#and then the last two arcs rip your heart out by suddenly giving him all this new characterization through sai and their relationship

[crazymadredfox]

i lay down to sleep and i remember that ryusui’s immeasurable greed is born out of his equally immeasurable wish to take care of people he loves, that his love and loyalty and devotion to the kingdom of science grew until it became a predominant aspect of his character, up to the point that he got petrified FOUR TIMES for it, that without the wealth he possessed before petrification the only way to channel and exemplify his care was through monopolizing his irreplaceable expertise as captain and pilot and sharpshooter yet offering it freely and constantly as the only currency worth ANYTHING in the stone world , that he grew and loved these people he comes to see as family enough to dismiss and overcome his greed and live knowing he will never have reached the stars and explored them as he has the ocean, enough to show incredible selflessness and give up his ticket to the moon, enough to admit inferiority to the man he views as his biggest rival and equal in skill and allow stanley to go to space with senku, just because he knows stanley is the better choice, and he loves senku and values his/their cause enough to, at the cost of HIS OWN pleasure and opportunity, try to minimize the chance of failure as much as he’s able to, and i stay awake and toss and turn in my bed until morning

[xcalciumx]

Priority | Mitsuri Kanroji x Reader x Obanai Iguro

Word Count | 4.0k

Warnings | Mentions of blood ig. No spoilers. Mentions of Doma (ew.) ANGST i didn’t mean for it to be, but it is what it is. Tears. Drama.

Summary |  After a mission goes wrong, you’re left to battle with something far worse than a demon: your emotions. Or in which Mitsuri and Obanai are kinda in love with you but you’re kinda broken. 

part one | part two

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘

Your ribs trembled as you struggled to stay upright, each inhale more painful than the last. The wracking pain in your lungs gave way to the harrowing coughs leaving your lips as you wobbled precariously on your feet. The coppery tang of blood invaded your nose, ears ringing. 

In front of you, the demon pranced about with his golden fans. 

A particularly harsh cough burst forth from your throat, your hand gripping the nichirin sword in your grasp tighter as you propelled your feet forwards. Gotta keep moving. Can’t stop moving. The dewy grass beneath you turned to dust as you narrowly avoided another one of the demon’s attacks. You took a wide berth around the demon's form, trying to allow time for you to control your breathing. It became glaringly clear that this was no inconvenience for the monster.

“Now, now. Why put up such a fight?” The white-haired beast crooned, his eyes tracking your every move as you came to a stop, legs no longer able to fully support you. “If it’s any consolation, you’re not the first hashira I’ve killed. Oh no, far from the first. You know, you’re very pretty. It would be an honour to carry you with me for eternity…”

A crazed look crept onto the demon's face as you ground your teeth together, shaking your head to clear away the dark vignette bordering your vision. You ignored the throbbing pain in your ankle, forcing yourself not to stop. Every inch of you screamed for reprieve - begged for mercy. But you could not give in. 

You had long since discarded your blood soaked haori, your sword was one strong blow from breaking and your vision was swimming with big black, ink-like blots. 

You knew that one wrong move would spell the end. 

Under the moon's guidance, you sought far into your soul, searching for a way to get out of this alive. Anything. From the deep nothingness of your mind popped a face, much like your own. 

“My darling baby. Don’t stop. Never stop.” You blinked blearily at the person in front of you. Were you hallucinating? Is this what death felt like? Two warm hands cupped your cheeks, and suddenly you felt four years old again. “You need to snap out of it. You’re not going to die - not my girl. Not today.” 

Your mothers voice was ringing in your ears. But as you went to grab for her, she vanished, leaving only the forest and carnage behind. A sob bubbled out of your mouth, wet tears dripping down your cheeks and mixing with your blood like some twisted painting. It had been too long since you had seen your family. Since they had…you vanquished the thought. You must have looked like a wreck as your gaze pinned onto the demon. His eyes widened in a childlike wonderment, his lips curling into a soft frown. 

“Tears? Human emotion -” 

You didn’t let him finish his monologue. Mustering all the strength left in your body, you darted forward, hair whipping everywhere as you recited the forms that you had said a thousand times before. A slicing pain came from your abdomen but you paid it no mind, just like the rest of the cuts and bruises now littering your body. You got closer and closer, each breath hurting like a jagged knife to the heart. But you didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. The final words of your twelfth form ripped from your lips and you barely registered as you swung your sword in an arc above your head. You were so close. The demon's neck was so close. From here, it would be like cutting cheese. It should’ve been like cutting cheese. 

Solid force bashed against your sword, a loud metal THWANG echoing through the silent woods. Blood rained over you like a shower, hands shaking as you severed through the demon’s neck. The momentum drove you forward, and you were left stumbling onto your knees, head smashing against a rocky outcrop. Screaming was impossible, your throat felt so raw and stripped of skin that even muttering became impossible. Your body was on fire, burning you apart from your toes to your scalp. You couldn’t keep up your constant breathing anymore, lungs constricting rapidly inside your shuddering form. Something sharp poked inside of you. Maybe a broken rib or two or six. You could feel that your ankles were both broken, and your arms were like cooked ramen, floppy and useless. 

The stars in the sky dimmed, or maybe that was just your vision slowly fading. Whatever it was, you welcomed the darkness. With the upper moon dead, you could resign yourself to death peacefully, knowing that you’d contributed to the efforts to defeat Muzan Kibitsuji. Or that’s what you thought.

“Oh my, you sure are stubborn.” Said a voice, breaking through the hazy cloud that had settled over your mind. “You nearly got me, you know? Pity that your sword couldn’t keep it up any longer.” 

Terror hugged you like a ghost. He wasn’t dead. You hadn’t killed him. That sound…it had been your sword breaking. It didn’t make sense. You had felt the blood spraying your skin, had felt the sword cutting through his flesh. How…? 

“Don’t be afraid, little one. You will live on through me. Or well, in me.” The demon was giggling to himself, his pants brushing against your corp uniform as you lay broken on the ground. You had lost. This was the end. All your efforts had been null. You should’ve known that you would never truly make it as a demon slayer. The only reason you had made it this far was luck. If the universe hadn’t been playing its stupid tricks, then you would have been massacred like the rest of your family. 

Yeah, so much for being a Hashira. 

Laying on the cold grass, you questioned how you had ever been strong enough to qualify as a pillar. To be considered ‘the best of the best’. What a load of crap. 

You couldn’t feel your legs, or your arms. Something heavy was pressing against your back and suddenly your body was forced to its feet. The arms looped under yours were the only thing keeping you standing. As much as you wanted to fight, you physically couldn’t. Hours had already passed since the upper moon first arrived. What you first thought was a simple mission had escalated far more than you could ever imagine. It was only you and him; everyone else was dead or well on their way. Your heart cried for the junior members of the corps. They hadn’t stood a chance. 

Dark. Everything was so dark. Sharp tingles of pain were creeping up your neck, your body felt like it was being moulded into something else. 

Dark. The dark was here. 

You couldn’t die like this. 

Dark.

Tears were streaming down your face. Were they? Maybe you were just imagining it.

Cold.

You needed to fight. You needed to fight. You needed to fight.

Tired. 

The most you could do was pry a single eye open. 

Through your squinting vision, you saw the large white moon, so far away up in the sky. The trees whistled with the wind, swaying gently in your peripheral. The demon was elsewhere. Behind you? Was that what the pain radiating from your back was? Maybe. Maybe not. You didn’t know. Everything was numb. A voice whispered into the shell of your ear.

“I can hear your heart slowing down…you sure don’t wanna die, huh?” 

You stared forwards, towards the trees. Was there someone there? What was that sound? 

A warm hand clasped yours. You couldn’t see her, but you knew your mum had come back. And she was tugging, tugging. Tugging you away somewhere. You let your eye fall shut again, just wanting this to be over. Your mum was taking you home, everything would be okay. 

No. Something muttered deep in the black depths of your mind. Look. 

“I just want this to stop,” you tried to say back, but your vocal strings were fried, your life was slowly slipping from your grasp. 

The voice came again, this time with a fiery barrage of anger.

Look. 

So you did. 

Your gaze narrow and shaky, you watched as a roaring snake blocked out the moon. And there was pink, pink everywhere. The pressure on your back suddenly disappeared and your body was left to tumble to the ground. This time, nothing could stop your descent into darkness. 

“Mmh,” a groan rumbled in your chest. The ground was rapidly moving beneath you, your arms deadweight on your chest. You were floating - no, someone was carrying you. You tried to move your body, but the flaring pain immediately stopped you.

“We’re nearly there,” a quiet voice mumbled somewhere above you. If you weren’t in so much pain, you would have flinched at the sudden noise. Where were you? What was happening?

Peeking your eyes open, you managed to make out the mismatched coloured eyes of the man carrying you. Something silky slid along your neck. 

You tried to say his name but failed, eyes blinking once, twice and then falling shut again as the darkness returned. 

The next time you woke up, it was to a dimly lit room. A plush pillow was situated under your head and a soft blanket was draped loosely over your lower half. Your whole body ached like a buttcheek on a stick, that was for sure. When you tried to move your legs, nothing happened. Your eyes grew wide, but you winced, your skin feeling tender around your left eye. Huffing a breath, you wiggled your way so that you could sit upright, staring in horror at your legs. Were you…?

“Don't get ahead of yourself. Your legs are in casts for now, they’re just broken.” 

Head whipping to the side, you saw Shinobu situated off to the side of your bed. You gaped like a fish, eyes darting between her and your unresponsive legs. A small smile covered her lips. 

When you tried to speak, your mouth was too dry. You only managed to cough.

The Insect Hashira got the hint, picking up a glass of water from the bedside table. You took it graciously in trembling hands, gulping down the liquid like a dry sponge. It became clear that you were about to choke, and Shinobu did nothing as you did just that, water sputtering from your lips as you hacked up your lungs. When your coughing fit finally ended, you handed the glass back, slumping unceremoniously back onto the pillows. The room stayed silent for a moment, your heavy breathing occupying the space. You were in the Butterfly mansion, that much was clear. However, you didn't know how. The last thing you remember, you were on the cusp of death and hallucinating some wacky-ass snake covered in love hearts. 

“How…” you rasped, making eye contact with Shinobu. “How’d I get here? Am I dead?” 

Shinobu stifled a giggle into her haori, magenta hair flying around as she shook her head no. She smiled at you, getting up from her seated position. 

“Well, Obanai and Mitsuri brought you back here. Poor girl was crying too much to explain what happened and you know how that damn Snake Hashira is.” 

You narrowed your eyes, trying hard to remember the past events. As you did, Shinobu made her way to the door. You raised a brow in question, but she only smiled again and slipped out of the room, silence following in her wake. You groaned. So much for asking questions.

For the next couple of minutes, you dwelled on your thoughts, eyes slowly drooping shut. Just when you thought you would fall back asleep, the door to the room burst open. Loud yelling instantly invaded your ears. 

“Yahhh! You’re awake, oh, you’re awake! Do you know how scared I was? Oh! You were bleeding everywhere and you wouldn’t respond when we were saying your name! I thought you were dead. I thought you…” You could only blink in shock at the love hashira. Her yelling quickly quieted down to sobs as she ran over to wrap her arms around your neck. Gargantuan tears rolled off her face and onto your prone form. “Never do that again, okay! When Obanai and I found you, we thought we were too late. Nyahh, why would you fight an upper moon demon alone you dummy!” The crying girl reached a new crescendo as she started yelling again, her voice causing a new throbbing to start up in the back of your head. 

“Okay, ‘Suri. I’m alright,” you whispered, hoping to soothe her screaming. Two big green eyes stared at you for a moment, a steady stream of tears still rolling from them. She went to open her mouth again but you sighed, reaching a hand to stroke her bubblegum hair back from her face. A red tint now accompanied the wet stains on her cheeks. She bit her lip hard, eyes darting all over your face before she wailed one last time and slumped over you like a cat. 

Internally, you cried at the pressure that she put on your ribs, but covered it with a small smile on your face. 

“Oi, you’re hurting her.” 

Mitsuri leaped off of you in an instant, hands covering her mouth. With her no longer obscuring your view of the room, you could see Obanai stood motionless in the doorway. He quietly entered, closing the door behind him. His dull eyes roved your form for a second, before settling on your face. 

“How do you feel?” 

You bit your lip to stop from saying how you really felt. That was, complete and utter shit. Instead, you managed a small grin, watching as he came to sit on the edge of the bed. Mitsuri followed, climbing up onto the sheets and snuggling up close. 

“Fine. How long have I been out?” 

Mitsuri hung onto your arm for dear life, and you watched as her bottom lip wobbled. 

“Two weeks now. I didn’t know if you were ever gonna wake up.” She said sadly, burrowing her head into the nook of your neck. From the side of your eye, you watched as Obanai rolled his eyes at the girl's words. With your free hand, you patted the love hashira on the back, hoping it gave her some sense of comfort. Craning your neck to the side, you averted your stare back to the Serpent Hashira, knowing he’d at least answer some of your questions without bursting into tears.

“What happened back there? I mean, I thought I was dead for sure.” You ended your words with a small laugh, but he didn’t seem to find them very funny. 

“When Kanroji and I arrived, that demon was absorbing you from behind.” That explained the numbness in your back. “You looked as good as dead, hell you were dead. But somehow we managed to ward him off long enough to grab you and get you back here.” 

He stopped talking, gaze assessing the look on your face. At your prolonged silence, Mitsuri popped her head up to look at your expression. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“You didn’t kill it?” you asked slowly. Next to you, Mitsuri gulped. Obanai just looked at you. “You let it get away?” You insisted, neck cracking as you raised up onto your weak forearms. Mitsuri uttered words of warning but you ignored them, brows pulled tightly together. Your eyes flew between your fellow hashira, lips opening and closing in disbelief. 

“That wasn’t the priority.” Obanai said simply. Your eyes focused on him. Besides you, Mitsuri hummed her agreement. 

“Why?” you growled. “How was that not the priority? I fought that damn demon for hours. Okay? Hours. The two of you together could have beat him no problem, upper moon or not. And what, you just let it get away? This is our job! This is what we do! If we don’t kill these demons when we get the chance, how the hell are we supposed to ever stop Muzan, huh? Ubayashiki won’t be happy to hear this. I’m not happy to hear this!” 

Mitsuri ducked her head, but Obanai’s gaze didn’t waver. 

“Ubayashiki knows.” 

You grit your teeth. “‘He knows’, that’s all you're gonna say? Why not explain your actions then! Explain why you let an upper moon get away when you were in the prime position to kill it!”

The raven haired man stayed silent this time, eyes finally falling to his lap. 

But you weren’t done with this, no way. A heavy pressure bared down on your chest, stopping you from getting full lungfuls of air. All the pain did was remind you of what happened. Remind you that you nearly died. And for what? What did you almost die for, if the demon got away in the end? You said exactly this, watching as the two avoided meeting your eye. 

“I swear to god,” you seethed. “You better tell me that you know where that demon went, or so help me…” 

The silence gave you your answer. 

Mitsuri sat up fully, eyes brimming with fresh tears. She took hold of your hand, bringing it close to her chest.

“We did it for you,” she babbled, tugging on the sleeve of your hospital jacket. “Please don’t be angry.” 

You wrenched your hand away.

“Well I am! I am angry! How can you say -”

“Stop it,” Obanai suddenly snapped. Both Mitsuri and you shot your eyes to where he was now standing up. His gaze had hardened, fists clenched by his side. “Don’t get mad at her. She did nothing wrong. We had two options: kill the demon or save your life. Now, I don’t know if you have some suicidal tendencies or something but we made our decision and we chose you. It’s up to you if you can accept that or not, but there’s no going back, so just stop.”

“Obanai…” Mitsuri whispered but he kept his steely glare directed at you. 

“That’s the problem,” you hissed, recovering from your initial shock. Out of all the hashira, Iguro was one of the quietest - rarely did he raise his voice or get angry like this. Nevermind that though, the beating in your head and the irritation you felt urged you on. “You made a dumb choice. That demon is gonna go and he’s gonna kill hundreds of more people. Why? Because you had a severe lapse in judgement? Is that why, Obanai?” 

Obanai met your words head on, his eyes narrowing. 

“Maybe it was a dumb decision,” he growled. “But it was our decision. Mitsuri and I. We chose you. You were more important in that moment. What about that can’t you understand?” 

“Oh, I understand perfectly fine! I understand that there are two incompetent hashira among us that don’t understand where their priorities should lay. How's that for understanding?” 

Mitsuri gasped quietly next to you but you didn’t dare tear your gaze away from the serpent hashira. If you could have seen his mouth, you swore he’d have been sneering at you in this moment. You watched as he took a few deep breaths, eyes shutting in what looked like exasperation.

“You.” He declared lowly. “You are our priority. And I am not going to apologise for saving you. Nor is Mitsuri. So, get. over. it.” The last words sounded like they were spoken through gritted teeth. Your nostrils flared. 

“I am not your priority.” You argued, eyes blazing. 

“That is not up to you to decide.”

“No? Well I just did! If you think… “ you started, voice beginning to rise. “If you think that my life is more important than taking down Muzan, then you're delusional. You’re crazy!” 

“Do not put words in my mouth!” Obanai hissed back, Kaburamaru copying this sentiment. 

Your eyes shot open as you laughed mockingly. “I’m not putting anything but the truth in your mouth!” 

“Stop it!” Mitsuri cried, now standing as well. “Stop it, the both of you!” 

Both your heads whipped towards the pink haired girl, who now had her hands clasped together as if she were about to get on her knees and beg. 

“Mitsuri,” Obanai said softly, his tone doing a complete 180. “It’s her, not me.” 

It’s a miracle your neck didn’t break at the speed in which you turned to glower at him. Your throat, still not completely healed, scratched with every word. 

“Me? Are you kidding? It’s ME?” You were hysterical at this point.

Obanai didn’t concede. 

“I don’t understand what your problem is. Really. This is pointless. What you’re saying is pointless!”

You were going to murder this man. You were going to have to commit seppuku for the war crimes that you were about to commit against him.

“Why!” You finally exploded. “I just want to know why you think saving me was your priority! Especially, when we both know that the right thing to do would’ve been to ditch me and kill that son-of-a bitch!”

This time, Obanai didn’t respond. You were panting, glare prominent on your face. Your ribs were hurting and all the shouting hadn’t helped the headache you were sporting. Off to the side, Mitsuri whimpered.

“Tell her, Obanai,” she murmured. He glared at her, then at you.

“No.” He said.

“Tell her,” she urged again. 

You could quickly feel the rage swelling in your belly.

“Tell me what?” you croaked, voice ran raw. You wanted to shout and scream and demand answers, but you were so tired. 

Obanai stayed quiet. Your eyes darted to Mitsuri now, who squeaked at whatever she saw in your gaze. Her hands fumbled nervously with the front of her uniform, teeth gnawing on her bottom lip. She shot a look at Obanai.

“We, um…” she started. On your other side, Obanai said something quietly. You didn’t hear, but Mitsuri clearly did as she grew a determined look on her face. 

“‘Suri…”  You warned.

No one spoke for a moment, before…

“We love you!” Mitsuri wailed, volume going unchecked as her face turned as red as hot coal. 

You blinked, suddenly stumped for words. “Huh, you mean…Huh?” 

Mitsuri started to cry again for whatever reason. You could only stare dumbly.

“I love you,” Mitsuri babbled between sobs. “He loves you too but he won’t say it!” She continued to cry. 

When you looked back at Obanai, he refused to meet your eye. 

A sudden knock on the door shocked you out of your stupor. Shinobu peeked her head inside, but immediately stopped as she took in all of your faces. Without a word, she quickly retreated, door slamming shut.

The room went dead silent, aside from Mitsuri’s quiet sniffles as she tried to gain control over her emotions. 

Slowly, you started to speak, directing your words at Obanai as you did.

“Tell me that’s not true. It’s just Mitsuri being Mitsuri, right? Right.” He still didn’t look at you, silently shaking his head. You felt your chin wobble. “Don’t say that,” you protested. “Don’t say that!” You grew angry again, poking a finger into the snake pillar's chest. Your body turned to Mitsuri. “‘Suri you don’t mean that. Don’t say that, please. Please.” 

She only smiled sadly. One of her hands reached out as if to comfort you, but you backed away into the pillow behind you. Your eyes widened in horror. 

“Get out,” you crowed. “Get out, now!” 

“What?” Mitsuri whispered.

“Get out of my room.” You stated, curling in on yourself. Mitsuri stepped forward, looking as though she didn’t know what to do with herself. Her eyes stared into yours, but it was like she wasn’t actually seeing you. 

“You don’t mean that. You’re just tired, you need time to recover. You don’t… After everything, you can’t possibly mean to say…” 

You choked on a sob, pulling the blankets higher over you. Bound by the cast, you did what you could to turn away from the both of them. Mitsuri said your name one last time but you covered your ears, tears finally springing into your eyes. 

“Get out…” you murmured, too tired to do anything. Too tired to beg or yell or cry. 

You heard as Obanai moved, saying something quietly to Mitsuri. Footsteps, then the door to your room closed and you were left all alone again. 

Alone.

Maybe that’s all you’d ever be. 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Do we want a part two to this? I kinda do lol

part two is out!!

[hay1ock]

Sure just rip my heart out and stomp all over it. Only Friends Episode 10.

It only took 10 episodes but they’ve finally done it and made me feel sympathetic to Top’s situation lol. I’ve clearly gone through my character arc 😝, that or they just made me more annoyed at other characters involved in their part of the story than I am at Top. Boeing, I am looking at you. Mew, you are pushing it. But in all seriousness, I had said I was trying to look at Top more positively, as I have seen him change from Mr Smugface Top Tier to a Mew simp.

I get why Mew would be annoyed to find Boeing at Top’s place and how it maybe set things back in his mind after deciding to give Top a second chance. Boeing was happy to stir the pot and I’m not really sure what he’s hoping to achieve other than annoy me and Top, and probably Ray and Sand too based on the preview. Is it just revenge at being dumped? Does he want Top? Mew? Sand? Is he Boston 2.0 so if he can’t be happy then no one can? Him pushing up his glasses at the end of the scene in Top’s apartment gave me full on anime villain vibes lol.

And then there’s Mew. Omg accidentally liking one of Boeing’s insta posts💀Like I said I get Boeing’s appearance probably upset him all over again. But I had thought revenge era was kind of over after everything that happened with Ray. The talk at the hostel and pushing Top in the pool felt like things were settled about Mew giving him that second chance. But then suddenly inviting Boeing to the wakeboarding… Now, maybe he’s got some trick up his sleeve and is somehow playing Boeing in some way, or maybe he is testing Top, because trust is a hard thing to win back and there’s no way he would want to be taken for a fool all over again (Though from a viewer POV we have seen how Top interacts with Boeing and there’s nothing between them). I don’t know what he’s up to. Also, I feel like he let Boeing’s lips touch his for way too long lol. I just feel it ignited my sympathy for Top in wanting Mew to make a choice. Either commit to the two of them and give Top that chance properly with no games or tests, or let it go, call time on him and Top and find a (healthy) way to move on.

And so onto Boston and Nick. Boston certainly had a tough time while Nick was exploring things with Daddy Dan. I knew Atom was a little scary but to straight up lie and imply Boston took advantage of him… Ugh. I’m not Cheum’s biggest fan but I can’t blame her for believing her brother over Boston, especially considering the whole pursuing and manipulating Top thing that just happened recently. I didn’t like everything she said, and Mew seemed to enjoy the moment a bit too much with his little pat on Boston’s shoulder, but as Ray brought up, and Cheum later focussed on, regardless of anything else, Atom is her little brother. And though it really isn’t anyone’s business if they’re both consenting adults, it isn’t really the done thing to shag your bestie’s siblings. I know Boston tried to dissuade Atom a bit, but considering how strained the friendships already were, he probably should have took a hard pass on sleeping with Atom. Kicking him out the project too was a bit rough. It seemed as if Ray wasn’t quite down with everything that was happening, and I certainly felt bad for Boston. He did something shitty to Mew, but he doesn’t deserve this bullshit scenario Atom has created. But we’ll have to see where things go, if the truth comes out, or if Boston is left abandoned and without a way to graduate, and so goes with his back up plan of moving to New York.

Boston had already seemed to be having ‘feelings’ about Nick. First, looking at his picture and then last episode after seeing him with Dan. Whether it’s love or just fondness/familiarity, missing his company, after all he does say he missed him, it’ll be interesting to see where, if anywhere, he and Nick goes. I do at least feel as if he’s being genuine this time rather than dangling hope-shaped relationship carrots in front of Nick. Their scenes in the store and on the roof were really good and I did feel like I could get on board with them again. I mean, it’ll come down to if they can be honest with each other about what they really want their relationship to be as to whether anything between them is going to work. I don’t know if Boston can, wants to or even should change his sex life. Obviously, there were a couple of people he should have definitely not had sex with, but in general having multiple partners and enjoying sex isn’t anything bad or wrong. I don’t know what he can actually offer Nick in the end. I mean, their sex scene certainly showed a hell of a lot more care than anything we’d seen before. Hopefully, Boston can figure out what he wants and what degree of a relationship he is able to commit to. I would prefer him to be honest about what he can offer Nick, be it an attempt at being boyfriends or just their old agreement of friends with benefits, and then it’ll be down to Nick to make an informed decision. And whether he needs to have a little chat with Dan as to where exactly everybody stands.

And finally, Ray and Sand. Argh, it hurts. First punch to the gut - I just don’t want to sing at your funeral. Second punch - how fucking cute Ray and his donut was lol. I’m glad Ray didn’t force Sand to reveal himself to his father and gave him an out even if it was at the last moment. Who knows how the guy might have taken the news. Sand had been going to the bar on a number of occasions so deep down he probably does want to tell him, but it was right of Ray to not pressure him by making it a condition of him going to rehab in the end. Rehab/therapy, I’m glad Ray went that first time, even if he was doing it purely because Sand asked him to. I can understand his reluctance to talk at that point. He’s kept everything buried beneath alcohol for years. There’s that fear of if you start talking, be vulnerable for even a moment then everything will come tumbling out and you’ll have to face what you’ve been forcing down. The same goes for stopping drinking. Ray has numbed himself to his trauma for a long time, without alcohol there’s going to be a hell of a lot of feelings coming to the surface as well as withdrawal and shifts in mood.

I think Ray’s father having asked Sand for help in getting Ray into rehab had been the most likely end to that conversation from episode 7, and of course, Ray overheard them. I’d been so proud of him for putting the bottles of alcohol in the bin. If only he’d had a bigger bin he might not have gone downstairs maybe in search of garbage bags (also I’ll assume the maid would empty the bin and recycle those bottles lol). The scene at Sand’s place though. God damn, it was so good and hurt like a bitch. As soon as money was involved, Ray couldn’t believe Sand had ever cared for him. Threw back some of what Sand had said about ‘doing anything for money’, ‘liking jobs that pay big’. The way he broke down, feeling betrayed and used, and thinking all the times he’d been happy were nothing but lies. My heart. And of course Sand. He could have easily screamed and shouted right back and yet he did his best to treat Ray gently and calmly, despite being emotional. Ack, and the frustrated cry after he broke down once Ray left, the realisation that he was asking Ray to quit alcohol but could just as easily enable him by having alcohol in his home and him throwing that jar of plum wine. I wonder if we’ll see an on screen reconciliation or skip forward? There’s also Boeing to possibly cause more problems, though I want to say I have faith Sand wouldn’t go back there, though if it’s at a time when he and Ray aren’t back on good terms… I know Sand seems to have it out for Top, but I’d assume he wouldn’t be all that impressed with the ex that cheated either.

And then another impressive performance from Khaotung as Ray. I’m glad Ray’s father cleared things up, though the way he speaks to Ray at the start, honestly, I get why Ray wouldn’t want to listen and gets defensive. I wonder if he’s always spoken so harshly or if their communication broke down over time as Ray spiralled lower? Ray looked tired and done with everything after the situation with Sand was revealed and I’m kind of happy we see him going straight back to the therapist. If he wants a relationship with Sand, it’s in his best interests to start facing his demons. I’m sure Sand will do what he can to support him, but he needs to do it for himself not just because Sand told him to. This time he has attended rehab, yes still for Sand, but this time because he wants to, he chose to go, he chose to take the steps to stop hurting the person he loves. It’s a step on the road to recovery.

Being with me requires patience - as soon as he said that all I could think about were the comments from people who were so against Ray these last few episodes. His character indeed needs patience and understanding. Because of drink and drugs he’s not always in control of his actions, because of his past he doesn’t always behave appropriately or as you want him to. He’s emotional and he’s a mess. But he can also be adorable and kind and loving and make Sand smile. For those moments, Sand has put up with a lot. Like I said last episode, if Sand is strong enough and indeed has the patience, then I want for him to support Ray in getting better and continue to love him. Because yes, Ray deserves to be loved and happy.

Overall, this was a fantastic episode. I’m confused over Top and Mew, hopeful for Sand and Ray, and willing to support Boston and Nick in figuring out what they want to be to one another. I would like for the truth to come out about Atom, and for Boeing to get lost and just do one lol.

I’m really excited for the next episode. I can’t believe we’re so close to the end.

[the-iceni-bitch]

Haven

Paralian: 2/9(or maybe more?)

Pairing: Winter Soldier x fem!reader

Words: ~2.5k

Summary: You and the Winter Soldier find comfort in each other at your seaside home. But the Soviet threat still looms.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex), minor medical procedure, fluff, angst with the threat of even more angst to come (I’m so sorry), SMUT!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!!

A/N: Well, here is fucking is, part two of Paralian. This series is going to break my damn heart, so I hope y’all are happy. I’ve got a whole, depressing arc planned so strap in.

Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!

Divider by @firefly-graphics

It had been surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a comfortable rhythm.

You couldn’t exactly keep things a secret from him, not when one of the first things you had to do was search him for a tracking device. His gaze on you was exceptionally soft as you ran your hands over his body, starting at his flesh forearm as you searched for any abnormalities.

“They typically embed them pretty shallow, I’m hoping I won’t have to dig into the fascia at all if I find anything.” You explained, pressing your fingers into his bicep with a look of concentration. “Nothings coming back to you?”

“No, I’m sorry.” He swallowed thickly while he watched you, mesmerized by the movements of your hands over his skin. “I still can’t remember.”

“Honey, you don’t need to apologize.” Your hands moved to his shoulder. “I’m gonna need to call you something, though. You got any names floating around in there?”

He just smiled sadly and shook his head at you, taking a deep breath when you leaned closer to him. There was nothing weird in his shoulder so you moved to his neck, freezing suddenly when you felt a small divot in his scalenes.

“Fuck.” You hissed, pinching the abnormality between your fingers and considering your options. “Good news is it’s not in the muscle, but there’s some pretty important blood vessels here I really don’t want to nick.”

“I can hold still.” He said, gazing at you through his lashes while you chewed on your lip.

“I’d be slicing into your neck, I don’t think you can hold that still.” You stood up and leaned back on your heel, your breath catching when he grabbed your hand to keep you close.

“I trust you.” He said in a low voice, winding his fingers through yours before bringing your palm to his face and pressing it to his lips.

You took a deep breath and nodded at him, moving to grab some supplies and ordering him to remove his shirt. He did as you asked, releasing you reluctantly and never taking his eyes off you. It didn’t make any sense that he felt so safe with you in such a short time, but every time you were near him he could feel himself relax.

“Bite down on this.” You handed him a belt and draped a towel over his shoulder before running a flame over the knife you had brought with you. “Hopefully I won’t have to stitch you up. Ready?”

He gave you a brief nod when you soaked the area with betadine, finding the small divot again and gripping it tightly. You pressed the tip of your knife to his skin and made a quick cut, ignoring his pained breath and grabbing the forceps. Fortunately, you didn’t have to search long, finding the small metal chip almost immediately and pulling it out of him with a satisfied grunt.

“Keep biting.” You told him, dropping the chip on the table and pressing the towel to the cut. “I’m gonna stitch it for my own peace of mind.”

You picked out the sutures from your kit and held them out for him to open for you before you grabbed the needle drivers and set to work. Since the cut was so short you only needed to place three stitches, giving a small smile when you were finished.

“All done.” You told him, plucking the belt out of his mouth. “You are a great patient, sweetie.”

He gave you another one of those heartbreaking smiles, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you towards him. You pressed your lips to his hair gently, letting him nuzzle into your stomach as you eyed the chip. 

“What’re you gonna do with it?” He asked, breathing in your scent until he felt the tension seep from his body.

“Wedge it in some debris and push it into the ocean.” You murmured, running your fingers through his hair in a soothing manner. “Come give me a hand?”

He stood up to follow you, pulling his shirt back over his head. The two of you moved out of your small house to the beach, picking your way through the debris as you moved closer to the water. You frowned as you looked at the wreckage, wondering how you were supposed to get the tracker to stay attached to one of these pieces of metal. He must have read your mind, grabbing the chip from you and folding a corner of debris around it with his metal fist.

“Huh, that thing is handy.” You huffed, reaching out to stop him when he started to heft the piece of debris. “No, don’t throw it! Just push it into the water so the tide can take it.”

“Why?” He asked, dragging the giant piece of debris after him as he edged towards the water. 

“So it looks like your body got washed back out to sea after the wreck.” You said, wrapping your arms around yourself when a sudden biting breeze blew in from the gulf.

“I’m dead in this scenario, then?” He shoved the metal into the water and started to walk back towards you.

“Yeah, that’s safest.” You said, kicking a loose pebble with your toe as you looked over the beach. “We should clean the rest of this shit up. I feel like it’ll go a lot faster with you here.”

It definitely did, that titanium arm of his making cleanup take just a few hours, rather than the several days it would have taken if you were by yourself. He wouldn’t let you touch any of the bigger pieces, not even breaking a sweat as he developed a very impressive pile of wreckage.

You moved back to the cabin when you were finished, heading to your radio to reach out to your contact in Helsinki to arrange for them to pick up the wreckage and bring you some more supplies. Your new housemate was going to need something aside from your leggings to wear with how cold some of the nights could get.

“You’re sure it’s safe?” He asked, following after you like a lost puppy while you moved to the kitchen. 

“They’re smugglers, as long as you stay out of sight it should be fine.” You set the kettle on the stove and sighed when he wrapped himself around you from behind. “Shit.”

“Please.” He buried his face in your hair and whined, the scent of you filling his lungs until he was panting with need. “God, I need you.”

You dropped your head against his shoulder as his hands moved to your breasts under your sweater, his mouth tracing over the curve of your neck as he murmured soft pleas in your ear. This could not keep happening, you were a professional, not a horny teenager. Yeah you were touch starved but that didn’t mean you were going to just let this man fuck you indiscriminately. 

But then you turned around and saw those damn puppy eyes and all your reservations flew right out of your head. What had they done to him to make him look so broken and lost?

He cupped your jaw with his titanium hand and tilted your head back to press his lips to yours and that was it. You could feel him relax when your breath mingled, his low groan vibrating against your chest as his flesh hand curled over your hip and drove you into him.

“Fuck, honey.” You purred, sighing when he started trailing his lips down your throat and pressed himself even further into you. “Take what you need. It’s going to be ok.”

His breath left him in a deep sigh as he took a beat to gaze at you, his eyes soft when he moved his face back to yours and breathed deeply. Your own hands skimmed up his sides until you could frame his face, skimming your fingertips through his hair and smiling softly as you curled your legs around him. 

Air cooled the wetness between your thighs when he tore your leggings open, his flesh hand dipping between your legs and cupping your throbbing core as he covered your lips with his own. The tip of his cock teased against your clit and he swallowed your sharp gasp, smiling softly and letting out a low whine when he slowly shoved his hips forward until he was fully sheathed in your warmth.

You could tell he was holding back when he started grinding against you at an agonizing pace, relishing the feel of your soft walls clenching around him as he nipped gently at your lips. He screwed his eyes closed when you gripped his hair by the roots and started moving your hips against his, trying to keep himself from going completely feral.

“Baby, hey, look at me.” You cooed, peppering soft kisses all over his face until he dragged his eyelids open and met your gaze. “It’s ok. I want this. You can move.”

“Promise me.” He pleaded, and you could’ve sworn you could see tears brimming in his eyes. 

“Oh, honey.” You probably shouldn’t make any guarantees, but the way he was looking at you made you ache. “I promise.”

He covered your lips with his and let out a low growl, dragging out of you almost fully before slamming forward and making you cry into his mouth when his swollen tip kissed your cervix. The pace he was setting was making it hard for you to stay focused, his pelvis grinding against your clit with each violent shove until your eyes were rolling back in your skull. 

Pleasure started gathering in the pit of your stomach when you collapsed back against your counter, mugs and dishes sliding to the floor and breaking as he fucked into you like it was the last thing he was ever going to do. A low moan left your lips when he ripped your sweater open and curled his body over yours, his mouth immediately finding your nipple and latching on while your back arched you further into him.

He completely lost himself in you. The way your body was responding to him was everything he didn’t know he needed. Every soft whimper and desperate mewl that fell from your lips flooded his veins with warmth until you were the only thing that existed, the soft curves of your body welcoming him like home.

The coil in your stomach finally snapped and you wailed, your body trying to curl back on itself as your vision completely whited out with pleasure. You felt him groan against your chest as you fluttered wildly around him, your body trying to draw him even deeper while you came violently. Then you were flooded with warmth when he filled you with his seed, spilling it deep within your soft walls and collapsing on top of you with a contented sigh as your hands ran through his hair.

He tilted his head up and rested his chin between your breasts, gazing at you lovingly through his lashes as the two of you came down. That look was going to be the death of you, you just knew it. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” He sighed, straightening up and pulling your face up to meet his in a soft kiss.

“And you’re dangerous.” You took the edge off your words with a warm smile, opening yourself up to him and letting him stroke your tongue with his until you were whining for him. 

God, you were a stupid woman, but how could you care when he was looking at you like that?

It had been three months of pure bliss. The two of you lost yourselves in each other completely, barely leaving your tiny cabin except for when you would let him hold you as you watched the sun set over the sea. 

You had managed to settle on the name Jamie for him after trying to delve into the recesses of his mind and coming up with nothing. But he liked when you mentioned the name James, and for some reason hearing you call him Jamie always made him smile.

The radio had been extremely quiet ever since the storm. You still had to do your regular check-ins with the SHIELD base in Helsinki, but it was surprisingly easy to keep them off your backs. You’d been doing it for the past three years after all.

And there was nothing from the Soviets. Maybe you should have been a little more concerned, you were playing house with their most valuable asset. But how could you think about that when Jamie was spending most of his time buried between your thighs and taking you apart like it was his job?

Right now he was laying with his head in your lap after you two had spent the whole stormy afternoon tangled together, smiling up at you and letting his eyes drift closed as you read The Hobbit to him. It was his favorite, and you were pretty sure this was that tenth time the two of you had read through it.

You were narrating Bilbo and the dwarves’ adventures in the Mirkwood when you heard your radio crackle to life. You ignored it, that happened sometimes and it was usually just a shipping freighter that had bled into one of your channels.

“Тоска.”

That was a little weird, but you still ignored it, running your fingers through his hair as you continued reading.

“Ржавый.”

Jamie went still for a beat and you barely registered it, continuing your narration as you tucked your legs under you.

“Семнадцать.”

Pain radiated through your arm when he grabbed your wrist suddenly, the bones grinding together and making you hiss when you looked down to see blind panic taking over his face.

“Turn it off.” He gasped, his eyes pleading with you desperately.

“What?”

“Рассвет.”

“The radio, turn it off!” His body jolted off the couch like he had been shot, and you dove towards the radio with a muttered curse as he cried out like he was in pain.

“Печь.”

You scrambled across the cabin, tripping over your feet but managing to reach it and shut it off before any more words could come through. He was panting on the floor when you turned back to him, and you rushed back to curl your body around his. It was everything you could do to keep from crying when he buried his face in your neck and started sobbing, his arms pulling you to him desperately as he tried to calm down.

“Jamie, honey, talk to me.” You ran your hands over his spine in an attempt to soothe him. “What was that?”

“I don’t know.” He was panicking, the only anchor he had right now was you and he was holding onto you like he would never let you go. “I felt like I was losing myself.”

“Shit.” That sounded like a fucking trigger phrase. 

“They know I’m alive.” He tilted his face up to yours and gazed desperately into your eyes. “They’ll come for me.”

A/N: It’s gonna get so bad you guys, but you all asked for this so don’t come for me!

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[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

Should have known better

Prompt: when ur reading fanfic and one character was cooking and the other comes up to them and they start making out and everyones like starting to take their shirts off and the author STILL hasnt mentioned anyone turning off the stove

My first attempt at Dickinette. I hope I did it justice!

Here’s my favourite ratatouille recipe! It’s amazing!

Ao3

—————————

Warnings: mild sexual content & mentions of gun violence, gangs, bullet wounds, fire hazards and unplanned pregnancy

The keys jangled as he took them out of his pocket, the lock clicked open and the old apartment door creaked. He took two steps into the hall, dropping his bag with a thud and closed the door behind him. Running a hand through his long, sweat slicked hair he sighed. Today had been a long day.

A deep inhale inflated his chest, but the black police vest he wore restricted it’s full extension. The smell of a wonderful home cooked meal made his stomach growl. Ratatouille, his favourite.

His heavy boot laden feet created echoing footsteps as he walked into the grey tiled kitchen. His wife stood at the stove humming, the google pad’s screen was lit with the ingredients list. She scooped and flipped the squared vegetable mix before putting the lid upon it for the meal to soften. She turned to her sketchpad, inspired by something unknown. Drawing captured her full attention, her brain’s need to replicate the idea on paper outweighed her focus on her surroundings.

He should have known better. He grew up with vigilantes and superheroes. He should have know never to sneak up on someone, especially if they knew how to fight; although this rule doesn’t count for villains (they know what they did).

For Marinette, it had been a long day of ripped seems and designer’s block.. It was nearing on eight when she finally started dinner. Looking at the clock she sighed, ‘Dick’s working late again.’ She hoped he wasn’t caught up in the shooting across town. Two gangs had a disagreement over territory and many civilians got caught up in it. She wanted to help but she had been banned from heroine duties for the time being. Her last ladybug adventure resulted in a bullet to her leg, which was still healing.

Dick took her to the hospital stating she had gotten caught in the crossfire (which now reminds her they need to restock the medical supplies), and they discovered that she was four weeks pregnant.

In present time she was still well within her first trimester, just starting her second month; and she was feeling it too. Vomiting each morning wasn’t fun, more so when it started happening more frequently throughout the day. Their midwife reassured the young couple that it was completely normal, but if it keeps up to come back as it may become hyperemesis gravidarum which will harm the baby.

Baby.

She was still trying to wrap her head around it. She had turned twenty-four last July and Dick was only older by a year. They weren’t planning on this and they had taken all of the precautions to prevent it. Yeah sure, they were married but it hadn’t even been two years! Her worry for the future faded as she reminisced on her husband’s reaction to the discovery. He was shocked for a few seconds before jumping up and down like a toddler who got a toy, beaming with joy. Tears of happiness pricked his eyes, threatening to spill on a moments notice.

Another symptom that weighted upon her was fatigue. She was no longer a teen who could challenge the world with a pen and a cup of coffee. She was a tired, pregnant adult who had to give away her coffee maker due to the temptation being too strong. No more late night or all-nighters designing clothes and completing commissions. She had to lessen her commissions due to the stressful nature of them but working from home, in her own studio helped. It had been a month since she found out and now she just wanted to hibernate due to lack of energy.

Putting down the spatula, she scooped up the pen, suddenly inspired by the mix of colours; an autumn playsuit came to mind. Biting her lip as she drew, neglecting her surroundings, the blare of the news channel becoming white noise.

She should have known better. She was a superhero, albeit she was benched at the moment, but still! The first rule of ‘herodom’ was to always do the right thing, but the second rule was to always be aware of your surroundings.

Arms wrapped around her waist, a small gasps left her mouth and her elbow drove straight back into her captor’s chest. A masculine groan came from behind her, but she paid it no mind as she tried to get out of the man’s strong grip.

“Mari, Mari! Calm down it’s me” Her husband said breathlessly. Her jab winded him, although it was softened by his police uniform, Marinette’s miraculous strength was powerful to say the least. He just wish he didn’t have to be on the receiving end of it.

“Ma moitié! Why would you do that!?” Her anguished cry caused him to hide his chuckle in her neck. Her heartbeat made its presence known within her chest and her breathing was still shallow. Turning within his embrace, she faced him with a pout on her face, “You jerk, you scared me!” She whimpered, her pregnancy hormones had blurred the line between her emotions causing her mood to flip like a switch.

Dick looked down at her with a guilt riddled face. “Shoot Mari, I’m sorr-“

Before he could finish apologising Marinette tugged him down and connected her lips to his. She leaned back into the countertop, cupping his cheek and jaw with both hands. Dick eagerly followed her lead.

He picked her up, his hands moulding the flesh of her thighs. He had done this before, but took extra precautions this time due to her still healing leg injury. He moved her away from the countertop and sat her upon the plush couch. He hovered above her, lips only splitting for a millisecond for air before closing the gap once more.

Marinette pushed on his shoulder and swiftly flipped him so that she was on top. The quick motion caused his head to slam back into the wall, the noise halted their make-out session. Her eyes widened, the cloud of lust had evaporated and rained down on her parade. She apologised multiple times to him, eyes watering in the process.

Dick just laughed before pulling her back in for another kiss. In contrast to the sloppy wet kisses before, the gentleness off Mari’s lips now made him feel like he was made of glass. She filled it with her remorse over hurting him. But as the kiss continued it shifted back to the momentum and passion they had before.

Her hands trailed up his chest, she shivered into the kiss; he had just taken off her shirt, leaving her in her bra. His thumb brushed under the mound of her breast, he felt her furious heartbeat through he skin.

Her focus lowered to his bare neck. Placing kiss upon kiss there and biting occasionally, leaving a trail of pink marks for his colleagues to see during his neck shift. A hand ran down her back as it arced, pushing her bosom into his chest.

They broke apart, foreheads pressed together, bodies flushed against each other’s. She peppered his face with kisses, “I love you”s were stated after each. He returned this action with the same fervour.

Something was wrong though. It was a sudden onset plaguing thought that something wasn't right. They had tried to ignore it but it had become like a tugging string tied around their hearts, signalling an oncoming danger. Wordlessly the two scanned the apartment, neither wanting to part from their entanglement.

Confused the two looked back at the other. Neither finding what set off the warning sensation. As their eyes connected, realisation washed over them like a bucket of ice water. They inhaled the burnt air and scrambled apart; both exclaiming “Fuck!”

Running into the kitchen, the tiles were cold against her bare feet. Dark unventilated smoke hung in the air. Upon entry to the room it was a wall of heat, it was a wonder the smoke alarms hadn’t gone off yet. Dick grabbed a nearby tea towel and swatted at the smoke, he shuffled towards the burners, mouth and nose hidden within his elbow.

Marinette opened all nearby windows, she hoped that the neighbours on the floors above didn’t question the smoke. The couple worked together to set up a system of fans to push out the smoke from the kitchen.

“If Alfred were here he would kill us.” Dick solemnly nodded in reply, ‘we should have known better’. He scraped the burnt black char into the bin, while Mari held the pan. Once the pan cooled down enough it went into the bin too, there was no saving it.

Dick tied up the yellow bin bag and placed the spatula into the sink. “Soooo... want chinese? If you’re up for it, it’ll be my treat.”

Her stomach growled as her eyes flicked to the clock, it was almost nine and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast at seven. She nodded, “sounds good let’s go!”

She walked towards the door, hand on the handle when she realised that he hadn’t followed her. Turning back around she saw him staring at her, cheeks flushed, unmoved from his position next to the bin.

“Um babe?”

“What’s wrong Ma moitié? I thought you wanted Chinese.” Her head tilted, confused at his actions.

He cleared his throat, eyes flicking away. “Babe you’ve forgotten your shirt.”

“Shit” left her lips as she bolted back to the couch, vaulting over a counter much to Dick’s disapproval. She heard him scolding her from the other room, but was too hungry to care.

Walking back to him, now appropriately dressed, she grabbed his hand, pulling him out the door. He just sighed, following his crazy wife, throwing the bag into the complex’s dumpster on the way to the car.

No one was getting in between her and her noodles.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s S2 R&S - Border (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from an R&S (边境) which has not been released in English servers!🍒

This S2 R&S features S1 Gavin, but it follows directly after Ch 37 - Gavin’s Farewell. If you don’t wish to spoil yourself on how S1 ends, please don’t read this!

Follow along with the audio here!

[ Chapter One ]

The dismissal bell has rung for a very long time.

With an almost inaudible sigh, Gavin takes a final glance in the direction of the rooftop, then turns around to leave.

The pale yellow light divides the light and darkness, akin to the black and white keys of a piano which are no longer played by anyone.

The companionship and breaths belonging to the girl have become too warm and natural. Having gotten used to them, the temperature seems to have dropped when walking alone in the school grounds.

Gavin walks over to the school wall. Gently exerting force on his ankles and wrists, he leaps over the wall.

“This time, it counts as a proper goodbye, doesn’t it?”

He smiles a little bitterly.

The enclosing wall, trees and plants are silent, leaving the answer to the evening breeze passing through the leaves.

-

The city is silent.

The Special Task Force has already issued instructions to every team member to be dismissed. Even the team members who wanted to leave last have returned to their families. 

The cluster of comets in the sky brush the atmosphere, burning long trails of unclear rays of light in their wake.

In the distance, some dark smoke can be seen rising faintly, probably the embers of a disaster-stricken building.

Gavin looks at the night sky as many meteors streak past. Getting onto the motorcycle, he drives far away.

Since an unknown point in time, he’s been running in the direction of the girl.

Despite not knowing where such inexplicable confidence came from, Gavin has always felt that whether it’s in the form of protecting her, standing by her side or waiting, the end-goal of the path they walk on will always coincide.

When he told the girl to "walk forward", he was already convinced that the girl would follow her own path, no matter how difficult it is. She would definitely reach the goal she’s searching for. As for himself, he would definitely stand there, welcoming their reunion once again.

Walking forward without turning back, they will eventually meet again in the future.

Gavin secretly vows that when the time comes, no matter what happens, he will definitely not let go of her hand again. 

The wind howls. The high-speed motorcycle carries its partner, galloping through the devastated city.

Moving a little closer to that place in Gavin’s heart.

-

[ Chapter Two ]

Although no new natural disasters have occurred for the time being, the wounds inflicted on the city are still dripping with fresh blood.

The pavement that was originally clean and wide have occasional piles of rubble and rocks. The asphalt is cracked, and the iron railings are in tatters, curled at the side.

The originally lively and bustling Loveland City is now struggling whilst at death’s door, providing its citizens a final refuge.

"Ahh--”

A harsh sound of scraping metal suddenly arises from the roadside, followed by exclamations from the crowd.

A large advertising billboard that was originally on the roof of the building is swinging downwards, and the steel bars fixing it in place are gradually cracking, and it’s clear that it’s about to fall.

Gavin pulls in the direction violently, and the motorcycle sweeps half an arc on the road. Amid the billowing dust, the tyres almost create sparks on the ground.

Changing directions, the motorcycle gallops toward the tall building, leaving behind only the sound of rustling wind.

Citizens who sense the danger in the streets rush for cover. But the falling billboard is too humongous, and the shadow from the top hangs over the heads of all who are fleeing.

Finally, the steel bars are no longer able to hold the billboard. Along with the cracking sound of the final steel bar, the billboard quickly plummets towards the ground--

On the ground, some people have already closed her eyes, waiting for the unexpected calamity to arrive.

What arrives before the pain is a gale rising from the ground, rushing into the air with a mighty force.

"Don't panic. Evacuate to an open area."

Gavin raises his voice, giving instructions to the citizens who are still in a state of panic.

The howling wind turns into a sharp blade, slicing the huge billboard into countless small pieces immediately. Amid the sparks, the sliced metal emits a pungent smell.

Another gust of wind rises, wrapping the debris, and landing on an unoccupied area.

In an instant, the shadow hanging over everyone's head disappears. Even the stinging gas in the air has been dispersed by the wind.

After doing all of this, Gavin breathes a sigh of relief. Just as he’s about to leave, the citizens he saved surround him, thanking their hero.

A little girl, with tears still clinging to the corners of her eyes, tugs at Gavin’s clothes, putting the candy in her pocket into his hand carefully.

"Thank you, Big Brother."

"You're welcome."

"Big Brother... are you the Commander Brother who was on TV the other day?"

The little girl blinks, her hands clenched till her knuckles have turned white, not allowing him to leave.

"…yes."

"Will Big Brother protect us afterwards? From the stars?”

She points to the top of her head, eyes filled with anticipation.

"Don’t worry. I’ll do everything I can."

Gavin squats down and rubs the top of the little girl's head. His eyes become much more tender.

“Aside from me, there are also many other people who are doing everything they can.”

"There’s also a very incredible Sister. Even though she isn’t here now, she’s definitely working hard.”

"Is that Sister an even more incredible person than Big Brother?”

"Mm. She’s very incredible. She’s overcome many obstacles and has done many difficult things."

"Is Sister a fairy? After she finishes what she has to do, will she come back?" Ignoring the gentle tug of her mother, the little girl continues asking Gavin questions.

"She will. I believe her."

The little girl nods faintly, then takes out another candy.

"In that case, when you see Sister, remember to give this to her!"

"Okay. I definitely will."

He watches as the little girl finally smiles, pulling on her mother as she hops away. Then, he shakes his head at the apologetic lady, indicating that he wasn’t bothered.

Gavin scans his surroundings. After hesitating for a while, he begins to clear up other hidden dangers that still linger in the city.

The wind rolls up the rubble and bricks that have fallen to the ground, shifting them to the side of the road. Remnants of buildings hanging in the air are either cut or fixed in another manner.

He’s silent, quietly tidying up and protecting the city, no different from the other things he has been doing during this period of time.

-

[ Chapter Three ]

When Gavin returns to his senses, many people have already gathered on the street.

Everyone is like him, doing things quietly. Whether it’s helping others or cleaning up the city, they simply hope to make this city a little better than the second before, bit by bit.

"Commander!"

Gavin turns his head, looking at the man who called him. Dressed in military attire, the childish aura of his face hasn’t completely faded away despite his dirty face.

Around him, there are several people of around the same age: the same childishness, the same tiredness, and the same fire burning in their eyes.

"We’re part of the Special Task Force Medical Corps, but we’re still reserves. We responded to the call for support, and didn't expect to see you here."

They line up in front of Gavin, standing at attention and saluting, their voices trembling slightly with emotion.

Whether it’s because of fatigue or because they weren’t properly trained, their posture is not up to standard, and their greeting was overly casual.

But Gavin doesn’t care that much, and simply gives them a nod.

"Commander, what instructions do you have next?"

Gavin pats him on the shoulder, getting him to relax. "Don't be so nervous. You should have received the order to evacuate.”

"Yes. But there are minor damages nearby, and there are citizens in need of medical assistance, so we returned to the frontline on our own accord."

Gavin looks at these young people who have yearning and decisiveness in their eyes. Half-seriously and half-jokingly, he says, "So you’re all blatantly violating instructions?"

Another young man stands upright, replying in a bright voice. “The Commander hasn’t rested yet, so we’ll also continue to provide assistance."

Hearing this, Gavin smiles slightly. “You’re free to act anyway you want. Provide medical and follow-up support to the citizens."

"Yes!"

"Take care of your own safety.”

"Yes!"

"Also...”

Gavin's gaze softens, his lips curving upwards.

"Also, set aside some time to keep your family members company.”

The cluster of comets burning in the night illuminates the group of people who refuse to give up even at the last second.

Despite knowing what’s coming, the people gathered here are still igniting with the hope in their own hands. 

Hope that this world wouldn’t end.

Hope that there can be a tomorrow.

Light rips through the night, and the people who look up at the starry sky stand hand in hand.

Gavin leans against the motorcycle, suddenly feeling as though what he has always been holding onto, what the girl has always been protecting, and what everyone who’s unwilling to give up has been safeguarding - wasn’t the city or this world. At the same time, they were also the most ordinary, trivial matters in life.

Just a small place, a warm breakfast in the morning, a light left on when one returns late, and a “welcome home”.

Being able to hold the hand of the most important person on an ordinary day, waste time luxuriously, watch the sunrise and sunset every day.

The time on the display board is constantly approaching the number that has been engraved in everyone's mind recently.

It’s as though Gavin has never noticed the ever-changing numbers at all. He simply looks at the picture of the girl on the screen. In a quiet voice that only he can hear, he says things he wouldn’t typically say to a person he doesn’t know when he’d meet again.

“If only this could last a little longer.”

“A little longer than after the dismissal bell rings.”

“A little longer than tomorrow.”

On the screen, the girl smiles very sweetly. The moment her hair blows upwards slightly, it’s the most affectionate caress of the breeze.

"...stay by my side a little longer."

Gavin lowers his eyelids slightly,  the final soft whisper being shattered and taken away by the night breeze, following the wind's trajectory toward the horizon.

The sky gradually lights up, and the cluster of comets get closer to the surface, like thousands of unformed suns, emitting fiery light, scorching the planet.

Soon, fragments of the first star descend from the sky, and the flaming tail of the comet burns before it hits the ground.

Then comes the second, the third... Even more tiny fragments begin to penetrate into the atmosphere. They are reminiscent of an advancing army beginning to sound the horn, announcing that the collision of the comets is about to begin.

Before the comets officially land, a flash of light suddenly lights up in the direction of the northern suburbs, followed by a deafening sound.

Gavin looks towards the sound, brows furrowing.

After a while, another loud noise drifts from the northern suburbs. Without much thought, Gavin gets onto the motorcycle, driving towards the northern suburbs to check out the situation, and to prevent other disasters from occurring.

He understands very clearly that at this juncture, doing such things is perhaps meaningless. 

But even if it’s the last second, Gavin still hopes this world can look the way that girl likes it.

-

[ Chapter Four ]

Gavin reaches the northern suburbs, then walks a few kilometres further north. To his shock, he discovers that the ground has split into a giant ravine. But it doesn’t appear to be a crater.

He looks at the ravine, which is so deep that he can’t see the bottom. Just as he’s about to leave, he realises that a strange light is shining faintly in the darkness.

After a moment of hesitation, Gavin decides to go down and have a look.

He dials the communicator out of habit, following procedure in giving a report to the Special Task Force.

"An unidentified ravine has been found in the northern suburbs, and I’m commencing an investigation immediately. No additional support is required."

While speaking, Gavin descends into the ravine. 

The ravine is deeper than expected. The sky above his head has shrunk into a thin slit, but he’s still unable to see the boundary of the pitch-dark emptiness beneath his feet. The ramparts around him gradually morph from sand and soil to something thicker and more solid, even with a foreign material with a touch of metal.

Since entering the ravine, the wind entwining round Gavin protects him all the way deep into the ground. The deeper he goes, the muddier the air becomes. Even Gavin is unable to judge how deep he has gone, only that the bottom of the ravine is still far out of reach.

Descending further, even the sky is no longer visible.

Light seems to be swallowed up by the hole, and doesn’t bring back any visual signals. The concept of direction becomes meaningless, leaving only darkness and silence.

Only the sensation of continuous descent and the occasional light passing by underneath his feet tell Gavin that he’s getting closer to the target.

After an unknown amount of time, light finally appears. 

At the end of the darkness, the light seems to have a solid body, surging and flowing in a form between a liquid and solid state. Occasionally, the light breaks free from the shackles of that area, escaping and rising, then dissipating. Come to think of it, this was the strange light that Gavin saw earlier.

Gavin makes a preliminary judgment that this is some kind of unstable, strange space. Hence, he presses the communication button again and tries to give a report on the situation. What returns to his ears is the noise of an electric current, affected by the unique magnetic field of this place. Gavin doesn’t know if the information was transmitted.

Speeding up his pace, he plunges into the wave of light that shouldn't exist in this world.

The light is distorted, and his field of vision becomes skewed and odd. The flowing sceneries and figures slip past Gavin. He sees the construction of ancient buildings, the sailing of inter-galactic spacecrafts, the melting of glaciers after the world was frozen, and the formation of the galaxy and then its fall... It’s as though all the hidden information about the universe are exhibited here.

The spatial nodes are dazzling. No matter which one it is, they’re all worth spending more time to study and mull over meticulously.

But at this moment, Gavin doesn’t have time to care about these things. In the darkness, he can only feel that the thing he’s searching for isn’t here.

This isn’t the direction he wants to go in.

He enters a certain node in the space, then comes out from another node. There is neither direction nor goal.

He shuttles through many places, passing by various sceneries, and finally halts in front of the only node that’s different from the others.

Akin to a painting that has never had its curtain drawn, the undulating light stops here. Gavin looks around, sensing that this might be the origin of all the distortions.

So he strides forward, stepping into it.

After a moment of dizziness, a black door appears in front of his eyes, fixed abruptly in the empty and boundless void.

Complicated symbols are engraved in spirals on the huge door, seeming to rustle and whisper the answer to the origin of all things and the mystery to the riddle.

The most eye-catching one is a horizontal, interlocked “8”. It’s surrounded by thorns and irregular geometric patterns. It has an unknown beginning, and he can’t see its ending.

Gavin reaches out to touch the door, only to find that he’s unable to open it.

No matter which method he employs, the door doesn’t budge.

"You shouldn't be here."

Suddenly, a voice appears out of nowhere. But in the youthfulness of the voice, there’s a calmness that does not match this age.

Gavin looks around his surroundings but sees nothing, and he’s unable to determine where the voice came from.

"Who are you?"

Gavin voices out the doubt in his heart.

"I am everything and nothing."

Gavin frowns, clearly not satisfied with the answer that doesn’t count as an answer. After pondering for a moment, he decides to ask another question.

"What’s this door?”

“It’s a question, and an answer.”

"What's behind the door?"

"It's not time to disclose it. Even if I told you, it would be of no help. Even though I don't know how you got here, you should return now.”

The voice once again gives an answer that doesn’t count as an answer, putting an end to the conversation.

"Wait...”

"You should go. There’s someone waiting for you in the future."

Before he finishes speaking, an irresistible force repels Gavin, throwing him out of that space firmly and easily.

Before Gavin has time to digest the information he had just engaged with, he vaguely senses that a strange change has arrived to this planet. 

In an instant, sunlight shines from the west, and withered grass turns green.

The universe moves forward in a reversed manner.

And the wind that was brushing past him before entering the crack is rushing in a retrograde motion.

💙 More S2 content: here

💙 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Fandom: Return to Oz

Rating: T

Genre: Angst (with a happy ending)

Characters: The Wizard of Oz, the Gump, Tik-Tok, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion, Princess Mombi, Princess Ozma, Jack Pumpkinhead, and Dorothy Gale

Warnings: Gun violence, character death, isolation, solitary confinement, dissociation, neglect, child abuse, OH GOSH THIS COVERS A LOT OF TRIGGERING TOPICS BUT IT’S ALL CANON

Description: "The last thing I remember is walkin' through the forest and hearin' a loud noise." "His Ma-jes-ty the Scare-crow locked me in here and told me to wait for you." "Well, my mother built me to scare that awful witch Mombi..." It was all only a glimpse of what they went through. Dorothy may never know the full stories, but they would not forget.

Beta Readers: @jaywings​ and also my sister!

Notes: THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH RTO FICS OUT THERE AND I MUST RESOLVE THIS IMMEDIATELY also this is a multichapter fic but it’s all complete, so you can read the whole thing under the cut!

—~~~—

Chapter 1: On a Hunting Trip

For a land as fantastical as Oz, it could be dreadfully boring sometimes. Though Oscar chalked it up to how much time he had to spend holed up in the palace, dodging probing questions and pretending to have magical powers. A great deal of his time here had been spent coming up with his dazzling effects to keep the Ozians (and the Witches) wowed (and keeping... other meddling Ozians out of the Emerald City), but goodness knew he could use some leisure time.

So that was what he was out doing now, tramping through a nearby forest with a rifle on his shoulder. He'd bartered it off a local Emerald Citizen, who had little use of it, but who had much appreciated some delicacies from the palace kitchen.

Of course, he knew that one of his own citizens would be more than happy to give him whatever he asked for. But Oscar had elected to leave in disguise, informing his attendants that he would need some time alone in perfect silence and was not to be bothered for any reason... while he changed into a green hunter's outfit and sneaked out the window.

He'd never been much of a hunter back in America, but as a boy he'd once gone deer hunting with a friend. He recalled it being an exciting experience, trekking through the wood and tracking an animal to bring home for supper. Though in the end it had been his friend to do the deed, for at the last minute his will had failed him, and he could not bring himself to shoot the beast.

You've too soft a heart to kill a hart, Pinhead! his friend had teased, much to his embarrassment.

"A hart, maybe," Oscar muttered, "but wait till I bring back a magical beast from this country!"

It wasn't until he'd spoken those words that he realized he had no idea what sort of monsters lurked in these woods. He'd heard talk of terrible lions here, and even enormous beasts with the heads of tigers and bodies of bears--kalidahs, they called them. What if he met one of those monsters, rather than a beast of prey?

Crunch, crunch.

Swallowing a yelp, Oscar spun around, pointing his rifle this and that way, eyes straining to see what sort of creature was lurking in the shadows of the forest. What had he gotten himself into? What hellish monster was treading through the fallen leaves of the forest bed?

Crunch, crunch.

The sound was closer, and Oscar stood stock still. But the sound drew no farther than that, and he risked to creep closer, tip-toeing through the undergrowth. In the stillness, he could hear the soft breathing of a being much larger than himself, and held his breath as he poked his head around a tree trunk.

There was a clearing ahead, and within it, a pond of crystal blue-green water (so he must be closer to Munchkin country right now). And before the water stood an enormous beast, albeit not one quite as frightening as he expected.

It was tall and broad, almost reminding him of an ox, but its legs were longer, and its head looked to be more like an elk. Bizarrely, its tail consisted of a great deal of feathers like a rooster, and its entire body was green.

Stooping down over the water, the beast kept its mouth near the surface, but it did not drink. Rather, it seemed to be regarding its own reflection in the water. It hadn't seen him at all.

Some of the tension eased from Oscar's body as he watched this strange creature. If it hadn't been for the feathers and green complexion, he would have entirely mistaken it for an American animal. And while its size was intimidating, it was clearly not a predator, as far as he could tell. (But then, Oz was a strange country.) He very nearly turned and left before he remembered why he'd come here in the first place.

It had only been to alleviate boredom, not out of a true desire to hunt, but it seemed to be a waste to come out all this way to return back empty-handed. At the same time, what would he even do with a beast like this? It wasn't as though he needed food, when his own palace was well-stocked. Perhaps its fur would be valuable? But then... for what? No one had need of any riches in this place. Perhaps he could use it for a--

Crunch crunch crunch crunch--snap.

Something was rapidly approaching him, and fear bolted up his spine, causing him to raise his rifle. Simultaneously, the beast raised its head, ears perked, and Oscar had no time to think.

BANG!

The creature stumbled backward, but whatever was behind him had quickened its pace. Oscar spun around, aiming his rifle, and a human-sized shape jumped back.

"Woah, there! Woah!" the woman cried, holding up her hands. "Watch where you're pointin' that thing! I was just wonderin' what you were doing out here."

"Ah," Oscar breathed, lowering the gun. "Sorry, ma'am, you startled me."

"Bad thing to be startled when carrying one of those," she said, gesturing at the weapon. "You could've hurt someone or--"

She froze, staring at something over his shoulder, and without another word ran past him.

"Now see here--" Oscar turned to follow her, but stopped.

The creature he'd seen earlier was now lying still on the forest floor, and the woman was kneeling next to it. "You've... you've killed it!"

The sight sent a tremor up his spine as he realized what he'd done, but he couldn't balk now.

"Well, yes," Oscar said, shrugging widely as he stepped closer. "Do you think I wear this hunter garb and carry this rifle for fun?"

Running a hand through the beast's mane, she glared at him accusingly. "What would you hunt a gump for?"

For a moment he thought the woman was insulting him until he realized that must be the name of the creature. Thinking quickly, he pointed at the gump's lifeless body. "I'll have you know, ma'am, that a gump possesses many important magical properties!"

"You needn't kill it, then!" the woman cried. "If you should need its magic, you need only ask it for help."

...Oh, right. Ozian beasts could talk.

Shaking himself, Oscar stood his ground. "Ah, but you see, much of a gump's magic is only usable when it is dead. I had planned to bring it to the Wizard, but I suppose if you don't want him to do anything about the Wicked Witches--"

The woman's face had gone several shades paler, and she stood upright. "No, of course! I'm sorry, sir, I-I didn't..."

He stepped closer, examining the fallen gump before grabbing one of its legs. "Well, don't just sit there. Help me get this beast back to the city! The Wizard is quite a busy man, but I'm sure he'd forgive your interruption if you gave me a hand."

"Yes, of course!"

The woman took the gump's other hoof in her arms, and the two struggled to lift both appendages up over their shoulders as they hauled the beast's carcass back through the forest. All the while, Oscar tried to hide his relief that his bluff had actually worked.

But then, of course it had. These simpletons believed anything they were told if you spoke with authority. They weren't too far off from Americans, in that regard.

As they walked, the woman stared down at the gump's hoof, feeling it with her free hand. "I'm sorry," she mumbled again. "I hadn't known..."

"Now you do," Oscar said, still staring ahead. "I tell you, this beast will be more useful to this country in death than it ever was in life."

Chapter 2: On a Mission

Every so often, someone stopped screaming.

The sound, or increasing lack of it, did not alarm Tik-Tok. Nothing did, nor could it--not even the frightened Emerald Citizens rushing past him or looking for a place to hide--for he was a machine, and was not capable of emotions such as panic or fear.

Nevertheless, the change informed him that he needed to be faster, as he marched through the city, past the statues of people dancing, playing, reading--statues that had not been statues a mere ten minutes ago.

The ground shifted beneath his feet, and Tik-Tok bent down to see a grotesque figure claw out of the stones beneath him. At least, that's what he had assumed at first, only to quickly realize (for his think-works were fully wound) that it had not clawed out of the rock at all--it was the rock. It opened its mouth, snarling at him, and he merely swung his body to the side, striking with a closed fist. One of the creature's fangs chipped off, and it sank back into itself with a defeated howl.

More snarling joined the increasingly-quieting screams, and there was suddenly a great crack.

Tipping his body back, Tik-Tok spotted two more of the rock creatures atop an arch, ripping a massive emerald from the keystone of it. They, along with the gem, merged with the stone pillars again just as the arch crumbled.

"Tik-Tok!" a metallic voice cried, not much farther away. A familiar roar cried out with it.

He moved his feet as fast as his gears would allow, passing the destroyed arch and around another corner, where the Tin Woodsman and Cowardly Lion were facing two more of the rock creatures. While the Emperor of the Winkies was not a machine as Tik-Tok was, he moved much like one, swinging his axe in swift, strong arcs, yet unable to hit the monster before him.

The sight of the Tin Man using his axe in such a way might have startled Tik-Tok, had he been capable of such an emotion.

"These creatures are the ones turning everyone to stone!" the Tin Man shouted, sparing a quick glance at Tik-Tok as he continued to fight. He raised his axe to deliver what may have been a killing blow. "You must stop them befo--"

The creature reached out.

And the Tin Man, in a mere instant, became a stone man, unmoving and still as the rest of the statues.

There was a slight hiccup in Tik-Tok's gears that prevented him from acting immediately. At the same moment, the Cowardly Lion let out a mournful yowl and raised his paw to swing at the creature before him.

The rock creature touched him, and the lion became a lifeless stone, his great paw still raised in the air.

Remembering his speech-works, Tik-Tok took a step forward, stomping one foot against the ground. "Stop this," he demanded, and the rock creatures turned to him. "You will no long-er hurt an-y more of the peo-ple here."

Growling, both creatures sank into the ground, only to emerge directly in front of Tik-Tok, both of them reaching out with their talons. The stone claws clinked harmlessly against Tik-Tok's copper casing, and he spun his body, striking them both in their heads. With another howl the monsters retreated, melting back into the stone beneath them. Now that they were gone, Tik-Tok could see the stone statues that had once been the Emperor of the Winkies and the King of the Forest.

"Everyone, I think I've found a way to--oh--"

Scrambling steps skidded to a halt somewhere behind him. He could hear these softer sounds, he realized, for the screams had grown more distant. Turning his top half, he saw the Scarecrow standing behind him, his painted gaze turning from one statue to the other.

"I-I'm... I'm too late..." the Scarecrow said, his tall frame sagging.

"Your Ma-jest-y." Tik-Tok clunked a hand against his helmet in a salute. "I am at your ser-vice."

Shaking himself, the Scarecrow stumbled up to him, but his smile did not return--an unusual sight for the ruler. "Right! Tik-Tok, I've found a way to contact Dorothy."

"Dor-o-thy Gale from Kan-sas?" Tik-Tok blinked, adjusting his vision as the King of Oz neared him. He'd heard of this Dorothy and how powerful she was, but his think-works could not work out how a small human girl could be strong enough to destroy not one, but two witches.

"The very same!" The Scarecrow's smile returned, if only for a moment. "But we must hurry!"

"Hur-ry to where--?" Tik-Tok began, but the Scarecrow was already pushing him somewhere.

"It might be too late for me now," the Scarecrow went on. "They're turning everything living to stone, but they don't want to do that to me. I think it means they want me for something..." His straw rustled. "I don't know what. But I do know they can't hurt you."

"That is cor-rect. I am not a-live, and ne-ver will be."

"But you can wind down," the Scarecrow added seriously. "And when you do, they can harm you. I need to keep you safe."

Disloyalty was not a command found in Tik-Tok's gears, but he couldn't help but protest: "But I am the Roy-al Ar-my of Oz. It is I who must pro-tect you, Your Ma-je-sty."

"Not right now." The Scarecrow guided him down a narrow alley and stuck a hand into his jacket, fishing for something in his body. "As Ruler of Oz, I command you to turn your protection to Dorothy once she gets here. She'll know how to help us! She's done it before."

A strange request, but Tik-Tok could not argue. "When is she to ar-rive?"

For a moment the Scarecrow faltered, but only a moment as they stopped at the end of the alley. He retrieved a key from within the straw of his body, and stared down at it. "I don't know."

A threatening rumble of stones echoed in the distance behind them, followed by another chorus of screams, and quickly he stuck the key into a hole in the wall. In a moment, the wall swung open, and the Scarecrow urged Tik-Tok inside.

Tik-Tok did as he was instructed, marching into the room and observing it. There was nothing there, however, but dusty walls and a dustier circular window that faint light shone through.

The Scarecrow stooped down, placing a cotton-stuffed hand on Tik-Tok's chest plate. "Stay here, and wait for Dorothy."

The polished gems of Tik-Tok's green eyes stared into the painted blue eyes of the Scarecrow. Though both were man-made, the Scarecrow's face was wrinkled and worn with worry... and an unspoken apology.

"Stay here," he repeated, and hurried out of the room. With a great scraping and a slam, the door shut behind him. The key was pulled from the lock, and through it, Tik-Tok could see the Scarecrow stumbling away.

For lack of anything else to do--other than conserve his gears--Tik-Tok stood perfectly still in the middle of the room.

Echoes of stone crumbling, unfamiliar creatures snarling, and rocks shifting filled the air outside, and the screams were finally silent.

---

"Your Ma-jest-y!"

Tik-Tok's voice echoed slightly in the tiny chamber, but it sounded quite loud compared to the utter silence outside.

Occasionally he could hear squeaks of wheels, and even rarer occasions he could hear the screech of a Wheeler. What they were doing in the Emerald City, he wasn't sure, but his think-works were sure enough that the fact that they had not been turned to stone was not a positive one.

But in the moments he could no longer hear them, he raised his voice:

"Your Ma-jest-y! I be-lieve that some-thing is wrong!"

And he did--something was wrong.

Several days and nights had passed since the Emerald Citizens had turned to stone, judging by the light from the solitary, circular window in the cell. It had been eight days and nights, to be exact, and Tik-Tok had remained still the entire time, hardly willing himself to think other than to observe the time passing. After all, the Scarecrow had commanded that he wait until Dorothy arrived, and he would not want her to have to wind him up too much so shortly after meeting.

But now that it had been over a week...

Tik-Tok could not worry, but he could be aware that things were not going as planned. The Scarecrow had not been sure how long it would take for Dorothy to arrive, but surely he had not expected him to wait this long. He would have said so, if that were the case. While the Scarecrow lacked perfectly-functioning mechanical brains, he did have wonderful brains given to him by the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. He was the second-best thinker in Oz, next to Tik-Tok himself.

"Your Ma-jest-y!" Tik-Tok called again. "You must o-pen the door!"

He had tried on his own, but there was no knob--seemingly no way to open the door from within. He had pushed, but it would not give, and Tik-Tok opted to preserve his action.

"I be-lieve I can find this Dor-o-thy on my own, if you o-pen the door!"

Dorothy Gale was in Kansas. And he knew where Kansas was--it was not in Oz. He would have to cross the Deadly Desert, which he was perfectly capable of doing, for its deadly sands could not turn his unliving copper into sand.

"Help me, Your Ma-jest-y, please! Come bac--"

Tic-tic-clunk.

One of the three keys on Tik-Tok's body ceased turning, and his voice-works ceased functioning.

Tik-Tok's voice joined the silence around him.

---

Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp.

Five paces toward the door.

Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp.

Five paces back.

It had been thirty-three days--just over a month since the Scarecrow had left him here.

Alongside the squeaks and cackles of the Wheelers outside, Tik-Tok could occasionally hear the distant sound of a musical instrument--a mandolin. It was not an instrument that could be played by the Wheelers, but to whom it belonged, he could not say, for he could not speak.

But even then, there was still the occasional silence, usually at night. It was then he chose to fill the silence with his pacing, his great feet stomping into the ground beneath him. He did this not because he missed the usual cheerful noise of the Emerald City, for he could not miss anything, but to keep his gears from rusting and keep the dust out. Even though each step he took wound his action down slightly more, it would at least prevent him from locking up entirely, even if he should be wound up.

He hoped Dorothy would be here soon.

But at this point, he was no longer sure what "soon" was. A month ago, he had estimated that she would arrive within days, if not hours, and that the matter would be resolved quickly. Now, however...

The Scarecrow had indeed admitted that he hadn't known when Dorothy would arrive. But surely, surely he would have been wise enough to send for her quickly, or to ask her to arrive swiftly.

Tik-Tok paused.

They're turning everything living to stone, but they don't want to do that to me. I think it means they want me for something...

...If he'd asked her at all.

His think-works must have gotten dust into them--he had not once considered that the Scarecrow could have been captured before he was able to summon Dorothy. If that were the case, then what was he to do?

He could not continue to wait for her--he must try to open the door on his own.

Tik-Tok turned himself around to face the door, and took one step closer.

Tic-tic-clunk.

And now he could not move, except to turn his head and blink. The rest of his body remained as still as the statues outside.

---

Ninety-two sunrises. Ninety-three sunsets.

He had watched the sun rise and set through the window. He had heard the Wheelers shriek to each other every day, and heard them racing throughout the town.

Every so often he allowed himself to blink to clear the dust from his eyes, so he could continue to observe the passage of time.

Sometimes he heard voices--not the ones of Wheelers. Sometimes it was a soft-spoken voice he'd never heard before, other times a harsher, snarling one that had a great wickedness to it. Other times he would hear familiar voices, ones he'd heard around the city before. He would wonder, in those moments, if things were going back to normal, if someone would open the door, if he would be wound up soon, but then he wouldn't hear the voice again for some time.

---

Ninety-nine sunrises. Ninety-eight sunsets.

...No, one hundred. One hundred sunsets, for he'd been let in here during the day.

He allowed his head a short shake--he had to keep track of time. He had to watch the light.

At one point he heard a soft, gravelly voice within the city, followed by a short discussion that he could not make out, for the Wheelers laughed and howled all the while. Still he strained his aural gears--linked to his think-works--to try to make out anything that would be helpful.

"...has not escaped..."

"...no sign of anything..."

"...has not spoken--"

There was a great crash, followed by shrieks of laughter from the Wheelers, and another voice shouting at them.

Who was it who had not escaped? Had they been discussing him? Or perhaps the Scarecrow? Or... had they captured...

...someone...

...there was someone he was waiting for. What was her name?

No, it didn't matter. Forcibly he slowed his think-works, only allowing them to sense the change of day and night.

---

One hundred and twenty-one sunrises. One hundred and twenty-twenty sunsets.

The room was very dusty, and he could no longer turn his head. He blinked again to clear his vision.

There was shrieking outside, but he couldn't remember why. He almost raised his voice to demand who they were, but he had no voice to do such.

But he was smart. He understood things. He was a machine. He knew why he was here.

He was here to wait. But to wait for what? He couldn't remember.

What was he counting for?

---

One hundred two hundred five hundred-ed-ed two.

Scarecrows and Wheelers, rocks and statues, girls and ladies and rooms.

A scream outside! He could not scream. Where was outside? Where was he? Was it light or dark?

What is light for anyway? He forgot. His eyes could not open and he could not see. What did he have to see? Who knew?

Statues and stones, silence and screams.

Never never never never never coming back.

Taken here, went away, left forever and ever.

Ever, ever, ever, turn turn turn, wind wind wind.

Tick-tick-tick.

Tic... tic...

Clunk.

Chapter 3: On a Whim

"...peaugh!"

"Oh! Don't yell at me like that, please! I'm not deaf."

He paused, taking a moment to consider the fact that he existed.

There he stood in a dusty, dull room, with walls and windows and other things that seemed to be full of... holes, as though they were missing something. He wasn't sure what. In fact, he didn't quite know what he was, other than that he was taller than everyone else around him. Everyone else, that is, being... a very angry-looking woman in a very pointy dress, and a much shorter girl, a little over half his own height. The former was holding a tin can of a sort with a label that he couldn't read, and she stared down at, her rage giving way to amazement.

"It... it worked!" she cried, still far too loud for his own ears. (Did he have ears?) "It worked! Hah, that magician didn't fool me after all!"

"You're still yelling!" Wincing away from her, he suddenly felt his balance shift, and he began to topple. "W-woah...!"

Quickly the shorter girl stepped forward, catching him before he crashed. "Be careful," she said, her voice wonderfully soft and far more pleasant than the other person's. "I'm afraid I didn't build you to move, since I didn't know you would be... alive, later." She set him back upright, bracing him back against the wall he'd been standing against moments ago.

"You made me?" he repeated, holding one wooden hand against her shoulder until he was certain he was steady. "How did you do that?"

"I just put some wood and a pumpkin together, and dressed you." The girl stole a glance at the older woman, who was muttering to herself as she looked over the can. "And then I stood you here, against the wall."

He tipped his head, which, it seemed, was quite large. "What for?"

The girl leaned closer, lowering her voice. "To scare the witch, there, Mombi." She looked pointedly at the woman and then back at him. "I stood you in a place here, where you would meet Mombi face-to-face. She was scared... but then she was angry. She nearly destroyed you with a stick."

Shuddering, he cast another fearful glance at Mombi, who was hurrying away. He wasn't entirely sure what "destroyed" meant, but he didn't like the sound of it. "Sh-she did?"

"Yes, but then she decided to test that Powder of Life on you. She sprinkled it on, and... you came to life."

"I'm very glad for that," he remarked. "I quite like being alive."

The girl smiled up at him, and he decided he quite liked that, too. "I like your being alive, as well."

"We're agreed, then!" He tipped his head another way. "Do you... have a name?"

"Ozma," she said quickly, and stole another glance in the direction that Mombi had walked off to. "But that's not important."

"Do I have a name?"

At that, Ozma looked down, her face turning a slightly pink shade. "Yes... Jack. Jack Pumpkinhead. I might have given you a better name, if I'd known..."

"Jack Pumpkinhead," he repeated, then nodded. "Yes, I like that. And... you made me?"

"Yes I did, Jack."

"Does that make you my mom?"

Ozma took a step back, as though caught off-balance, as he had been before, and he held out a hand to steady her. But she smiled, putting her hand over his. "I suppose so. You may call me 'Mom' if you wish."

Though uncertain why, he felt the name brought a great deal of comfort to him, and it pleased him to say it. "Okay, Mom."

"You! What are you doing?" an unfamiliar voice snapped.

Both Jack and Ozma turned to face the new person, and Jack did so quickly enough to throw him off-balance once again, so his mother had to grab hold of him to keep him upright. The new person was another woman, who wore a strikingly similar dress to the one the witch had worn moments ago. If he didn't know better (which, he didn’t know much), Jack would think it was the very same dress.

"I was only talking with Jack, Mombi," Ozma replied, and Jack looked down at her in surprise.

"Mombi? I thought you said that other woman was Mombi."

"She is, but she has different heads. She's wearing head twenty-two right now." Ozma paused. "Her original is..."

"Head thirty-one," Mombi snapped quickly. "And just what do you think--"

"Where does one acquire different heads?" Jack interrupted, not keen on listening to Mombi's grating voice.

At that, Ozma gently pulled him away from the wall, helping him walk across the dusty floor. Walking was a new activity, and he found it did not come naturally to him, his long, thin legs wobbling all the while, but his mother kept him steady as she brought him to the window. Outside was a desolate gray place, with ruined buildings and walls and statues all about. In one spot, he could see a group of statues dancing, but without heads. "See there," his mother said, pointing at the group. "That's where she got them. Some of them, anyway."

Jack stared down at the statues, not fully understanding, but nodded nonetheless. "What a lot I'm learning today!"

"Enough of this!" Mombi snarled, suddenly between them. "What's the meaning of this? You're not seriously growing attached to this stupid pumpkinhead you made, are you?"

"I should hope so," Jack protested before his mother could reply. "She's my mom, after all."

"She's your--?!" Mombi looked from Jack to Ozma a few times before settling a glare on Ozma. "No, I won't allow it."

Jack stiffened. "What? Won't allow what?"

"It won't hurt anything," Ozma protested quickly, taking a step closer to Jack. "I can watch over him, and--"

"I told you you were never to talk to others like that!" Mombi snarled, and grabbed Ozma by the wrist.

"L-let her go!" Jack cried in protest, reaching out to pull Ozma away.

Mombi yanked her out of his reach, but otherwise ignored him, glaring down at the girl. "You know what I told you. Never speak to another person, never communicate with them--you are never to make yourself known to another person, ever. Not even your name!"

Had Jack not been so frightened in that moment, he would have thought it strange that his mother had, indeed, told him her name.

"Let me go!" Ozma shouted, pulling herself against Mombi, but the witch only growled at her, tugging her away and hurrying down the hall.

"Wait, no, Mom!" Jack cried. Shakily he moved to follow them, but without his mom's support, his body toppled and crashed to the floor with a great wooden clatter. No pain came with it--though he wasn't entirely sure what pain should feel like to begin with--but he did feel his wooden joints start to jostle loose. He tried to move his limbs in a way to crawl after them, but only succeeded in scrambling uselessly on the dusty floor.

"I'll be all right, Jack!" Ozma called out to him as Mombi carried her down a corner and out of sight. "I'll get us help!"

"You most certainly will not!" Mombi growled, her voice reaching a rather terrifyingly low pitch. Before Ozma could say anything in reply, there was an explosively loud KRACK-OW that rang throughout the palace, and within Jack's hollow head. Something about the sound filled him with terror, and he threw his hands over his eyes, wailing.

Only moments later everything was still, and Mombi gave a satisfied humph before her footsteps came back down the hallway. Jack shakily raised his head, only for his wooden body to seize up in fear. "Wh-where's Mom?"

Mombi did not answer, only marching up to him and regarding him with an expression he could not read (or see, for from his current angle he could only see the train of her dress, and it was hard to tip his head up further).

"Excuse me, Miss Mombi," he said, trying to push himself upright, "Where is my mom? That noise was very loud, and I-I'm worried about her."

Without a word, Mombi suddenly stooped down, grabbed Jack's left wrist much in the way she had Ozma's, and yanked.

"Oh!' Jack cried, immediately hating the pull on his arm, and even more the way it made his legs drag. He fought to put his feet beneath him, but Mombi did not wait, dragging him in the opposite direction she'd taken Ozma. "W-wait! I'm not standing yet!" He scrambled his legs, fighting to right himself, but Mombi was moving too quickly for him to do so. Then, realizing what direction they were taking, he fought all the more to get to his feet. "W-we're going the wrong way! This isn't where you took my mom!"

Still Mombi remained silent, hauling him down the hallway and finally toward a great spiraling stairwell, which she wasted no time in storming up, taking no mind for the way Jack's feet kicked and dragged behind them.

"Wait, no! P-please, let me get to my f-feet!" he whimpered. When she still would not answer, he looked back down the stairs. "I-I miss my mom. She liked answering my questions. C-could you please take me back to her?"

At one point Jack's right foot caught badly on a step, momentarily trapping him and causing Mombi to stumble. She braced herself against the wall before she fell, and turned to glare at him.

Jack didn't understand why she was so angry, but he took the opportunity to finally get his feet beneath him. His right leg, however, felt wrong--it was loose at the knee joint, and that worried him. "Miss Mombi, when we get to the top of this place, c-could you please bring my mom back, so she can--"

And again Mombi resumed mounting the steps, barely giving Jack time to match her pace. To his alarm, he found he couldn't, for her body was not built as awkwardly as his was, and once again his legs gave way beneath him.

While Jack had decided he did not much like shouting, he couldn't help himself: "PLEASE!" he cried over the clatter of his legs banging against the stairs. "I'm going to come apart!"

But at that moment, his legs finally stopped banging against things, for they had reached the top of the stairs. Here Mombi paused again, and Jack was finally able to get his legs beneath him, though his right one was wobbling terribly. "A-are we done moving around, Miss Mombi?" he stammered.

Now Mombi threw the door open, and once again began dragging him, though he fought to walk along with her, even as he felt the ropes that held his right leg together loosen further. He barely had time to look about the room around him, which was full of a lot of very, very dusty things. Mombi dragged him a short distance, then with a great amount of force, threw him into a corner.

Jack cried out as his wooden back slammed against an old sofa, jarring his whole frame terribly and nearly knocking his head off. Dazed, he reached up to touch his head, only to find that his left hand was missing--it had fallen off entirely, lying on the ground next to him. Turning his head, he found the same fate had befallen his right leg, which was lying a short distance from his body. "Wh-what was that for?" he whimpered. "You haven't told me why you're so angry with me, much less said anythi--"

In a moment Mombi was storming toward him, her eyes wide with anger, and at once he wished he hadn't spoken at all. "Shut up, you worthless pile of firewood!" she snarled, leaning down into his face. "You existed only so I could test my Powder of Life on you, and nothing more, and I can very well take that life away."

"NO!" he wailed, kicking his remaining leg to push himself further backwards. "Please don't do that!"

She pointed a finger in his face, and he stilled. "When I come up here again," she said lowly, "I'll chop up your stupid smiling head and make a pie of it, assuming it doesn't spoil first, and that will be that for you."

With that, she spun around and left the room, pausing only to give him one last glare before shutting the door.

Jack remained very still for some time, until an irritating clattering noise made him realize he was trembling.

"Th-this... has been quite an existence," he finally said, once he was quite sure Mombi could not hear him. "I wish I knew what I've done wrong..."

Remembering what the witch had told him, he decided that while he wasn't quite sure what a pie was, he would very much like to leave here before Mombi returned to show him. Bracing his hand against the floor, he tried to raise himself up, only to remember that he could not stand on one leg. He would have to tie it back on, if he could.

He tried to reach for the detached leg, and realized another problem--one of his hands was missing, and since it wasn't attached, he could not move it. He strained to reach for it for several minutes, but it occurred to him he had no way of tying it back on. While he was quite sure he could figure out how tying things worked (he could see the method his mother had used when he observed his own joints), he could not do it with only one hand. He needed use of both limbs in order to tie his missing limb back together.

As it was, he could only sit in that corner, his back against a sofa, his missing parts just barely out of reach.

"...I miss my mom," he said quietly, bowing his head.

She had told him that she would get help, so maybe she would be here later. He hoped she would... he did not like his body being broken like this, and not being able to move, and he wasn't sure when Mombi would come back.

And so he waited, sitting there in the stillness of the dusty room. Part of him wanted to call for Ozma, for he wasn't certain she knew where he was... if she was anywhere. (Mombi was a witch, after all, and that sound he'd heard... had she used magic on his mother? Magic was what brought him to life, but what if it could be used to take someone away, too...? What if she had become a statue, like the ones outside?) The thought, however, of Mombi hearing him kept him quiet.

But... Ozma had said she would get help. She had to. She had to.

She had to.

He kept that thought, repeating it in his mind... until he realized that it was very dark in the room, and growing darker. Something within him--the magic, he supposed, or perhaps the seeds in his head giving him basic knowledge--told him that this was night, and that the outside world alternated between the light of day and dark of night. Even so, the darkness chilled him--it was getting to the point where he could hardly see. What if Mombi came back, and he couldn't even tell?

Forgetting his fear of alerting the witch, he raised his voice again: "Mom!" he cried. "Mom, where are you?! I-it's dark here!"

But his voice only echoed slightly in the crowded room, and he heard no other sounds.

His fear left him undeterred. "Mom, have you found help yet? I-I want to get out of here!"

There was still no answer, other than a quiet wind from outside.

"Mom..." he whimpered, and finally fell silent.

Maybe his mom wasn't coming back after all.

Epilogue: On a Hope

Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock...

The thought jumped into Tik-Tok's head, in the midst of the blankness of non-functionality:

How long has it been now?

He'd lost track of time, he realized. This was not good--something had clearly gone wrong with his mechanisms. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were still too heavy.

"Huh. I wonder what he's thinkin' about."

The unfamiliar voice echoed in the room, but with his eyes still firmly shut, he could not tell whom it belonged to.

"I'll wind up his speech," came a softer voice, "and maybe he can tell us."

Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock...

His head turned slightly, suddenly able to, and his eyelids finally lifted.

"Maybe he can tell us what happened to the Emerald City."

Blinking once, twice, to clear the dust from his emerald eyes, Tik-Tok began to stammer as his speech-works came back to him: "I--you--uh--come back--Your Ma--"

A young girl with dark hair in twin braids stood before him, regarding him with awe.

"...Good mor-ning, lit-tle girl."

---

It had been a long time--Jack couldn't be sure how long, though, since he'd stopped counting. The thought of how many days it had been since he'd last seen his mother only made him...

He put his hand over his chest, where he felt the sadness the most, and wondered if that was what pain was.

He only had a little dust on him, though--not nearly as much as the things all around him. The giant head above him, the plants, the portraits, and all the other things--he'd taken the time to look at them all, for lack of anything else to do. He'd stopped calling for his mom, too--it felt pointless.

And then the door opened.

At once he threw himself back, his head hitting the couch behind him. He scrambled with his leg, at first, and then decided staying still was better, staying quiet was better. If Mombi couldn't hear him, maybe she would forget about him.

But Mombi didn't come into the room. Instead he heard soft footsteps, as well as two voices. One was harsh and grating... but the other was... soft. Soft and... comforting.

Just before him, he could see a young girl staring at some portraits on the wall. A young girl... that was about half his height.

"...Mom?"

---

"...peaugh!"

"Peaugh?!"

"That's it!"

He blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings. Why wasn't it daytime? And... this didn't look like the forest. It looked... nothing like the forest. That was odd.

There were also a couple other people around him, both of them quite excited. One was a tall man that he was pretty sure wasn't a normal Ozian, and the other was a little girl.

"What's going on?" he asked, trying to turn his head and finding it oddly difficult, so he swiveled his ears instead. "Where am I?"

"Getting out of here, I hope!" the tall man exclaimed.

"Jack's right," the girl replied. "We're in the palace, but we need to get out of here."

That didn't answer much.

Feeling the need to stretch his limbs, he did so, only to find them... a great deal shorter than they should be. And more numerous. He didn't recall having more than four feet in anything other than height.

Normally he quite liked looking at his reflection, but at the moment, he felt grateful that there was no pond nearby.

The girl was suddenly in front of him, looking him in the eyes. "You're gonna help us escape, okay?"

While not in pain, he felt... out of sorts. Even so, there was something about this girl that he felt drawn to... not that he was in any position to argue, anyway.

"Okay, I guess so."

The girl smiled, and he felt a bit better.

He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but whatever happened, he was pretty sure he could trust this strange girl.

[4ragon]

what are your thoughts on the phantom from aa5?

Ohhhhhhhhhh the Phantom. What a cool, interesting idea with a thoroughly disappointing execution.

So here’s the deal. The reveal? The big twist? Holy shit. I was fucking floored. I had to set the 3DS down and pace throughout the house. Holy shit. What a plot twist. I loved it. I know not everyone was happy about it, but I love being thrown for a loop. This silly goofy weirdo we’d been interacting with this whole time was actually the big bad??? His entire personality was a farce???? Wow. That hit me like a truck.

Aaaaaaaaand then we confronted him. And all that excitement came crashing down.

And okay. Sure, he could’ve been foreshadowed a little better. After all, he was interacting with three human lie detectors the entire time, especially Athena, whose whole THING is noticing people’s emotional state. Which. You know. Not amazing. There could’ve been seeds planted earlier. But! As I said, that hadn’t bothered me as much as some people, and the setup they did have would’ve at least satisfied me if the Phantom was interesting.

But then the Phantom has the audacity of being one of the most boring, least intimidating villains to date. Like. I was looking forward to this confrontation with the Phantom, where this non-threatening goofball suddenly shifts and becomes this monster who killed several people we loved, and he just. Wasn’t that? There was never a moment he felt genuinely threatening and that was so disappointing to me. There was never that Calisto Yew moment where he just tries to cut and run, other than his Blatently Obvious Getaway Attempt, which also just felt so ridiculously out of place. You’re in court! Was no one going to stop this man from leaving court?? And then, suddenly, he was ripping off masks like a fucking Scooby-Doo villain and it was just as goofy and silly as I’d come to expect, and that kind of sucked.

Like there were a lot of outlandish elements throughout DD that threw me off too, not just the Phantom. I know Ace Attorney usually has spirit channeling and magic bracelets, but at least those feel grounded in reality in a lot of ways. DD just would randomly throw a bunch of nonsense at you and expect you to roll with them. Oooohhh demon possession in this Big, Bombastic, Game-Breaking way ooOOOoooo Robot Uprising OOOOooooOoooOOo. No. It doesn’t work. Slapstick still can work but not with this Scooby-Doo man’s face melting off as he starts whipping out Spy Tech in the middle of court!

I want the final big bad to feel imposing. I want them to feel dangerous. When we have a character wearing a mask, metaphorical or not, I want that shift to be impactful. Dahlia’s scream in AA3. Kristoph’s meltdown in AA4. Calisto Yew’s laughter when she finally breaks at the end of AAI. Those are moments where you see glimpses of the real monster behind the mask, and you feel them coming apart at the seams.

Maybe that’s the problem, actually? We never really get more from the Phantom than just a faceless nobody. I know that’s what they were going for thematically (not that they ever focused on that theme gdi), but past the occasional “Blank Stare Bobby” they don’t lean into that. When he starts going through different personalities, especially when he’s being Means or Starbuck, it’s just. It’s nothing. I don’t know, I don’t know if I can even fully articulate how nothing it was to me, how annoying it was to me.

But no, in the end, the Phantom has no real motivations, no wants, nothing interesting about him. He’s not cruel or ruthless, or scary or intimidating. He’s not larger than life, or greedy, or selfish, or monstrous. In fact he has no personality! As interesting as that one really neat comic I keep referencing makes him out to be, there’s really just nothing there? If they leaned into this emotionless, meticulous, calculating side of him that was so different from Bobby then maybe they could’ve pulled it together at the last minute, but this Phantom idea was a non-presence throughout the late game anyway, so it just. Didn’t land. At all.

You want to know what would’ve been amazing? If they utilized any part of what they had going in the main narrative. He can be anyone he wants to be, except for his emotions. That could be so cool to work with! They already did it to a lesser degree in AAI, why not here! Or maybe if he went out of his way to use other people’s emotions against them. Have him callously disregard emotions, have that be a part of overcoming him, not just with that final Mood Matrix, but as a legitimate personality trait!

Here’s an idea: I hate Apollo’s arc in DD, but can you imagine how much more impactful his mistrust of his friends would be if the Phantom had been wearing away that trust as various people in his life the whole time? That’d be wild!

Or what about if occasionally you’d have conversations with people and they didn’t remember talking with you later? Holy shit! 

Come on, there were plenty of times you were separated from Apollo or Phoenix, especially Phoenix, like he already had a Phoenix mask! Or just other people throughout the games? I know it wouldn’t make sense currently, since the Phantom would have no reason to do something like that, but the overarching narrative of DD early game could easily be gutted and refitted to give the Phantom more reason to make his presence known earlier. 

And hey, even if he didn’t make his presence known earlier, at least in those last two cases you could start adding that feature in. Have him planting ideas and evidence. Have him sowing that mistrust. GIVE Apollo a reason to not trust everyone’s judgement other than what they have.

And again, what if they tied the rest of this game to trusting your heart and emotions instead of Corruption like they tried with that DaRk AgE oF lAw garbage that never went anywhere. Come on! Lean hard into Athena’s emotions schtick if that’s where we’re going! Trust and love and caring about people! If both Athena’s arc and Apollo’s arc end with these emotional beats, focus on that! Make it meaningful! And then this “Embrace your emotions” nonsense will at least matter!

[visionsofus]

angsty 29 please? :)

Hi anon! thank you for requesting some angst, I love writing it ☺️

I've done a longer sick fic and an injured fic too but I think it's about time I write another. Hmm, if anyone wants to send a more detailed sick fic prompt I'd be more than happy to provide the angst.

Also just while thinking about this prompt I had an idea for an ‘emergency contact’ fic but Wanda’s on the run and hasn’t seen Vis in a year? She gets into an accident and Vision arrives at the hospital all frantic? Maybe I could write that too.

29. How do they handle disasters or emergencies? Minor injuries? Sickness?

For now, a disaster fic in which the compound is victim of a cyber attack, Vision goes up against it and gets in trouble.

For a second Wanda thought that maybe the power had simply gone out, it was a plausible enough explanation for all the lights suddenly shutting off. But the compound was powered by arc reactors and Wanda knew enough about them to understand they wouldn’t be affected by a power outage.

“Friday?” Wanda called out to the air, suddenly feeling far more alone with the lights out. Tony’s AI did not respond.

Familiar enough with the layout of her room and relying on a shaft of moonlight from the open window, Wanda made it to her door and opened it.

Down the corridor she heard Sam’s door open and a distinct “What the fuck?” emerge. Wanda used the wall to reach him, touching his shoulder once she was near enough.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked.

“I have no idea,” Wanda said and was just able to make out Sam fishing his phone from his jeans.

The screen should have lit up, but it didn’t. “It was fully charged,’ Sam said, confused. Wanda didn’t know what that meant but it certainly couldn’t be good. She raised a hand and summoned forth a ball of red energy, it cast a distorted red haze across the walls around them but was better than nothing.

Walking slowly, they made it down the stairs and into the living room to find that someone had lit some candles where their teammates had gathered together. Tony had a tablet in front of him, but its screen was dark just like Sam’s phone. Everyone was murmuring in concern, looking to Tony for direction.

“—this shouldn’t be happening, even I can’t hack our system, the firewalls are too tight—” Tony was speaking quickly and not acknowledging the concerned whispers of his friends, all attention directed at Vision.

Wanda released her powers and went to Vision’s side instantly. His posture was tight enough for Wanda to tell he was in some sort of pain. It took all her control not to take his hand and syphon that pain off onto herself.

“This is not generic hacking, it’s a targeted cyber-attack.”

Tony stood immediately, a new urgency about his face. Wanda had never seen him look startled, let alone scared. “Vision you have to cut yourself off now!”

But whatever risk Tony’s foresight had identified, it was too late. Vision went rigid and Wanda cried out in panic as she watched him fall to his knees, shoulders trembling as though under a great, invisible weight.

She didn’t hesitate now and threw herself to the floor beside him, both hands on his cheeks. “Vision!”

Every muscle appeared to have pulled taught and his vibranium turned to stone in response to whatever was going on within his mind. Wanda watched on in horror as Vision’s eyes went wide and then blank. Never before had she looked into the synthezoid’s eyes and not recognised him. The blue had gone cold and unwelcoming and it sent a chill down Wanda’s spine.

“Maximoff, get away from him,” Tony said urgently, gesturing for the rest of the team to back away “If they’ve compromised him, they can control him.”

“Bruce, how’s the back-up generator?” Tony cried into a radio.

Bruce Banner’s voice crackled over in response, “Almost done.”

“Wanda, please,” Nat said stepping forward and putting a hand on Wanda’s shoulder to draw her away. She shook it off in frustration and moved her hands higher, placing them at Vision’s temple.

Wanda had delved into Vision’s mind before but only with his permission. Her first few months at the compound, when her nightmares were particularly bad, a touch of the hand from Vision and he’d invite her into his tranquil brain to deter her terror. Occasionally, Vision preferred to use the telepathy rather than speaking aloud, he found it particularly useful when he couldn’t find the words to vocalise a certain feeling. Never before had Wanda been forced to intrude in this way. But as she pressed forward, she found little resistance.

In the real-world Wanda gasped, winded as she was abruptly dragged into Vision’s mind. He pulled her in desperately, only conscious enough to recognise her familiarity.

In her mind’s eye Wanda was in a small, cramped room. There was a window set into one wall with rain streaming down it, though she wasn’t sure how that was possible. Far above she heard the crackle of thunder and further away what might have been a fire alarm. Vision was tucked up on an old armchair, his head tilted to the side and his eyes closed. For a second Wanda’s heart stopped — but no there it was, the tell-tale rise and fall of his chest.

She reached his side instantaneously, her body not fully present. As she did, Vision’s eyes opened, at first panic stricken but relaxing when he saw her.

“Wanda, darling,” Vision said, holding a hand out for her. But Wanda wasn’t really there, and so couldn’t take it.

“Vision, we have to go, you need to wake up,” Wanda said desperately, not sure if she was thinking it or speaking aloud.

In the distance she heard Tony’s voice, but could barely make out what he was saying. You need to get him to go offline, Wanda.

In the seconds that it took her to divert her attention to Tony, she lost her grip with Vision. The space shifted around them and suddenly they were in another room. For a moment she didn’t recognise where they were, after all, she had only been in Avenger’s tower once, two years earlier. The room was frayed round the edges, like it had slipped Vision’s mind, but the centre scene was clear as it had been the night he was created.

Vision stood before his cradle.

“Vision?” Wanda asked hesitantly moving forward. “What’s going on?”

She recalled Tony’s warning.

“You have to go offline,” she said, hoping Vision would know what that meant.

“I cannot.” Vision’s voice echoed when he spoke, as though it were coming from all around her. “I cannot.”

“Why not?” Wanda asked, reaching out to touch him. Forgetting that she had no hand, that she was merely a presence within his head.

“I disconnect myself then that’s it…” Vision’s voice was growing quieter, and beyond it a loud alarm could be heard. “I am of no use without my mind.”

“That’s not true, Vision,” Wanda pleaded.

“Hurry up Maximoff!” Tony sounded fearful.

“Vision, please, switch it off!”

“I am nothing without this.” Vision looked intently at the cradle.

“You are not nothing!” Wanda yelled, her voice almost drowned out by the chorus of alarms now echoing in her head, uncertain if they were from the real world or a product of Vision’s mind. “You are you, even without a direct line to every piece of knowledge known to humanity!”

Certain that her words weren’t having an effect, Wanda reached deeper, beyond words and followed Vision’s example. She let him into her head. Dragged him into the intimate depths where she kept her fondest memories, guarded beyond steel walls so they might never be taken from her. She let him feel how she felt, let him see his friendships with their teammates from her perspective, she let him see exactly how extraordinary she thought him. And for added measure she let him taste the smallest touch of grief she might feel if he was ever taken from her.

Vision in the Avenger’s tower staggered towards the cradle even as Wanda was thrown from his mind. The last thing she saw was him gripping the power source of the cradle and ripping it out.

Back in the physical realm Wanda’s eyes locked on Vision’s, which were familiar once more. There were voices roiling around them as Tony talked about damage control and what they might have lost, but the lights were coming back on and Vision was here, so Wanda drowned it all out.

“It’s so quiet,” Vision whispered, his eyes were unfocused, “so, so quiet.”

“What do I do?” He whispered fearfully.

Wanda was ready when Vision fell forward, catching his shoulders and letting him lean against her. She caressed the back of his head comfortingly. “You’re ok, you’re here,” she whispered as he clung to her. “You’re safe, I’m here.”

I'm so sorry if this sucked I think I've lost all my words recently

(ask me a prompt from this list and I'll give you a drabble - we'll ignore that this was longer than your typical drabble)

[seanfalco]

New York State of Mind: Part IV | Misfits Timeline Anomaly’verse

an oc x oc collaboration between @seanfalco & @super-unpredictable98

Word Count: 5k Warnings: Language, Smut (rough sex, public sex), Recreational Drug Use Summary: Win’s Nathan has finally figured out Lydia’s hidden kink and gets to reap the benefits while Win and Lyddie’s Nathan have some fun of their own and decide to help Lydia audition for a Broadway musical. a/n: The fourth and final installment of the New York City arc, but don’t worry, there’s so much more yet to come.

[ masterlist ] [ New York State of Mind: Part III ]

"I want you!"  

Lydia pressed Win's Nathan against the wall as soon as they walked into the room, kissing his neck and tugging at his shirt aggressively.  "Do you guys want us to move somewhere else so you get the room?" she asked, glancing over at Win and her own Nathan. 

"Nope," he chuckled, knowing better than to try to contain Lydia's hunger when she got a taste of blood.  "I wanna have a smoke anyway..." he glanced down at Win, a joint magically appearing between his fingers.  "Wanna join me, Winnie?"

“You read my mind,” Win mused, glancing down at the blunt in his hand before back up at him, wetting her lips. 

“Oh, good,” Win’s Nathan groaned, sliding his hands down Lyddie’s backside to squeeze her ass possessively.  “Oh, I want you too Lollipop,” he exclaimed, directing the smuggest grin at the others.

Lyddie's Nathan shot his fiancé a wink before closing the door.  He thought about going to the pool again, but Win seemed like a girl who liked surprises.  "Let's go, baby," he exclaimed, wrapping his arm around her waist on the way to the elevator.

"God, you're so sexy!" Lydia crawled to the bed, ripping off her shirt and skirt as fast as she possibly could. "Come here, bet you won't feel lonely anymore..."

“You’re th’sexy one, babe,” Win’s Nathan exclaimed, ripping his shirt over his head as he hurried toward the bed. “God, I want yeh so bad.  Been thinkin’ bout last night all day.”

“Me too, Natty, it's been torture waiting to get my hands on you!"  Lydia pulled him closer, their lips crashing together as she unzipped his jeans, humming with satisfaction.  "You don't even know what you do to me..."

“Oh, but I do,” he groaned, between heated kisses, his jeans dropping to the floor and his hands roaming Lydia’s body, groping and pinching, pulling her closer.

"You do...?" she froze for a second, glancing over at the ginger ale on the nightstand before shaking her head slightly, pushing the idea away from her mind and going back to snogging.

“O-oh, yeah,” Win’s Nathan exclaimed, dragging his lips down her neck, biting at her as his fingers teased her folds, feeling how wet she was.  “You drive me just as crazy baby,” he murmured, guiding her hand to his erection.  “See how rock hard I am?  You did that.”

Lydia gasped as her hand found his cock.  His words, his touch, his breathing, his smell... everything was driving her mad that night.  "Oh, please use me, use me the way you want, make me yours," she whined, feeling her arousal coating the inside of her thighs.

Nathan's brows rose at her words and his mouth suddenly went dry.  "Holy shit," he breathed.  The lust drenched look on her face was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen and his cock gave a twitch in her hand.  "Wanna do it doggy style?" he asked, pinching her nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

"Oh, it's been so long... Yes, please, Natty!"  Lydia's chest heaved in anticipation as she jumped to her knees and turned around slowly, pressing her back to Win's Nathan's chest, taking her hair out of the way to give him access to her neck.  "Make me," she purred.

"Oh Lyddie, fuck you're hot," he groaned, pressing his face against her shoulder.

Lydia moaned as she felt Win's Nathan's hand on her throat, melting in his arms when his other hand found her sex.  "Go ahead, Nats, squeeze," she begged, grinding against his election. It's not like choking her would make a huge difference with her power, but she wanted it anyway. "Show me what a filthy girl I am, give me the punishment I deserve..."

"Oh, you're such a bad little girl, Lyddie," Win's Nathan growled in her ear, squeezing her throat til he felt her arch in his embrace, his fingers between her legs moving in a circular motion, gliding over her easily with how wet she was.  "Oh fuck, I'm gunna love punishin' you.  With my cock.  I'm gunna fuck yeh til y’can't walk right tomorrow, love."

Lydia shivered from Nathan's voice next to her ear.  "Give me a lesson, Natty, teach me to be a good girl for you," she managed to say, her voice strained as she fought not to come from the stimulation of his fingers.  "I need you inside of me, please..." she stopped herself before saying 'sir', scared to freak him out.

"Oh, I'll teach yeh a thing or two, y'little minx," Nathan exclaimed, slipping his hand from her neck to her shoulder, forcing her down on all fours before him.  "Oh, you're so fuckin' wet, so needy baby.  I wonder why..." he mused with a smirk as he gripped his cock, teasing her folds as his hand on her shoulder slid down her back to her ass, spreading his palm over the curve of it before pulling back to leave a sharp slap.

With a yelp, Lydia fell on her hands, the knowledge that Win's Nathan could do anything he wanted to her was exciting.  She moaned helplessly as the pain from the slap turned into pleasure.  "You did this to me, you left me dripping..." she whimpered, still holding back her orgasm as he teased her with his cock.  "More," she begged.

“More, huh?" Nathan mused, spanking her again, leaving a red welt across her ass as he pressed into her, gripping her hip with his other hand to stabilize himself as he thrust completely into her.  "Like that?"

"Yes!" Lydia shuddered, crying with pleasure.  "Oh fuck, Natty, you're so good to me, you make me feel so good... I wanna come for you," she turned her neck to look at him, the moments from earlier at the pub playing on repeat in her head.

Nathan grinned at the desperate look on Lydia's face.  "Oh, you'll come alright, several times, if I have my way," he exclaimed, hoping he'd be able to hold out that long.  Tangling his hand in her colourful hair, he yanked back, forcing her head up as he began to thrust into her, slamming into her with abandon.

No one had ever pulled Lyddie's hair like that, it just never came up, but it felt so good... One more thing to add to her list.  With Win's Nathan's permission, Lydia came, biting her lip to avoid screaming.  "Play with my piercings, pinch me, Natty," she asked, sweat dripping down her neck, but she didn't feel tired.

 "Such a kinky thing," Win's Nathan groaned, biting his lip as he had to slow, needing to cool it or he was gunna come as well.  Leaning over Lydia, he braced himself with one hand while pinching her nipple with the other, twisting at her piercing roughly as he continued to pound into her.  "Ohhh, you feel so good.  So good for me."

"All for you, just for you," Lydia murmured, feeling the tingling excitement starting to build in her lower stomach once again.  "I love you," she blurted out, feeling confused, her mind in a haze with feelings and sensations.

Nathan nearly stopped in surprise at her exclamation, managing to only slow for a moment before bucking into her again.  "I love yeh too, Lollipop," he grunted.  "Fuck.  So much," he murmured, kissing her back.

“I'm getting close again, baby," Lydia looked back at him with a pleased smile.  "I might love you, but I still want you to ruin me," she moaned, moving back into his thrusts to get him to go deeper.

"Can do sweetheart," Nathan exclaimed, picking up the pace again, feeling his climax hovering, not sure how far he could last like this.

Lydia knew Nathan was probably struggling to keep going and she wanted him to feel good, especially after being so good to her... "I want you to come too, Natty, fill me up, baby."

“Oh yeah, I’ll fill yeh up sweetheart!”  As soon as the words were out of his mouth he couldn’t hold back any longer, coming inside her with a broken cry, thrusting roughly several more times as he emptied himself deep inside her, hearing her moans as well.

Lydia fell on her back, still shaking from how intense that last orgasm was.  She was spent, but never felt so great in her life.  "Oh my God, Natty, you've outdone yourself... can you give me that?" she pointed at the bottle on the nightstand.  "I'm so thristy, Jesus..."

Though his own muscles felt like water, Win’s Nathan crawled over to the table to grab the drink for Lydia.  “You were wonderful, you were so fucking amazing Lyddie.  I love you so much,” he murmured as he collapsed next to her.

"Thank you," Lydia sipped from the bottle slowly as her heart calmed down in her chest.  "I love you too, Nats, you were perfect, I love it when you're rough to me..." she handed him the bottle back, laying on his chest.

Win’s Nathan pulled Lydia closer, wrapping his arms around her gently, soothingly running his hands up and down her back.  “I like that y’like it rough.  Win doesn’t like it that rough... it’s nice t’be able to share that with you,” he admitted.

"Yeah, it's our little secret," Lydia narrowed her eyes playfully before lifting her head to kiss him.  "Hey, speaking of secrets, do you think you can keep a... " her voice disappeared as she realized what she was about to do.  "I'm so tired, will you hold me as I fall asleep?"

“Secret?  I can keep a secret...” Win’s Nathan murmured, but he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, so when she changed her mind, draping herself over him he didn’t mind, simply holding her close as she fell asleep.  “I think I might already know your secret, darlin,” he murmured when he was sure she was out.  “And I think it’s adorable.”

Lydia heard Nathan saying something as she fell asleep, but she wasn't sure what, too exhausted to even open her eyes.  The last thing that crossed her mind was how much she loved him, how much she loved her own Nathan, and Win, she doesn't even know how she used to breathe without them.

——

“Where are you taking me tonight, Nathan?” Win asked, wrapping her arm around Nathan’s back, excitement coursing through her.

"We're goin' to the sauna, baby."  He smiled mischievously.  "I could use some time t'relax... since it's closed there won't be anyone t'bother us."

“Ooo, sauna,” Win mused, “I’ve never been in one, actually,” she said, thinking about it for a moment.  “Looks like another first I get to spend with you.” 

"Me neither, I s'pose we'll figure it out together, love," Lyddie's Nathan mused, kissing the top of her head just as the elevator stopped and they stepped outside.  "I love t'shag high, you've done that, right?"

“Oh, yeah,” Win exclaimed, leaning into Lyddie’s Nathan’s side, tilting her chin up to look at him.  “It’s been a while, though.  Have you really been thinkin’ bout this all day?” she asked with a laugh, feeling heat pool between her legs at the thought. 

"Of course, it's kinda hard not to after what we've done, it was a real struggle not t'shag you earlier.  I was hopin' t'get you for myself tonight..." Nathan led the way, unlocking the door to the sauna with a snap of his fingers. 

Win's lips twisted in amusement as she thought about them shagging in that little car, trying not to be caught.  That, plus the fact he'd been thinking about her all day only served to turn her on more. 

"Really?" she asked, biting her lip.  "Mmm, me too, actually," she admitted, following him into the dark room.  

"Y'have?" Lyddie's Nathan shed his shirt and fumbled with the buttons on the wall for a bit. "Then you must be in desperate need for some attention, sweetie..." he pulled a lighter from his pocket to light up the joint between his lips.

Win watched as he inhaled, holding the smoke in his lungs for a long moment before exhaling slowly, the smoke rolling over her and she grinned, taking the blunt from him to bring to her own lips, inhaling deeply, letting the calming effect of the marijuana spread through her before blowing the smoke away, coughing slightly.

"Oh that's nice," she murmured, offering the blunt back to Lyddie's Nathan.  As soon as she turned around Nathan let his hands slip around her, seeking her breasts to fondle roughly as he kissed down her exposed neck, sucking and biting, leaving little love marks as he went before moving his hands, one going up to gently circle her throat while the other buried between her legs.

"Y'know, I've read somewhere that y'get high faster when your tits are out, we should try it..." Lyddie's Nathan snaked his hand under Win's shirt while taking another drag.  "I'm so worked up, Winnie, I need it!  And I know ya need it too," he passed the joint to her once again, idly rolling her nipples between his fingers while kissing the marks he left on her neck. 

"Oh y'heard that, did ya?" Win asked with a smirk, her breath catching as he played with her tits, and she melted against him as he kissed her.  "D'you like knowing that you made those?" she breathed as she pulled back to quickly shed her shirt, letting it fall to the ground at their feet. 

"Yeah, I love knowin' that it was me... And you're mine," Nathan sighed, watching hypnotized as Win undressed under the light fog of the sauna.  He wet his lips before leaning in to kiss her, his head completely empty except for the feeling of her lips on his.  "Please, baby" he whispered, giving her what she wanted.

"God, I like hearing you beg like that Natty," she groaned, unbuttoning his jeans.  "I need you too,” she murmured, kissing him back, her hands running down his bare chest.  "Please what?" she purred, her hands pausing near his navel, before her fingers teasingly danced over his hip bones, tracing the little line of stars there.

"Please... ma'am?  Please.... mistress?  Please... let me shag your brains out?" Nathan mumbled, not used to being the one begging, his eyes glued to Win's hand on his hip.  "I want you, really bad." 

Win laughed, plucking the blunt from Lyddie's Nathan's fingers to take one more draw.  "Mistress, huh, never been called that before," she mused, leaning in to press a kiss to his chest before moving lower, til she was on her knees before him. Looking up she wet her lips.  "Y'know I've been thinking about this for a while now," she said, grasping his cock with one hand while the other lingered at his hip.  "I've never got to suck you off yet," she murmured, laving her tongue along his length before circling his head and taking him into her mouth. "

"Jesus," Lyddie's Nathan clenched his eyes shut as Win took him in her mouth.  "Yeah, I've been thinkin' about it too, but I didn't know if you'd be into it... God I'm glad y'are, this feels so good," his hand traveled to the back of her head, but without pushing, Lyddie liked when he pushed, but he wasn't sure Win would appreciate it.  "Fuck, Winnie baby, I'll call ya anythin' if you keep doin' that..."

Win chuckled as she bobbed her head, pulling back to speak. "I don't know if you've noticed babe, but oral is kinda my thing," she murmured with a smirk, teasingly licking at him as she held his gaze before wrapping her lips around him once more, letting his tip hit the back of her throat as her other hand traveled down his hip to his balls, caressing them gently. 

"Yeah, you're quite good at it..." Lyddie's Nathan murmured, enjoying every last second of that, but not wanting to finish and leave Win hanging.  He still wanted to quench the thirst left by those kisses in the back of the car.  "Your mouth is just... Oh, I should beg more often if that's what I get after."

Win pulled Lyddie's Nathan's cock from her mouth with a soft pop as she stood, raising up on her toes to press a kiss to his lips.  "As much as I'd like to finish you with my mouth, where would that leave me?" she purred, wrapping her arms around his neck.  "I want you inside me, Natty.  Make me yours," she whispered, feeling sweat begin to coat her as the room filled with steam.

"Gladly..." Lyddie's Nathan pulled Win closer, kissing her urgently, greedily.  "I guess now it's my turn," he grinned as he quickly switched positions, staying on top of her.  He lowered his head to take her nipple between his lips, while teasing her entrance with the tip of his cock.  "And your turn to beg." 

"Ohh, aren't you smooth," Win gasped, "you'll have to do better than that to make me beg," she teased, trying to keep the whine from her voice. 

"Really?  Okay, I s'pose I could finish myself off," Lyddie's Nathan teased further.  "That's too bad though, I was really lookin' forward to fuckin' you so good you'd wake the entire hotel up, but if you don't wanna be a good girl..."

"Wait!" Win exclaimed suddenly, grasping at him, "I'll be good, please Nathan," she whined, wrapping her legs around him.

"That's better..." Lyddie's Nathan nodded, capturing her lips once again as he thrusted into her.  "See?  That's what y'get for bein' good, you like that, Winnie?" he groaned in between kisses. 

“Oh, yes,” Win exclaimed with a sigh, “I love you, Natty,” she whimpered, burying her face in his chest as he moved in her.

"I love you too, baby" Lyddie's Nathan moaned, kneading her breasts somewhat gently, wanting to savour the touch of her soft skin.  "I love you so much, my Winnie."

Win gasped as she came, pulling Lyddie’s Nathan closer, wrapping her arms around him tightly as he continued to thrust into her, riding her through her high and she cried out, their sweat slicked skin sliding and sticking together.

“Oh, Nathan— I’m yours!” she panted as he came as well, filling her. 

Lyddie's Nathan came as soon as he felt Win clenching around him, her moans only driving him crazier. " And I'm yours..." he panted, placing a loving kiss to her lips.  "How'd I do today?  Did I follow all your instructions?" 

Win grinned incredulously.  “You followed it to the letter didn’t you?  Oh my God, Nathan, I... I don’t know what to say.  That’s so sweet,” she murmured. “How are you so perfect?” 

"I wanted t'make a good impression, you're my girlfriend too..." he shrugged, holding Win tighter.  "You deserve it, baby, y'make me happy, y'make Lyddie happy... I love you." 

“I love you too,” Win repeated, feeling tears prick her eyes.  “It’s not often you get to fall in love with the same guy twice,” she murmured, stroking his face.  “You have his face, and his name, and his life, but... you’re not him.  You’re you and... you’re different and I don’t know where I’m going with this, but I love you just as much.  I wanna be with you and him and Lyddie forever,” she murmured.

If she hadn’t been high, she didn’t know if she would have admitted so much, but it felt right to say and she waited for Lyddie’s Nathan’s response. 

"Y'know, a while ago I told Lyds I couldn't imagine a future without her, and I still can't, I love that freaky little thing... But now I can't imagine a future without you, and I don't think she can either," Nathan didn't exactly know what he wanted to say with that, just that he wanted to be with them, this way, for the rest of his life…

Win hugged Lyddie’s Nathan fiercely, overcome with emotion for a moment.  “It’s getting really hot in here,” she murmured, not exactly wanting to move, but also starting to feel a little lightheaded.

"Yeah, sorry, but y'know, maybe it's just me, I do that..." he waved his hand and the sauna stopped.  "D'you wanna get back, baby?" he stroked her hair, still thinking about what she confessed.

Win giggled.  "You are pretty hot," she murmured, snuggling closer.  "I don't really wanna move, but..." she whined softly, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.

"Me neither, I just wanna stay like this... But how about Lyddie and your Nathan?  They're probably gonna get lonely in a bed with only two people," he laughed.

"You're right," Win agreed, smiling softly.  "I don't know if I could fall asleep with only one person in bed anymore," she admitted, sitting up.  "Ugh, I wish we didn't have to walk and you could just magic us back to the room," she joked, “though I know it doesn't work like that."

"I'm not that powerful, but I can do this..." Nathan magically dressed and dried them with a silly flourish of his hands. "Come on, baby, we have a lot t'do tomorrow, and I'll need your help if this plan's gonna work."

"What did you have in mind?" Win asked, perking up despite how exhausted she felt, slipping her arm around his waist as they headed back to the room, wanting to be as close to him as she could.

"I'm gonna get Lyds into Rock of Ages, she'd be perfect for it.  It does involve some strippin' on stage," Lyddie's Nathan rolled his eyes.  "But I s'pose we can live with that," he stumbled out of the elevator, taking Win with him.

"You s'pose, huh?" Win teased.  "I'm in.  I remember the look on her face when we brought it up.  I don't think she'd try for it otherwise, even though it's obvious she wants it."  Win stopped as they got to their door, turning to take Lyddie's Nathan's face between her hands.  "You're sweet," she said, rising up on her toes to press a peck to his lips.  "And I love you," she continued following that with another kiss.  "That's all, we can go in now," she laughed.

"And I love you, baby," he opened the door, still a little high with both the weed and the sex.  He found he likes to be called 'sweet', it didn't happen often, but I felt good.  "Look at these two," Nathan chuckled while undressing, Lyddie and his clone were completely out, holding each other.

“Like a couple of rabbits,” Win laughed, “though I suppose we aren’t any better,” she mumbled as she crawled under the sheets, pulling Lyddie’s Nathan’s arm around her.

"Yeah, we don't have much room t'talk," he wrapped his arms around Win, kissing her neck softly while one of his hands reached for Lyddie's.  "Good night, baby."

——

The next morning Win’s Nathan stirred as he felt a pair of lips brush against his forehead.  “Nathan, babe, wake up sweetheart,” Win’s soft voice in his ear said and he groaned, rolling toward her. 

“Winnie?  I missed you,” he whined and she laughed softly.

“I missed you too, but I need you to wake up.  There’s something we need to do.”

Lydia sighed, mumbling incoherently, before shifting in her sleep, not waking up. 

"I think bein' in a Broadway show will be great for her career," Lyddie's Nathan was on the phone with her manager.  "It doesn't have t'be an open run, just a few months, and rehearsals don't start until October anyway.  She can start on the new album as soon as we're back home as leave everythin' ready."

“What’s goin’ on?” Win’s Nathan asked as he sat up, looking around.

“Shhh, don’t wake Lyddie,” Win whispered, pulling him to his feet.

Lyddie's Nathan waved, signalling them to come closer and immediately putting one finger in front of his lips.  "Then it's a deal, I'll sign her up right now, fingers crossed, ey?  See ya, man." he hung up with a triumphant look on his face.  "Now we just need a good video of her with the right song."

“Perfect!” Win exclaimed as her Nathan quickly dressed.  “So how do we get that?” he asked.  “Are y’plannin’ on tellin’ her about it?”

"If she gets the gig we'll tell her, if she doesn't, she won't get hurt..." Lyddie's Nathan nodded as if he was the most brilliant human being on the planet.  "I've never picked an audition song before, but from what Lyds told me, it has to match the show, so '80s rock."

“Good idea, babe,” Win agreed.  “Eighties rock huh...” she mused.  

“How about Don’t Stop Believin’?” The other Nathan suggested.  “Is that from the 80s?”

"I think so, yeah. That song’s in the show, it could work... all we gotta do is film her, and e-mail the video, but how do we get her t'sing that...?" 

"Hmmm," Lydia slowly sat up, stretching with a groan.  "Good morning, loves."

“Mornin’!” Win’s Nathan yelped, moving in to distract her with a kiss. 

“I think I have an idea,” Win whispered in Lyddie’s Nathan’s ear.  “But I think it might work best if we’re out and about.”

"Then let's eat at the Hard Rock, take a walk around the theatre district, she loves it," Lyddie's Nathan whispered.

"Hey," Lydia immediately turned red remembering the night before.  "Did you sleep well?" 

“Like a log,” Win’s Nathan answered, running his fingers through her hair.  “You? Feelin’ okay?” he teased.  “Hope I wasn’t too rough.” 

"I'm great," she hid her face in his chest, not wanting to stare him in the eye.  "You can never be too rough with me, you were amazing."

“That’s good t’know, y’kinky little thing.  Gives me some ideas,” he mused with a smirk.

“Perfect,” Win mused, watching Lydia, already with an idea in mind.  “How are you feeling today?” she asked, turning back to the Nathan next to her.

"Never better, especially after our little talk yesterday," Lyddie's Nathan pulled Win into his arms. "How are you, baby?"

“Mmm, can’t complain,” Win exclaimed lightly before grinning and jumping up to give him a kiss.  “I’m really good.  Now let’s go get Lyddie this role.”

Lydia giggled quietly, running her hand through Win's Nathan's hair.  "And you say that as we're about to leave?  When I'll have to imagine it all day?" she looked around, everyone was already dressed.  "I'll be ready in a second, guys, I swear," she jumped from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

——

“Hey, Lyddie, do you know of any good music stores around?” Win asked as they walked, looping her arm in Lydia’s.  “I was thinking ‘bout looking for a new guitar... as a little celebration for becoming your guitarist.”

"Aww sweetheart, you're so cute!" she sighed, pulling Win closer.  "Yeah, Guitar Center is five minutes from here at the 44th, I got my acoustic there last time, it's a paradise for musicians."

“Perfect!” Win exclaimed, shooting the Nathans a pointed look.  Once they stepped inside the store, Win pulled Lydia toward the wall of electric guitars.  “What do you think, should I replace my yellow one?” she asked.

"I don't think you should replace it, but in my experience it's better to have a spare if you're working with music," Lydia mused, looking around.  "Look, this Mitchell MD200, it's not too expensive... and it's pretty good, this one even matches your hair."

Win looked at the lime green one Lyddie’d pointed to and she took it down.  “I like it,” she mused, running her fingers over the strings.  What d’you think, should I test it out?”

"Sure, give it a try, see how it feels," Lydia smiled.  Meanwhile, her Nathan already had his phone prepared to start filming, sitting with his clone on a bench where he could get a good angle.

“Only if you’ll sing with me,” Win exclaimed with a grin.  “Please, Lyds?”

"Fine, anything you want," she was so happy that Win had actually accepted her offer, she didn't even question it.

“Perfect!” Win exclaimed, pretending to think of a song.  “How about this one, I’m sure you know it, everyone does.  Don’t Stop Believing’?” she asked, holding her breath.

"Of course!  I grew up with Glee, it's one of my favorites," Lyddie sat by Win to watch as she played.

Win plugged the guitar into one of the nearby amps and began to play, glancing up at the boys as Lydia joined in singing.  She couldn’t believe their plan was actually working.

Lyddie was having so much fun, she really missed making music with Win, and it was music that brought them together in the first place, so it was really special for her.  A few people gathered to watch and her Nathan quietly documented the entire thing.

By the time Win finished playing there was quite the crowd gathered and she turned to Lydia.  “Thank you for singing with me, babe, I’m so excited to be making music with you again,” she murmured, leaning in closer.

"Me too, Winnie, I still can't believe we're really doing this," Lyds gently pressed her lips to Win's.  "Actually, pass me the guitar, I'll get it for you, it's my 'welcome to the band' gift."

“Oh Lyds, you don’t have t’do that,” Win exclaimed, but the determined look in her girlfriend’s eyes stopped her from protesting further.

"I know I don't, but I want to," Lydia quickly took the guitar to pay for it.  "It's perfect for you, and it matches my blue one perfectly." 

"Brilliant!" her Nathan celebrated when she was gone.  "It really worked, I'll send it right away!"

“I can’t believe that worked,” Win’s Nathan exclaimed, pulling her into his arms.  “You’re brilliant, babe.” 

“Nahh, I just knew Lyddie wouldn’t be able to resist singing with me.”

"And who is able to resist your charms?" Lyddie's Nathan purred, playing with Win's hair.  "Poor impressionable Lyds didn't stand a chance." 

"We should probably drop this off at the hotel," Lydia came back with the guitar in a leather case and gave it to her girlfriend.  "Welcome to the band!"

“Thank you, Lollipop, really, I don’t deserve you,” Win murmured, pulling Lydia into the midst of their group hug as well.

----------------

Tag list: @magic-multicolored-miracle @midnightseance @messengeronthemoon @the-freckled-luba @firstpersonnarrator  @spanishmossmagnolia @salvador-daley @forenschik @a-ghoulish-tale @love-is-dirty-baby @captainsheeballs

[tothemeadow]

Commissioned by @hinokami-s

Art originally done by @/n2514 on twitter

Kamado Tanjiro x OC

- It's been too long since Tanjiro and Hayami have seen each other. Tanjiro knows he's a fool in love, but there might be chance that Hayami feels the same. Together, they're meant to bring down a powerful demon with a Blood Art that neither one has seen before - the catch? It's an aphrodisiac. -

warnings: NSFW, mentions of blood and violence, oral sex, a sprinkling of praise kink, a dash of breeding kink, a good dose of creampie

words: 7.4k

-

Breathe in, breathe out. Focus, Tanjiro, focus.

Swinging his blade gracefully, Tanjiro pivots on his heel to follow up on the frontal attack with a jab of his elbow. The demon grunts as it’s knocked backwards, stumbling to catch its footing. Hissing out yet another curse, it surges toward the man, sharp claws splayed out. Tanjiro easily sidesteps it, bringing his blade in front of him in a defensive stance. Again, the demon tries to strike at him, only to get deflected.

“Damn human,” the demon spits, “stand still so I can rip your guts out!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that!” Tanjiro exclaims. “You’ve taken enough lives already – I refuse to let you take any more!”

Again, the both of them brace themselves for yet another attack; simultaneously, they leap at each other, blade and claws extending out in deadly arcs. Tanjiro grits his teeth as the claws make a pass at his shoulder, ripping through the layers of his haori and uniform and tearing into the muscle. Still, he pushes forward, cleanly bringing his blade through the demon’s neck and successfully decapitating it. A cloud of dust rises as they both unceremoniously land on the ground; the demon crumbles away instantly, leaving Tanjiro by his lonesome.

Finally.

Rolling his shoulders, Tanjiro slips his blade back into his sheath and drags a forearm over his forehead, wiping away the sweat. A sizzling heat roaring in his shoulder draws his attention; glancing at his shoulder, he’s met with the wicked sight of shredded fabrics and torn flesh. Blood steadily pours from the wound, soaking his clothes a dark red. With a sigh, Tanjiro presses a flat palm to the wound and glances toward the sky. Fortunately, bits of light break through the canopy of the forest. He shouldn’t stick around for long, though – not if he wants to fight even more demons.

Taking a step forward, he suddenly stumbles and lands on his knees. “What the-“ he begins, but he cuts himself off at the spark of pain located in his ankle. Oh, this is just wonderful. Taking a deep breath, he steadies himself on his hands and forces himself to a stand, leaning his weight on the opposite foot. There’s no other option than to hobble towards a Wisteria House; luckily, he passed by one earlier, so it shouldn’t take too long for him to arrive.

As long as he can make it back before night falls, he should be in the clear.

-

“A letter, yes! A letter!”

Looking to the window, Tanjiro’s greeted by his Kasugai crow. Its beady eyes stay focused on him while it hops from side to side; Tanjiro’s interest piques as he notices the little scroll of paper tied to its foot. An easy smile spreads across his face as he hobbles to the window. The letter had to be from his friend Sumiyuri Hayami – it had to be! The two usually communicate via letters sent by their crows since they’re busy dealing with their own missions to visit each other. Still, no matter how many letters he’s received, that same gentle warmth encases his heart as he slips the bit of twine off the crow’s foot.

Tanjiro’s blood practically pounds in his ears as he unravels the letter, unconsciously holding his breath while his eyes scan over Hayami’s neat handwriting.

Tanjiro,

I hope this letter finds you in good health.

Tanjiro pauses, smiles sheepishly.

It’s a lonely journey, the letter continues, traveling without someone. I don’t mind the quiet, but you know how much I dislike being alone. Even my crow won’t keep me company, won’t you believe that?

I miss you, Tanjiro. I can’t wait to see you again.

Forever and always,

Hayami

The bottom of the letter is covered with multiple doodles of cherry blossoms, one of Hayami’s favorite types of flowers. She always ends her letter the exact same way, and it never fails to bring Tanjiro a sense of comfort. But “I miss you”? “I can’t wait to see you again”?

That’s new.

Tanjiro can’t help the blush that spreads across his cheeks, nor can he control the rapid beating of his heart. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have special feelings for the girl; for so long, he’s been pining after her, craving to hold her hand and kiss her sweetly. He’s such a coward, though. Time after time, the confession sat on the tip of his tongue, ready to tumble from his lips at the simplest command, but he couldn’t do it. It always felt like it wasn’t the right time to tell her his feelings, especially with how the world is.

But oh, knowing that she’s thinking of him – that she misses him – makes his heart soar. He can’t tear his eyes away from the small piece of paper, attention fixated on those two little sentences. “Oh, Hayami,” he breathes, looking away and willing his heartbeat to slow down. His crow merely cocks its head at him.

“Well?” it caws, fluttering its wings expectantly. “Return letter, yes?”

That’s right.

Hobbling over to the desk in the room, Tanjiro reaches for the inkwell and brush and carefully constructs his own letter, a dreamy smile plastered on his face.

Hayami,

I can’t wait to see you, too.

Tanjiro

Again, he crosses to wear the crow sits on the windowsill, rolling up his paper and hastily tying it around its foot. “Thank you, my friend,” he tells the crow, giving it a gentle pat on the head. With a singular squawk, the crow takes off; Tanjiro watches long after it’s turned into a black dot in the sky before turning away from the window. He truly hopes he can be graced by Hayami’s presence sometime soon. He misses her dearly, and the fact that she feels the same way makes him giggle into a hand.

What can he say? He’s in love.

-

Perhaps the gods are watching over him more closely than he thinks. Maybe he’s just lucky. Either way, Tanjiro is truly blessed whenever the sliding door to his room opens, revealing a familiar face. It’s a face that visits both daydreams and regular dreams alike; a masterpiece, truly, carved straight from ivory and inlaid with purple gems for eyes. Tanjiro almost can’t believe it.

“Hayami?” he breathes.

A gorgeous smile cracks her face. “Tanjiro.”

By the gods, it really is her.

Before he can even register it, he’s shooting up from his futon, hurrying to where she stands, and flinging his arms around her in a hug. His heart beats impossibly hard in his chest and his face flushes with warmth, but gods he’s really, really missed her. At first, Hayami stiffens in surprise, but it quickly melts away and there she goes, mimicking his movements and hugging him back.

When they were younger, Hayami used to be outright massive in height; Tanjiro has never been bothered by the fact (instead, he’s always found it as a part of her charm), but now… Now it’s different. Even in her infamous heeled boots, she’s still a few centimeters shorter than he. Tanjiro can see the crown of her head with ease. Has he always been this tall? Has he grown since the last time they’ve met? Peering downwards, his breath catches in his throat.

Like Mitsuri, Hayami always opted for the open-chested gakuran; and, just like Mitsuri, she’s also well endowed. Tearing his gaze away, Tanjiro pushes away the sudden spike of warmth swirling in the depths of his stomach. After all this time of being apart, their first interaction can’t be with him acting inappropriate! Besides, it’s always been more of Zenitsu’s thing to openly ogle at women, not Tanjiro’s.

A hand cups his face, forces him to look back down. “I’ve really missed you,” Hayami whispers. Her smile is pure saccharine, so delightfully wonderful and sweet. The urge to kiss her is strong, Tanjiro quickly realizes. He can’t scare her away, no, not now. But it’d just be so easy to let his feelings loose, to tell her everything she deserves to hear.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Tanjiro flashes her a smile in return. She’s so soft in his arms and smells like lavender soap. It’s incredible to know that someone of this ethereal beauty exists, much less to be friends with them. Perhaps he’s being too sentimental – romantic, maybe even poetic – but he honestly cannot get enough of her.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he says.

A pang of longing strikes his heart whenever Hayami pulls away. “I got your letter. I thought it was kind of odd, though – you’re usually not one for short messages, Tanjiro. I was worried that something happened.”

Yeah, he thinks, I nearly had a heart attack on the spot.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He looks at her, truly looks, and it’s only then that he realizes she has light scratches on her face and a bandage wrapped around a strong thigh. Blinking owlishly, he has to recall that they’re in a Wisteria House of all places, not at some random inn or anything of the sort. A shameful blush spreads across his features. How foolish could he be not to notice her injuries right away?

“You’re hurt!” he exclaims, brows furrowing. “What happened?”

At that, Hayami merely waves a dismissive hand. It’s enough for him to want to be pissed off, but again, he knows her all too well. Hayami’s always been the type to place others before herself, always striving to become even stronger to protect everyone she cares about. It’s this ideology that’s led her to become a somewhat reckless person on almost all accounts; however, Tanjiro knows she’s a formidable opponent. He simply wishes she would take care of herself every once in a while.

“I could ask you the same,” she shoots back, gesturing to his heavily bandaged shoulder. “Tanjiro, I really wish you would be more careful. What if… What if something worse happened? What if you didn’t make it to a Wisteria House in time?”

Tanjiro rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m really sorry to make you worry, Hayami. I really am. It’s just… Things can get out of hand sometimes, you know? But I defeated the demon, so don’t worry! As long as I can continue to help others out, I’ll take as many hits as it takes.”

Hayami sighs. The both of them know how serious he is about dealing with demons; each little step is necessary to reach Muzan Kibutsuji, to finally put an end to his reign of terror and find a cure for his younger sister, Nezuko. He and Hayami are truly two of a kind, hopelessly selfless and always willing to help others even if it means disaster for themselves.

“Well,” Hayami starts, reaching out and clutching one of Tanjiro’s hands in both of hers, “promise me you’ll stay alive. Do it for Nezuko. Do it for me.” A pleading glint shines in the depths of her eyes. “Promise me, Tanjiro.”

At this rate, Tanjiro’s heart will burst. It swells to a near impossible size, thrumming against his ribcage and begging to be free. He doesn’t know how she does it, doesn’t know how she can be so lovely, yet here they are, hands intertwined and almost too close for comfort. If Tanjiro didn’t know any better, he’d say Hayami is purposefully trying to get a rise from him, possibly make him a melted mess on the tatami flooring.

Again, he swallows thickly. Clasping onto her hands tightly, he nods his head. “I promise.”

-

Things have been going… odd.

While it isn’t out of the ordinary to catch up and swap stories after being apart for so long, Tanjiro’s quickly come to notice that every time he turns around, Hayami is usually within sight. He can’t say much, though, since he’s been dealing the same treatment to her. The two have practically grown attached to the hip, nearly fawning over each other, and doing everything together.

Tanjiro can’t complain; he secretly adores the attention Hayami showers upon him, the cooing she does when she brushes his hair, or the delightful gleam in her eyes. Being in her presence is enough to have his entire being flood with warmth, to have his heart beat wildly in his chest.

Even now, in the dwindling hours of twilight, the two are cozy in Hayami’s room, surrounded by flickering lanterns. Hayami has personally taken it upon herself to mend Tanjiro’s beloved haori, to fix the dreadful hole left behind that slashing demon. Tanjiro merely watches on, relaxing on his side with his head propped in a hand. He watches as Hayami works every so diligently, her lovely features set in a focused look. Granted, he’s always thought of her as beautiful. She reminds him of the maidens in the stories his mother used to read to him when he was younger, ever so graceful and good natured.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been watching her. Minutes, hours, maybe days – it feels like his eyes haven’t seen her in an eternity, and he’s almost desperate to soak in the sight of her and commit it to memory.

Although Hayami hasn’t said a thing, her eyes flicker towards Tanjiro every so often. She doesn’t bother to make it a secret, either; Tanjiro swallows thickly, wonders just what exactly is going on inside her head. Like him, her wounds are healing nicely, mostly due to the care given by the members of the Wisteria House. The scratches that adorned her face are gone, leaving behind a canvas of an unblemished, creamy white.

“You’re staring,” Hayami says, still not looking up from her work. Tanjiro flushes at her comment, but he also picks up on the playful lilt to her tone.

“I’m sorry,” he half blubbers, rolling onto his back and focusing on the ceiling to calm his erratic heart. “It’s just… It’s been so long. When’s the next time we’re going to see each other like this again?”

While Tanjiro does have a point, it’s one that neither of them has decided to discuss. The ways of being a slayer can be somewhat picky – not much time can be set aside for leisurely purposes. And, taking in Tanjiro’s mission into account, he has to work harder than anyone else if he wishes to save Nezuko.

“Well,” Hayami speaks up, finally turning fully to Tanjiro. Setting down her needle and thread, she shuffles over to where Tanjiro lies on the floor, hovering in his field of vision. “We should make the most of it, huh?” With a flick of her wrists, a flash of green and black fills Tanjiro’s vision; the haori settles gently on him, the delicate smell of fresh laundry and lavender flooding his nostrils. Oh, by the gods, now his haori smells like her.

“You should consider yourself lucky that they were able to wash the blood out,” Hayami continues on, a slight smile pulling at the corners of her full mouth. “It’d be weird to see you wear anything else.”

“Maybe I’d have to wear yours,” Tanjiro says. It’s out before he says it – his eyes widen as realization dawns on him. He really said that, didn’t he?

For a moment, Hayami’s expression mimics his. She seems just as surprised as he is at the blatant comment – or was it flirting? The initial shock melts into a somewhat panicked version, then, and Tanjiro instantly regrets saying anything at all.

Shit.

Hayami looks away, and Tanjiro swears he can see the beginnings of a blush on her face. Oh.

Oh no.

“Perhaps,” she mutters, taking a strand of long hair and twirling it around her finger. “Purple would look great on you.”

Yeah, Tanjiro thinks, attention honing on her flushed cheeks, and you look great in pink.

-

The semi awkward behavior continues.

Well, scratch that – this weird, mustered tension continues.

While the two remain attached at the hip like usual, things feel more intimate between them, if that makes any sense. Perhaps it’s Tanjiro overthinking things (which he certainly has a habit of doing), but his heart never stops its hurried beating, nor does the warmth swirling around in his belly seize from making him feel like mush. What’s more, Hayami’s eyes seem to glitter more whenever they’re trained on Tanjiro, and her lips are usually parted, almost like she’s silently asking for a kiss.

Things are usually toned down when they’re in other people’s company – namely Nezuko, whenever she decides to awaken. It’s at very moments like this when the three are taking comfort in each other’s company; hidden in the shade on the engawa, a flower-scented breeze passes through the thin material of their yukatas, yet the mere warmth of the day is enough to keep even the slightest chills away. Nezuko sits before Hayami, legs drawn up to her chest while the latter braids the inky strands of her hair. If anything, the sight of the two of them together makes Tanjiro’s chest swell with joy.

He openly admires Hayami’s profile, at the cute little beauty mark dotted above her lips. At first, Tanjiro would always feel silly whenever he’d catch himself staring. He isn’t outrightly bold like Zenitsu or ignorant like Inosuke, so knowing that his eyes are lingering longer than they should makes him feel slightly uneasy. But now – now he doesn’t care, for Hayami will often times catch his gaze with her own.

Something wonderful is happening between them, Tanjiro knows it, but he just doesn’t know what it is yet.

“A mission for you! A mission for you!” the lone cry of Tanjiro’s Kasugai crow sounds from above.

Tanjiro’s heart plummets to his stomach. No, this can’t be happening. Not yet. He can’t say goodbye to Hayami just yet, not when things are going so well between them.

“Kamado Tanjiro! Sumiyuri Hayami!” the crow squawks, fluttering onto the end of the engawa. “A demon has been spotted in the nearby area! To the East, yes! You two are to take care of it!”

Tanjiro blinks owlishly at his crow. If that’s the case-

Both he and Hayami share a look. The break was nice while it lasted, but now it’s time to suit up.

-

There’s always been something so sobering about pulling on the slayer uniform. It’s a blatant sign that this day could be your last, that whatever lies ahead could be the very thing that kills you. Still, the thick fabric brings an odd sense of calmness and comfort – that everything will be alright.

“You ready, Nezuko?” Tanjiro asks, turning to his sister.

Nezuko hums her agreement, nodding her head along with it. His heart pangs once his gaze falls on the thick braid hanging down her back. It’s quite possible that that could’ve been the very last time Hayami ever does her hair like that. No, Tanjiro hastily scolds himself, never think like that. Both he and Hayami are strong fighters.

They’re going to make it out of this alive, no matter what.

Nezuko shrinks in size and crawls into her box; Tanjiro shuts the door behind her before heaving it up and slipping his arms through the straps. Once he’s sure she’s properly adjusted on his back, he picks up his blade and steps out of his room, easing the shoji door shut. He’s just in time to see Hayami do the same thing. Their eyes meet automatically, a silent message passing between them.

Be careful.

Tanjiro clears his throat. “Are you ready?”

Smoothing down her haori – yes, that one – Hayami gives a curt nod, her long ponytail bobbing with the movement. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Besides, with the both of us on the same side, this shall be easy, no?” She flashes him a reassuring smile. “It’s like the good old times, Tanjiro. We get to finally travel together again.”

Biting back a smile, Tanjiro resists the urge to giggle like some love-stricken fool. Which, if he’s being entirely honest, he is one, but he also wants to keep some sliver of dignity. “You… do have a point.”

Hayami merely waves a hand. “Of course I do. But Tanjiro,” she pauses, cocks her head, “you should really pull your hair up.”

Instinctively, a calloused hand shoots to his head, rough fingers pawing at the strands. While it’s nothing compared to Hayami’s length, the ends of his hair kiss his collarbones. “You think so?”

“Absolutely. Hang on, I’ll take care of it.”

Before he gets the chance to say anything, Hayami promptly opens the door to her room and disappears from sight. A moment later she returns, although this time with a black ribbon in her hand. If its lustrous sheen has anything to say, Tanjiro knows it’s one of her expensive ones.

“Wait,” he quickly says, eyes widening, “I don’t want to ruin one of your good ribbons-“

“Tanjiro,” Hayami cuts him off, voice soft. “Don’t worry about it. I’m giving this to you. Think of it as a good luck charm or something.” Again, she flashes him a pretty smile and Tanjiro practically melts on the spot.

Without another word, he drops down onto his knees, allowing Hayami to get a better reach for his hair. The heels of her boots clack against the floor as she steps behind him; the familiar scent of lavender fills his nostrils as she gets closer, her fingers running through his hair and combing out any potential knots. He relaxes at the contact – it feels good to have her fingers running through his hair. A sigh passes through his lips as his eyes flutter shut.

Hayami takes her time, carefully smoothing out the strands and gathering Tanjiro’s thick hair in a fist while the other quickly wraps the ribbon around the base of the ponytail. After tying a secure knot, Hayami’s fingers linger on Tanjiro’s head just a bit too long. Clearing her throat, she pulls away, leaving a pang of disappointment to stab Tanjiro in the heart.

“There,” she says, stepping around to his front, “that’s better, yes?”

A hand reaches back and smooths down the ponytail. Tanjiro’s face crinkles as he grins at Hayami. “It’s great.”

After that eventful encounter, the two take off away from the Wisteria House, heading East as the Kasugai crow had instructed them earlier. The sunlight gradually dwindles as they venture further into the forest, the thick canopy throwing a green-hued shadow over everything. It’s a beautiful day outside, the birds chirping and bugs humming as yet another breeze picks up, carrying through the woods and rustling their haoris.

“What kind of demon do you think we’re looking for?” Hayami speaks up. It never fails to take Tanjiro by surprise when her friendly demeanor drops once demons are in the question. It’s almost if she becomes an entirely new person, incredibly strong-willed and cruel; in a sense, it puts Tanjiro in mind of Sanemi.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Tanjiro says earnestly. “Since the two of us were sent after it, I have a feeling that it’s not going to be easy to deal with.”

Maybe Tanjiro should’ve placed a bet on it. Maybe he’s been around the block too many times.

Either way, he was right.

After an hour or so of walking through the woods, the shade drastically darkened as they neared an alcove; a somewhat bitter odor hangs in the air, causing Tanjiro to scrunch his nose. Immediately, he forces himself to a halt, throwing out an arm in front of Hayami to stop her as well.

“There’s something here,” he murmurs.

Both of them place a hand on their blades, eyes scanning the surrounding environment for any sign of movement. The bitter smell grows more prevalent; Tanjiro can tell by the way it seems to pressurize his nose, but even now Hayami’s scrunching her face in discomfort. If only something would make a move-

Snap.

“There,” Hayami breathes. “Breath of the Swan, Seventh Form: Feint!” At her cry, she hurls her blade in the direction of the sound before disappearing in a flash of purple, following through with her attack and keeping out of sight. Leave it to Hayami to rush into battle without analyzing the situation first.

Even so, Tanjiro draws his blade and rushes forward, following the scent to its origin. Curving around the wide trunk of a mighty maple, Tanjiro slants his feet to draw himself to an immediate stop, kicking up dirt and foliage alike. Only a couple meters away stands a demon – the demon they were hunting after.

The beast resembles a woman, although her skin is entirely a light red and four arms sprout from the sockets of her shoulders. She’s huge, easily four or five heads taller than Tanjiro himself. Despite the monstrous qualities, her face is beautiful, lips full and eyes curtained by heavy lashes. Tanjiro finds himself hesitating when she turns to look at him; her eyes are completely white, no trace of an iris or pupil anywhere. Creepy.

“Were you the one who threw this?” the demon demands, her voice commanding yet melodic.

Shifting his gaze to her hand, Tanjiro pales at the sight of Hayami’s blade clutched in a strong fist. Her breathing form didn’t land its hit, he’s quick to realize.

Shit.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tanjiro says, holding out his blade before him. “I’m afraid I can’t let you leave.”

“HYAH!” Hayami’s voice shouts. She emerges from the wall of trees, legs raised high in a lethal kick; the gleam of her bladed heels catches Tanjiro’s eye. The demon turns just in time to have its cheek sliced as Hayami’s feet fly past. Dark red pours from the cut and the demon hisses in pain, white eyes flashing angrily. Hayami gracefully falls into a tumble as she lands, rolling over her shoulder and lessening the impact.

“Hayami,” Tanjiro says urgently, “your blade didn’t land on her.”

Spitting out a curse, Hayami’s glare lands on the very hand clutching onto her blade. “Well, clearly I have to take it back from the damned thing,” she snarls. Tanjiro shudders at her tone – the venom clearly dripping from the words, the icy edge. Hell, her voice is enough to send demons running, and Tanjiro can’t blame them. “Tanjiro,” she shoots, turning her gaze to him, “let’s get rid of this bitch once and for all.”

The demon laughs, a singular had cupping her mouth while the other two brace themselves on her hips. “Oh, pathetic humans, do you really think it’d be that simple?” Reaching out a hand, she curls her fingers salaciously, her black claws wickedly sharp. “It’s been so long since I’ve had any proper fun,” she drawls, using that very hand to clutch her neck. “Do me a favor and take a deep breath.”

Tanjiro grunts as that sharp, bitter smell clogs his nose, fills his lungs. The more he breathes in, the dizzier he feels; a flush erupts on his face, paired along with beads of sweat. What the hell even is this?

“Oops, my bad,” the demon taunts. She makes a show of flinging Hayami’s blade back to her before crouching low, all four arms spread in an offensive stance. “And I’m suddenly feeling very hungry!” she booms. “Come on, come at me with all you got!”

Jaw ticking, Hayami snatches her blade off the ground and wipes the handle off with a look of disgust. “Tanjiro?”

“Already on it.”

Like the flick of a switch, the both of them spring into action, swerving around each other and taking either side of the demon. A deep growl emanates from the demon’s chest; her gaze flickers back and forth between the two as they charge at her, their movements invisible to the human eye – human eye, not demon.

This is a battle between life and death.

Maybe it lasts for seconds, minutes, hours. The constant twisting of bodies, water, and feathers create a hurricane in that small alcove; there’s an endless round of shouting and spitting curses, mixing in with the clang of metal hitting tough skin. And yet, the florally breeze still sweeps through their hair and the birds still sing – because, even where danger lurks, peace can still be found.

The demon howls as Tanjiro promptly slices off an arm, the meaty thud of it hitting the ground seemingly echoing. It disappears in a cloud of dust, leaving behind flattened grass in its shape.

That warm, dizzying feeling never recedes, either. Tanjiro figures it must be for weakening prey or something of the sort; his nose scrunches at the strong scent and he reminds himself to not breathe, but it’s also somewhat hard to do since all slayers’ fighting styles revolve around breathing. How utterly ironic and a pain to deal with.

“You bastard!” the demon screeches, baring her fangs at Tanjiro. “I’ll rip your guts out!” She swings another arm, then, landing a direct hit and sending him flying backwards. Tanjiro grunts as his side collides with the fat trunk of a tree, all wind getting knocked from his lungs.

Tanjiro groans as he forces himself to sit up, a hand clutching his ribs. Shit, he’d be lucky if he didn’t crack a rib again. The wild, howling cry of a beast rips through the air, makes Tanjiro’s blood still in his veins. Through his hazy vision, he sees Hayami successfully bring her blade down on the demon’s neck, slicing through the thick skin and decapitating the damned thing.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Tanjiro leans back against the tree, wincing at the thrum of pain in his side. He continues to watch as Hayami lands on her feet, the demon collapsing onto its stomach and screeching profanities as it disintegrates. Thank the gods, Tanjiro says to himself as he staggers to a stand, hand splayed on the trunk to keep himself steady. He and Hayami made it out alive, but…

Something’s wrong.

His heart drops to his stomach as Hayami falls onto her knees, hunching over and retching. Calling out her name, he hobbles over to where she kneels; immediately, he clamps a hand over his nose, that bitter smell the demon emanated stronger than ever before. It positively reeks where its dead body lied. Tanjiro figures it must have unleashed a huge burst of the odor before it was slain – probably in an attempt to get Hayami to back off, no doubt.

“By the gods,” Tanjiro breathes, dropping to Hayami’s height and holding her hair back, “are you alright? What happened?”

“She released a wave of her Blood Art,” Hayami grunts, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth and grimacing. “I don’t think I’ve ever smelt anything to foul in my life.”

“You killed it – that’s all that matters,” Tanjiro assures her. “You did great!”

Finally, Hayami turns to him; her fair skin is even whiter than usual, fat droplets of sweat beading at her hairline and trickling down her forehead.

Tanjiro’s jaw slackens. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

Hayami waves a dismissive hand. “I just threw up – do you really expect me to look good after that?” Despite her sickly pallor, she flashes him a tiny smile. “I’m fine, Tanjiro. Besides, you’re the one who got hurt!” She makes a desperate clutch at his hands, eyes roaming over his features for any injuries. “I just – I got so mad that she hurt you. I mean, what if it was worse?”

“Says you!” Tanjiro exclaims, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of his haori. “We should get you get to the Wisteria House before you get sick again.”

“I told you I’m fine.”

“At least let me carry you! I can put Nezuko’s box on my front and you can hitch a ride on my back.”

“No need,” Hayami grunts. Turning to the side, she spits the gross taste from her mouth and hauls herself to a stand. “I’m a big girl, Tanjiro. If there’s anybody that needs to be carried, it’s you.” She holds out a hand for him to take. “You worry me too much,” she says, voice now soft. Swallowing down his unease, Tanjiro grabs onto the extended hand and allows himself to be pulled up.

Leaning into Hayami, they turn away from the alcove, letting the singing birds and humming bugs be the only noise as they head back to the Wisteria House.

-

It’s a miracle they both came out unscathed.

After a quick checkup at the Wisteria House, it had been deemed that the two were mostly uninjured (the term was tossed around lightly since Tanjiro managed to get a bruise on his side after the impact). Thankfully, Hayami was free of anything of the sort, but her fever remained.

It was evening time when they finally arrived back, the glowing bulb in the sky making its gradual descent. Hayami decided to call it a night and retired to her room, leaving Tanjiro and Nezuko behind in her wake. Nezuko followed suit and decided that she, too, wanted to relax, so she took off towards the bathing chamber.

Back in the comfortable silence of his own room, Tanjiro slides the shoji screen closed behind him, all the while heaving a sigh. Easing himself onto the sprawled-out futon on the far side of the room, he leisurely kicks off his seta and undoes his kyahan, his tabi quickly following suit. It’s when he’s shucking off his haori when he hears it – a light, muffled groan, almost like the kind someone makes when they’re uncomfortable. Stilling his movements, Tanjiro waits for it again.

There.

“Gods, please…”

Tanjiro’s eyebrows furrow. It’s clearly Hayami’s voice alright, but what’s going on? Is she alright? Is she in trouble?

Without another moment’s hesitation, Tanjiro grabs his blade and brings himself to a stand; hurrying out of his room and to Hayami’s, he nearly wrenches her door open in his thoughtless rush to help. Like usual, the paper lanterns in her room radiate a welcoming glow. The somewhat dim light throws shadows over the tatami mats and the rice paper walls alike, but what instantly catches Tanjiro’s attention is the human-sized lump lying on the floor.

Tossing and turning on her futon, Hayami continues to grumble to herself; an arm is thrown over her eyes, the other draped over her stomach. Her boots lay off to the side, clearly tossed away as a second thought in her rush to get comfortable. Feet planted squarely on the futon, her knees are bent, the skirt to her uniform flipped and showing off way too much skin.

At first, Tanjiro blushes at the sight of her bare legs and thighs, but then she groans again and it’s enough to snap him back to reality. Setting his blade down, he hurries to her side, kneeling down and smoothing her bangs away from her face. Keening at his touch, she tears her arm away from her face and looks to him with pleading eyes. Her skin is unbearably hot to the touch, flushed a bright pink and covered in sweat. Hell, she looks even worse now than she did so earlier.

“Shh, I’m here, I’m here,” Tanjiro coos.

Gods dammit, that demon’s Blood Art was still taking its toll on Hayami. While its side effects have already worn off for Tanjiro, it’s clear that it’s way worse for her. Poor girl, getting horribly sick and having to suffer like this.

“Tanjiro,” she croaks, “it hurts.”

Oh, and the tone she uses. Tanjiro’s heart aches in empathy at the pain she must be enduring. “Where does it hurt?”

Perhaps he may have given her too much of an opening for that question.

His eyes widen as the hand resting over her stomach drops downward, shamelessly clutching at her crotch through her underwear. “Right here,” she breathes. “Please, Tanjiro…”

Surprise swells in his abdomen as she lightly paws at her sex, at the noises that almost sound like whines falling from her full mouth. There’s something else – something that Tanjiro recognizes as the weighted, hot feeling in his gut that only visits him in the hours of the night, only when he has a hand wrapped around himself, pulling and flicking and-

Oh no.

Tanjiro sucks in a breath, trying to rein in his composure, but then the smell of lavender and something sweet fills his nostrils. His mouth waters at the scent and he swallows heavily.

“Tanjiro,” Hayami pleads, squirming underneath his gaze, “please, help me. Please.”

The bitter odor. The way Hayami got sick. This.

“Gods, Tanjiro, help me!” Hayami cries.

Aphrodisiac.

A surprised yelp bursts from his chest as Hayami abruptly yanks him forward, pins him to the futon, and straddles his waist. “It’s too much!” she pleads, voice shaking. “Please, please, help me.”

“Hayami-“

Before he even gets the chance to finish, Hayami ducks down, sliding her mouth against his. Tanjiro’s mind screams at him, his heart leaps to his throat, his stomach tightens into a knot – Hayami is kissing him. After all this time, it’s happening.

She tastes so sweet, her lips unbelievably soft against his. His head is spinning at the unfolding events, but then his mind goes completely blank as her lips skim over the line of his jaw and latch onto the side of his throat instead. His breath hitches as her teeth nip at the tanned skin, crawling downwards toward the edge of his uniform.

“It’s too much,” she murmurs, reaching between them and yanking the buttons to his gakuran open. “Too many layers.”

“Hayami,” Tanjiro says, catching the growing rasp in his voice, “wait a second-“

A strangled groan escapes his throat as Hayami presses into him, her clothed pussy rubbing against the obvious tent in his pants. Hands twitching at his sides, he wonders what the hell he should even do. He doesn’t want to take advantage of her like this – in fact, he doesn’t want to take advantage of her at all. It’s already bad enough that she’s told him about past bad experiences, how they’ve taken a toll on her, how far she’s come to get over the trauma. No, Tanjiro doesn’t want to put her through that again, not even if the constant friction against his cock feels heavenly.

“Tanjiro, look at me,” she says, sitting up and looking him right in the eye, “I… I don’t think the Blood Art is going to wear off by itself.” Leaning back down, she presses her luscious breasts into him, eyes catching the flickering lights of the lanterns. She looks like she’s damn close to tears. “I trust you, Tanjiro,” she confesses. “I trust you more than anybody.”

I trust you.

Heart beating a thousand shades of red, the backs of Tanjiro’s eyes sting with emotion. She trusts him. Gods, she trusts him in a time of upmost vulnerability, to take care of her and give her what she needs. No, he tells himself, I need this just as much.

Cupping her face, he pulls her into another kiss; the two of them mold perfectly together, lips slanting and tongues caressing each other in way that is utterly incredible. Together, they sit up, hands intermingling between their bodies and yanking away at Tanjiro’s uniform jacket and shirt. The air feels warm against his bare skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating off Hayami’s. The layers of clothing seem to melt off, leaving them gasping into each other’s mouths and wandering their hands over uncovered territory.

There’s a slight quake to her movements, Tanjiro notices. If he didn’t know any better, he’d simply say it’s because of arousal, but it’s not that.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, brushing his calloused fingers down her back.

“You won’t.” She kisses him again, tongue sweeping into his mouth in a fit of passion.

It’s just so easy pressing her onto her back, kissing her sweet, sweet skin; Tanjiro makes his descent, lips brushing over her collarbones, the swell of her breasts, her tummy, all the way down to where that delicious smell comes from. He goes easy at first, his inexperience clearly showing, but Hayami doesn’t seem to mind.

The noises slipping from her mouth are otherworldly. They grace his ears, drive him to work harder, to slip his tongue further into her dripping arousal, to clutch at her strong thighs. Fuck, and he’s so hard, cock brushing against the futon and leaving a sticky mess.

“Pretty boy, so good, so fucking good,” Hayami murmurs. Tanjiro’s cock twitches at the words, causes him to shudder. “More, I need more – gods, Tanjiro, my handsome boy, give me more.” He moans into her pussy as her fingers grip onto the base of his ponytail and yank.

Everything is just so hot and it feels good and Hayami tastes as sweet as she smells and Tanjiro can’t get enough-

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Tanjiro grits, tongue lashing out as Hayami’s slick floods his mouth. “Sweetheart…” Propping himself up, his eyes frantically search for Hayami’s. He feels tremendously dizzy, a fog covering his mind and making him want everything he can take. “Can I – can I fuck you?” he blurts.

Hayami nods eagerly. “Yes.”

Groaning, Tanjiro pumps at his neglected cock, smearing precum over his meaty girth; leaning in, the head brushes against Hayami’s folds, gathering slick before pushing in, filling her up in a way that has them both moaning. He shudders as Hayami slings her arms and legs around him, shifting her hips and fucking herself on his cock. He doesn’t want to hurt her – he wants to go slow, show her how much she truly means to him, but fuck if he doesn’t feel like some wild animal.

He’s desperate in his movements, pumping his cock in and out of her tight heat, murmuring you’re so beautiful, you’re so beautiful, gods, you feel fucking amazing into her neck. The scent of her arousal clings to the insides of his nostrils, makes him even dizzier in the head. A little nagging thought in the back of his mind tells him that the effects spread from her to him, but he doesn’t care.

Her velvety walls suck his cock back in so easily, the lewd squelching and smacking of skin against skin making him want to fuck her even harder.

“Tanjiro, shit – your cock’s amazing,” she mutters into his ear, fingers yanking on his hair as she quickens the movements of her hips. “You trying to make me feel good, yeah? Fuck me with that thick cock of yours?”

Her words do wonders for his libido. If she continues to talk to him like that, he’s gonna cum in no time. “Can I,” he pauses, swallows thickly, “can I put a baby in you? Please, beautiful, you’d look so gorgeous being all nice and plump with my child.”

“Yes,” she purrs, digging her fingernails into the dips of his muscular shoulder blades. “Make me yours, Tanjiro. Show the world that you fucked me so good.”

It’s those words that push Tanjiro over the edge; ramming himself in deep, he releases his load, painting her insides white. He mouths at her throat, whimpering slightly as he bucks his hips a few more times, the sheer amount of cum being too much for her precious little pussy to handle.

“Good boy,” she purrs. “Now just-“ cutting herself off short, she directs his hand to her pussy, placing his rough fingers to her clit and guiding him through the movements. She cums soon after that, head lolling backward as a breath of Tanjiro’s name catches in her throat.

Tanjiro takes extra care of her after that, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear as he wipes the both of them clean. It pains him to leave her side for that short amount of time, but then he’s soon slinging his arms around her body, nestling his chin in the crook of her shoulder as they drift into a dreamless sleep.

-

Tanjiro wakes up to the sound of birds chirping.

With a groan, he tries to stretch, but he soon tenses up at the fact that he can’t move. Glancing downwards, his heart skips a beat as he’s met with Hayami’s pretty face; she’s still fast asleep with her arms linked around his waist and keeping him in place. Flashes of the night prior fill his vision, leave him heavily flushed and smiling sheepishly.

Breathe in, breathe out. Focus, Tanjiro, focus.

He thinks he’s finally died and went to heaven.

[madamecricket]

Fourth (and Final) Impressions of Deltarune Chapter 2

Edit: forgot to put a readmore. Forgive me! Spoilers under the cut!

- So I wasn’t even in the palace very long before we got to a series of puzzles that Berdly couldn’t solve, much to his frustration. I figured Berdly was building up to something, either a boss fight or a growth moment, and it was the second one. Turns out when you thrive off of praise, you develop a bit of a dependency... good on him to be self-aware.

- In the flashback sequence with the spelling bee, I noticed the word Noelle got nervous and stuck on - “December”. See, I remember another sequence in the city where we had a character moment with Noelle while pressing a series of switches that spelled out “December.” Clearly the word is significant to her in some way, and probably a negative way considering how it made her freeze up. Either something big happened in December, or something big happened involving a person close to her named December, since I remember her mentioning a “Dess”. I’m looking forward to where this goes.

- The theme in the Queen’s palace slaps, just gotta say that before we go further.

- So backtracking a bit, Lancer has been stone-ified, and Ralsei knows exactly what’s up: the dark fountains create worlds, the dark fountains that was sustaining Lancer’s world is gone, and that’s why Lancer is stone now. He’ll be fine, though, if we can get him back to Ralsei’s castle town and the fountain there. Good of him to offer a solution, except...

- ... hold the fuck up, Ralsei. So you’re telling me that this happened to Lancer because of the loss of his dark fountain - which Ralsei encouraged us to go through - and because of that, the Dark World that Lancer comes from is no more? And what’s more, Lancer now depends on the Castle Town fountain - that is, Ralsei’s fountain - to live. He is now life-bound to your town, Ralsei. He literally cannot leave you and still live, and even if he could, the world he knew is gone. Oh, but it’s ok, because you conveniently have a place for him to live under your roof now. 

- And, hold on, who was it who told us we had to go through the Dark Fountain to get home?? I played through the first chapter just recently, that was you, Ralsei. I definitely remember Ralsei saying we had to do that, he gave us that quest in the first place, and I definitely do not remember him mentioning at any point that this would end with Lancer’s world being destroyed. This is absolutely not fine, Ralsei. Oh, and considering how conveniently us getting isekai’d in the library lines up with Ralsei suddenly insisting we had to go and do homework... Ralsei, are you the one isekai-ing us???

- *deep breath* Okay. I’m calling it now. There’s something Ralsei isn’t telling us. I joked earlier about how he wants to bake us into cakes and eat us, but to be clear, I think whatever’s going on here is more complicated than “Ralsei was the bad guy all along”. I get the feeling that Ralsei’s desire for friendship, especially towards Kris, is very genuine. It’s just... this whole situation is reminding me of Asriel’s deal in Undertale. Fitting considering the whole anagram situation... I wonder how Deltarune!Asriel is going to play into this.

- Okay, back to more current stuff in the game. I met up with Roulsx Kaard (idc how to spell it) again and he’s facing me in... the thrashing machine I made in the first chapter. I’m serious. Same color and everything, holy shit.

- behold the majesty

- COMETH FORTH, MY SQUEAKY DUCKY!!!

- ...whut?

- this is excellent. I’m going to die of excellent.

- ohh, now he’s gonna transform... aaaaand...

- oh. ... you know, I wondered when it was gonna catch up to him?

- ice cold, Ralsei. Ice cold.

- “Why don’t we close our eyes and imagine how she’s doing now” Just like last game... is Ralsei actually activating some kind of power when this happens?

- “I wish Dess could see this”? I knew it! I’m on to something!

- taking a moment to acknowledge the shipping energy in the air

- Noelle (paraphrased): “Where are we, anyway?” Me: say “Dark World” Susie: “You’re just having a dream” Again with Susie thwarting player intentions...

- .. a heart-covered Ferris Wheel. Okay, Toby Fox, we’re doing this now!

- Susie has a tail???

- BERDLY WHAT

- And again, we return from a Susie Sequence to Ralsei apparently explaining something to Kris and finishing with a variation of “so that’s why-” before getting cut off by Susie. What are you explaining, Ralsei.

- Checked a calendar in Noelle’s palace room. “Every page is the last month, every day is the 25th”... what??

- another banger of a final battle!! let’s do this!!!

- See, I had a feeling that the Queen didn’t actually want to hurt anybody, but she has a... funny... idea of what constitutes helping. It clicks with her being basically a personified search engine - she literally wants nothing more than to give people what they want and make them happy, but she’s not always great at figuring that out based on what they search. She mentions Noelle’s “sad and lonely searches”... Noelle, honey, are you ok?

- Excuse me, Queen, this Dark World was created *today*? ... And it was created by the Knight... and I already suspect that Ralsei is “isekai-ing” us... Ralsei, are you the knight?

- New important info: “Lightners” are apparently necessary to create Dark Fountains due to their determination, and unlike Undertale, determination isn’t exclusive to humans

- BERDLY!!! BERDLY IS PUTTING THAT REDEMPTION ARC TO GOOD USE!!!

- ...

... this game just became perfect

- Oh hey, White Diamond, what’s up?

- “Oh Damn I Did Not Know That” WELL NOW YOU TELL US, RALSEI!

- Susie doesn��t have a tail? Make up your mind, game!!!

- Phew. Okay. Okay. The actual game part is over. Time to process some thoughts...

- So we’ve seen two Dark Worlds so far, Lancer’s world based on games (cards, checkers, etc) and the Queen’s world based on computers and the internet. The running theme I notice so far is escapism. During her fight, the Queen monologued about a desire to fulfill the desires of people who turn to the internet to dull their pain or look for new distractions. And as for Lancer’s world... well, it’s implied to literally be made of abandoned toys. Both of them things people turn to when they need a little entertainment or escapism to avoid their real-life problems for a bit. And I think it’s been mentioned that Darkners are essentially made to serve Lightners; perhaps helping them cope with the difficulties of life? 

Even putting aside the symbolism here, Susie and Kris literally escaped to this world to blow off their classwork, and Susie in particular seems to think the Dark World is better than anything in the Light World. In the final battle, Susie, Noelle, AND Berdly were all just about to open up a Dark Fountain themselves and make themselves better lives in the Dark World and only stopped when Ralsei very firmly informed them about the Roaring. Is this going to come up again? Are these kids going to struggle with the temptation to abandon their real lives to go play eternally in the Dark World?

And isn’t that just a perfect microcosm of the relationship that people have with video games in general - including this one? The perfect opportunity to just forget about your own life for a bit and temporarily live in a different world altogether, one with battles and magic and adventure?

Just what the fuck is going on here, Ralsei? Was I too quick to accuse him of being a secret villain earlier? Is Ralsei just trying to get us to process our shit in the Dark World, and then destroy it so we move on to the Light World with renewed hope in life? .. or is he just trying to make himself the center of our fantasies?

- HOLY SHIT THE QUEEN IS HERE! THE QUEEN IS HERE AND SHE’S GONNA BE A MOM FOR LANCER!!! (or “girldad” as Lancer puts it)

- ...have the Queen and King met? I mean, it would make sense, but they haven’t been mentioned as having a relationship of any kind or even knowing each other. Is this another Toriel/Asgore kind of situation?

- HOLY SHIT I KNEW IT SHE IS HIS MOM

- So I’m just talking to NPCs around Castle Town, right, and I meet up with Seam again. He just told me to be careful not to stay in there too late and that I don’t want to get caught when the sun goes down... DAFUQ YOU MEAN, WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN???

- This is wonderful, I’m now witnessing Toriel and Sans having a joke-off in person.

- (Sees Kris going in to wash their hands) (Hears Toriel say “they do that sometimes”) ...so Kris has like... a condition? The heart-ripping thing has happened before?

- (Sees last thing before credits) ...okay then!!! I think that’s all the things I can get into one post, haha! Forgot to mention some things, but I can only type so much!!! Can’t wait to talk about this later, haha!!! (holy shit)

[wexhappyxfew]

i literally choked on my pizza when i saw your writing and analyzing questions post, I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS!! first of all, what sort of process do you go through when creating characters? what kind of things do you take into consideration when creating them? i’m fascinated because creating characters is far from easy, especially when you’re creating someone like agent mortem! i’m always interested to know what the writer’s thought process was when creating a new character!

okay, so secondly, i wouldn’t say i’m having trouble with keeping all my planning organised and ‘precise’ in a way, but it’s really not easy 😅 i was wondering what kind of processes you go through when planning, whether you have like a specific structure or a set of steps to follow, or if you just kind of roll with it? at the moment when i plan it’s okay and it makes sense, but it’s literally just 4 or 5 pages of really chunky paragraphs which makes it really difficult to pick out the events again when i come to needing the plan to help me. i don’t really know if you do anything different, but if there is any way you know of that i could keep it more organised and easy to follow, that would be great :)

i’ll keep the last ones a little shorter because this ask is already looking veryyy long — what have you enjoyed writing about natia, what struggles have you faced and what have you learned? and basically the same with agent mortem if that’s possible :) i have asked a LOT of questions in this, so don’t feel like you have to answer them all because it will probably take quite a while 😅 anyway, thank you for putting up with my endless questions, and i hope you have a good day <33

ROSE AH HELLO MY FRIEND!!!! <333 sorry ive just gotten to this omg! it’s been sitting here for a little while but i’ve just had so much going on right now and wanted to make sure when i answered that my *full attention* was put on this! (because i’ve been very excited to answer this ESPECIALLY as i see agent mortem questions poking up on here and that just makes me even more hype!!! :D enjoy! <3

Ooooo this is a cool question! I’ve been asked it before but I feel with different characters and such, it always seems to fluctuate for me at least? In the sense, it’s almost never the same process for me in the developmental stages of a character haha! Sometimes I get characteristics first hand, or sometimes a certain scene pops up that just makes the character click and I can build from there, or sometimes, it’s just a last name or a first name that I work with and suddenly have an idea for!

For example, since we’re on the general topic of Landslide, I’ll talk about some things I did when creating specifically Natia. The “Natia” who is currently portrayed in the fic, was not always really like that. Natia initially was not a SOE Agent/Polish Resistance Fighter and instead a Dutch Resistance Member who would meet with Easy in Episode 4. I always sort of knew Natia, in whatever form she was, would meet Easy in Episode 4, but I wasn’t sure how, so the building in the first 17 chapters was the toughest part to come.

I did heavily feel the Polish were underrepresented in terms of the situation of the war along with everything that happened in the Warsaw Uprising and so I felt it was important to see if I could do something with that and that’s really where Natia came into play!

Natia means “hope” essentially and something I really like doing with her character is to parallel or juxtapose different ideas together, to continue on this sort of theme of her being a quite ominous and ambiguous character — you get the general sense of what her morals are, but in certain points it’s questionable. Morally-ambiguous characters have always been fascinating to me, especially female morally-ambiguous characters and so creating Natia in that respect I felt would be interesting to see what I could do!

Something major that I’ve slowly began to take into consideration with characters more and more, is the sort of general theme I want to be present with them — what’s that goal i that they are moving towards in the end and what’s the them surrounding it? For Natia it’s a multitude of things; family, revenge, being silenced, numb, grief, mentor vs protégé, lone wolf etc….the list could truly go on! And with these basic sort of ideas and themes, I can then move on from there and expand.

Why did she want REVENGE? Because the enemy killed her FAMILY, which is extremely important to her, and she wants to feel some sort of REDEMPTION for them.

Why was she BEING SILENCED? Because of the *past* conflict of the HARMFUL MENTOR VS SILENCED PROTÉGÉ situation that occurred between Agent Mortem and herself, where she allowed herself to be silenced by someone who abused the SUDDEN POWER he never had before in his life, ultimately leading to her continued issues of TRUST that she would meet throughout.

Why is she NUMB? Because at a fairly young age she experienced heavy and intense GRIEF that struck unforgivably at a time where it seemed things were safe. To rip something from a character, especially the main character, like FAMILY which is extremely important, you pull at the heart strings and it makes that character move forward on a quest for that in a way, ultimately by the end of the fic. (Basically you up they are least get a semblance of that lost thing, found again by the end)

Why is she a LONE WOLF? Because of the MENTOR VS PROTÉGÉ situation yet again, where she was taught to rely strictly on herself and no one else and so when TRUST and COMPANIONSHIP and TEAMWORK were introduced to her character, she didn’t know how to cope because she had been so desensitized to the ways of Agent Mortem that working back in the morals of family and friends was a challenge in its own respect.

It’s sort of a like a ripple effect if you think about it and that’s what helps me eventually move forward and develop the character arc I want to take place. She’s this way because of this — sort of like cause and effect. It’s really helped me out with major scenes or plot holes that have risen throughout the fic!

AGREED! Writing in general is not an easy feat and now including mind you ORIGINAL CHARACTERS, you’re literally, essentially, creating human beings from scratch and giving them characteristics, a backstory, trauma if you wish, friends and family, people they love, people they hate, morals, standards EVERYTHING! ITS INSANE! AH AND AGENT MORTEM! I’m so very glad that you brought him up, because his creation definitely stemmed directly from the want to experiment with the relationship of failed mentor vs protégé, entirely. I wanted a foil to Natia that was not directly with her all the time. Mortem plays such a MASSIVE role in her story and yet any interactions between the two are either from her mind or from memories and that’s just such a fun way to play around with their dynamic! (I just finished the creation of his backstory and character arc I want him to take and it’s only made me even more excited for what’s to ultimately come for him as well as Natia!)

A song that HEAVILY represents their dynamic is Ghost by Marvin Brooks (2WEI) and I’ll explain why. Even though Mortem is not always inherently *with* Natia, he still is a huge factor of her life, and still heavily controlling many aspects of her life such as recurring memories, reactions, and how she is also conditioned to react to certain things as well. He is essentially a “ghost” who is “haunting” Natia and I feel that’s an interesting take on their connection because they’re two people who clearly had a power struggle and a difference of opinions of multiple things and that just makes it so incredibly interesting to write!

song:

OOOOOO good question!!! So many people have such different ways of approaching story writing and planning and drafting and writing and editing and it’s honestly amazing!! I will say, I’m not an excessive planner or even a real great planner with writing, I never really have, and even as I’ve developed my writing and learned that “it’s okay to slow down”, or “it’s okay to take time for different portions to provide a deeper focus”, I still have not been someone to plan out every bit of my writing.

Reason being is I enjoy seeing where I can take the story in that time and place. Maybe if I’m doing a quick little writing segment and suddenly this idea just appears and hits me, I work it into the fic and it takes it a whole new direction and I end up not being super upset about it because it just…it works! And of course, this is not how other people operate and I have every respect for people who plan and have every detail laid out and figured out and just….completely and utterly planned to the dot. Lile kudos to people who genuinely get the planning all cleaned up before even writing, truly.

I just finalized Agent Mortem’s backstory and where I want his character arc to go and I’ve had him as a character since August of last year LOL! But ya know sometimes, I sit and I think back and go, maybe I wasn’t ready at that time to develop him completely yet because I, the writer, didn’t understand him enough to and I had to write more of him to be able to get a grasp of who he was and his character (and just about everything else!) and that’s okay!!! :)

Going with this idea I just stated above — the 4 or 5 pages of info — KEEP IT MY FRIEND!!! I swear, half the reason ideas even come to me is simply because I just write a big info dump that has all my little ideas somewhere inside and will ALWAYS be there. I recommend maybe taking a day though - away from focusing on writing or editing - and just picking that apart. (That’s what I did the other day and it helped me out MAJORLY! and it was worth it in the end!) Maybe keep the original 4-5 pages and then copy and paste the same thing in another doc so you always have the original!

And then just go through and split ideas apart! If you start reading and see it moving into another realm of headspace of ideas, just press enter and separate the two — you didn’t delete it, it’s still there and still intact! It’s just easier to look at now because instead of two, jumbled and completely different ideas, you now have two paragraphs and portions of text that relate to their own respective idea. It definitely makes it an easier pill to swallow when trying to get yourself organized!!

This really helped me when I was in my beginning stages of figuring out Landslide ESPECIALLY the first 17ish chapter where Natia was not in contact with Easy yet. I’ve explained it before but those chapters are there because we are seeing her final days with the resistance in Warsaw and how she ultimately ends up with Easy PLUS we see who she is as a character by herself and how she is not merely an extension off of Easy, but her own character, her own person. She has her own story and her own morals and ways of going about her life that don’t even relate to Easy. Their paths just happened to cross!! :)

By getting those first 17ish chapters planned, not extreme planning though I will admit, half the scenes were very much thought up on the spot for example like Natia driving to Munich in disguise or the introduction of Zdzich — two very important scenes that show us something about Natia. (1) She’s willing to go to extreme lengths for the people she loves to ensure that in the end they are safe, even if it means sacrificing herself and (2) she has trouble realizing that there are people out there that genuinely care for her, a connection to her ultimate, unruly and upsetting past. And the best part about it is THESE WEREN’T EVEN PLANNED! So sometimes, just let the story take the reigns and your mind and just guide you through it. Sometimes it is for the best :)

If you have your basic ideas and concepts and themes for how you want your fic to eventually go, the scenes for me most of the time just appear I guess when they should. Sometimes even in the times I'm not writing, I sit theorizing and questioning and thinking and developing ideas in my mind and it's a real good exercise, so when you get back to writing, you already know where you want the fic leading in the end!

MAN I LOVE THIS QUESTION. Anytime I can provide some meta or give some insight to Natia who is just one of the best characters I’ve gotten the pleasure of working with, I’ll gladly answer!

The thing I enjoy writing about Natia the most I feel, and I’ll probably always say this, is her complexity — as a writer, her character orders a healthy challenge for me that I gladly have accepted! You don’t know everything about her as a reader and as you read each chapter, that’s how you slowly uncover and discover what she hid about herself to protect herself. There’s so many different aspects of her that I could discuss truly!! (There has been so many parts that I’ve scrapped because I read through and just think “Man this doesn’t seem like Natia!”. She’s tricky sometimes to stake down exactly how she would react because of her past and her trauma and how long she’s been in war, but I just LOVE it!)

Many different aspects of her character though, come from her past and that’s what makes her interesting. I’ve really enjoyed working with the ideology of “Chekov’s Gun”, a writing device that can be used, with how I will mentioned something and it almost might seem out of the blue, yet later it all just makes sense?! When the flashback is revealed or a small portion of her past is finally allowing *light* in. It's a device I've used with Natia that has just really helped to develop her story at the pace I want it to be revealed! :D

For example, the OCEAN is mentioned many times. I make constant reference to the WAVES, the RECESSION of them from time to time, the comparison of the OCEAN both ABOVE and BELOW surface — all of that sorta stuff! For her character, it seems a bit out of place. She’s COLD. She’s NUMB. She’s BROKEN. What does an open body of water consuming at least 70% of the Earth have to do with an OC based in Warsaw, Poland?

This is where the importance of her PAST will play it’s role, as it has a major INFLUENCE on her and her CHARACTER and her MORALS. One of the main reasons the OCEAN is inherently connected to Natia is because of her PAST and one of those main reasons is AGENT MORTEM and her TRAINING, especially WATER training. I can’t comment further on this though as readers have only touched the tip of the iceberg for the use of the OCEAN and it’s IMPORTANCE so far in this fic! (Ask me again about it once this fic is finished up for the most part, unless….by Part 4 readers understand why!)

Natia just remains a character who constantly is developing and changing inside my head - where I want her path to ultimately end up leading by the end of the fic, where I want both her mental head space vs emotional head space should be and etc. So many portions of this fic are dealt specifically on her internal monologue and how she calculates and problem solves from that portion of her sort of *engagement* within the conflict. There never seems to be a dull moment when writing her!

Another thing I really have enjoyed about writing Natia is her clashing personality traits that make her interesting to write in both different scenarios and reactions. She's stubborn yet humble. She's numb and cold but internally extremely caring and giving and filled with these bottled up emotions. She's mentally strong yet she's been through so much and let the war take so much. She never complains about what she's doing, but she's lost nearly everyone she loves. She's a fighter in this war and refuses to back down from a battle she know she can wage, but the second she is pulled from the aspect of war, things crash and burn around her. Just even these few combating sort of things, really show her character and what, through writing, has slowly developed! They always lay around in the back of my mind and it's one of the main things I remind myself when I write Natia all the tme.

I think one of the most important things I've learned from both writing and creating a character like Natia is that (1) it's okay to ask for help, about anything, literally anything. You don't have to confine everything to yourself and build up this immense pressure to do what you must to continue moving forward. It's okay to have people there to help you and support you. (2) It's okay to be strong alone and even if you seem to be the only one on the current path you're are on, it does not mean you are wrong. it can still lead to the right destination in the end!

Oooo okay! AGENT MORTEM!! I am totally down to chat about some things I've loved to write with him with and some challenges I've discovered, but as far as what I've learned from him, I will be holding off and could answer that when the entire fic is both completed and then updated on platforms....just because ;) don't want to give away any spoilers haha! <3

Something I've enjoyed about writing and crafting Agent Mortem is letting him remain as mysterious and secretive as he is for so long. Initially, I can't even begin to recall what his character would be like even a year ago, but seeing where he has developed now, I'm really happy with where he is. He's mysterious, he's shadowed, he seems like a figure in the background, a past mentor who is half deranged and lost his mind with a background with so substance. It makes for such a fascinating way to begin to reveal his past! (something I've began to insert into part 4 of Landslide and man I'm just so HYPE!)

I feel I'm excited simply because he's finally getting the time and moment he deserves to finally explain and show himself as to what has occurred. There's so many fractured and disconnected parts of what is currently going on with Natia and her connection to both Agent Mortem and then Death is tossed in the mix and it seems this big complicated mess of 'how' Agent Mortem got to be this way, 'why' he does a thing such as this, just different and varying aspects such as that. it makes for those big final reveals to all be even more worth it!

He has been quite the challenge though I will admit. There's so many perspectives he could quite possibly be viewed from and his *character* + morals/values could be pulled in a various amount of ways as well. Making sure he accurately comes across the way I want him to both appear and come across to the reader and to myself has definitely been tricky. He's not as easy as suspected, you know, not just a 'dude who had a bad day and went insane in the end', there's a whole multitude of levels and reasons and a deep, heavy and traumatizing background starting from his birth really (which is a whole other story). Managing and balancing that all in one has definitely been something I've had to keep on top of and monitor but I feel has really been worth the challenge in the end. Because at the end of the day, I'm someone looking to constantly challenge myself.

And a good challenge, whether it be writing or academics or a workout, is healthy and GOOD! That's what Landslide in a whole has really shown me, to challenge yourself daily to see where you can push yourself and your imagination and creativity, just to see where you can even go!! it's exciting and refreshing!

Thank you so much for this wonderful ask Rose! I appreciate it more than ANYTHING as you well know, and I know it's taken me *quite* some time to answer, but I've been working on it for weeks now and finally got it out because it was ready! I really wanted to take my time with it and develop it to its full potential in the end and I feel I have (without giving away any spoilers haha!) As always, please know if you have any further questions regarding Natia Filipska, Agent Mortem, Death (along with other characters of Landslide), writing, the process (my own included), tips for writing/planning, or just anything else in general, I will always be happy to help in anyway I can! You're always welcome, anyone always is!!! <3333 Thank you again, I had so much fun doing this more than anything! :D

[robininthelabyrinth]

MDZS Prompt: In Chinese mythology, the Dragon's Gate is located at the top of a waterfall cascading from a legendary mountain. If a carp successfully makes the jump, it becomes a dragon.

sequel to dragon NHS (also on ao3)

--

There were places where humans were not, and have never been, welcome.

It was more than just a feeling – the rocks reached out to trip your feet, hoping to break your neck; the trees lashed out with branches and refused to burn when cut, hoping to see you freeze; the clear water abruptly turned polluted if it even suspected you wanted to drink.

And then there was the weather.

Nie Mingjue staggered when the heavenly lightning arced down towards him for the countless time. It was almost as if it realized that simply giving warning blows wasn’t enough, escalated to strikes with murderous intentions, and then to its frustration realized that it wasn’t as easy to kill him.

At least, not by hitting him with lightning.

Nie Mingjue rubbed his neck, where the scars of Jin Guangyao’s treatment of him still remained – it was uncomfortable, having a weak point like that, especially one that was so obvious, but he supposed it was better than the alternative of still being dead.

In fact, this entire trip was only possible courtesy of the toughness of his resurrected body, courtesy of Wei Wuxian’s only somewhat voluntary assistance. He’d tried to apologize later, but Wei Wuxian had only cried from laughter until he nearly choked himself to death – apparently, hearing Nie Mingjue refer to his little brother turning into a gigantic dragon in order to threaten people into doing as he wanted as being “in a snit” was all the payment he required.

The Yiling Patriarch was a very strange man, Nie Mingjue decided, and side-stepped the next bout of lightning.

The only problem with being a fierce corpse was that it depended on resentment – and for all that Nie Mingjue’s temper was notorious, it was more like fireworks, burning bright but swift, than it was long-lasting; unless he was continuously stimulated, he would be more inclined to forgive than hold a grudge.

(He shouldn’t have forgiven Jin Guangyao.)

But his enemies were dead now, the author of his demise thoroughly destroyed in his name; there was very little to be resentful about. Nie Mingjue was not Wen Ning, who kept his grievances hidden so deeply inside his heart that even he himself did not know them; he was too straightforward for that. His resentments in life were slowly being relieved, one by one, and when they were gone there would be nothing to keep him from entering the cycle of reincarnation.

Nothing to keep him here, by Nie Huaisang’s side.

And that was intolerable.

Nie Huaisang might be a dragon, his life longer than most cultivators; he might have access to that secret place where the Nie dragons retreated; he might be perfectly capable of executing a decade-long revenge plan – in the end, he was still Nie Mingjue’s little brother.

No one would be allowed to cause him pain, least of all Nie Mingjue himself.

And so he’d come here, to this forbidden place, and braced himself for the agony of the journey.

He’d been travelling for days already, maybe weeks – it was getting hard to tell. Fierce corpses, conscious or not, did not feel pain in the same way, but pain was still quite possible; he’d been burned and stabbed and bludgeoned, he’d been attacked by purification in the same way he’d once attacked corpses himself, and it all hurt exactly as much as he’d thought it would.

He wished he could have brought Baxia with him. She wouldn’t have put up with this nonsense.

But this was something he had to do alone.

He had nothing with him but the clothing on his back, the familiar clothing of the Nie Sect Leader he no longer was, and even that was being slowly ripped apart and peeled away from him as he climbed.

His fingers were in agony as he gripped rocks that turned cutting edges against him, his teeth were gritted as the water sprayed down at him in full force, and he did not let anything deter him.

He would get to the top of this fucking waterfall.

He’d say that he’d do it or die trying, but he was already dead. Failure was therefore not an option.

“There is a type of immortality in reincarnation, you know,” the woman’s voice said in his ear again. “You are already existing beyond the fated span of your life – why not enjoy the time you have left, and then move on to try again? Why force yourself to stay in a body that cannot eat, cannot drink, cannot live?”

“I was never much of a glutton,” Nie Mingjue said back, ignoring the way the water tried to drown him. He was a fierce corpse, he didn’t actually need oxygen; the way his lungs strained and his mind panicked was only the memory of a prior life. “Or much of a lecher. A half-life is fine, if I can accompany my brother to live a full one.”

“You’re very stubborn,” she sighed.

Nie Mingjue bared his teeth. “My sworn brother once said that he tried everything he could to tempt me – women, liquor, riches, art, calligraphy, antiques, fine tea – and failed. You’re going to need to try harder.”

“What if your next reincarnation could be guaranteed as auspicious? Your conduct was upright and righteous throughout your life, and even after death – you would be born into a family that loved you, with divine talent for cultivation and all the resources you could think of. You would have the opportunity to break your way into the heavens.”

“And if I accepted that, I would be worthy only of being reborn as a pig fit for slaughter,” Nie Mingjue said. “I already had that life: my family loved me, my talent was not bad, my resources extensive. And in the end the only part of it that ever mattered was my father, who I avenged, and my brother, who avenged me. I am already decided – go away, Baoshan Sanren. Don’t you have your own chicks to worry about?”

She was silent for a moment, as if surprised that he’d identified her.

He’d suspected it from the first moment he saw her, the beautiful and arrogant Zhuque – the vermillion bird of heaven, come down to watch him as he climbed this mountain, this waterfall. He didn’t know why, but it suddenly all seemed to make sense: who else would rescue children only to release them? What else could explain the inconsistencies of time, where little Xiao Xingchen could remember Wei Wuxian’s mother as his shijie even though she’d died long before the time he should have been born?

Why else would all of her children be tagged with such terrible luck?

“What if this hurts your brother?” she suddenly said, abrupt in her question. “You know the doom that has befallen each of my disciples once they leave my nest – what if this is more of the same? What if having you by his side is enough to doom him?”

“Have to hope for the best,” Nie Mingjue said briefly. He’d considered it, of course, and the idea worried him – he was going against the heavens here, and it wouldn’t be too much to think that they’d seek revenge beyond merely inconveniencing him with some lightning. It was a risk. But he’d never stopped from taking the course of action he thought was right simply because of risk. “If fate turns against us, we can cross that bridge when we reach it – why worry now?”

He’d always been called a straightforward man, and it had irritated Jin Guangyao beyond words whenever it turned out to be true – it seemed Baoshan Sanren had some of the same instincts, because she huffed and tossed her head, the beautiful fiery plumage streaming in the wind.

“Stop making me like you,” she said, her voice querulous. “I’m supposed to be stopping you.”

Nie Mingjue grinned. “It’s not going to happen. No matter what you offer or threaten – as I told you, I decided long ago that I would do this. Aren’t I a cultivator? To cultivate is to fight against the heavens, to seek your own fate. This is the fate I’ve chosen. I will not be dissuaded.”

His hand, which had been steadily reaching above him, finding a rock, and pulling his body up after, reached up again and abruptly hit nothing but air.

Nie Mingjue squinted up but could not see anything; the haze from the waterfall was too much. He reached again, stubborn, and this time he found that there wasn’t any rock above him – but there was further out.

He’d reached the top. There was no more to climb.

The only way forward was to leap.

“Good luck,” Baoshan Sanren said. “I hope you make it.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t hesitate.

(Far away in Gusu, Wei Wuxian looked up at the sky and said, “Oh shit now there’s two of them,” but when Lan Wangji asked what he’d meant, he realized that he had no idea.)

[nimsajlove]

Found you (II/?)

This is really hard to come up with and I don’t know why! You know, I love Dogma. But I think I don’t love writing him...

Ao3    Brothers-AU     Part I

   *~*

For a long time they just sat there, Dogma trembled every now and then and finally, Ahsoka slipped off her robe and wrapped it around his shoulders. The men checked on them a few times, but held themselves in the background. Dogma didn't seem to notice. „Kamino?“, he finally asked quietly, his voice small and lost. „Has nothing to say about any clone anymore.“, Ahsoka assured him and he nodded against her shoulder. „Krell?“, he asked after a few minutes of silence. Damn it, for Dogma this had only happened recently, while Ahsoka had long buried Krell deep in her memories. „Wasn't a Jedi anymore, you are okay.“, she muttered and Dogma nodded again, he seemed to collect his thoughts. „Tup?“, the question was even quieter than the last two, it almost ripped Ahsoka's heart out. „No, I'm sorry Dogma.“, she replied softly and felt Dogma just dully nod again. He looked numb. They wouldn't get anywhere like that... „How about we go and look for your bunk?“, suggested Ahsoka softly and Dogma winced violently, she hastily put her scarred hand on the back of his head and let his face rest on her shoulder again. „It's okay, I'll stay right here.“, she quickly rowed back and waited.

Her back became stiff from sitting for a long time, her neck ached and there was a hint of a headache that began high in her Montrals. The last few days had been... long. She wasn't really tired, just empty. Drained. Curling up on the floor in her study with the others sounded very tempting. „I'm sorry.“, Dogma suddenly mumbled quietly and as if by reflex Ahsoka ran her fingers over his short hair. „You don't have to feel sorry for anything. I'm sorry that we didn't get you earlier.“, she replied quietly and when the clone started to get up she released him from her embrace and moved away slightly, giving him room to straighten himself. His eyes were red and slightly puffy. But he seemed calmer. „You were looking for me?“, he asked softly and rubbed his arms under her robe, shivering. Ahsoka nodded hastily, she had a lot to make up for! „Of course. I'm sorry that I couldn't be a better sister to you before.“, she apologized again and Dogma winced, but this time he managed a small smile. „I would be fine, if we could become friends. Sir.“, he muttered and it conjured a real smile on Ahsoka's face. This time she would do it right! And she would not lose this friend, because the war was over. Carefully she offered him her hand. „Friends?“, she took up his suggestion and when he clasped her fingers his hands were cold, but his grip was gentle. „Friends.“

Her comlink blinked at her demanding and Dogma watched her throw the thing a restless look. „I'm holding you back, am I?“, he muttered and Ahsoka shot him a sharp look. „Say that never again. I'll take as much time for my men, as each one needs.“ Taking a deep breath, she paused. „But I would really like to take a look at the others. Would it be okay if I call Kix?“, she asked and although Dogma's shoulders tensed, he nodded curtly. She didn't want to stress him any more than necessary, but her brothers would certainly do their best to care for Dogma. She notified Kix. „Grab Thud and check on Dogma a little bit, okay? I'll go out and assign each men a medic.“, she murmured, Thud would certainly get along wonderfully with Dogma. The young clone was quiet and reserved. And he would take Dogma with him to Hug, who was perfectly gentle. „Good, now that we have the capacity. Give me a few seconds.“, Kix answered tinny and cut the connection.

Ahsoka slowly turned to Dogma, he watched her. His eyes shone tiredly, but he no longer flinched with every move she made. „I called Thud too, he will help you find a bunk. Is that okay, or should I call someone else?“ Dogma shrugged. „You are the general.“, he muttered and Ahsoka sighed, she shook her head. This would be some hard work. „And you have the right to say no.“, she countered and this time he actually smiled gratefully. „I know. Thanks sir.“ Footsteps sounded and Kix entered, carefully followed by Thud. Neither of them wore helmets. Ahsoka rose. „If you need anything, let me know.", she informed everyone and with a gentle smile she disappeared out into the corridor.

Dogma wasn't sure what to do with the situation. Tup, his batchmate, was gone. The world he had returned to seemed to be different from the one he had left. And Comm- General Tano was so much older! And calmer. And looking at Kix now was like looking into a different face than back then. The Medic had lost the hard pull on his mouth, instead fine lines had dug themselves around his eyes. They made him look tired and sad. It was all strange, but the hair was even stranger! Kix had ALWAYS found time to maintain his hairstyle. Why did he stop doing that? And he wasn't wearing blue, his armor was now adorned in bronze. „Dogma.“, the medic suddenly greeted and his soft voice tore Dogma from his thoughts. Had Kix always sounded so calm? He didn't know, had only spent time with him on the battlefield. „Sir...“, Dogma answered uncertainly and watched as Kix put down his backpack and came a little closer. „May I?“, he asked, Dogma couldn't remember the medics ever asking for his permission! He shrugged his shoulders a little and Kix sat down next to him on the uncomfortable cot, who had covered it with blankets?

Kix pulled his backpack towards him and opened it, rummaging around a little. When he looked up they both paused. No, these couldn't be tears. Medics didn't cry, Dogma was 100% sure of that. Right? And yet Kix's eyes shimmered suspiciously... „Kriff.“, Dogma muttered and hastily pressed his lips together again. Strictly speaking, Kix was ranked far above him. He had no right to speak so freely in front of him, that was wrong. But it had also been wrong to practically cling to his new general. Kix laughed dryly, ah. There was the trooper Dogma knew. „I'm so sorry.“, the medic sighed and rubbed his face with one hand before he called up the most important vitals of his patient with a small scanner. Dogma eyed him critically, he had never heard these words from Kix. Or even just thought that he would ever apologize for something...

Dogma did not find the capacity to do anything with this excuse. So he was silent and observed, before he had never taken the time for something like that. Just watch his brothers without a list of rules in the back of his mind. It was more interesting than had Dogma expected. Kix moved slowly but purposefully. Whenever he noted something on his datapad, he relaxed his jaw a little and every time he touched Dogma, he gritted his teeth. Dogma's gaze wandered aimlessly upwards, what was he actually doing here? Back then, just a few hours ago, so THEN... he had left the shuttle and accepted his death. And now he was sitting here!? „I think we got you back with no permanent damage... Maybe a little malnourished.“, Kix grumbled and Dogma nodded without really listening. „I'll see that he gets something nice.“, the other clone announced quietly, but Dogma winced violently nontheless. General Tano had brought two men here, but he had completely forgotten about the other clone next to Kix. „Dogma, this is Thud. Is it okay if he shows you your bunk?“, Kix asked carefully and Dogma took a few deep breaths, okay. Maybe a new face was good? He eyed Thud briefly, fine bronze stripes ran across his breastplate. The color of General Tano? Then he studied Thud's face and Dogma was surprised at how young he looked. Without the fine lines of worry and the shadows under his eyes, he looked years younger than Kix. His eyes seemed kind.

Dogma nodded and Kix seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, Thud smiled. When he reached out his hand to Dogma, he took it and let himself be carefully pulled to his feet. The world turned around him for a moment, then he caught himself and followed Thud out into the hallway. The cell block seemed unchanged, that was something at least. However, there was a lot more going on in the corridor than he expected. A few steps further he could see General Tano, she was standing close together with a soldier who Dogma did not know. But his ARC equipment and the blue handprint on a bronze background made it impossible, to oversee him. Ahsoka gave Dogma an encouraging look and the ARC next to her eyed him curiously, before he smiled encouragingly too. Dogma stared at her briefly and hesitated before nodding uncertainly in response. How else would you react when someone smiled at you like that? Except Tup, nobody had done that in a while. When Tano just kept watching him, Dogma turned and followed Thud.

On the way to the quarters, Dogma rarely let his gaze wander, most of the time he concentrated on Thud's back. That was easier, than to meet the eyes that followed him. So the hand came out of nowhere on his shoulder, he looked up frantically. Thud stopped and watched Appo take off his helmet with one hand and he grinned like a complete idiot.

Dogma just stood there, hands hanging uselessly, staring at Appo. He had never exchanged more than a few words with the other clone. What should he do now? „It's good to have you back.“, Appo smiled, squeezed his shoulder and then disappeared again with great strides. He turned the next corner. Appo was happy to see him again? Dogma blinked once, then twice. Had the others lost their minds? Nobody had ever been happy to see him again! Confused, he gave Thud a look, the younger clone smirked and then motioned for Dogma to follow him on. „Come on, Commander Rex has chosen a nice spot for you.“, he said in his soft voice and Dogma almost tripped over his own feet. The commander? Rex? Okay ... that was ... good. He remembered Rex as very headstrong but faithful. The rank of commander suited him, kind of.

He had just finished thinking when Thud stopped and opened the door to one of the quarters. Dogma looked up and met several smiling faces. He recognized one of them. „Welcome home.“, Burnes smiled and the corners of Dogma's mouth twitched up into a small smile, even as he lowered his eyes. Home huh? Even with Tup, it had been hard to feel at home anywhere. But when Thud grabbed his wrist and carefully pulled him into the room, he thought he could at least give this a chance.

[suca-loca]

it’s been a long year since we last spoke (how’s your halo?)

Read on Ao3

Words: 11.5k 

Tags: Hurt No comfort, Angst, No Happy Ending, No beta we die like Wilbur

Warnings: Body horror, Blood, Death, Suicidal Implications/Thoughts, Mentions Of Torture, Beating/Fighting

Author's Note: I tentatively present you all this fic as my ticket to board the Dream SMP Fandom. I took some creative liberties with this, such as hints of Niki and Wilbur being childhood friends, as well as Niki living near Techno's cabin, and making Niki respawning to restock her hunger bar during her spiraling/villain arc one of her canon deaths. Also, despite Niki wearing a new skin she has stated that her character still wears Wilbur's coat. Just adding that in here so people don't comment that I got her outfit wrong during a certain scene. And finally, even though I feel this is obvious, this is about the characters and not the streamers themselves. With that out of the way, enjoy the fic!

Summary: 

"Time down here is like stars, Niki. We're dead, dead for thousands of years, but to them," he points up, "we still shine. It'll take light years for them to realize they are staring at just a memory."

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry.

or; Niki tries, unwillingly may she add, the whole being dead thing. Oh, and Wilbur is there to "help"

The worst part about it is that Niki's whole life doesn't flash before her eyes. It doesn't happen in slow motion and neither is there some comforting, bright light for her to walk towards. It's simply this: one second she's at Church Prime and the next she's falling into pitch blackness.

Then again, she should have known better than to expect any of that dumb cliche stuff 'cause it's not like she died or anything. Not really. Her communicator may say she did, but she knows the truth. She was teleported.

So why does this feel like dying?

foolish girl breaking at the seams from using the same stitching of a burning flag to put yourself back together again. you think the afterlife cares how you arrive? the entry fee is the same for all

She comes in screaming and doesn't stop even when that's all she is anymore. Her body is unrecognizable to her, turned inside out, muscles stretching and bending and snapping in an attempt to mimic the shape she once was.

(She wishes her muscles luck in regressing back into a memory because oh primes, oh dear primes did she try, try again to be the girl wore a white and blue uniform with pride, but that girl only exists now in dreams and sometimes nightmares)

But they can't, for her organs and bones and flesh do not know what it means to not be confined (but they should know, they really should, because she still finds it hard to breath in small spaces ever since Schlatt caged her between iron bars and dirt and Sapnap left her in a hole in the ground over a fish) and so they shake. Convulsing and spasming until she is just sound, just an echo of shrieks that are happening in the past or the present or the future depending on how fast it travels down this tight, narrowed cave she lands in.

Wait, lands in?

She finds herself laying flat on the ground. She blinks. Then does it again for good measure to make sure she's not imaging having eyelids.

She touches her face. Feels the crook of her nose, the curve of her chin, and her soft round ears.

It's all skin. No muscle, no tissue, just her.

Still her.

(For now)

Her body is back. Not whole though - never whole - for she will always be a walking empty space within a solid object, but for now, her body is right. Her body is here. She closes her eyes in relief.

Someone is staring down at her when she opens them again.

"Hello Niki," Wilbur says. "It's been a while."

(It's Doomsday. His name shows up on your communicator and so you become a lit match. The fire eats you away just like the bark of a tree, like the walls of a bakery, two things you once loved most, and you're watching them both burn with his coat over your shoulders, which doesn't help you ignore who you must look like, who you're acting like, whose footsteps you're following in; and doesn't it hurt to know that what's before you isn't just a friend but a reflection?)

She's already scrambling back before she's even fully sat up.

She doesn't get very far, not with the way her wrists twist and bend before finally buckling under the pressure, and she can't find the strength to stand up and run. So all that's left to do is hyperventilate at the way his eyes land on her face, roaming, analyzing, absorbing, trying to read her like a book, unaware she's ripped out the pages long ago. At the way his shadow covers her and maybe once it felt like a blanket, but that time has passed, now all it is is heavy, suffocating, pinning her down. At the way he wears his Pogtopia outfit, pressed and cleaned when the last she saw of it it was covered in ash and black feathers and red, so much red.

But it never comes. In fact, her lungs don't move at all. Almost as if she doesn't need to breathe. As if she hasn't been breathing since she's been down here.

Is that why it was so easy to keep screaming?

"You're not here," she whispers. "Not really."

Wilbur tilts his head to the left.

(Does it in a way a predator would while observing its prey from afar, waiting for the right moment to strike)

"Oh? Where am I then, Niki?"

"My head," Niki responds, practically blurting it out. "Yeah - yeah, that's right. This is just my head playing tricks on me again. A horrible horrible trick, but that's all it is. I - I know it."

Wilbur hums. He sits down as if this will take a while. As if she won't blink and he'll be gone. "Well, that's a damn shame. I was hoping it'd be a beach. Mexican Dream has been talking a lot about La Jolla lately. Sounds like a nice place."

He smiles, suddenly.

(No, not smiles, more like baring his teeth. His very normal teeth that give off the impression that they should be very sharp and very large and very deep in her throat right now)

"Let's hope I don't blow it up."

(Niki is shouting for Wilbur over the chaos when her communicator pings in her pocket. It gets hard to breathe as she reads what it says, and it isn't because every inhale of smoke and pulverized concrete from the tumbling buildings poison her lungs. There's a ringing in her ears, and it isn't because of the TNT that just detonated in front of her. She feels broken, and it isn't because the force of the explosion knocks her back and she skitters across the field, hitting rocks and choking on dirt until she stops on her stomach, limbs bent at weird angles. Her communicator lands right beside her, the screen shattered and static flashing, but she can still catch glimpses of what is on the screen, as clear as day, like a taunt: WilburSoot was slain by Ph1lza)

Niki scrambles to her feet, presses herself as much as she can against the walls, and maybe, just maybe, she'll glitch and go through it and suffocate in a block.

She immediately throws herself away from it when she realizes what she just thought.

Wilbur stands with her. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he says. "I thought it would lighten up the mood. So, how are you?"

"How am I?" Niki echoes. "I'm imagining my dead best friend even though I thought I was getting better and I could have sworn I was, I was I swear I was, and this place, this place, I don't know where this is but it, it just feels - I don't even know why - so familiar and so - "

She pauses.

She looks around.

She was so busy panicking from Wilbur's presence that she never took in her surroundings. She stares at the smooth stone walls, the occasional hanging vines, the little aquarium in the corner right next to the entrance, and, finally, the stand. The stand with two signs on the front that read -

No. It can't be. It just can't.

She won't believe it until she's seen the whole thing.

She walks further in, each step hesitant.

And she notices the way everything around her seems so devoid of life. Almost colorless. Close to numb. She thinks it's her body shutting down, the stress finally getting to her, but no. This is worse. Something's going on. She doesn't know what it is exactly, but she knows it isn't her that's wrong here.

(This time)

Wilbur follows closely behind and, as if to prove her point, his footsteps sound muffled, distant, apart from him, like in the way you hear something underwater.

Maybe she is underwater because everything is getting blurry and her face feels wet.

(Or maybe the better comparison is like hearing something behind glass. She's been tapping against the window of a caravan for months as men in suits discuss a country she bled for just as much as them, if not more, without her. The tapping turns to banging, but it is not the glass that shatters. Not the glass that breaks)

She stills as she catches sight of the small wheat farm in the back room, dried and frail and unkempt.

(Like a flower shop)

It really is her bakery.

"No," she mumbles. Then, more stern, as if it'll blow this place away, as Wilbur should have done the first time. "No no no no this can't… this can't be true. I, I shouldn't be here I - it doesn't make any sense, how how how - "

She whirls on Wilbur, the tears coming in waves now. "What are you doing to me?"

(It's his fault she's back here. It has to be, he's the reason you wanted to burn the memories why this is all gone why this should be gone why isn't this gone gone gone gone)

foolish girl who has become like the nation she despises, you are a crater, there is a hole inside of you where a soul once was and it was caused by your own hands because the only destruction you're good at is your own. you couldn't even kill a child with a nuke, so what makes you think you can end a small room on the side of some hill?

"What do you see?" Wilbur says, and the voice in her head disappears. She can't remember what it said. She shakes her head as if the words will fall out her ears.

Suddenly she can't remember why she's shaking her head.

Her next words come out frail.

"My… my bakery. But how? This shouldn't be possible I, I destroyed it - I - "

"Limbo is different for everybody," Wilbur interjects. "For me, it's a train station."

"Limbo? What are you talking about? What is going on? I was nowhere near L'manburg I was - " Niki's mind blanks.

(Smooth quartz all around her and she feels safe there, that she remembers because there is no killing here, the one place bloodshed does not haunt her, and then crushing disappointment that turns into actual crushing as her body gets shredded, mangled, undone like a ribbon except it does not look pretty)

Wilbur gives her a slicing smile. It cuts her down. "This is the afterlife, Niki."

She blinks. She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted to the spot. "What?"

"The afterlife," he continues, eyes sparkling. "Hell. The void. Eternal darkness. Whatever you wanna call it. I call it home."

"Home?" She repeats, shakily.

foolish girl with no place, no one to call home because she's an expert at finding comfort in things that don't stay, of course he sees this place as home. Although if he really wanted to surround himself in emptiness so bad then he just needed to wait a few months for you to become just that

"I'm not dead," she mutters. She attempts to laugh, because if she laughs then this will sound like a joke. Wilbur would joke about such a thing. After all, he poked fun at exploding L'manburg just a while ago. So of course this is a joke. It has to be. It is, and she will not allow her breakdown to be the punchline.

At Wilbur's unflinching smile she says it again, with more conviction. "I'm not!"

"How else do you think you're talking to me? How your bakery is still in one piece? Sorry to be your grim reaper Niki, but you're dead. And now you're here, in the afterlife, with me!" He leans in close, close enough that she should feel his breath on her.

There is nothing. He is nothing.

(And maybe, so is she)

"Isn't that great? We're together again! You and me, just like the old days. And look," His eyes glance at what she wears. It's the coat. Specifically, Wilbur's coat, wrapped around her shoulders.

"We're even matching," he coos.

She thinks she might scream.

She throws herself away from him, almost throws the coat too, but into the furnace next to her.

('I gotta burn the memories I need to destroy it I need to destroy it I need to destroy it,' she once screamed to no one but herself. History repeats itself)

How she ever found comfort in this ratty, old coat she'll never know. And she'll never care to find out. Not when Wilbur is acting like this, like before, like a loose city wire, all dangerous and unpredictable, each word an electric spark, and Niki is trying not to get stung. She remembers how that story ended.

But her's will not end. Not yet.

"I can't be dead," she argues. "I don't remember that I would remember something like that so I - I can't be dead, and I have two lives left so, no, no I can't be I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and I'm in bed I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and you're not real, just a nightmare. I'm alive I'm alive I'm - "

"It's really me, Niki," Wilbur says, and the fire from the furnace roars in response as if his words fan the flames. It's the first time something in this wicked place has felt alive. "In the flesh. Or, rather, a close imitation of it. I think my corpse must have liquified by now, swelling up for months before bursting open, leaving nothing but a skeleton behind. What about you? What did you leave for them to find?"

She covers her ears. "Stop! Stop it stop it stop it!"

"Remember it. Remember your last moments."

"Wilbur, please - "

"Feel your wrist," he says. No, orders. And she does. Because she, at her core, is still his soldier.

(She says that she is loyal to him and he responds by saying he wants her to be loyal to L'manburg. She remembers being confused, for she saw them both as the same. Wilbur is L'manburg and L'manburg is Wilbur, one cannot coexist without the other. A few months later, amongst the wreckage of her nation and a father's anguished screams, she'll realize too little too late how true her statement holds)

She doesn't find her heartbeat.

For a second she thinks she made a mistake. That she has her fingers in the wrong place, but no. A soldier knows where to look for life so that they may snuff it out. She can't be making a mistake.

Still, she presses her fingers down, harder this time, nails first, that blood draws, and sobs as she's still met with nothing.

She has no heartbeat.

She is dead.

She chokes. She clutches her chest, not because it hurts to know what she lacks in her chest, but because she remembers. Remembers it so intently, remembers it happening in the snap of a finger, literally, from a smiling God (and maybe it is quite a fitting end, for she goes out the same way she lived, giving second chances to men who don't deserve it) and how the world tilted as the ground slipped away.

But what's worse is the realization that comes after.

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find," she says.

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find because I didn't die," she says again, but weaker. More horrified. "I was teleported. I was on the holy lands when - "

"Teleported?' Wilbur interrupts. His features, just a second ago, eccentric and mad, turn curious. "Wait wait wait, hold on a second, are you telling me you were sent to Hell, Hell, on the fucking Holy Lands? "

Niki weakly nods.

It goes silent.

Suddenly, a snort. A snort that does not sound like it once did, back before the war for independence, before the election, before banishment, before it all, when all there was was a caravan and the worst of their worries was getting Sapnap a vegan hotdog. It's meaner, more shrill, and laced with a madness that seems to roll off his tongue so easily nowadays.

If she weren't watching how hard Wilbur's shoulders shake she'd have never guessed such a sound would come from him.

But there's something else about this snort that chills her to the core. Although she never could have imagined it coming from Wilbur doesn't mean she hasn't heard this kind of laugh before.

It's almost breathless, almost like something left on a stove, steaming, almost like the sound of  -

(Dream and Wilbur worked together, both wanted L'manburg gone, both almost killed a kid, both cut off attachments, both lost trust in others, all things Niki has done too, and if Niki is like Wilbur and Wilbur is like Dream then that means - )

(No. Please, no)

"That is -," Wilbur wheezes, wiping away a tear. "That is horribly ironic."

"DreamXD!" She shouts, head tilted up. "Take me back! Take me back right now!"

Wilbur shakes his head. "Oh, no need to try that. I've been there. The whole shouting for help thing? Yeah, will do you no good. No one can hear you down here."

"DreamXD! I'm here!"

"Scream all you want, prime knows you don't need to breathe down here so nothing's stopping you from doing it for forever, but when your screams are all you hear for eternity… well, it'll drive any person mad."

"DreamXD," she shrieks. And her lungs don't shake, don't even give a small quiver, she knows it. Nothing in her does, for the gears don't need to be turning to keep this machine of a body that's been on autopilot since an explosion knocked her off her feet alive anymore. "Please!"

"You stop talking after a few years of just endless screaming for your voice becomes a reminder of your entrapment. But then the silence itself, after a few years, is unbearable. Yet you don't dare speak or make any noise, so it's just madness of a new kind."

She pushes her way past him and makes her way to the exit of her bakery. "I - I liked the magic trick, DreamXD! I really did! You - you can teleport me back now!"

"Too scared to make a noise, but too scared to keep quiet. So you stand still. Your body deteriorates, muscles numb from lack of use, and all you do is use your nails to scratch marks onto the walls to mark how many years have passed since… since absolutely nothing."

She stills. She slowly turns around.

(L'manburg is surrounded by a wall. A wall so mighty and tall she never thought she'd see the day it'd be torn down, much less by its own inhabitants. But this wall right here, the one between her and this old friend, this is a wall that will never meet the same end as its predecessor)

"Wilbur," she whispers. "What do you mean by years?"

Silence.

Wilbur has a far-away look in his eye.  

(That look was born in a dirt hole on the side of a small hill and Niki doesn't learn that lesson for she builds her bakery in a similar place. Two places, so small, so cramped, started with hope, have become their worst downfalls, their unfinished symphonies. She parallels him in all the wrong ways)

"Time down here is like stars, Niki. We're dead, dead for thousands of years, but to them," he points up, "we still shine. It'll take light years for them to realize they are staring at just a memory."

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry. She was paralyzed before but now, with fear pumping through her veins, she runs. Fear is a more dependent motivator than strength or bravery could ever be, for fear, unlike any other heroic emotion, can't be beaten out of you. Can't be threatened out of you by a friend on your birthday as you try to stop him from pressing a button. Fear only grows, like a weed, you can try to get rid of it all you want, but it multiplies the more you struggle.

She finally gets to the exit, nearly throwing herself at it, only to find a stone wall staring back at her. It's been cemented shut.

She's trapped.

(She is in a cage, a zoo animal for Manburg citizens to point and laugh at. It is cramped, it is humiliating, and it is her home, her everything in wake of becoming nothing to people she once considered friends, Schlatt tells her. Until Quackity frees her. But there is no one to free her now. Except herself)

She pulls up her sleeves and begins mining with her bare hands.

She's been torn apart before, but at least it was quick. This, the way her flesh slowly peels off at each scratch is its own kind of torture. Not because it's painful, but the torture in knowing what you're willing to do to yourself just to see the sky again.

She keeps going.

(She does not throw up at the sight of chunks of flesh dangling where nail once was because she is a soldier and she has seen worse. Seen a child trapped in a box screaming for help and she's unfortunate enough to have a seat in the splash zone. Helped patch up Ponk's wound where his arm should be, afraid she might lose him to blood loss because whoever chopped his arm off didn't cut across the joint to avoid the bone and therefore had to hack again and again and again to get through the bone. Sewed Fundy's head back together from when Schlatt beat him over the scalp with a beer bottle before dying in the caravan; it took a couple of hours to finish because his fur made it hard to spot the bits of glass sticking out his skin. This is not the first or last time she will wash blood off her clothes, she just has to hope it will continue to be someone else's and not her own)

Wilbur comes up beside her. He doesn't even try to stop her, much less flinch at all the red on the wall. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Tommy did."

She snaps her head to him, her clawing ceasing. "Tommy was here?"

He nods. "Arrived a few years ago. I have to admit, when a space opened up here I thought it would be him again, not you. Not that I'm complaining. Don't get me wrong he's a good kid but, well, you know how Tommy gets."

(Everyone you've ever hated, everyone you've ever sworn to end; Schlatt, Tommy, and although you do not hate Wilbur or Jack you're relationship with them is complicated because they remind you of when you spiraled, you lot are all connected now, bound together from sharing the similar experience of death. She can never separate herself from them. Will be rever grouped in with the people she can't stand most)

"How long was Tommy here for?" She asks softly.

Wilbur clicks his tongue. "Two months I think."

She closes her eyes.

(She wanted to look deep into the crater Tubbo's nuke made and confuse Tommy's charcoal, burnt body for obsidian. She wanted to catch Tommy's choked last breaths in a bottle and get drunk on it every night. She wanted to leave spruce wood on his grave as a sort of flag marking her latest conquest. She wanted to stop thinking that if Wilbur was wrong for believing in Tommy then that means he might have been wrong for believing in her)

She doesn't want Tommy dead anymore and although they're still not friends even she wouldn't wish this on him.

"Two months," she says, and it sinks in.

Is that how long she'll have to wait until someone comes looking for her?

That is if someone even cares to look.

(Puffy doesn't respond to any of her messages after their first date. She turns Jack away when he tries to pull her back into the obsession of caving Tommy's head in. Everyone grieving L'manburg remembers her setting L'mantree aflame. Anyone in the Eggpire is too far gone to even care about themselves. She doesn't have a Tubbo. Isn't anyone's disk. She's just Niki, forgotten, ignored Niki, the first ghost of the server before Ghostbur. Why spare a glance at someone transparent? Someone, not all there?)

No one will come for her.

Wilbur cracks his fingers, and Niki winces, for her bones are still on flesh display and slowly repairing. "Well, now that we've played twenty questions let's move on to a new game. You up for some solitaire?"

She rises to her feet and numbly nods. She might as well have something to do to, to try and prevent the inevitable insanity with a card game.

Might as well accept her fate.

Wilbur reaches into his pocket and pulls out the cards. He sits down on the ground. "Sorry," he says. "I'd offer we play on a table but there are no tables in a train station and I doubt your bakery has one either." He hands her half of the deck. "Help me set it up."

But Niki doesn't take them, for she's focused on the word table because -

(There's a table, a weird table, made up of this block she's never seen before. It's sponge-like, with a hole on top decorated by a blueish-green frame, and she's about to ask where they found it when Phil suddenly apologizes for exploding her bakery. At her shocked expression, he explains he'd like to air out all possible tensions before starting their first-ever official Syndicate meeting so that no past grievances keep them from working as an effective team. Techno merely snorts, saying it's not their fault her bakery was on government land, and Phil responds by shooting him a glare fit for his title as Angel of Death. She'd have laughed, she'd have cried because such a look was once how Phil got Wil to eat his vegetables if it weren't for the fact she tells them they have nothing to apologize for. Tells them she left the oven on the day before the attack and by next sunrise, it was already burnt to the ground. Ranboo doesn't blink once from where he sits across from her as she talks. She sees in his eyes that day, how her laughs and her wails blend in with the chaos around her, as if it belongs there, as if she is one with it. And maybe she is, for the fire that consumes her bakery grows and grows and grows but Niki just gets smaller and smaller and smaller as if she has to sacrifice bits of herself to keep the fire going. Perhaps she is, for every monster requires an offering, and her bakery is that. A representative of the old her burning alive to make room for the new, merciless, unhinged her. Good. She looks down at the flint and steel in her hand and in the reflection of the metal she sees a boy with mismatched eyes standing behind her, staring. And then he takes out his book and writes. It feels like Ranboo has placed a noose around her neck. The memory fades and she holds her breath. She waits for him to say something, to call out her lie. This time, Ranboo undoes the knot. He looks away)

Because she needs to tell Ranboo she appreciated his silence that day. Needs to joke about how all this snow reminds her of an ice cream shop and watch Ranboo nervously laugh as she lightheartedly punches him on the shoulder.

Because she needs to know how that story Phil was telling her about his adventures with Techno on another server, something about an Antarctic Empire, ends. Needs to feed the crows with him to make sure he doesn't stare at their wings for too long.

Because she needs to braid Techno's hair one last time while they talk about how pink is clearly the superior hair color. Needs to thank Techno for giving her these becauses, for they wouldn't exist in the first place had he not offered her a place in the Syndicate.

Ironically enough, she always knew she'd die before she could give back all that she owed them. But only because what she owed them was too long a list, too difficult to be expressed in any way that captured what they deserved.

(Somewhere, in a snow biome, there is a family. They're different from each other, too different at times, and yet Ranboo and Techno could wear each other crowns, each fitting perfectly on their heads and no one would know of the switch, except for Phil of course. Right now they're probably looking at their comms around the dinner table, confused by the last message. 'Nihachu fell from a high place.' They aren't worried. Not yet. But in a couple of days, months for her, they'll start to pace. Phil will stand at the edge of the roof, ready to step off, only to remember he doesn't have wings, can't look for her high up in the sky like he used to when she was a kid. Ranboo will force himself through experiments, lose sleep, break himself in, trying to learn how to teleport so as to cover ground faster in the search, to do more than just let his powers go to waste when they could be what brings her home. Techno will grab her rainbow sweater and put it to Steve's snout, but the trail will go cold every time until eventually all of Niki's clothes don't smell like her anymore. They'll do this every day. Nothing will change but their hope, dwindling away each day. So will they just stare at that last message, her unintentional goodbye, looking for some sort of explanation? For some secret message? Some coordinates until they go mad? They won't think she's dead until they've found a body. Won't stop looking, won't leave a corner of the server untouched. Won't stop till they have something to bury)

She can't do that to them.

She slaps the cards out of Wilbur's hands.

"No," she growls, trying to sound tough and less like a kid throwing a tantrum. Perhaps slapping the cards away was not the best start. "I am not going to waste my time playing Solitaire when I could be spending it finding a way back home. And I will if it's the last thing I do."

Wilbur frowns. Niki has the inkling suspicion it has more to do with the cards being all scattered about than from her declaration. "There is no 'last thing I do anymore.' You dying was the last thing you'll ever do. All you have now is this. This is your forever. Our forever."

She turns away from him, just for a second. Away from the sight of his furrowed brows and the crinkles in the space between them where her index finger would go to poke as she teased him. Away from the scrunch of his nose she would joke made him and Techno finally look like twins. Because despite everything, despite all the months that have settled into their bones since the last they saw each other and the wars they've fought on land and in their minds, it's still Wilbur's face. But only in the physical sense. After that, he stops being her Wilbur.

This would be so much easier if his face had physically morphed into a stranger, to prove to her how much he's changed, what he's become over the months, is not all in her head.

Somehow, she finds a way to start.

"You know, not too long ago I'd have stayed with you here. I wouldn't have even put up a fight. I'd have just laid down, closed my eyes, and let the vines on these walls grow over my body until I was just moss. I was… I was so tired, Wilbur. A part of me always will be. I understood. I finally got why you acted the way you did. There was a time I was on half a heart and instead of eating I would - "

Her body begins to shake so hard she almost expects to look down and she cracks in the ground from an incoming earthquake. The only cracks see she's are her own.

She can't say it. Not like that. Not yet.

" - I would respawn to restock the hunger bar," Niki chokes out instead.

(She respawns with dried blood on the back of her head and bones still rattling from the fall. Along her jutting spine, in an almost perfectly straight line that could be confused for an unkempt path lost to weeds and drought, are bruises. She doesn't feel them. All she feels is the urge to do it again)

She blinks and her hand is in her hair, looking for the bump. She pulls her hand away as if it's a hot furnace. "But I can't stay. Things have changed. I've changed. This is not the first time something dark has tried to consume me, but I can't let it win this time. I can't let this place turn me numb and unhinged, or worse, content. Not when I have people to go home to. Not when - "

She looks down at her hand, the one that traced her scalp, and sees it has clenched into a fist.

(At the count of three, Niki throws rock. She groans as she notices all the other hands make paper. Ranboo and Techno exhale as if the losing sentence wasn't shoveling the front lawn, but death. Or worse, going shopping with Phil for a refrigerator to put in the Syndicate meeting room. Ranboo lost that one. Niki points at Techno's hooves and says it's cheating since they can't ever tell which shape he chooses. She demands a rematch with the same tone one uses to declare war. A few minutes later, they're shouting, going over the rules of rock, paper, scissors, and they only stop when Phil comes home and pulls out the dad voice. They begrudgingly agree to do a rematch another time, once they've cooled down. That was yesterday)

She holds her fist close to her heart. The hand was never her rock, it was always three men in a snowy cabin, handing her a mug of hot cocoa. "Not when I have a lawn to shovel."

Silence.

Then, Wilbur sighs. "You know," he says. He places his arms behind him and leans back to get a better look at her. Somehow, even on the ground, he looks to hold all the power. "Years ago your determination would have been a sight for sore eyes, but here's a reality check. I've been here for almost a dozen years. Eleven years of letting the passing train rip right through me in the hopes it would send me to another layer of hell or maybe propel, heck, even drag my body to the next station. But every time I'd wake up back in the train station as if nothing had happened. Like my body breaking under the wheels was nothing."

He is an avalanche, growing and picking up speed with each word, and Niki realizes, too little too late, she's about to be buried alive. She tries to step back, but Wilbur is up quick and approaching. "There is no escape. The limbo is our stage and we have our lines, our cues, but we do not have a curtain call. We just keep going and going, an endless loop. You can't not play your part. It won't let you."

"I have to at least try," she says.

"Why? What's the point? They'll never know you tried."

Her fear turns to disgust. "Is that why you think I'll try? For the sole reason that one day they'll know what I've done for them? That's far from the truth."

(People built statues of Tommy, for all he's done, for all the influence he had on this server. Niki knows they will not give her the same treatment. But that's fine, more than fine. All she needs is a grave in the snow, beside a little cabin)

She didn't want to look at Wilbur's face before, but now, glaring at him straight on, all she sees staring back is Phil.

The day they found out Wilbur didn't inherit Phil's immortality was the day Phil looked like he should, centuries-old instead of thirty-three, the age when angels stop physically aging. Niki will never forget how deep the lines on Phil's face ran. They might as well have been cracks. And maybe it was, for Phil was breaking as he held his dying son - not dying now, but for an immortal, every second a mortal breathes is just inevitable death - in his arms.

But what still haunts Niki the most after all these years are his eyes. They carried the weight of the world in them. She could feel it, even now, pressing down on her shoulders. All the wars, the fall of cities, the birth of them, children with big smiles and even bigger graves.

Niki was not a soldier yet. She was just a nine-year-old girl who wanted to sleep over at her best friend's house.

She threw up in their sink and they mistook it as her reaction to the news. She didn't correct them.

The only reason she slept easy that night was from the knowledge she would never see those eyes on Wilbur's face. And yet, lo and behold, here it is, like a punch to the gut.

Except now, Niki has had time to numb herself to it. It's hard to get surprised by such a dead look when it's on the face of your roommate.

(Phil's screech - no, not a screech, a caw, high pitched and grief-stricken - is like an alarm clock. Except, instead of Niki waking up to the rising sun outside her window, it's to moonlight and blinking stars. This is the fifth time this month she's met Ranboo and Techno outside Phil's cabin, armed to the teeth, ready for war. The door creaks open, loudly, but they don't wince, for they know it won't wake him. Nothing really does when he's in this state, except for one thing. Techno holds him down and it's weird, will always be weird, to see Techno use such force, such retaliation, on Phil of all people, and then Phil nearly throws Techno through the wall with just a brush of his fingers, and she remembers it's necessary. This isn't Phil they're dealing with, it's the Angel of Death. It takes a while until Techno can get all of the Angel's limbs down, but even then they know it won't last long, and that's when Niki throws a slowness potion on him. Ranboo, meanwhile, turns around all the photos of Wilbur in the room, a safe distance away. They told him it's best he handles that since he's built like a stick, putting him anywhere near a powerful avian would be an accident waiting to happen. It definitely has nothing to do with them freezing up whenever they see Wilbur's smiling face, all happy, and so very alive. Phil's movements turn sluggish as the potion kicks in and Niki holds his face, murmurs soft words, and Techno gives his own weird, but comforting, comments. Something about how Phil can't afford to lose sleeping beauty to these night terrors, what with his old age. Niki snorts. Phil's eyes open immediately. Phil sucks in a sharp breath, like he's forgotten how to breathe, his fist clenching and unclenching. The eyes are back. Based on Techno's face Niki knows then she's not the only person that has seen them. They look at each other, nod, and hold him as he cries. They don't need to ask. There's only one person that could cause such a look. They force Ranboo, who is awkwardly standing to the side, to join. Eventually, they break apart, and Techno coughs. He says he hates them for making this all emotional and bans such an awkward event from ever happening again. And yet, when Phil keeps waking up with eyes too dark around the corners, Techno is there. And so is she and Ranboo)

She will not be the reason Phil's eyes age another year.

"It's about Phil, Techno, and Ranboo deserving someone who will never stop trying to find their way back to them," she says, with conviction. "I'm sorry you're too twisted to see not all actions stem from reward or acknowledgment."

She expects a laugh, a glimpse at his forked tongue spewing words so sweet she could use them as sugar in her desserts, only to take a bite and realize it was salt all along. But what she gets is silence. The type of silence before a storm.

"Phil?" Wilbur whispers.

Niki closes her eyes.

She should have never said their names.

She also should have never opened her eyes again, because Wilbur is looking more like Phil each second. Not because of the eyes. No, worse. Because she sees a boy, a boy with his arms spread open wide and flapping about in an attempt at mimicking his father's wings, and they're both running around in circles in the backyard as he tells her how she'll never have to walk anywhere ever again. He'll carry her when she's tired, when she's not tired, whenever she wants wherever she wants. They stop running around in circles flapping their arms when too much time has passed and his wings still haven't grown in, but the acceptance that it never would did.

She blinks and the memory is gone. Slipping through her fingers like sand.

"How is he?" Wilbur says. His voice wavers a bit. He hides it quickly with a cough, but Niki catches it. Niki thought she always would.

(But then a button was pressed and she realized just how untrue that was)

Niki hesitates. She thinks about the night terrors again. She almost mentions them but falters as she remembers Ranboo telling her how it was Phil who gave him a place to stay after L'manburg was blown up for the last time. How as Technoblade hibernates there's a blanket over his shoulders that wasn't there before and a stick missing from the fireplace. How he always places Niki's plate of breakfast down before the others, as if he knows of her first canon death.

He is a kind man, but that is not why he does these things.

"He misses being a father," she settles on.

Wilbur's shoulders slump. Somewhere, in a different life, Niki's hand is there, squeezing comfortingly. "Is he… is he mad at me?"

"No." She answers quickly. "He's just tired, Wilbur. We all are."

Wilbur laughs. It sounds defeated. Mournful. "Understatement of the fucking year."

He slumps against the wall and Niki is sure it's the only thing keeping Wilbur on his feet. His head hits the smooth stone when he suddenly throws his head back and laughs. Niki doesn't know if she winces from the loud crack the impact makes or from the shrill, unhinged laugh.

"I told him to kill me," Wilbur chuckles. His eyes are blinking rapidly. "I told him to fucking kill me."

(The diamond sword has collected dust. Sometimes, everyone jokes, Phil looks like he has to. Playful teasing about how he's a walking antique that should be displayed in a museum. Phil always laughs them off. But it's moments when he stands too still, alone in his thoughts for too long, that Niki wants to put him behind glass with signs that say 'do not touch,' because all it takes is one gust of wind for an artifact to shatter. But that is no way to live and Phil is not so easily breakable. Worn down a bit, rusted from the loss throughout the eons, yes -  who hasn't on this forsaken server? -  but not breakable)

Niki thinks she might throw up. "I know."

Wilbur looks at her. His eyes are red, but there are no tears. "You said you understood me. You get why I had to ask him to do it."

"Wilbur - "

" - And so you also understand why you have to stay here."

"What?"

"We've changed Niki," Wilbur starts. "For the worse. Don't you feel it? How that server has destroyed every cell in our body? A slow painful death eating us from the inside out until we've just withered away into someone new, someone unrecognizable?"

(Niki feels she's in a never-ending house of mirrors. Constantly encircled by reflections that are her and not her staring back, each representing different points in her life. Some are unrecognizable, stretched, or squished beyond identification, like a fuzzy memory of a girl carrying a backpack, skipping down a path she was told by a best friend would lead to a nation with yellow and black walls. Some are too terrifying, demonizing her features, giving her slits for eyes and claws for nails holding flint and steel over TNT. All of them she wants to smash)

Wilbur either ignores the horrified expression on her face or doesn't see it. "We killed our old selves as a sacrifice, an offering, to the monster we saw lurking in the edges of our mind. And once you let the monster in there's no going back. All we know from then on is to destroy, to rip apart all we once held dear with no remorse until there's just ash and dust. We thrive, no, revel in it."

(Nemesis, she names herself. Goddess of divine retribution and revenge. Maybe that's who Niki sacrifices herself to. Why she felt such an attachment to the name. A remorseless Goddess said to have led Narcissus to a pool, knowing full well he'd be too captivated to leave his reflection for food or warmth. He died there. It's no coincidence a few weeks before she lived the story herself, leading Tommy to his death in the form of a hot blast of air at the speed of light and seeing it as justice)

"I'm not having this conversation with you," she says, voice shaking. She whirls around, nearly tripping over her feet, fully willing to ignore him as she looks for an exit.

But his next words make her go still.

"Phil didn't know what I'd become. That's why he had to be the one to do it."

She winces. "Don't."

"He didn't even pull out the sword, his arms were too busy holding me, holding me, as if the shape of me still fit against his chest even though I felt so hollow, so much thinner - "

"Wilbur - "

" - he stroked my hair too. Even though it was dirty and unkempt and a mess like everything else about me and I'm pretty sure his fingers got stuck a few times he just wouldn't stop untangling each knot with such care and precision that I remembered my last thought being - "

"Wilbur - "

" - could he have brushed away all the knots and twists in my soul like this? Cleaned me up on the inside like he's doing on the outside? I thought I went crying, Niki. Maybe I did. I'll never know because all I felt was his tears ricocheting on my face - "  

"Stop - "

" - he tries to wipe them off. He's cursing at himself, apologizing profusely through hiccuping sobs and, and I don't understand why he's so sorry when it feels like, like when he'd lick his fingers and scrub the grimes of our faces after we played outside too long. Do you remember that Niki - "

"I don't wanna - "

" - because I do. We'd screech so loud, saying it was disgusting and unsanitary as we slapped his hand away and ran, but he'd always catch us a second later because of his wings. I don't wanna run away this time. I'm relishing it, craving every stroke because I'm starting to go cold - "

"Please - "

" - and I wish you weren't teleported here. I wish you had died instead - "  

"Wil - "

" - so you would know, so we could relate to what it feels like for the limbo to claim you. To mark you. It's like, it's like being mutilated over and over again. A mallet to your bones, a hole in your brain, everything from your skin to your tendons unraveling before you - "

"Wil listen - "

" - spilling out and about like confetti, and you, you are confetti! You're shredded pieces, everywhere and nowhere all at once, and just as the mangling begins it stops, replaced by the limbo trying to put you, no, force you back together again. It's the same sensation, but in reverse, almost a loop, a tunnel with no light at the end, and all you can do is scream  - "

"WILBUR SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!"

Something shatters

Wilbur falls silent.

Niki looks down. There is a puddle, slowly growing at her feet. She looks to her left. Her hand has punched through the aquarium. Blood trickles down her hand, some get over the glass. She doesn't pull her hand away.

"You never listen," she mumbles, but it seems so loud to her ears. "No one does. No one wants to. I talk and I talk and I talk and yet no response. Not even from the wind. I am a voice box stuck on rewind, repeating myself as life moves on without me."

Niki can hear her voice ring down the bakery, bouncing around with nowhere to settle. Until it does, in Niki's chest, rattling, crackling like a fuse has been lit, and perhaps it has, for her anger feels sizzling. "You used to always say how words were powerful. How they could stop wars, how they could build nations." She lets out a laugh. It burns her throat. "But what would I know?! You and everyone else never gave me a chance to use my voice! Always talking over me whatever chance you could. Even before Pogtopia you walked all over me! Even when I was screaming at top of my lungs you'd - "  

She gasps. The glass presses deeper into her skin as her hand trembles. She does not feel it. "Oh primes, oh primes Wil, didn't you hear my screams? I came here screaming, Wil. I, I do know what it feels like for the void to take you. I still feel it, even now, why, why do I still feel it - "

Wilbur staggers to his feet, so quick he promptly falls. He catches himself halfway on Niki's wrist.

His hand scratches on the glass. He doesn't even flinch. Their blood mixes.

(They are one)

He doesn't even grip too tight, and yet it hurts. Stings. "You do understand," he grins. Wide, too wide for his face, that she almost expects his nose and eyes to sink into his skin to make more room. "You do, you do oh thank primes. I'm not alone in this. I've been alone for so long but now, now you're here and you understand! Oh, Niki, I'm so happy you're here."

"You're… happy, I'm here?" She mutters. "You're happy I'm dead?"

He nods frantically. "It's more than that Niki," he says. "DreamXD, whoever that man is, he's my hero for sending you here."

(Parallels between Wilbur and Dream and her and now Wilbur and Dream and DreamXD no no no she can't be them she can't she can't she won't she won't - )

"You don't mean it," she cries. "You don't mean that Wil. Say you don't mean it."

The grin, somehow, becomes wider. She realizes then his eyes don't have to disappear. They're already gone. Replaced by a black hole, too dark in the corners and its gravitational pull making it hard to look away even though she knows staring at it too long will get her sucked into an endless void.

He leans in close like he's sharing a secret. "I only wish he had sent you here sooner."

(Wilbur's life, Niki is realizing, is like a house of mirrors too. Except Wilbur has smashed every mirror. No, actually, not true. Niki sees, if she squints, that Wilbur has abandoned the sledgehammer and is observing a still intact mirror. He didn't keep the mirror depicting a little boy sitting on the steps of a home, their home, trying to play a song and failing because the guitar is too big for his body, but he refuses to buy a smaller one because "this is my Dad's guitar Niki! So, therefore, it's by default the best guitar in the world". Or the one of a father panting heavily on a couch, cursing his human legs while Niki is doubled over laughing because there is a baby fox is running on all fours around the house at 45 miles per hour who doesn't want to be put to bed. Nor the one of a leader, handing out purpose and meaning in the form of a blue and white uniform with a soft smile. No, it's the one of a man who's just pressed a button. Who long before L'manburg's destruction, always felt like he was breathing in smoke, but now kept warm by the ash and dust of his nation flying up to the red sky, it feels - for the first time in a long time - easier to breathe. Niki can't believe he didn't destroy it. He's… preserving it. Why is he preserving this version of himself of all things?)

foolish girl with dreams for a better nation, better server, better future, too much better somethings, you've ruined reality for no one but yourself. think for once about what is and not what was or could have been. he is different. changed for the worse. he's preserving it because he doesn't care about you. can't you see how happy he is over your death? how there's light in his eyes for the first time over yours being snuffed out? how he shows no sympathy in your entrapment here, forever away from Techno, Phil, and Ranboo because it benefits him. so give in and fight fight fight fight

She sees red.

Her fist collides with Wilbur's nose.

She doesn't even wait to hear the crack before she's already reeling back her arm for the next hit.

This time she aims for the jaw. She feels something split. It could be Wilbur's lip or bone. Maybe her mind. She doesn't know and she doesn't care.

What she does know is how familiar this is, having something break under her knuckles. It's easy, familiar even, throwing punch after punch, like some sort of autopilot response. Perhaps it is, for every punch is instinctive, out of body almost. No longer is there a before in the blows, only an after.

Except, that's not true. Not entirely. Because Niki is realizing why there is no before. Because before each blow there is always a struggle from your opponent. Flailing limbs trying to make contact with something, choked wheezes, an attempt to curl into a ball, and, sometimes, begging.

Wilbur does none of that. He's silent the whole time.

It's almost like he takes it willingly.

clever girl with hands too bruised, too scarred, too violent to ever be held so gently. a finger trained to pull the trigger is not meant to bear a promise ring. who's fault do you think that is? you've held back for so long, don't stop now. so give in and get revenge revenge revenge revenge

A swing at his eye. A swift kick to the ribs. A fistful of his hair so tight she could yank his scalp off if she twisted her wrist just so.

It's all a flurry of movements really, too fast for even her own eyes to catch. Half of the time she's lost on where the hits land, totally dependent on wherever the blood leaks the most and the bruises that weren't there a second ago to tell her. Eventually, the damage starts to blur, too much of his face has swelled up to spot any new marks and too many limbs bend at weird angles to differentiate what is and isn't broken, so she stops trying to guess.

Which is why she doesn't know which strike finally gets Wilbur to fall, all she knows is that he does. He doesn't even sway. One second he's on his feet and the next he's on his back.

It's kinda pathetic really, that this was her general.

For a second he's still, too still, and then he spits out a tooth. He licks his gums with a grimace, looking for the gap before finally speaking.

"I see Technoblade's been training you. Do you feel better now?"

clever girl who's seen her fair share of men with livewire tongues, spitting rogue sparks at your skin in the form of harsh words to quiet you down. do not be silenced once more. you let him speak before and it cost you a nation. this time silence him, and I will secure you a limbo without him. so give in and maim maim maim maim

She screams. She thinks she does. It's hard to tell over the deep reverberated banging of Wilbur's head against the stone floor.

The first slam simply causes blood to trickle down his forehead.

The second one caves in the front of his scalp.

The third one he's unrecognizable.

The fourth one there's nothing left to bash.

She keeps going anyway.

"Shut up," she pants between each crack and occasional splat. "Shut up shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP."

Wilbur tries to say something. All that comes out is a gurgle, wet and sharp and loud. So very loud. And it keeps going, stringing along and along and along longer than the large chunks of skin and brain on the pavement. It shouldn't be possible, his mouth, along with everything else, is practically gone. Nothing but a small pit inside a bigger pit.

Yet it continues, getting increasingly louder in pitch.

And then she gets it.

He's scared.

clever girl of never-ending war zones, jumping from one horror to the next. this is the last one. and I know that's been said before but you can trust me. just end it and you can finally rest. wouldn't that be nice? so give in and kill kill kill kill kill

She smiles. It hurts her face.

She picks his head up from the ground one last time. She's humming, like a lullaby. Maybe it is. She's putting the baby to sleep. She knows he can't die again, but wherever he goes after this, if the limbo keeps its promise, it can't be pretty.

"I said," she laughs. "Shut up."

She brings his head down.

She blinks.

Her empty hand meets black stone slabs.

"Niki?"

She looks up and immediately regrets it. Everything is too bright, scorching, a burning gaze on every inch of her skin, but what really hurts are her eyes. She thinks they're sizzling, like actually sizzling, because her sclera feels as if it's bubbling and her iris is definitely melting into her brain and there are so many spots dancing behind her eyelids.

And then the voice, soft and familiar, speak's again.

"Do you have your stuff?"

It takes a while, and a lot of blinking, but her eyes eventually readjust.

She gasps.

The first thing she processes isn't that George and DreamXD stand just a few feet away or that it was George speaking. No, it was how absurdly colorful, everything was.

Here there was life. Life. It was like she poked her head through a kaleidoscope, what with how the specks of a rainbow illuminated itself in the clear blue water of the fountain and the sight of shimmering white quartz glistening under the sunbeams that poured through the purple-tinted windows. No longer was everything dulled around the corners and drained at the center like anything in her dreadful, cramped space of a bakery she shared with -

Oh primes.

Her bakery.

This isn't her bakery. This is Church Prime.

"She's back," DreamXD exclaims. He turns to George, bouncing on his heels excitedly as if expecting some sort of reward, but George pays him no mind/ He's too busy looking at Niki, or, more so, through her.

"What happened?" He asks.

She opens her mouth, then slams it shut.

She's alive. Dear primes, she's alive and she's back and she should be happy, cheering, jumping up and down to feel the livelihood ache in her bones but…

She looks back down at the floor. The floor should be covered in blood. Wilbur's blood, and his bits of flesh and tissue and muscle and -

Oh primes. What has she done?

Or better yet, what didn't she do?

"George," she whimpers. "I don't know what's going on. I, I don't know what's going on here."

She hopes it was her imagination. It had to have been. Otherwise, she hosted Wilbur's head up by the splits of his hair, pushed down as hard as she could and -

She wouldn't. She couldn't, not anymore at least. She left that side of herself in a gate full of slaughtered chickens as Jack demanded they try and kill Tommy again. That side of her is as dead as those chickens.

Right?

She prays so, for this is a church after all, and that means prayers have to be answered here. They have to come true. They have to.

There's a smile in DreamXD's voice when he speaks again as if he knows how much this torments her. "I sent her to hell and then I brought her back."

No.

She sobs. She looks down at her hands. Their bear and yet they feel so heavy. As if the ghost of Wilbur's blood and gore is still there, a new thick-coated layer of skin.

She tortured him. Broke him brick by brick again and again and again even as he tried to beg. Her best friend, her general, her family, begging at her feet, and she kept going, would have kept going too, with an ear-splitting grin, like it was some sort of game.

And it had felt so good to finally get a checkmate.

Wilbur is not a demon. He's just seen too much in too little time. Too much pressure on too little shoulders. Too tired to be all there. It's not an excuse for all the pain he's caused, far from it, but it shows his actions didn't come from a place of malice, but rather a cry for help. Niki knows this, she gets it, and she'll say it time and time again. But all she could think about at that moment, before the final strike, was how happy Wilbur was about her death. He deserved a piece of her mind, but not like that. Never like that.  

What is wrong with her?

No, no it wasn't her. It was that place, that voice. It was a parasite, burrowing deep within her brain and planting itself in the center, telling her what to do and what to say. Telling her to slaughter left and right. It was so loud, rattling around in her head and echoing like war drums. She couldn't just ignore it, it was too much. So, no, she is free of guilt, free of responsibility, hands all clean.

But she knows that at the end of the day the host still needs to be somewhat conscious for the parasite to thrive.

Oh primes. Is this what Techno deals with every day?

Then, she jumps to her feet.

Techno, Phil, and Ranboo.

It's coming back now, that memory of fury in her eyes, that fire in her voice as she told Wil she had people to go back to. How she was willing to claw her fingers down to bone to make an exit. But that voice, that stupid stupid voice, it told her she could rest, could get revenge, and against her better judgment she listened. It caught her at a moment of weakness, Wilbur's words of memory lane, of Phil, of everything that came before and after his death, she was at a low point. And like a moth to a flame, she was there one moment and gone the next. Back to the old her.

She thought she had left that version of herself behind when she joined the Syndicate. She was so sure she was getting better with Techno, Phil, and Ranboo around.

But all it took was one voice to ruin all her progress. 

Her chest constricts and her head feels heavy. 

She needs to find them. She needs to tell them what she saw. She needs to tell Phil. She needs… she needs…

She just needs them.

"What did you see?" George says, snapping her out of her thoughts.

This time, her mouth has no problem moving. "George," she starts, voice trembling. "I have seen things. I... I... I have seen things. I don't know what's going on here but I don't know if I should - "  

Niki gulps. It's getting so hard to breathe. She should feel thankful that she can breathe in the first place, but every inhale stings as her lungs try to remember to do a motion so foreign to her.

How long has she been down there?

She doesn't want to know.

She just wants to go home.

She walks away, backward, from the two, eyes fixated tightly on them and barely blinking. She remembers the last time she let her guard down around DreamXD. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry George. Good luck with him but I - "

She doesn't finish, because she's already out the door. She wants to run, but she's so sure her lungs would explode at the first push forward of her heel. So she walks.

And walks.

The world walks with her, with each rotation. As if they’re friends taking a stroll. As if it hadn’t cracked open and swallowed her whole, chewed up everything good in her and spat her out when she turned bitter. Returned her back to a world that didn’t change one bit while she was gone, despite her herself changing so much. 

It’s like what happened to her didn’t happen at all. 

And then she realizes a horrible thing. 

Everyone on this server is going to see today as a normal day. 

Is it bad that a part of Niki wishes something like the Green Festival could happen right now, so that they could all feel the monstrosity of today?

She stands still. Stationary, like this Earth wants her to be. She thinks she could do it, stay like this forever. She feels numb enough. 

Somewhere above, a crow caws. 

She burst into tears.