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[charliemwrites]

Unfamiliar Nobody

You are a witch preparing for winter. Luckily, you have an extra set of hands - if they'd ever help.

Content: Possessive behavior, Semi-Safe/Semi-Sane/Consensual Intimacy, implied (pseudo) cannibalism, Violence and Death, Unhealthy but Happy Relationship

You haven’t been the same since the ritual.

Souls are tricky things, somewhere on that rickety fence between the Seen and Unseen, a bit of practical magic so common that people don’t think much of it.

Souls are like stones or plants. Abundant, but varied. Some are rare and precious, some are beautiful, some are poison. One soul does not weigh the same as another, and the beings that deal in their collection and sale value them differently. Souls aren’t rare and only some of them are powerful.

It’s a narcissistic misconception of humans - even the ones that can perceive beyond the physical world. That a soul is considered precious and coveted and powerful by all things of heaven, hell, and beyond.

Not so.

That said, like a bit of gold or a well-woven blanket, a soul can be commodified. Reshaped and displayed, butchered for parts, sold…

The selling of a soul has its merits, though not many. High risk, high reward sort of gamble. Tempting for clever witches - or desperate ones.

You were neither when you built the summoning circle that night.

You weren’t looking to forge any contracts or make deals beneath that moon. Didn’t expect to invoke any infernal beings or heavenly apparitions with the stars.

Well, best laid plans and all that - not that it had been an especially well laid plan anyway.

Baring your soul that deep into midnight had not yielded the results you intended. Or maybe it had and your expectations were just skewed. Souls are tricky things.

And yours hasn’t been the same since.

You always rouse as the sun begins to set. Late afternoon at the earliest, when most everyone else is finishing their suppers.

You can manage stark daylight, but poorly. It hurts your eyes and prickles your skin. A deep hood and long sleeves does the trick when required, but you don’t make a habit of it if you can help it, if only for the teeth that bury in your throat when you return.

Tend the garden in the dying rays, light the shop candles before night nestles in. Say your blessings, leave your offerings, wriggle out from beneath clingy weight to secure any provisions or materials from the town.

As the temperature cools and the shadows deepen, you settle into your work.

The shop once belonged to an apothecarist. Died in a plague some four decades ago, or so you’ve been told. No one of any skill or natural talent replaced them afterwards. Too frightened, perhaps, of what could be lingering within.

It wasn’t haunted until you (and your shadow) occupied it.

You’ve stocked it up quite nicely now. Herbs and spices, vegetables and fruits, roots and seeds. Thistles hang from the ceiling and bones rattle in the drawers. Mortars and pestles line a wall, weights and measures beneath the counter. Not a single thing labeled or organized, the latter of which disconcerts your… companion.

Fickle is not the word for him, but it’s the one you use.

(And he is a he, at least according to the long, thick cock he crams into you every chance he makes for himself. Though you suppose such trifles as gender are superfluous to nonhumans. A categorical fallacy for your own ease of reference.)

You told him once, that if he did not like the disarray of the shop, he was welcome to rearrange as he saw fit. In response, he left teeth rings around the base of each of your fingers, telling you how easy it would be to bite them off. He didn’t, of course - wouldn’t - but you spent a good portion of that evening updating the inventory logs (sat on that long, thick cock.)

The shop was never reorganized.

Tonight you wake to his tongue, a dark and wicked thing, improbably dexterous, lapping at your thighs.

“Winter comes,” he drawls into your skin. His voice is dredged up from the deepest pit in his chest, scrapes against his throat before nuzzling into your ears.

“I thought so,” you sigh, sleep laden and languorous. “Felt it on the wind yesterday.”

He hums. Or maybe it’s a growl. It’s hard to say when he’s sinking his teeth into the plush of your thigh, though he does it without hurry. 

For a creature without definite expiration, there is little need to be hasty.

You click your tongue when he threatens to break skin. His jaw locks like that, just on the verge of taking without being asked. This is his price for greeting the evening with you - or so he claims.

“We’ll have to begin preparations,” you muse to the inky ceiling. “I’ll make a list over tea. You’ll help, won’t you? What kind of winter will it be?”

He relaxes his bite, laps at the iridescent fluid left on your skin. His saliva, or what passes for it in this vaguely human form.

“Long,” he drawls. An unseen thumb rubs circles into your calf. “And frigid.”

You hum, can already see it in your mind. Howling winds and a silent earth. Still and peaceful, little creatures huddled down and hibernating. It was a good, warm, lush summer that promises a sweet, abundant harvest.

“A lot of snow?” you ask, fingers buried in something almost too coarse to be hair. 

He unseals his mouth from a fresh, livid mark on your hip. “Da. Snow.”

Your fingertips trail over the gnarled, raised topography of long-healed wounds. Marks that go beyond flesh, wounds of essence. No matter his appearance, he will always be scarred - disfigured, even.

Sometimes you fancy that he was some fearsome fae king or warlord of hell before retiring to become yours.

Sensing the direction of your thoughts, he nips at the meat of your thumb. Draws blood the time. You hook your index finger around a too-sharp canine and shake a bit. He grunts and slides his tongue over the pinprick of blood.

“Any storms?” you ask.

“Two,” he rumbles around your finger. “Maybe three.”

You didn’t used to love winter so. But this will be your third with him. As the climate chills and the nights lengthen, he comes into his patron season. It’s helpful to have a thing of the cold and dark when times are lean and everything (even people) lose their pretty foliage.

“Shall I expect more pelts, then?”

You balked the first time he brought (more) death to your door. Thought him cruel and ruthless. Perhaps he is without you to metamorphose the slaughter into necessity.

Furs for warmth, meat for food, bones for your work. Nothing gone to waste under your care.

“Pelts,” he agrees, “skins, down.”

You trace your thumb over the bridge of his crooked nose, press between his brows when he tries to tilt his head into the warm apex of your thighs. He bares his teeth against your wrist but cannot defy you.

“Tea for that drop of blood,” you bargain.

He sighs deep and vexed. “Mistress.”

Before slithering from your blankets, though, he buries his nose against your pubic mound and takes a deep, noisy inhale.

“Nikto!”

A village girl comes a little after the sun has fully set.

You finished your tea (and bread, for the price of a wet, filthy kiss) while making a list of preparatory chores. Have started grinding up rosemary to replenish your stock.

Nikto senses her before you do, pthalo eyes flicking up. She hesitates at the closed door, poised to knock, then decides against it and simply pushes in.

You pretend as if you’ve just glanced up from your mortar, an easy smile at your visitor.

“Good evening,” you call.

“E-evening,” she replies, lingering in the door.

While you’ve taken measures to keep the air of the shopfront clean and light, it’s something of a fruitless endeavor when Nikto’s made his den here. (Or more accurately, in the room behind the shopfront, where you dwell.)

Still, she only wavers another moment, finding nothing immediately alarming or perilous. She can’t see him lounging on the back counter like a lazy cat.

“Have you need of something?” you ask.

Your easy, friendly tone loosens her shoulders, coaxes her from the doorway.

“I’m here for something for my grandmother?” she says.

You tilt your head. “Anna?”

She blinks. “How did you know?”

Because Nikto grumbled it just now.

“You have her eyes,” you lie. “I have her medication just over here. One moment.”

You turn away to collect the little parcels that make up Anna’s bi-weekly order. Brews for her tea, ointment for her joints. You’ll mix extra as the chill sets in, fewer trips while seeing her through the harsh season.

“Usually Alexei comes to collect these things,” you say.

She rocks back and forth on her heels, a more curious eye trailing over your wares now.

“Mama and I have come to take care of nana. She’s getting older, you know. And this town has better prospects than our old village.”

You hum in agreement, neatly bundling all the items in a cloth and tieing a length of twine to secure it.

“Uncle Alexei is away with papa to finish sorting matters back there.”

“So you and your mother have come ahead, then,” you summarize.

“Mhmm!”

“Well, Anna is lucky to have you. She speaks fondly of you and your mother,” you say.

The girl lights up, cheeks rosy with pride. You slide her grandmother’s order across the counter.

“Anything else?” you ask.

“No, thank you!” she replies, dropping coins into your palm.

You glance at them (overpaid as usual, oh Anna) and sigh fondly.

“Hold on,” you call, “here.”

You pass her a little jar sealed in wax. She accepts it with a bemused smile.

“What is it?”

“For travel sores, when your father and Alexei return.”

She absolutely beams. Any apprehension she had when entering your shop is long melted away.

“Thank you, Miss!” she chirps, waving, and sweeps out the door.

Niko pounces in an instant, arms so tight around your waist that you don’t even stumble from the force.

“What’s gotten into you this time?” you ask.

“You were thinking of those men,” he grumbles. You’d call it childish if he wasn’t damn near mauling your neck.

“They’re well-paying customers,” you scoff, “and more good will is never remiss.”

He snarls, but moves on quickly. “You were so kind to that little girl. She had stars in her eyes.”

You hum in question, surprised.

“Makes me think of you with little ones. Younger ones.” He’s near rambling, drool soaking into the collar of your dress. “My brood. Clinging to your skirts and your hips. Getting sticky hands in the beeswax.”

You huff out a startled laugh. “You’re thinking of babies?”

He moans into your ear, pressed tight to your back. Broad palms knead at your lower abdomen.

“Little voices calling ‘mama’. They would all adore you, want to be just like you. Mother is god in the hearts of children.”

“All?” you repeat, twisting to stare owlishly. “How many is ‘all’?”

“As many as you will let me breed into you.”

Another laugh escapes you, a bit bewildered. He’s never spoken like this before, never seemed interested at all by the women (or their husbands) that come to the shop to ease their pregnancies or births.

“You couldn’t stand to share my attention,” you scoff. Which is to say nothing of it even being a possibility. You’re not sure that you and he could produce viable offspring.

He pauses, nose in your hair, considering.

Finally, he grunts, “Maybe.”

You’d thought so.

It’s not just the change in your natural sleep rhythms. You crave the iron of raw meat and inhale deep the burn of black smoke. Sometimes, you’re too preoccupied with the spill of ink on parchment, or the length and depth of shadows.

Subtle things, perhaps. A change beneath the skin, in the dark parts of your eyes.

You used to ask your questions in the sun, and look for the answers in the bloom of flowers or swirls of clouds. Now you whisper into abyssal shadows and they whisper back with a man’s rasp.

Not everyone can see it, the unusual glint in your eyes or the sharp edge to your smile. For those that do, it’s something of an open secret - that you provide more than helpful tonic and tinctures for common ailments.

A serum against pregnancy. A syrup for unkind spouses. Cut cords for bad friends and bent coins for poor business partners.

Tonight it’s the smith’s daughter. She’s just come into adulthood this past spring. A crown of youth on her brow, vitality draped around her shoulders. Darkened, this eve, by deals made with her as the currency. You see it beneath the sweep of her skirt, a chain of her father’s own making, a key in the hand of the mayor’s son. It drags her step in your doorway, rattling along the wood floors.

“Irina,” you greet.

She doesn’t admit it right away, demuring to purchase her father’s usual burn salve. You don’t pry, instead taking your time to spoon the thick, cloudy mixture into a small jar.

“You’ve…”

You tilt your head to show your attention, expression open. She clears her throat, smooths her skirt, tries again.

“My father designs to wed me to Boris.”

She blurts it like the words escaped between the gaps in her teeth, looks shocked in their wake You flick Nikto a reproachful glance.

“Is that so?” you reply mildly, as neutral as you can manage.

“I don’t want to,” she whispers, as though it is a shameful secret. But there is little shame to be found in your presence, and when your expression only reflects polite interest, she repeats herself, stronger. “I don’t want to. Boris is a coward and his father is…”

Mean. Lascivious. A bastard with a heavy hand and wine for blood, kind only to coin.

You don’t make her say it all aloud, you’ve heard it just fine.

“Is it an ear you’re after?” you ask. “I’ll listen.”

You do not offer more. It is something she must request of her own will. For your sake as much as hers.

It only takes another breath for her to gather the courage.

“Would you help me?”

“I would.”

You don’t jump as Nikto pours himself over your shoulders, teeth already scraping the nape of your neck. He’s hard and insistent against your spine, where scars of his teeth have begun to blossom. You sense that you’ll have a new notch for the collection soon, already feel slick and achy with the promise of his maw.

“What will it cost?” Irina asks, fidgety.

Your cunt three times over. Your blood on my tongue. Your juices down my throat.

“That will depend on our solution,” you say over Nikto’s sibilant entreaties.

Irina’s brow furrows. “Not coin?”

“Maybe coin,” you correct. “Do you want any of these three men dead?”

She startles, pales. Nikto groans in your ear, hips jerking hard, cock catching on the laces of your corset. Irina mistakes the sound for your shop settling, eyes flicking nervously around as if either of you will be caught.

“N-no!” she answers. “No, that’s too - I just want papa to change his mind. O-or for Boris to… to wed someone else. Is that wicked of me?”

You shake your head, soften your smile to ease her conscience. Once upon a time, you stood on the other side of the counter like she is now.

“Then coin won’t be necessary. I have a different price.”

Her shoulders lower, just a bit, curiosity where she should be wary. Coin is a paltry payment in comparison to things a creature like you could request instead. 

“What is it?”

“Scrap from your father’s forge, as much as you can manage, and whatever Boris gave you for your hand. Bring them to me tomorrow night.”

You fish a shirt button from beneath the counter. Prick your thumb on a needle and press the droplet of blood that wells into the smooth surface.

“This is a contract of my services,” you explain as it dries in the open air. Nikto inhales deep and ravenous, tongue flicking over the shell of your ear.

“If you take this, there is no going back. Do you understand?”

Irina hesitates; she’s always been a smart girl. That’s why she knew to come to you.

“What happens if I don’t come back with the payment?”

You flick a glance at Nikto, but he’s too busy toying with the ribbon around your throat. Patience fraying with each beat of your heart.

“Even I don’t know, but I’d rather neither of us find out, yes?”

“Alright. I understand.”

She accepts the bloodied button and drops it into the pocket of her frock.

“Tomorrow,” she promises, and steals out into the night.

Nikto bends you over the counter, heavy body flattening you to the polished wood. It’s unnaturally warm beneath your cheek. You suck in as much air as you can while he paws at the hidden parts in your skirts. He growls to find you wet and willing (always, regardless of what your mouth says) between your thighs. 

“Tithe,” he rasps, sinking to his knees.

Massive arms snake around your thighs as he finds his home between them. Buries his nose in the soft crop of curls so that his tongue and lips and teeth can partake in the sweet offerings below.

“All this for a severed tether?” you gasp, hips twitching in a bid to escape the too much, too fast, too good of it all.

His grip does not relent. On the contrary, it only tightens, dragging you down to smother himself in your cunt.

“Yes,” he hisses.

He takes and takes and takes. Sucks your clit until it’s throbbing at the slightest touch. Licks at the rim of your cunt, forcing his tongue deeper and deeper. Impossibly deep, until you feel the tip of it curl against the hard wall of your cervix, the root of it as thick as two of his fingers.

Your knees have long given out, your voice but a weak trill in your throat. It’s only when he hears you sniffling that he wrenches himself away.

“Give me,” he demands, surging up.

Laves that slick, black, inhuman tongue up your jaw, over your cheek. Doubles back to swipe at half-dried tears that dripped down your neck and onto your hands. He makes an obscene sound when the salt mixes with the dried blood on the pad of your thumb.

“I want to eat you,” he snarls, baring his teeth against the tender veins of your wrist.

“Maybe one day,” you pant, “when I’ve passed on. You can have my corpse.”

His eyes snap open, a manic rage burning so hot it feels cold. 

“Never,” he snarls, cruel fingers plunging into your tender cunt.

You cry out and grip onto his shoulders, fresh tears sliding down your hot cheeks. There is no mercy in Nikto, not even for you. He strokes and pets your walls relentlessly, abusing all the sensitive places he’s long mapped out. Brutal as the muscles in his arm bunch and jump with the pace and force of it.

“Never,” he repeats. Teeth in your throat but you can still hear his voice. It’s so loud and rough that glass rattles. “Just like this. You stay just like this for me. Mine, all mine. Always. My little witch.”

He makes you cum on his fingers, then jerks his angry cock using your release to ease the way. Spends himself in burning, sticky ropes directly onto your clit. As you drag in ragged breaths, he draws his sigil inside your cunt with your mixed fluids.

The bond has long been formed, there is no need to renew it. Your soul is no more or less his than before. You still shiver with the memory, an echo of the sublime sensation of your soul taking new shape. Making room for something else to lace through it.

“S-someone is coming,” you whimper, weak in every sense.

“Dmitiri,” Nikto answers. You knew who it was, of course, but you don’t think he would abide you saying any other name right now.

“Leave his order on the counter and make sure he pays,” you sigh, limping away in search of water.

Nikto may be a bastard, but he manages to follow your orders most of the time.

Irina returns the next evening with all that you asked. A bucket of metal scraps and shavings. In a little velvet pouch, a simple gold engagement ring.

“The button too,” you request.

Nikto, raven-shaped this evening, swoops in to snatch it from her fingers. She yelps, moon-eyed as he perches on a tall shelf and swallows the button down his scarred gullet.

“Should… should it eat that?” she asks.

You don’t even glance at him. “Too late now, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t look amused so you laugh softly and assure her, “He’ll be alright. He’s done it before.”

You turn away, scooping up the items for the spell.

“Now then, take this pin. Carve your name into one candle, and Boris’s name into the other,” you instruct.

“Which one is which?” she asks, a green candle in one hand.

“Your choice,” you reply simply.

When she’s done as you ask, you tie a piece of twine between the two, about halfway down. Set them on a metal plate facing each other and light first Irina’s, then Boris’s.

“Pull up that stool. Watch the candles burn down to the wick.”

It takes nearly an hour. You keep half an eye on it. Watch the candle meant to represent Boris start to eat at the twine, a slow encroachment towards the midpoint. Only for Irina’s flame to latch onto its end of the tie and scorch through the knot, the remaining length falling away.

Irina gasps softly, glances up to find you already watching. Studiously turns back to observe the remainder of the melt.

In the meantime, you continue forming the other half of your spell. Irina has been too preoccupied to notice the raven’s disappearance. Nikto is behind you again, guiding your hands to carve the woodblock in neat little peels. His fingers are threaded between yours, dripping raw power that you shape with intent. If Irina were to look, it would just seem that the candlelight casts strange shadows down your forearms.

When the candles have burned down to nothing, and Irina turns to you expectantly, you press a finger to your lips.

“Do not speak again until sunrise. When you get home, throw this into the hearth, as deep as you can get it. No trace of it will remain, rest assured.”

You press the carved wooden key into her palm. Her eyes trace the unfamiliar runes in wonder, but she keeps her silence and takes her leave with one final, grateful nod.

It is only just past midnight, but you yawn. The connection between Irina and Boris was not a strong one, but severing the covetous teeth of the mayor’s greed was tedious.

He has a weakness for fair hair and light eyes - both qualities passed down to Irina in lovely spades. Qualities his own wife doesn’t possess, but he would gladly see in his son’s if he had his way.

“Nikto.”

“All for a severed tether,” he purrs.

You tsk at him, shove his face away when he tries to steal a kiss.

“Finish the spell and then you will be rewarded,” you huff, waving him off. “Useless thing.”

He moans softly, eyes burning into you. “Useless,” he agrees, sharp teeth grazing your cheek. “Worthless.”

“Out with you. We’ve not all night,” you chastise.

He sinks slowly into the shadows; his eyes are the last to disappear.

Winter preparations are well under way.

A small mountain of firewood is steadily accumulating in the backyard, stacking higher and wider by the day. You’ve already finished harvesting the last of the garden, drying, preserving, and pickling by the jar. Have knitted half a dozen more shawls and socks with thick wool yarn.

Cough medicines, warming tinctures, lotions and ointments. You’re accumulating your winter remedies along the back wall and in crates beneath the counter, well-stocked for the town and smaller surrounding villages that frequent your shop.

Thus far, Nikto has brought you two pelts, and promised two more before the season truly sets in. A new pillow has also been added to your nest bed, a puffy, heavy thing of feathered down and cotton.

You like it so much that you bounce on Nikto’s cock until morning when he brings it to you, spitting into his mouth whenever he opens it in supplication. You drop lavender buds into the casing and breathe it deep as he lays you down after daybreak. It makes an excellent throne for your pelvis when you’re too worn (or over-pleasured) to hold yourself up any longer.

Still, as promising as your preparations are, you need items unavailable even in town. The journey to the nearest city is one day's (or night’s) walk there, and another back. Well worth the trouble.

Nikto has no particular affection for any dwelling, so long as it’s yours. He’s just as eager to travel as you are.

Before nightfall, you drop off any orders expected in your absence, and receive well wishes from your customers. No one asks why you are traveling alone at night. No one warns you that it would be too dangerous.

Nikto accompanies you along the well-trod road, a hooded figure more likely to be mistaken for the grim reaper than your familiar. He’s human enough if you don’t look at him for too long. A tall man thick with muscle, broad-shouldered, built for labor. Likely malformed beneath the scarf hiding his features below those blue eyes - or perhaps just shy.

Just don’t try to peer into the depths of that hood, or ponder that mysterious scarf for too long. The moon acts as a strange prism, waters down the light into eerie refractions. One might start to imagine sharp teeth peeking through ripped lips. Or glimpse poorly sewn hills of flesh, nothing but dark, empty space between the seams.

Luckily, there are no travelers on the road this late into the night. Any errant gaze is that of night creatures, and those know well to avoid the shadow at your side - and you by extension.

The trip into the city is no great adventure, but you weren’t looking for one. Nikto, you sense, is something almost like disappointed. You arrive in the small hours of the morning, just as the earliest risers have begun their day.

The innkeeper seems surprised by such an early (or late) guest, but is happy enough to welcome you in. Bread has yet to be bought from the baker, but there’s stew that’s been simmering overnight. It’s warm and hearty and thick. You eat two bowls with a cup of peach wine, pay for food and board for the next two days, and retire to the second story of rooms.

The bed is not nearly as comfortable as yours. The blankets are thin and woven, though they are layered enough to be warm. The mattress and pillow are both straw - comfortable by most standards, but a poor substitute for your cotton and wool and furs and down.

You make due on Nikto’s rumbling chest (prideful that you miss what he has so diligently provided) and let yourself drift into slumber.

At midday, you wake. City merchants aren’t accustomed to your odd hours, and you don’t want anything to be out of stock - you’re not the only one that’s made the journey for winter.

Luckily, it’s an overcast day and the sun isn’t too obnoxious when you venture out. You get a sweet bun from the bakery to tide your hunger while you shop. Follow Nikto’s whispering for directions, or to pick the best items of any selection. Spoil yourself a bit on honey from abroad and a new grimoire.

Return to the inn at the brightest part of the day for a nap. Rouse again in the late afternoon for more exploring and shopping, as well as a drink at one of the alehouses.

You’ve no friends in the city - or anywhere, really, for that matter. But being surrounded by good spirits and bright noise provides an unusual source of energy. There’s a band to watch and strong drink, some gambling that you amuse yourself meddling in from afar.

There are eyes on you, but there always are in such a busy place. You tend to attract very few gazes, but the ones you do will return time and time again, musing at the lone figure by the wall. None are brave enough to approach - especially not when it grows dark enough for Nikto to reveal himself.

Even he is in unusual form, telling you stories of a bygone time. A time when perhaps he was more finite than he is now. He uses names you’ve heard before, in passing, and chuckles at exploits more mortal than he deigns to participate in now. You like to hear it, like to provide him with the excess buzzing in your veins.

When the crowd begins to thin, you take your leave. He stays at your side (always too close, nearly underfoot) all the way to the inn, and is waiting in your room when you come up with the meal. He manhandles you into his lap and feeds you with his fingers, pours water into your mouth from his.

You stave him off until your food settles, and then he’s taking you into his lap. Has you twice before you doze off. Wakes you three hours later with his tongue lapping at your swollen folds. Has you twice more before you settle in properly until dawn.

The second day passes in much the same fashion as the first. Your indulgence this time is a pretty, slender knife, a length of ribbon, and a simple burgundy frock. The combination has Nikto salivating by the time you return to your room to rest. Not that there’s much to be had with you splayed out over your new garment, his hands and mouth and cock working you over until a puddle of slick and cum forms beneath your writhing bodies.

You send him to wash the stains in annoyance, and it’s returned seemingly pristine - though he gloats that the scent of your coupling remains. At least to him.

Nasty creature.

“If I get tired, you will be carrying me,” you huff on the road home.

He nuzzles his nose into your temple, a silent assurance that you need only say the word.

Halfway there, a band of highwaymen makes the fatal mistake of trying to ambush the two of you. Aware that anyone coming from the city will be laden with coins or goods, they would be correct if you were anyone else.

You click your tongue, steps never faltering.

“Kill anyone that’s taken an innocent,” you call over your shoulder.

“Mistress,” Nikto churrs into the air, breath so cold it sinks in the chilly air.

An unnatural growl reverberates off the trees. You don’t spare a glance behind you, steps easy and light, crunching over dead leaves and dry twigs.

A hand lands on your shoulder - heavy… and then not. Heat splatters and soaks into your sleeve, dripping down towards your wrist. The severed arm falls with a wet, fleshy thump.

Always so messy.

You tilt your head, veer off the road and follow your intuition until you find a stream. Humming, you shed your clothes and saunter into the gentle current. It’s frigid, only just unfrozen. You sigh, minding your step for slippery rocks as you wade deeper. The water rises past your scratched calves, over bitten thighs, soothes your well-used cunt and the bruises on your hips. Tingles over the silvery flesh of your scarred back until it’s nearly to your breasts.

Only then does the water darken around you.

Nikto’s hand closes around your wrist, draws your arm back until he can lick away the smears of a stranger’s blood.

Feast before the season’s famine.

You moan softly at the drag of his serpentine tongue along your skin. The ball of your shoulder, the curve of your tricep and bicep. Tickling the bend of your elbow… up your forearm… and wrist. Twisting between each digit. You lean into the sturdy pillar of his body until his other arm curls around your waist. You stand with him in the water like that, cradled by shadow and bathed in moonlight.

He is never hasty, but tonight he’s unusually slow. Almost lazy.

Wait, no. Not lazy. 

Deliberate.

Each flick of his tongue, scrape of teeth, brush of lips is applied with the same care and reverence afforded to an altar.

You tilt your head to rest against his shoulder, bare your throat. Peer through lidded eyes at the thick fingers twining with yours.

It’s as if he plunged his hands into a fireplace and didn’t care to dust away the charcoal and ash afterwards. It fades at the forearm into alabaster. In the crease of his elbow, it looks like he has ink for blood. You know from experience that it tastes of almonds and tannins, heavy on the tongue like thick wine.

You let him lay you down on the bank, dry and clean. He pampers you on his cock with slow, languid rolls of his hips. Grinds deep, pulls out only halfway to massage the head into that sweet spot over and over until you’re shuddering apart with a deep, heavy moan. He finishes on your stomach and thighs, drawing symbols into your skin before rubbing it in.

“Nikto,” you croon, thumb drawing a line down the left side of his face. From forehead, over his eye, down to the corner of his mouth where there’s an unnatural split. He lets you scrape your nail against the big canine, amusing yourself on the sharper bicuspid just beside it. “My Nikto.”

He purrs into your chest, drooling down your sternum.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks.

You smile, indulgent.

“I belong to Nobody.”

There is a possibility of a second part. Maybe. If that's something people want.

[dark-and-kawaii]

─── Depravity

cw: Corruption | DubCon | Characters Are Rated M For Mature

“Look at that,” Toji teased, watching your belly bulge slightly with each thrust, “taking my cock so deep it's reshaping your womb.” 

Prt 2.

The low hum of the afternoon conversation filled the dining room as you sat there, every nerve ending on fire. You were doing your absolute best to listen to your best friend Megumi as he chatted about his training, while his father Toji’s rough fingers traced dangerous patterns under the table. His calloused hand sliding higher and higher up your thigh, making you bite back a whimper. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Megumi, always so worried about you, noticed how your face started to flush, “You’ve barely touched your food.”

“I- I’m fi-fine,” you somehow managed to answer him, but not without your voice catching as Toji’s fingers brushed against your clothed pussy, teasing circles around your clit through the thin fabric. The bastard didn’t even pause while taking a bite of his food before answering for you.

“I think she’s just tired,” his deep voice sending shivers down your spine as his middle finger pressed harder into you, “Long day.”

You nodded weakly, thighs trembling. Your panties were getting embarrassingly wet… And no matter how hard you tried to shift away, he’d grip your thigh warning you to stay still. 

Later in the evening, as you all sat in the living room, Megumi sprawled across the armchair while you sat nervously on the couch. You thought- had hoped that earlier during dinner was a one time thing and that things could go back to normal... And when Toji walks in with a bowl of popcorn your heart settles the moment he offers you some- his eyes not looking into yours, “Take some.” 

“Th-thank you, Mr. Fushi-”

“Don’t mention it.”

The movie’s blue light flickered across the walls as your friend’s breathing grew deeper, eventually settling into soft snores… That’s when you felt Toji’s muscular arm draping across your shoulders, hand sliding down to cup your breast causing a gasp to escape those pretty lips of yours. 

“M-Mr. Fushiguro! What’re y-you-” Your protest cut off into a strangled involuntary moan as he rolled your hardened nipple between his fingers through your shirt.

“Such a naughty girl,” with one hand he swiftly pinned you down against the cushions, “Prancing around my house with no bra, teasing me with these perfect tits.” his other hand roughly groped your chest, making you arch into his touch despite yourself. 

“Please, i-” you whimpered, unsure if you were begging him to stop or continue as he yanked your shirt up, “Meg-Megumi is right there…” 

“Then you better stay quiet,” his low chuckle was dark as he lowered his head to capture a perky nipple between his teeth. Your hands wriggled in his grasp, desperately trying to fly to cover your mouth- to stifle a cry of pleasure that forced its way out.

He worked each breast until you were a flushed, writhing, panting mess beneath him. When his hand slipped under your skirt to find your soaked panties, he couldn’t help but groan appreciatively, “Such a dirty slut, getting off in front of your best friend like this… Look at him. He has no idea what a depraved little whore you are, does he? He has no clue that you want his father to fuck you so bad that you don't care where or when. How pathetic... But I'll indulge you.”

Your weak protests died as he pushed your panties aside, "N-no- n-not here! Not w-with-" You looked towards Megumi, eyes rolling back in pleasure as two of his thick fingers slid inside your tight pussy. The stretch of just two digits had you seeing stars, walls clenching greedily around the invasion. And the squelching sounds echoing through the living room, god how it all made your cheeks burn... Shameful tears welling up in your eyes as you fought not to wake your sleeping friend. 

“Please…”

Toji only laughed, curling his fingers upwards to press against the spongy bundle of nerves, “He's sleeping, baby girl, ya ain’t got anything to worry about, but if you want me to stop, just say so.” His fingers picked up the pace, “Or would you rather I fuck you right here in front of him?” 

You moaned softly, biting your lip as he leaned in close, his lips ghosting across the shell of your ear, “That's what I thought,” the pleasure building quickly, “Fuck, you're tight,” pumping them inside you, “Can't wait to feel this sweet pussy stretched around my cock.”

Your back arched off the couch, the hand holding your wrists finally letting go as your body started to shudder. Toji's mouth crashed against yours, swallowing your scream while you bucked your hips, fucking yourself against his hand as you came, soaking his hand and the cushions beneath you.

His tongue swept against yours, a kiss so dominating that you could barely breathe, let alone think. By the time he released your mouth- a wet trail of spit connecting the two of you- you were already panting, trying to catch your breath as you looked up at him with that cute dazed expression, his hand still working in and out of you. 

“look how wet you are for my cock,” he groaned, curling his fingers before pulling them out to show you, a string of slick hanging between your folds and his long fingers and knuckles.

Toji smirked, leaning down to lick the mess off his hand, “Didn’t know my son liked hanging around such a depraved whore."

When he finally freed his throbbing cock, your eyes widened at the size…His length glistened with precum, his large hand lazily stroking up and down his shaft, thumb smearing the sticky fluid over his swollen tip. 

Fuck. 

He was so much bigger than anyone you'd been with before- bigger than… Your thoughts were interrupted as he rubbed the swollen head between your folds, coating himself in your wetness, “N-No! I-I- I don't- please-! It- it won’t fit,” you whined and shook your head as he lined himself up with your entrance, “You're too big!”

Toji could only chuckle at your distress, his cock sinking slowly into your tight pussy, “funny how you keep telling me no, but yet here you are, spreading those pretty thighs for me…” his eyes darkened, “Not once telling me to actually stop…” 

Everything seemed to stop, time standing still... He was right…

You hadn’t told him to stop, not once.

Not even now.

Instead you were eagerly meeting him halfway, thighs spread wide and shaking from the initial breach... walls stretching obscenely around his girth... And then a strangled moan- the sound of you losing a game of chicken. You'd lost the battle, but it was worth it. So worth it.

It hurt- the delicious sting of being stretched, the feeling of his cock sliding into you inch by agonizing inch, splitting you open. 

“Mn'More~ Wanna be so full of you~” You cried out as soft as you could, “W-wan you to fuck me.”

And it was almost enough to make him lose control. Almost. 

“Shit. That's right. Tell me how badly you need me,” He didn't give you time to adjust, starting a brutal pace that had the couch creaking beneath you. His hands grabbing at your waist, pinning you down till your body was imprinted into the seats as his hips snapped forward, filling you completely, his cock dragging against the sensitive spot inside of you, “Tell me how good it feels,” His balls slapping wetly against you, “How good it feels to have my cock buried in that pretty little cunt.”

“Oh- oh god~ mmmn, fuck” you babbled deliriously as he pounded into your cervix, “Y-you’re stirring up m-my insides!!!” 

You couldn’t tell him how good he felt, words barely something you could focus on, but the bastard knew… He could feel the way your walls fluttered and squeezed his length, feel the way your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you,

“Look at that,” he teased, watching your belly bulge slightly with each thrust, “taking my cock so deep it's reshaping your womb.” 

Your eyes rolled back as he hit spots you didn’t know existed, pleasure building to unbearable heights. The wet sounds of his cock destroying your pussy filling your ears… And for a moment, a brief, fleeting, terrifying moment, you worried Megumi might wake up, might catch you getting fucked by his dad like a bitch in heat... Might see the way you're cumming- gushing all over the man's cock. 

As if sensing your fear, Toji's thrusts slowed- his movements growing more languid... then you heard it.

The telltale sign that someone was stirring.

Megumi groaned softly as he stretched and yawned…

Toji clamped his hand over your mouth- his body covering yours, the movement of his hips coming to a stop, leaving his cock buried deep within your velvety walls... Your hearts hammering against each other, your own pulse beating so loud it was the only thing you could hear, even over the blood rushing in your ears. You watched Megumi sleepily roll his head from side to side, eyes still closed, brows knitting together as he adjusted his position.

He was still asleep... Thank god.

The relief was short lived though. Toji didn't wait long before his hips started moving again- the pace even slower than before. He was drawing it out, relishing every thrust, savoring the way your pussy clung to his cock. 

That forbidden thrill pushed you over the edge… Your whole body trembling, eyes screwed shut and mouth agape against his hand, your thighs squeezing his hips as you came hard, squirting all over his cock and straining his couch cushions. 

“Fuck yes, milk my cock,” pace growing erratic, “suck a perfect sleeve for me to fuck.”

Terror cut through your orgasmic haze as you felt him start to swell inside you, “W-wait you can- cant! D- don’t cum in meee i’ll get pregnant!” 

“Maybe that’s what you need,” he gripped your hips bruisingly tight, “a man to fill this cunt up with cum- get knocked up with a brat of your own, huh?”

Just when you thought he was about to flood your womb, he pulled out. Thick ropes of cum painting your stomach, chest, and face. Toji pumped his length a few more times, making sure he was completely spent.

By the time he finished, you were covered in cum. Your hair sticking to your forehead, skin shiny, and glistening. You looked like a hot, dirty, wreck- the picture of sin.

He pulled out and tucked his semi hard cock back into his pants with a satisfied smirk, “I’d clean yourself up before he wakes,” leaving you laying there, legs spread, cunt still gaped and throbbing from his girth.

You just laid there, unable to move as his cum started to dry, your mind reeling. What were you supposed to do now? What would happen tomorrow? How were you supposed to face him after all this? What about Megumi? 

...The thought of Megumi had your abused cunt clenching around nothing, already aching to be filled again.

This was so wrong... but you knew you'd be back for more... 

A week later, you found yourself back at your best friend’s house... 

“Been thinking about this tight cunt all week,” Toji shoved you against the marble counter in the bathroom, his massive hands slipping under your thighs, hoisting you effortlessly into the air, pressing your back against his muscled chest, “Show me how much you’ve missed this cock.”

You bit your lower lip hard enough to draw blood as he impaled you with one brutal thrust, your walls still slick from fingering yourself earlier, thinking of him, wishing he was there-

“Such a sloppy pussy.”

He was rough, but his strong hands gripped your thighs, supporting you easily, letting his cock do all the work- hitting your g-spot perfectly. It was so cute how your legs dangled helplessly in the air~. 

“Look at you, taking it so deep,” He grunted, his pace growing rougher, harder, “My boy could never make you feel this good, could he? Too busy playing around with his shadow technique to notice how bad his little crush wants her pussy split in half like this…”

“N-No, th-that’s not- true~” you moaned, head falling back against his shoulder, his breath hot against your cheek, a low, guttural laugh sending shivers down your spine, a familiar warmth coiling in your belly.

“C’mon, don’t be shy, your body is being honest. Why don’t you give it a try?”

You furrowed your brows, you hated him. hated that he knew what you desperately wanted to keep secret, what you tried so hard to deny… But it was no use, “O-Only you can- …” you nibbled your lip, “Only you can fill me up like this~”

“That’s right,” he purred ever so darkly, “lucky daddy’s here to take care of this needy pussy properly.”

Your eyes rolled back as he increased his pace, cock churning up your insides. Drool leaked from the corner of your mouth, tongue lolling out as your walls clamped down around him.

“Fuck yeah, strangle my cock with that tight cunt.”

A loud thumb echoed as he slammed you against the bathroom wall… The sound of footsteps approaching made your blood run cold.

“(Y/N)? Are you alright? I heard a bang,” Megumi’s voice could be heard through the door, his hand rattling the handle.

You opened your mouth but no words came out, just quiet whines as his father continued to fuck you sensless. 

“Tell him you knocked over a bottle,” Toji whispered in your ear, punctuating each word with a harsh thrust, “that you’re just freshening up.”

“I-I’m fine!” you managed between short gasps, “Just- k-nocked over some.. Ah!... Stuff! Freshening up!” 

“Oh, okay.” Megumi said it with uncertainty, you could hear it in his voice… “Let me know if you need anything.”

You held your breath until his footsteps faded, then moaned loudly as Toji resumed his merciless pace, fingers digging into your thighs, cock pistoning in and out of you, hitting deep- hitting the spot that makes hearts burst across your vision.

“Such a good girl, lying to him while taking my cock.” he chuckled darkly, “That was close though… He almost saw what a whore his crush really is.” 

You came at his cruel words, squirting all over his thick shaft, walls spasming wildly, your liquid spraying the floor. 

His pace faltered for a second, and you could hear him mutter a quiet, almost awestruck, “fuck.” before fucking you through mulitiple orgasms, wanting to watch you drench his flooring even more… until your mind was completely blank.

“Fw’lease… Toji… C-can’t ta-ke any-sh’m-m-more…~” you were babbling, slurring… 

He loved how wrecked you sounded, at the way you kept milking his length, as if it were trying to suck him deeper inside, like you couldn't live without his cock. 

“You’ll take whatever I give you. You're a good girl, aren't you? Be a good girl and come on my cock one last time before I fill your hungry womb.”

Within a month you were completely broken- addicted to his cock and that large muscular body that covered yours. It didn’t matter where you were or who was around, all you cared about was the way he felt inside of you- how his cock split your insides and his hands left marks on your skin. You just wanted to please him, to show him how much you loved him.

Every day you‘d find yourself on your knees, throat bulging as he skull fucked you into mindless oblivion. Your pussy would drip constantly, aching to be filled and abused by him. 

“Please Toji~” or “Please daddy~” became your constant refrain, spreading yourself open shamelessly, “Need you to wreck my tight little cunt…” your lashes batting at him so innocently. 

The ultimate betrayal came when Megumi finally discovered your twisted relationship with his father. The look of shock and hurt on his face as he watched you finger yourself, your voice calling out his fathers name… cum leaking from your well used hole…  But you were too far gone to even notice him, too lost in the pleasure of knowing Toji would be back any minute to take care of you~ ♡

Prt 2

[twstfanblog]

Heartslabyul Random Headcanons

Ace and Deuce are such good friends they quickly reached the level of 'Married and sick of each other'.

Riddle is so socially unaware at times. It’s why Cater even started talking to him. 'He's like a newborn, only worse because he's 17'.

Trey has and will hold someone down to check their teeth. It's only been his siblings so far, but it's the fact he's willing to do it.

Once Deuce got lost in the maze but was too embarrassed to call for help. Cater saw him from one of the upper floors and sent him texts on which way to go to get out.

Deuce just gave the meekest thank you when he was out.

The story is that Riddle hated the old dorm head because he didn't uphold the queen's rules, and that's why he challenged him to become dorm head.

It was also because he heard dorm leaders get their own rooms, and he wasn't surviving a room with 3 other people.

Chenya shows up so often that the dorm just chases him around a bit before going back to their tea party. It's just tradition to try to kill him on sight now, then they all have tea together.

Trey is deeply worried if the dorm will survive without him.

Cater is the main one organizing the unbirthday parties and various other functions of the dorm. He knows everyones birthdays and favorite colors and foods. He makes the file every year for his own purposes, but he's starting mapping out event dates to give to riddle to make his life a bit less stressful.

Ace actually knows way more rules than he lets on. He uses that knowledge to find loopholes and to argue with Riddle as to WHY he shouldn't be in trouble.

Riddle is allergic to soy and didnt know it until he had an allergic reaction in his first year.

His mom knew, but since she makes all his "meals," she never bothered to let him know. She then scolded him for eating soy and being careless.

Trey makes it a need that everyone in the dorm knows how to make a basic meal of their choice. Simple things like buttered noodles, scrambled eggs, or a simple sandwich.

Riddle actually makes the most complex stepped grill cheese, but it is the best tasting thing anyone has had. It is also the only thing he knows how to make by himself.

When Cater gets sick, no one can tell, and he will just go about his day. (The light club can tell, and they force him to lay down and nap)

Riddle MADE a rule that Ace specifically can't eat cherries in the dorm.

This is because Ace is a heathen who spits his cherry pits at mach 7 and one of them nearly blinded Riddle.

Trey warns the first years to be careful on the steps. And every year, he gets to watch them eat shit on the stairs for not listening to him.

Deuce so far has been the only one to fall UP the stairs that Trey has seen. He's lowkey impressed.

Deuce's favorite dorm chore is taking care of the flamingos. He honestly just really likes birds, chickens are simply his favorites.

Cater and Riddle will never confirm or deny that Cater used to be the last dorm head. Since it was only for less than a week, there's no official documents anyone can find.

Trey also won't say because he thinks it funny everyone wants to know so badly.

Riddle’s almost overbloted once before game events. It was his first month as dorm head, and the new pressures sent him into a hysterical sobfest.

He did make himself sick, but managed to bounce back and reshape the dorm’s standards.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Mango Bat; “tactile take it”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon makes the noise again. Adjusts his hips for Tim’s view again. Keeps working himself open, even though he’s definitely more than open enough for–for whatever Tim might want. At least–he must be, right? He doesn’t really know how this kind of shit actually works, admittedly, but he’s already so–it’s already so– 

“How much do you think you can take, Kon?” Tim murmurs, and for the first time it’s not a request, but curiosity. A question, analytical and considering and ready to take notes on the answer. Kon knocks his head back as his eyes roll back and bites down on his wrist as hard as he can without breaking skin. 

Tim wants to know how much he can take. Tim wants to know how much he will take. Tim wants . . . 

Kon’s dick drools precome and his hole clenches up and his TTK trembles across his skin in flashes, flickering and pulsing and erratic and leaving him as close to vulnerable as he gets. 

Not inside him, though. Inside him it’s all irresistible, unceasing pressure. Inside him it’s spreading him open, and he feels exposed and embarrassed and doesn’t even really get what Tim thought was so hot about this idea anyway but also can feel Tim’s dick–Tim’s whole body, with them on the same bed and so close, but specifically his dick is the entire goddamn center of his attention right now–and how hard it is; how it’s pressing into the zipper of his jeans and straining against the fabric over it. 

He could put it in him, Kon realizes distantly, still feeling hazy and blurry and throbbingly hot even past the embarrassment and uncertainty. He’s–he’s open enough, right? Stretched enough? So Tim could just slick his dick up and . . . and he could just . . . 

Kon’s hole clenches up reflexively around his TTK again, and his TTK just–reshapes itself, a little. It feels like just as much of a reflex; like something he’s not even actually doing himself. 

He can feel Tim’s body, like this. Can feel his dick, and the condition that it’s in, and every single ridge and curve and vein. 

And he can make his TTK any shape he wants to, if he wants to. 

So he–does that. Or it does it itself, maybe. 

But either way, then he’s got the best imitation he can make of Tim as what’s inside him and stretching him open, not just–not just something featureless; not just something shaped however’s most convenient in the moment but nothing else, or . . . or anything like . . . 

Tim’s inside him, Kon registers hazily, and then he snaps his eyes shut and digs his teeth into his wrist and comes again, clutching up and clenching down and making himself tight around–making himself tight for–

For Tim, he thinks, cutting crystal-clear through the haze, and the shuddering, stuttering aftershocks are almost stronger than the actual orgasm was. 

“Kon,” Tim says, his voice breathless and a little strangled. “I need you to actually fuck yourself now.”

[hoseokslefteyebrow]

The Anomaly || JJK

Chapter 11: Thunderclap

summary : In which you're isekai'd from your (own) parallel Jujutsu Kaisen universe to the canon universe.

wordcount : 3.2k

Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen X Reader, eventually Character x Reader (idk who yet tho)

Masterlist | Next

You still have no idea whether the man is okay.

Instead, he's decided that you are his enemy, about approximately 3 seconds after you asked him that question. You have no idea why, but you don't exactly have the time to think about it either as he pounces at you, his hands pressed together in front of him as he sends a fierce line of blood your way.

You dodge just at the last second, the attack only snagging very few hairs. But then-

Wait-

Blood?

You know that technique.

" Wait! What's your name?" 

He narrows his eyes at you, glaring as he huffs. His attack doesn't stop, and instead, he sends multiple blood missiles your way.

" Kamo Choso. What's it to you?"

You raise both your hands, your technique overpowering his own. At once, the blood missiles stop midair.

This was the very reason why the Kamo clan disliked you. Not only did your mother marry an outsider, she also gave birth to someone who could nullify their preciously honored technique.

You don't know a Choso. Perhaps he was only in this universe, and not your own.

Choso's eyes widen, taken by surprise, before they narrow again into a glare. 

" What's your technique?"

" Wouldn't you like to know? Don't bother fighting me. This is a fight you will not be able to win." 

You glare right back at him, your warning very much a statement. You ready your stance, holding his blood missiles in place for now.

He grits his teeth, the mark on his face tightening up, elongating into a thin, dotted line.

He doesn't say anything after that, instead charging at you to face you in hand to hand combat. You don't back down, reshaping his blood in a circle around you, you send it straight back at him. Granted, the circle was thin, but it was enough to catch him off guard.

Meanwhile Choso is completely confused. He hopes he isn't showing it too obviously ( and it's working, you have no idea that you've completely caught him off guard.) Although he has never run into other sorcerers who can use blood manipulation, he's sure that they shouldn't be able to use his blood. It's weird, considering you seem to be able to. He's trying to puzzle together the pieces of your technique, trying to figure out how you manage to control his blood.

However, Choso has not met many sorcerers, and doesn't have the needed knowledge of the water skins resting on her hips to be able to connect that your technique is something related to water. And as long as you won't use it, he'll never know.

Soon enough, he's onto you, throwing punch after punch. He's quick, nearly as quick as the Sukuna you're familiar with. Meanwhile you keep 'dancing' around him, your body following his movements fluidly. It's like you're his shadow. You're there, but he's unable to land a hit on you just yet.

Gritting his teeth at the challenge, he narrows his eyes at you, studying your physical features.

" What's your name?"

The question catches you off guard for some reason, your millisecond lag of response giving him the opportunity to land a good punch in your face. You cringe as you hear your nose crack. 

Fuck, he's stronger than you expected. He definitely just broke your nose. He doesn't understand your technique, so it's best to heal it later.

Blood trickles down your nose as you grumble and get up, wiping your sleeve against your nose. The bleeding doesn't stop, but you choose not to pay too much attention to it.

He is not getting the chance to hit you again. It's simply too risky.

" Y/N. Kamo Y/N." 

His eyes narrow as he approaches you, his mind whirring with this newfound information. Wouldn't that make you family of the body he possesses? That was concerning, and difficult. 

Noticing your name has caught him off guard, you take your chances. You close the distance between the two of you quickly, before aiming to kick him right across his face.

Sadly, he catches you at the very last second, blocking your leg and aiming yet another punch at you.

However, he's caught by utter surprise as you manage to use his arm to flip your weight over him, doing a cartwheel right over him. His eyes widen. He had already noticed that you were flexible, especially with how you kicked him just now, but you're more athletic and agile than he had expected.

For a moment, a peaceful silence seems to hang over you two, the both of you panting to catch your breaths.

And then you're both charging at one another again. The fight is quick paced, kick after punch after elbow after knee, and all blocked or avoided by one another.

It's been a good while since you've had to work this hard to keep up with someone in physical combat. Choso is physically much stronger than you. ( Sadly, most people you find yourself against are, though that isn't usually an issue.) On top of that, he's fast, fast enough to keep up with you. Usually, your quick reactions would cancel out your lack of strength. Sadly, it does not today.

However, in one lucky hit, you manage to punch him right in the ribs, somewhere Yuuji has delivered a blow earlier as well ( Though you have no idea of that, so you really are just lucky.) 

You collect your breath, spitting out the blood that's trickling down your nose as you fix your gaze on him, readying your stance.

" Where's Yuuji?"

His eyes widen like you've just spoken about a miracle.

" Yuuji- Yuuji's-" 

He doesn't have the chance to say whatever he's wishing to say. From a distance, a dark, evil cursed energy had been around, and it was moving now. In fact, the entrance behind you bursts full of flames, like someone has fire wielding abilities and has dropped it down right on the ground above you.

The metro station shakes, and in a reflex, you draw yourself closer to Choso. You uncap one of your water bottles, and with more water then you'd like to use, you create a shield, trapping you and Choso in a water bubble.

Choso is looking at you with wide eyes as you do that. 

Weren't you supposed to be his enemy? 

He doesn't speak until the fire has died down, until your water shield has evaporated due to the heat. You're breathing heavily due to the scare of it, your body sweaty from the heat of the flames that nearly licked you.

" You- Are you Itadori Yuuji's friend?"

You raise your hands against him, clasping your water skin closed. He's been kind enough to not kill you while he had the chance but you never know if he decides to do so again.

" Yes... Why..?"

For a moment, Choso is just staring at you, his mind all over the place. You've sincerely got no idea what's going on in his head, but you don't question it this time.

" I- You can leave. I won't kill you. Or harm you."

And with that said he's walking away, his head in his hands once more.

You're left utterly confused, your eyes questioning what just happened.

However, you choose not to ponder on it too long. You have no idea what's going on the grounds above you. For all you know, they need your help.

Without another thought, you sprint up, up the stairs and-

Your eyes widen, taking in the destruction surrounding you.

Something big had been passing over. Every building around you seems to be in shambles, half burnt, or cut in two. With wide eyes, you pass along, hoping to find someone familiar at least.

On top of that, that pull of cursed energy that exactly feels like your own, is starting to feel less distant. It's heading towards you now. 

You don't have time to think about that too much, your eyes widening as you round a corner.

" Megumi!" 

Stood a few meters away from him, was another sorcerer (or curse user?) You don't know.

Megumi is in terrible shape. He's laid against a wall, knocked out, his head hung low, and covered in blood.

Your eyes widen as you run over to him.

You don't bother turning to face the stranger with a ponytail. You don't know who's side he's on, but you just hope he won't bother you.

You uncap the water skin you have, not wasting a second as you press your other hand to Megumi's chest. His heart is still pumping, his blood flow alive under his skin. You manipulate the last of your water around your hands, pressing it against the places where you guess he's hurt the most.

To your surprise, the very worst of his injuries are okay. Like someone's been here before. Healed him already. You can feel Shoko's reverse energy signature, though it's distant. It couldn't have been her. However, this leaves you to wonder, who was it?

You're sigh, noting that you need more water. You won't be able to fully heal him, but he still has injuries that need to close up. Focusing on the very core of your strength, you raise your hands, pulling water from thin air. It's a demanding part of your technique. Exhausting you, though you figure you'll come across a water source to heal yourself sooner or later. Even a simple tap would do.

You'll be fine.

You continue healing Megumi. However, you're pulled from your thoughts when ponytail suddenly starts laughing, charging at you with his sword in hand.

Your eyes widen. You can't stop the healing process now. If only your Sukuna was here- He'd have-

The source of your cursed energy is here.

Your mouth falls open in shock as ponytail gets pulled back by his hair, thrown in the nearest building.

In front of you, with his back facing you, is your closest friend.

" How stupid are you to heal someone when an enemy is stood right beside you?" 

Overrun with positive emotions, your reverse cursed technique finishes up quicker than expected.

" Sukuna!" 

You throw yourself at your best friend. Hugging him tightly, your arms snaking around him as your face is pressed in the crook of his neck. You enjoy the familiar warmth as he hugs you back tightly.

Because it doesn't matter how cold or tough Sukuna may act, you know he cares more deeply for you than anyone you know.

The two of you remain in each other's embrace for a moment, happy to finally be near one another again. When you finally pull apart, your touch lingers on one another.

He glances over at Megumi.

" what happened to him?"

" I'm not sure."

" It couldn't have been that ponytail, right? Megumi's not weak. Or is this Megumi weak?" 

You shake your head, your eyes glancing at him.

" You're already aware that we appear to be in a different universe?"

" Nobara filled me in.- How much water do you have left?"

You grin cheekily at him, your hands messing with the bracelet on his wrist. Of course, that's why it felt so familiar. That pull you felt is your cursed energy. The energy you lended to your best friend so you could always find one another in times of need.

" Seems it led you to me once again." 

You grin at him. Sukuna was not amused. He knew you were really just avoiding the question and trying to get him distracted.

" So you've got no water left?"

" Err- Well, no- "

He cuts you off, heaving an annoyed sigh. Pulling his arm out of your loose grip, he uses both hands to untie the water skin on his back. The one he always wore with him, just in case you managed to run out of water.

" Have you been carrying that around all this time while I was gone?" 

He scoffs.

" I knew that I'd find you, and I knew you're stupid.-"

A demanding presence suddenly silenced both of you.

You turn to your left, noticing Yuuji- no- Was this the Sukuna of this world? The one they spoke of?- Either way, he was stood barely a few meters away from the two of you, his eyes fixed on yours.

" Oh, nice, there's another me."

Ryomen Sukuna smirks at his words, you step back, pulling your best friend with you.

Fuck, he doesn't know.

" Erm- Kuna', this you is, well, complicated and uhh, not nic-"

You don't get a chance to finish your last word. Instead, Ryomen Sukuna has grabbed you by the neck, and has taken to the sky, once high enough, he flings you into a building not too far away.

Ryomen Sukuna is annoyed. Two golden opportunities. Killing you, and witnessing the full strength of Fushiguro Megumi. On top of that, he finally had the space to fight again. However, it appears he doesn't have enough time. Below his skin, Yuuji is desperately grappling back for control, and it won't take long until he wins.

He needs you dead before you know of your actual potential. Of just how strong you actually are.

Noticing your bloodied form moving beneath the rubble, he grumbles in annoyance.

He aims at you again, intending to choke you with his bare hands. 

However, before he can reach close enough, a chain is wrapping around his middle. He's barely glancing down at it, before he's pulled down, harshly into the ground. 

It doesn't harm him. Not in the slightest. However, his interest has been piqued.

" Who're you?"

Standing across from him, stood none other than a replica of him, with minimal details. The only detail that stood out to Ryomen Sukuna was his duplicate's lack of cursed energy. 

Your Sukuna doesn't reply, his eyes narrowing at him.

" Could ask you the same. The fuck's your issue?" 

Ryomen Sukuna smirks.

" You have no cursed energy. You can't defeat me."

With that said, Ryomen charges at his duplicate. Kuna' is quick, on par when it comes to hand to hand combat. It's a quick work on punches and kicks, elbows and knees as they fight one another. 

Meanwhile, you climb out from under the rubble, holding your ribs which are broken without a doubt. You grit your teeth, shaking your head in hopes to shake away your hazy vision. You will not die here. And neither will your Sukuna. You will personally make sure of that.

Meanwhile the two are still fighting one another. Your Sukuna is able to handle more punches than Ryomen expected, and he can't help but feel annoyed by it. However, in one lucky opening, he manages to land a swift, strong punch to his duplicate's stumic, sending him flying back.

On his other side, you have approached as well, your body flexible as you take up the challenge to fight him.

Truth to be told, you've forgotten that he specifically wanted you dead. 

You don't really realize that he wouldn't bother to finish off your best friend, that he'd chase after you instead. 

Sukuna finds himself even more annoyed with your style of physical combat, you're dancing around him, using his weight and movements to your advantage. 

He doesn't understand where you're getting the strength from. You're all bloodied up, injured, and you're still fighting. Perhaps you're growing stronger on a quicker pace than he'd like.

He smirks at you, done with your fluid movements as he grabs you by the neck. You glare at him.

Behind him, he can hear his duplicate getting up. At the same time, he can feel Yuuji push more and more for control, desperate to not have you dead.

 " Watch and learn, you have no cursed energy. You're not strong enough to win from me.-"

His duplicate is much quicker than he expected. Before he can react, he's send flying in the building behind him.

Your Sukuna grits his teeth. You cough, getting up from the floor as you fix your sight on the unbothered four eyed male who's leaving the building unscathed once again.

He's closing the distance between the two of you with the blink of an eye- his hand raised for what you don't doubt to be an activation for his slice technique.

Instinctively, you fall back, your hands raising as you take control of the closest water source.

You hate doing this. By your own morals, you never use it until you have absolutely no other option. And judging by the fact that Yuuji is currently prisoner in his own body, you suppose that this is one of those moments. You hate it, but you can't allow him to kill you.

At once, Ryomen Sukuna's movements still.He cackles.

You're not sure why, but after a moment, a glint appears in his eyes as he looks at you.

" Ah, you're lucky. The brat's gaining control. You won't be so lucky a second time."

Beside you, you notice your Sukuna about ready to slice his neck, and you raise an arm, stopping him as he gives you an incredulous look.

" Y/N, what the-"

" No! You don't understand. You can't kill Yuuji!"

Your Sukuna watches with wide eyes as the marks on Yuuji's face disappear, the smirk falling off. His mouth falls open in shock as his brother's features take over, wide eyes taking in the scene.

The resistance against your manipulation is gone, yet your body still trembles due to the adrenaline rushing through your body.

" Yuuji?"

Your voice is careful, uncertain, as you don't lose your control over his body just yet.

" Y-Y/N, I-"

With that, you release your hold, falling to the ground. 

Yuuji looks around. His eyes connect to your Sukuna's for a moment, but neither say anything.

Your Sukuna doesn't know how to act, or what to do or say. He knows him as his brother. He doesn't want to kill him, but he doesn't understand what to make of the situation either. What just happened?

Instead, he walks over to where you've collapsed, your body out cold.

Yuuji watches him move. He's picking you up with care, carrying your body close to his own, picking up the water skin that's lying on the ground abandoned as he carries it on his back once more.

And then he's walking off, not looking back once.

Yuuji throws up as he remembers what just went down.

He almost killed you.

You would've died if your Sukuna hadn't been there.

-

The Anomaly Taglist:

@luxylucylou @kalulakunundrum @strxbxrrylover @aethersslave @jenniferrvsesi @hanatsuki-hime @betizda

[tigergirltail]

TIGER HRT CHAPTER 4 - MONTH 3 - GROWING PAINS

First - Prev - Next

Everything hurts.

I started noticing it about two weeks after my first dose. It felt like a dull headache at first, but over the next month it spread to pretty much my entire body.

I had to start working from home, and eventually it got bad enough that I could only put in a few hours of work each day. My boss is a reasonable enough guy, but he wasn't going to pay a full time salary for part time hours, so I had to take a salary cut.

Luckily, my partner is around to take care of daily errands, not to mention being there to reassure and comfort me when the pain gets bad. They've been thinking about seeing if Lindwurm HRT is a thing, but they don't want to get the process started until I'm in the clear and can take care of myself again.

Gods I love them.

The reason the pain is happening, as best I can tell, is that my skeletal structure is already changing. I've gotten at least an inch taller, and my face has been reshaping into a feline muzzle. My teeth are getting sharper, and I'm developing proper fangs. I also noticed a little while ago that my fingernails and toenails had receded into their respective digits, which sucks for two reasons - I can't paint fingernails I don't have, and they are sore as HELL when I put any amount of pressure on them. I have to be REALLY careful with how I type to not inflict agony on myself. I'm also feeling my tail growing in, and even if it hurts, it's euphoric as HELL. A tail was always the part I wanted most out of this.

It's weird, the skeletal changes weren't supposed to happen this early. I've been trying to reach Dr. Erian about it, but he's constantly busy, probably because of the sudden surge of people looking for Humanity Removal Therapy.

Other than that, I've been getting areas of white and black fur coming in - mostly on my arms and legs, but a little bit on my face and ears - ears that are gradually reshaping and migrating. Nothing to report on hearing sensitivity, but I think my night vision is getting better.

I did a little bit of looking around for anyone with similar pain experiences. I got my hopes up when I found a girl, Antonina, who had a painful experience with Cat HRT, but it turns out it's because she took the rumoured Fifteen Minute version. She described the pain as "like bathing in an active volcano".

It leaves me wondering whether I would have preferred a 15-minute lava bath over a months-long full-body headache.

I ended up reaching out to her anyway, just because I wanted to know what I was in for in the endgame and feline HRT is rarer than I thought it would be. Sounds like the prey drive is the real deal - she keeps feeling the urge to bite this one girl who's on mouse HRT.

We've been spending some time comparing notes and getting to know each other. It's nice to know someone else who's going through this thing, even if our experiences aren't exactly one-to-one.

I also talked to my mother for the first time in nearly a year. I went No Contact with her a while back because she was only getting more obnoxious and combative about me being trans, but I figured changing my species is a big enough deal that I should keep her in the loop.

Besides, my savings had nearly dried up and I needed to ask her for money.

It… did not go well. She hadn't heard of therian HRT before, and once I explained it, she started panicking about how I'm "mutilating my body" with "untested treatments". I think I also heard her cry something about how her "son" is "killing himself", which is just multiple layers of insensitive.

At least she sent me some money. Hopefully it'll be enough to last until my transformation stops being agonizing and I can go back to work, and then I can go right back to pretending my family doesn't exist.

At roughly the three-month mark, I have a check-in video call with Dr. Erian. From the moment his face appears on screen, though, I can tell something is wrong. He seems… older, somehow.

"Hello, Miss Alexis.", he offers. He sounds tired. Sorrowful, even.

"Hey, doc." I have to ask about it. "Everything okay? You seem a bit tired."

"Nothing to worry about Miss Alexis, just the ordinary stresses of daily life."

Liar. I know I'm not entitled to details of your personal life, much less your professional secrets, but I know when something is eating at someone.

"…Does the word 'crossroads' mean anything to you, Miss Alexis?"

Huh? That came a bit out of left field. "I've… heard some other therian HRT patients use the term, but I don't know much of the details. Something about a point of no return?"

"Something of the sort." He lowers his head and seems to go from sorrowful to downright grim. "There will come a time, Miss Alexis, when you will have to make a very important decision in your care, and I ask that you do so with great consideration for the consequences."

I recoil a little in my seat. "Yeah… Of course I will. Any decision I make, even reaching out to you in the first place, I don't take it lightly."

"Good… That's good." His demeanor shifts back to his stoic, clinical self. I don't know what just happened, but he went somewhere for a moment there.

"Now then, I did receive your messages, I apologize for not getting back to you. You mentioned you were experiencing persistent and debilitating whole-body soreness?"

"Yeah. I can't even leave the apartment most days, it hurts so much."

"Odd… You are taking the treatment as directed, yes?"

"Of course. One tablespoon a week, just like it says on the bottle."

I see his eyes twitch behind his glasses. Did I say something wrong?

"…Teaspoon."

I cock my head to the side. "Say again?"

"You mean one TEASPOON a week, yes?"

I feel my heart sink. The dark smear on the dosage information… I could have sworn it said '1 tbsp/week'.

"…Could you hold on a second please?" I mute the mic and call out to my partner to bring the bottle of tiger HRT over. When they do, I unmute and hold it up to the webcam. I hear Dr. Erian take a sharp intake of breath as he notices the obscured instructions.

I set the bottle aside and the two of us share an awkward silence.

"So…", I begin. "…How bad is it?"

"The good news", he offers slowly, "is that you have only been taking three times the prescribed dose. An increased dose imbalances the growth rate of the different parts of your body, hence your pain and persistent weakness, but it could have been much worse."

I think back to the so-called Fifteen Minute version, and Antonina's description of it - like bathing in an active volcano.

Dr. Erian continues. "Assuming you return to a CORRECT dose, your growth rates will gradually level out over the course of the next month or so. It is my medical opinion that you should maintain a low-activity lifestyle until then, but you will eventually be able to return to your typical activity level, and you will also find that the physical effects become more… consistent."

"That's… reassuring. Thank you, doctor." I pause. Something I noticed a little while ago has been weighing on my mind. "There's one thing, though - do the treatments have… I guess you'd call them restorative or regenerative effects? I've noticed some old wounds aren't there anymore."

The doctor clicks his pen and brings up his notepad. "Interesting. Do go on, Miss Alexis."

"Well… I used to get lower back pain from a car crash injury I got a little over a year ago, but I haven't noticed it at all lately. Pretty much the only part that DOESN'T hurt… There also used to be some marks on my arm from a cat biting me when I was little." I give a slight smile. "The cat's name was Tiger, go figure."

Dr. Erian is writing the whole time I'm talking. "Yes, that is to be expected. Minor persistent injuries will fade over time as your body re-forms itself to a new baseline, even severe chronic symptoms may fade. If there are no other concerns…"

"Just one… Most of the other therian HRT patients I've talked to have gotten their meds as pills, so what's with the potion bottle?"

Dr. Erian pauses, and adjusts his glasses nervously, as if he's been caught out on something he doesn't want to admit to. "Well… advances in the field are occurring rapidly, and you are one of the more recent patients, so a more… streamlined option was available to you. I took the liberty of choosing the most compatible option based on your medical records, and that bottle is it."

"Okay… But what's IN it?"

"The active ingredients are antihominidone, which is your humanity-blocker, and a specialized formula of felistrogen, infused with white tiger genetic material. The rest of the fluid is a suspension used to dilute the effects, without which you would be looking at a short, but excruciating and potentially lethal process."

The Fifteen Minute version, I think to myself. I'm taking diluted Fifteen Minute meds. There's no WAY this isn't experimental, and I'M the experiment. I despise saying it, but maybe my mother was right to worry.

"But I'm afraid I really do have to go, Miss Alexis, my next appointment is waiting."

"G-gotcha. See ya, doctor."

---

Special thanks to @paintedbytosia for letting me write her in, and shoutout to @megamoonerjenny for coming up with 'antihominidone'

[notbxnny]

Tom cannot stand the idea that he might like someone more than they like him. it is one of the very first things we hear about him. it quietly eats at him in a way he can’t quite shake. maybe its the midwestern upbringing that expects at least a veneer of civility, that makes him feel particularly spurned when people don’t bother to mask their resentment or disinterest. he spends almost every waking hour of his life being courteous and amicable to people he can’t stand and he never sees an ounce of it returned, especially concerning Shiv and Logan, with any of the Roy’s, any piece of himself offered up is crushed beneath their heel. they’re supposed to be family but he knows how little they think of him, he can feel it, he can taste it, everyone can, yet he has no choice but to try and find his way in with them, caught in an unending, desperate clamour for their favour.

Greg is used to the people in his life not reciprocating his good will. often throughout his life he was reshaped by the people around him, his sense of self never landing anywhere solid as he frequently conformed to blend in with whichever crowds didn’t mind him hanging around. he was his mothers only child and his grandfathers only grandchild, which, in spite of they both view him with a very lukewarm disappointment. its almost an impossibility to feel loved as a Roy, but there’s still this allusion to it which the Roy’s can’t help but chase, they can get close enough to it to feel its warmth but can never quite reach it; when you’re a Hirsch, there’s nothing to seek out in the first place, the distance is just too great. Greg’s cousins think he’s a joke and a pest at best, Greg doesn’t think they’re very good people, but securing his place in the family puts him in a position that pays handsomely so he gives it his all. He pries information out of eavesdropped conversations and misguided entrustment because power and leverage is the only language they speak, and he doesn’t get upset when they scorn him after he’s offered up all he has. When each of his weak attempts to play being an actual family—or find any personhood left in them he can connect to—are met with further ostracism, he just grits his teeth and clings even harder to the brittle strands that connect them.

long story short this is why the tom and greg dynamic is the most perfect when one of them is weirdly dependent and clingy and the other is very vaguely repulsed by this

[thr0wnawayy]

Fimbulwinter

6 months after the Broadcast

In the media control room of the Safety Commission HQ, alarms blared on full blast as teams of agents scrambled to do damage control.

"What's the hell's going on in here!?."

The head of the Safety Commission Technology Sector bellowed as he stomped down the corridor towards the central control panel.

"Somethings wrong, w-we've been locked out our servers." A technician stuttered out.

He shoved his subordinate out of the way, his look slowly shifting to one of realization and horror as he gazed upon the monitor screen.

"shit. Shit, shit SHIT!. Get the president on the line!" He yelled.

"W-we can't his flight from the UN HQ was delayed!. He's still in there." The techie replied, anxiously rubbing his wrists in his panic.

A notification chime was heard from the main display. Slowly everyone in the room began to lift their heads in terror.

A pop up displayed four simple words.

[The Past Never Dies]

"Fuck." Was all the commander could muster as his gaze switched to the massive display screen that lit up the room.

At 12:00 AM, PT, A series of documents and files were thrown onto the web by an unknown source.

Their name, Hornet.

Any tech capable of displaying information to the public was overridden with video feed, audio logs and prerecorded messages found within the files.

The contents of which ranged from camera feed of Sir Nighteye's misconduct towards his secretary to an entire written breakdown of Ubwami's abuse of the 1st year's Apprenticeship Program and it's consequences.

No stone was left unturned. Comm leaks from during the war were found, further fueling the allegations of apologetics and suspected corruption.

With Rei Todoroki's disappearance happening only a couple months prior, the Burnin' agency struggled go maintain it's already shaky standing among the public.

Burnin and the rest of the Flaming Sidekicks attempted to explain their decisions to no avail, with the agency and it's members going on temporary leave for the foreseeable future.

UA had held on by the skin of their teeth, with their servers being closed for repairs since the war ended, they had narrowly avoided meeting the fates of their associates.

These would be come to known as the League Leaks and their debute would reshape the future of humanity as we know it.

But to look forward, one must first understand the past so let us take a look at the current ongoings taking place on the other end of the globe.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

UN Headquarters, Europe.

A gavel smashed against the podium, demanding the attention of a frantic crowd.

For the first time since the 'advent of the exceptional', national leaders from across the world were meeting face to face. At the center of it all, stood the HSPC leader, Hawks.

Although he did not rule the nation, the royal family had not held power in ages, thus the HPSC president was considered an acceptable substitute.

Again the gavel struck the podium at the center of the stands and finally the chatter stopped.

The UN representative dragged a hand down his face.

Originally this meeting was going to be discussing the compensation given to the countries that aided in the cleanup effort after the war, only for a data leak to surface and spread worse then the Niño Diablo that had recently crushed the America's.

He looked up to see the young president staring at him like some kind of child, clearly (and fortunately) he was not aware of the leaks. Though judging by some faces, that would be changing today.

The representative tried not to glare as he spoke into his mic.

"This meeting was originally going to discuss Japan's plans to repay the nation's of Singapore, Australia, The United States, New Korea and China." The man spoke with a controlled tone.

"However some information has come to light that has changed that, as such my superiors believe it would be best for the nation's gathered here to both discuss the newly found info as well as the next steps going forward. Whomever wishes to speak, please do so now."

SLAM!

The noise came from the northwest of the side of the stands, the furious expression of bared teeth and blazing eyes signaled the fury of the Korean President.

Even with the man's quirk giving him resemblance to a Siberian Tiger, it failed to match the fury lacing his tone

His huff came with a deep growl as he spoke.

"When your nation was in shambles, we were made to pick up the slack. Our heroes worked day and night to aid in your rebuilding project, no matter how ludicrous the deadlines and today we find our you repay us by going behind our backs!." The Tiger-man bellowed.

Hawks replied "woah, woah big man easy. Would someone mind informing me what happend exactly."

"Gladly" France's Prime Minister tsked from the eastern side of the stands.

"Around 4 hours ago, a series of documents were uploaded to ze web, showing very compromising footage. As such myself and the nation's of Germany, Otheon, Italy, Ze UK and the rest of ze EU are opting for further investigations into ze HPSC" Her head turned to the UN representative as she finished.

"If I may" The attention drew on the Pro Hero, Typhoon (known to the ignorant as the Big Red Dot)

"As the representative of Singapore, me and my colleagues believe Japan should face punishment for their attitudes and actions. The HPSC has made no statement as of yet and thus far has shown no remorse for their past actions, would it be possible to list some of these actions" Typhoon stated.

The UN representative adjusted his glasses as he read off the paper.

"Of course, thus far the following have been confirmed: Political assassination, domestic terrorism, bribery, unlawful imprisonment, tampering of multiple corpses, larceny in regards to past targets, corruption, falsifying a suicide. These are all crimes the Commission is suspected to be guilty of and substantial evidence has been found backing up those claims." He mechanically stated to the court.

"As such the this meeting has been altered from one discussing resources to now discussing if Japan even has a seat at this table, so to speak. All should note that this will by an arduous process and should more come to light it will be even longer, so please do not expect this to be a one time thing." The representative explained

Words of acknowledgement were spoken in unison.

Hawks paused uncharacteristically, eyes showing that his mind was firing on all cylinders to make a response.

He went with courtesy. "Alright, I can see where your coming from, but the HPSC is dead. The crimes mentioned were done by the last 2 presidents. I intend to make a change."

"Oh, as I'm sure you're aware that some of those crimes were carried out by yourself, does the name 'Jin Bubaigawra' ring a bell?" The VP of the United States bluntly added.

"I was under the Commission's thumb, I was just following-"

"BULLSHIT!". cried out Typhoon, water flowing from his mouth as his quirk activated in fury.

"I WILL NOT SIT IDLY BY, AS YOU SO SHAMELESSLY LIE TO OUR FACES!. Do you take us for fools!?. We've read the logs Hawks and not once were you ever given permission to kill!"

The word 'permission' launched off his tongue like poison. The Singaporean Lion emphasized his rant with a slam to his desk.

That got the pot stirring.

"Oh a murderer in office, what else is new for your nation. Some odd 250 years ago it was the Imperial Emperor and now this, Well I won't stand for it and none of you should either!." The Korean President roared.

Then it was US's turn.

"Furthermore, how do we know you aren't just a figurehead while the Commission schemes in the shadows?. Do you really expect us to believe in you or your methods." The Vice President spoke up.

"The commission has changed under my leadership-"

"You?, the same man who thinks the best way to help 'those that slipped through the cracks' is to kill them?" Huffed India's representative, his arms crossed.

The room quickly went wild with questions and heated remarks.

The Gavel slammed once, then twice more.

"Order, Order!. We must continue with the proceedings, please remember that the next meeting we have will be hosted live to address these matters. You are representative of your nations, act like it!. "

The room was left throughly cowed.

The representative continued, his tone a little softer.

"I understand these are stressful times but we must keep our composure and focus on the matters at hand. Let us continue where we left off, Hawks if you could-"

Much was said, more was planned and as the 3 hour meeting came to a close, every person that left the room knew things would never be the same.

Even in death, Tomura Shigaraki won.

[steeltwigz]

Marshple makeout fic WIP hope you guys. H. Hope you uh. [Runs away into a hole in the ground never to be seen again]

Fic Background Lore:

[Marsh and Apple get into a fight, Apple has reverted a bit to being overwhelmingly clingy due to jealousy cough and her serious unacknowledged abandonment issues & trauma cough and Marsh is already stressed and getting madder than usual. Apple like Marsh-naps her while she's doing dishes or smth idk I didn't think that far]

Marsh wiggled, struggling against Apple, who only seemed to tighten her grip.

“Marsh, wait- don't go!” Apple shouted into her ear. Marsh pushed Apple's arms as hard as she could, shaking with effort.

“Apple-!” Marsh said, grunting, “this is ridiculous, put me down!”

Apple buried her face into Marsh, hugging her tighter. Marsh choked and spluttered as Apple spoke into her fluff. “I can't!” She sobbed pathetically, “If I let go you'll- you'll-!” Her voice was cut off with a sudden grunt and her body shuddered, arms falling slack. Marsh scrambled out of her grasp, sitting just out of Apple's reach. She brushed herself off as Apple stared unblinkingly into the distance. There was a familiar pink glow in Apple's dark eyes and her lips moved slightly, silently arguing with her possessor. Marsh could see Apple's fingers twitch as she fought against Bow for control of her body and crossed her arms, sinking back into the cushions as she waited for them to get control of themselves. A few moments passed, silence filling the room as Apple argued under her breath imperceptibly. If Marsh strained enough, she could hear Bow's echoing replies, but she knew better than to eavesdrop and she didn't want to sit close enough to get suddenly grabbed again anyway. She worked to reshape herself back to normal as they argued, tapping her foot and chewing her lip, nervous tics she couldn't control even in her anger.

Suddenly, Apple took a gasping breath and sat forward. She blinked, shaking her head. Her hand twitched, but didn't move and she glared at it, opting to lean back against the couch like Marsh and glaring at the wall. Marsh watched Apple lick her teeth, sharper now thanks to Bow's possession, and pout, but she didn't seem to want to talk. Bow cleared their throat but Apple just turned away even more, though Bow moved her back with some struggle.

“Nooo!” Apple whined, Bow grumbling underneath her voice. “I don't want to-!”

“You two need to talk it out, come on!” Bow replied using Apple's voice, though with a slight echo. Marsh had been around a possessed Apple enough to be able to notice the difference now. She watched them fight each other.

Apple tried her best to keep her face turned away, screwing her eyes shut. “I'm not talking to her right now! She's being mean!”

Bow sighed and Marsh gasped, offended. She sat up straighter, hand on her chest. “You literally scooped me up and ran away from everyone! And how have I been mean? You're the one who-”

Bow cut her off, raising Apple's hand and holding a finger up to Marsh's mouth. “Not the time, Marsh!” She said. The arm shook then fell slack as Apple fought to regain control again. Bow exhaled sharply, frustrated, muttered ‘fine, gimme a sec’ then with a start she took control of Apple's body entirely. It fell back into the cushions before Bow sat up, crossing her arms. She looked up, exasperated. “There. Look, you want the problem to go away, right?”

After a moment, Apple nodded to herself. Bow hummed. “Mhm, that's what I thought. I'm gonna step out now. You gonna talk it out?” Apple glanced to the side and mumbled something under her breath. Bow sighed, and used Apple's hand to rub her shoulder reassuringly. “I know,” she said, voice soft, “but you gotta do it or else it'll never get solved, right?” Apple's expression became fearful for a moment, before she nodded again. “Good,” Bow said. She paused for a moment then turned to Marsh awkwardly, waving Apple's fingers at her sheepishly. “Oh and uh- Hi, Marsh.”

Marshmallow sighed, then smiled softly, raising her own hand. Bow smiled back, then flew out of Apple's body, reforming into her normal shape in the middle of the room. Marshmallow watched her, then turned back to Apple, who had been staring at her sadly, though she turned away and glared at the floor when their gazes met. Apple glanced up at Bow who cleared her throat impatiently and Apple blinked then sighed, the same apprehensive expression returning to her face as she turned back to Marsh.

“I-” she started, then swallowed, choking on her voice. Marsh anger dulled significantly at the pathetic display, replaced suddenly with worry. Apple fidgeted with her hands to avoid looking at Marsh. “I'm scared…” she admitted softly. She looked up at Marsh suddenly, unable to stop herself once she had gotten the first confession out. “I'm scared! Marsh, I'm really really scared. And I miss you! And we never hang out anymore, and everything is different now and all these people are here, and they're getting between us ‘cuz we're so busy now! I just want it all to go back to how it was, Marsh, I miss how it was when everything was good. You don't even kiss me in the hallway or hold my hand and we sleep together but you're always awake before me and in bed after I've already fallen asleep so it barely counts. You don't even sit at the window to watch me chop firewood anymore, I thought you loved doing that!”

Marsh suddenly blushed. “You knew about that?!”

“Just tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it already and we can go back to normal! Don't you like me anymore?” Her voice cracked, and she sniffled loudly, hiccuping as years flowed down her face. Marsh mentally kicked herself, then surged forward, caressing Apple's cheek and wiping her tears with her thumb. Unsure of what to really do, Marsh kissed Apple on her forehead, hard. Apple hiccuped again, but it was enough of a surprise that her tears slowed a bit. Marsh pulled back and gazed at Apple fondly, who couldn't help but blush.

“I'm sorry,” Marshmallow said, sincerely. Apple just gulped. “You're right. I haven't given you enough time, I've been so stupid-”

Apple nodded. “Yeah, and a real jerk!” she interrupted.

Marsh narrowed her eyes and Apple averted her gaze innocently. Marsh sighed, rubbing her neck. “Guess I deserved that. But Apple, if this has been bothering you, why didn't you tell me sooner?” It was Apple's turn to narrow her eyes.

“I tried! You keep avoiding me…”

Marsh tilted her head. “What? No, I don't!”

“M-hm! You spend all your time with Paintbrush and when you aren't with them you're with OJ and when you aren't with him, you're with Knife, who I thought you hated! And today, I wake up and you're missing, and I find out you ditched me in the middle of the night to go sleep with Suitcase? We don't even know her!” Apple started sniffling again and her voice was heavy, “I- I don't even care if you don't like me anymore, but I just want you to tell me!”

Marsh rushed to grab Apple's hands, shaking her head. “I do! Apple, I love you more than anyone in the whole world-” Bow interrupted to clear her throat but Marsh continued, “I didn't mean to avoid you! I've just been so busy with renovations and making up for lost time with others… I'm sorry I made you feel this way. I didn't mean to. I would never mean to do that to you, Apple. I want to make it up to you.” She raised her hand to Apple's cheek, turning her face so they could gaze at each other. “Can you tell me what'll make it better? Please?”

Apple sniffled again, then rubbed her face with her arm to dry her tears. After thoroughly rearranging herself, she glanced back at Marsh shyly. “Well…” she started. She bit her lip, glancing away then at Marsh again with wide, pleading eyes. Marsh got the sneaking suspicion something bad was coming. “You could kick everyone out.” Apple finished, blinking sweetly. Marsh snorted and rolled her eyes, squeezing Apple's hands playfully.

“Alright smart guy, nice try.” Apple giggled, kicking her feet slightly. Her face fell though as she thought over the question seriously. She looked away again, bashfully.

“I just…” she started, voice soft, “I just want to be how we used to. Spend more time together and hug and kiss and stuff.” She looked up at Marshmallow shyly, and Marsh felt her heart leap into her throat. She blushed profusely, swallowing to get control of herself, and smiled softly at Apple.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “I'd like that, too.”

Apple sat up straighter, a grin spreading slowly on her face. Spurred on by a sudden impulsive bravery, she grabbed Marsh's hand, kissing her palm loudly, as Marsh burst out laughing at the surprise. Apple worked her way down the heel of Marsh's hand, the inside of her wrist, all the way to her shoulder then her cheek as Marsh's blush deepened. “Apple!” She said, “I didn't think you meant right- mmph!” She was interrupted by Apple finally making her way to Marsh's mouth. She held Marsh tightly, tight enough to squish her significantly, Marsh figured, but she closed her eyes blissfully anyway. Her heart fluttered and her stomach did flips and she pushed against Apple just as much as Apple did to her. Something in her clicked, and the stress of the months spent drifting away from each other mended and she gripped Apple tighter, throwing her hands around Apple as far as she could reach to try to get even closer somehow. God, how could she have ever let it get so bad?

Apple pulled away suddenly with a gasp, though she didn't go far. Marshmallow licked her lips and tasted the leftover waxy feeling of Apple's skin and sighed.

“I love you,” she said softly. Apple's breath stuttered above Marsh and she smiled down at her. Never the best at words, Apple dove back down to kiss Marsh again, desperate and clingy, but Marsh could always read between the lines and the not-so-hidden meaning sent her head spinning. She broke apart for air then dove back just as Marsh gasped, repeating once, twice, and now Marsh's head spun for two reasons. There were worse ways to die, and Marsh had experienced most of them, so she wasn't as worried as she maybe should have been. Apple's hands held Marsh tightly, just as Marsh held Apple, and they kept clumsily knocking their teeth together in an effort to get even closer. Apple accidentally bit her lip and Marsh squeaked, and Apple suddenly moved back enough that they could breathe again.

“Sorry-!” Apple said in a rush of breath, panting. Marsh wiped her mouth on her wrist, and attempt to hide her giddy, shy smile.

“It's ok, Apple, you just surprised me. Bow is rubbing off on you, huh?”

At the mention of her name, Bow squeaked, too. Marsh's blush grew when she realized Bow had been in the room the whole time, watching the whole thing, and she covered her cheeks with her hands, still laying helplessly on her back below Apple. Bow's tail was lashing through the air erratically, kicking up static energy. She flew over, landing on Apple, holding her hands out and making her eyes wide and pleading.

“You know, I missed you too, Marshie, why don't you let me have a turn?” Her voice dripped with fake innocence and a flirtatious undertone that had Marshmallow at her wits end. Deciding that was as much as she could handle, Marshmallow rolled off the couch and onto her feet shakily. She was still blushing profusely but she raced to the door anyway.

“Oh, look at the time, I better go make dinner now!” She said, struggling with the doorknob. “See ya, girls!” She pulled the door open and meant to make a quick getaway, but something stopped it when she went to slam the door behind her. Apple had followed her and was smiling at her innocently.

“I'll help!” She said, seemingly completely recovered from the impromptu make out session that still had Marshmallow’s knees weak. She grabbed Marsh's hand and looked into her eyes, and Marsh valiantly fought the urge to fall over. “I missed cooking together.” She said simply. Marsh swallowed and nodded.

“Y-yeah! Okay.” She blinked to clear her head, then rubbed her thumb over Apple's knuckles. “I missed cooking with you, too.”

Bow flew over, laying on Apple's head and breaking their loving gaze by throwing her hands over Apple's eyes ‘accidentally’. “Me too, I wanna come! I miss my Marshie time.”

Marshmallow rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, come on.” She held Apple's hand tightly, and tugged her girlfriends out of the room.

[willsimpforanyone]

Good whatever time it is, if you're currently writing for request, could you write a GN!Monster!reader x percy Jackson where the reader recently got turned into a monster because they failed a quest for their parent?

good afternoon! i can definitely do that for you

this is gonna be more angsty than usual bc i can't imagine this went well

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

The words echoed in my head, chipping away at my resolve.

You've failed me. You're a waste. A disappointment.

I should never have trusted something so important to someone so weak.

I curled in on myself, bones still aching from being reformed and reshaped, muscles screaming from being stretched over this new form.

They didn't even tell me what they were going to do. They just had this... look in their eye, cold and cruel. I had begged, I had been on my knees and it meant nothing.

We were supposed to go out in threes, three of us on a quest, not one. I wasn't supposed to be by myself but they insisted, it was too secret to share with more than one person. They wanted me and me alone.

Maybe they wanted me alone.

My claws scraped against my tough skin, long and thin and alien. I was taller, larger. I tried to see properly, tears obscuring my vision, but the light seemed to pierce my brain and I shrieked, something inhuman and wild.

Everything hurt, everything was wrong, I didn't even know how I was breathing. I didn't know where I was and the confusion almost hurt more.

Something was moving. Familiar sounds, leaves being shuffled out the way of feet, twigs snapping under footsteps. Okay, I'm outside.

It provided the tiniest amount of comfort, along with a wave of fresh anxiety.

"Who's there?"

A voice! I know that voice! I risked opening my eyes again, twisted, clawed hand shading my face.

Brown and green, blue peaking through. A forest. Trees came into focus, then branches, then leaves. The light still felt like pins in my eyes but I had to know who spoke.

"Whoa, what the fuck are you?!"

Oh my gods. That... that was Percy.

He didn't know who I was. I didn't even know who I was. It felt like my organs squeezed painfully, panic and fear and desperation flooding my bloodstream.

I opened what I assumed was my mouth. What came out was some kind of whine, pitiful and pathetic. No words.

A flash of bronze made me freeze. Oh gods, that's Riptide, he's going to kill me.

I skittered back as best I could, pressing against tree bark. The sharpness of the texture didn't hurt and I hated it. I wasn't a threat, I wasn't going to hurt him, I wasn't what he thought I was, oh fuck he's going to kill me.

I had to talk, I had to make him understand. I tried to clear my throat, thick with fear. It made a hacking sound, like a cat throwing up. Slowly, I moved what I assumed was my tongue, poking it out and running it along my teeth. It was long and black and my teeth were thin and sharp.

Pushing aside the mental agony of not knowing what this body looked like, I tried to remember the way to form letters.

"H-eel-pp n-m-ee-"

I was crouched on the ground, making myself as small and unthreatening as possible, clawed hands wrapped around my legs. C'mon Percy, use your brain, a real monster wouldn't ask for help.

"H-hee-lp mmm-ee."

Please, please, Percy, I'm begging you to put the sword away, help me, please!

The bronze flash disappeared and I risked a deep breath. Good start, I can do this, we'll sort this out, he'll help.

"...you want help?" He took a step closer, hand still holding Riptide in pen form. "You're asking for help?"

"Pl-pleeea-eas-e?" I kept my hand shielding my eyes but I looked up at him. I couldn't see any recognition in his face, but I couldn't see much of anything.

"Who are you?" Percy demanded, a harsh tone that felt like a punch to the gut.

My name, he needed my name. How do I say my name?

It took a few attempts, letters getting jumbled up and my tongue contorting in ways I didn't like. Some of my teeth nicked it a little and I physically recoiled at the taste of my own blood as if I could get away from my own mouth.

Percy looked confused, but less aggressive. He seemed to be patient, waiting for an explanation.

Something approaching my name left my thin lips, and his eyes widened.

"How do you know them? What did you do?"

No! No, fuck, that's not what I meant!

I repeated my name, carefully using a claw to tap on my chest. "Mmm-ee."

Percy's jaw dropped. "You're... but they're out... oh gods, what happened to you?"

I burst into tears. Huge, ribcage-wracking sobs from between my needle teeth and I reached out for Percy with a dangerously sharp hand.

He put his hand in mine and I closed my spindly fingers around it. Tears blurred what little I could see, and my throat felt raw and scratchy from panic and holding back.

"Okay, okay, we're gonna fix this, okay?" Percy's voice was wobbly but calm. "We're going to undo this, and you're going to tell me what happened and I swear to Hades I will find who did this to you." His grip tightened on my hand.

"I will find them and I promise you, they will never hurt you again."

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

i hope you enjoyed, thank you for requesting!

[alburnusgecko]

Ok, I think it’s as done as it’s going to get for now, so here’s gecko’s first journal entry! They’re really going through it in this one tbh (there will be worse in the future, but this one is fairly graphic) sorry if any of the writing’s weird, it’s not something I do often at all!

tw: blood, vomit, pain, choking/asphyxiation, a bit of swearing, some suicidal ideation (vaguely), and please tell me if there’s anything else you think should be mentioned here!

November 9, 2024

Entry written on a small notepad, once long forgotten in somebody’s vest pocket, now in an undisclosed hiding spot in one of the esc basements

—

I don’t know how I’m alive right now. I don’t think I’m supposed to be. Everything feels so, so wrong, I don’t think they should have saved me 

But they did. They saved me so I must be alive for a reason, I hope there’s a reason

I need to write down what happened, I think. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, my head hurts like it’s going to split open and there’s so much blood, I can’tbreathe

[the writing cuts off sharply and there are specks of blood on the paper, smeared like somebody tried to wipe them off. When the writing resumes, it is in a much clearer hand than the first few lines]

Everything felt so slow, at first. Then everything hurt. My skin, muscles, nerves and bones all felt like they were being stabbed by hundreds of needles, like they were being injected with acid. It felt like I was being crushed, like I had no real form, it was all just pain, I couldn’t breathe at all

There was something in me, in my throat, lungs, even in my sinuses. I know they were helping, they were saving me but I didn’t know it then, all I knew was panic and pain and the mud that made me slip and writhe like a crushed worm and I couldn’t move, breathe and it burned and I was dead, I was going to die -

After what felt like forever, I was able to roll onto my side. It felt like my insides were being flushed with bleach as I coughed them up, my whole body heaving until I spat them out in a mess of bile and blood. It felt like an almost unbearable amount of time until I could finally stop choking and just lay there, letting my body take its first rough and bloody breaths.

I eventually could feel my body through the burning, scalpel sharp pain. It was.. wrong. My heart was too slow. The limbs were in the wrong places, I was too small, too thin. Shaped wrong. My teeth didn’t sit right in my jaw. It felt like my body had been twisted and reshaped into something it shouldn’t be - cold, weak and unnatural.

I moved wrong, so fucking wrong as I scrambled out of the mud. Eventually I opened my eyes.

It was bright out. Everything looked fake, somehow. Or maybe too real. I could see the blood and vomit glistening in the mud beneath where I was sprawled, the light catching it in a way I don’t think I was ever supposed to see.

 I could see them, too. The thing that had been choking me. Small, dark, pulsing like a muscle. Sick and wet and disgusting. I reached for them though, so fast that I almost fell back in. I don’t know why. I think they reached for me too.

I’m here now. I found this notepad in my pocket, It’s not the best but it still works for what I need it for. Thought it might be good to have some sort of record that I exist, even if it probably won’t be for long.

They’re still with me, clinging to my hand as I write. They seem a lot smaller when they aren’t strangling me from the inside, and they’re warm and they can move. They’re disgusting. I wonder if they’re a part of me. I don’t think they are but I really don’t know anything, do I? I don’t know why I’m here, why I’m alive, what I am.

I found a path a bit ago, I think if I follow it I might find something. I have to find something, before I change my mind and go back.

[disticfiction]

Martin groaned, his hands gripping the shelf behind him as the man thrust in. He could feel it everywhere, the vibrations of pleasure all the way down to his toes. His only solace, for once, was his helmet. Behind it his eyes were rolled back, his teeth gritting together, drool and tears pooling at the crease. He'd been raped before, but never like this.

"Say it," the man wheezed, bucking his hips faster. "Say it again."

Martin gasped as he looked down, his hole stretched taunt around the man's member. Each thrust was powerful, violent, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in, all the way to the hilt. The man's balls slapped against his pale, bony ass, adding to the sensation, his tip drumming against his tender cervix.

"Say it!" he yelled.

"I-it's not the b-b-best choice..." Martin whispered, his head spinning. "It's... S-S-Spacer's Choice!"

"Yeah, that's it," the man teased. "SC's best pussy on Groundbreaker!"

He leaned in, his rough hands tightening around Martin's waist as his breathing hastened. He was going to cum, but so was the shy, soft-spoken vendor. He cried out, back arching as the unrelenting friction slid across his walls, scraping every nerve inside him. His clit swelled, twitching as the man's belly smacked into it over and over.

"Ah! Aaaaaugh!"

The man laughed, then growled as he felt the bashful vendor coil around him. As Martin wailed, his assailant watched as his body seized beneath him, his hands shaking, his legs numbing as all feeling rushing to his stretched but tiny cunt.

"Such a shame I can't see your pretty face," he huffed. "But your voice is doing enough. You love this, don't you?"

Martin couldn't speak, only scream as his pussy strained around the abuse. He didn't want to admit it, but it was amazing. He hadn't felt that good in years. He could feel the damage, his insides reshaping, but he didn't care. Not even when the man howled and shot his load deep inside him, the mess spilling down his ass.

"Ugh..."

A moment of silence passed, aside from the heavy breathing as both men attempted to recover. The customer remained stuffed inside him, riding out Martin's aftershocks, holding him close, until his muscles waned and his arms dropped to the floor. Only then did the man slowly pull back, his cock slipping out with an obnoxious pop.

"Nngh!"

Martin wept as a mixture of his and the man's fluids gushed out, his legs spread wide, his head hunched over his shoulder. The helmet was so big he couldn't hang his head properly, but he was too exhausted to move. He simply sat there, back against the wall, his hole pulsing from the pounding it had just endured.

The emptiness was almost shocking, but not nearly as shocking as the state of his gape, lips stretched apart, his hole glowing red. It couldn't close, searching desperately for the monster that filled it just moments ago. Every spasm sent a lingering jolt of pleasure up Martin's spine, earning a weak sniffle.

"Say it," the man grinned, towering over him. "Say it like you mean it."

Martin whimpered, barely conscious as he drowned in the ecstasy. He had cum more than once—when the man penetrated him, when he started thrusting, when the grinding turned chaotic. In truth, he'd lost track. All he knew was that incessant tingling between his legs, and that he'd been taken advantage of.

He took a shallow breath, finding his voice.

"Th-thank you... for your... patronage. I-I hope you're satisfied when our s-s-service."

The next part hung in the air as the man stared down at him, expectantly. He had to say it. It was company policy.

"P-please come again."

[faerunsbest]

Mystra's bane

coren belongs to @tealfling

---

And so it was that the ship that Coren currently called home was chased down by the one and only Mystras Bane. The feeling of her strength wilting and sapping from her veins, til finally she was beholden to gravity, just another victim to physics like everyone else. Slim legs wobbled as the ship was perforated with explosive cannon balls, her small body thrown almost overboard. The feeling of her ribs crashing against the wooden railings, near shattering bird thin bones and being grateful.  

Most horrid yet was seeing her captain going limp, unconscious or dead, she didn’t know but all the same she was alone as a pirate of the bane came and closed his massive hands around her slim neck, the world turned over, and despite all her thrashing, Corens eyes rolled back. The world spun and the smell of salt flooded her nose, what a strange thing for it to so suddenly sting.

The room was dark red wood when she woke on a cold wet floor, wooden bars? Who builds a wooden prison? Coren stood on her knees raising up her arms, calling out a spell that died on her tongue. Worry flooded her eyes, anxiety and fear blurring her vision. Muscle around her fingers tightened as if grasping the weave by force, face twisted up in a grimace as she begged her body to work. One spell became a hundred and each one as useless as the one before. 

Sussur.

Her prison was more. It was draining her and peeling her sense of self from her being and bones. Coren found her chest tight and heavy as sobs threatened to make way, they gripped her throat making her breathe in deep desperate bursts. Someone knew, someone knew exactly how to fight her with mage hunting beasts that blotted out the sun and painted her ship a bloody red. Reduced to tooth and claws and a desperate wish that she was for just a moment more than herself. She gripped at her face, claws digging into her skin as she panicked. A soft familiar voice rang out in her mind. A soft warm song that invited her home in the dark.

In the back of her mind a memory fell and tumbled forward. 

Falling the feeling of fear overwhelming her, the rolling of her ankle as she stumbled and thumped against rotten sharp stone landing with a heavy thud despite her best try to break the fall. Coren remembered the terror of being small and feeling helpless, and most unexpectedly a cool gentle hand waking her.

Ma’na.

Coren froze in her wooden prison remembering a moment with her unexpecting sibling.

“You are more than your magic. You are your heart and your hands.”

Ma’nas voice so sweet and sincere as if that was enough, and for ma’na it was. The strength of heart gave her strength of arm. And gods dammit that bitch could move mountains.

Corens eyes shot up when someone leaned against the wooden bars laughing, laughing at her. Laughing as if they didn’t know how calm the eye of the storm was before it reshaped the landscape into something entirely new by tearing it apart. 

Without thought she reminded that laughing bastard that she was tiefling before a sorcerer, all teeth and claws and thrashing tail. In an instant she was on those damn bars, arms outstretched and claws deep in the meat of throat gripping vocal cords. A warm wasted life dripped out over her hands, she held firm until their eyes grayed over. Her hands pawed at ratty worn clothes until she found a key. The man’s body dropped with heavy wet thud, keys jangling as she rustled through them to cram them into the lock. Not one key fit and Coren couldn’t help the scream that threatened to take hold, she clenched her teeth and swallowed her terror.

For a moment Coren remembered another moment with ma’na. Caught taking food from trees, how was that wrong? It grew freely. How could it belong to any one person? Apparently it did, she learned this as she was locked up in a cell waiting to be taken away. Coren recalled ma’na coming in and just lifting the cell door off its hinges. Massive heavy metal bars that she lifted like nothing and ever so kindly put back when Coren was free.

But these were wooden, wood never weighed quite as much as metal. The keys didn't fit, useless. Coren dropped the keys and just tried, grabbing the cell door bars tight and pulling upward. Splinter dung up into her soft skin as she pulled lifting with every ounce of strength she had. The door thumped forward against its frame as she managed to unlodge it from its frame, the weight tipping her forward. She landed face down against the wood, feeling her lip bust as she hit the floor, her knuckles splitting as she refused to let go of the bars.

She was out.

For a moment her mind a haze of wild panicked thoughts but something was wrong. She closed her eyes breathing deep to focus, bruised ribs lifting around her expanding lungs. As she exhaled she realized wherever she was it was stationary. It couldn't be a ship.

Another breath

Another memory of Ma’na reminding her not to panic, panic never helps. Slowly Coren peeled herself up off the floor, straining her ears to listen as she did. Where ever she was must have been insulated the sounds above so deeply muffled.

You are more.

You are yourself.

You are excellent.

Corent breathed deeply, reminding herself of all the things that ma’na had told her in times of crisis. A memory rang out in the turbulent ocean of her mind, it rang out clear as a bell. She recalled the feeling of Ma’na’s gentle but firm grip on her shoulders.

“You are everything storms aspire to, you are more than enough. You are my beloved Coren.”

Another long deep steady breath and Coren found herself calming with drastic ease. All she needed was a thread, just a thread. For a moment all Coren heard was her own heartbeat, steady as a drum. She marched the long hall feeling shifts in the air, that told her which way to go. Little hairs stood on end, energy just beneath the skin pooling in strength under thin blue veins. 

Ahead of her in a long narrow staircase she found a door hanging open, freedom but more.

Her nostrils filled with the smell and taste of wet copper as she stopped out into the open air. Eyes wide and everything was red and gray and splintered brown. Refocusing and Coren gasped as she realized wherever she was had been invaded. A prison shattered, the image of a massive stone block wall smashed open in a wide v left her mouth twisting into a smile. She looked around and realized a prison was being torn open and knew exactly what was happening.

“I am more than powerful, I am loved.”

She spoke out loud and a deep chipper laugh burst from her as electricity crackled beneath her skin, pooling at her fingertips just beneath her claws and before her flesh. Off to the side a familiar shape made itself known, a small stout hourglass. 

Ma’na.

Coren waved wildly as she saw her, calling out her name, Ma’na turned to find the voice and smiled bright. Ma’na raised her hammer all coated in wet chunks of smeared meat. Snowy white hair was wet with blood that wasn't hers, and her full plus figure was coated all the same, painted in drying blood.

Ma’na came looking for her.

Off to the side Pinky, her boat could be heard swallowing something unsavory, he threw his head back back, face split open with long thorned pink tongues pulling shrieking corpses down into his gullet. The not quite a goat trotted over face sealing shut like nothing untoward had happened. He came to Coren rubbing his golden horns against in a gentle nuzzle, he missed her. Was he worried?

Coren smacked her small hands against his face and rubber her forehead against his

“OH my gawd im so happy to see you! Pinky- did you come to save me?!”

She laughed bright and wild as he leaned back in a play bow, short nubby tail wagging, before he suddenly sprang up bounding around her. As pinky bounced circled around her, Coren couldn’t help herself laughing in near mania until exhaustion overwhelmed her.

When she woke she was sitting on Pinkys back, he own back laying limp against a familiar plush form. Strong arms around her grippe ar thick tufts of pinkys black fur, familiar ghost white skin all freckled in clouds of rust red droplets.

“How did you know?”

Ma’nas familiar laugh, soft and cheery rumbled under Coren’s back. 

“I know your thunder, I know your lightning. It doesn't just stop. So I came.”

It was then that all the terror and fear that she had managed to stopper came welling up, Coren wrapped her hand around Ma’na’s arm and turned her head pressing herself against her sister. For a moment she let the sobs wrack her body knowing damn well she was safe. She was safe as ma’na held onto her in the light of the falling sun. She was safe and loved and there wasn't magic to mimic that, not a damn thing compared to just knowing she wasn’t alone.

[pampushky]

Creature (Both Haunted & Holy)

Vinsmoke Sanji/Reader - Chapter 12 - 4.2k

The crew realizes you have an irrational fear of whales, and Sanji tries his best to help.

ao3 | series masterlist | masterlist | next part

Reverse Mountain towers above you, taller than anything you had ever seen before. Your home island, one of the hundreds that made up the archipelago of the Selken Isles, had been mountainous, with your own childhood village being nestled on a cliff above the sea, just one of the 23 ports on your island alone. But this– this is a new level of height, and the waters are choppy underneath you. The currents almost seem uneasy, or nervous, as you stretch on the deck, wearing a swimsuit and your pelt, before diving, checking out the hull of the boat before you summit the mountain. The rest of the crew is either in the galley, waiting for you to come back, or standing on the deck, watching you from the safety of their ponchos.

Your hands and feet melt away easily, your body reshaping into your seal form, and the harsh light of day gives way to the calm of the sea. The blue void below you makes you sigh, a stream of bubbles falling from your mouth as you swim under the boat, examining the wood as a few curious fish swim around you as you do your job. 

You stop, when a song echoes through the water, high-pitched and eerie. It shakes the water around you, and in the distance, you can see the shape of a gigantic sea-king, ten times the size of the Merry and letting out another loud call, this one lower, and more resonant, only audible to you, and whatever creatures are around you.  

It’s oddly beautiful, as you watch the serpent twist, before disappearing into the blue void, swimming deeper and out of your sight. You finish, spending another fifteen minutes under the water before you surface, leaping from the water and landing on the deck, where Nami has a towel waiting, wrapping you up as you both make it back into the common room, dripping water all the way.

“We’re right along the calm line, straddling the border,” You towel your hair off, before dropping it to wipe up the puddles you’ve created, shaking out the water on your skin as you slip a pair of sweatpants over your swimsuit, your pelt, mysteriously dry, sliding off one of your shoulders. “Sea-Kings run rampant, I saw one when I was down there, and only the Sea Mother knows what may lay in the depths. We should try to move away from there.”

“Are they strong?” Luffy sits a bit straighter as you finish talking, eyes shining with mischief. 

“We’re not going to stay to find out,” Nami smacks the back of his head, knocking his hat into his eyes. “Let’s get–”

Something rams against the ship, making everything shake. The same song from earlier fills your ears as you hit the floor, hair covering your face as you let out an angry, low grumble, clicking as Luffy whoops, making a break for the door, wanting to fight whatever rammed the Merry, Sanji and Zoro on his heels. 

The rain has stopped, and you bolt after your captain, intent on stopping him from getting the ship destroyed by picking a fight with one of the goliaths below. Coming onto the deck, you find the ship hovering, oddly peaceful, except for the smell of fish and bone choking you as you look at the sky. The roar deafens you, making your ears ring as you struggle to gain a sense of which way you’re going, and the ship trembles around you, making Luffy whoop again.

You let out a growl, while Luffy looks disappointed that he can’t find a serpent to fight, whining, while you stalk forward, pushing past a confused Sanji and Zoro.

“Shut up,” You grab his collar, baring your teeth. “This is bad. Very bad.” You look out past the railing, and let out a louder groan, dropping your captain as the beast’s gigantic forehead in front of you. “We’re stuck on top of a Neptunian–”

“We’re what?!” Luffy cries, just as the boat drops, another confused roar shaking everything that you currently exist on. You smack your hands over your ears, screaming in pain. Sanji and Zoro fly past your vision as they slam into the deck, with Usopp holding onto the door of the galley. Nami, wherever she is, screams, and you hear a loud snap. 

“We need to get out of here!” Nami howls, pulling you up, and staring into your dazed eyes. “We can panic later!”

You let out a roar, slamming your fists into the deck, and the ship rockets forward, the wake behind the Going Merry causing giant waves to crest up on the sides of the ship until you’ve been pushed out of the calm belt, the beasts roaring as you’ve made it out of their range. You stand up slowly, watching as they sink back into the ocean, just as you let out another, furious roar, turning to look at the crew. 

“Never,” you loom over Luffy, breathing hard with teeth bared at your captain, who looks up at you in shock, “.... do that again, you idiot.”

You look at the form of the Red Line above you, holding your forehead as you slowly calm yourself, and Zoro follows your gaze, frowning at the gigantic mountain while Luffy whines about getting lectured. You only shoot him another glare. 

“We can’t just fight everything,” Usopp manages to stand, wobbling as he does so, looking a bit green.

“We could have taken it,” Luffy pouts, and you fight the urge to punch him, podmate or not.

“Absolutely not!” Zoro holds him up by his armpits, looking him in the eyes like he's a misbehaving cat. Luffy only frowned, glaring at both yourself and Zoro. Sanji steps forward, taking Luffy from Zoro’s hands, and setting him on the ground, butting heads with the swordsman as he does. 

“Let's focus on getting up the mountain,” Sanji looks at you, pushing Zoro’s face away from his own, playing towards the neutral ground. “We can argue later, and then I’ll kick your ass, mosshead.” 

You fold your arms and eventually sigh, looking over at the galley, the door still hanging open with Usopp gripping the railing in front of it, holding up the rudder’s steering rod. Silence envelops the deck as you look at the snapped rudder, open-mouthed. He looks just as shocked as you, both staring at it as you approach him. 

“I… I’ll fix that, first,” You blink, and Usopp nods, and Nami takes that as a sign to start barking orders at the rest of the crew to ready the ship for the journey up the the canal. It almost looks like a waterfall in the distance, with a mist rising at the foot of the mountain. All you know is that it’s flowing upwards, you can feel the way the water pulls and tugs for you to follow it.

Carefully, you set the broken piece back on, using sticky resin-based glue to hold it, as Usopp hammers nails and metal brackets to keep it together, even after the glue dries. By the time you’re done, you already know you’re going to need to check out the actual rudder itself whenever you find time to anchor somewhere, wiping sweat from your brow as Nami enters the common space again, watching as Usopp and yourself take stock of what building and repair supplies you may need. 

“We ready to set off?”

“As we’ll ever be.”

“Mind giving us a push in the right direction?”

“Not at all,” you groan as you stretch, feeling stiff from your swimsuit drying to your skin, and the fact you had moved the boat away from the calm belt without any preparation. You’re exhausted, honestly. “Let's see what’ll happen.”

The entire crew stands on the deck, anxiously watching as you push the ship forward, left arm outstretched with the palm towards the Red Line as your right mimics the breaststroke, steadily moving the ship forward as you breathe deeply. The moment you come to the mist, you pause, unsure of what to do. The Going Merry shudders underneath you, moving forward and going up the mountain, caught in the currents of the river flowing upwards. You gasp, hands dropping to your sides as you do, running to the side to peek over the railing. Fish jump from the water alongside the boat, and you catch Luffy doing the same thing as you, grinning when he turns to look at you. 

“This is— this must be magic,” you whisper, walking to the center of the deck, and holding Nami’s shoulders. “We’re going higher, and higher— we’ll be at the summit within ten minutes, at this rate!”

“It’s amazing,” Sanji is still looking at the fish, eyes sparkling. “To think— all the seas, meeting here— this proves there must be an All Blue!”

When you reach the summit, the sun is high in the sky, and Sanji watches as you look around, gasping at the clouds, and how you can see the Red Line, wrapping around to the very end of the horizon. It’s… adorable, he admits, taking a long drag as you bend down over the railing as if to get closer to the water, Usopp immediately pulling you back by your collar, screeching about you falling and never being able to find you again, to which you pout, arms folded as you were lectured. 

Nami also said a few terse words, pinching one of your ears which you visibly deflated at, letting out a few protests Sanji couldn’t quite make out as you trudged after them. Nami gives in, after a few dejected steps, and you let out a loud trill, hugging her over her back.

“You’re so obvious.” 

Sanji turned, choking a little at how he was startled, snubbing out his cigarette on the side of his arm. He had faced worse burns in the kitchen, anyway. Zoro leaned up against the wall, watching him evenly. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just an idiot,” Zoro walked over, standing beside him, leaning on the railing just as Sanji was. If he noticed how he extinguished the cigarette, he didn’t mention it. “We’ve spent over a month together as a crew now and you’re still isolating yourself, stupid.”

“Please! I’ll be good! I’m sorry I was born weak!” The bars are cold against his hands, and his voice is useless in the depths of the castle, where water occasionally leaks in from the ocean, adding a dampness that chills the air. Sanji sobs, hating how the iron helmet traps the wetness of his snot and tears against his skin, how he cannot open his mouth to even attempt to bargain with his father. Isolation, an exile to the bottom of the floating kingdom. That is to be the rest of his life.

“Ah, like you’re one to talk, with how consistently you get lost.” Sanji plays off how unsettled he is by Zoro’s reading of him. Though it’s impossible that no one knows who he is, or even what Germa is, the only outlier being yourself from the North Blue, the first mate has an uncanny ability to sense things within people. But, it works. Zoro scowls at him, focused on the insult rather than the deflection, bickering ensuing. 

The boat lurches forward, speeding down the mountain, and both men hear your joyful whoop as it does so, just able to make out your form beside the figurehead, pointing forward before you let out another whoop. Sanji can’t help but smile, leaning into his palm as he watches you throw your hands in the air as the ship breaks through the cloud cover. 

A loud, echoing horn-like noise fills the air, and you let out a screech, tumbling away from the railing. Sanji and Zoro exchange a glance, just as the noise sounds again. You look near feral, looking back over your shoulder, into the fog, and let out a high-pitched wail. Sanji swears he’s heard the horn before, too. It’s just so familiar.

“It’s just the wind!” Nami attempts to soothe you, but her voice is lost in the wind, and you sprint towards the galley as the noise sounds a final time, a dark shape in the distance, almost like a mountain in the middle of the canal. 

“ There’s a big, fuck-off whale!” You’re screaming, swinging behind Zoro and Sanji and keeping crouched low, shaking. Your eyes are wide, and even as Sanji blushes at how you’re gripping onto him, he’s aware enough to know that you are sinking your claws into his shoulders, instincts for survival seemingly winning.

“And that’s an issue…?” Zoro looks down at you, arms folded, as the giant whale comes into focus. 

“Whales eat seals!”

“But you’re human-ish, right now.” 

If looks could kill, Zoro would be massacred with how you glare at him, hiding behind Sanji who is very desperately trying not to think about how tightly you’re holding him, gripping his coat as if it’s a life float. You let out a loud whine, burying your face in his back as the swordsman still doesn’t seem to get it while Sanji is dying at how you’re whimpering into his back. She’s scared. She’s scared. She’s scared. Do not think this is anything else she is just scared and wait why is that whale so big—

The creature lets out a roar that makes you somehow grip Sanji tighter, climbing him like a tree as you hold onto him, arms around the top of his head and legs looped around his chest, making him wobble, much more top heavy than he’s used to as he grips your forearms, attempting to stabilize himself. Nami screams for you to get it together enough to send the ship through the gap on the left of the creature and you are shaking your head no and screaming about how it was a natural predator to seals. 

Zoro just stares. You, someone who had defied your abuser’s orders directly in front of him, who had snuck away at the first chance of freedom with him, who had been brave enough to ask for help when you needed it…. were insanely afraid of whales. He can’t even comment on it before Usopp and Nami start screaming as well. Luffy’s disappeared, and just as Zoro thinks he’s about to receive a one-way ticket to hell, a cannon goes off, and the backward force manages to slow the ship enough so that it only just (still rather aggressively) taps the whale, still enough for the figurehead to get sent flying backward, nearly crushing a traumatized Nami in the process. 

It’s comical, really, how quickly the crew can go from competency to chaos, as you, one of the more competent people on the boat when it came to sailing, wail about, well, the whale.

All seems calm then, though the urgency is still there, with Zoro forcibly peeling you off the cook so he can help to row away. The whale roars again, and this time it’s close enough to physically shake the ship. Your ears pound and you worry you’ve gone deaf because you can’t hear yourself scream in pain as you hold your head from the position you’re curled in on the floor. Luffy has emerged from the gun deck, screaming about the figurehead, seemingly unaffected, before reeling back, and slamming his fist into the eye of the giant whale. 

And then it all goes silent, the entire crew staring up at the eye as it looks down at them. You’re shaking, because the scent is overwhelming. This is a monster from your bedtime stories. Whispered about in hushed tones from your older sister, trying her best to scare you. Telling stories of the selken folk who were gobbled up, torn apart. And you are an ant to this being, not even a tasty morsel to be gobbled up. You aren’t even considered prey, with the entire ship there. You’re nothing to this gigantic creature and you sob quietly, holding your hands over your mouth, warbling high and terrified, instincts telling you to get even smaller.

It lets out another roar, and you scream, feeling the way the water is pulled into its gaping maw as you pass out, a prayer to the Sea Mother hanging off your tongue as you plead for mercy.

Sanji gets to your side after you scream, sighing in relief when he sees your heart is still beating. Your hands are clammy, and it’s unnerving to feel how cold you are, somehow still alive. They were all still alive, though the cook isn’t too sure about Luffy at the moment, as he glances around, taking in the oddly serene interior he finds himself in. Blue skies, a few clouds, and a calm ocean, with a tiny island sitting before him. Your eyes flutter open with a warble as you look up at him, gripping your head. 

“Where…?” You trail off as you push yourself up further, eyes wide as you take in your surroundings. 

“Not sure,” Sanji helps you stand, keeping a hand on the small of your back. You can’t help but let out a worried warble again. The smell hurts your nose, and you find yourself struggling not to gag. “What’s wrong?”

“It smells… so bad in here.” You groan, head butting his shoulder gently, causing pink to dust his cheeks. “Can’t you smell it? It’s like the inside of the stomach?”

“No, though I suppose I’m lucky for that.” He ruffles your hair as you groan, holding a hand to your nose. “Hm… though if we did get swallowed… that would mean this is stomach acid.” 

“Which means our ship will be dissolved in a few days.” Nami approaches from behind, arms crossed. “We need to find a way out.” Usopp and Zoro are on the lower deck, looking over the railings. You groan, suddenly realizing where this is going. 

“I called it,” you glare at Zoro as he joins you on the upper deck. “I fucking called it and you said I was being irrational.”

“Technically, I didn’t say anything. I just looked at you.”

“You stare at people in essays, Roronoa.” Sanji deadpans.

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion, waiter.”

“I’ll never miss an opportunity to insult you.”

The boat rocks from something, and you let out a scream, watching as a squid rears over the boat. Sanji leans over you, almost on instinct, and just as Zoro readies a sword— a harpoon pierces it from behind, killing it on impact. You’re trembling underneath Sanji, who is glaring down the direction of the harpoon, an old man staring back at him. It almost feels like Sanji is growling as he stands above you.

Safe. Protected. Strong. Good choice for a mate. A part of your mind rumbles, and you bite your tongue to stop the trill that rises in your throat when Sanji looks down at you, concern etched across his face. 

“I— thank you,” you manage to choke out, holding a hand to your forehead, as if that could stop your hindbrain. The cook only nods, looking back up at the old man. There is thick, terrifying anger in the air, and the old man just sits back in his lawn chair, gets out the newspaper, and reads it like it’s nothing. You let out a loud warble, sinking deeper into the deck as your anxiety grips your mind. You are in the belly of a whale, on a sea of stomach acid, with some insane old man. And you couldn’t even protect your pod.

This only seems to drive Sanji to get angrier on your behalf.

“Say something, dammit!”

The old man looks up. 

“Forget it, somebody’s going to die.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Me,” he jabs his thumb at himself and Zoro has to hold Sanji back before he does something. The swordsman no-so-discreetly points to you, with your head in your hands, eyes wide, with a dead-eyed stare. 

“Help her,” Zoro hisses, as he steps up to talk, “Then threaten him.”

Sanji carefully helps you up, and you protest, warbling when he finally has to pick you up. You’re shaking, and he can see how your claws have pressed into your palms, cutting little divots into the skin. You’re entirely out of it.

“Hey, hey, what’s happening?” Sanji sets you down on the couch in the galley, and you shake even harder. 

“I’m useless.” You mumble, curling in on yourself. 

Silence overtakes the room, and he swears his heart freezes. You remind him too much of himself right now. And it hurts. You refuse to meet his eyes, fingers sinking into your hair. It looks painful, especially when you warble into your legs, muffling yourself as Sanji stands there, baffled.

“How are you useless?” He kneels, doing his best to be at your eye level. “You, not even an hour ago, saved up from a bunch of sea beasts.” You shake your head, hair falling so it covers half of your face, meeting his gaze. You look utterly devastated and broken. It makes him feel terrible. 

“I couldn’t— the whale,” you hiccup, covering your mouth with one of your hands, “It scared me so badly, Sanji, It was so loud— I thought I was stuck back— back—”

Arlong’s roar fills your ears as you press your back against the wall. He’s in a fit of rage— some smaller naval ship had attacked him on the waters, and he had responded by sinking it nearly instantly. You shrink into the corner of the room, hoping to be invisible for just a moment as he passes by. Unfortunately, you’re not.

The fishman charges into the room, eyes alight with fury as he grabs you by your arm. You only mutter ‘no’ repeatedly as he drags you to the front of the ship.

“Do you see this?!” He points at the damage done by a few lucky cannon balls, “Why couldn’t you move us away in time?”

You keep muttering, shaking your head at him. The deck has gone silent as Arlong tosses you to the side. You yelp as you slide across the deck, some of the wood causing splinters to stab into your arm. 

“I asked you a question!” Arlong roars. “You’re useless! All you’re good for is to make me an heir, and you can’t even do that!”

“—Hey, it’s okay—”

You shake your head. You can smell Arlong and can feel the weight of your shackles on your wrist. 

“Can you tell me something you can feel right now? Or hear?”

What can you hear? You hear the voice. The same voice that had been singing when you had entered your cycle. Your breathing, yes, it’s loud and heavy, and the boat creaking around you. 

“There you go, you’re doing so good for me,” the voice warps in your mind, familiar. You can feel two warm arms around you, gentle pressure holding you close. “Follow my breathing, you’re gonna be just fine.”

Your chest rises and falls in sync with the man you’re being held by, and his smell is calming. Tobacco and sugar, with a hint of cinnamon. Sanji your mind provides. Good choice. Caring. Strong. 

“You with me now?” Sanji asks, and you rumble. Arlong’s scent has faded, and you realize that it was never there to begin with. Your shackles are much the same, but instead of cold iron, it’s the gentle hold Sanji had on them, stopping you from sinking your claws into your scalp, and from pulling out your hair. “Hey, you’re safe here. We– well, we got this whole thing figured out.” 

Nami’s scent fills your nose, and you whine when she walks into the galley, along with an unfamiliar smell. 

“Who–?”

“It’s… these insane people.” Nami looks at how you’ve curled into Sanji. It looks almost natural, the two of you like that, and it makes her smirk a little bit. This is something she can tease you about later. “But– there’s a doctor here, I’d appreciate it if you’d let yourself get properly looked at.” 

And with that, she leaves, and you only flop harder into Sanji, who just rubs down your back in a soothing manner. 

“I don’t think you’re useless, for the record.” Sanji finally speaks, and you look up at him as he says your name. “You’re probably one of the better sailors on the crew, you’re practically the one keeping this whole thing going.”

“I couldn’t keep my cool–” you protest, and he hushes you, squeezing your nose. 

“Around something that is a natural predator to selkies,” Sanji raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know, but you acted naturally, and warned us about why you were so uneasy. That’s more than admirable.”

“I guess…”

“It is,” Sanji makes you stand, and helps you to the deck. You squint in the sunlight and shade your eyes with your hand. You’re out of the whale now, and it’s now just… sitting next to the Going Merry, which is docked beside a lighthouse. “C’mon, we’ll get on land. It’ll be okay, I promise.” 

You ignore the way your hindbrain keens about the praise he had just given you, and how you are fighting the urge to present to him and do whatever he wants, so long as he praises you again. But, you still hold his hand, as he leads the way.

[iamumbra195]

No Winter Lasts Forever

Teenage Mercenary Fanfic

Read on Ao3

The hazy memory of a woman smiling made his head throb and– Two shots rang in the air and their bodies crumpled to the ground before him, crimson bleeding into a blanket of pure white snow. His grip on his rifle trembled from the cold, something terrible and acrid bubbling in his throat the longer he stared at the lifeless figures before him.

OR

Ijin's relationship with snow, messed up memories, and a family that is trying their best.

The bonds of those within the camp were born of violence and blood, clawing each other apart with bared teeth and broken fingernails as they fought to survive. Like a pack of animals, they would yield to the strongest but their keen gaze always followed him, zeroing in on his faults and waiting for a chance to sink their teeth in.

The numbers weren’t quite the same. They were taught to conceal their bloodied hands and bared teeth, to reshape their desperate brutality into ruthless efficiency.

Ijin had been young, younger than nearly everyone in that camp and perhaps that’s why he took to it like a fish in the water. His body adapted to his circumstance and even if he had been physically weaker than the others at the start he learned to make up for it by capitalizing on the things he was good at.

He couldn’t recall how many had been there when the camp first began but he remembered the growing pile of bodies and the smell of rot that clogged up his senses until he had grown so accustomed to it that it no longer affected him. He remembered the blood that splattered and dried on his face each time he managed to eliminate yet another faceless opponent. 

And then the numbers had formed– forty that had managed to endure that hellish training, if it could even be called that. 

It was different.

There had been mercy there– in 005’s jaded green eyes, in 002’s unsolicited training that allowed him to survive against the toughest of opponents and slowly climb his way to the top of the pack. 

He had become their unofficial leader until that order had come in and he stared into the frightened gaze of that mother as she hovered over her daughter protectively, finger frozen over the trigger.

The hazy memory of a woman smiling made his head throb and–

Two shots rang in the air and their bodies crumpled to the ground before him, crimson bleeding into a blanket of pure white snow. 

His grip on his rifle trembled from the cold, something terrible and acrid bubbling in his throat the longer he stared at the lifeless figures before him. 

A voice commanded him to return and he blinked, the terrain before him transforming into a familiar enclosure, the only confirmation that he had been there, that it had been real was the speck of rust on his clothing and the lingering cold beneath his skin.

The memory of his return to the camp was covered in a film of red, his body moving on honed instinct as he cut through flesh and shattered bone, incapacitating his fellow numbers as his mind whispered a mantra of alivealivealiveALIVE–

The only thing that remained clear and unblemished about that night was the feeling of his dagger slicing through Mad Dog’s flesh and the gratifying howl of pain he had let out, clutching at his wounded eye as blood sprayed from the wound. 

Ijin had never relished in the pain of others but the toxic anger that boiled within him at the thought of that man was more than enough to break through the apathy he’d operated on for years.

He could hardly remember why that night had been his breaking point when he had killed countless others without batting but that woman…

He wondered if his parents had held him that way as they had crashed to their deaths ten years ago, terror shining in their eyes as they shielded him from inevitable death. 

He wondered if they would’ve been happy to know he had survived if they would’ve shed tears and wrapped him in a warm embrace the way his grandfather had when he first returned.

“Ijin?”

His sister’s voice broke through his musing and he blinked, tearing his gaze from the flakes of snow descending from the cloudy winter sky to look at Dayeon as she trotted towards him, bundled up in her jacket and shivering a little. He tucked his trembling hands into his pockets and smiled a little.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” she said softly, eyebrows furrowing into a worried frown. “It’s really cold, you could get sick.”

Ijin shook his head. “It’s fine, I don’t get sick that easily. And I don’t want you walking by yourself so late.”

Perhaps his recent brush with Mad Dog and the camp played a part in his decision to walk his sister home for the past few days but Dayeon didn’t need to know that. He wanted to keep her separated from that part of his life even as his past as 001 clung to him dried mud.

Dayeon was silent for a few moments as they trudged through the thick layer of snow, tucking her chin into the warmth of her scarf before she glanced at him curiously. She always did that when she noted something strange about him but she usually kept quiet unless he prompted her.

“Do you want to stop at a convenience store and get some triangle kimbap? One of my friends said there were some new drink packets I wanted to try too,” she said instead, smiling at him expectantly before he nodded.

She spoke about school and her friends as they made their way over to the store and he listened quietly, the tremble in his hands lessening as he soaked in his sister’s warm presence.

The snow didn’t seem so cold anymore.

Ijin grabbed his usual tuna mayo kimbap and cup noodles while Dayeon chose the bulgogi kimbap and one of the overly sweet drinks Yeona was so fond of. She had teased him about being an old man when he made a face after trying one once, eyes sparkling with mirth and something that made him feel a little warm inside.

“Oh!” Dayeon yelped suddenly when they left the store and Ijin paused, muscles coiled with tension as his gaze flickered through the shadowed streets for any sign of unnatural movement before settling on his sister once more. 

“Grandpa said he has a surprise for you!” she gushed with a knowing glint in her eyes.

Ijin relaxed. He was too jumpy, making hasty, illogical assessments for threats that weren’t even present. 

“A surprise?” he repeated curiously.

Dayeon hummed in response, the corner of her eyes crinkling happily as they continued on their way home with a little bounce in her step. Ijin widened his stride to keep up with her, absently wondering what it could be.

They had already given him so much, accepting him despite his dubious past, buying new things for him when they didn’t need to, cooking for him and being so kind when he had been nothing more than a stranger to them.

Even if Grandpa never said it out loud, Ijin knew that his age was catching up to him but he worked so hard, providing for them even when Ijin’s pay from his bodyguard job was more than enough to provide for all three of them.

He wished he and Dayeon would rely on him a little more so he could repay their kindness in any way they could.

“We’re home!” 

A familiar rich aroma of chocolate wafted through the air as they stepped inside, a foggy memory niggling at the back of his mind curiously.

“In the kitchen!”

Nothing looked out of place when he went inside but that smell… he couldn’t help but feel like he knew it from somewhere. 

Grandpa sat at the table with a book and three steaming mugs of hot chocolate topped with varying amounts of cream and marshmallows. Childishly, Ijin couldn’t help but grumble at the fact that he had used the tiny marshmallows rather than the bigger ones his mother–

He paused, bewildered at the strange thought and unable to remember the last time he had been anywhere near the drink. And since when did he care for the size of marshmallows? He didn’t even like sweets all that much, too used to bland rations or spicy foods to develop a taste for sugar.

His head throbbed all of a sudden, blood rushing in his ears as he massaged his temples.

“How was school?” his grandfather greeted warmly as they shrugged their jackets off and hung them in the closet and Ijin smiled despite himself.

“It was fine. There was a substitute teacher in my math class today, though.”

“Oh, me too,” Dayeon added. “Apparently, Mr. Hong’s wife is having a kid today. Everyone in the next class was talking about it because he suddenly left in the middle of class yesterday.”

“Oh, how nice,” Grandpa chuckled. “I remember how nervous your father was at first back then.”

It felt a little awkward to talk about his birth but it was rare that his grandfather spoke about his parents beyond little anecdotes here and there that allowed Ijin to create a vague image of what his parents were like in his mind.

“Anyways, Grandpa, you found it right?” Dayeon grinned.

“Found what?”

His grandfather rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, gesturing to the book. “It’s the family album. Dayeon and I sorted through all the photos I had saved of the family back when you first contacted us so we could help with your amnesia and you’d be more comfortable around us but we lost it when we moved into this apartment. I was sorting through some boxes and I found it buried under everything.”

Ijin could only stare, an onslaught of emotions he couldn’t even begin to decipher threatening to drown in a sea of jumbled up feelings and thoughts. He swallowed the knot lodged in his throat as he tried to figure out what to say.

Grandpa’s face softened in understanding as his silence stretched and Dayeon gently grabbed his wrist, urging him to the table and into a seat before settling down beside him. 

The smell of rich, hot chocolate was more profound than ever now and Ijin's hands wrapped around the warm ceramic mug in front of almost instinctively. His hands, he noted, were trembling again. 

There was an old fuzzy memory of a lullaby and a crackling fireplace, of falling snow and a crying little girl, of a soothing voice telling a story about the sun and the moon.

His head throbbed. 

“I– Pictures of me and… our parents?” he glanced at Dayeon uncertainly because even if they were technically his parents, he had no memory of them. She had been the one to lose them, to grieve the safety and security of their presence.

His grandfather nodded with a small, wistful smile. He slid the album towards Ijin with an encouraging expression but Ijin couldn’t help but hesitate. 

It would hurt to remember. He knew bits and pieces but never the full picture and he had grown used to that. As long his past didn’t affect his present, he was fine with laying it to rest and forgetting. 

He could hardly imagine himself with a family beyond Dayeon and Grandpa, young and bright-eyed the way all kids seemed to be. He wondered what sort of kid he had been. Did he play sports? Or video games? What was his favourite food? Did he and Dayeon get along?

Ijin opened the book.

The first photo was one of his parents' wedding. He recognized them from the few picture frames lying around the apartment but they were young, a couple of years older than him give or take. 

“You look just like your mother, you know that?” his grandfather said softly and yes, Ijin could see the resemblance. In her wavy gray hair and dark eyes, perhaps even her nose and the faint freckles that speckled her face. 

His father looked like Dayeon, with soft hazel eyes and neat brown hair. 

Their smiles were warm and vibrant, filled with so much love that it made Ijin feel hollow and cold in comparison. He wondered if anyone would look at him that way, to feel that sort of intimate emotion for him and he found himself pitying such a person. 

He would never be able to reciprocate it in the same way, never feel worthy of such emotion. Not when blood stained his hands and his sins weighed down on his every moment. He could pretend to be a normal, teenage boy all he wanted but he would never truly be that. 

There were many words that could be used to define him but normal had never been amongst them.

He wondered what his parents would think of him, what Dayeon and Grandpa would think of him if they knew the truth. He knew that logically, it wasn’t his fault. That he had done everything he could to survive those terrible days but….

The fluttering snow, the sobbing of a young girl, the terrified gaze of her mother, and the echoing crack of a gunshot. 

A warm hand covered his and Dayeon’s gaze was steady and reassuring when he looked at her, the tremors lessening as he tucked those dark thoughts away once more. 

They slowly flip through the book and Ijin watches himself grow from a wrinkly baby with a tuft of black to a young lively toddler with curly gray hair and a strange love for trains. Grandfather said he would listen to his dad– a railway engineer– ramble about the mechanics of trains until he fell asleep in place of a real bedtime story.

Dayeon appeared soon after that with a fluffy white kitten named Hia they had apparently grown up with. 

There were strangers in the photos as well; cousins, uncles, aunts with blond or gray hair and his grandfather revealed that their mother’s father was from Iceland. He wondered how many of them had grieved for him, if they even knew he was alive.

Ijin watched himself grow– his first steps, his first birthday party, his first day at school, his first fallen tooth– but the boy in the photos felt more like a stranger than anything. He looked just like him but that was where their similarities ended.

Ijin didn’t like stories or trains. He wasn’t the first in his class. He didn’t have a sweet tooth. He didn’t have parents to proudly show his accomplishments to with a wide, toothy grin. He didn’t have a crybaby sister who hid behind him when anything scared her. He didn’t catch beetles and fireflies during the summer because he thought they looked cool.

He barely knew what his own likes and dislikes were, indifferent to everything around him so long as the people he cared about were safe and comfortable.

Tearing his gaze away from photos as his grandfather’s words washed over him, he brought the untouched cup of hot chocolate to his lips and took a sip. It was too sweet, with melted cream and marshmallows only adding to the rich, chocolate flavour. 

But it was warm, spilling into a frozen hollow in his chest and filling it to the brim with a toasty sweetness that made his eyes burn with sudden emotion.

He blinked a few times when Dayeon giggled all of sudden, glancing at her and then his grandfather in confusion when he saw the laughter dancing in their eyes. His gaze settled on the album where a photo of him and Dayeon drinking cups of hot chocolate with a mound of cream and large marshmallows, cheeks stained a rosy red as they smiled into the camera.

Hot chocolate was smeared across the lining of his upper lip and he abruptly became conscious of the matching smear on his own face, heat rising in his cheeks as he hastily rubbed it away.

This action only seemed to make Dayeon giggle more.

“Do you like it?” Grandpa inquired when his sister’s laughter died down a bit, his eyes twinkling with melancholy as Ijin nodded hesitantly. 

“It’s sweet,” he uttered quietly. “I don’t really remember it but I… I think I used to like the bigger marshmallows?”

Grandpa chuckled. “You did. You’d eat them all before you even started your drink and then beg your mother for more. She only ever made it for you during the winter because you and Dayeon would go out and play in the snow nearly every evening. You loved the snow so much.”

Did he?

He picked the book up, skimming through a few pages in search of coming before he came to a stop and turned it towards the pair of siblings. It was a simple picture, blurred around the edges as if the person behind the camera wasn’t holding it steady. A younger Dayeon was wrapped in their mother’s arms, laughing as she rubbed snow into her hair. 

“You took this picture.”

His grandfather’s voice sounded strange, almost far away the longer Ijin stared into that photo, a faint ringing echoing in his ears.

His smiling mother, bundled in a warm jacket. 

That fearful woman, dressed in tattered clothing.

His laughing little sister, cheeks stained with a bright blush.

That sobbing little girl, red-rimmed eyes brimming with tears.

The click of a camera.

The explosive crack of a rifle.

Flakes of white fluttering to the ground and clumping together into a blanket of pure snow.

Red bleeding into white, a halo of blotchy crimson blood staining the snow.

The icy wind that bit into his skin and settled deep within his bones.

Something wet spilled from his eyes, running down his face and dripping onto the table. A knot formed in his stomach as he wiped the liquid away, pulling his hand back to examine it

Tears?

He stared at the clear liquid blankly and the knot in his stomach tightened, constricting to the point he felt he couldn’t breathe. 

“Ijin?”

There had been an order to kill them. His mother– no– and his sister– no, Dayeon is– and he’d killed them, hadn’t he? A shot to the head each and they had fallen over into the snowman they had built together, blood spilling from their wound– no!

His dad was screaming and fire crackled around them as 001– my name is– chased after him. His blade sliced through his flesh, blood spraying from the wound as he screamed with agony and–

“Ijin!”

A cold hand grasped his bicep and his skin burned at the sudden contact, twisting his body away and retreating to a corner of the room as blood roared in his ears and every breath felt as if someone was taking a sledgehammer to his chest. 

The absence of a weapon by his side left him feeling strange and off-kilter, like the creature born in that forest with broken nails and sharpened teeth scrambling to survive. He was vulnerable but his opponents were full of openings he could exploit– NO!

Opponents?

An elderly man and a young girl. The man is speaking but his words don’t register in Jin’s– Ijin, my name is– head. The girl is holding her wrist and blinking a lot– in pain?

Did he hurt her?

Panic sparked in his chest at the thought.

An elderly man and a young girl.

An elderly man and a young girl.

“Ijin! They found your family! You have a grandfather and a little sister!”

Major Kang. Korea. Grandpa. Dayeon. 

His parents had died in the plane crash. His sister was alive. There was no fire. No red snow. 

He hated the snow.

Inhale. Exhale.

The tension in his body slowly bled away as he fell out of the instinctual fighting stance he had taken. He closed his eyes, sucking in a shuddering breath as the fog of mismatched memories that had fallen over his mind lifted and his attention finally focused back on the present.

He could see the damage he had done now, in the pinched expression on Dayeon’s face and the protective manner in which she held her wrist. The mug of hot chocolate had been knocked over, the contents spilling across the table and dripping off the edge onto the floor. The chair he had previously occupied had toppled at some point during his panic.

“Ijin? Are you okay?” Grandpa said softly, painfully cautious as he called Ijin’s name.

This wasn’t right, his life before and now shouldn’t mix this way. He shouldn’t have tried to remember, he should’ve let it go. He could’ve hurt Dayeon and Grandpa– could’ve killed them.

He was compromised. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed to croak before he was out the door, ignoring the man as he called his name. 

He hurt Dayeon.

He hurt his sister.

The thought made him sick to his stomach, something terrible and acrid curdling in his throat as he turned to take the stairs. Most of the residents in their building were elderly so they usually took the elevator. 

He needed the silence to collect himself. 

He needed to call Major Kang.

Ijin slowed to stop near the fourth floor, out of breath despite the fact that he had hardly strained himself. He simply breathed for a few minutes, focusing on every inhale and exhale the way he had taught himself to back at the camp.

He settled down on one of the steps, pulling his phone out and clicking Major’s contact. It rang once, twice before it clicked and the man answered.

“Hello?”

“Major Kang,” he greeted, closing his eyes as relief bubbled in his chest at the sound of his friend’s voice.

“Ijin? What’s up? Is everything okay?” 

“I…” Ijin trailed off, unsure of how to begin, how to explain the sea of complex emotion he was suffocating under. But Major was always patient with him, he listened when Ijin tried to sort through his hazy memories and taught him things he’d never gotten to learn or experience as a child. 

So he explained the girl and her mother, the last two he had been ordered to kill as 001. He explained the snow and the blood, the fire and screams. He explained the photos and the hot chocolate. 

“I don’t know if I want to remember,” he finally whispered into the empty stairwell, his quiet words echoing faintly. 

“Ijin,” Major sighed softly. “Your family loves you. They don’t know everything but they love you, memories or not. They’ll still care for you when you make mistakes or you need help. You were a kid back then, and trying to remember those things now will hurt. I told you back then, didn’t I? Take it slow and don’t be so hard on yourself.”

His nails dug into his palm. “I know but I… Dayeon and Grandpa aren’t like you guys or any of the numbers, they can’t defend themselves if I hurt them.”

The pained look on his sister’s face and the cautious look in her eyes as if she expected to be hit again– it made him sick.

“Adjusting to regular life after everything you’ve gone through is tough, Ijin. You’re traumatized and dealing with it is never easy, especially with missing memories like yours. My old man was hard as nails most of the time but even he got like that sometimes.” Major paused, the faint sound of a pen clicking making its way over the line as the line stretched. “Having someone you can lean on in those moments helps so give your family a chance, kid. They’re stronger than you give them credit for so trust them to help you regain your memories.”

He remembered his grandfather’s tears when he first got back, those gentle hands that cupped his face and the glistening eyes that looked at him as if he were more than an asset or a weapon. 

He remembered the worry and relief in his sister’s eyes when she saw that he was okay after she and Yeona had been kidnapped, putting his safety over her own in a way that was entirely foreign to him. 

“It doesn’t change how I view you, Ijin.” 

“Okay,” Ijin agreed, something thick lodging itself in his throat as a tentative hope bloomed within him. “I’ll try. Thank you, Major.”

“Didn’t I tell you to stop calling me that?” the man grumbled petulantly before sobering up. “But seriously, Ijin. I’m here anytime you need me.”

“I know. I’m here for you too, Major.”

“Who’s the adult here, brat? It's late and a school night so get some rest.”

They hung up soon after that and Ijin slowly climbed his way back up to their apartment. 

It was quiet when he got there, carefully pulling his shoes off and placing them on the rack in a stall for time before he hesitantly made his way to the kitchen. 

The mess was cleaned up and the mugs were placed in the sink, still dirty and unwashed. 

Grandpa sat at the table, his eyebrows pulled a troubled frown. Dayeon was nowhere to be seen and he absently noted that his sister’s shoes had been missing when he walked in– had she gone out to look for him? 

“Grandpa?”

His grandfather whirled around to face him, shoulders loosening with relief before he got to his feet and approached Ijin. “Ijin! Oh, are you okay?”

“I… I’m fine. I’m sorry I scared you, I didn’t mean to–”

“No, Ijin,” Grandpa interrupted fiercely. “I know we don’t know everything that happened to you these past ten years but I know they’ve been hard on you. I was being too hasty and should’ve been more conscious of how delicate memories are. I’m sorry, Ijin.”

“It’s not your fault,” he disagreed, dismayed at the insinuation that they had done something wrong by trying to share their memories of his missing past with him. “I was… I remembered something wrong and I hurt Dayeon…”

Grandpa shook his head. “Your sister’s fine, Ijin. It was just a little spilt of hot chocolate.”

Oh. He didn’t… 

Relief slammed into him like a freight train at the realization that he hadn’t hurt her. His hands trembled a bit and his eyes burned with unshed tears that he hastily tried to blink away but they kept stubbornly coming.

His grandfather pulled him into a hug, cupping the back of his neck with a warm hand as tears spilled down his face and stained the fabric of his clothing. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

The biting cold within him thawed as he stood wrapped in these welcoming arms and for the first time in years, he was warm on both the inside and out. It was foreign but not unwelcome and if he had to put a name to it, Ijin thought–

He thought it might be hope.

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Look at my baby, he deserves everything. I like exploring his trauma and what he thinks of his past self and parents