can never change because the universe has ordained it. Because everything Gojo touches is a divination from the heavens. 

Where Suguru proves to be a lesson, you are the dues he is owed. 

This is a lesson in divine truth. 

More simply, Gojo Satoru loves you in his own way. Any loyal dog will chase its owner no matter how far they run. He lives for you, after all. He’s made you in his image. The difference between god and dog is nothing more than a matter of positioning. 

You love him back in your own way. Because his character and his tragedy makes it so difficult to abandon him  and your disposition will never allow you. You’ll hate and resent him. You’ll grieve and you’ll cry. You will want to turn your back but he will always come to save you. And who can love you so loyally as a dog undisciplined? Who can keep your sheltered being protected like a wild hound?

Spring was an innocent century ago. Winter is here. Gojo loves you. 

“My birthday passed recently,” He tells you. You blink at him. 

“Oh?” 

“Can you guess what I want?” 

You don’t do much more than nod. It’s not permissive. You just know better by now, and that too is not something Gojo finds himself pleased with. 

“You don’t have to do any work,” He offers you as a reprieve, busying himself once again with undressing you. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought you all those weeks ago “Just don’t run away from me.” 

If you notice how heavy the words are, you’re smart enough not to do anything. Even still, Gojo can’t tell if there's a purpose behind it. Perhaps you just know it instinctively not to. 

He takes you apart carefully. Careful, thick fingers unbuttoning the front of your shirt. You’re wearing nothing underneath, and the sight of your bare skin is almost too much for him. The hickies have yet to heal, though now they’re yellow and softened by time. Gojo will have to leave more to bring back all the color to you. 

He starts at your jaw this time, teeth against your earlobe. Heart in your hands, he knows your body a little better now. 

And he takes his time with it this time too. Even slower than before. Even more consuming, even more adoring. 

He laps his tongue against your soft skin and eats. Your skin is salty and sweet and Gojo can’t contain himself. He gropes you lightly, planing his palms over your shoulders and squeezing your breasts tight. He’s missed touching you more than he knows what to do with. 

Even in being gentle, there’s little he can stop himself from trying to devour. You lay about him squirming as he undoes each and every part of you. He can’t pick which place to go and what thing to do first because he wants so wholly. It’s making his head spin to listen to your sweet and short whimpers. You spread yourself as you lay under him, hands pinned to your sides - demure and needy. 

How different it is but the same. Something about how you’re clinging to him so desperately is making him feel sick with lust. 

Instead of going any further, he pulls away from you momentarily. He puts his arms on your sides and flips you over till you’re on top of him

The sudden change in position leaves you gasping for air. Gojo gives you an amused grin as you fall forward - as he props himself up on pillows while you try and steady himself. He holds you close to him once you’re all set, face to face like this.

“Don’t run away from me,” He says, more seriously. You swallow. Gojo lets you up until you’re half-way over him. You’re so much weaker than him, moved and manhandled so easily. There’s a target on your back so often and Gojo loves being an arrow. 

He kisses the side of your body as you stand on your knees beside him. His fingers hook into your shorts and panties, sliding them off of your body all in a fell swoop. He squeezes your ass slightly, spreading you apart.

“Look at you all bent over for me,” He coos, hands reaching underneath you to toy with your pussy. You whine, shuddering, clinging to his shoulders. “So pretty, baby. Prettiest girl.” 

A hiccup bobs in your throat. Gojo moves his fingers lower and lower, familiar now with the feel of you. Your cunt is just as welcoming as he remembers. The idea of making love sends a shiver through his whole body. Blood rushes to his cock like a bolt of lightning in his veins. He pushes his middle finger into your twitching, needy hole. 

Another sound, cut off by a garbled word of surprise, falls out of your mouth. You’re soaking. Ripe for taking. Gojo wants to fuck you more than anything.

He takes a deep breath, whispering to your skin. 

“Fuck,” He laughs, giggling at the thought of it “I’m gonna break you, huh? Gotta be—shit, need to be extra careful with you, right my love?” 

“Please be gentle.” You say at his request.

“Of course, of course but—” He squeezes your hip as he feels his middle finger go into you down to the knuckle. You roll your hips against him involuntarily  “You just—you’d look so good so full of my cock, y’know? Been thinkin’ about it for weeks.” 

And he has, means every word. You shudder at the confession. He quirks his lips as he fucks into you, relishing in those pretty little sounds that fall out of your lips. 

“You like that?” He grunts, another finger to stretch you out a little more for him “You like when I tell you about all the dirty things you make me think about?” 

Shame fills you, like Gojo’s lit a match under you. He can feel your heartbeat pick up. Is it the being so wanted or is it the crassness and humiliation? Maybe both. Sometime later he’ll pick it apart more closely. He lets himself talk you through it, so close to your skin as he whispers all the filth to you that he can. Confesses it to you. 

“Weeks and weeks, baby. Couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect and wet you would feel when I finally took you like this. Gonna make it so good for you, you won’t have to think about anything else again.” 

The promise sends you limp. When Gojo finally feels both of his fingers slide in and out of you with no resistance at all, he sighs lightly and pulls away. The loss of contact makes you whine, but he brings you back to his lap now, sitting with your legs on either side of his. 

His cock, clothed and restrained in his sweats, swells against your wet cunt. He watches your eyes widen as you stare at it, lucid enough this time to realize what it looks like. He looks up at you, kissing the corner of your mouth. 

“C’mon. You can look.” 

He guides you to the waistband of his sweatpants. You pull his pants down slowly, looking up for permission (which Gojo gives in a loving nod) before taking his boxers off too. His cock is so hard it’s almost painful. The tip is a flush red, white hairs trimmed neat at the base and feeling so fucking heavy Gojo can’t stand it. He hisses as your hands reach for him instinctively, and you try to pull away before he stops you. 

“Touch it, sweetheart” He encourages, wrapping your hand around it for you “Feel it? That’s all you.” 

A flush graces your features. For a minute, it’s all love and nothing more. Nothing less. Too briefly for it to mean anything, but enough for Gojo to know it. You wrap your hands around his shaft and stroke tentatively and Gojo groans shamelessly into you, rutting his hips into the round part of your palms. 

“Fuck that’s it,”

He looks at your expression, examining the concentration before chuckling. Your lip is poked out, eyes dazed. He pulls away from you, securing you close to him. 

With the new proximity, he holds his cock close to you. Measure it up against your skin, against your tummy. He feels you against him, Around him, folds nudging apart for him, The skin on skin alone has him so breathless. A dizzy sort of feeling as he presses the tip of his cock hard against your clit. You feel like silk around him. 

Looking at you like this, all helpless and needy, he can’t help but think about how easily he can overpower you. He’s stronger and bigger. His cock would be enough to split you in half. How he’s gonna make himself fit inside of you spins in his mind over and over. Maybe like always, your pretty little pussy will yield just for him. You’ll open and endure and take him so deep. 

He can’t help appreciating it. Can’t keep his thoughts quiet from telling you. 

“See that? How deep I’m gonna go?” He measures up to you. A hand on the bottom of your stomach, stroking his thumb “Gonna feel me right in here. You ready?” 

You close your eyes and look away. Gojo grabs your chin and tuts at you. 

“Nuh-uh. Want you to see. Don’t close your eyes.”  

It’s not a question or a request. 

So, you watch. Gojo lifts you up just enough to line up with your entrance and sinks you down so, so slowly on his cock. It’s agonizing how slow. It’s incredible how fucking good you feel. How perfect one sensation could possibly fucking be - Gojo could die here in complete bliss. He can feel the stretch of your pussy trying to accommodate. That sensation of resistance that sends him reeling, spine tingling and skin prickling with a heat so intense he feels like he’s going to pass out just sitting there. 

And then there’s looking at you, which proves to be an entirely new animal. You have this pinched expression, a shocked little gasp as Gojo pushes through. A whimper leaves your lips. Gojo rubs his thumb on your lower lip as he eases you down. 

“Hurt too much?” 

“N-no. Just… feels weird.” 

He laughs a little at your honesty, before fucking himself into you even deeper. Another inch and he really starts to feel you. Your walls feel like they’re sucking him and Gojo wouldn’t leave if it killed him. He groans, deep in his chest as you shake. Your grip on his shoulders gets tighter and tighter. 

With one more smooth thrust, Gojo sits you down on his cock completely. He feels so complete like this. Everything in him is at ease feeling your insides spasm and melt around him. He sighs contentedly.

“Still okay?” 

You nod weakly. 

“Can I move?” 

Your reply is nothing more than a whimper.

So he does, but he does so slowly. Just to get into the rhythm. He thrusts up slowly. 

‘O-oh. Oh, oh it’s,” 

He chuckles against the crook of your neck, hugging you close to him. He loves the way you feel against his body, the way your frame fits so perfectly into him. He rolls his hips up into you so there’s no effort on you to move. You whine that time, and he does again and again until your voice is a mess. 

“Starting to feel good?” 

“S-satoru.” 

He swears. 

“Fuck, stop that,” He swears “Gonna—shit, gonna cum right away. Moving so hold onto me tight, baby.” 

You take his words for it. Gojo feels your soft tits pressed into his chest as he pulls your hips up and starts fucking up into you. Each time he does, he feels like he can feel all the way to the back of you. None of his fantasies could compare to the feeling of being this deep inside, cock nudging against that sweet spot that keeps making you fucking mewl into his ear. He can hardly take it as it is now, focusing hard on not cumming until you do.

Making it good for you is his priority. Always has been, but you make it hard for him like you do most things. 

“Touch yourself for me, okay?” 

You look at him surprised but listen to his request regardless. Gojo takes to fucking you steadily. He builds an even rhythm as he keeps you up, hands firm on your hips as he pistons you from underneath. The pleasure comes in waves, undulates as blood continues to rush to his cock. He’s so hard he can’t think straight but he keeps each of his thrusts consistent, lines them with the pace you play with your clit so he can encourage you to cum for him. 

He can tell you’re starting to feel good when your mouth falls agape. He drags on your walls with each punctuated movement and your thighs shake and tense. Everything comes together so slowly but the pleasure comes at once. It’s a force that’s nearly earth shattering. All the planets aligned, everything in the same plane. Everything for him and for you. For the togetherness he’s created and chased after so long.

Now this part of you is all his too. 

“Sa—Satoru,” You warn, your hands trembling and fingers cramped up with need. He grunts as he stares up at you through thrusts “G-gonna…” 

“Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum on my cock? Go on. Know you can do it, baby. So good for me. Perfect for me.” 

It’s all babbling for him now, the sensation hitting him in waves. Your mouth falls agape and you cum so hard Gojo can feel every fucking pulse. Squeezing his cock hard enough he wants to grit his teeth. He presses his mouth to yours instead as you moan out, unable to hold it in. He swallows every noise like he’s trying to embed them into himself.

You cum hard and fast and Gojo is so quick to follow you. Only seconds after you fall limp into his arms does he feel it - no longer able to stave off the urge to cum so deep in you it stays forever. To mark you deeply you never think of anything. It’s almost animalistic for him. Every nerve on his body is on fire as he shoots his cum deep into you, sitting you on his dick with nowhere for you to go. 

Panting, he pulls back to gaze on you. He’s still hard as he’s twitching. He can’t hold off tonight, he doesn’t think. But he’ll give you a minute to collect yourself. He presses a kiss to your hairline. 

He whispers softly as the night comes to a quiet, quiet still. 

“I’m yours and you’re mine baby. Forever and always.” 

You shake. And Gojo knows you well enough to know that it’s the resentment coming back in waves. But that’s okay, because Gojo loves you. 

And with this, he’s taken everything.

EPILOGUE / OVERTURE : 

Your senses are accustomed to Gojo by now. 

You never thought such a day would come. You spent the first year of this relationship (if you can call it that, to begin with) in trenches so deep you couldn’t really tell left from right. So many things persisted as normal, but nothing was ever the same. 

In that, though, Gojo stayed by your side till the bitter end. He nursed you back into health and sometimes treated you so kindly that you could almost forget who you were dealing with. Sometimes the weight of everything became too heavy. You think you love Gojo almost as much as you hate him.

But it doesn’t particularly matter what your feelings are. Has it ever, in any of this? You always knew that something was strange but you didn’t think you were so clueless. Blindly following wherever his voice took you. 

The first time you try to escape Gojo feels like so long ago. That time, he let you go quite far. You made it out of the house and even went out of the country during summer. But you were sloppy and inexperienced. When he found you and brought you back home, you figured it had been a fluke. You’d learn from it. You’d do it again and that time you would succeed. 

That’s what you told yourself anyway. It’s how this all started. Where you would run, and Gojo would let you before he started to miss you. He’d come and he’d discipline but it was never too cruel. 

(You wished it were. You wished it were sickly and sadistic and tortuous. You think it’s so much worse to beg for mercy when you are sobbing from pleasure. For Gojo to coddle and sedate you and never yield. You think you’d prefer if he were just out of it. Just cruel instead of what he is. Which is knowing but certain. Justified.) 

This has been the farthest you’ve ever gotten. You don’t think you’ve ever been this far away from home. A cabin in the woods where you lived peacefully for days. You don’t know how Gojo found you. 

You had been so sure. This was it. It had to be it. 

Your heart shatters as you hear him. Feel him in your bones so much it frightens you. The world is covered in a sheet of white, and your ankles are bruised  and bleeding from where you’ve fallen. You’re cold and your heart is beating so loud - but no matter how much you run you can’t find any heartbeat to motivate you.

Gojo pulls through the thickets with a frown on his face. Blue eyes and black coat, his feet crunch the snow as he comes towards you. You crawl away. You try too, anyways. 

Gojo leans down to your level, looking at you closely. He reaches out to brush snow away from your skin. 

“My birthdays soon, you know?” He hums, not angry today. Not even wanting to discipline you “It’s not a bad place, y’know? The cabin. We can spend some time there before we go home. Might be nice. But we should get going so we can check on your foot.” 

He reaches his hand out to you this time. Too injured to run, you take it and he smiles before offering to carry you on his back. You hop on, arms around his neck and don’t even cry. A numbness settles. 

It is not the cold. 

“Oh, look,” Gojo says, reaching his hands out “Snow’s falling.” 

You suppose it is. Another Winter will pass just like this. 

A dog howls somewhere far off in the distance.

[steveseddie]

cold bones (you were the warmth)

rating: g | cw: none apply | word count: 1,307

tags: eddie munson lives, steve harrington is a sweetheart, pre-relationship, fluff and hurt/comfort

for the @steddielovemonth prompt “love is asking ‘do you want a blanket?’” by @thefreakandthehair

click here to read on ao3

***

Eddie wakes up feeling cold.

He always does these days. Since he almost died in the Upside Down it’s like the coolness from that place burrowed deep inside him and even now, two weeks later, he still can’t shake it off.

It doesn’t help that he’s still stuck in this room while he recovers. There’s an iciness to this place too- this secret government hospital. It’s not just the place with its gray and empty walls, but the people who work there too. The doctors, the nurses, and the government agents who are constantly walking into his room all treat him with the same indifference and apathy, and Eddie is used to people being hateful and mean, but this treatment is far worse.

The only time he ever feels warm is when someone comes to visit him, his uncle, or one of his new friends. But even then, that warmth doesn’t last long once they leave and he goes back to being cold.

With a sigh, Eddie wraps the flimsy hospital sheet around himself and rolls over on the bed, careful not to jostle the stitches covering his sides too much.

He lets out a soft gasp when he sees someone sitting on the chair next to his bed.

“Steve?” Eddie has to ask because he’s not completely sure that he’s not dreaming. Yes, Steve Harrington somehow ended up being part of that group of new friends, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t surprise Eddie every time.

Steve looks up from the book he’s reading- The Hobbit, which does little to convince Eddie that he isn’t imagining this- and smiles.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

“Am I? Because King Steve Harrington reading Tolkien next to my bed feels like something that would only happen in my dreams,” Eddie says, cringing a little at the meaning behind his words, hoping that Steve doesn’t read too much into what he said.

If Steve does, he doesn’t show it, simply chuckling softly. “Someone left it here for you. Think it was Henderson. It was either reading this or watching you sleep, and that one felt a bit creepy.”

Eddie snorts, gesturing at the worn-out cover of the book. “What do you think?”

Steve shrugs. “It’s not bad, but there are too many names, man. It’s confusing.”

“Fair enough.”

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks, putting the book back on the bedside table.

Eddie makes a face. “Like my body is being held together by stitches and prayers,” he says. A displeased frown appears between Steve’s eyebrows. “But they’ve got me on some powerful drugs here, so I can’t complain.”

The pain isn’t really what bothers him the most anyway, it’s the cold. Always the cold.

For a moment, Eddie thinks he said that out loud because the next thing out of Steve’s mouth is, “Do you want a blanket?”

“Hm?”

Steve gestures at Eddie on the bed. “You bundled yourself up like a burrito there and you were shivering in your sleep.”

“I thought you weren’t watching sleep, Stevie,” Eddie says with a smirk.

Steve’s cheeks turn a pretty pink shade. “I might’ve glanced at you once or twice. You snore, it’s annoying.”

With an undignified squeak, Eddie says, “I don’t snore!”

Steve laughs heartily. “So, blanket? I can ask one of the nurses for one.”

“You would have better luck asking Vecna for a hug, man” Eddie snorts. “I’ve asked, they- they never bring me one, either they forget or just don’t care.”

Steve frowns. “What? But they’re supposed to be taking care of you. All that shivering could mean you have a fever or something worse!” Eddie can’t but chuckle as he slips into Mother Hen Steve mode.

“Pretty sure it’s not. It’s- I think it has to do with the Upside Down? Like, being there and almost dying there left me feeling perpetually cold or something,” Eddie tries to explain. Steve’s eyes narrow at him. “I know it doesn’t make sense-”

But Steve shakes his head. “No, it does, the kids- they told me that when Will got possessed by the Mind Slayer or whatever his name was, he felt cold all the time so maybe it’s like, an Upside Down thing.”

Eddie blinks. “So you’re saying I could be possessed by a monster?”

Steve’s eyes widen in alarm. “No! No! No. I’m sure you’re not. I’m sure it will go away eventually.”

“If you say so.”

“Speaking of that. Going away,” Steve says, looking down at his watch and wrinkling his nose. “I should go, I have a shift.”

“Are people even renting movies after half the town got destroyed?”

“You’d be surprised,” Steve says. “I’ll come back later, okay?”

Then, he reaches for Eddie’s hand, halfway concealed by the hospital sheet, and squeezes it. Warmth spreads through Eddie at lightning speed from the touch. It lingers just long enough after Steve leaves so that Eddie can fall asleep again.

***

The next time Eddie wakes up- cold again, always cold- Steve isn’t there, but he comes back a few hours later, carrying a large bag.

“Back already?” Eddie asks when Steve closes the door. “Did you miss me that much, sweetheart?”

Steve splutters, almost dropping the bag and flushing a bright red. “Shut up.” He places the bag on Eddie’s bed and he recognizes the logo on the front.

“Did you raid Melvald’s on your way here?”

Steve bites his lip. He won’t meet Eddie’s eyes, staring down at the contents of the bag instead. “I figured if they weren’t going to give you any blankets here, I’d bring you some.”

Eddie blinks. “What?”

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he starts unpacking blankets from the bag- first a yellow fuzzy blanket, then a plaid one, and finally one with some animated cartoon characters on it that Eddie doesn’t recognize. He stares at them with his lips parted in shock.

“Uh, these were all they had, they donated a bunch of them to the shelter after, you know, everything.”

“You- brought me blankets?”

“Uh, I did, yeah.”

“You’re- something else, Harrington, did you know that?” Eddie says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Uh, something good I hope?” Steve asks, fidgeting a little.

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Definitely.” It hits Eddie then that he’s in a lot of trouble. It was one thing when Steve was just an attractive guy, but it’s another thing to realize that he’s kind and good and cares about Eddie. This is a guy that Eddie could see himself falling in love with and that’s a problem.

But it’s a problem for another day. For now, he grabs the yellow blanket and drapes it over himself. The cold doesn’t go away entirely but it recedes, and Eddie sighs happily. When he looks at Steve, he’s got a pleased little smile on his lips.

Eddie figures that he’ll leave now since he already did what he came here to do. He doesn’t want him to, but to his surprise, Steve lingers and Eddie sees his eyes land on the book on his bedside table.

He smirks. “Admit it, Harrington, you’re hooked.”

Steve’s eyes dart to him and he shakes his head. “What? No, I’m not.”

“You are,” Eddie singsongs. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Henderson. Under one condition.”

Steve narrows his eyes at him. “What?”

“Read to me?”

Steve blinks, clearly not expecting that, but then the corners of his mouth tug up slightly. “I can do that.”

He sits down on the chair after grabbing the book, and Eddie carefully rolls onto his side, facing Steve, and wrapping himself up like a burrito in his new fuzzy yellow blanket.

He feels real warmth for the first time since he went through that portal, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the blanket or the sweet voice reading to him.

Or maybe it’s just Steve.

[strawberryamanita]

Y'all I'm sorry but this is making me freak the fuck out

I know this is gonna probably cause people to call me a terrible person, but I'm just gonna risk it anyhow because this is getting really scary.

If you are a USAmerican,

Please vote for Biden this year.

I am 1000% aware that the genocide in Gaza is being perpetuated by Biden's administration. It's not good at all. I don't like the guy either, and like every President the US has ever had, he will burn in Hell, guaranteed.

But if we don't vote, then Trump is gonna win. This sounds rhetorical, but I ask genuinely: do you think Trump is gonna stop the genocide?

Has Trump ever shown that he cares about a single human being besides himself? The level of misanthropy that idiot is on is remarkable. I personally cannot see him slowing the flow of genocide in any direction; if anything, he might redouble the effort.

I think it was Warren who is tryna warn people that if Trump gets elected again, he'll never leave. I think back to a time during his first term where he said there might one day be a "forever President", and that makes me sick to my fucking stomach. That's not a presidency, that's a monarchy or a dictatorship. That would be the de-facto end of having a say in who's in control until he finally fucking dies -- and not even then, because then the mantle will be passed down to one of his children.

I know the US shouldn't exist in the first place. I am 100% aware of that. They say that empires fall after 250 years, and the US is gonna be 248 years old in July. But unfortunately, it exists right now, and it's full of people who will not survive another four years of Trump.

Again -- I will say it as many times as I need to -- I don't like Biden. I don't like him. He's done some beneficial things, but using his executive powers to speed up a genocide tips the scale completely over back towards hating him.

But Biden will step down when his term is done. I know the bar is in the fucking Mariana Trench, but for the love of God I do not wanna be under Trump for even a minute more. I hate Biden, but I hate Trump more, and that is fueling me, personally, to show up to vote.

At the end of the day, the problem is systemic. Every single authority over the US, since even before Washington, has only cared about hurting people of color and churning up the earth to make money. Our taxes could help improve the lives of US civilians, but instead they are funneled into the trillion-dollar War Machine aimed in every direction, including the US itself. The US commonwealth doesn't matter to the US government. We are human livestock who generate revenue; no matter how many changes of hands our money makes for hopes of a better cause inside the US, every last penny will find its way back into the War Machine or under the dirty ass of a billionaire who should be tarred and feathered in oil and their own paper money.

With all that said. There are US citizens who are enthusiastically pro-Biden right now, and siding with them might just keep us from living in Trump Hell all over again. The bigots have gotten too proud around here, and it makes my blood run cold. My mother doesn't show enthusiasm for ANYTHING the way she shows it for her freedom to hate people loudly and proudly. It makes her come ALIVE. And I know I'm not the only one who's been subjected to this kind of horror show for the last 9 years. Every state of mind curated by the US is a cult, and there is no escape outside of moving away.

Please. Vote. For Biden.

[rianafying]

this is not necessarily a happy journal entry but

i’ve had a lot of happy moments lately. and relief. also chaos but that’s nothing unusual, the happiness is. noticed something that made me upset just now. also opened bumble god knows why. i know fully well i don’t want to date, and yet, i opened bumble. it’s not like i have time to kill. in fact, i have no time. there’s so much stuff i’m meant to be doing. i just added a whole bunch of stuff to my master to do list. here comes the hyperventilation. i prayed the other day. i felt so bad that i prayed. can yall imagine how much anxiety it takes to get to a point where i genuinely broke down enough to beg god for help? but it means something. it means i have hope. it means i want things to get better. it means i feel it’s worth it. this is a start contrast to my indifference and disinterest in living last year. things are different now. i am different. nothing changes. everything changes. it feels like a cycle but also there’s something new about it. everytime i regain my will to life. you can’t force these things. it has a mind of its own. also going back to bumble, it’s such a waste of time for me and also it makes me feel a few things: 1) like dating is so strange, i don’t have it in me to do the whole ritual, it’s not organic, it feels forced, and superficial, it’s not for me, not for who i am right now. 2) it makes me think about aspects of myself that i have struggled a lot to make peace with, such as my appearance, my personality etc through the lens of others, like why would i ever subject myself to such torment, when i know i hate being perceived 3) i am too impatient and disinterested to send the first message or to wait for a response and then to carry on a conversation. there’s more points but ill just keep rambling for eternity. why am i even saying all this, why am i thinking so much about it, clearly this has struck something in me, since i feel so strongly about it and am desperately trying to make sense of it. the thing is. i like who i am. i like how things are going. that is not something i can say like ever. but can now. and i’m doing fine. and i do have the time. to be silly. to waste some. i don’t actually have to do the things, i just want to do them. and a break is never long enough to do everything i ever wanted to do. instead i’ll focus on the progress i’ve made, which is anything but little. i should be and i am extremely proud of myself. oh funny thing happened the other day, i accidentally splashed boiling water onto my face and chest when trying to break a bone in my stockpot. and i gave myself a pretty nasty burn that covers more than half my face. the left side. my left. your right. the side with the mole. anyway, so i dealt with it, i’ve been told to avoid exposing my face to the sun or heat in general. so ive been eating a lot of cold foods. and coincidentally watching that episode on gilmore girls where the dragonfly inn catches fire, and sookie can’t use the stoves until the insurance company pays for the contractor to fix them and she lists cold foods, all types of salads and carpaccios. i don’t eat raw meat/fish and i’m over my salad craze. i’m craving a hot roast chicken sandwich with cold tomatoes and zesty mayo on toasted brioche buns. the way i make it. i’m rlly hungry. and there is this lingering melancholy that just grows if i don’t address it every now and then.

for someone who is absolutely terrible at writing, i sure do write a lot. and this is technically writing. right?

even though things are better, i’m not yet okay. my mind still spins too fast. nothing sticks. i’m in distress because my friends are distress. how can we actually be happy if the ones we love are not. so many people so many attachments. it’s been a while since i’ve even had the mental capacity to care for others. i’m hungry as fuck. something is off, something feels bad. is it my hunger. is it my messed up sleep schedule. is it my perpetually cluttered room. is it the pressure of expectations. is it my godawful health, mental or physical. is it eternal.

i can’t fix everything. i can’t fix anything really. i can’t fix things at a rate fast enough to keep up with the pace of destruction. in this life there is too much to fight against. but also too much to fight for. at least i can take solace in the fact that it ends. which is not so much a fact to me as it is a hope. god forbid the heavens exist. i couldn’t take another minute of being, after i have been so relentlessly my whole life. i’m hungry. i’m scared. i’m hopeful. i’m apprehensive. always anticipating danger but never quite ready for it. nothing is ever right enough. except when i find a bit of poetry that changes the fabric of my being. maybe i just need to be receptive in case some poetry finds its way to little old me.

[childotkw]

i'd also like a top ten list but of your own characters :D I am still intrigued about your original stories and I'd like to know how you rank them and why

Oh god I don’t know if I can contain this to just ten, I’ve had a lot more OG stories crop up over the years that I haven’t spoken about on here 😂 why don’t I do top 3-5 for each?

Aasdfsdgfsdfklgjsd this is so long I'm so sorry 😂😂😂😂

Storm Son Series

Tristan - he is my boy! My son! So earnest, and he wants to be a good ruler to make his mother proud while protecting his friends. He can be reckless and headstrong, but is a natural leader and charismatic. Still young enough to believe in the good of others, a bit naïve and idealistic, but it's endearing. Comes up with crazy plans on the fly, and loves Alden and Sena so much he's ridiculous.

Alden - he’s just…so cool to me. Perpetually responsible, to the point of being obsessive when carrying out his duties. He seems reckless, but he knows his own capabilities so well that any risks he takes are actually calculated down to the finest detail. He is the one that enables Tristan’s crazy plans. He’s got ~hidden trauma~, but loves Tristan and Sena enough to let them in.

Sena - she's very Angry but she’s got Reasons for it. An outcast, she just wants to find her place in the world, and have a family with someone that genuinely loves and respects her. She’s not human, and is insanely strong, to the point where yeeting Alden at an enemy is a move they hone and use regularly. She loves Alden and Tristan and would die to protect them.

Lucas - the cool suave mentor figure. Massive DILF energy. Alden is his protege and thinks he is “all the best parts” of Lucas. Pseudo-father-son relationship on full blast. Lucas has done some bad shit in his past though, and it makes other, older characters very wary and distrusting of him.

Rosen - main villain. He’s clever and dangerous, and can come across as a madman but he’s actually fully in control at all times and that makes it way worse. Calculative and manipulative, he’s all-in in his plots and confident that he can win. Mildly obsessed with Alden because of his undisclosed past with Lucas.

Undertow

Cassius - if trauma had an associated image it would be his face. This man desperately needs a break. A child soldier, he struggles emotionally to connect with others whenever he tries, and has a lot of identity issues. He loves his twin brother, and though he does a lot of horrible stuff, he's equally messed up by it. He's my punching bag and is a water mage.

Darian - Cassius' twin and number one protector. Can, has and will throw hands to keep his brother safe. Darian is a lot more carefree and emotionally stable, but he also hides a very dark streak. He enjoys fighting, revels in violence and is borderline psychotic with only Cassius existing in his sphere of loved ones. He's a fire mage, and terrifyingly suited to his element.

Cenli - the head of the institute that trains the mages. She's cold and political, using others for her own gain without hesitation. She only wants to protect the institute. Does play a somewhat maternal role for Cassius and Darian but it's a very complex relationship.

Kalim (might be renamed) - high ranking bad dude that's obsessed with Cassius because he saw him do A Grisly Murder once and it tickled his fancy. He's playing 4D chess against everyone and is very hard to predict. Pretty much everyone hates when he's around because they all know he's up to something but they can never prove it.

Trials of Edos

Eli - probably the sweetest all-around character I’d ever write. He’s young, like fourteen, and very much a Classic Hero that wants to save everyone even at cost to himself. Selfless and kind to balance out the absolute magical power he’s packing. Kid could destroy the sun but he won’t because he’s a Good Boy. Needs supervision though because he attracts trouble.

Ariella - a thief with an honour code that means she can’t let Eli throw himself at the Big Bad alone. She gets caught up in the plot and just never leaves. Very confident, very switched-on, very competent. She finds Cayden adorable because he’s trying to be chivalrous and respectful. She enjoys pushing his buttons.

Cayden - a knight from an extinct order that swears loyalty to Eli after he saves him. He’s just a good guy, bit out of touch but genuine. Ariella both terrifies and fascinates him, and they work well together. He’s got a lot of guilt and trauma though, which springs up at the oddest times and makes his friends very protective of him.

Gods and monsters (not officially named)

Ira - disgruntled immortal wizard (think 5000+ years) that is forever in service of the royal family. He’s got Tired Dad energy when interacting with Elana but everyone else just gets a glare. He’s insanely powerful, has a long, long history and Knows A Lot Of Shit because he’s been around for it all. Very Angry at the Gods for Very Valid Reasons.

Elana - Princess-turned-Queen after her father’s death. She’s twelve/thirteen, very inexperienced and has been ‘given’ Ira as her key advisor, but she has no idea who or what he is. Very quickly bonds with him as a father-figure, and wants to uncover all of his secrets. She’s inquisitive and clever but painfully young, and still believes in goodness and fairness and daydreams.

Constance - Elana’s grandmother, former Queen. She’s old and not always aware of what’s happening around her, but she and Ira have a past because he was her key advisor when she was Queen. She’s very respected by her people, but had a vicious streak not many know about.

Ziris - the god of fortune / misfortune. Very young, only about 800 years old. He’s a troublemaker and fickle but if you catch his interest he’ll be ride-or-die for you. Very loyal to his goddess-mother, and is heavily involved in the politics of the Gods. He has a fondness for irritating Ira, and likes Elana.

Dystopian (not officially named)

Piers Erinson - my sad, wet, pathetic son. Someone needs to get this boy some therapy. Very self-destructive, way kinder than you would expect. A member of the DOVEs, which are the elite troops / spies of the Council. He was strong armed into service after a mishap with his old squad, and is the nephew of a hated former DOVE, and traitor. He’s forever trying to escape that shadow, and carries a lot of guilt over what happened to his squad. He would die for Etta, his DOVE partner - and tries to multiply times but she just won’t let him.

Etta Litman - my daughter! Badass lady, 10/10 want to be her friend. Etta was part of Piers’ squad when The Thing happened. She saw him spiralling and joined up with DOVE to keep an eye on him, essentially threw herself to the wolves to protect him from the system and all the corrupt people. She’s very patient, supportive and empathetic to Piers, seeing him as a surrogate younger brother. Anyone else can get fucked in her eyes. She’s super protective of him and will punch anyone who insults him at the drop of a hat.

Dacre Cygnet - rebel, wants to fight the Council and the system and probably God too. Very manipulative, often lies to even his friends if it’ll get him what he wants (and he might even feel bad about it). Blinded by his mission and fully willing to go through people if they stand in his way. Feels many things all at once towards Piers that he cannot compute because he’s a bit of an asshole, very much a “you are the only person I’d hesitate to shoot, please don’t use that against me” kinda deal. They’re on opposite sides technically but he pines.

Marie Fowlep - Piers and Etta’s mentor in DOVE. She had a history with Piers’ uncle, and you can’t tell if she wants to keep Piers safe or wants to use him until he breaks. Doesn’t have a maternal bone in her body but would go to bat for her kids operatives. She’s a “the ends justify the means” kind of lady. Can be very mean.

Rust and Ruin

Mikol - youngest child of Emperor Bendek and Royal Consort Anilise. He’s aware from a young age of the shitty position his mother (and he) have in Otrar’s court and feels a deeper connection to her as both of them were considered ‘outsiders’ due to their features. After his mother died, Mikol spent the next nine years in his mother’s country as a ward, and grew to be a cunning, quick-witted and strong leader. He travelled all over, joined the army, learning as much as he could about how badly his family ruled, and eventually returned to Otrar. He’s an ambitious little fucker and doesn’t get along with his older siblings, especially his oldest half-brother Leonil.

Orryn - born in Troam Siana, the isle of the Ashri (those capable of different types of magic), he was quickly singled out as a new type of Ashri (called Okaeti - capable of energy manipulation). He grew lonely though as the only Okaeti, and made his way to Otrar. Decades later he’s still there, acting as an advisor to the royal family but growing increasingly frustrated with how they govern. He was close friends with Anilise and grows to care for Mikol.

Anilise - the daughter of the King of Evaria, she was forced to marry Emperor Bendek after their country was conquered. Anilise was fifteen, completely isolated in a foreign, hostile court, and essentially forced to breed over and over because the Empress could not carry more children herself. She’s quiet and subdued, treated more as an ornament than a person. Anilise birthed four children, all made to look like the Emperor and Empress in utero by an Ashri magic. Anilise had little to no contact with her children, who grew up thinking the Empress was their mother. Mikol is her only child that looks like her, so she was allowed to raise him. Unfortunately, her constant pregnancies deteriorated her health to the point where she was bedridden, and she died when Mikol was six.

Leonil - the oldest of Bendek’s children, he’s a cruel and cunning young man that wants the throne. He has a particular dislike for Mikol, who he acknowledges is the most dangerous of his half-siblings, and the two of them are each other’s main rival / enemy. Leonil is married with his own young son, and loves his wife and child fiercely. He is ruthless when it comes to defending his claim to the throne, and wants Mikol out of the way.

Delia - Leonil’s wife and a very charming, conniving woman. She’s a softer touch when it comes to manipulating others, and shares what information she gleans with her husband. She also thinks Mikol is dangerous but thinks he'd be more beneficial on their side than against them. She is an excellent politician, and people often underestimate her.

[rainythefox]

Nightfall (Ch.23)

Synopsis: Pre-Resident Evil 1, slight-AU/Canon Divergence. Claire Redfield comes home to visit her brother Chris for the holidays but gets caught up in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with Albert Wesker, the Captain of STARS, after stumbling upon dark secrets. She can’t call the law; Wesker is the law, and she can’t tell Chris. She is trapped…Claire/Wesker & Slight Chris/Jill (Wesker & William Bromance). Rated M for smut, language, violence, adult content.

AO3 Link

Chapter 23: If You Love Something...

Warning: This chapter contains smut and has some gore/mutilation (but not in the same scene!) Enjoy! ;D

Her fingers glided along the oak railing as she peered down into the dining room below. Breakfast was being served to the mansion's residents, the fireplace aglow with a cozy fire. The constant hollow clack of the grandfather clock reverberated the walls, even above all the chatter.

Ada frowned at the gathering, feeling a little guilty for leaving without saying goodbye to John. She had to, though. It was for the best.

Her pocket beeped. Ada reached inside and pulled out her PDA, her other hand carrying a full suitcase. She knew who it was even before reading the text.

Don't be late.

It was nice to know that even miles away, Albert still felt the need to keep her in check.

She quickly typed up an answer. Enjoy your week off :P

After pocketing the device, Ada opened the door to the main hall, smiling to herself. She descended the main staircase and headed for the front double doors. She finished buttoning her fur coat, ready to step into the crisp morning after Christmas.

"Thought you could sneak out of here without saying goodbye, huh?" A voice called to her back. It was John.

She gave him an apologetic smile as he approached. "Well, you know me. I hate goodbyes. Besides, I'll be back in a few weeks. Just on assignment."

John crossed his arms with a frown. "Yeah, conveniently after getting into big trouble with the Colonel. Is there something you aren't telling me?"

Ada softly laughed. "That was just a big misunderstanding. Everything is fine. I am simply following Lord Spencer's orders."

"If you say so," he mumbled, disheartened. John Clemens was so nice and incredibly normal compared to most here. It was a wonder he was still chief researcher in the Arklay Laboratory. It was a wonder William hadn't eaten him alive.

Ada pecked him on the cheek. "Goodbye, John. Take care of yourself, okay? I'll be back soon."

"But I…I…"

"My cab's waiting."

"R-Right. Take care, Ada. See you soon."

The agent nodded with a warm smile and departed. Her warmth was trumped by the biting cold outside. Despite getting into the cab and driving away, despite admiring the beauty of the snow-covered Arklay Forest glinting in the warm morning rays, the cold remained. The same cold this line of work knifed into her, continually marring her heart piece by piece.

The cab ride gave Ada the opportunity to reflect on the damage this time. She'd acquired much intel for the Organization, which was always good for her health and wallet, but at what cost? Albert had certainly procured way more power this round. That didn't negatively impact her though. In fact, it did the opposite. He owned her more than The Organization did, their lives intertwined perpetually it seemed. That didn't mean Ada had to turn a blind eye to the innocents Albert decimated in his never-ending pursuit for more power.

Like Claire.

It's just how things are, she had to remind herself. It was part of the natural order of this world. Claire was collateral damage like countless other sacrificial lambs to the wolves that truly ruled the shadows. Not only had Claire found her way into the jaws of the most ruthless wolf of all, she had somehow managed to tame him, if only a sliver, in her favor.

Albert would consume her eventually, though. Slowly. Painfully. It was his nature. Ada knew it firsthand, and, in the end, Claire would too.

It would hurt Ada more than she cared to admit, but…it was just how things were.

Sergei, Roth, and Bennett – even Finley, Crawford, Lowery, Bard, Mueller, and Irons – all got what they deserved. Though some were gone for good, Albert was just getting started with the others. In the end, he had successfully won the biggest chess game within Umbrella to date…right under Spencer's nose.

The cab parked. Ada got out and, after a short walk over salted pavement, entered Grill 13 in downtown Raccoon City. It was the morning after Christmas, yet traffic was as busy as ever. Vehicles covered the freshly dozed roads, going here, going there. The people on the sidewalks did the same, bundled up, their own destinations in mind. So oblivious. Sometimes Ada was envious of their ignorance.

She found The Organization agents inside at a booth. She ordered a coffee and a small healthy breakfast, their waitress the same kind of clueless to her table's true intentions. Not three friends having breakfast…just three strangers exchanging information and money at the expense of innocent lives.

The woman agent was in charge. Selena was her name. That's all Ada knew about her. No last name. Ada wasn't even sure it was her real name. Selena was older than her, with dark hair, skin, and eyes. Beautiful, graceful…cunning. The man with her was more Ada's age, stand-offish, with red hair. Ada had never seen him before.

They ate breakfast, they faked pleasantries, they discussed the intel Ada had handed over. On occasion, the door would chime as it opened, causing a breeze of iciness to draft over their booth as customers came and went.

Selena smirked, flipping through some pages after Ada had finished telling them about the situation with Aaron Roth.

"We've yet to meet Dr. Wesker in person, but he continues to impress us. Putting a muzzle and chain on Spencer's guard dog was never a possibility in our eyes, and yet he managed to pull it off and take over Roth's expansive network. You've known him for some time, yes? Tell me, what is he like? His file is quite confidential within my higher-ups."

Ada frowned. There was no single way to explain Albert. There were hundreds of words that could describe him…merciless, calculating, pragmatic, despotic, vain, ambitious…

They could never even begin to understand him.

"He's…something else. You'll just have to see for yourself."

Ada got her payment and left, Selena's question still bouncing around her mind. Even she couldn't explain Albert Wesker to herself. She hated him, she respected him, she even thought she loved him in some capacity. Moreover, he just fascinated her.

Most men bored Ada. Most men were the same, no matter how inherently good or evil they were. Few and far between were truly different and intrigued her. Albert was one of them. His immoral nature aside, Albert saw the world in a way no one else ever would. He was someone no one would ever be able to assess, understand, or control. A force that could surely one day devour the world.

Wesker scowled at Ada's text before pocketing his pager, eyes now firm ahead as he followed his usual path within NEST. He glanced at his watch, taking another winding hallway without even looking at the painted directions. He had plenty of time before his shift at the police department, but speculated why William had such urgency to begin with. His ID wristband flashed red with a padlock icon. Spencer had stayed true to his word for Wesker's "holiday". He was now locked out of all Umbrella premises and operations.

That's where his "escort" came in. Matching his pace, she was the one to get him clearance into William's domain. Monica was her name, he recalled, another of William's high-ranking researchers. Forward, ambitious, cutthroat. Fortunately, she was also smart and didn't attempt superfluous conversation.

Another beep from his pager informed him Claire was home with no updates. That wouldn't last, however. Claire wasn't a homebody.

"Here you are, Dr. Wesker," Monica purred once reaching William's laboratory. "I paged Dr. Birkin and he will fetch you promptly." She batted her eyes at him. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Without looking at her, he waved her away with a flick of his wrist. She wasn't gone long before the door chimed and slid open, revealing William with bags under his eyes, a wrinkled lab coat, and five o'clock shadow. His partner's countenance stretched into a sleazy smile at Wesker's arrival.

"Hey Al my pal! Let me get the door for you!" He snickered.

Wesker sighed and entered, already irked, but William wasn't finished. "Need me to check your email while I'm at it? I mean, what all did Daddy ground you from again?"

"Spare me your antics, Will. I do not have the time today."

"You never have time for my antics."

"Yet here I am."

"Someone hasn't had their coffee yet! Luckily, your best bud's got your back. C'mon!"

Wesker followed after his partner, where they proceeded through two more Administrator chipped doors into the back of William's lair.

"What exactly is the purpose for summoning me here so early and with such urgency? You know I have a shift at the RPD soon and I do not need any further inconvenience should Spencer discover me being here."

"Fuck Spencer, this is important!" Will spat as he poured them coffee. After handing Wesker his cup, the Golgotha creator nodded towards the next section of his laboratory. "In the glass cage."

They approached the large glass observation room, where Wesker immediately discerned a familiar face. On the other side of the panels sat the bruised and beaten Stephan Bennett. He quickly sprang to his feet like a frightened animal when he noticed them.

Wesker cocked his head, almost interested, but it soon soured into a glare directed at his partner.

"I know what you're thinking!" William defended. "You had your fun using him as a demonstration for Claire, and now are thinking of a spectacular sendoff that will satisfy you, right? Well, I have just that! Just for you, buddy!"

"Is that so?" Wesker asked, unconvinced.

"You're gonna love it, Al, trust me. He's gonna die an excruciating, violent death for hurting Claire, just you wait!"

"I'm at the edge of my seat," Wesker said dryly.

William fiddled with the controls, and the metal door at the back wall of the observation room slid open. Bennett spun around, slowly backing away until he connected with the glass. Out shuffled a zombie, although Wesker quickly distinguished the characteristics that made it stand out from others.

"Playing with Crimson Heads again, Will? Such a lackluster finish for scum like Bennett, and regrettably not worth giving up my morning."

"Now hold your horses!"

The zombie was faster than normal, its rotten flesh turned crimson from the V-ACT process, time, and a satiated metabolism. Claws had formed where fingers and toes once were. After another onceover, Wesker recognized the clothes and remaining facial features.

"Is that…Lowery?"

"...Maaaybe…"

Wesker turned to him. "You turned Lowery into a Crimson Head? I figured you would've subjected him to the G-Virus."

"Well, I had a better idea!" William grinned like a little kid and pointed as Lowery chased Bennett around the glass cage.

"What the fuck?! Let me out of here! I'll do anything! PLEASE!" Bennett pleaded. With a broken arm and hand, he couldn't do much beyond evade and scurry like panicked prey.

"See anything different about this Crimson Head?"

Wesker had already noticed. "Claws are longer. There are bony plates along the dorsum and the scapulae are protuberant. More muscle mass. Mouth now has sharp denticulation. The brain is more exposed. No lips. The eyes are sunken in."

William nodded with a hushed squeal. "Yes!"

Wesker sighed. "What did you do?"

"Okay, so you know how the V-ACT process creates Crimson Heads, right? After time and a healthy metabolism, zombies infected with the Epsilon strain of the T-Virus will eventually slip into a dormant state and transform into a more dangerous creature. In the event of severe trauma, if the change is close enough and the head is still intact, they can mutate even faster."

Wesker nodded, listening to his words over Bennett's incessant screaming.

"Well, I took the Epsilon strain and kinda…'mutated' my own. And well…in the same process, created something even better than Crimson Heads!"

"...Interesting."

"Just wait until you see it! The time is right! This is why I called you down here in such a hurry! Behold, a new discovery!"

William hit another button on the controls. The machine gun hanging in the observation room ripped through Lowery, cutting him down before he could maul his quarry. Bennett collapsed on the floor, gasping, whimpering, looking all around with wide eyes. The Crimson Head twitched on the floor, blood oozing out from several bullet holes.

"Alright Lowery, you whiny bitch, it's finally your time to shine!"

It didn't take long for the strange zombie to reanimate once more, only this time the process was frenzied. Bennett shrieked, springing to his feet and running to the farthest corner of the cage as the body convulsed on the floor.

"What the hell is happening?!" their prisoner yelled.

Bone snapped, muscle wrenched, sinew twisted and extended. Blood spilled out as it looked as though something was emerging from the Crimson Head…like a macabre butterfly from its hellish cocoon. The outer skin was tossed aside and the creature let out an ear-piercing scream.

It was incredibly fast, launching itself through the air to land on the side of the glass, sticking to it like an insect, and climbing the walls with no hassle. Wesker stepped forward, interest quite piqued now, and ripped off his sunglasses.

The creature's body was pure muscle, protective bony plates and sinew wrapping its joints and appendages. The brain was completely exposed. There were no eyes, no facial skin, just a skull-like snout and a mouth filled with white spindly teeth.

"What the fuck is that?!" Bennett shouted.

Lowery's evolved state howled at the noise, at the movement, and leaped across the glass cage with agility akin to what they'd seen in Hunters. With a powerful swipe of its talons, it caught Bennett's shoulder as he dodged, tearing him open. The claws hit the bulletproof glass with a loud bang.

The injured prisoner raced for the opposite side of the cage, but the creature was quicker, scuttering across the floor, nearly on its belly, gaining on him. Then a long, rope-like tongue shot out of its snarling mouth. The barbs on the tip impaled Bennett's chest and lifted him into the air, an agonized cry gurgling from his lungs.

The specimen slammed its prey down on the tile over and over. A couple of sickening splats later, it tossed its prey off its tongue and pounced, ripping into him like a wild animal and gorging itself.

Wesker didn't even realize he was smirking through the whole thing until Will punched his arm. "I knew you would love it! Guess what I call it! Come on, guess!"

Wesker tore his eyes away from the feasting creature, Bennett nothing more than a mangled mound of flesh and bone, and looked at his partner. "Something creative, I'm sure," he said sarcastically.

"I call it a Licker!"

Wesker sighed. "...Because of the tongue?"

"Because of the tongue!" Will squealed in delight. "Genius, right?"

"Will this be your next prototype?"

His old friend waved him off. "Nah, I did it for funsies."

Wesker chuckled. The partners simultaneously drank their coffee, side by side, watching the Licker smear Bennett's remains all over the cage.

"I'm sure as hell keeping this new strain of T-Virus to myself though! No telling what else I'll be able to do with it. I mean, I just fixed six months of standstill at Arklay in three weeks! Fucking science fair rejects!"

"With you, anything is possible. I cannot wait to see it."

"Merry Christmas, brother."

"And a Happy New Year." Wesker smiled.

"Ah, yes. 1998! It's gonna be a big year for us! I can feel it!"

They toasted their mugs, the Licker's spine-chilling howl of death and horror a harbinger of what was to come.

The coffee shop was quaint and clean, sitting over a nice view of Circular River and Clock Tower Plaza. The water shimmered like diamonds in the morning rays, the eastern horizon paling pink as the sun rose.

Claire enjoyed the peace. She enjoyed the everyday normal routine around her: People ordering coffee, laughing over some donuts, stifling their yawns, and going about their day. There was the clinking of utensils as customers stirred their coffee, the shuffle of newspaper as an old man turned the page in Raccoon Times. Upbeat music softly played through the speakers around the cafe.

Claire had dropped Chris off at work and gone for a morning jog at Raccoon Park. It would be a long while before she went out to the hiking trails again. Now she sat at a booth alone, sipping her latte while waiting for a friend to show.

In all the chaos that had ensued since coming into town for the holidays, she hadn't had a chance to hang out with Megan. While Claire had plenty of friends in college, including Traci (whom she finally called), Megan was her childhood friend who remained in Raccoon City, choosing to attend the university here. After all, Megan wanted to be a CRNA, and Umbrella had an innovative nursing program.

Claire was early, but that was okay. She needed the alone time, if only to figure out all the fraught thoughts floating around her head. She had managed to bury them for a short time, but after what happened yesterday evening with her uncle, she could no longer ignore them.

The Christmas Party at Barry's was tonight. She wanted to have them all decoded and resolved before then.

"May I?"

The male voice made her tear her gaze away from the serene view of the river. Her heart jumped, not at all expecting the familiar face.

She slowly nodded, confused, watching closely as William Birkin sat down across from her. He raised his hand at a passing waitress with the friendliest of smiles. "Hey there, Rochelle! My usual?"

"Of course, Dr. Birkin!"

"Thanks, sweetheart!"

"W-What are you doing here?" Claire asked.

William looked…better since she had seen him Christmas Eve night. No longer distressed or even disoriented. Although he still looked tired - Does he ever get any sleep? - he was now clean shaven and his clothes were neater.

"Oh, I was just in the neighborhood," he half-joked, the sparkle of his blue eyes, the upcurve of a mischievous smile a reminder that he could be just as charming and deadly as Wesker when he wanted to be.

"Did Wesker send you?" Because Claire knew his answer was total bullshit.

Rochelle brought William his coffee. "Here you are, a large peppermint mocha with three shots of espresso!"

"You're the best! And make sure you add this young lady's bill to my tab, yeah?"

"Of course, sir!"

After she left, William's fake smile of pure friendliness and chivalry fell somewhat. It was softer now, a hint of playfulness and curiosity as he looked Claire over with a sip of his drink.

"Al doesn't even know I'm here, actually. I might've haggled his agents keeping an eye on you to tell me where you were though."

Claire shook her head. "Why? What do you want?"

"Are you sure you're ready for that?"

Claire frowned, tensing. What did he mean by that?

"I'm kidding. Geez, you act like I'm gonna take you into the woods and shoot you or something. Here."

She glared at him as he slid a large sheet of paper across the table. Claire was hesitant to touch it. It was blank, mostly smooth except for a couple of faint creases. She slowly flipped it over.

The younger Redfield's frown quickly receded, upturning into a bright smile. It was a drawing of a red cat snuggled up with a smaller yellow cat in a bed of flowers. A message in the corner read: Dear Claire, thank you for being my best friend! Merry Christmas, love Sherry.

"This is…" Claire couldn't even finish. It was beautiful, it was sweet. She was truly touched by the gift.

"My daughter sure has taken a liking to you, Claire. Although, it's not hard to see why."

Flattered, she looked back up at him. "You came here…just to give me this?"

Will smiled wryly. "Well…partly."

Claire sighed. That made more sense. "So why else are you here?"

"I actually wanted to apologize for how I left things with you before. It wasn't right."

Guarded, Claire slowly nodded. "Okay." She decided to go out on a limb here. "I take it you and Albert made up?"

William chuckled, lifting his mocha to his lips again and taking a drink. "Wow, so personal, calling him by his first name. Who'd have thought!"

Claire blushed, but glared at him.

"We did. It was a simple…misunderstanding. I overreacted." William frowned, looking out onto the river. "Truth is, Al did what he did to protect me. As always."

His eyes returned to her, more solemn now. "He protected you, too."

She felt put on the spot and quickly defended herself. "He put me in those situations to begin with…for his own purposes."

Will shrugged. "Sure…but he didn't leave you to rot, did he? Unlike the others that came before you…Getting Roth was the point of this whole damn thing. Sergei was just the bonus, thanks to you. But I have never seen Al go out of his way to completely annihilate other players the way he did just because of what they did to you. Bennett especially suffered."

"What happened to him?"

William chuckled. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you." He winked at her. "Nah, I'm kidding. You'd sure as hell have to say goodbye to your freedom though. Let's just say the bastard suffered the most tortuous, horrific death imaginable. Good riddance, right?"

Freedom. Did that mean Wesker was going to let her go?!

And why did part of her enjoy hearing about Bennett?

"Why are you telling me this?" Claire asked, confused about William's motives.

"I wanted you to know how special you are."

Claire blushed again, taken aback, unsure how to respond.

"I mean, you're a clever girl. I'm sure you've already put one and two together with your uncle? – Piece of shit by the way."

Claire's heart leapt to her throat. "What did Albert do to him?"

"Who cares? The point is Al's never done something like that for anyone."

Claire tried to dismiss it. "So?"

Will sighed, leaning back against the booth, rapping his fingers on the table. "You want to know one of the reasons you are significant to him?"

Claire had struggled with that this whole time. She swallowed hard, nodding.

"You don't use him."

It was such a strange, astoundingly unexpected reason. Claire blinked, dazed, making sure she had heard correctly. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

She shook her head, readjusting her thoughts. "What do you mean? He uses people all the time."

"Well, sure," Will agreed. "That's perfectly fine in his eyes."

"So he doesn't like to be used back?" Claire snorted. Typical narcissist.

"He's used to it. It doesn't bother him. He compartmentalizes shit like crazy." Will shook his head. "Deep down, a part resents it though. He can't stand to be controlled in any way. Stems from our…not so pleasant childhood. You're like a breath of fresh air, I guess."

Claire lowered her eyes, swishing her coffee around, trying to force herself not to feel bad for them.

"I envy you. I really do."

Stunned, she looked back to find his handsome face now casted a frown, one that carried a lot of guilt, if Claire read correctly.

"I wish I could give him that," he admitted, looking away.

"What do you hope to get out of telling me this?"

"Nothing," he said. "Absolutely nothing. You have Al's respect, Claire. You have his affection. It's no small feat. Cherish the phenomenon…that's all I'm saying."

"William, can I-"

"Claire?"

Megan! Her friend stood beside their table, bundled in her coat, a small purse hanging off her shoulder. She removed her hood, revealing her dark curls. Her honey brown eyes went from Claire to the stranger seated opposite. Not suspicious. Curious.

"Well, would you look at the time? I have to get to work!" William announced, sliding out of the booth, taking his triple shot espresso with him. He gave a charming, handsome smile. "Thanks for babysitting Sherry, Claire! Oh, and do try the blueberry scones. They're to die for!"

Without another word, he left. Megan slid into his vacated seat, shuffling off her coat with a confused, yet amused grin. "Who was he?"

"Just some guy I know. I babysit his daughter sometimes," Claire replied, watching where William's back had disappeared, her stomach unsettled.

"Well, sorry I'm late. The morning traffic is always hell!"

Claire put on a big smile, hiding the mixture of feelings William had brought about. "For real!"

"Ready for breakfast? I'm starving!"

No, she wasn't. She no longer had an appetite. She felt queasy, but forced that smile to remain. "Of course I am! I've been waiting on you, haven't I?"

Ever the jokester herself, Megan countered her teasing with a raised middle finger.

Christmas music echoed through Barry's warm and inviting two-story home. Outside, colorful lights illuminated the house and yard, like many others in the suburban neighborhood. The aroma of party food lofted around Claire and Chris as Barry practically yanked them through the front door.

"'Bout damn time you two showed up!" Barry greeted, squeezing them both in a big bear hug.

"Yeah, well, some of us had to work today, Barry!" Chris said, already peeking around at the guests. If Claire had to guess, he was searching for someone in particular…

There were so many people here already! Claire recognized quite a few of the partygoers. Most of them were cops from the RPD. She also recognized the Kendo brothers chatting with Enrico Marini and Richard Aiken.

Claire was both relieved and bummed to see the STARS Co-Captain here. She wasn't completely sure of their scheduling, but it seemed Enrico and Wesker rotated shifts quite often. If one was working, the other was not. With Enrico being here, it was a good indication the leader of STARS wouldn't be showing up.

"I'm just giving y'all a hard time. Party's just getting started!"

It wasn't two seconds later that Forest flew by them, sliding along the hardwood floor in his socks with a beer bottle in each hand. "Woooooooo!" Claire snorted a laugh while Chris sighed.

"Poor Joseph's gonna cry for weeks about missing this," her brother said.

"He'll get over it! Besides, he came to the Halloween party." Their old friend and host motioned to the kitchen and living room while they stood near the foyer. "Like usual, most of the party is gonna be here and downstairs in the basement. Got everything hooked up. Kathy and the girls are visiting her mom so it's just us…just don't get too crazy, alright?" He nudged Claire. "Don't be outdrinking all these guys, Claire!"

Obviously, it was a joke, but Chris huffed anyway. "Pshh, she can have one drink, that's it!"

Claire rolled her eyes just as the doorbell chimed. Barry laughed and answered the door behind them. It was Jill! Her short hair and beautiful face were splashed with flashing colors on the porch, a white wisp of breath escaping her lips. Like the rest of them, she was dressed up for the party.

Claire smiled. Gorgeous as always. Chris's awestruck smile and raised eyebrows indicated he was thinking the same thing.

Barry dragged Jill inside with the biggest grin, placing her right next to Chris before casually tugging Claire back a couple steps with him.

"Well, would you look at that! Mistletoe!"

Chris, still admiring Jill and attempting to greet his good friend and partner, blinked and looked up, confused. Jill did too, but quickly cast Barry a mischievous glare after spotting the little green leaves tied in a red bow.

"I was standing under this damn thing with you for five minutes, and you didn't say shit 'til just now?" Her brother shook his head.

"Can you blame me?" Barry asked. "I didn't want to kiss you!"

Chris sighed, turning to his partner. "Jill, he's obviously being an ass, don't worry abo-"

Jill stood on her tip toes and kissed him on the cheek. Her smile was flushed, cute, and her eyes still held that mischievous gleam. All the guests lost it, whistling and cheering as Jill disappeared into the kitchen. Chris's face was as red as the bow on the mistletoe. Her brother, for all his nerve and confidence, was dumbstruck in an instant. He touched his cheek, his eyes following Jill's path to the kitchen. Yep, Claire just lost her brother for the rest of the night. He was gone in a flash, leaving Barry guffawing beside her.

"That was evil," Claire laughed. "I like the way you think, Burton!"

"Hey, those two need all the help they can get. Everyone can see it but them."

He wasn't wrong.

"Just…stay away from the mistletoe around all these guys, alright? Especially Forest."

Claire snorted. "Please."

Sporting that goofy dad grin of his, Barry patted her back until Robert Kendo called him over. Claire made her way into the kitchen to get some food and, of course, her one drink. She was delighted to find Chris, Jill, Forest, and Brad chatting and promptly joined them while making a plate.

"I thought you were flying back to your hometown to see family for Christmas, Chickenheart? What happened?" Forest asked.

"Going next month," Brad answered, picking at his plate. "You guys really should visit Delucia. Not near as cold and…well, crazy."

"I could definitely go for warmer weather," Jill admitted. "But the craziness is part of RC's charm!"

"Speak for yourself," Claire snorted. "I hope I'm vacationing on an island this time next year!"

"Are you pouring yourself a glass of wine?" Chris interrupted with a scowl.

Claire paused. "Yeah, why?"

"Beer. Just one beer."

"Actually, you just said one drink. You didn't specify."

"Well, I'm specifying now!"

"Bro, one glass of wine will be fine. She's among friends," Forest defended.

"It's not Claire I don't trust, it's…"

"Who's gonna take advantage of her with one glass of wine - here with all of us? Well besides me, of course." Forest winked at her. "They totally know we'd kick their asses if they messed with her! – After she kicked their asses first, of course."

Chris glared at his best friend, but Jill put a hand on his arm. "It'll be fine, Chris. Let her have a little fun."

Her brother sighed. "Alright, alright. Fine."

"You guys gotta try this jalapeno dip, holy crap. My mouth is burning but I can't stop!" Brad said, waving his hand over his mouth.

"You're such a wuss, man," Forest teased.

They visited and snacked in the kitchen. Jill told them about her call to her parents on Christmas. Barry soon herded them into the living room to mingle so he could prepare more food. Chris and Jill approached Enrico, shaking his hand and greeting him amiably and respectfully. Enrico returned the favor, a wide grin shining under that dark mustache of his. It was nice to see at least one of the STARS Captains was genuinely good.

Claire was drawn into an interesting conversation the Kendos were having about gun customization, until the doorbell rang again.

"Could someone get that? A little busy here!" Barry hollered from the kitchen. "Not you, Forest!"

"Aw c'mon, it was one time!" Forest groaned at her side.

Claire shook her head with a giggle. "On it!"

She swished her wine around and took a sip before answering the door. Her breath hitched, and she froze, nearly dropping her glass when she recognized the guest on the other side.

It was none other than the leader of STARS himself. Her captor. Her lover. The man that had been the catalyst to the past two hellish weeks of her life: Albert Wesker.

He was dressed in a dark blue button-up shirt with the cuffs rolled back, dark trousers and shoes, a similar style to what she had seen him in before, chic but not as formal as he was at Bard's party. With no sunglasses, his eyes seemed even more icy blue in this light. He was holding an expensive looking Scotch bottle.

The corner of his mouth slowly twisted up in a pleased smile. "Ms. Redfield…what a pleasant surprise." He spotted the glass in her hand. "Are you supposed to be drinking that?"

Claire sharply inhaled through her nose and smiled crossly at him. "I don't recall that being an issue at Bard's party…or your house for that matter."

He smirked. "Touché, my dear."

Claire struggled with all she'd learned about her uncle and what William had told her. Wesker waited patiently for her to let him inside, amused, not bothering to hide his roaming eyes. If she didn't let him in shortly, it could cause a scene. Releasing an unsteady breath, she pulled the door open further and reluctantly stepped aside.

"Good girl," Wesker purred as he entered.

Claire shut the door harder than intended and followed him. Just as she had expected, the guests greeted Wesker with high respect and admiration. He was like the charismatic popular kid at school that everyone liked or wanted to be. She watched as he effortlessly charmed them all – No! – played them all, as he always did.

"Captain, you actually came!" Jill said, smacking her boss on the arm.

"Yes, well, your note was quite motivating."

"See? I knew you weren't a total Grinch!"

"And look, you brought us a present!" Forest leaned in to read the label.

Wesker pulled the liquor away from the Bravo Omni-Man, as though his subordinate would break it with his eyes. "I don't think so, Speyer. This is worth more than your week's salary."

Forest scowled. "Aw, c'mon, Captain. That ain't fair."

"Life isn't fair," Wesker enlightened and handed the bottle to Barry when he joined them.

Barry lit up like he was given a brand new gun. "Aw Wesker! Aren't you the sweetest? You know, Kathy just loved the last one you gave us."

"Isn't this favoritism?" Forest grumbled.

"Are you hosting a party for your comrades at your house?"

"...No."

"Okay then. Until you do, no bottle for you. However, I'm sure Barry wouldn't mind sharing…even with someone with as poor a palate as you." Wesker gestured to the beer Forest was holding.

"Hey, leave my beer alone!"

"I mean, Wesker has a point," Chris snickered. "That beer tastes like straight piss. You might as well be drinking out of a urinal."

"I'll dunk your head in a urinal in a minute, Redfield."

"Fine!" Barry groaned. "I'll let you try it…but just a taste! Besides, isn't it time for our annual beer pong tournament?"

"Yep." Chris grinned. "I'm gonna smoke Forest's ass like I did last year."

"Hey, I was distracted by Elliot's sister. Man, was she hot," he defended as they followed Barry into the kitchen.

Claire snorted. "Never change, Forest."

"Aw, Claire. 'Twas only a crush! You're my main girl. We're still getting married, don't you worry!"

"Keep dreaming." She refused to look at Wesker, afraid of what she might see.

"It's reassuring knowing my best men subject themselves to such puerility on a whim," Wesker stated dryly as Barry opened the Scotch and poured samples for a few of them.

Enrico took one. "Tell me about it."

"What the hell you talking about, Marini? You usually watch us!" Forest scoffed.

"Yeah, watch…laugh at. Babysit, really."

"How sweet of you, Captain."

"We all know it's because you can't hold your alcohol, Cap. We understand," Richard snickered with a smack to Forest's arm.

Enrico laughed, pointing at his two men. "You're lucky I don't make you two knuckleheads do a hundred push-ups. Besides, you're the ones who're playing beer pong like college kids."

"Claire, you're an expert. Is beer pong still the 'thing' at college parties?" Forest asked.

Claire, now seated at one of the barstools, swished her legs as she thought. "Eh, maybe if you were in college twenty years ago," she said, staring right at Barry, Wesker, and Enrico.

Forest did a spit take with his beer and had to wipe his mouth.

Claire smirked. "Nowadays, you'll mostly see-"

"Don't finish that!" Chris yelled, appalled.

Barry shook his head with a sigh. "Same teams and rules as last year then?"

"Yes," a few answered.

"Except I'm trading places with Brad this year," Jill announced.

Chris whirled on her. "What?!"

"Yes!" Forest fist pumped.

"What's wrong, partner? Don't think you can beat me?" Jill teased.

"N-No…It's just that…Brad threw up last time."

"In Kathy's Weeping Fig, I should add," Barry mumbled before savoring a mouthful of Scotch.

Brad was a little green already. "Do I have to play?" He looked pleadingly at his Captain.

"Don't look at me, Vickers, I'm off the clock. You are at the mercy of your peers."

"Alright, alright, let's move this down to the basement," Barry announced, leading the way.

Enrico rubbed his palms together. "Yes, I'd like to watch a few rounds before I have to leave."

Chris handed Jill her drink. "I'm not gonna go easy on you."

"Counting on it."

And so the partygoers migrated downstairs into the Burtons' large basement. The setup was made for socializing. Another bar was down here, along with a spot for ping pong, pool, and air hockey. The party's music blasted throughout the house from a large stereo surround system connected to a big screen television. It might as well have been Barry's "man cave" with all the military medals and photos, as well as the locked gun cabinets.

Claire watched for a little while once the beer pong tournament commenced, but eventually returned upstairs. She'd seen plenty of drinking games in college. Besides, with Chris, Jill, Barry, and Forest busy, that didn't leave her with anyone to talk to, really. There were female cops here besides Jill, but all Claire overheard them talking about was how hot her brother and Wesker were. None of the guys dared to talk or flirt with her knowing she was Chris's little sister.

At least she didn't have to worry about Wesker. He and Enrico were hanging out watching the tournament.

Besides the music, it was quiet upstairs. Claire snacked a little in the kitchen, tempted to try the Scotch Wesker brought as it sat on the counter, but…she promised Chris. Soon, Claire was on the couch scribbling answers in one of Kathy's crossword puzzles. After some time, tuning out the noise from the basement, she heard voices ascending the stairway.

"...in any of that. Now he's crying about protocol? And he's wanting to run for mayor one day?"

Enrico?

"The probability is high. You should consider taking his place as chief eventually."

Wesker!

It took all of her willpower to not look up as they walked behind her, heading for the front door. Claire pretended to erase something on her crossword while eavesdropping.

"Become a pencil pusher? I can't see myself retiring from field work anytime soon. Besides, you're better at the politics than I am."

"I would die of boredom," Wesker said. It was still jarring to hear and see him act so normal.

"You know it!" Enrico laughed.

"Just remember what Sharon said. No taking work home with you."

Sharon? Claire had to think for a moment, but recalled that was Enrico's wife's name.

"I'm working on it." The front door opened. Claire felt the breeze slither in, giving her a chill. "Alright, I'll catch you tomorrow, Wesker. Don't let our boys get too rowdy."

If Wesker said anything she didn't catch it before the door closed. Claire tensed as his footsteps quietly came up behind her once more, and she strained to keep her eyes on the puzzle.

"You're missing out on all the fun, dear heart," he purred behind her.

Claire's heart shot into her throat, despite expecting him to address her, but she kept her cool and did not look at him, even as he left her for the kitchen. The urge to follow him eddied through her. She fought it. She was proud of herself.

She stared blankly at the page, refusing to relent…until he came into her periphery, until a glass of Scotch followed. Wesker was patient as he offered her the drink. Claire forgot about her promise to Chris and ultimately gave in, taking the tumbler with a grateful smile. He held her gaze a beat, then joined her on the couch.

When Claire brought the glass up to take her first sip, Wesker scooped up the crossword on her lap, a clever ploy to caress her leg. She was quite aware of his intense gaze on her in the corner of her eye, but kept her focus on the golden whiskey as she swirled it.

Wesker glanced the puzzle over curiously. "Your next word is 'metamorphosis'." He wryly chuckled and tossed it onto the coffee table. "You look ravishing, by the way, darling."

She tried in vain to quell her delight to his honest praise…and took another drink.

The Scotch was flavorful, slightly smokey, and way smoother than any whiskey she'd ever had. After a few big sips, she was brave enough to ask what was eating her.

She turned to him. "What did you do to my uncle?"

Claire barely caught Albert's ghost of a smile from his head being tilted as he listened to the boisterous laughter and chatter downstairs. Soon, his eyes locked with hers.

Despite the seriousness of her question, she was still smitten with him. His handsome features, his stylish apparel, his intoxicating cologne, all impacted her greatly.

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

Claire deeply inhaled. "Liar. I told Sherry how my uncle took everything from Chris and me after our parents died. There was a photograph I really wanted back – and then out of nowhere, he shows up on our doorstep telling us he's giving it all back after not speaking to us for years. He just so happened to have that photo on him. Now, I know Sherry couldn't have hunted him down and changed his mind. But you? You must've eavesdropped on us. My uncle was terrified for his life. It was you."

William also confirmed it to her this morning, but she wasn't about to bring that up…

Albert's lips quirked. "It's something you've wanted for so long, what does it matter what I did to him?"

"Why did you do it?"

"That's irrelevant…It's obvious I did it because I wanted to. Out of the kindness of my heart. I care about you, after all."

Claire's heart soared, but she swallowed it back down like a lump in her throat. "You don't do anything out of the 'kindness of your heart' unless there's something in it for you."

Her captor/lover snorted. "I disagree. Several times I went out of my way just for you, Claire. With no benefit to myself. It's Christmas, is it not? Consider it my gift to you, my dear."

"How…did you 'convince' him?"

"Let's not get into the details, shall we? The point is Mr. Walker had a change of heart in the end."

Claire glared at him, but it only caused him to chuckle. "Oh, don't give me that look, dear heart. You Redfields do love your self-righteousness. Your uncle would have never changed his mind on his own, you know that. I did you a kindness, in more ways than one. I could have killed him. It's what he deserved, but I spared him, for you. I knew you wouldn't approve."

Two sides of her were conflicting again. Part of her had hoped her uncle would've done the decent thing on his own…that she and Chris would've gotten their belongings returned to them the right way. The other part agreed with Albert. Her uncle deserved this. He had robbed his sister's orphans of sentimental and important mementos. Chris and Claire were nearly separated because of him.

But the world hadn't cared about that. Their uncle had all the rights, according to the law, because they were underage, because nothing written stated otherwise. It would've done no good for Chris and Claire to go to court now. Wesker had bypassed all of that, though. He made it right, he made it right by her, no matter the circumstances.

It was only then she realized how much the part of her that agreed with Wesker overpowered the rest of her, insidiously snuffing out her old morals.

Another boom of laughter echoed from downstairs. Wesker flicked his eyes to the floor, straight-faced. Knowing her analytical lover, Claire was certain he was wondering what the point of it all was. The cheering made Claire down her Scotch.

Never distracted from her for long, Wesker watched her drink it down in amusement. She sat the tumbler on the nearby coffee table, peering at the second-floor staircase. The burn that tickled down her throat soon absorbed into her bloodstream, simmering her body.

"Yeah…you're right. Fuck my uncle."

"I'm always right."

She looked at him, momentarily admiring his playful yet egotistical smile.

"Thank you." She meant it. Wholeheartedly.

Wesker frowned, as if he wasn't used to those words and didn't know how to reciprocate. Or perhaps he was surprised by the genuineness of her gratitude.

What Claire did next, she was sure he would reciprocate. She kissed him.

One deep, gratifying kiss that left them craving more. Claire stroked her hand down the inside of his thigh, gesturing her head for the staircase, and then sprang to her feet. A half second later, more laughter bellowed from the basement over the music.

Wesker smirked at the commotion, smirked at her proposal. When he stood, hot blood flushed through her body at a giddying speed. Heedless of her electrified smile, Claire quietly led him upstairs and past Moira and Polly's empty room to the closed door of the guest bedroom.

She turned the doorknob and entered the dark room. A soft white light streaked across the floor from the other side of the window, a street lamp, and it mixed with faint blinking hues from the Burton's strings of Christmas lights. Claire knew this room. She had crashed here a few times. There was a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, a stand with a lamp on each side, a dresser and a few hanging photos. One day, it would probably be Moira's when she outgrew wanting to room with her sister. For now, though, it was all theirs.

The pale glow from the hallway was snuffed out when Wesker slowly shut the door behind him. The hushed groan of the hinges adrenalized her, and she spun around to face him.

His steps were silent as he approached, his form shadowed except where that same handsome smile shone through glints of red and gold.

"So you wish to show me gratitude for what I did for you?"

"...Something like that." Her time with him was nearly up. Claire was seeking a parting gift for them both.

"I must say, dear heart, I'm surprised in you…Taking such a risk with Big Brother right under our noses?"

"I'm pretty sure we'd both agree it's worth the risk."

His lips quirked in arrogance and amusement - but also in agreement.

"Have me all figured out, do you?" Wesker reached up and stroked her hair.

Claire would bet her motorcycle she knew him only a fraction. However, she'd also seen a side of him no one else ever had. That alone gave her credibility.

"Not all of you," she cheekily replied. "But if I'm wrong, prove it."

His smirk didn't falter, and even in the shadows she saw his eyes twinkle in matching satisfaction. They caught the red orbs outside and, for a terrifying moment, reminded her of her dream the other night. Then, his hand clamped shut around her hair, ripping her back to the passionate present. She winced as he pulled her to him, where his lips crashed into hers.

Claire eagerly returned his hungry kiss, ignoring the painful yet stimulating grip on her locks. Each fervent kiss, each squeeze of her fingers upon his chest, each inhale of his cologne tantalized her.

Keeping her hair prisoner, Wesker shoved her towards what she assumed was the bed until her back hit the wall. It didn't break Claire from making out with him. No, that only came when he tugged her tresses to the side, exposing her neck.

She groaned when his lips claimed her there. His muscular arm wrapped around her lower back, pulling her groin into his. Her eyes sealed, her breaths hitching as she stroked his head and chest. She thirstily rubbed herself against him as he sucked on her neck. He freed his hand from her hair and brushed up and down her curves. The sensation of his hand snaking up her shirt, squeezing her breast, gliding across her skin, left goosebumps in its wake.

She was wet and he was hard. Just as nature intended.

Claire sunk her claws into his flesh, actually feeling she might go insane. "Albert, please," she rasped. "I can't take it anymore."

His throat rumbled with a soft chuckle near her ear, and he retreated long enough to kiss her on the lips once more. "Working on your obedience, I see, yet I am not surprised you are still impatient as ever." He withdrew from her and Claire felt empty without him. "I suppose given the circumstances it cannot be helped, so I will let it slide this once."

Claire glared at him, inhaling in frustration. "Gee, thanks."

"Remove your pants."

Part of her wanted to fight him, despite how badly she wanted this, but this wasn't the time nor the place. Her brother and everyone else wouldn't be playing beer pong forever.

She stripped her lower half quickly. Her captor didn't give her a hard time over it as he scooped her up immediately after. Claire's legs wrapped around his hips instinctively and he slammed her back into the wall. His lips found hers again. His tongue darted into her mouth so he could suck the breath out of her once more.

Her hands groped her lover frantically wherever they landed. She gasped when he undid his belt and set his bulging member free. Wesker held her steady with one arm, Claire had no worries he would drop her. His other hand tested to see if she was ready, but she had been ready since they arrived here. Her blood, near boiling, pounded in her ears, carrying an electrical charge that sparked through their touch.

If this was to be her last time with him, she wanted him more than ever before.

When Albert pushed himself inside her she moaned into his mouth, giddy with desire, burning from an insatiable fever. She returned his claiming kisses, digging her nails into him as he began thrusting into her. Having her pinned against the wall, Wesker chose a hard and dominating pace and did not relent. When he moved his face to kiss and nip at her jaw and neck, it took all of Claire's remaining shred of control to keep from letting the whole party hear her.

Hearing Wesker groan made her shiver. Each hard and possessive plunge into her drove them both closer and closer to the edge. Claire again found herself not wanting this to end. Wesker's hold on her was resolute, as though he would never let go. The same way her tight pussy squeezed around his throbbing dick shoving in and out of her.

They came nearly at the same time. The euphoric rush flooded Claire and she was forced to drown an explosive moan erupting from her very core. Wesker's final two thrusts pressed her to the wall with his weight. The rippling aftershocks as he pumped her full enraptured her. All that was left was to hear their huffs and beating hearts as the high buzzed around them.

After one assertive and tender kiss to the thumping pulse on her neck, her lover released her.

Claire leaned against the wall, slightly panting. She retrieved her pants and put them back on, feeling his thick warm cum ooze within her. Albert adjusted his clothes as well, watching her. The guest bedroom remained dark and quiet, besides the flickering Christmas glow, with only the soft tick of an alarm clock in tune with her heartbeat.

"I suppose we better return before our absence is perceived…unfortunately," Wesker stated with a sigh. He stepped away from her to move for the door.

"Wait!" Claire whispered, clutching his wrist, rubbing where he had roughly kissed her neck moments before.

It was time to ask once more. She needed to know where they stood now, no matter what his answer would be.

"I need to know. Are we through now? Am I…free?" Claire held her breath, terrified he would say no, only to realize she was more terrified he would say yes.

Wesker didn't answer, his eyes not leaving her. Each passing moment, the knot in her stomach ballooned, and she realized she wasn't breathing. Briefly light-headed and sick to her stomach, Claire realized what his silence entailed.

He frowned. "After everything you have witnessed, it is not something I am able to grant."

She ignored how her heart wrenched. "That's bullshit! I did everything you asked!"

He calmly reached out and took her throat, but didn't squeeze. "The only alternative is that I kill you…I do not want to, but if you leave me no choice…"

Hot tears quickly hit her eyes. From anger. From hurt. From realization. She was foolish to think he would ever release her. "We both know we've gone through enough together that you can trust me. You know I wouldn't say shit."

"I won't deny that."

"Then tell me the truth. Why won't you really let me go?"

There was a slight twinge in his jaw, and he didn't even blink. "Because I don't want to."

Wesker's blatant honesty was both a relief and a slap to the face. To finally hear him say it out loud confirmed her suspicions and fears, confirmed what William, Ada, and even Roth had warned her about.

She swallowed, despite his hold on her neck. "Haven't you ever heard the saying 'If you love something, set it free'?"

His laugh chilled her to the bone. "'If it comes back, it's yours. If not, it was never meant to be.' Fate isn't a predetermined agency, Claire. It's something we choose and take hold of ourselves. And I have taken hold of mine." He gently squeezed her throat and then let her go.

"What about what I want?" Claire asked.

"And what do you want, dear heart?" Wesker asked with another ghost-like smile. "I know you, and nothing indicates to me you want out. By all means, however, look me in the eye and sincerely tell me I am wrong. I just might be persuaded."

Claire glared at him, gripping his forearms. Her lips parted, ready to do just that, knowing she wanted her freedom…and yet, she spoke nothing. Part of her didn't want it, wasn't ready for it. She would only be lying to herself if she continued to deny it.

She shook her head, frustrated more with herself than with Wesker's knowing smirk. "I'm leaving back for college so what's the point?"

He saw right through her bluff and chuckled. "Darling, there isn't a single place you can go where I cannot have my eye on you."

At this point, his words came at no surprise to her, but they did deflate her bravado somewhat.

Albert wrapped his strong arms about her waist, his next words quiet and conciliatory. "I will return most of your freedom, however the same conditions apply. So long as you employ discretion, you have nothing to fear. I will refrain from using you in future stratagems -" he shrugged. "- mostly. So long as you are mine, you have my protection and adherence."

Claire huffed. "You aren't giving me much of a choice."

He smirked and bent to kiss her temple. "Then I think we understand each other," he whispered in her ear.

Her captor/lover left for the door, pausing only when his hand turned the doorknob. "Merry Christmas, dear heart."

When he was gone, Claire slid down the wall onto the carpet, clasping her head in her hands, fingers digging into her scalp. It will never be over…

(Author’s Note: Only the epilogue remains, then a sequel that will follow the events of RE1, RE2/3, and Code Veronica, while focusing on Wesker and Claire’s relationship on a deeper level. Thank you to everyone who has followed this story, it means so much to me!)

[ratcatcher0325]

Alexander are you happy with the life you have now. Do you look back at simple days of your life before humans got involved with longing? Are you happy with Natalie. Are you glad she found you? Even with the stone cold barrier you keep around yourself do you admit to feeling a bond with Natalie whether it be platonic or not.

Hello there, Anon. I’m glad we are just boldly psycho-analyzing me now. That’s…. Excellent. For the record I am not stone cold, okay? That makes me sound frigidly unapproachable. I may be a little defensive… at times… perhaps… but can you really blame me? I’m not exactly about to throw myself at the mercy of every human I come across, they’re extraordinarily dangerous and, to put it bluntly, quite ignorant and shortsighted. They can hurt me without even trying so… yes I put up a boundary or two.

Anyway, now that we’ve cleared that up, on to your actual questions.

Am I happy with the life I have now? You know what, Anon? Perhaps I am. I mean, please understand, I still have quite bit of work ahead of me to train Natalie properly… but to her credit, she’s come a long way. All my vital needs are met, and for the first time I’m finally able to experience a leisurely pace of life. She includes me in her studies which I find thrillingly engaging, and thanks to her I am spoiled for choice when it comes to food. It is certainly a much better life, by objective standards of measurement, than I’ve ever known. I can’t believe I’m saying this, much less admitting it to you publicly, but when Natalie holds me, gently, in her cupped palm, I feel this immediate relief, like the tension is leaving my body? She’s so warm and her fingers are soft like silk. I don’t entirely hate being held by her.

Ah, well you see, Anon, I’ve never known a life without humans interfering. I’d rather not go into details, but suffice it to say, I’ve been dealing with the unwelcome presence and danger of humans since day one of my very existence. There was a brief time where I thought I’d escaped them, only to be dragged back, trapped between a giant finger and thumb. So. Excuse me for being blunt here…. I’d just really rather not discuss it. Thank you for understanding.

Am I happy with Natalie and am I glad she found me? If you’d asked me that when we first met I’d have vehemently ranted and railed, shouting “No!” at the top of my lungs. And while I didn’t exactly ask for any of this, and it’s not what I thought I wanted, I’m finding that she’s not so insufferable after all, and that humans, while dim-witted, clumsy and slow, aren’t all bad if she’s among them. Truth be told, after that waking nightmare of a vet visit, I saw how much she cared about my well being, how she blamed herself, how careful she was with me… well, I’m not here to get emotionally compromised and weak in the knees or anything of the sort, but it made me respect her more and, if pressed, I’d say her presence in my life is more or less a positive than a negative.

And just to clarify our “bond” as you put it, is absolutely platonic. No question about that. We’ve got a mutually beneficial circumstance that we’re both taking advantage of: she helps me get back on my feet, I keep her from flunking out of law school. It’s a perfectly logical transaction of services.

I appreciate the ask. Now stop perpetuating my reputation as “stone cold” as you put it! I most certainly am not. I’m very fun and approachable… as long as you’re halfway intelligent that is…

Yours Truly,

Alexander

[galacticlamps]

I was tagged by @terryfphanatics​ (thanks! sorry I took forever - I started answering these & didn’t finish and just remembered it was in my drafts)

What book are you currently reading?

The Two Towers! which upsets me bc I’ve been at it since August (technically - I wasn’t ‘at it’ in, uh, October, November, December, January, or February, for lack of time - but I’m back at it now, and I even convinced myself to start over from the beginning so I didn’t forget anything)

What's your favourite movie you saw in a cinema this year?

sorry but the last time I went to a movie theater was probably in 2017, 2018 at the latest, so... yeah I’ve got nothing

What do you usually wear?

jeans, boots, at this point in the winter usually some combination of flannels, sweaters and/or sweatshirts. (I’ve been really cold lately)

How tall are you?

5′6″ ish

What's your star sign?

capricorn

Do you share your birthday with a celebrity or historical event?

I do, yeah

Do you go by your name or a nickname?

mostly nicknames, I have quite a few at this point. I’ve yet to pick one to use on here, I should probably do that soon, I’ve been meaning to for years now

Did you grow up to be what you wanted to be as a child?

I don’t recall ever wanting to be anything in particular as a child, honestly, but I can say that so far I’ve pretty much stuck to the career path that first caught my interest in high school, if that counts

Are you in a relationship? Who is your crush if not?

nope! and it’s been a very long time since I’ve had a serious crush either, which I’m honestly grateful for. I wouldn’t want to be in a relationship at this exact point in my life anyway, so I’m just gonna keep vaguely admiring every funny girl who’s kind to me for the time being without actually developing feelings for her. I hope It seems to be going well so far mostly

What's something you're good at versus something you're bad at?

(I’m trying to think of two that relate to each other)

I am very good at drawing objects and not at all good at drawing people! technical plans are something I’ve dealt with extensively both academically & professionally, but in the more general sense I’ve always been an ‘I can’t draw’ person. tbh I should find some of those artists who complain about backgrounds and just do all their architecture etc for them

Dogs or cats?

nothing against dogs but cats for sure, always cats

What's something you'd like to create content for?

not to sound like a jerk, but I work in the arts industry & really hate the place ‘content creation’ has come to occupy in everyone’s vocabulary, even though I totally realize that in a context like this it’s probably just trying to be a vague enough term to be inclusive of the many different things people can create. I like writing the fanfic that I do, so without switching subjects, I would like to get better at drawing people because sometimes I have ideas that would be better expressed as images or even short comics

What's something you're currently obsessed with?

Obsessing over 60s who is my baseline so I don’t think that counts - but it’s been almost a month since I watched Holding Achilles & there have only been hours when I didn’t think of it, not entire days

What's something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year?

Ngl, (& not to be a total downer, but) the last 12 months-ish have been an extremely busy/hectic/unpredictable year for me, with both the good & the bad stuff coming out of left field most of the time. So while there were certainly more than enough disappointments, for the most part, they weren’t the kinds of things you could be excited about beforehand (relatives dying, people fighting, strained relationships, illnesses, work stuff in a perpetual state of flux - or as I’ve taken to calling it: death disease & dubious employment). I suppose there were a lot of events I wanted to make it to that I didn’t, due to the aforementioned junk, and I certainly imagined myself getting to read more books & write more fics than I did, but that doesn’t feel like a good specific answer.

What's a hidden talent of yours?

I suppose that depends who you ask? There are lots of work or work-adjacent skills I could name that would be news to people on here, but those are such prominent parts of my life otherwise that they definitely don’t feel ‘hidden.’ But I guess even among people who expect me to be handy/crafty, more overtly artistic things tend to surprise them - like I’ve had people forget that I was the one who painted something, for instance, because that’s not the kind of skill most associate with me. (and I am very good with color & pigment tbh)

Are you religious?

nah. I’m not like, a committed atheist or anything either, I just grew up catholic & don’t go in for that anymore, nor do I have any desire to go seek out another faith

What's something you wish to have at this moment?

time uh, let’s say a haircut

tagging people kinda seems rude after taking multiple months to come up with so many kind of non-answers oops, but if anyone would like to copy the questions, either as an opportunity to do a little q&a or an excuse to tag/ask your friends, be my guest

[wellnesscard]

okayyyy heres my rant about a lil bit of chicken fried a cold beer on a friday a pair of jeans that fits just right and the radio on

gooddddd. i lowkey/highkey hate my jobeven tho there isnt much "real" to hate on as compared to several other places ive quit. its just not my favorite. its mind numbingly boring and repetitive and still half the other managers loose their shit about doing the expected days work. i say other managers bc i am a manager which i didnt realize was the position at all until a couple months in, and if i decided to not do the training id get my pay cut from $14 to like $12. and that fuckings irks me bc had i known i was going to be responsible for ppl and things i wouldve asked for more koney when they hired me but that ship has sailed and i fuckt it up bc i thought i was going to be a line cook. and ig they need managers soooo bad they literally just paid for my serv safe n all that jazz. and i swear half the ppl that work there are fucking retarded like the last manager in training failed serv safe three or more times.. then when i passed everones like congratulations that test is really hard u did it! im like i have to get the fuck out of here Fast ohmygod. and i work with devon and its mostly fine but also drives me nuts occasionally. like were so together he just forgets stuff like telling me im manager in training or training me on any management shit at all before im supposed to start running shifts solo. im just frustrated by a lot and i want to quit but i know i probably shouldn't because its so fucking easy and i can get away with virtual murder there . its also a tiny cage of a kitchen, constantly overstaffed, and feel a bit trappt by a) devon going out n getting this job for me when we moved bc he already worked there n is buddies with the GM, and b) the GM being such a sad ass self-conscious redhead who has also just handed me a ton of free goodies. tbh they do quarterly raises and maybe if i negotiate to 15.50 ill be more okay with it all. that is/has been another struggle is making my own relationships w these people bc devon knew them all first and is a bit more boisterous than me and im trying to push past some of these codependent habits ive ended up with (started crying at this bit so u know were getting close to the truth) which is so fucking Hard when you work at his job working the same shifts or when were not i.e. today and i start crying waking up bc i have to go in alone and be manager which i never fully got trained for and be 1-on-1 with his sister who also works there and who i love but also can be very intense and volatile esp lately bc she started dating this girl whom is ..... kinda a dick ngl so thats obvy stressful. anyways yes avoiding codependency is Hard when thats the morning n he says anything i can do for u? and i half joking say work my shift? n then he does -_- and i feel like i should've just been a big girl. like if i worked a job different than my husband he wouldnt be able to cover my shift, its just the unique workings of This Fucking Place. which im fine with. i think. the walk there is amazing, even if i perpetually smell like fryer oil. fr watch me get mauled by a boar or bear omw home next week cos i smell like a snack walking home thru the woods. whatever at the same time its easy as pie and if i work it right i never have to buy groceries.

[that-banana-headed-bovine]

I'm not even 100% sure of what to ADD because, other than the eps I haven't seen yet, this is exactly how I feel as well HAISHDOS

I will say, I feel like TDR Karr and KvK Karr are practically different characters, like I have no problem saying I sympathize with him because to me he is an emotionally stunted sweet boy like in TDR, and KvK was just. him in the worst timeline having absolutely lost his shit. I will say, even in this timeline I don't think he was actually intending on killing anyone other than Michael.... so he's still a better person than like most of the villains in this show.

I guess I do have two more for y'all

I really do like April. The circumstances of her being added to the show suuuuck, and I get how some people would find it hard to look past, but as her own character she's great. It's like a look into an alternate timeline where instead of the mechanic character being straight-laced she was instead just as chaotic if not more than Michael. I don't like how she was in Return to Cadiz but other than that, great character.

The Goliath Returns two-parter is ACTUALLY so uncomfortably realistic and vivid with the villain plans that I genuinely do not enjoy it. Like, say what you will about KvK and the scene with Mandy, but I don't think that can really hold a candle to the way Garthe taunts the whole main cast as he gleefully plans to kill them, Garthe harasses April in an explicit manner, Garthe through his henchmen taunts Kitt's life too except in an even more effed up way where he'd basically be a slave for the rest of forever in Goliath???, and worst of all, how Adrienne harasses Michael in a similarly explicit way to April, except cranked to 100 and with some horrific implications caused by an ad break. I may be a little overdramatic here and fueled by first watch emotions, but I genuinely don't plan on rewatching to find out bc I felt icky the whole time. There are episodes that are worse quality-wise, but there are none I'd like to watch less.

and potentially 3. I am very conflicted on how to feel about Devon, like in general. I used to outright hate him I won't lie to you, I uh I've come to my senses about that he's mostly a good character, but I do think the fandom glorifies him more than is seemingly earned. Likeee, he's definitely a sort of father figure to Bonnie and at times Michael but it's hard for me to give him that credit when it comes to Kitt, he's kinda cold to Kitt most of the time. He also perpetuates the stuuupid "you can't tell her because it's dangerous even though if anything her knowing that bad people are after you could help her in case of an emergency know who to call and why but we don't talk about that part it's daaangewous" trope with Stevie when Michael probably would have told her the truth, and I haaaate that trope DC's Arrowverse killed it for me forever it's just awful. I wish he'd have been able to interact with Kitt alone ,,, EVER? And I wish that the things he said to Kitt didn't usually boil down to "stop complaining smh my head"... and I wish he was more sensitive to Michael's feelings about the literal love of his life. ALSO am I going crazy or does the first Goliath two-parter kinda imply a love affair situation going on w him and Elizabeth? So much for being a loyal friend to Wilton, I guess

hot take like 3.5, y'all a lot of Kitt's dialogue is so cringeyyy holy crap like I love the snarky smart boy that we all know and love and that's how the fandom portrays him most of the time, but the show itself isn't afraid to have him like ogle at women a bit which is weeeird because he's a friggen car or say stuff that makes no fricken sense for him to say or like how in Cadiz he got really fixated on pirates for some reason or he just like copies stuff from his surroundings that genuinely I don't think he'd be caught dead saying bc it's slang and it's kind of cute but also feels weirdly out of character and like writers why why'd you have to be so 80s. I still love HIM I just don't think the writers . understood him like I do #delusion

Let’s do something fun.

To the 5 people in the KR fandom here, repost and give me your Knight Rider hot-takes!

I’ll go first. Here’s a couple of mine.

1. Maybe not a hot take but The Scent Of Roses was the perfect finale, and should have been the season and series ending.

2. KITT’s character fell flat at many points in s4. It was disappointing to me honestly.

3. I’m still 50/50 on KARR even after like 100+ watch throughs of this show- I sympathize with him but then I also see him how FLAG sees him.

4. I absolutely love the dynamic between Bonnie and Michael and how it evolves from him hitting on her, to realizing she’s not going to fall for his crap, to practically siblings.

5. Again this one probably isn’t a hot take, but I do believe after Knight Of The Juggernaut, RC3 was severely underused, and practically all of his potential was lost.

6. I enjoy watching KITTNAP

7. TDR > KVK minus KARR’s look, because if we are going for looks, it’s KVK > TDR

8. Some of the best episodes are when Michael’s past are brought into it.

9. I would have loved to see more references to Michael’s past, specifically the Vietnam part.

10. I wanted so badly to have more backstory to both KITT and KARR, Devon, Bonnie, and RC3.

Can’t wait to see what you all have to offer!

[writeintrees]

NaNoWriMo 2022 Day 22

57,144 total words

I made good progress today. I would like to share a snippet about my bedbound character, Sapphire. While I am ill, I am not bedbound, nor do I have a full time care team. Let me know if anything seems unrealistic or harmful (Once again, be kind. This is a first draft)

Sapphire woke and knew immediately it would be a good day.

“Bahir! Get my wheelchair!”

“Are you alright, Miss Sapphire?”

“I’m incredible,” she said with a grin. “I want to go out on the balcony.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Last time you–”

“Please!” she said with her best approximation at puppy eyes. Her blue eyes weren’t the most effective at it but she had been told that she had potential. 

Bahir sighed then went to unfold her purple wheelchair in the corner. He hooked a banana bag to the IV pole at the back of it. 

He helped her prop herself up and to transfer to the chair. He tucked a blanket around her legs and handed her a blanket cape to put her arms through if she got cold.

It was a windy day. The breeze whipped through her short hair and stung her nose and cheeks with the cold. She hadn’t even known it was windy when she was in her room.

It was marvelous.

She whooped into the incoming wind and grinned up at Bahir who was putting a heated sleeve over her IV bag so it wouldn’t freeze. 

The sun was still rising over the skyline. The morning sky was an icy blue around the edges. The clouds were cast a peachy orange and rimmed with pink.

“Isn’t it gorgeous, Bahir.”

“It is, Miss Sapphire.”

She breathed in through her nose to fill her lungs with the cool morning air. Her nose was running and it felt like her nose would form icicles but she didn’t care. Bahir handed her a tissue and she wiped at her nostrils.

The sun rose in the sky and the sky became more grey.

Sapphire became sleepy and quietly asked Bahir, “Bring me home.”

It was a good day.

She had to deal with the consequences of her actions, though, and the next couple days, she could barely make it to the bathroom. Her every muscle ached something fierce. Her nose was raw. 

“Are you sure I didn’t get frostbite?”

“Yes,” Bahir said fondly. The way she could tell he was irritated with her was when he didn’t call her ‘Miss Sapphire.’ She disliked the title, but not as much as she disliked being called ‘Miss Tuin.” That was her mom, and her mom was living still, thank you very much.

Speaking of her mom, there was a declaration over the speaker. “Jade Tuin is here.”

Sapphire perked up then immediately lowered herself back down onto her wedge pillow. “I wanna see my mom.”

“Do you need anything?”

“Water would be great.”

“I’ll send her in with some.”

Bahir exited and the door clicked behind him. Sapphire knew from the gentle clicks when she got up to go to the bathroom, that not only was she being monitored from behind that one way mirror at all times, but she was locked into her room. It never came up because they unlocked her door when she needed it, but her lack of freedom unsettled her.

There was that soft click again. Her mom entered the room with a faint smile and a glass of water with a bendy straw. There were perpetual circles under her mom’s eyes, cakey and covered with color matching makeup. Sapphire hated makeup. She had tried it twice before but her skin and eyelashes had felt sticky and heavy. She didn’t like it.

“Hello, sweetie. How are you feeling?”

“Do you really want to know?” Sapphire asked with more than a little bitterness in her voice. Her mom’s lack of response was a response in itself.

Her mom handed her the glass and Sapphire bent the straw toward herself.

“I went outside the other day.”

“I heard. I will get that nurse off your staff for making such a poor decision.”

“No! Please keep Bahir on my team! I… It was me who made the bad decision. Blame me if you’re gonna blame someone.”

Her mom searched her face before sighing. “You can’t take risks like that. What if you had gotten sick?”

“It was just a little cold. Isn’t fresh air supposed to be good for my health?”

She, again, didn’t respond.

[daphnedauphinoise]

how to stop being addicted to self help contents ?

This is a very valid question and something I struggled with until a while ago. The bottom line is you need to just go out and live life. If you are out living life, you are not mindlessly consuming self-help content. A lot of self-help content is bullshit. It really is just a way to be insecure about things that dont require any of that. I have found that you can't wean yourself off self-help, the promise of a better life is so sweet. Not as nearly as sweet as living a better life so in my opinion, it has to be a cold clean cut away from self-help. At some point you actually have do the routines you have made, check the check lists you have made and all those vision boards.

Why are you consuming self help? Usually it is one of these things:

Your life is shit and you have no clue on how to fix it

You are avoiding fixing your life because lets be honest, work is hard so you rather just keep searching for your magic fix

You are deeply afraid of moving past your shitty current situation because now you have gotten used to it and you do not think yourself as deserving of the life you want. You are scared of the brigh future you can have.

Believe it or not but all of these things are fixable. Those of you who are afraid of the good things in life need to do some soul searching and weed out the root of your misfortunes. If you are avoiding the hard work, then you are doomed. If you are group number one, I will come back to you.

One of my friends has a habit of telling us that anxiety is the stupidest man made concept and I used to look at her weirdly until I finally understood what she meant. She wasn't targeting those with diagnosed anxiety, our friend group knows first hand how delibatating anixety can be. What she means is a lot of our concepts we have about self, we come up with ourselves and those concepts are our downfall. I used to have this horrible notion that I was incapable and i was worth much, guess where my life was? Once I started respecting myself more and flipped that narrative my life has changed so much. Until a couple of months ago I used to go around saying ' i have such bad anxiety', it was an excuse as much as it was a justification. As soon as uni started again and I have been forced to interact, guess whose life has been better? I am not saying my social anxiety has gone but my mental health has improved dramatically. I no longer say I have that anxiety anymore eventhough I do, I dont let that hold me back. Just because I have it, I dont let myself become a victim to it. The things I thought I couldn't do, I do now; all it took was a new outlook and a new mindset. Things do get exponentially better when you actually leave your front door and tackle your problems head on. From my own experience, the more I have labeled myself as an 'anxious' person, the worse my anxiety has gotten. I did a chart and everything and I saw that there was a direct correlation to what I was perpetuating and then how I was feeling and then consequently acting.

Here is how self-help went wrong: people see self-help as the end goal. Making the visualisation board is not the end goal. Making a visualisation board is the start of your journey. I have a board right infront of me now and everyday I wakeup and I look at it and promise myself that I will do something today that will bring me one step closer to one of those pictures. A lot of people who are into manifesting hate actually doing the work but I need you remember Law of Action is literally a universal law. You cannot manifest a schoalarship, if you never apply. You won't meet your billionaire boo if you are at home day in day out. The time to start your journey to your dream life is actually right now! Literally RIGHT NOW. Stop giving yourself excuses and do that 10 minutes of whatever you need to do today. You need to be confrontational with yourself and you need to have self-discipline.

All the girls I know who have had shitty upbringings and me personally, are where we are because we dream hard and work hard. I have seen people leave the wildest pasts behind and move onto the bigger and better. From being abdandoned by her parents to golfing every week and currently she is planning her skiing getaway. I have seen people using their losing deck and win at life. They all work hard. Their work ethic and their dedication to their purpose is a commonality they all share.

daphne xox

[nomorelikethat]

The air smells like impending death.

I am sick. My family is all sick, too. We are in a car and everyone is feverish. I sit in the passenger seat, my mother is driving, and my sister and father are in the back. It feels wrong, our positioning. It feels like the sky is falling but I don’t say it aloud.

My mother seems sad, but I don’t know why. When I climbed into the car, I turned and looked into her eyes, and I could see her at the top of a tall, tall building, inching closer and closer to the edge. Her eyes looked the way they did when her father, my Dadu, died. Her eyes looked the same when she found me in my bed, pill bottle open next to me. 

Death. Her eyes are filled with death.

I do not say this, either.

We are driving to the airport. We are visiting India, the first time for my sister and I. My mother is excited. I am not. She has not been in nearly a decade. I prefer what I know: Comfort, clean air, empty streets. We are going to Kolkata, where my mother’s parents are from. All the pictures she’s shown me seem so depressing. I told her I wouldn’t mind going to India, but that I would prefer a wealthier city, where movies are filmed and the people are happier and prettier. She got mad at me. She told me I don’t know about the real world and she’s disappointed in me for being so sheltered and selfish.

I don’t want her to hate me anymore, so halfway through our drive, I tell her, “I’m really excited, Mom.” She smiles at me and it does not reach her eyes.

Other than that, our drive is silent, save for us clearing our throats. I am grateful for the quiet. My days have felt so loud recently. The clattering of dishes being stacked or the heavy footsteps climbing stairs are amplified, swirling around me and growing louder, louder, louder. The quiet is the needle in the hay, the diamond in the coal mine. I close my eyes and savor this.

I wake up, 30 minutes later, with my mom gently tapping my shoulder. “We’re here.” 

I hate the airport. The walking, the security, the waiting, all the people, the people, the people. Flying depresses me. All I can think of is all the gasoline, and I imagine it falling from the planes like blood from a wound, coating the Earth in something thick and inescapable. I am not afraid of heights. I am afraid of the future.

I packed light. My wardrobe exists in a perpetual winter, made up of dark grays and blacks, hoodies and sweatpants. I am not well equipped for a trip to India. I packed the two pairs of shorts and three tank tops and decided I could do my laundry. I’m only staying for a week. My father and I packed our things in the same luggage, while my sister and mother have their own, so I do not carry anything in my hands on my walk to airport security.

My mother gets stopped by the security. She is randomly selected, which always happens to either her or my sister. Me and my sister sit by the benches past officers, mumbling, this is racist, and giggling.

(MORE ON THE MOMENTS BEFORE THE FLIGHT) (maybe she has a dream on the flight about her dadu)

I sleep on the train ride to my Dadu’s family’s home. I can already feel my lungs tightening while the polluted air fills them, and I think back to the gasoline oozing out of the plane I came in here on, and feel guilty. I’m certain my cold will get worse breathing here. 

The train is colorful, inside and out. The car is packed and every face blurs together. My father grips his luggage closer to his person, careful of pick-pockets which my mother warned us over and over about. This is his first time in India, too. He is a pasty man with a thick, white beard, and he stands out here. People stare without concern of being obvious. I think back to the times I told him that I felt gawked in our small, Vermont town, and he said he was sure no one noticed me. I wonder if he understands me any better. 

My sister leans into the crook of my mother’s neck on the seat opposite to me. My father stands, gripping the bar attached to the roof of the car. I sit alone, next to a woman in her mid-forties, sitting alone as well. 

Every few seconds, I peek over to look at her, trying to piece together a story of who she might be. She is dark, darker than most people here. She stares at the ground and does not flinch when people bump into her. She wears a yellow kurta and a hot pink scarf, but her bright clothing does not translate to any brightness in her expression. Her eyes are dull. There are blue rings around her irises, the same ones my Dadu had, the same ones my mother is gaining with age. I wonder if I will have those later in life. I used to think they were beautiful, but now they remind me of things lost: youth, joy, memories.  Lost and never to be found.

After an hour long train ride, we get off (how to get to a home after train ride).

When I get to the house, I instantly dread staying here for a week. The walls are bright blue and the roof looks like it is made of tin, the front yard is only dirt and I imagine a sand storm swirling up around us and swallowing us whole. My mother told me my Dadu was a part of the merchant class, so I assumed he was upper middle class. Maybe this is upper middle class in Kolkata, I’m not sure. Will I have to share a room with my whole family? For a second, I wonder if I will even have a mattress, but I chastise myself for that thought.

(Talk about the big American poster, find some way to make that scary. Hint that when you are introduced to the whole family, there is one boy who is not introduced, who later disapears.)

okay um working on a short story... its gonna be about like a girl meeting her family in india for the first time and finding out that her granddad maybe killed a boy during partition and then she starts seeing dead boys everywhere and well okay im not sure how itll end

[seradyn]

A Dream Come True (Chp. 1)

Chapter 1/? : An Unconscious Fantasy

Word count: 4007

You are a young librarian working in the heart of Gralea. Some would say your life was dull, but you were content. That is, until you began having strange dreams featuring a man forgotten by time. Who is he, and what do these dreams mean?

Start of a long fic I am writing. Hope you guys enjoy! Unfortunately I probably won’t be able to stick to a consistent upload schedule for chapters, but this work is well underway!

———————————————————————     The streets were already packed with the morning crowds. Everyone busily stomping their way towards another long Monday. The occasional car horn would bounce along the endless skyscrapers, dulled by the time it reached your ears. Someone talked loudly into a phone as they passed you, but the conversation was no more unique than the countless others taking place all around you. Pigeons cooed at someone’s dropped breakfast, now for the taking. Engines roared, people yapped, somewhere a dog barked.

You hated all the noise, but such was life living in Gralea.

Most made their way either to their preferred coffee shop or straight to work, and you were no different. Skipped on the coffee though; it had never affected you. Besides, being afflicted with perpetual tiredness made the early hour marginally bearable. So you made your way towards the City Center, weaving through the sea of faceless bodies. A cold wind funneled through the buildings, yet to be heated by the morning sun. You gripped your bag tightly; wouldn’t want it to get caught by sticky fingers. Light music touched your ears over the boom of the city as you approached. Ah, the street band was already playing.

The skyscrapers cleared as you reached the center. A large, open square paved with elegant white bricks. It stretched for several blocks in each direction, connecting all the largest streets before they weaved back into the city. Flags with the imperial emblem dotted the corners, billowing in the breeze. A fountain lazily gushed water in the middle, people sitting on its perimeter drinking from paper cups and staring at their phones. Behind the fountain, you spotted the band in their usual spot, tucked into a corner with the wall of an old building as their backdrop. Some people stopped to watch for a few seconds before moving on. Some even dropped a few gil in the various instrument cases displayed before the band. Most people just ignored them.

Not far from here was your place of employment; the city library. Sometimes people were surprised to hear you were a librarian, something about wasted youth, but you were pleased with the arrangement. The city paid you a decent wage, and it gave you a place to escape from the hustle and bustle of city life for most of the day. Plus, you got to spend most of your shift reading. It was a laid back job, and it paid your bills.

You skirted the edge of the square, pace unwavering as you marched on. The library was only a few blocks down, you were almost there. You thought about the books you tucked away in the check-out desk last week. They would be your source of entertainment for the day to come. What would befall the characters of your chosen tale you wondered.

Finally, the entrance to the library came into view. It was an impressive building; forged of rough red bricks with carvings of Spiracorns chiseled into the stone. The entrance lay tucked beneath a large awning held up by stone pillars. It was at least 200 years old, made evident by the proud banners proclaiming another anniversary draped on dark street lamps. The place had more than just historical and architectural value to you though. It represented your sanctuary.

Pulling the keys out of a pocket, they jingled happily as you approached the double doors. You checked your phone, 6:59 a.m., perfectly on schedule. Unlocking both doors, you pushed your way inside through the lobby, flicking on the lights as you passed. You headed straight to your desk, not far from the foyer, taking your place behind it in your plush chair. Most librarians would spend the slow morning hours organizing any books that were returned or displaced, but you always did so at the end of your shift instead. You sighed contently as you sat, pulling your beloved tomes out from their compartment. Today would be a good day, you decided.

And indeed it was. The library was always decently busy, but you remained relatively undisturbed throughout the day. The occasional person would inevitably come to your desk, plopping their own selection before you with a thump, waiting expectantly as you scanned and logged each book lent out. You greeted your regulars with a smile, met with a wave or a greeting of their own. Some people tried to chat with you, but you weren’t the social type. For the most part, your nose remained buried in your own literature, visiting other worlds with ease in your mind's eye. These were the days you enjoyed the most.

The light from the large, high windows waxed, then waned as the day progressed. Before you knew it, the half hour before closing approached. Time to organize and warn the stragglers you would be locking up soon. Taking the cumbersome trolley out from under the desk and placing the day's returns on it, you made your rounds. You cheerfully warned anyone you passed that you’d be closing soon, customer service persona in full effect. The last guests meandered their way to the front, either making last minute check-outs or heading straight for the door. Soon you were left alone in the massive building, locking the doors after the last guest. Before you could follow them, you finished organizing and tidying up the place. Ready for the day tomorrow.

By the time you closed the doors behind you, only a sliver of evening sun remained. You walked home as twilight descended on the city, the night life beginning to stir. You arrived at your apartment complex without fanfare, taking the elevator up to the 10th floor. You had a decent view from up here, but not as luxurious as those on the very top.

Your apartment itself wasn’t much to speak of either. Quaint, some would call it. Cheap was another term you heard frequently. The furniture was old, worn from countless moves during university. You couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of it though. Each scuff or tear had its own memories attached. As for decoration, mostly you chose to do so by hanging up various posters of movies and TV shows. Not exactly classy, but it made you feel at home. Your own little safe haven.

Once you entered the small living space, you kicked off your flats carelessly, wishing to get into something more comfortable. You set your bag down on the black sofa as you padded to your bedroom, removing your clothes as you walked. A loose T-shirt and shorts would suffice while relaxing at home. As you paced back into your small living room, you snatched the TV remote from your wooden coffee table, turning something on as you went to make dinner.

It was nothing fancy, leftovers you’d made for the week yesterday. They heated up nicely in the microwave. Grabbing your warm plate, you settled on the couch to watch whatever channel you’d left it on. You hadn’t really been paying attention, so it was only now you noticed you’d tuned into the news.

“The Niflheim Army continues to make steady progress across the Kingdom of Lucis. Magitek casualties remain minimal while the Lucian forces are pushed back each day. While it would be naive to think the end is near, the progress being made could signal a turning point in the war.”

You wrinkled your nose at the TV screen as if it had offended you. You’d never really been a fan of the war. It all seemed like pointless violence to you. It didn’t help that the Emperor spouted propaganda about Niflheim being ‘the rightful owners of the Crystal and ring.’ It made no difference to you who had what, and the loss of life certainly didn’t seem worth something so arbitrary.

You quickly changed the channel as you shoved another forkful of food into your mouth. You landed on some cartoons, which you settled with for the rest of your meal. Some of the obvious jokes would make you smile, but mostly you just enjoyed the animation. You began cleaning up as the characters beat each other with wooden mallets.

Turning off the TV after rinsing your plate, you made your way to the bathroom. Stripping your clothes, you gingerly step into the bathtub to shower. The warm water soothed you as you washed. Once finished, you hastily dry off, soaking the tile floor in a thin layer of water. You then eagerly snuggled into bed, humming in pleasure as you settled in for the night. Sleep was already encroaching on your consciousness.

The day had been rather ordinary, but pleasant despite that. You would follow the same routine tomorrow, as you had for the last 4 years. A simple life to be sure, but you were more than happy with it.

That is, until you started dreaming that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You opened your eyes with a start, feeling slightly disoriented upon first regaining sight. When your eyes refocused, you found yourself standing before a small, rundown village. A wide dirt path ran down the center, framed by small wooden homes on either side. Some people milled about, dressed in what appeared to be brown and white rags. Their faces were dirty and wrinkled, worn by either age or ceaseless work. One person led two bright, fluffy chocobos into rotting stables.

At first you were rather confused by the image. The town didn’t look like any place you knew in Niflheim. Sure, you hadn’t had the chance to travel much, but you’d been to small towns and rest stops outside the imperial capital. This was likely one of those.

You reached in your pocket for your phone, but the device was noticeably absent. Narrowing your eyes, you reevaluate your surroundings. No one else was using a phone either. Now that you were really looking, the lack of cell towers and cars also became conspicuous.

Then the realization hit you, feeling the truth of it hum through your body.

This is the past.

Or at least, this village was in the past. It would explain why everything looked so rundown and unkept, even the people. Their sense of clothing was the biggest giveaway. It looked like the old paintings you remember printed in history books. Plain and cookie cutter to be certain, but efficient nonetheless.

Your heart rate picked up. Why were you in the past? Where exactly are you? Will you scare these people? This doesn’t make any sense. Your thoughts ran wild, conjuring a hundred different scenarios in a few seconds. You felt your palms become clammy with stress.

Then a second epiphany hit you, much like the first one.

This was a dream.

You exhaled slowly, relieved. You smiled at yourself, feeling silly for honesty thinking you were actually in the past. Of course this was a dream. You’d just gone to bed not hours before.

You hesitantly entered the village, attempting to get a closer look at the inhabitants, now more curious than afraid. No one seemed to notice your presence. They were all occupied with some menial task. A woman swept at her porch with a broom made of hay, a hood of white cloth protecting her head from the sun. Some men talked animatedly a few houses down, laughing and spitting like cobras. A young boy shoveled greens into a trough for the arriving chocobos, who keened happily at the offering.

In the middle of your inspection, a sudden commotion made you jump slightly in surprise. You looked to your left for the source of the noise. A small crowd gathered near an entrance to the village, shouting and clapping as something approached. All you could see was a cloud of kicked up dust in the distance. You noticed more people joining the mass as the thing got closer. Your curiosity now at its peak, you make your way over to join them. You stand a little ways away though, still somewhat apprehensive of the scene.

The thing slowly came into view, and you recognized it as a person atop a black chocobo. The sight excited you; black chocobos were nearly extinct in your time. You’d always liked the gentle birds, so the possibility of seeing such a rare variant up close made you step forward enthusiastically. Maybe the man mounted on its back would let you pet his steed.

As the man finally rolled into town, he slowed to a trot. People swarmed him like angry flies, shouting above one another to garner his attention. You craned your neck to see, standing on your toes when that failed to improve your view. The man smiled gently down at the mob, not at all intimidated by their insatiable need. You noticed his clothes looked different, layered white robes in immaculate condition that made him look regal. His features were hard to discern from this distance.

The people closest to him backed up to allow him to dismount. Two men immediately rushed forward, taking the bird's reins and leading it away. The man nodded to them, an inaudible ‘thank you’ parting his lips. The crowd split down the middle to let the handlers pass.

Just as they walked by you, you heard the slamming of a door being thrown open. To your right, a woman had emerged from one of the small houses, running forward and waving her arms frantically. Her dress and apron collected dirt as she ran.

“My Lord! My Lord!” She cried, running up to the man in white and taking his hands. She had to shove her way through people, earning disgruntled murmurs in her wake. She bowed her head reverently as she continued to speak. “Please! It’s my son! The sickness has taken hold of him!” She began to weep as she finished, voice cracking with her last uttered words. The crowd dissipated, sensing that it was now time to allow them privacy. You, however, stayed rooted to the spot, watching the encounter with interest.

‘My Lord’? Is this man royalty? But she said something about a disease. Is he a doctor? He certainly doesn’t look the part. Maybe the people in this town say that as a sign of respect rather than status.

The man gently shushed her, lowering his head to speak softly. You knew you should probably let them have some space, but you couldn’t help but pace closer to hear what the man was saying.

“You need not despair. I will return your son to you.” His voice was smooth. Deep. Tone a gentle hum that was barely above a whisper. You found you quite liked the sound of it.

When he looked up at the house the woman came from, you fully took in his features. Hair a deep wine red you would have thought unnatural framed his expression, the excess tied back in a small bun. He had a chiseled face, jawline peppered with prickly stubble. His eyes were the color of the morning sun, a bright yellow that made your insides feel warm. He had a wide frame, and you could only imagine what may lay beneath his layers of clothing. He was at least a foot taller than you. Rather nice to look at, you concluded.

He looked back down at the woman, who was still hiccuping and sniffling. He gently squeezed her hands. “Come. Show me where he is.”

The woman raised her head to meet his gaze and nodded, wiping away some of her tears. She held his hand as she led him into the house. You followed closely behind. Apprehension once again seized your heart when they entered. This was definitely a private matter. It was none of your business. And yet, they hadn’t seemed to notice you following behind like a lost puppy. Surely it would be alright if you just watched. Besides, this was still a dream after all.

Your footsteps thumped against the wood as you resumed your pursuit. The woman made a path deep into the house, coming to a stop at a locked door. As she fumbled with the keys, the man patiently watching, you could discern the sound of snarling coming from the other side. Your heart drummed in your chest.

Just what is this?

The door opened, revealing a dark room devoid of any light. No windows, no candles, nothing. As your eyes adjusted to the gloom, a deep growl emitted from the darkness. You instinctively took a step back, as did the woman, but the man stared back, unwavering. Slowly, you made out the shape of a small boy slumped forward at the end of the room, head down. Black ropes connected him to the wall, fused into the wood. Wait, no, not ropes. Chains.

A moment passed in silence. Then, as if provoked, the boy began violently thrashing against his binds, growling and roaring and hissing like an enraged behemoth. It looked as if a black liquid poured from his eyes and mouth, reminding you of crude depictions of rabies victims, a sickly pale foam frothing from their mouths. His eyes looked black, sunken deep into his skull. The ghastly pus spilled onto the boy’s clothes, permanently staining them. You gasped quietly in surprise, feeling the blood drain from your face as you witnessed the scene.

He’s gone mad!

Wait…black liquid. Is that…Starscourge?

You knew of the affliction. But you’d never seen it in person. Never seen it turn a boy into a monster. You knew it turned the victims skin ashen, sometimes black. It drained them of their strength, turning vibrant young men and women into hollow shells. The Oracle usually cured those who contracted it, right? You’d never heard of a case this severe. You didn’t know this would be the outcome if untreated. It was universally fatal if left to fester, that much you knew. But was this what the final stages of the disease looked like?

And this man was going to cure it? But he can’t be the Oracle. The Oracle has always been a woman.

Dream logic? Probably.

The man turned to the mother, his expression set with a determined fierceness. “Give us a moment,” he murmured. She scurried away, seeming all too happy to leave the man to his devices. As she retreated, you gave her space to pass you, but she instead appeared to pass straight through you. No acknowledgement as she continued to the front of the house. You watched her with wide eyes as her frame disappeared through a doorway.

“Oh,” you breathed, not sure how else to express your surprise. You’d never been so utterly disregarded in a dream like this. It was like you were a ghost.

Close footsteps made you look back towards the dark room. You watched as the man entered, unafraid and unfazed by the snarling boy. His tantrum increased in intensity as the man got closer, the wooden walls creaking from the strain of his rage. You hesitantly followed, hugging the side of the room to stay out of the way, and out of reach.

The man stopped just before the child. He kneeled down, robes bunching up on the floor. The boy hissed in defiance, whipping his head around wildly. Without a single word, the man slowly reached a hand out to him. He did not touch him though. You leaned closer, studying them both intensely. Just as you thought nothing was happening, a black vapor appeared to glide from the boy to the man's hand. It disappeared into his skin, and you blinked, unsure if you saw correctly. The man trembled then, lowering his head in discomfort. You became worried, but before you could do anything, he stood, looking down at the boy with that same determination he started with. You looked too and - your breath caught.

The child was now completely limp, as if in deep slumber. What little you could see of him was untainted by that black icor now. His skin was a healthier pink, you could tell immediately, even in the dim lighting. His chest rose and fell evenly. The black ooze no longer poured down his face. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

What…did you just see? That wasn’t like what you’d heard the Oracle did to cure the disease.

“It is done,” the man said, projecting his voice to carry through the house. Hurried footsteps echoed back. The man stood aside as the woman rushed to her son, unbinding his wrists before scooping him into her lap. Upon seeing his face, she cried out in joy, holding him tightly and stroking his head. The man watched with a fond smile, pleased with his work.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” With those parting words, the man strode out of the room. The woman didn’t seem to hear him, gently rocking herself as she cried. You looked between her and the door, unsure if you should stay and watch or pursue the man. A split second decision had you hastily following after him. He had presented too many questions that you couldn’t ignore.

He was already outside when you caught up. You came to stand beside him. There was so much you wanted to ask, but anxiety stilled your tongue. Your mind was writhing with unanswered questions. Nerves made sweat pool in your palms, but your curiosity overruled it.

“What was that? How did you cure him?” You posed, what you believed, were the most important questions. You watched his expression for a reaction, but it remained unchanged. A gentle smile, eyes slightly lidded. He seemed to be enjoying the afternoon sun. He did not even humor you with a glance.

“Wait! My Lord!” Behind you a voice cried out. You both turned to see the woman running towards him again. Now what?

She took his hands once more when she reached him, head bowed in that same reverent manor. “My Lord, you’ve saved my son. There is nothing I can do nor give that could fully express my gratitude. Please, if - ”

“Now now,” he interrupted her, chuckling softly. “I have been blessed with a gift. It is my duty to share that gift. You need not thank me.” He spoke with assured authority. She looked at him with wide eyes. He nodded gently to her. “Go now. He needs you.”

She looked awestruck for a moment, before nodding vigorously and rushing back inside. You both watched her shut the door behind her with a click. When she was gone, you looked back at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. He stared at the house, still smiling. Perhaps he didn’t hear you. Before you had a chance to repeat yourself, you were interrupted again.

“Excuse me,” you heard a tiny voice behind you. Turning, you both stared at a young man standing before you. He looked at the ground, wringing his hands nervously. His clothes were dirty and tattered. “Please, My Lord. I-it’s my wife…” he choked on his words. You could hear the tears welling in his eyes.

The man in white stepped forward, placing a supportive hand on the young man's shoulder. His expression became serious again. “Show me,” he said simply. With a nod, the young man turned and led him deeper into the village. Plumes of dust trailed their feet as they walked, crunching on the unpaved path.

You, of course, made to follow, but you were stopped by a blinding pain shooting through your skull. You cried out in surprise and alarm, gripping your head while trying to keep from collapsing to the ground. Your efforts were futile though, as you felt your knees buckle, then give out. You came tumbling down, feeling your skull hit the ground with a dull thud. You closed your eyes tightly, hoping the pain would just pass. You were not so lucky though. Just as it became unbearable, you felt as if you were violently shaken. Your vision went black.

You awoke with a jolt, a pool of cold sweat beneath you.

[saphirered]

Saph I hope you feel better! I really liked the VM Snow White you just posted, but could you also please do the same prompt but with M9 boys including Molly? If you’re not feeling up to it that’s fine too!

Thank you! The meds are beginning to do their job luckily. I'm glad you liked the last one. I blinked, my hand slipped and now it's here. Prepare for some angst. Hope you enjoy! 😘

(Caleb)

Caleb had always known his past would come to haunt him. He was prepared for it. Prepared to take the hit, take responsibility for everything and he’d face his past be that with or without the people he loves. Part of him, once he got used to having these fools around, having you around, wanted it to be on his own, to protect them and protect you. To not have any more lives lost in the grand scheme. The people he loves becoming collateral would be unacceptable. But you had become collateral in the grand scheme of things.

When it became clear to his enemies he was a bit more attached to you than the others, they took this weakness and exploited it. They pushed his buttons before, using you as a tool, verbal bait even, but he never fell for it. His reluctancy to act on his feelings, to keep them to himself instead, were the very thing he hoped would keep those loose ends from latching onto you. His love is a curse, the objects of his desire always to be torn away from him no matter how hard he tries to prevent it. He’s lost you to that same curse. Not lost. Almost lost.

You’ve been cursed, your conscious mind separated from your unconscious body. Simple healing spells wouldn’t do the trick here. This curse holds no roots in the divine. He’s spent days researching and that much he could confirm. This curse would take an arcane approach. Something he prides himself in to be his specialty. Lucky you. Lucky him. He had the others bring all books, ancient scrolls and other sources of knowledge brought to him, along with a wide variety of components once he’d made a significant dent in the research matter, assuring him this would have the greatest chances of success.

It’s not the soft canopy bed with the plush pillows from the fairytales you’re placed on. Instead you lay on a wooden table, inscribed with all sorts of arcane sigils. Nor do you look like some angelic peaceful being. Your brow is furrowed in discomfort, your hands balled into fists at your sides. Caleb moves a brush against areas of exposed skin, painting symbols to match with precision and care, afraid to even make a single mistake, triple checking every mark. He speaks the incantations while incorporating the components varying from precious gems crushed and whole, herbs and incense. And then he waits. He doesn’t expect the effects to be immediate, often with these magics it is not and he knows that but that doesn’t get rid of the impatience and fear.

“How I long to hear your voice again. I know this will work but that doesn’t ease away the sliver of doubt. What if… What if… That’s what I keep asking myself. I know it’s stupid.” Caleb wipes an hand over his brow as he pulls up a chair and sits at your side, elbows leaning on the table careful to avoid any sigils just in case.

“It also faced me with the harsh reality that I held off telling you how I feel. It looks so stupid now in hindsight because what good did it do anyone. In the end you still ended up paying for my mistakes. I was stupid to push you away, try to convince you your own feelings were unreciprocated. I know I didn’t have you fooled in the slightest but to know I could have loved you, it makes me feel like I am to blame for wasting that opportunity and possibly shortening our time together. The thought of losing you before having given you my love will forever be my greatest regret.”

Caleb watches the muscle of your hand unclench and relax. He hears a deep intake of breath and staring at your face he’s met with your smile, one filled with love as he helps you sit up. All is good once more.

(Fjord)

Fjord’s drenched to the bone, out of breath, anger running through him like he’s never experienced. Still he’s unsure if his anger is directed at the one responsible for your eternal slumber or at himself for making a ballsy move that didn’t pay off in the slightest and in fact backfired in a worse way he could have ever imagined. He played a game of chicken with Uk’otoa and lost. He’d have been fine by letting someone else pay the price for him. Why should he care about some stranger becoming victim to the leviathan? The one who paid the price, became the victim to his actions didn’t end up being a stranger. It had to be you of all people hadn’t it?

Uk’otoa must have been watching his dreams, even his waking actions if that were possible and have seen his infatuation with you. When the leviathan threatened Fjord in another briny dream of his mentioning your name he had called bullshit. The snake had never been able to reach out to anyone it didn’t already have some kind of grasp on. Little did he know Uk’otoa had just that. Just enough of a sliver through him, and the Cloven Crystal to get to you.

So there Fjord sits at your bedside. You’re just as drenched as he is, hair dripping, skin glowing in the candle light of the room reflected off the water particles. Your lips are tinted blue, a redness around your eyes, your skin is cold. The sleep you’re in is a state of perpetual drowning and Fjord knows what it feels like, to drown. He can only hope you’re spared that pain. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to forgive himself if you are tortured like so because of his actions. Clasping your hand between both of his he runs his fingers over your knuckles. He bows his head. It still feels so wrong to not have you respond to his touch. So wrong.

“I want you to know that I am to blame for your fate. I’m about to do a very stupid thing to make it right. I know you’d tell me not to but I can’t sit by and watch you suffer like this. I’ve tried everything. I’ve begged and bargained. I’ve shouted at the skies but I got no reply. Everything comes up empty and I see no other choice than to do this. It might sound stupid but I came to ask for your forgiveness.” Fjord pauses. Usually he would have gotten a reply. He would sell his soul for just having you tell him everything will be alright. It’s a good thing he’s about to sell it for so much more than that. It’s worth it. It’s worth having you alive and well.

“I won’t ask for forgiveness for what I’m about to do because I will never regret it. I ask only you may one day forgive me for what I might become. I need you to know I love you and did, will do all of this out of love. That’s why I hope you’ll never see me again after I give myself to Uk’otoa. I can’t bare to watch that affection in your eyes being replaced by hatred, but most of all disappointment. I hoped to be worthy of your love and I will always regret never having truly experienced it.” Fjord’s voice cracks slightly. He studies your face, as if to ingrain every detail into his memory, as if he thinks he might never see it again.

“I’m afraid. I’m so deadly afraid.” Fjord whimpers pressing a kiss to the back of your hand before he lets go. He checks his supplies, taking out the Cloven Crystal, glaring at the orb intensely cursing the thing to oblivion. Coughs pull him out of his staring match with the crystal. Your body moves, leaning over the edge of the bed vomiting up brine. Fjord drops the orb and his belongings running over to you and helping you gather your bearings until you’re no longer chocking on sea water.

“You better not do what I think you’re planning with that orb or so help me Storm Lord, I will drown you myself.” Fjord can’t do anything but laugh despite the very real threat on his life as you pull him into your embrace.

(Caduceus)

Caduceus isn’t bothered by death. Death is part of life as much as living is. It’s inevitable. Every soul will move on, leaving its vessel for the earth, the fire or the wild things to bring forth something new. What does very much bother him are perversions of death, those who try to cheat death, upset the natural balance, maim and manipulate that what is and should be. He hates it with a passion and seeks to rectify it, return the world to that balance when faced with it. That’s where you come in. You much like him have a respect and understanding of life and death similar to his own. Very few people understand that. Very few people do not fear the end when they see it coming. You’re one of those very few people.

You understand Caduceus on a different level, in his sentiment and mannerisms while others may think him strange. Not that he cares if people do, you’ve been his filter in the big shiny new world past the borders of his grove. You’ve been his safety net, his grounding force, his safe haven when the world seems against him and he thinks his senses might be wrong. The Wild Mother must have gently blown her winds to bring you together.

That’s why it seems so wrong you’re affected by this darkness having taken hold over your body, leaving you in a state of not entirely alive nor dead. Resurrection has been futile as much as draining your life and allowing you to move to the care of the Wild Mother herself. You’re trapped and that’s why Caduceus fears what would happen should you die. He’s seen what this perversion of life and death has done to his home, the forests surrounding it and the creatures living in it. He’ll do everything in his power to prevent that from happening to you.

Caduceus has put your body through the typical burial rites and rituals, preserving what he can by using wards and the divine blessings granted to him by his goddess, sending her prayers of your recovery but you appear to be even beyond her reach now. He moves a damp cloth across your arms and face, brushing aside your hair, humming to himself until he’s done, moving on to clean the room around you, getting rid of the dust, placing things back where they belong and replacing the decayed flowers with fresh ones. Caduceus gathers his tea, preparing a cup for himself as he watches you.

“Can you show me how they’re doing?” The wind grows cold. He knew that would be the answer but still he could hope maybe that answer could change.

“Are they in pain?” The wind grows warm but then cold again. You were, but not anymore. It seems that the new wards he’s put up are doing their job. That’s good.

“Is there a cure?” The gentle breeze disappears. She doesn’t know then. This goes even beyond the goddess herself but it doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Caduceus will keep hope, though it is dwindling fast, for your sake he’ll have hope. He’s always spoken to the dead before and while you’re not really dead, there’s a strange comfort to something that feels so final.

“Hey. I’d ask you how you’re doing but that’s not gonna work now, is it? Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine. I know you are. You’ve managed to keep me alive with the others for much longer than I’ve been taking care of you like this. I think we’re going to be fine. I know you’re here but I still miss you. Calliope makes for terrible company watching things unfurl between the others. She’s too much of a hopeless romantic. You forgot to tell me the recipe to that special brew of yours. I’ve been trying to recreate it but I haven’t been able to. I think what I’m trying to say is, I could really do with having my best friend back. That’d be nice.”

Caduceus sips his tea, face devoid of his usual dopy smile. A sudden breeze hits through the window, blowing it open. A few lighter weight and loose items go flying but the thud of a heavier one is clear to hear. Caduceus closes the window and feels something solid hit his boot. It’s a crystal from the ones surrounding the grove. He picks it up, feeling the warmth run through it. The breeze directs towards you and he feels himself walking over to your body. The crystal calls to you and when it touches you your body runs with energy, pulsing, like you’ve been forcibly pulled back to this world. You look around eyes wide breathing heavy.

“Hey.” Caduceus smiles. “I made tea.”

(Mollymauk)

Maybe pretending you and him were some high born assholes was a questionable decision. Taking on an invite directed at the said people you were impersonating even more so, and stealing, sorry, borrowing without asking, some things from their summer cottage to swim in luxuries, an out right terrible idea when these people happen to be very well connected.

So when these fancy folk came back to the cottage earlier than expected, the two of you had grabbed what you could before making your grand escape, chased by their private guards until you lost them. A safe distance away you set up camp. Time to inspect your findings before returning to the carnival. Your eye for valuables had always been much more keen than Molly’s and your appraisals usually spot on. It was only natural he would let you do your thing but he’d still help you.

Particularly proud of getting some ornate jewellery box Molly had pried it open and revealed the jackpot. But of course you couldn’t just sell recognisable jewellery as is and you couldn’t keep such a thing on you very long. So of course you went to work, prying the stones from their settings. A particular necklace was giving you trouble, not even your tools being able to pry it out, you even broke one so you left that one for last.

The two of you had argued, eventually setting on just smashing the stone with the pommel of Molly’s scimitar, the broken gem still providing plenty of pay and not being as recognisable in peaces. So you held the necklace across a stone while he smashed it. When it did a spark hit, next thing he knew you were on the ground, your hands burned where you held the precious metal. At first he thought you were simply knocked out but when you didn't wake up he grew worried. Splashing water in your face, shaking you, lifting your legs, nothing got you to wake up so instead he carried you and the jewellery back to the carnival. Two days and still you didn’t wake up. It became clear this bloody gem was cursed when dark veins started crawling up your skin as the days passed.

Since this was technically on him, Molly took care of you. He makes quite a doting nurse when he wants to be but never without an inappropriate comment or two. It was quite strange to not hear you laugh at or scold him for these comments. Nevertheless he’d fluff up the pillow beneath your head, provide you an extra blanket when the night was cold, tell you stories, or simply the events of the day, the people who came to the carnival, some things he lifted from people’s pockets and so on. Molly has to say he’s ashamed to admit he’d got frustrated with your unresponsiveness or rather the fact you still hadn’t woken up and there was nothing the others could do for you. A healer would still be a week or so out.

“You know, while I’ve really begun getting used to these little one-sided conversations and your lack of judgement at some of my more terrible decisions I really prefer sharing them with you in the moment. I’ve gotten caught by the guards twice now and without you, Gustav is getting a bit sick of bailing me out. I miss our little flirtations. I miss your sometimes wrong opinions, though you’d say they’re proven facts. I miss your company. I think our time apart has given me time to reflect how much you truly mean to me and how much I need you in my life.” Molly leans on his elbow as he studies your face unmoving. You look so peaceful and asleep but he’d much rather get lost in your eyes when you’re awake.

“I laughed at you when you told me the most valuable thing in the world anyone could ever give another is their heart but I think I know what that means now. I’ll offer you mine if you will have it. So please, come back and make sure my head doesn’t get up too high into the clouds or I might just float away.” Molly leans back looking at the ceiling of the tent with a sigh. He’s pulled out of his mind by a snicker.

“A dramatic confession of love to the unconscious target of your affections? And you call me cliche.” Molly looks at your face, eyes still closed but smug grin clear on your face. He pokes your side making you jump.

“You are insufferable.”