#but. as much as it could be in there for his situation I think its in there

[fangirl-erdariel]

One thing that sometimes bugs me in the comparisons to Tolkien is that - it's not even like Tolkien's works are entirely devoid of sexual violence?? Like. He doesn't go into graphic detail on it, it's not something Tolkien has in central focus. But it most definitely is there. (And hey, Tolkien also doesn't go into detail on non-sexual violence if he doesn't need to)

More specific examples and rambling on the topic under the cut, bc this got long on what is already a long post

It really doesn't take a particularly attentive reader to figure out Wormtongue's intentions and desires regarding Éowyn, for instance; like yeah he never lays a hand on her as far as we know, but the threat of what could have happened if he'd gotten his way is... pretty obvious

And Silmarillion has its share of male characters desiring women (or the political power of those women's families, depending) and attempting (sometimes succeeding) to force them into marriage. I don't feel like getting involved in the debate of whether Aredhel initially not being "wholly unwilling" to marry Eöl and stay in Nan Elmoth disqualifies her from the list or whether the amount of coercion involved is enough to still make it count.

But Lúthien most definitely is kidnapped against her will, and though she escapes before anything happens, Celegorm's intention explicitly was to marry her whether she wanted or not. Upon seeing Lúthien, Morgoth, the evil dark lord "conceived in his thought an evil lust, and a design more dark than any that had yet come into his heart", and I think we all can figure out what that is (and his lines in the Lay of Leithian, talking of Lúthien as "a pretty toy for idle hour" and speaking about kissing and then bruising and crushing pretty flowers... it's not particularly subtle), even if once again he doesn't get to actually do so.

And there's Maeglin, who desires Idril, and who is promised "the possession of Idril" as reward for betraying the location of the hidden realm of Gondolin, "and indeed desire for Idril -- led Maeglin the easier to his treachery"

And in the children of húrin bit there's Aerin of the folk of Hador whom the invader lord Brodda takes as wife against her will. And then of course there's Míriel of Númenor, whom her cousin Pharazôn forcibly marries in order to seize her throne that is rightfully there

All those are just what I can think of off the top of my head; I'm sure there'd be more examples if I cared to go digging through the material, but I can't be bothered

So, like. Yeah. Sure. Tolkien doesn't really ever use the word "rape" for the things that happen (he seems to mainly use that word in the more archaic meaning of large-scale destruction and/or robbery by violent means, rather than in its modern definition). And in Lúthien and Idril's cases, of course ultimately nothing happens, they escape and all. And as noted, Aredhel's case is more debatable since she wasn't "wholly unwilling". But still.

I'm pretty dang sure that Tolkien understood that a woman being married against her will would be subjected to sexual violence, and is assuming that to be the reader's understanding of the situation when those cases come up. Gríma's, Morgoth's, and Maeglin's intentions towards the women they desire are definitely to be understood as violent and with no care towards what the women in question want (and at least in Morgoth's case, judging by Lay of Leithian, even actively delighting in the idea of doing it by force to an unwilling victim)

And just. I don't know. It kind of bugs me when people act like Tolkien's setting and works are unrealistic because they're devoid of sexual violence? Like. Well first of all, as earlier posters in the thread have pointed out, massive amounts of sexual violence aren't necessarily realistic to begin with. But like also it is a thing that does happen in the setting too... I don't even mean this as a like "oh isn't it so fun doesn't this make the books so much more adult" or anything, and I understand people who enjoy Tolkien's books because it doesn't have like explicit rape scenes the way some other authors do. I just like... the fact that people keep claiming that sexual violence pretty much doesn't even exist in Middle-Earth, when it very much does, it's just kind of left as a threat and an implication or spoken of in very vague terms, is kind of baffling? Honestly it kinda gives the impression that the person saying it either hasn't read Tolkien since they were thirteen or doesn't actually spend the time to understand what the text they're reading means beyond the most obvious surface level. Or they're deliberately saying something that isn't true because it serves some point they want to make

Like, just because something is not shown explicitly in graphic detail with pages upon pages of description, doesn't mean it's not there in the story or the setting at all? You're supposed to pick up on implications and read between the lines and understand those as deliberate choices from the author and a part of the story and setting too?

Someone over on Discord asked, "I'm morbidly curious: How BAD is A Song of Ice and Fire in terms of the authenticity George claims it to be?"

My reply was straightforward:

The long and the short of it is that ASOIAF is basically a vehicle for GRRM to present both his rape fetish and his Hobbesian view on human nature and has less historical accuracy than Frozen or most other Disney movies.

That's actually a good way to think of it, now that I've said it--he's Family Unfriendly, they're Family Friendly, but both have the same relationship with History: just Pure Aesthetic with no consideration for how the worldbuilding would work.

[th3-c0ll3ct3r]

WAKE UP BITCHES ISKALL DROPPED AND IMMA EVALUATE IT-

Especially considering I was never a fan of him in the first place I will have no bias in this horse race

Video:

The entire video genuinely sounds like a more constructive Dream allegations video minus the detective outfit and 2hrs of rambling and a serious lack of evidence due to privacy reasons which kind of, so lightly sound like an excuse

He claims that when he was alerted to these allegations, he was given a 1hr and 30 minutes deadline to produce proof to the Hermits he didn't do anything

He then contact the police and a lawyer

Girl we are going to pause right here because stunning that you contacted the police and a lawyer but if you didn't do the things that you're alleged or doing then you would have proof that you didn't do those things like the whole situation could it take in 20 minutes

If he didn't do even one of the things he was accused of it would have taken less than the hour and a half he was given to screen share his screen with multiple Hermits and just start scrolling through Discord

Then he goes on to say that he wasn't given enough time etc... And that they'd rushed him.

There have been MULTIPLE sources stating they tried for MONTHS to get into contact with the Hermits.

But IT IS odd that when he was "notified" of his wrongdoings, he first went to the police and a lawyer, DESPITE a hermit telling you first. If everyone knows then it's not a matter of privacy anymore.

Like personally if that was me, I'd have jumped into Discord no questions asked, shown the proof THEN contacted a lawyer for defamation or other relating charges

It's very unusual for someone to go the legal route in the situation not because it's never been done before it's because it's a waste of money and time. They will not gaf. Most cases in the similar situations come out with inconclusive responses and the person does not come out with a response themselves as their is seemingly enough evidence to smear their name and they would not like to proceed if there's that much evidence.

And it's VERY clear he's going the "innocent till proven guilty" route. Which is fair enough.

But, and I cannot stress this enough, HE'S NOT BEING ACCUSED OF TEXTING MINORS

He's being accused of having inappropriate relationship with multiple members of his audience/community and moderators, and using his Discord server as the catalyst for it all.

Which is especially alarming as some have said he's a moderator for them, which IN SOME PLACES is illegal to have a boss/employee relationship.

But it genuinely sounds like he's missing the point, as a content creator you have to hold yourself to higher responsibilities, accountability and credibility then the rest of your community. And even if it's not illegal, it's EXTREMELY INAPPROPRIATE for a content creator to have any form of relations with a fan, WITHOUT it being for certain types of videos (like challenges or servers) or for commissions/work

So unless they were gaining genuine service or having particular videos, having that sort of PM relationships with your fans is inappropriate, especially if your working with them or not. It's not appropriate at all.

He then blames it on cancel culture. WHICH GIRL-

I've seen alot of things pumped out of Hermitcraft fans but "cancel culture" IS NOT ONE OF THEM

Blaming it on cancel culture is the biggest excuse, genuinely.

He acts like it was public execution, even through its been CONFIRMED from MULTIPLE SOURCE that people tried for months to get into contact with the Hermits, so the END OF THE INAPPROPRIATE RELATIONS WITH MEMBERS OF YOUR COMMUNITY SHOULD HAVE BEEN WARNING NUMBER 1-

Like imagine all the people you allegedly had relations with suddenly all wanted to cut contact, did you think they would just disappear?

Cancel Culture, is when you're cut from your career for doing something OBJECTIVELY stupid, as it becomes a growing trend. It's unserious and often a social media trend.

Iskall's situation was not apart of cancel culture because it's genuine. And he knows it's genuinely enough to take legal action, meaning that in some capacity he did do at least 20% of what he's been accused of, to have grounds for a cases

So he's done SOMETHING it's just not what he thinks it is/isn't like what's allegedly

Then he goes on to talk about a developer he defended after they scammed him and we're generally not nice.

I have yet to see this developer anywhere and to my knowledge they have not pushed any allegations onto him.

He instead brings up this developer, because he defended them when they did something that was seemingly objectively wrong and it's meant to be a display of his good character

Personally I would have not used that as an example. Using an example of you defending someone when you in the same breath claimed that they had wrong with you is putting the notion in your fans and audiences heads that even "if I do something wrong you should defend me because it was only a silly little mistake and it's the right thing to do"

And it was necessary. Completely unnecessary. He wants to be a display of a good character yet also once privacy so that's why he shares a personal story of him defending someone who wronged him so show that he's a good person who gives second chances? But then implies in the video that he had to give that person more than one chance?

And I think Goodtimeswithscar said it better then me. GASLIGHTING he's hardcore gaslighting.

It is similar to what Mr Beast, did with his allegations. Actually it's almost a copy.

Instead of completely addressing it he only addresses what he wants to in the face of privacy. He then brings up all the good things he's done to make him seem more trustworthy and like a better person even. And then he pays someone to investigate himself to find himself not guilty.

Iskall it's literally doing the same thing. He only addresses what he wants to because of privacy even though he knew about the situation before he got a lawyer, he uses the worst example possible to show that he's a trustworthy person, and then he pays for a lawyer himself to prove that he is not guilty.

Having the police and lawyers is meant to make it seem more 'fair'. But as we all know the police will only do so much before a lawyer has to step in. And if you're paying for the lawyer yourself obviously the lawyer is going to have bias because they want to do a good job because you are paying them to do a good job.

It's the most hardcore gaslighting I've ever seen.

And worst of all he might actually get away with it, because like Mr Beast he has a younger audience who will not understand how much he's trying to Gaslight them.

So to conclude, he's doing a Dream / Mr Beast remix on a smaller scale because money. And he's getting lawyer involved and unless they're suing for defamation, then there's nothing to sue for because no one is accusing him of pedophilia they are accusing him of having inappropriate relationships with his audience which is a big no-no for content creators..

Now for Stressmonster

Girl dug herself either a hole or a grave and now has to lie in it.

They tried to protect her dignity and integrity by not stating the reason why she left but it's now clear to many why she also left.

And yet again I would like to make it very clear like no one is accusing him of actually committing a crime (UNLESS HE LIVES IN AN AREA THAT MAKES IT ILLEGAL FOR BOSS AND EMPLOYEES/COWORKERS TO HAVE A RELATIONSHIP) he's being accused of having inappropriate relationships with members of his community and moderators, which is not a very good thing if you're a content creator

Its not a jailable offence unless *see point above*, and to be like "I'm standing with you 100% of the way!", is more telling about your priorities than 'what is right'

They act as if hermitcraft is a cult, that kicks members out for not conforming.

But I am entirely on the side of HermitCraft in the fact that I would indeed, kick Iskall out/get him to resign, if he'd had inappropriate relations with mods and fans REGARDLESS OF IF THEY WERE ADULTS

Because the main audience for Hermitcraft ARE CHILDREN. KIDS. NON-ADULTS

AND HE'S ENDANGERING THEM AS WELL AS THERE COMMUNITY EVEN IF IT'S NOT MINORS HE'S MESSAGING

LIKE GROWING UP IN A COMMUNITY WHERE IF YOU EVENTUALLY REACH AN ACCEPTABLE AGE YOU GET TO HAVE A PRIVATE RELATIONSHIP WITH THE CONTENT CREATOR YOU'VE BEEN IDOLISING FOR YOUR CHILDHOOD ARE YOU INSANE?

Overall he's digging himself a grave and handing out shovel.

And also. To be sosososososo clear.

NEVER. SEND. DEATH. THREATS. TO. ANYONE.

[axeeglitter]

One way trip to Caracas

The flight from Paris to Caracas was long, but every second felt like a victory for Julien. At 32 years old, this was his first solo trip abroad, the culmination of years of hard work and saving every spare euro. His coworkers had teased him, saying it was too dangerous to travel to Venezuela alone, but Julien had brushed off their concerns. For him, this was not just a holiday; it was a statement of independence. No more predictable vacations with his family. No more dreaming of adventure while flipping through travel magazines. This was his time.

The sweltering heat hit him the moment he stepped out of the airport. Caracas was unlike anything he had ever seen. The towering buildings cast long shadows over streets bustling with life. Food vendors called out to passersby, the scent of arepas and empanadas mingling with the tropical humidity. The colors overwhelmed him: bright murals on crumbling walls, vibrant clothing, and the endless blue sky above.

Julien, with his average build and confident demeanor, stood out among the locals. His fair skin and European features marked him as a tourist immediately, but he didn’t mind. He had always prided himself on being adaptable, confident, and able to handle himself in any situation. After all, he’d spent years in the gym maintaining a body he was proud of. He wasn’t particularly muscular, but he was fit, a point of pride for someone who considered himself just an ordinary guy.

He had planned his trip meticulously. Days of hiking in the Andes, visits to Angel Falls, and, today, exploring the city and getting lost in its streets and markets.

The marketplace was everything Julien had hoped for and more. It was a chaotic symphony of sights and sounds: merchants shouting over each other, music blaring from hidden speakers, the clinking of coins exchanged for fresh produce, handmade crafts, and colorful trinkets. Julien wandered through the labyrinth of stalls, enchanted by the vibrant fabrics, carved wooden figurines, and the aroma of spices he couldn’t quite identify.

He stopped at a table displaying intricate jewelry. Bracelets made of woven leather, necklaces adorned with tiny beads, and rings of all shapes and sizes were laid out like treasures waiting to be discovered. The seller, an older woman with silver-streaked hair, smiled at him and began explaining each piece in rapid Spanish. Julien’s knowledge of the language was limited, but her enthusiasm was infectious.

As he examined a particularly striking silver bracelet, a group of teenagers loitered nearby, watching him. There were five of them, all around 18 to early 20s years old, dressed in a mix of modern streetwear and local flair. They whispered among themselves, smirking and occasionally glancing in his direction. Julien noticed them but didn’t think much of it. He assumed they were just curious about the foreigner in their midst.

“¿Cuánto cuesta?” Julien asked the vendor, pointing at the bracelet.

Before the woman could answer, one of the teenagers, probably the leader of the group,  stepped forward. He was tall and wiry, with a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “Señor, let me help you,” the boy said in heavily accented English, grinning. “You don’t want that. It’s too expensive for you.”

Julien raised an eyebrow, more amused than annoyed. “Thanks, but I can handle myself.”

The boy’s grin widened. “Of course. Just saying. You should look around more. Better deals everywhere.” He gestured vaguely at the surrounding stalls.

The other teenagers laughed softly, their eyes gleaming with mischief. Julien turned back to the vendor, brushing off the interaction. He had no idea that, while he was distracted, another member of the group had slipped close behind him.

As Julien continued haggling over the bracelet, a smaller boy with a quick, practiced motion slid something into the pocket of Julien’s cargo shorts. The boy rejoined his friends, who stifled their laughter as they watched the oblivious tourist.

Julien eventually purchased the bracelet from the lady while small talking with her a bit and then moved on, unaware of the extra weight in his pocket. He spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the market, sampling local snacks and taking photos. The teenagers followed him at a distance, always staying just out of sight, their laughter echoing faintly as Julien admired a stand of colorful ceramic bowls.

By the time Julien returned to his modest hotel room that evening, the events of the day had left him exhilarated and exhausted. He dumped his shopping bag on the bed and emptied his pockets, pulling out his phone, wallet, and… a ring? Frowning, he examined it. The metal was cold and oddly heavy, the symbols on its surface almost seeming to shift under the dim light of the room.

“Weird,” he muttered, setting it aside. He assumed he must have accidentally picked it up at the market, maybe it had fallen into his bag or pocket while the young men were talking to him. Julien tried the ring on his finger and it fit perfectly, it was hugging his skin without compressing him and it was a perfect touch that he could keep as a memory of his travel. Being happy to find this ring by accident and seeing how well fitted it felt, Julien got ready to go to bed, forgetting completely to take the ring off as he fell asleep on his bed.

The morning sun streamed through the thin curtains of Julien’s hotel room, casting a golden glow on the sparse furnishings. He groaned softly, his body heavy with the lingering fatigue of the previous day. Stretching, he rubbed his face, only to pause when his hand brushed against his jawline. The stubble he had carefully groomed just yesterday felt... thinner. Softer, almost.

He sat up, dismissing the thought as morning grogginess, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. As he stood, he felt an odd looseness in his pajama shorts. They slid slightly down his hips, which felt narrower than usual. Julien tugged them back up, frowning but attributing it to weight loss from the heat and all the walking he’d done.

In the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water and glanced into the mirror. For a moment, he didn’t recognize the reflection staring back at him. His skin, usually a pale European tone, had darkened slightly, as if the last days sun he took finally put a tan on his pale skin. His features looked subtly different, his nose a touch broader, his cheekbones sharper. It wasn’t drastic, but it was enough to make him pause and watch with attention how just a tan can make such a difference on his face and body.

“Must be the sun,” he muttered, running a hand through his short-cropped hair to style them after what he got himself ready for another hot day to explore Caracas and its streets.

But as the day wore on, Julien’s discomfort grew. Walking through the city streets, he noticed his stride felt different, as though his legs were subtly reshaping themselves. His calves felt leaner, his thighs slightly more muscular, but not in the way he was used to. There was a new tautness to his skin, a feeling he couldn’t quite place. His shirt clung awkwardly to his torso, which seemed slimmer than it had been in the morning.

By the afternoon, Julien’s reflection in shop windows was unmistakably altered. His once broad shoulders had softened slightly, tapering down to an athletic but less imposing frame. His arms, too, seemed leaner, the veins that usually stood out on his forearms now subdued beneath smoother, slightly darker skin.

The changes, at first painless, began to take on a strange intensity. As evening approached, Julien found himself stumbling as a sharp ache flared in his joints. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was persistent, like his body was being stretched and compressed at the same time. His face felt hot, as though feverish, and when he caught his reflection in a storefront window, he barely recognized himself. His jawline had softened, his lips fuller, and his eyes, a deep brown now instead of their usual golden hazel, stared back at him with an unfamiliar intensity.

Julien panicked seeing that he didn’t recognize himself anymore in his reflection. This was not the sun; this was something else. He needed help. Julien ran back at the hotel, paced the room, his heart pounding. He started to think and walk in his bed, trying to find an explication on the internet while looking for the emergency number; but now that he was alone with his thought and changing body, the feeling was growing stronger and stronger. Julien could feel his bones grinding each other as the transformation was not done yet. His skin tightening around his shrinking muscles, his vision blurring and coming back to normal, his body getting itchy. As he sat in the corner of the room, Julien felt a sharp painful sensation around his fingers, he tilted his head only to realize the ring he put on yesterday was still on, and worst, it was shining a faint golden hue. The ring. It had to be the ring. He grabbed it from his finger and tugged on it, trying to take it off. But it was not moving at all. Worst it felt like he was tearing off his own finger. It was stuck in place. As he was about to try once again going to the bathroom to put soap and water, he felt a jolt of energy course his body and coming from his finger. Julien screamed in pain as his voice felt rougher and higher at the same time. The wave of energy was running through his body and then it stopped and centralized around his feet. Julien turned his head and watched in horror as his feet started to compress and shrink right in front of his eyes. The symbols etched into the surface of the ring seemed to shimmer and shift, almost as if alive. Desperate, he tried to pull it off once again, only to find that it wouldn’t budge. The metal felt warm against his skin, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. Julien screamed in panic once again as he felt the ring starting to warm once again, like if it was ready to release a new wave. Julien was terrified and just like he thought, the sensation of invasion in his body came back once again, only this time it went in the direction of his head. The last thing Julien saw before his vision blurred and was taken by darkness was the night falling in his dark room as a golden light was emitted from his left hand.

As night fell and Julien was still fainted on his bed, the transformation accelerated. Julien’s once well-groomed chest and arms were now smooth, devoid of the hair he had always taken pride in. Yet, paradoxically, his armpits and thighs had grown thick with dark, curly hair, the contrast both alarming and surreal. His body continued to slim down, shedding years as it reshaped itself into that of a teenager. His abdomen, while still toned, looked less defined, the muscle structure softer and more natural.

The pain became unbearable by midnight. Julien curled up on the bed, clutching his stomach as spasms wracked his unconscious body. His bones felt like they were grinding against each other, his muscles tightening and releasing in unnatural patterns as tears streamed down his fainted face.

By dawn, the transformation was nearly complete. Julien’s once angular features were now softer, more youthful, with a golden-brown complexion that glowed in the bright morning light. Julien opened his eyes and turned his head around, taking the light in his warm brown eyes as his pupils contracted to accommodate to it. He turned his head to the left to look at the clock, forgetting what happened yesterday, but as he saw his tanned hand in front of him, everything came back to him. The ring, the changes, his body. Julien jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, his body, lean and athletic, moved with an ease and agility he hadn’t felt in years. There, in the mirror reflection, Julien saw his face and body. He looked like a local Venezuelan teenager, no older than 18. The realization hit him like a blow. Julien gasped in surprise and fear only to hear his deep voice being way higher and younger than what he was used to.

He couldn’t be stuck like this; he had a flight back in 2 days. How could he take the plane, his passport wasn’t even looking like himself anymore! As he kept on walking around the room, trying to find a solution, the light of the morning sun shine through his curtain and fell on his ringed finger, which illuminated his mirror reflection in golden hue. “The market!” he thought “I have to find the lady in the market, that’s her ring, I’m sure she’ll be able to help me out!” He grabbed a pair of flip flops, the only things that his feet were able to put on without loosing them, put on a pair of shorts and a shirt that was way too big for his body and then ran to the market with hope in his chocolate eyes. 

By the time Julien reached the bustling market, the sun was high in the sky, its heat beating down relentlessly and little to no sweat dripping down from his forehead. He maneuvered through the crowded streets, his heart thudding in his chest and the ring. Everything about the market felt more chaotic than it had the day before, the colors, the sounds, the voices speaking in rapid Spanish that he inexplicably understood with greater clarity now. He tugged at the sleeves of his loose shirt; his movements awkward as he tried to mask the unfamiliar changes in his body.

He reached the vendor’s stall from the day before and froze. The elderly woman wasn’t there. Her table was empty, the trinkets and jewelry nowhere in sight. His stomach churned as he turned in circles, scanning the crowd for her hunched figure. “She must be somewhere, she has to! I don’t know wha…”

“Señor turista!” interrupted a young men’s voice.

It made Julien’s blood run cold. He turned slowly, not knowing who to to expect or even if it was for him.

There, standing in front of him with a smirk on his face, a familiar young man with other ones stood a few meters away from him, their cocky smiles and sharp eyes fixed on him. The leader, a tall, wiry boy with dark, calculating eyes, stepped forward, his head tilting with mock curiosity.

“You look like you need help. You lost or something?” the leader asked kindly, switching easily between Spanish and English, his grin widening. “Come with me, we’ll help you find her. It’s not the first time this bruja does something like that.”

Julien’s breath quickened, but he forced himself to stand his ground. “Can you? That would be awesome. I’m terrified, I don’t even recognize myself, and everything feels so vivid and different.” he said, his voice trembling despite his attempt to sound firm. “Do you know where she is? I have to turn back. I don’t want … this” he said pointing at his regressed body.

The leader’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened. “Sure, don’t worry. That’s why I tried to help you the other day when you bought this bracelet. But you didn’t listen. It’s ok, we can help you don’t worry. Just follow us, her shop is a few streets away.” Julien felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders and he laughed a bit out of anxiety. He’ll be able to go back home. As Julien followed the men and his group outside of the market, he didn’t realize the streets were getting less crowded. The houses getting closer from each other and the sun was having trouble piercing through the closed roofs surrounding them. “So, not to be uneducated or anything, but how long do you think we’ll have to walk? You said it was close and we’ve been walking for almost 25 minutes. I’m just wondering if… Hey! Stop that!” Julien was interrupted in his sentence. Two of the men he was following grabbed him by the arms. He tried to break free but they were way too strong for him to do anything in this twink body he was now inhabiting. In a quick move, Julien’s feet were not touching the ground anymore and as he kept on screaming for help, a door opened behind them, leading in a poorly decorated house with only a well-used black leather couch. They threw Julien on the couch and his head punched the wall behind him, making him dizzy for a minute. When his ideas were cleared, he jumped back on his feet only to realize the whole gang was surrounding him and he had nowhere to escape.

“Let me through,” he said, his voice louder now, his nerves beginning to fray.

“Why would we do that?” one of the boys sneered. “You’re not going anywhere.”

The leader stepped closer, his gaze locking on Julien’s terrified face. “You still don’t understand, don’t you? There is no escape for you, not anymore.”

Julien instinctively covered his hand, but the leader’s smirk deepened. “It’s too late to hide it now,” he said. “You’re already marked.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Julien said, though his voice betrayed his growing panic. He tried to push past them, but hands grabbed his arms, his shoulders, his shirt, forcing him backward against the couch.

“You don’t get it, do you?” the leader said, leaning in close. “The lady is not the problem. She was just someone selling her craft trying to get money. She won’t help you, or turn you back!” “But you said…” Julien answered with tears in his throat. “I say a lot of things Julien. Here, it’s either eat or be eaten. And I won’t get eaten by society, not today, not tomorrow. See we needed someone like you. And you are perfect I have to say, or rather were. Your innocent face, your pale skin, your basic body. Yea you really were perfect. And you were alone, Jackpot!” continued the men as al his friends were still blocking Julien from running away. “Now listen, from now on, you work for me. And if you try to say anything out of character, well, let’s say you won’t be saying anything else.” “I’m sorry. I have money, I can pay you. Just turn me back and I’ll give you whatever you want. Please.” Answered Julien with tears rolling down his tanned cheeks. “What did I just say? Nothing out of character. Looks like you broke the first rule, isn’t that right Mateo?” said the men with a cocky smile creeping on his lips.

Julien froze. “Mateo?” he echoed, confused.

The leader laughed darkly. “I told you, Mateo. I won’t accept any side steps from my men.”

“Please I’m sorry. I…,” Julien hissed, trying to wrench free, but the gang’s grabbed him back as he tried to get up from the couch only to be pushed back and forced to sit. Julien froze as he was forced there on the couch. The leader took a step in his direction and then looked at his friends next to him. He smiled and then Julien saw the two men laughing and smirking as they approached his paralyzed body. Soon, the men grabbed Julien’s clothes until he was star naked. His new athletic tanned and musky body sitting there for everybody to look at him. Julien felt humiliated and hated every second of it, but he couldn’t escape from their grip, he was trapped. “I’ll pay you, just let me go. I won’t talk to anyone. Please!” said one more time Julien, trying to argue with the leader standing in front of him.

The leader didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed the ring and pulled. Julien gasped as a sharp, burning sensation shot through his finger, as though the ring had fused to his skin. For a moment, it resisted, but then it slipped free, leaving behind a faint red mark on his tanned finger. Julien screamed as felt a part of himself getting ripped with the ring. His head started to spin as everything was starting to merge together before being broken and reformed again. Sweat started to poor down from his skin, his armpits sweating abundantly. Tears of sweat were rolling down his forehead and blurred his vision as he felt like his head was about to explode. He then felt an alien sensation invading his cock. It was like it was burning and itching t the same time. Julien opened his brown eyes only to realize in his blurred vision that his cock was now changing to something totally different. It started to shrink and compress on itself. Veins popping on the lengths as sensitivity started to grow higher and higher. Then burning appeared at the base, Julien’s mouth opened, trying to ask for mercy, as he felt a new forest of curly dark pubes starting to grow. Then his new smaller but thicker dick started to beat with the rhythm of his younger heart, his body getting overdosed by hormones as he couldn’t control himself, his hips wanted to move, to thrust, but the men were still holding him down. Without being able to control himself, a thick pearl of precum was ejected from his new tanner cock head, the first of many. Then all of a sudden, everything stopped. Julien opened his eyes again and everything was calmed, the men still in front of him was smirking with the ring in his hand, shining in a heartbeat rhythm before shutting off in a faint glow that soon stopped too.

“¿Qué me están haciendo? ¿Qué está pasando?”

The gang burst into laughter, their mocking voices echoing off the alley walls. Julien’s panic spiked as he realized he couldn’t remember how to speak English. Worse, his own name felt foreign to him, slipping from his mind entirely.

“As I said, your name is Mateo now,” the leader said, his grin cruel. “And you’re mine.”

“No... no puede ser,” Julien, no, Mateo whispered, his younger voice trembling.

The leader crouched down in front of him, his expression softening into something almost sympathetic. “You going to bring me a lot of money” he said. “My clients will adore you, that’s for sure.”

Julien shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “Esto no está bien,” he murmured, but the conviction in his voice was fading, drowned out by the growing fog in his mind.

The gang’s laughter grew louder as they released their grips on him. Julien’s resistance ebbed, his will crumbling under the weight of the changes overtaking him. As he tried to get up begging one last time for help, the leader snapped his fingers. Julien’s head spanned and he started to blink in confusion, his erected dick starting to spasm and eject more and more precum. In front of him, the leader called one of his loyal friend and gave him the bronze ring. As Julien looked at him, his vision blurred by pleasure and confusion, he saw the young men putting the ring on and in a couple of second, he saw his old reflection standing naked in front of him. His old body standing there at attention and waiting for the leader’s orders. “Que …. No es…” Julien managed to say as his cock was spasming more and more, pleasure invading his young naked sweaty and musky body. The leader just turned his head and smirked. “Cum par mi, puta!” Julien felt the orgasm rising as he couldn’t control himself anymore and suddenly cum fired out of his cock. It felt like he finally could breath again. Julien closed his eyes and when he opened them again, a smirk appeared on his younger face. “Bienvenido, Mateo” said the leader with a smile on his face as he threw a grey used jockstrap to Mateo. “Hola Boss!” answered Mateo as Julien was gone for good, drying on the cement floor.

______________________________________________________________ Hey guys!

Here is the story I wrote for @misctf. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

As always, my DMs are open, so feel free to send me a message if you have any ideas you'd like me to write about.

Also, we're getting close to 1,000, so be ready, I’m planning a special event for you once we reach that milestone!

Thank you so much, guys! See you soon!

[simplypaisleyjane]

Chasing You

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x AFAB Reader

Summary: At The Hard Deck Jake Seresin spots a stunning woman who he has no business getting involved with. But he doesn’t know that yet. When he figures out her father is an admiral, his interest only deepens. But she’s not as easily impressed as Jake may have hoped. Will he win her over? Or will the chase be more than he bargained for?

Warnings: I don't think there are any :)

Tags: I want to thank @mynameismckenziemae for supporting me and encouraging me to post this! If you haven't yet, definitely check out her stuff!

Also tagging @djs8891 @khouse712 @withahappyrefrain @86laura11 because it seemed like you may have been interested based on the Ask on McKenzie's page! (If you'd like to not be tagged just let me know!)

The Hard Deck was filled with its usual noise, a mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and the soft background music coming from the jukebox. Jake Seresin leaned against the far back wall, beer in hand, casually scanning the room figuring out who he wanted to spend his evening talking to. 

His gaze stopped when he caught sight of a woman talking to Maverick and Penny near the corner of the bar. She was laughing, her smile lighting up the space, and Jake’s interest was instantly piqued.

“Hey, Bradshaw,” Jake nudged Bradley. “Who’s that?” He tilted his head toward the girl.

Bradley glanced over his shoulder, following Jake’s line of sight. When he spotted you, a knowing grin spread across his face. “Oh, her?” he said, his voice carefully casual.

“Yeah, her.” Jake’s tone was dripping with curiosity—and something more. “She’s gorgeous. You know her?”

Bradley turned fully toward Jake now, feigning thoughtfulness. “Actually, I do. She’s real sweet.” He paused for effect, letting the words sink in before adding with just enough sincerity to be dangerous, “I think you should go talk to her.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, clearly weighing the risks. “You serious?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Bradley replied, his voice laced with mock encouragement. “She’s single. And you’re you, right? What could possibly go wrong?” He tipped his glass, hiding the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Jake chuckled, straightening his shoulders and adjusting his stance like he was walking into battle. “You’re not wrong, Rooster. I’m irresistible.” He set his beer on the counter and took a deep breath, the picture of confidence. “Wish me luck.”

Bradley raised his glass in a silent toast. “Oh, you’re gonna need it,” he muttered under his breath, watching as Jake strode across the bar like a man on a mission.

As Jake approached, you looked up and met his eyes, your smile widening slightly. Maverick and Penny exchanged a glance, their conversation stalling as they noticed the incoming pilot.

“Hey,” Jake started, his southern drawl turned up to full charm mode. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I couldn’t help noticing you from across the room. I’m Jake.”

Maverick smirked, clearly enjoying the show, but didn’t say a word. Penny raised an eyebrow at Maverick, who simply shrugged, leaving you to handle the situation.

“Nice to meet you, Jake,” you replied, your tone friendly but guarded.

Before Jake could respond, Maverick spoke up, his voice casual but carrying just enough weight to make Jake pause. “Hangman, you do know who her father is, right?”

Jake’s grin didn’t falter—much. “No,” he said confidently. “Should I?”

“Probably,” Maverick replied, leaning back with a smirk, “he’s sitting over there.”

Jake’s head snapped to the other side of the bar, where Cyclone was seated, his gaze locked on Jake like a hawk sizing up prey.

Jake turned back to you, his confidence shaken but not broken. “You know,” he said with a sheepish laugh, “I think I might’ve left my beer at the pool table. Don’t go anywhere, though.”

Back at the pool table, Bradley was doubled over, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Jake smacked him on the shoulder, muttering, “You’re a real piece of work, Rooster.”

“Worth it,” Bradley managed between laughs. "You retreating already, Bagman?” Bradley teased, his grin wide and smug.

Jake grabbed his beer and took a long sip before setting it down with exaggerated nonchalance. He leaned casually against the pool table, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Retreat?” Jake scoffed, turning his head to glance back in your direction. “Nah, Rooster. I’m just regrouping.”

Bradley’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah? And what exactly is the plan now?”

Jake’s smirk widened into something almost wicked as he turned back towards the bar, fixing his collar and brushing his fingers through his hair. “Simple,” he said, his drawl thick and smooth. “I’m going to get her number.”

Bradley barked out a laugh, nearly spilling his drink. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” Jake started toward you again, then stopped to look back at Bradley, his smirk now full-blown.

Bradley shook his head, half in disbelief and half in amusement. “This is going to end so badly, and I can’t wait to see it.”

You noticed Jake approaching again and sighed inwardly, though a small smirk tugged at your lips. He was persistent, you’d give him that.You had half expected him to give up once he realized who your dad was. You thought the line about forgetting his drink was him tucking his tail between his legs. 

You glanced over at your dad who was still seated on the other side of the bar, his gaze heavy as he followed Jake’s movements back towards you.

“Back already?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as he stopped in front of you.

Jake leaned casually on the bar, his smirk as charming as ever. “Couldn’t stay away,” he said smoothly. “Hard to ignore someone as beautiful as you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t entirely suppress the faint blush that you knew was on your cheeks. “Is this your usual routine? Flash a smile, throw out some compliments, and hope for the best?”

“Depends,” Jake said, his grin widening. “Is it working?”

“Not even a little,” you shot back, though the corner of your mouth twitched like you were fighting a smile.

Jake chuckled, undeterred. “Good. Wouldn’t be worth it if it were easy.”

You turned your head back toward Maverick and Penny, clearly dismissing him. If he was just looking for a quick lay for the night he could find it with someone else.

But instead of walking away, Jake stayed put, leaning against the bar like he had all the time in the world.

“Still here? Let me guess,” you said without looking at him. “You’re one of those pilots, aren’t you?”

Jake’s grin only grew. “Guilty as charged. And you? Let me guess…Cyclone’s daughter?”

You finally looked at him, your eyes narrowing. “If you already knew that, why are you still here?”

Jake shrugged, his gaze unwavering. “Because you’re gorgeous, and I don’t scare off that easily. Besides,” he added with a wink, “I like a good challenge.”

“Good luck with that,” you said, turning your back on him completely.

Jake laughed softly to himself, taking the hint—for now. He walked back to the back of the bar where the pool tables were and stopped beside Bradley, who was watching the whole exchange with poorly hidden amusement.

“She shut you down, didn’t she?” Bradley asked, grinning.

Jake picked up his beer, taking a long sip. “She’s just playing hard to get.”

Bradley snorted. “She’s not playing, man. She’s actually hard to get.”

Jake glanced over his shoulder at you, catching the way you smiled at something Maverick said. A genuine, soft smile, not the guarded one you’d given him. His smirk softened just a fraction as he turned back to Bradley.

“Even better,” Jake said, leaning against the bar. “That just means she’s worth it.”

Bradley raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sincerity in Jake’s tone. “You’re really not giving up, huh?”

Jake’s smirk returned, but there was a glint of something more genuine in his eyes. “Not a chance.”

A few weeks later The Hard Deck was once again buzzing. It was Friday night, and the sound of voices and clinking glasses filled the air. Jake was nursing a beer at the bar, laughing at one of Coyote’s bad jokes, when his eyes landed on you.

You were seated at a small table outside near the edge of the patio, absently twirling a straw in your drink as you stared out at the ocean. This time, you weren’t surrounded by Maverick, Penny…or your father thankfully.

“Hangman,” Coyote said, nudging him. “You listening?”

Jake didn’t even glance his way. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, already rising to his feet.

Coyote followed his line of sight and smirked. “Oh, this should be good. You really going to try this again? You know who her dad is right?”

Jake didn’t respond, just shot him a wink before making his way toward you.

You noticed him approaching out of the corner of your eye and sighed. Of course, he was coming over. It wasn’t like you hadn’t expected it, but you’d hoped he might take the hint after the last time that you weren’t interested.

“Evening,” Jake said smoothly, sliding into the seat across from you without waiting for an invitation.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “What are you doing?”

“Just keeping you company,” he said, flashing that infuriatingly perfect grin.

You gave him a flat look. “Who said I wanted company?”

“Call it a hunch,” Jake replied, unfazed. “You looked like you could use someone to talk to. Or, you know, someone to distract you.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Distract me, huh? And what makes you think you’re qualified for the job?”

Jake smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Because, darlin’, distraction is what I do best.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t entirely hide the amusement that flickered across your face. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Gotta be with someone like you,” Jake said, his tone softer now. “You’re not exactly making it easy for me sweetheart, are you?”

“My name’s not sweetheart. And why should I?” you shot back, arching an eyebrow. “You seem to like the chase.”

Jake chuckled, holding your gaze. “Maybe I do. But it’s not just the chase that’s got me sticking around.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

“Well,” you said finally, reaching for your drink, “if you’re expecting someone to go home with you, I’m not her. There’s a cute blonde at the bar in the pink dress that might be interested though.”

Jake grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Who said I was looking for someone to go home with me?”

He stood, giving you a quick two-finger salute before heading back to the bar. You watched him go, shaking your head.

For the first time, you found yourself wondering if maybe—just maybe—there was more to Jake Seresin than his charm and good looks.

The ocean breeze lost its appeal as the night wore on, and you found yourself wandering back inside The Hard Deck, craving the warmth and the noise of the bar. You sidled up to the counter, setting your empty glass down with a soft clink.

Penny caught your eye from behind the bar and made her way over with her usual easy smile. “Refill?”

You nodded. “Just a soda, thanks.”

She grabbed the glass and began filling it, her movements practiced and smooth. As you waited, your gaze drifted across the room—right to Jake Seresin, who was leaning casually against the far end of the bar, laughing at something Coyote had said.

You quickly looked away, but not before Penny caught the direction of your stare.

“So,” she began, sliding the refilled glass back to you, “what do you think of him?”

You blinked, playing innocent. “Of who?”

Penny’s lips curved into a knowing smile as she wiped down the counter. “Jake’s been orbiting you all night.”

You sighed, glancing down at your drink. “He’s…persistent.”

“That he is,” Penny agreed, leaning against the bar. “But he’s also not as one-dimensional as he might seem.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Meaning what? That he’s not just some cocky pilot who thinks he’s God’s gift to women? Cause that’s what everyone around here is saying.”

Penny chuckled. “Oh, he’s definitely cocky. But there’s more to him. He’s loyal, sharp as a tack, and surprisingly thoughtful when he wants to be.”

You scoffed lightly, though the words lingered in your mind. “Thoughtful, huh? Doesn’t seem like the type.”

Penny tilted her head, studying you with an amused glint in her eyes. “Maybe you haven’t given him the chance to show you that side of him.”

You sighed again, fiddling with your straw. “To answer your question, he’s…fine, I guess.”

“Just fine?” Penny teased, arching an eyebrow. “You were staring pretty hard for ‘just fine.’”

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly took a sip of your soda to hide your embarrassment. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Of course not,” Penny said, her tone light and teasing. “But if you were, I’d say maybe it’s worth it to give him a chance.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. “We’ll see.”

Penny winked at you before moving on to another customer, leaving you to your thoughts.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Jake glancing in your direction, his grin widening when your eyes met. You quickly looked away, cursing the heat rising to your cheeks.

As much as you hated to admit it, Penny’s words stuck with you. Maybe there was more to Jake Seresin.

Or maybe you just weren’t ready to find out yet.

You were halfway through your soda when you glanced over again, catching Jake in the middle of another laugh with Coyote. He leaned back against the bar, looking so relaxed and self-assured that it almost annoyed you. Almost.

When his gaze shifted, locking onto yours, your stomach flipped. His grin stretched wider as if he could see right through you. You quickly looked down, pretending to focus on the melting ice in your glass.

Moments later, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye.

“Need a refill?” Jake’s voice drawled, smooth as ever.

You looked up to find him standing beside you, one hand resting casually on the bar. His emerald-green eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something else there too—something that wasn’t as easy to dismiss.

Your first instinct was to brush him off again, but Penny’s earlier words echoed in your mind. Maybe you hadn’t given him a chance. Maybe you should.

“Sure,” you said finally, surprising even yourself. You pushed the empty glass toward him. “Knock yourself out.”

Jake blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your agreement. Then his grin returned, slow and satisfied, like he’d just won a small victory.

“Coming right up,” he said, grabbing your glass and heading back to the bar.

When he returned, he set the drink in front of you with a little flourish. “One soda. Extra ice, just how you like it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how would you know how I like it?”

He shrugged, leaning against the edge of the table. “Lucky guess…or I may have had some help from Penny.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Okay, Jake. You’ve got my attention. Now what?”

His grin softened into something more genuine. “Now I get to know you.”

You tilted your head, intrigued despite yourself. “And how do you plan to do that?”

Jake pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, his movements unhurried. “By asking you questions,” he said simply. “And, if I’m lucky, you might actually answer them.”

You sipped your drink, studying him. “Fine. Go ahead. Ask away.”

He paused for a moment, as if considering his options. Then he asked, “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t gotten the chance to yet?”

The question caught you off guard. It wasn’t what you’d expected—not some flirty remark or shallow small talk, but an actual question. Thoughtful. Genuine.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Travel, I guess. There’s a lot of the world I haven’t seen yet.”

Jake nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Any place in particular?”

“Greece,” you said, the word slipping out before you could stop it. “I’ve always wanted to see the islands. The history, the views… It just seems like it’d be beautiful.”

“It is,” Jake said, surprising you again.

“You’ve been?”

“Once,” he admitted. “A couple of years ago. Only for a few days, but it was incredible. The water’s so blue it doesn’t even seem real.”

For the first time, you found yourself genuinely curious about him. “What were you doing there?”

“Just passing through on leave,” he said with a shrug. “But I’d go back in a heartbeat. Maybe next time I’ll stay longer.”

You cleared your throat, glancing down at your drink. “Okay, your turn. What’s something you haven’t done yet?”

Jake smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Convince you to let me take you on a date.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. “You were doing so well. Why ruin it?”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Just being honest.”

For the first time, you found yourself smiling back. Maybe Penny had been right. Maybe there was more to Jake Seresin than you’d thought.

Note: This is my first time writing any fanfiction that's more than a paragraph or two. And is also my first time sharing or posting what I wrote so I would love to know what you guys think!

I am also considering maybe writing a second part of this that shows you finally giving Jake a chance if there's interest??

[finelinevogue]

Hi babe! I absolutely love your work and read it everyday! Do you think you could do a blurb where its aaron x bau reader and the reader has a toxic/abusive family and hotch and the team find out about it on a case or something (angst but turns into fluff)? I LOVE YOUUU!!!

family is everything

hiya my lovely!! love you too :(( oh stop you’re far too kind omg 🥺 of course i can give this a go - hurt/comfort fics >>>

pairing - aaron hotchner x bau!reader

word count - +5.4k

cw: pre-established relationship, bad coping methods, mentions of childhood abuse, hurt/comfort, happy ending

Spencer was performing one of his magic tricks.

He had captivated the audience of more than half of the room, much to Hotch’s dismay.

“And this gets you girls?” Morgan questioned, perched on the corner of the desk adjacent to Spencer - which happened to be yours. “How?!”

You laughed along with the others as you spun yourself side-to-side in your office chair.

“It’s all in the mystery, my sweet one.” Garcia pinched Morgan’s cheeks. She was the only one who could get away with it.

“Oh I can do mystery.” Morgan added.

“But can you do… magic?” Reid asked as he ended the magic trick by holding out the correct card that Morgan had picked earlier.

“What?!”

“Yes Reid!”

“Pfft.. Whatever.”

Everyone started clearing away from Spencer’s desk, Morgan walking away with a sulk. Garcia lingered by Morgan’s desk no doubt attempting to cheer him up with her endless flirting.

When you’d joined the BAU you had seriously thought they were together.

Why wouldn’t you?

They constantly flirt. They’re almost crude with each other. Yet they had never even entertained the idea of being with each other.

It didn’t matter to you whether they were single or not though, because your heart was slowly being given over to someone else. Someone who happened to be your Unit Chief; Aaron Hotchner.

The relationship was still very new.

Your team knew about it, but it was still being kept quiet. That was just you and Aaron, though. You didn’t feel the need to be flashy with your relationship. In fact, you enjoyed living with each other in those quieter moments because it meant you had each other all to yourself.

It was that moment that you found yourself looking up to his office.

Aaron happened to walk out of his office at that exact moment, reading a case file in his hands.

You bit down on the pen you were holding as you watched him walk past, eyeing him up because you could now without consequence.

Aaron didn’t return the look but you did notice the smirk as he walked down the ramp towards the briefing room. It was like he could tell that you were looking at him. That made you smile, turning around in your chair to hide the blush from anyone.

"Think we've got a case?" Reid asked you.

"Probably. It's been at least two days since our last."

Both you and Reid stand up, prompting the others on your team to do the same. You as a team of profilers had gotten so used to what it looked like before a case was briefed that you just knew now, before JJ could even call you in.

JJ, Hotch and Rossi are all in the room already.

The case files were set out on the table - one at each seat. JJ had the screen set up ready to present and Hotch and Rossi were already looking through their files.

You sat down on the chair next to Hotch. They had kind of become your unofficial assigned seats.

"Okay JJ." Hotch nodded.

"We got a call from San Fransisco Police Department after a string of murders have been loosely tied together."

"Loosely?" Emily questioned.

"Several domestic abuse victims have been found murdered. Isla Hubert was strangled, Beth Fountain stabbed and Meredith Cole shot."

JJ flicked through the pictures of the women and you could feel your face go pale at the sight.

Your breathing hitched, but luckily nobody noticed.

Your hands scrunched up into fists so tight that your nails were digging into the skin of your palm. It was the only way to cope with this situation without drawing attention to yourself.

You focused as much on JJ presenting as possible.

"At first it was hard for the police to put them together since M.O.s were so different with each murder - hence, loosely - but after they looked more closely it turns out that each of the victims had recently left an abusive relationship."

"Suggests a possible revenge-motivated unsub." Reid added.

"Yeah." JJ nodded.

"How did the PD make the connection?" Morgan asked.

"All of the victims were women who had either filed restraining orders and, or had sought help from a domestic violence shelter." JJ switched the image on the screen to the shelter.

You looked down at your lap, your fists still enclosed.

You were normally very collected when cases were presented, but it was really hard with this one.

Not only is San Fransisco the city you grew up in, it also hosted that very domestic violence shelter that you used to go to every day.

It made you feel sick, because had this unsub been around ten years ago then that could have very well been you up there on the presenting screen.

<.><.>

You were gathering your stuff up on your desk when Aaron came over to you.

"Hey." You tried to smile but Aaron knew you better.

"Something's bothering you, so rather than have me tiptoeing around it I'm asking you to tell me what's wrong."

He sure doesn't beat around the bush.

Even though this case is horrendous for you, it did warm your heart a little to know that Aaron knew you so well only after a couple months of dating. Maybe it was the profiler in him, but you chose to believe it was simply because he cared about you.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

Every man should know that when a woman says she's fine... she's not. Aaron did know that but he also knew not to push it right now.

"Okay."

After you stuffed your water bottle in your bag, Aaron caught your hand with his. He carefully opened your palm. You could feel the panic in your chest as he did so.

"I will stop asking you if you're okay, if you stop doing this."

He pointed out the crescent moon shapes you'd imprinted on your palms from your finger nails. He wiped his thumb over the skin as if they would magically just disappear. He probably wanted to kiss over them, but you knew he'd never do that in front of everyone here.

You couldn't answer verbally so you nodded your head instead.

<.><.>

Rossi and Hotch were the last in the room before leaving.

They both left and locked their offices at the same time. Both of them had their coat and bag hanging off an arm.

"Hotch."

"Yeah?"

"Y/N..."

"I know." Hotch cut his friend off before he could finish the sentence, already having an inkling of what he was going to say and not knowing whether her could stomach hearing it being said out loud.

<.><.>

On the plane there was more time for a brief.

You were sat leaning against a window at the table with four chairs, listening carefully to what was being said but making no effort to contribute.

"So there were no signs of sexual assault?" Emily asked.

"No." JJ shook her head.

"Well that eliminates some motives." Rossi said.

"Such as?" Garcia asked through the video call.

"Well we know he's not a sexual sadist now. It's almost like whatever he is doing is because he believes it's right. It's the only way." Reid explained.

You swallowed back the growing lump in the back of your throat as the team continued to talk.

The situation almost felt dissociative. You were physically here and physically involved and yet your brain kept trying to zone out of the conversation.

You looked out the window just as a memory flashed.

You laid on the floor of your bedroom - a room that was supposed to be yours and supposed to be safe. You had been sleeping when he had come in.

The door was wide open because you hadn't found the strength to stand back up again since he'd been in.

Your pyjamas were long length and yet you felt completely exposed. Tears fell down your cheeks as you stared up at the glowing stars on your ceiling, imagining a world where you could visit them right now. A world that was a little more silent and a little bit brighter.

All you could hear though was his voice saying, "I have to. It's the only way you'll ever learn."

"...And Y/N and Reid, you work on the geographical profile. Hopefully we can narrow down where these victims are being taken from." Hotch's voice brought you back from the memory.

You had clearly missed a lot of the conversation but no one pointed that out for the rest of the flight.

<.><.>

San Fransisco was just as dull as you remember it.

A lot of people who lived here, commuted through here or even visited here would think quite the opposite, but when a bad thing has happened to you in a certain place then that place becomes unworthy of its beauty.

As you continued to get set up in the police station Hotch asked you to step aside for a minute to talk to him.

You both stood in the cold and dark interrogation room so you could speak privately.

Your arms were folded over your body defensively as you stood waiting for Hotch to talk.

"Y/N, if this case it too much for you then..."

"Too much?" You chuckled, "Why would it be too much for me?"

Hotch sighed, "I don't know."

"Exactly Agent Hotchner, you don't know." You uncrossed your arms and walked towards the door - done with this conversation.

Aaron knew not to touch you in order to catch your attention, so instead he stepped in front of the door so you had no exit.

"Hey, don't do that." He said softly and you knew he was referring to the way you had called his name.

He had never really been Agent Hotchner, or SSA Hotchner, to you. He'd only been Aaron or recently in the quiet of your homes it had turned into a loving 'honey' or 'love'.

You could see the hurt in his eyes that you had put there.

"I'm fine." You repeated, feeling like you might be sick over saying those words again and again.

You thought you truly had been fine.

For the longest time all of this had been buried deep within you. Your job was so busy and hectic that you never really had the opportunity to think about your past. You had also been fortunate that there had been no domestic abuse cases so far in your year working for the BAU.

Yet it was all flooding back now you did have this case. Your mind was constantly active with the haunted memories of your past.

Memories that you were too afraid to speak out loud.

"Okay, but if I think for a moment that you aren't capable I will pull you from this case." Hotch said seriously. He was done playing nice.

"That won't be necessary. I am more than capable."

Hotch looked at you for a moment and saw the challenge in your eyes. However, he could also see the emotion deep within them like there was a part of you that was screaming to be let out.

"Morgan and I are going to the women's shelter. You and Emily can interview the families of the victims."

Your heart stopped a little. You're sure that your eyes must have given you away as you lost eye contact with Hotch to try and keep composure.

"I thought I was with Reid?" You asked.

"Not anymore. Families are coming in in half an hour." He said before leaving the room, leaving you in there with the door open.

"Fuck." You muttered to yourself.

You wiped under your eyes before any tears could run. Messy mascara wasn't something you wanted to explain today. You let out a shaky breath, trying to not let it sound too loud. The last thing you wanted was to attract unnecessary attention.

You were fine, after all.

<.><.>

"Mr and Mrs Cole. Thank you for being here." Emily started off the interview.

Mrs Cole was crying. Mr Cole was not.

In your eyes that told you everything you needed to know. Unfortunately you couldn't claim you knew anything without sufficient evidence. Evidence that the team was looking for now.

"I can't believe my baby is gone." Mrs Cole cried, sniffling into a tissue that you had provided for her.

"I know this is hard Mrs Cole," You said, empathising with her more than she could know, "But if you could both help us answer some questions it could be really helpful in helping find out who did this to your daughter."

"Okay." She nodded.

"What kind of person was Meredith growing up?" Emily asked, wanting to know what kind of childhood Meredith had.

"She was always so bright. She just wanted to be happy." Mrs Cole answered shakily.

Mr Cole scoffed and looked off to the side.

"Something to add Mr Cole?" Emily prompted.

"What my wife means to say is, Meredith was difficult."

Your mind alerted you then. You knew what was meant for a daughter who was deemed as difficult by her father.

Your fingers clenched to dig your nails into your palm but the second you did Aaron's face came across your view.

"I will stop asking you if you're okay, if you stop doing this."

You could still feel the brush of his thumb across your skin. His warms hands against your cold ones. His soft touch the lightest you had ever felt from a man.

Your hand unclenched, resting them on the table instead.

Emily had been carefully watching you, having been asked by Hotch to keep on eye on you. Your near slip-up didn't cause any interruption to the interview and Emily took the lead to continue.

"We understand that Meredith recently left her relationship with Adam. Do you know why?" She asked.

Mrs Cole looked nervously at her husband.

He huffed as he crossed his arms over his chest, "She was always so dramatic. I mean, every couple fights but that doesn’t mean you throw everything away."

You took note of how Mr Cole minimised the abuse that Meredith was clearly receiving.

"Did Meredith ever tell you that Adam hurt her?" You asked.

Mrs Cole sniffled but it was Mr Cole that answered, "She exaggerated things."

"So you’re saying she lied?" You prompted, seeing how twitchy Mr Cole was getting in the metal chair.

"She always wanted attention." He said.

That's what they all say but really the attention was just another way of saying they were looking for somebody to give them a way out. They were desperate for someone to see them and know that they weren't safe - that they needed saving.

Lots of women can't save themselves and the ones that do are never safe again.

"Did she ever come to either of you for help?" Emily asked.

Mrs Cole nodded, "She… Meredith wanted to leave so many times, but she didn’t think she could. She was scared."

"Scared of him?" Emily said encouragingly.

It was only a small gesture but both you and Emily caught the small glance that Mrs Cole gave her husband.

If it wasn't clear to you before then it was ridiculously clear now what had happened.

"Of everything."

"Or scared that no one would believe her?" You muttered to Emily. She nodded in agreement.

Mr Cole must have heard though because he angrily slammed his hands on to the table. It took absolutely everything in your professional career to not flinch. The loud noise caused your heartbeat to skyrocket.

This is not him. This is not before. You kept reminding yourself.

"What exactly are you implying?" He shouted defensively.

"Robert..." Mrs Cole tried to calm him.

"No! What are you saying?"

You and Emily looked at each other and you gave her a nod to signal she could continue this, even though it was you that taunted him.

"Mr Cole. When your daughter was younger, was she ever worried about her current or future. relationships?"

"I raised her to be tough. Not weak." He spat.

You were curled up in a ball on your bed. The room stank of ammonia thanks to your nervous tics and the fact he had walked through the door angrily.

You had run away from an argument downstairs but he had caught up to you.

"You need to learn to be tough, child. I didn't raise you to be this weak."

The room went quiet for a moment. Only the sound of Mrs Cole's sniffles filled the room.

Mr Cole's words sparked the last question you wanted to ask.

"You didn’t believe her, did you?" You asked.

"She made her own choices." Mr Cole said.

You promptly stood up from your chair, "And now she’s dead."

Mrs Cole burst out crying as you spoke, but you charged out of the room before you could console her. She knew anyway. She knew what her husband was doing to her daughter and still she did absolutely nothing, either because she was terrified or she simply didn't care.

But she was just a child.

You were just a child.

<.><.>

The bathroom was as depressing as the rest of the police station.

You had needed a moment to collect yourself.

Interviewing someone who had these whacked beliefs about raising children triggered you in a way you didn't think possible.

The way Mr Cole spoke was chilling and it made you remember all those dark nights when you didn't think you'd ever be loved again. In fact, back then, you don't reckon you knew what love was.

Your grip on the bathroom counter tightened as you tried to ground yourself.

You were so in your own head this whole case and you hadn't caught who was responsible yet. This case was only going to become more triggering as you went along and as you potentially uncovered more bodies.

Right when you felt like you might just let every emotion out Emily opened the bathroom door, you leant back off the counter and tried to look composed.

"Just wanted to let you know that the team's back. Oh and there's someone here who wants to speak to you." She gave you a small smile.

"Okay, thanks." You smiled back and it felt like the fakest thing in the world.

<.><.>

The last thing you expected when you returned to the main area of the police station was to see your father.

Your footsteps halted, like you couldn't physically move any closer towards him.

The rest of the room kept carrying on like normal, but you felt your words completely dry up and your hands begin to shake. You tried to process all the questions you had for him being here all at once.

"Y/N!" He raised his arms out like he was ready for a hug but you stepped back, knocking your hip into the corner of a desk in panic.

The rest of the team watched the situation before them.

They'd never seen you look so lost.

“There you are!” He smiled but you heard the venom behind each word. He was putting on his charm in front of all these people, but really he restraining himself from showing his true colours.

"W-what are you doing here?" You asked.

He scoffed like that was a silly question, “It’s been a long time.”

You can feel the weight of people's eyes on you. Other agents. Cops. The team. Aaron. The last one makes you nervous.

You have an inkling that Aaron knows something and yet you have never managed to tell him. Aaron makes you feel safe like no one ever has, but you still can't find the courage to speak up. You're also worried what he might do should he find out.

This doesn't need to become a thing. You don't want to become one of the teams victims.

So you tried to take control of the situation for once, "If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, please leave. We have work to do.”

"I just wanted to check on you.” Your father's jaw clenched as he spoke.

Check on you? After all these years of no contact?

You didn't want him checking up on you. You didn't want him anywhere near you.

After all these years you still feel trapped near him - even when he's not touching you.

Aaron must have been watching closely, because he could tell that you were done with this situation but it was clear your father wasn't. It didn't take a profiler to work out the cause of that tension. Aaron needed the situation handled before anyone could do anything - his own fists were readying to swing should your father take one step out of line.

"She's asked you to leave, Sir." Aaron said stoicly.

You could feel Aaron right next to you, arms crossed over his chest to make himself look more dominant. Your father was only small anyways, but next to Aaron he was nothing.

Your father looked between you and Aaron, chuckling to himself.

"You Y/N's boyfriend then?" Your father asked.

You stiffened next to Aaron, your palms flexing as you tried to remember Aaron's words from earlier.

"Aaron Hotchner." He gave your dad a small nod.

You noticed how Aaron didn't flex his credentials. It was a classic profilers move of undermining the man who thought he was in charge, because then they never really know what to expect.

“I gotta say, I’m surprised.” Your father chuckled. “Never figured Y/N would be the type to get involved with someone like you.”

Aaron's facial expression didn't change. In fact, if anything, he looked a little more pissed off.

Your mind was trying to get you to choose between fight or flight. Normally you would fight, but having your dad so near really triggered your flight response. So you tried to cut the tension and deescalate the situation. before anyone got more hotheaded.

Although seeing Hotch punch your father would feel pretty good.

"Okay. I think we're done here."

Your father shrugged, raising his hands in defence, “Watch your tone. There's no need to get upset. I'll go.” He said, making it seem like you were being the unreasonable one.

Your father's words and the way you immediately shut down after he said them were a dead giveaway to your past.

It was impossible to hide it.

And for the first time in your relationship with Aaron, you felt exposed.

This was part of your story - part of you - that you never wanted him to have to see. Aaron had far too many of his own demons to suddenly take on yours as well.

Your father makes the effort to walk towards the main door, but not before stopping to speak again. “You’re still the same, aren’t you?”

He was baiting you.

“Still running. Still pretending. Does he even know?” He continued.

His words made you look towards Aaron and it hurt to see him look so angry. Was he upset that you had hid something so personal and traumatic from him? Would this alter your relationship?

You turned to look at the rest of your team too. Emily looked heartbroken. Morgan looked angry. Reid looked so sad. You were making your favourite people feel sad.

Your own eyes welled with tears as you thought about all the people that you were hurting by just being here.

Aaron had clocked on from even before the briefing of this case that something that happened in your childhood. He just didn't think it was as sick and as twisted as this.

Aaron watched your head dip, your fists scrunch in the way he hated to see and your lips continuously mouthing; 'I'm sorry'.

How on God's Earth could you ever think you had something to apologise for?

“That’s enough." Aaron's voice cut through the room, making you look up at him with fear. Not fear of him, but fear for him. You knew all too well what that man who called himself your father could do. Rossi had been more of a father in a year than you actual father had in ever.

Your dad turned and smiled. He'd won.

Your darkest secret was out in the open and your father didn't care if he was taken down with it. The heartbroken look on your face would last him a lifetime.

You couldn't breathe.

Even after all these years your father had still had a hold over you and he could still win. He could still make you feel worthless with a simple few words. That's all he needed.

The tears fell over your cheeks as your chest heaved.

Policemen were watching your breakdown and your team looked as heartbroken as you felt.

You felt disgusting, crying over your own self when you were supposedly on a case to save other people like you. This time wasn't meant to be about you and yet somehow it now was.

You put a hand over your mouth as you tried to hold back a verbal sob.

Everyone's eyes were on you.

Watching to see you break down into nothing.

You couldn't do this. You never wanted it to be like this. You thought you were stronger than this.

Saying nothing more, you excused yourself politely and ran out of the room towards the back of the station - far, far, away from your father. But far, far, away would never be far enough.

<.><.>

Hotch hadn't moved.

He stood his ground as he watched your father - that piece of scum - chuckle once you'd fled the room.

"Get. Out." Hotch gritted out through his teeth.

Your father nodded.

Morgan moved closer to your father, looking at Hotch briefly to silently tell his boss that he had this handled and that you would need him more than he was needed here right now.

Hotch nodded, but not before getting one good last look at your father's face here. The next time he would see his face was going to be when Hotch put him behind bars.

<.><.>

Aaron found you out the back of the precinct.

You had one hand to your chest as you tried to control your breathing, the other holding yourself against the cold wall for support.

Your crying was calmer now but the tears still fell.

You turned to face Aaron when he walked out of the door. You tried to stand taller, pulling your shirt down to fit properly.

“I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean for that to happen.” You sniffled, wiping the back of your hand over your cheek.

"Don't apologise."

"N-no. I should’ve handled it better. Shit." Your voice was so shaky that Aaron was surprised you could even speak.

"Sweetheart, no."

You should’ve controlled the situation better.

“This isn’t on you.” Aaron reminder you gently.

“Everyone looked so—Aaron, I just made everything worse.” You said as you remembered how the team looked and how you could taken emotional control of an already vulnerable case. It was unprofessional.

"This isn’t on you.” He repeated. “None of us are upset with you. We're devastated for you.”

You wanted to believe him, you really did, but that felt too hard to accept.

You shook your head as you tried to calm down the tears and hiccups that were reappearing.

"Honey... Listen to me and listen carefully. Nothing that just happened was because of you. Nothing that has happened was because of you." Aaron took a step closer to you.

"But, he..."

"Ssh, ssh. Listen." Aaron said softly, close enough to reach out for your hands now. "Hey, look at me."

When his hands touched you, you became completely grounded. You felt like you were right here instead of back there. Aaron was right in front of you and he wasn't running away. He was right there.

"You're still here." You said through a hiccup of tears.

"Of course I am." He said with a frown.

"I thought you-you'd leave, o-or not want me and..."

"Stop that. No. I don't mean to cut you off but I won't have you convincing yourself that I'm not anything but with you for the long haul, okay?" Aaron was so close now, linking his fingers through yours so that he could help you release all the anger from your fists.

"That first day you came into the BAU I was so low. I was. And I felt like you had been sent to our team not only to fix our capacity issues but also to... to fix me. I felt, for so long, like I had lost a part of me and yet the minute you walked through those doors... Well, I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That the part of me returned." Aaron's fingers squeezed yours to continue to ground you, "So if you think for one moment that I'm letting you slip away from me, with that part of me, so easily... Well I'm not even entertaining the idea." He gave you a smirk.

"So we're okay?" You asked for reassurance. Aaron was more than happy to give it to you.

"We're okay." He kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger there for a little while to keep you close.

Aaron had noticed you pushing him away all day, so to have this time right now to be close with you was something he wasn't giving up so easily.

You were too busy embracing Aaron's touch to realise he was holding back tears of his own.

<.><.>

Both you and Aarons stood out back for another ten minutes or so, just talking through everything.

You didn't want to go into any details with him right now, but you did admit what your father used to do to you when you were a child and why this case hit far too close to home for you.

Aaron almost berated you for being so careless with your own emotions and mental state, but thought now was not the best time for that conversation. Instead he filled his talk with comforting and reassuring words. He had to make sure that you felt safe again.

He also promised to make your father's life a living hell - in whatever capacity legal...

That sort of terrified you but also made you feel a little lighter.

Morgan opened the door out back soon after, smiling at the way you and Hotch were holding hands and comforting one another.

"Hey. We got a call off the anonymous tip line. Girl called Sheree Rockstead called in to say that she's noticed some guy following her around the past few days. She's also just got out of a violent relationship and she's attending the women's shelter. She's seen the news and is worried."

"It's definitely our guy." Hotch said, not breaking his hand holding with you. "Let's set up an evac. plan. for Sheree and a trap for our unsub."

"You got it." Morgan nodded before leaving again.

Aaron turned back to you warily. You gave him a half smile in return.

"I'm going to stay here." You said.

"Okay." Aaron nodded. He would've benched you anyways if you demanded on going, knowing that field work was not the right thing for you right now.

"Be safe. Please."

"You too."

"Aaron..."

"I know. I'll be safe, I promise. Just want to make sure you are too. I mean if your father comes back when I'm not there I..."

"He won't." You shook your head. "Plus Reid can fight him off."

"Reid?"

"He has magic, after all." You laughed and Aaron had never been so happy to hear something in all his existence. His only hope was that he could continue hearing it with every day he had left.

<.><.>

On the way home on the jet everyone had passed out asleep other than you and Aaron.

There was still too much to talk about.

You had made your own announcement to the team about your past - a more revised version than what you would be telling Aaron - because you thought it was important for them to know.

Morgan threatened to become an undercover spy and "beat his ass" - his words. Hotch threatened to give him a pysch test if he kept throwing those words around, so he shut up - but only when his boss was present.

Garcia tracked down your father's whole life and it turned out he was drowning in debt and your mother had left him. His life was pretty crap and that made you feel really good.

Aaron, though, he had been a crutch for you throughout.

You were so lucky to have him.

But he would say he was luckier to have you.

And that would be the only competition that you and Aaron would ever have.

[ruruumin]

take a bite.

synopsis; in a cold, unforgiving world, there is a semblance of warmth between a meister and weapon.

genres/warnings; soul eater au inspired by @kaiser1ns, fem! reader, implied relationships, blood/violence (multiple fight scenes), angst & comfort, 9.5k words.

⤷ part two.

covered in a thick layer of snow, rin lies on the ground, unmoving as his eyes follow the curvature of the overheard moon. its crooked grin looks down on him, cheeks wide and puffy as if it had just laughed. raising his arm, he drapes it over his face. tonight was colder than usual. fragments of ice litter the surface of his skin, melting alongside the small shimmer of tears that float down the side of his temple. 

for the longest time, he thought he knew his brother. the kind-hearted, blue-colored soul that would buy him popsicles on hot, sunny days came back with a bruised heart. like two sides of the same coin, they were connected. weapon and meister. oldest and youngest. drawn together by blood and the ego to become the best. they were meant to be inseparable.

sae had always been his shield against the cold, unyielding world. someone he could always rely on when he needed it. to rin, he was the only person worthy enough to wield him. and for a weapon, that was all he ever needed. he didn’t want anyone else by his side. no one could hold him like sae did. no one else could understand him like his big brother. everyone and everything was obsolete. 

after sae’s disappearance, it left a large hole in the center of his heart. the pain that came from his absence was indescribable. it was a mixture of something hot and cold, a whirlwind of confusion that left a dull ache to settle at the bottom of his chest. like a migraine, it pounds and knocks upon his skull, beating him down until he was nothing but a crumpled ball. 

his older brother left to complete a special task given to him by death. the reason he had was shallow and dumb, he should have figured it out sooner that he was going to be replaced. sae said it was because the mission was dangerous, and death himself would be giving him a weapon appropriate for the situation. this was just another way of him telling rin: i don’t need you anymore. and while he didn’t understand it at the time, he still held up his head, thinking that his older brother didn’t have a choice, it was death’s decision after all.

when sae came back, he was a hollow shell of what he was before. alongside his sunken cheeks and thinner frame, his tolerance for rin had diminished, with this recent match being his breaking point. sae had realized the world of witches, weapons, and meisters was much bigger than him, and chose to pursue a different path than the one he originally promised. there was something new to be discovered further ahead, and to sae, rin’s stagnant personality was the chain holding them back.

the dream the two brothers shared shattered in an instant. 

left to rot on a coffin made of snow, he exhaled slowly, watching his breath drift across the open sky. his body ached, as if he was getting pricked by thousands of sharp needles. after trying to connect with sae’s wavelength, it left him in a paralyzed state, unable to stand properly. it was as if sae’s soul had ripped him apart, shredded the threads that bonded them, and burned it all to the ground. 

the tips of his fingers were freezing even with his thick, black gloves. additionally, there was a bright throb at the back of his head, the spot below him growing damp as the ice slowly melted. the longer he stayed in this position, the longer he’d stay hypnotized by the moon’s charlatan grin and die helplessly of frostbite. 

“did you get abandoned by your old meister?” a voice called out to him. 

the crunch of freshly fallen snow echoes in his ear. a mysterious figure makes their way closer to them, time ticking down with every step taken. the ground flattens underneath their heels as the world grows quiet. like a conductor and its orchestra, they plunge the stage in absolute silence. and as the audience, rin is left wondering if he should applaud. 

a young woman, not much older than him, stood over his body. dressed in a simple black uniform, she wears a plain skull pendant on the collar of her neck, reminiscent of the man working in the great order. the bottom of her coat was split into two snake-like tails which drag along the ground, creating a smooth trail behind her. despite the frigid winds, she stood comfortably by his side, carving her presence in this storm. 

like death, she is swift and calming. 

she hums, tilting her head carefully. craning to look down on him like a crow, she picks away at his facial expressions, seeing the way his brows furrow in a blend of confusion and awe. only now does he note the subtle scent of almonds whiffing in the air.

“your soul has a beautiful voice,” she said, tucking her left hand into the deep pocket of her overcoat. she crouches to meet his level, “and it’s telling me something.” 

reaching out with her other hand, she holds it against his bangs, slowly brushing it aside as she smiles. the shape creeps between the line of wicked and honest. the kind that will tempt you with a sickening sweet apple, coated in a thick layer of poison. it entices him to take a bite of what shes saying. 

“do you want revenge?”

the question sticks to him like a wadded up gum. 

revenge. that was the right word to describe his fiendish anger: revenge, revenge, revenge. unlike other words, this one was on the tip of his tongue. an idea brought to him not in shining neon lights, but hidden beneath the darkness that lurks in his soul. it scratches against his check. thumping twice before knocking against his ribcage. like an animal, it struggles in the confines of what he could only describe as a weak, pathetic body. 

i have to kill his dreams, it says.

“if you become my weapon, i will grant you any wish in the world.” 

an electric jolt of life pierces through his nerves. 

a truly generous offer. so much so that he found himself nearly drooling at the opportunity to see what her world looks like. would he be there? standing above thousands of bodies, shouting his name as he announces his identity as a death weapon, would he be the one to beat sae? 

he shivers, hardening his gaze as the silver winds blow past his cheek, “what do you want from me?” 

his voice has a slight raspiness to it. his lips felt dry as he continued to watch her slow, deliberate movements. her hand dragged itself down his collarbone to the center of his chest, right where his heart lies. the thump remains, beating hard against his eardrums. it pulsates once, twice, three times, before it presses itself against his skin, threatening to break through the surface like a hand waiting to be held.

in his brother’s four year absence, he wasted his time looking for a replacement meister. in this dog-eat-dog world, he refuses to stay trapped underneath this snow-covered grave. he wants to rise amongst an army of men. he wants to raise his fist up and claim the sun’s life. he wants nothing more than to taste the sweetness of a soul, dipped and coated in a thick layer of revenge and satisfaction.

a beat passes before she answers him.

“i just like souls like you.” 

with that answer in mind, he closes his eyes, letting a turquoise light engulf him.

✦

an aspiring meister stands in front of two large double doors. written above the border was a set of numbers for classrooms. because of his luck, his room was the first one in the hallway. sucking in a deep breath, he tilts his head slightly. behind these barriers lie a new, uncertain future from him. 

at just the thought alone, his palms were starting to grow sweaty and clammy. he slowly looks up, basking in what could be his final moments of childhood. nestled between his fingers was a thin sheet of paper.

in cursive, it reads: welcome to the dwma, isagi yoichi.

isagi puffs up his chest, ready to announce his name to the rest of the world as he pushes the door open. this revealed a large classroom of eight other students, a small group whos heads quickly turned in his direction like chicken. they loiter around the near empty room, shifting their eyes and heads to scan their surroundings. from what he can remember in his acceptance letter, he and a few other talented students were scouted to join a very small class of weapon and meisters for reasons unknown to him.

everyone was dressed differently today. from a man with long, peach-colored hair to a pair wearing checkerboard uniforms, aside from one tall individual with ivy-black hair, isagi stood out like a sore thumb. he awkwardly makes his way to the center, standing stiffly while the doors swing open again. 

a blue-ish green, zombie professor enters. he picks up a chalk stick and begins to carefully write his name on the board, rotating his head like an owl. he introduces himself as ego, a former meister at the dwma academy. although relatively unknown and forgotten by the public, he has deep-rooted ties within the school. as isagi fidgets with the letter between his fingers, he could feel ego’s heavy stare linger on him.

“welcome to the dwma, you lumps of talent.” he says, “this is a place where meisters and weapons become full-fledged hunters and death weapons.” 

continuing, “in this world, there are two sets of people: meisters and weapons. those born as weapons have a unique fighting ability which you’ll channel using a meister.” 

drawing a crude guitar and amp, ego hovers his finger in the air as his dead-fish eye stare scans the classroom, “meisters have very faint soul wavelengths. combined with a weapon, you’ll be able to draw out incredible power from each other. only with the right partner and technique can soul resonance can be achieved.”

“the first course of action is to choose a partner for the year. a few of you might already be partners, but for those newly enrolled, this is your only time to pick.” he taps on the board with the chalk in his hands. from there, he only stands in front of the class, unmoving like a statute as he awaits for the clammer.

immediately, isagi looks around the room once again. the people in his class were starting to chat with each other, determining quickly between weapon and meister. because of the structure and the new year, there wasn’t much to go off of when choosing a partner. the only pair he knew for sure were the two checkerboard students who lazied around in the back. 

he scratches the back of his neck, trying to scout someone he could possibly team up with. 

and while everyone else in the class spoke loudly, two people stood out in the front. it was the tall ivy-haired man from before. he blinks owlishly, completely aloof to the instructor’s directions. lifting his hand, he presses it against the nape of his neck, shifting slightly to produce a soft popping noise from his joint. from isagi’s view, he could make out a silver bracelet on his wrist. 

before he could make his way towards him, isagi found himself stopping in his tracks. beside him was a girl dressed head to toe in black, almost blending into the room. like a crow, her expressions were cold and muted, almost calculative with the way it flickers across the classroom. she floats just slightly off the floor by rolling back and forth on the balls of her feet. her smile soft like cotton, the edges curving perfectly upwards in a gentle arc. 

he already had a partner, isagi thought, i didn’t see her at all. it felt almost unnerving the way he couldn’t feel or sense her soul wavelength in the room. 

when she meets his gaze, he quickly averts it, pretending he never saw her. while shaking his head, he instead starts talking to another man with black and yellow hair. he quickly learns his name: bachira meguru, a twin-scythe weapon with a unique style of fighting and a passion for hunting souls. he was amongst a tiny percentage of new attendees that was accepted into the dwma without a partner, making him the perfect candidate for isagi. 

they started to get along quickly, with the latter wrapping his arms around isagi’s neck as he pulls him in his direction. the way bachira treats isagi reminds him of a friend who’s known him for years, despite only meeting now. his happiness is almost infectious, with the sun seemingly shining brighter when he’s in view. 

during their chipper conversation, another student approaches the pair in the front of the classroom. he reaches over, draping his arms around the woman’s shoulder, patting it with the palm of his hand. he has a devilish grin that perfectly matches the moon. he is hunched over slightly, blond hair with pink dyed tips making him too distinguishable from the less explosive crowd. 

“who would have thought i’d see you again, (name),” he says with a voice borderline seductive and sultry. it sends a shiver down her partner’s spine. the base of his skeleton growing a bit heated as he stares him down. 

with a melodic hum, she replies with the same aloof expression, “good morning, shidou. you’re here as well?” 

“got here all on my own, baby,” he looks over her shoulder, raising his eyebrow at her partner. 

the man finally stands up straight, meeting his gaze. because the two stood at relatively equal heights, it made it easier for him to project a more confident, easy-going suave that kept people on their toes at the academy. this would only irk (name)’s partner as he narrows his eyes. time ticks down like a bomb waiting to explode as they continue glaring at each other.

“is this your new weapon?” shidou pouts, “(name), you sly dog, you move on so quickly.” 

“i have no idea what you’re talking about,” she gives him a closed-eye smile, masking the twitching of her eyelid, “do you like him? his name is rin.” (name) artfully intertwined their fingers together, “he’s been quite the help.” 

“he looks to be mad dogging me right now, do something about it,” shidou tugs her back and forth, shaking her as she stares off into space, subtly dismissing the nuisance. “i haven’t even said anything to him either. your partner needs to be put on a leash if he keeps up with this attitude. are you teaching him any manners?” 

“hmph, piss off, roach.” rin shoves him away from his meister, crinkling his nose at shidou with an icy cold stare.

“sure thing, bottom-lid freak.” 

“antenna-head.”

“spoiled brat.” 

locked in a stalemate, rin seethes. while one takes pleasure in the thick, heavy tension, the other despises it. shidou began scratching the back of his neck, rolling his eyes. it looks like he is holding back an excited chill with the way he presses his lips together.

before rin can say anything else to end the conversation, shidou shuffles to the other side, getting closer to his ear. the hot air on his skin sends an electrifying shiver down rin’s nerves, quickly fueling an unprofound rage within him.

“she was my meister before she was ever yours.” 

✦

running through the tight corridors, isagi narrowly avoids a deadly spread shot to the nape of his neck. he clammers out of the dark halls, the grip on his weapon growing more slippery by the second. as tensions grow thicker, he almost hits his head against one of the brick corners from turning too early. his partner, bachira, warns him about the incoming attack to his left. to which he dodges at the last moment. 

“this job might be a lot harder than we thought,” bachira comments, scanning the surrounding area while isagi continues his sprint, “we bit off more than we can chew, isagi. how are we going to get close to those guys if she has a gun?” 

“i have no idea, but we’re going to find out soon.” 

out of all the jobs they could have taken, they impulsively chose one of the more difficult ones on the board. the kind that was plastered high above the rest of the menial academic tasks. despite being newly admitted dwma students and first time partners, they were too eager to rise up the ranks. 

the original job was for two. bachira ignorantly thought it meant one weapon and meister. however, once they dispatched and saw the size of their opponents, they quickly realized the job meant two pairs: two weapons and two meisters. 

bonnie and clyde, two kishin souls they were sent to capture were slicker than eels. they constantly separated themselves to cover more ground, making it difficult for isagi and bachira to pin one of them down. with bonnie hunting them down with a thick, semi-auto shotgun, clyde used a metal pipe to corner them. 

together, they were swift and keen, careful as to not get caught by amateur meisters. the last thirty minutes have been a cat and mouse game, with isagi being the latter. it was not looking well for his ego but he has no choice but to continue forth with the mission. hoping to any sort of god, they would get through it all. 

the pair were hot on isagi’s trails, blazing through every obstacle with ease. the debris from the shotgun blast causes the surrounding area to become a landslide. isagi’s temple is dripping with sweat as he struggles to catch his breath, trying to come up with a cohesive plan to eliminate the kishins. puzzle pieces are falling in his mind and he can only find the corners.

“we need to kill bonnie first and foremost,” he suggests, jumping back to avoid clyde’s downwards swing. the concrete shatters from the impact. while the kishin looks up, he is surprised to see isagi no where in sight. away from his field of vision, the meister quickly moves off to the side, looking left and right for any signs of the duo before he finally catches a break.

bachira whispers, “good thinking, partner! with her out of the way, we can focus on close-ranged combat.”

from the corner of isagi’s eye, he can see bonnie reeling up from behind. her hand was raised, one finger tight on the trigger. right before she was about to shoot, isagi reels the chain from his weapon, using his and bachira’s combined wavelength to manipulate the silver link to wrap around her gun. they rip the shotgun away, successfully disarming her. using the same tactic, they surround her body in chains, immobilizing her. 

taking in a lowered stance, he rushes forward, squeezing the handle of his twin scythe before taking a quick, confident slash against her neck. isagi smiles sweetly, eyes glistening with momentary victory before realizing a fatal mistake: instead of hearing the melodic hum of a soul, they heard the crashing of metal. at the very last moment, clyde had caught up to him, holding out his bat to take the brunt of isagi’s attack. 

he twists the pipe in his hands, slamming it into isagi’s stomach with a harsh gruff.  in an instant, he is thrown through the window of a store, ramming into several shelves. from the impact he chokes on a thick clot of saliva. having the wind knocked out of him, a loud bom blankets the quiet city. alongside the burning humiliation on his cheeks, there was a hammering pain in the back of his head that was screaming out to him.

blood drips down the side of his temple. a bitter, metallic taste fills his mouth. bachira calls out his name in worry, face reflecting off the scythe, eyes wide with fear. meanwhile, isagi is struggling to keep his head up. his heart was beating right out of his ears. fear and exhaustion rise up on him like a furnace about to burst into flames. underneath his fingers, he felt the cold shiver of bachira, his partner left vulnerable and exposed underneath the gaze of a kishin.

squeezing his eyes shut, he tucks bachira behind him, away from danger. footsteps come tauntingly slow, savoring the seconds to come. this is where our journey ends, he thought to himself, all because of his naivety and ego. he world grows deafeningly quiet when he shivers.

taking in what might be his last breath, he keeps his eyes closed.

however, instead of a sharp, piercing pain, a shot rings out and the voices scatter. 

a minute passes before isagi heard the melodic chime of a soul. opening his eyes, he sees a black, circular smoke ring floating slowly into the air, hovering above a shadowy figure like a halo. alongside the echo of a bullet, a pair of footsteps emerge from beyond the corridor.

“sorry for being late,” a familiar face steps out from the darkness. appearing beneath the luminous moonlight, she slowly smiles. a bright turquoise light erupts from behind, a man materializing beside her. 

blinking slowly, isagi notices its the same person he saw in class earlier that week. when she sways side to side, curiously peering down at his wounds, he would have never expected her to be the meister in the relationship. it wasn’t very common, at least in the area he grew up in. but he’s unable to focus on this thought as she reaches out to his cheek, examining the goosebumps on the surface of his skin.

“you look shaken up.” 

(name) and rin manifested in front of him with the same convenience as an answered prayer. with the pulsating pain in his side, he vaguely remembers them from the shinigami list. out of his small class, they were the closest to achieving death weapon status, having collected the most kishin souls in a year. 

“it must have been scary, being alone like that.”

the ivy-haired weapon cracks his finger before approaching the glittering soul. his smooth, pale hand wraps around the crimson-colored orb, mouth opening wide as swallows the spirit whole. an audible gulp comes from when rin finishes his short meal. his meister, with the same alluding smile, turns to face him.

“that makes this soul number fifty-three.”

rin huffs in response, “we only need forty-seven more to beat sae.”

“you’re getting greedy rin rin, there’s still another soul to collect here.”

his eyebrow twitches at the nickname. disregarding his reaction, (name) raises her finger, tapping the bottom of her chin. she averts her attention back to isagi, “we saw your name on the board the other day. this job is meant for two pairs, you knew that didn’t you?”

with a sigh, isagi wipes the bottom of his lip with his thumb, licking away at the dried blood. his cheeks were still red. whether or not it was out of embarrassment or exhaustion was up for debate. 

“we didn’t realize it until we came here,” he confesses, “but we’re glad to see you here.” 

swallowing, he admits with a sharpened voice, “thank you, (name).” 

she blinks, taken aback by his words. nevertheless, the smile on her face grows a little wider, “you did good, isagi.” 

snapping her fingers, rin dematerializes. his figure envelopes itself in the same radiant blue light as before, twisting twice before returning to her outstretched hand. anticipation starts to rise in isagi’s throat, watching intensely as she raises her arm.

she swiftly rolls a large rifle along her fingers, spinning it a few times before resting him on the edge of her shoulder. he doesn’t know what he was expecting, but isagi found it strangely mesmerizing the way his weapon form took the appearance of a long barrel rifle. equipped with a bayonet, the blade is daunting as it looms over him, similar to a large fang. the base of the gun was a deep, ebony color with white spine-like spikes wrapping around itself, acting as a sort of thorny shield. 

when he spins around (name)’s open hand, its smooth and calculated, as if its been practiced a thousand times. the weapon is fitting, he thought to himself. for someone bold, blunt, and jagged, its all too fitting for rin. 

“let’s catch clyde before he runs away again.” 

as she is leaning forward with a hand, intent on helping isagi up, a flicker of silver appears behind her. sparing him the surprise, (name) brings up her rifle to deflect a heavy swing towards her skull. an ear-piercing ring shatters the air. blocking the masked kishin from hitting her, the ground crumbles beneath the weight of his attack, awkwardly offsetting her hand from isagi’s. 

“ah,” she remarks, “sorry.” pushing her gun upwards to shove clyde away. this reaction causes him to lose his balance. 

circling around, she slices the front of his torso with the tip of her bayonet. her eyes glisten with excitement as the kishin reels himself back like a fishing line. he is grumbling under his breath, heaving and sighing as his body groans with pain. using a spared second, isagi takes (name)’s hand, pulling himself from the crumbling debris.

clyde, winded and bloodied, swings his bat at isagi, targeting the weakest link. without bonnie, clyde acted out like a rabid animal, dangling his loose arm around as he attempts to catch anyone within reach. he’s forced to retreat when a black bullet whizzes past his ear, slicing the tip off. 

(name) glances around the city, eyes trailing a shadowy figure in the dark. the trigger of her gun twitches and she wastes no time to fire upwards, using her instinct to predict clyde above her, she blows off his left arm. this causes him to redirect his body midair. his detached limb falls helplessly beside her foot, and the sight is enough to make isagi swallow the bile in his throat.

squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he focuses on steadying his wavelength with bachira’s, syncing up with him for their next attack. when clyde lands on the ground, isagi uses his chain to wrap around his leg, pulling on it with all his might. 

meanwhile, (name) approaches him from the other side, shooting the back of his knee to tear through the ligament. this has clyde slumping forward, paralyzed and unable to move his leg.

with the same thought, isagi and (name) rushes forward. nearly colliding blades, she successfully beheads clyde while isagi slices his stomach. the kishin, now in three separate pieces, floats slowly in the air. exhaling once, he turns into a gust of smoke that engulfs both the meisters. 

bachira is the first one to transform back, quickly wrapping his arm around his neck as he ruffles his partner’s hair, “we survived! way to go partner!” 

isagi smiles, breathing a sigh of relief, “for now at least, we still got a long way to go.” 

at this remark, bachira’s eyes glimmer, face brightening up with the same gleeful smirk. he pats his stomach, ready to enjoy his meal. excitedly reaching out to the soul, hes stopped by rin. he takes the soul into his hands, biting into it greedily while his meister watches from the sidelines. 

“hey! you already had one earlier,” bachira calls out, hand left floating in the air as he looks at rin with a look of surprise. “this job was meant for two pairs!” 

“so what?” rin rolls his eyes, dismissing him, “if i recall, we were the ones who killed him first. the two of you were just fodder for us to get close.” 

“you!” 

isagi chokes out a response, waving his hands up and down to mediate the situation, “we hit him at the same time, surely that counts for something.” 

the rifle-weapon sends him a nasty glare in response, disgust laced within his teal eyes, “is that what trash like say to make yourself feel better?” he shakes his head, “it was clear from the beginning you never had a chance. if it wasn’t for us, you would have been dead in an instant. be grateful we even came.” 

“you’re both lukewarm NPCs. next time, don’t choose a job you can’t do.” 

this reaction sparks anger within isagi. his fist is shaking from how hard hes pressing his fingers into the palm of his hand. all while this is happening, (name) smiles, seemingly oblivious to the conflict in front of her. 

“don’t worry about it, isagi. you will get a lot more souls later. this is just one of many jobs here at the academy.” 

“(name)...”

isagi smiles in relief, glad that someone other than bachira agrees with him. this was only one mission. there will be more in the future, and by that time, he was going to rise up the ranks. the thought comforts him a little. but just as he was beginning to feel the warm sensation of hope, rin came crashing down on him like shards of glass.

“you’re happy by just a few words?” he grumbles, “your ego must be rotted.” 

unable to say anything else but scrambled gibberish, isagi watches as rin leaves with (name) tucked into his side. the woman skips along the brick road as rin walks in front of her. right before they could disappear into the dark alleyway, (name) spins around to deliver a short, playful wave, mouthing what isagi can only imagine is an apology for her sharp-tongued partner.

once they were out of earshot, bachira finally lets out a groan he’s been holding back. rubbing his face together, he eases the tension in his muscles. with a hand on his hip, he pouts, “what is his problem?” 

isagi only shakes his head. while he looked up to rin earlier for saving his life, his attitude was oozing with arrogance. worst of all, he had ego. the kind of mentality that his professor had previously lectured him about. it frustrates him to think that rin is the kind of guy who thought he was better than everyone else, and the unfortunate part was that it was all true. 

after this mission, he and (name) have successfully captured fifty-four souls. it was a lot better than him who only had around five to his name. he hates to think that rin will become a death weapon before bachira does. isagi couldn’t chalk it up to dumb luck either. he won the lottery with (name) as his partner.

everything about (name)’s fight was seamless. like he was controlled by a puppeteer, he fell into her formula of success. he could sense her wavelength fluctuating to accommodate for rin’s movements, making their options on the battlefield near limitless. 

she was the perfect channel to his flow. the kind of meister most weapons could only dream of having. biting the bottom of his lip, isagi stares off into the hall (name) left in, letting bachira guide him back to the school dorms as he is lost in thought.

from the perfect timing of her arrival to the smooth transition in her movements, it was clear you and rin have been fighting for a long time. possibly a lot longer before he joined the dwma academy. he has to push down the green monster manifesting at the pits of his throat. squeezing his hand into a tight fist, he narrows his gaze. 

he can only hope to achieve what you have today in a few weeks.

on the other side of the city, rin continues his walk with (name), with him glancing back and forth at her figure. he is fidgeting with the bracelet on his wrist, feeling the metal grow heavy on his skin. they don’t talk to each other for a while. instead, opting for a quiet walk through the city.

it wasn’t until rin sees a crow flutter in the distance that he finally says something.

“you didn’t need to be nice to him,” he comments, footsteps echoing alongside his words, “he was just looking for some kind of praise from you. giving it to him is only going to make him hopeful and naive.” 

“theres no harm to it,” (name) replies, reaching out to hold his hand, a subtle act he doesn’t object to despite how poisonous her touch feels to him, “do you think me being nice to him will affect us in any way?”

his answer is curt and simple: “no.” 

“are you jealous, rin rin?”

“what is there to be jealous of?” 

he doesn’t see isagi as a threat. someone as small as him would never make it into the real world. he would have been the first person to be devoured by a witch. cruel or not, the thought holds true in rin’s mind.

“then nothing will change. i will still be your meister and you’re my weapon,” a laugh escapes her throat, “so don’t worry about anyone else.” 

peeling away from his grip, he almost has half a heart to chase after her. walking ahead, (name) stops just a few feet in front of him. rin pauses instantly. eyes peering down at her with a flicker of a spark, she gives him a familiar smile he knows all too well. 

she opens her arms out to him, like a bird ready to soar. 

“because i will be the only one to turn you into a death weapon.” 

her sentimental words settle in his chest. like a blanket, it drapes over his beating organ. blood soaking the cloth, it helplessly merges together. for a moment, he wonders if this is what he’s been searching for all along, or if it was just another trap used to lure him into her arms.

he presses his lips together. walking three steps forward, rin carefully wraps his arms around her tightly. he wants to ignore the beating of his heart in his ears. he wants to forget that when he presses himself close to her, everything feels safe. 

he inhales with his entire chest, sinking into her warmth as if she’d disappear any second.

✦

the first thing rin hears in the morning is humming. the alarm clock next to him says its eight o’clock in the morning and that its time to get up. rubbing the sleep off his eyes, he creeps downstairs to the smell of pancakes. his meister stands in the center of controlled chaos. pancake batter mixed in one bowl, a blender full of fruits and what he assumes to be his protein powder. the kitchen looks like a battleground with a lone soldier in the center, chiming a tune while pouring batter into a pan.

“good morning, rin rin.” you announce, looking over your shoulder, “can you set the table?” 

he wordlessly obeys, too early in the morning to give a proper response. he reaches over to the tall cabinet and takes a few plates from the top. placing two on the counter next to you before leaving to gather forks and knives. 

he briefly turns in your direction, watching as you’re stacking pancakes on his plate. the scene is awfully domestic as it is comfortable. and the more he thinks about this homely arrangement, the more uneasy the feeling in his stomach gets. the first thing that comes to mind is whether or not you’ve had similar experiences with your previous partners. 

he knows he is not your first and he might not even be your last. while he isn’t the kind of person to mull over someone else’s words, specially if that person is shidou, what he said still rings clear in his head. there was some kind of history between you and the antenna-head that he wanted to know. perhaps out of curiosity. maybe out of a sickly emotion he is forced to call worry. 

setting down two plates and a cup in front of him, you both sit down in silence. while you drowned your pancakes in syrup, rin likes his with a small cube of butter and a light drizzling of honey. not too sweet but not plain either. 

he comes up with a list of things you do that are totally opposite to him. from the smile on your face to the permanent scowl on his, or the way you start your mornings with a sugary breakfast, it all reminds him of how different you are to him. and although he may be cold and honest, you were a mixture of three things: warm, inviting, and worst of all, incredibly enigmatic. 

he wishes he could go into your mind and understand the world through your eyes.

“you’re thinking hard about something,” alongside your sticky, syrupy pancakes, you cut through his thoughts, “care to tell your partner?”

using his knife, he flicks the butter around his plate. it slides across the warm, pillowy pancake, leaving behind a golden layer. he presses his lips together, unsure of what to say. he would rather die than say anything related to his feeble emotions. but he just can’t help it. not when you’re looking at him with eyes that could melt him like ice cream on a hot summer day.

“what is your relationship to shidou?”

he hears the same hum once more, the sound trailing upwards as if you caught a funny joke, “there wasn’t anything between us. he was my partner before i met you.”

“so i’ve heard.”

he stabs through his stack of pancakes, carefully picking apart any small movements in your face. unlike his relationship with sae, you treated your partnership so casually, as if saying you’ll be together for life was just fishing bait. he thinks you were just nothing but a partner to shidou. someone he could use to channel his explosive attitude. but the more he considers it, the more it feels like it was the other way around. 

he only knows a few things about you. 

one, you are a special case amongst other meisters at the dwma academy. on your first trial mission with him, supervised by ego and a nurse named anri, he noted the way your wavelength constantly fluctuated to accommodate for his movements. while some people might describe their wavelength relationship to be like walking on three legs, being with you made it feel closer to two, and that he was the one in control. fighting with you was completely different from sae. although you were both calm and collected meisters with an unprecedented amount of talent, being with you made him feel lighter than air.

it was easy for you to wield any weapon in the school with this kind of skill. and while powerful in itself, it still needed a weapon to be channeled. this led to you having a multitude of partners throughout the years, with shidou being one of many, and rin being your most recent addition. 

two, you like food sweet enough to rot your teeth. this was picked up after living with you. from afternoon teas to late night drinks underneath the moon, you preferred your life to be sweeter than candy. after every mission, you made it a habit to take a piece of candy from your pocket, handing it off to him like a child who didn’t cry at the dentist. 

he typically found cabinets full of store bought candy you used your hard earnings on. he thought it was a waste of money until one fateful night. after a hard day of fighting kishin after kishin, you gave him the same strawberry candy you carried in your pocket. although it should have been nothing out of the ordinary, laying on the ground, heaving because of exhaustion. with your hand grazing his, the sweet taste of strawberries was the greatest distraction from his hammering heart. 

three, you have a strange fascination with him. this fact was more puzzling than the last two mentioned. your love for him was unexplainable. oddly palpable, even. it overflowed into everything you touched. from the ways you held his hand, to the charms you forced, but never fought against, on his wrist. you were loving in ways he couldn’t understand. it was nothing like the love he felt from sae. 

where his older brother was obligated in one way or another to take care of him, you did so without a second thought. when he is in your arms, you’re kind and gentle. you don’t whip him around, expecting him to follow up your perfect movements. you don’t chide him for not being fast enough. you don’t scorn him for not being good enough. and most importantly of all, you love him despite all the flaws that litter him.

it keeps rin from sinking into the black pool that plagues the depths of his mind. the same one that has him questioning when everything will come crashing down. just counting the seconds before it all gets taken away from him. 

“what happened between you and him?” 

you turn to him, “things didn’t work out.” your answer was simple, like he expected. he doesn’t know whether or not to be annoyed with himself for being right, or you for being too easy to read. “decided on a whim i wanted a new partner.”

“thats it?”

raising your eyebrow, you chuckle, “is there something you want to know, rin?” 

your voice trickles down on him like honey. it coats his throat, silencing any words he prepared on a silver platter for you. he feels he’s drowning in your saccharine sweetness. the smell of almonds tethering the line between candy goodness and poisonous danger. it doesn’t help that your laugh is just as sugary as the rest of you.

he bites down on his fork, keeping his eyes averted.

“not really.”

“you’re a bad liar, you know that?”

“there’s nothing to lie about.”

you lean back into your chair, “you want to know more about me and shidou,” balancing a fork on your plate you let it dance around. similarly to a ballerina, the silver utensil slowly spins in place. the individual tongs act as legs as it falls into a hypnotic rhythm. 

“you want to know what it was like, how long we’ve been working together, what jobs we went on,” the clock’s ticking sound seems to have grown louder because its counting down as if it were a bomb in his ears, “and if we lived together, like you and i do.”

wordlessly, he drops his fork, picking up his cup to drink the smoothie you made for him. he wishes you didn’t buy him matching cups from the market because every time he sees it, every thought becomes harder to keep. he wipes away at the corner of his lips, sighing. he hates that you know the exact way he likes his protein shakes. 

from the other side of the table, you revel in what you can only describe as complicated feelings. although nothing has been said, the look of dismissal and embarrassment on his face gave you more than enough information to understand the turmoil in his head. he thinks you’re too good at this. too good at picking apart his expressions, fighting for answers beneath his skin. 

“and?”

“nothing,” your hand waves itself around, “i just thought it was cute of you to ask.”

with your slumped figure, you drag your foot across the wooden floor, coming dangerously close to his own leg. he can feel some of the thin hairs on his skin stand up from your sly actions.

“do you want to know?”

“about?”

“me and shidou.”

“are you going to tell me?”

there is a foxy look in your eyes that he can only chalk up to mere amusement.

“i guess there really isn’t much to it. we just became a pair because there wasn’t anyone that liked him enough to be his partner. he marched to the beat of his own drum.” you hum, chewing on your food slow and tentatively, “we did a lot of private jobs given to us by the headmaster. something similar to the ones your brother went on.”

like a moth to a flame, he’s hooked onto the last part of your sentence. with just the slightest mention, only for a second, his entire body flamed up like a fever waiting to burst. 

“what were they?”

“can’t say. it’s been a while.” your plain response causes him to kick your shin from underneath the table. your left eye winces but you continue eating, nonetheless, “it was odd kishin jobs that were harder than the ones you see in the academy. nothing too remarkable or memorable.”

you pause for a second, mulling over your words, “it’s a blurry mess. i don’t remember that much from it, other than the fact that i saw sae once or twice.” blinking once, your eyes trail upwards in rin’s direction, “did your brother change because of these jobs?” 

“how do you know about that?”

“...sometimes you mumble in your sleep.” 

suddenly the frustrated expression on his face fades to humiliation. rin quickly turns his head away, finishing his food quickly and swallowing the last of his drink, all the while you carried a cheeky grin. whatever comes out of your mouth afterwards has his anger fizzing away entirely.

“you drool too.”

“stop talking already.” he has the urge to slap a hand over your mouth, praying that you’d stop talking about useless topics.

“you don’t think its cute?”

“you expect me to think drooling is cute? its gross.” 

“don’t be like that rin rin.” getting up from your seat, you skip your way towards him.

wrapping your arms around his neck, you squeeze him tightly to your chest. his heart immediately flat lines at your touch. your hug is warm and all encapsulating. infectious and sickly, just like those pancakes. he hates being in your arms because everything from the dull pain in his wrist to the soreness in his lower back eases away. washed away like sand on his feet. 

“i think its cute when you do it.”

having weaseled your way into his life, you’re like a constant stream of water. while difficult to read at times, he wants to say he knows you better than anyone else. correction, he wants to know more about you. he wants to know why you’re here, digging your claws into him underneath this shared roof. from the way you carry yourself to what exactly brought you to dwma in the first place. he wants to unravel the strings that weave you into the person you are today.

even though he wants to push you away from the thorns that adorn his heart, he wants to pull you even closer, and say that you’ll be his forever. not only as his meister but a partner he could use to become better. 

because thats the kind of relationship he always yearned for but could never say out loud. 

in his weapon form, you’re the only thing pulling him back from the black blood of madness that tempts him every night. he pushes and you pull. swaying one way as you follow. a perfect balance between partners of similar wavelengths.

he is scared something will tip the scales. its a quiet fear that bubbles in the pits of his stomach. tucked away underneath hundreds of layers of bandages around his heart. he wants to say he hates you just so you don’t hurt yourself on the way out. he wants to tell you to stop making his protein shakes in the morning because he doesn’t want you to stay any longer than you should. he wants to push you away when you hold him at night because it makes him want to puke his guts out to you.

yet all of those words don’t mean anything in the end. not in the universe that you’ve nested him in. 

so despite these minutes feeling too intimate and almost gum-like in the way it sticks to him, he can’t find the right muscles to run away. he doesn’t know if he wants to. he’s drawn to your presence just like everyone else in your life, stuck within your orbit within arms reach. this relationship he shares with you is so incredibly complicated that its far from lukewarm.

he swallows before asking, lacing uncertainty through his words, “what color is my soul?” 

tightening the hold around him, you lean in closer, drawing your hand down his chest. he sees the silver pendant on your wrist as it dangles and clammers with a light ‘clink’ noise. he believes his heart and soul might be opposite colors, the latter being an ugly shade of red.

“it’s blue.” 

resting his head against yours, he breathes in your scent as your heart rate steadies alongside his. if things get too comfortable, he might end up transforming back into his weapon form to keep you from seeing the redness in his ears.

“really?”

“mhm,” his ears perk up at your mumbling voice, “you have a very pure-hearted soul.” 

“even after everything?” 

“despite everything.” 

reaching out with your hand, you turn his head towards you. he instinctively leans into your touch. his teal eyes finally make contact with yours after what seemed to be a long, drawn out breakfast. the expression on your face makes him feel like he’s going to melt into the lovesick slobs he’s seen on numerous television shows. it makes the syrup on his plate all the more sticky and gross.

“its the prettiest i’ve ever seen.” 

you drop your arm, gliding it across his body. it drags from his shoulders to his biceps, to the lower part of his elbow, and ending at the silver jewelry adorning both your wrists. a skull pendant, gifted to him the first day you became partners. a rather simple accessory that weighs heavy on him.

turning his palm over, he lets you intertwine your fingers with his. a soft mutter of your name dancing on the tip of his tongue. 

“we’ll be partners, forever.”

✦

after breakfast, rin doesn’t think too much about your relationship with shidou. perhaps to some extent, he drowned it in the back of his mind, focusing on finishing his daily yoga and meditation before the day officially starts. 

while he was fixed at the center of the living room, having pushed the coffee table off to the side, you sat on the couch with a book in your hands. it was normal for the two of you to stay indoors during your day off. unless there needed to be some kind of shopping done to refill the fridge, you’d laze around in the bedroom or living room. you’d oftentimes kick your feet up when you’re laying on your stomach, something he had found terribly bad for his heart, finally getting to the books you’ve been putting off reading.

before the coffee gets cold, he remembers buying you the rest of the series from your local bookstore after you expressed interest in it. the concept of the story was relatively simple: you can go back in time as long as the coffee stays warm. you’ve asked him before what he would do if he could go back in time, but the only thing that comes to mind is wanting to fight sae.

he exhales slowly. work is tiring and never ending. the shinigami’s list was always growing and there will always be time to do them later, is what you always say.

out of the corner of his eye, the mirror in your living room space warps as your professor connects with you on the other line, tapping on the reflective surface. ego peers into the room, eyes dry like fish. alongside rin, the two of you sit up straight. rin is leaning his back against the seat of the couch with your right knee lightly touching his right shoulder.

“good morning,” he claps his hands together, “do you have time to talk about your recent progress?”

rin rolls his eyes, “you’ve already called us on our day off. what is it that you need?”

ego narrows his eyes but continues talking, “congratulations on reaching the halfway point. you only need forty-three more souls until you’re getting closer to becoming a death weapon, itoshi rin.” this sparks another huff from the man, “i assume based on the look on your face, you think you’re ready to become death’s weapon. is that correct?”

“of course i am, did you come here to lecture me about something i already know? or will you tell me something useful,” rin says with upmost confidence, “whatever comes our way, i’ll kill it.”

“i assumed you’d say that. and you’d be right. out of everyone in your class, the two of you might be the first ones to get a witch’s soul. i’m not here to tell you what to do,” ego leans forward in his chair. 

“only that with this new milestone comes challenges that will have you considering taking risks and sacrifices.” 

“what are you getting at?”

“you both already know about the influx of kishin souls roaming the city.these are much harder than  than the ones you’ve been running into recently. if you lose to any one of them, it means certain death for you both. but that is not the only thing you need to worry about,” using a projection, he opens his hand to show you a small diagram of a woman. she floats right above his open palm, broomstick and all. “witches are beginning to notice you, making you a prime target for pickings.”

“and although you might not be ready to face one yet, the possibility of encountering one is high.” 

before rin can say anything, possibly to rebut ego’s assumptions, you squeeze his shoulder with one hand. he looks up at you, eyes widening a millimeter when he sees an unfamiliar, dark shadow over your eyes. 

witches were another kind of monster. there were a lot of them, possibly a lot more than the dwma can ever consider. and while some of them may be weak, it still leaves out a large group of highly capable magic users out of the picture. they’re immensely powerful, so much so that consuming only one witch soul is enough to fully transform a weapon into a tool of mass destruction.

ego looks over to you, “have you made any progress on your soul resonance?”

when you shake your head, his frown deepens. “i see,” scratching the back of his neck he drones, “so you’ve yet to unlock each others full potential despite being partners for two years. that is an awfully long time,” he narrows his eyes, flickering from you and rin, “i hope to see something.”

“before i sign off, i need to tell you one more thing.”

“what else is there?” rin barks.

“madness,” ego says, “there will be madness coming your way.”

rin blinks. madness. he’s heard it in passing. every living thing, meisters and weapons alike, have a special force living inside of them. not only does it control your emotions, but it could influence personal strength as well, making it an important playing card to any fight. 

a small percentage of people have the power to control their madness using wavelength. this in turn, could also awaken someone else’s madness within them.

“if you were to possibly tap into this, understand that there will be sacrifices made. whether it be your life or someone elses,” he grimaces, “it is a double-edged sword. so consider the life of your meister, itoshi rin.” 

“whatever you say.”

ego doesn’t look surprised, knowing to some intent this was the kind of personality he was setting up from the beginning. regardless, your professor sends you one last look, one that has you tensing up in your seat, fingers grasping onto the cushion of the couch.

he mouths a few words: a witch is coming for you.

a shiver runs down your spine. like a spike it drives itself deep into your heart and out from the other side of your chest, letting you to bleed out helplessly like a doe. 

ego officially signs off for the day. your living room mirror goes back to its usual dull appearance. unlike you, rin wasn’t bothered at all by ego’s words. if anything, he felt more determined than ever to continue fighting. if this newfound power could be weaponized, perhaps it will give him the edge he needed to surpass sae. when he glances back at you, the veins in his fingers tensed.

that night, you sleep with your back turned, leaving his arms bare and cold. its relatively quiet if not for the crow pecking at the window, looking into the bedroom as you held your head, a tremble raking down your bones.

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [POGUELANDIA] - MOON RIVER

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[2.4k] 2 weeks stuck on a deserted island and while the hope for rescue dwindles by the day, you continue to make the most of your situation while a new problem boils right under your nose...

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, heavy touching/mild smut, allusions to sex, arguing, mentions of sexuality

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ idk where i got the motivation for this chapter but i love it

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

“NO, KEEP YOUR LEFT FOOT STRAIGHT, GIRL.” Cleo reprimanded once more, you sighing and dropping your hands in response. “Don’t be lazy now. Push through it.” The sun had reached its peak, casting a steaming hot glow across the island, prompting a thin layer of sweat to reveal itself on your skin.

You stood with Cleo close to the shore, the girl sparring with you as promised a week ago. Kiara and JJ were surfing while John B and Sarah cuddled in the sand under the shade of the palm trees as Pope sat closeby, mindlessly watching you and Cleo. But mostly Cleo.

“Well, it was easier when only one of my legs hurt.” You exhausted, one hand on your hip as you breathed heavily. “But we’ve been at this for, what feels like, an hour straight and now they both hurt.”

“Do you think boxers give up when they get punched in the face?” Cleo sassed, squinting her eyes from the sunlight, Pope laughing from the sidelines.

“...What?”

“I’m not repeatin’ myself.” The girl shook her head, walking towards you and taking hold of your wrists. “Put your hands back up, spread your feet apart, and quit whinin’.” She ordered before walking back to her spot a few feet across from you. “You should be grateful to even have a leg, missy. So, wipe ya tears and c’mon.”

You rolled your eyes before beginning your “session” with the island girl — ducking hits, soft slaps, and ignoring the soreness in your leg with every twist and step. This went on for about ten minutes before, for the first time in a full week of sparring, you swept Cleo off her feet. Literally.

You watched with your jaw on the floor as the girl fell on her ass in the sand, closing her eyes briefly as a harsh puff of air left her lips while Pope ‘oooh’d from his place in the sand.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You apologized. Rushing to lend the girl a hand, she took it, you using as much strength as you could to help her up.

“What’re you apologizin’ for?” She asked, dusting herself off before clapping you on the back while catching her breath. “I’ve been tryna get you to do that for seven days and six nights.” Cleo shot, a sly smile on her face.

You scoffed, lightly pushing the girl's shoulder back. “Screw you.”

“You should be thankin’ me.” Cleo joked, pointing a finger as she walked away and towards Pope. “You Americans are so ungrateful.”

“JJ!” Kiara’s voice sounded out before any of you could respond — causing the five of you to turn your attention to the girl as she chased after a seemingly furious JJ, makeshift surfboards tucked under their arms. “Are you serious, bro? I'm talking to you!” She asked, face twisting in annoyance. Water was dripping from both of their frames, leaving rushed wet footprints in the sand.

Your friends all watched with confused faces as you made a move to go towards the pair, putting a hand on JJ’s shoulder. “Hey, what’s the matter-”

“Move.” Was all the blonde boy offered in response, jerking his shoulder away from your touch and walking past you without so much as a glance. 

“JJ.” You tried to call after him, but he didn’t even turn around before disappearing into the trees as you turned back around, coming face to face with Kiara. “What the hell happened?” You asked in disbelief.

Kiara seemed to lack a proper response, stuttering for words and trying to move wet strands of hair out of her face before finally making eye contact with you. “I don’t know, he just got mad-”

“He didn’t just get mad.” You stopped her from lying. “What happened?”

Kiara sighed, running a hand through her hair. “...I told him.”

You squinted your eyes in response. “Told him what?”

“...I told him the truth. About why I kissed him in Charleston… about how I feel about you.” She sighed, briefly glancing down at her feet as anger boiled in the pit of your stomach. “I was just trying to clear things up, get rid of the tension. Guess he didn’t take it too well-”

“You had no right.” You seethed, staring the girl down as your remaining four friends crowded around the two of you.

“What’s goin’ on?” Cleo asked.

“What’s wrong with JJ?” Pope followed, both of their questions going ignored.

“No right?” Kiara spat, an expression of offense on her features. “I had every right. They’re my feelings-”

“And it’s my relationship.” You bit back. “If someone was going to tell JJ, my boyfriend, about anything regarding me and you, it should’ve been me. Not you.”

“Okay, seriously,” Sarah started, putting her hands out in front of her. “What is happening?”

“Look, I get it’s yours and JJ’s relationship but didn’t you think to tell him earlier? You don’t think the guilt of lying to my friend was getting to me at all?”

“I was going to tell him!” You blurted. “You don’t think the guilt of lying to my boyfriend was getting to me? I was going to tell him when I thought the time was right. But of course, Kiara only ever thinks about Kiara-”

“Okay!” John B stopped the bickering, voice overpowering all others. “Someone needs to explain what the hell is happening right now. Why did JJ storm off? And what are you two arguing about?”

Kiara shrugged, sassily crossing her arms and eyeing you up and down. “Should I tell them? Or do I have 'no right'?” She bickered.

You couldn’t do anything but scoff, turning away from the girl. “By all means, take the floor. Tell them.” You dismissed, waving a hand in her direction. “It’s your secret to tell. Guess I’m just collateral." You shrugged. "But just so you know, this is one of the many reasons it will never be you.” You sneered before walking off, attempting to go in the direction you’d last seen JJ.

AFTER WHAT FELT LIKE AN HOUR OF WEAVING THROUGH COUNTLESS TREES AND BUSHES, you spotted a very familiar head of golden blonde hair, wading in a shallow pool of water under a nearby waterfall. His back was turned as he mindlessly waved his hands through the water. You spotted his clothes on a nearby rock, taking the opportunity to strip yourself down and put your clothes on top of his — climbing silently into the water.

You moved slowly so as to not make much noise, creeping up behind the boy until you were close enough to wrap your arms around his torso — making him jump and look side to side before realizing it was you. Your heart dropped a bit when he sighed at your presence, putting his hand on top of both of yours that were clasped in front of his stomach.

“What are you doing here?” He said, voice despondent. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t know I would come looking for you.” You tried to lighten the mood, only to be met with another sigh. “...Why did you walk off?”

“What do you mean why did I walk off?” He said, indignation clear in his tone.

“I mean, I know but…you didn’t even talk to me. You didn’t let me explain.” You answered, voice dropping.

“Explain?” JJ said, scoffing. “Explain what? How you didn’t tell me how Kie told you she was in love with you? Weeks ago? C’mon…”

“I’m sorry,” You apologized. “Okay? I am.” You reassured. “I was trying to find the right time or…something. But every time I got close to telling you, the thought of your face dropping made me…not.”

“...When exactly would’ve been the right time to tell me?” He questioned, moving your hands off of his torso and turning to face you. He didn’t look happy. “We’ve been stranded here for two weeks. When were you gonna tell me? How did Kie make it to me before you did?”

“I didn’t think she was gonna tell you.” You tried to defend. 

“She shouldn’t have had the opportunity to.” JJ reprimanded, lowering his head to be more eye-level with you. “I should be the first person you tell things to. Especially when those things have to do with both me and you. And when I say first person, that doesn’t mean wait almost three fucking weeks to tell me-”

“Okay-”

“No. No, not okay.” He continued his ranting, cheeks turning red. “None of this is okay.” He emphasized with his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was confused.” You snapped, brows furrowing for a brief second. JJ was raining down on you. Hard. You felt overwhelmed.

“...Confused?” JJ got out. “About what exactly? About who you wanna be with?” He asked incredulously.

“No!” You immediately shut down his questioning. “No. I want to be with you. I am in love with you, whatever Kiara feels for me… it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Then answer my question.” Your boyfriend damn near demanded. “What are you confused about?”

You just sighed, throwing your hands out to the side. “Everything?” You offered an answer. “I know how I feel about you, okay? Nothing has ever been more clear to me than that. But Kie has been my best friend longer than I can remember and I wanted to give her space and time before telling you. You know you have a tendency to be explosive, J. I wanted to give her time before you possibly went off on her for something she can’t control. I may not be in love with her, but I will always have love for her in the sister-ly way I always have.” You tried to clarify. “I’m trying to navigate our relationship and Kiara’s feelings in a way that doesn’t tear apart two of the most important connections in my life. Tell me you at least understand that.”

“I understand that.” He nodded, biting his bottom lip. “...But did Kiara think about you before she kissed me? Did she think about me before telling you how she felt?” He asked, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeking an answer. “No. So why did you consider her feelings before mine?”

“That’s not even fair.” You countered. “You never even told me about the kiss. I saw it for myself and confronted you. So, don’t even use that against me because it’s just gonna come full-circle right back around to you.”

“And why didn’t I tell you about the kiss?” He asked, straightening his posture and towering over you. “Tell me.” You remained silent, staring the boy in his eyes. “Fine. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt us. Me not telling you had nothing to do with Kiara and her feelings-”

“That doesn’t make it better-”

“I didn’t say it did.” He cut you off. “But you wanted me to understand, right? So, now I want you to understand.” He said simply. “I didn’t tell you to spare your feelings but I should have. I was wrong. You didn’t tell me to spare Kiara’s feelings. You were wrong.” He said. “Maybe I would’ve taken it better if I had heard it from you when it happened. But hearing it from Kiara weeks later? It feels like you had something to hide. Like you were trying to give yourself time.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Then tell me I’m wrong.” JJ shrugged, shoulders tense. “Tell me you didn’t tell me because you were trying to consider Kiara and not because you have feelings for her too.” He requested, edging closer to you. “Tell me you’re in love with me. Just me.” You never expected this from JJ — someone so independent and closed off with any and almost all emotions. This was raw. This was real. This was him.

“...Kie was one of my best friends.” You started, staring into his eyes and never wavering. “So, yes I was trying to protect her. And yes, I made a mistake in considering her over you.” You admitted, sliding your hands over JJ’s shoulders and clasping them behind his neck. “But I don’t have any other feelings for her. I am in love with you. Just you. And only you. So, I’m sorry.”

JJ looked between your eyes for a few moments, not returning your touch — hands stuck at his sides under the water, the only sound being the rush of the waterfall behind you both. 

“...You swear?” He asked, blue eyes slowly returning to their soft state.

You nodded, pulling yourself in closer and using buoyancy of the water to wrap your legs around his waist as his hands found the back of your thighs. “I promise.”

The blonde fought back a smile, hiking you up higher onto his frame before locking his lips with yours — one of your hands going up to thread into his soaking strands, tugging on them lightly. Your lips moved back and forth in a soft harmony until it gained tension, turning into a feverish exchange. His hands traveled upwards, squeezing the flesh of your ass between his fingers, pressing you even further against him.

It was only then did you realize the both of you were naked — fully naked. His length pressing harshly at your entrance. It was at this moment that you realized you were completely comfortable.

Ever since Rafe, every sexual movement beyond kissing sent you into a spiral. You remember the very first time you tried to do anything after that — it was mortifying.

But in this moment, with JJ. You felt completely safe. You felt ready.

JJ moved his kisses down to the length of your neck, walking you backwards in the crystal blue water until your back hit a stone wall, the coolness of the rock and the warmth of his fingers causing you to let out a small moan.

Without much thought, you found one of your hands reaching down in between the two of you to grab his dick, lightly stroking it in the water. The male above you let out a soft moan, the warmth of his breath fanning out across your neck.

You were two seconds away from putting it in yourself when one of his hands gripped the wrist of yours that was tugging on his cock. 

“...I don’t wanna do this here.” He breathed out, pulling from your neck with swollen lips and lust-blow eyes. “I wanna make all of our best memories back home. Wherever that may be.”

You didn’t protest or push any further, simply accepting his wishes and releasing your grip, leaving a peck on his lips as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, looking into your eyes. “I’m sorry for not letting you talk earlier.” He whispered.

You offered a small, light smile. “It’s okay. I know you.” You reassured, knowing his small dramatic exit was nothing compared to his usual emotional outburst. Even if he didn’t realize it, JJ was improving in small but amazing ways. Being on this island seemed good for him. 

And now you weren’t sure you wanted to leave.

next chapter >

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow.

[ttjisung]

BUBBLE p. jisung

nct dream smau ₊˚⊹♡ in which park jisung has been your best friend since you can remember. as long as he can remember, he's been in love with you. aka jisung's intricate plan to to hide the fact that he has the world's hugest crush on his bff.

masterlist

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chapter two ₊˚⊹♡ (written + sm)

⋆｡˚ walking into the dark, sweaty room felt like whiplash for both you and jisung as he led you through the front door of seunghan’s house – you were never quite sure why he’d call it a dorm, maybe he’s one of those rich people that hate being called rich, the thought faded in your brain once you felt the familiar warmth of jisung’s hand intertwined with yours. 

passing by eunseok, the assigned bouncer, was fairly easy. it’s almost as if he was told to look for you, considering he rushed you past the large group of people waiting to be let in. 

now that you were at the party though, you began to regret accepting the invite. it’s not that you were a loser, you’d been to several parties before, it just honestly wasn’t your scene, jisung not far behind to agree as he shivered looking at the drunk people passed out on the couch. he hoped you didn’t want to drink too much, because he knew he’d be easily swayed to join you. 

luckily for jisung, you didn’t want to drink either, opting to pull him to the kitchen and raid seunghan’s pantry. 

jisung giggled behind you as you pulled him into the small closet, putting a finger on your lips to shush him. “look for anything sweet… i’ll look for drinks.” he nodded his head, standing straight and raising a hand to his temple in a salute. “ma’am, yes ma’am.” you dispersed as far as you could, yet your arms continued to touch as you searched for any snack of value. it didn’t take long before he was tapping on your shoulder, holding up two packs of strawberry pocky with a triumphant grin. mirroring the boy, you held up two cans of soda. you both celebrated with a little dance, bumping into each other so awkwardly that anyone would assume you were both drunk.

it wasn’t until you heard footsteps in the kitchen that you froze, jisung’s eyes widening in fear. sure, seunghan seemed laid back enough to not yell at you for stealing food, yet the whole situation would just be plain embarrassing. 

jisung held onto your shoulder, squeezing it lightly as a hidden signal. don’t move. you simply nodded, breathing lightly in panic when you heard voices outside. you recognized them – lee sohee, one of seunghan’s best friends, as well as park wonbin, his roommate. 

“man, that weed that haechan gave us was a bust. smoked like half of this and it didn’t do shit.” wonbin’s voice was muffled, yet you could imagine the pout on his face as he whined. “just leave it here. i think hannie picked some up anyway so let’s just go steal his.” sohee’s higher voice rang out as well, feet shuffling and slowly fading away, replaced by the bass of a random pop song playing in the living room. 

looking up at jisung who had also heard the interaction, your grin turned evil, the gears in your head turning. “n/n… i recognize that face. no.” “but ji! it’s the perfect opportunity… pleaseeee.” jisung was easily convinced by your tone, holding your hand in his as he dragged you out of the pantry and into the kitchen. 

it wasn’t hard to find the half-missing joint, the smell lingering that led you both to one of seunghan’s vases. there it stood, in all its glory, basically asking you to steal it.

you were quick to snatch it, dragging jisung along with you quickly as you both snuck out towards the back porch. both of you were giddy from the adrenaline, completely forgetting that you didn’t even own a lighter. a pink haired angel came to save the day as you saw giselle puffing on a shared cigarette with winter. “AERI! HELP!” both of you ran to the two, holding out the joint in your hand. “you can hit it if you let us borrow your light.” jisung made the offer, hoping it would convince the girl, and it was truly your lucky day as giselle laughed, handing it over. “i don’t want any, but just take this one. i have another in my car-” “oh my god, i could literally kiss you aeri.” your words were passionate, grateful for your friend. 

giselle was the only one who noticed the deep blush engulfing jisung at your mention of a kiss, smirking to herself before handing over her pink lighter. waving you two off, she took winter by the hand and headed towards her car for the replacement, leaving you two alone again.

“heh, i totally umm… smoke everyday, but like you should take the first hit to be honest, since i’m already a pro.” your voice was shaky, unconfident as you handed the joint to jisung who desperately shook his head, “i literally just hit like three blunts before i drove over to your place, so you start cause i’m already like… high.” jisung was squinting, avoiding eye contact as he pushed it in your direction once more. “do it ji.” “okay, fine.” he caved fairly quickly, placing the burnt side in his mouth before lighting the filter, frowning when it didn’t work.

“ji, you’re so silly. it’s like this.” you moved your hand towards his mouth, holding the joint between two fingers as you moved it around, placing the filtered edge on his lip instead. jisung’s blush grew at the physical contact, feeling uncomfortably warm out of nowhere. he didn’t have time to dwell on your actions, as you quickly turned the lighter on for him, leading it to the joint in between his lips. 

with an unconscious inhale, jisung’s lungs felt like they were collapsing at the harsh feeling of the smoke. obviously, he had never done this before, and neither had you. it wasn’t until he shakily breathed out that the cough subdued, and he quickly picked up the habit, taking three hits before passing it to you.

feeling bold, jisung replicated your previous actions, placing the joint in on your lips and lighting it for you, patting your back as you began to choke as well. once you both had adjusted, the rotation became easier. “how many hits should we do?” “let’s just finish it.” 

jisung felt giddy once again, the high hitting as he looked at your lips, seeing you inhale and exhale. he stared so hard he saw the slight shimmer of your spit on the end of the joint, smiling at the fact that you had shared more than one indirect kiss. the fuzzy feeling quickly escalated, and jisung swore he was floating in the sky as you fell onto your back in a laughing fit. 

the feeling intensified, the joint now small and unsmokable. the two of you were giggling, jisung jumping onto the ground to lay next to you. 

“we should go find gyu and the girls.” your words rang in jisung’s ear, who nodded without even understanding what you were saying. “orrr… we could walk to the toy store near here and look at what they have-” the male didn’t even let you finish your sentence before he was dragging you onto your feet, stumbling with you as you both inched your way towards your intended location.

a/n: i want a new house for my collection too 😞 once the taglist gets to ten people ill start adding it 🩷🩷🩷 :333

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Cant be the only one who doesn't like riddle as Rapunzel lol. Why couldn't it be jamil? Idk maybe its just a me problem

[Referencing the JP Feb 2025 schedule!]

Well 💦 I wouldn’t call it a “problem”? People are bound to have different interpretations and opinions, so it isn’t necessarily a “problem” to think differently. However, let’s please try to not put a damper on this situation. You can still choose to dislike Riddle in a Rapunzel fit on a personal level without making it sound as though he somehow isn’t “deserving” of the SSR.

Speaking as someone that’s in the process of writing a twisted retelling of Rapunzel featuring the Twst characters, I did consider Jamil for a role—but as Mother Gothel, not Rapunzel. (Kalim was Rapunzel in one iteration of my retelling, since Jamil is the one controlling him in book 4). I feel like Jamil definitely has the long hair for standing in as the princess and could fit in with the “Road to Freedom” tagline mentioned in the event title, but the characters’ background doesn’t match as well. Yes, he has a restricted life due to his place as a servant, but he isn’t sheltered or manipulated by a mother figure to the same degree that Riddle and Rapunzel are. Jamil is out in the world doing things—but Riddle lacks knowledge of practical applications and other normal life experiences.

The event isn’t out yet, so we can’t be sure how much the degree of similarity to Rapunzel actually matters for the story or setting. (The events typically do explain why these particular boys were chosen for the occasion.) However, if the story does end up touching upon certain themes… well, I think we’d quickly understand why it is that Riddle was given the SSR. Jamil also currently has more event SSRs than Riddle, so maybe it’s as simple as “it’s Riddle’s turn on the XBox.”

Here’s another way to think about it if it helps with any disappointment you may be feeling? Event stories usually do not impact much in the grand scheme of things. If Riddle experiences any character growth, it won’t be HUGE. So if Jamil was in his place as the SSR and working toward achieving the “freedom” mentioned eadlier, I doubt he would be making any significant headway. Jamil’s issue is ultimately far more complex and wouldn’t be resolved or reaching breakthroughs in the span of a short event. I don’t see Riddle doing a ton either; at most, maybe thinking more deeply about his relationship with his mother and eventually finding his own independence.

I’m sure Jamil will have more opportunities for character growth and cool costumes in the future! For now though, he yields the stage to Riddle.

[aciddrattboyy]

Cαɳ Iƚ Bҽ Oɳҽ Nιɠԋƚ

┆ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ - "megumi knew he needed to stay away from you. you came from two very different worlds. but god, he was having a real hard time staying away."

ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛꜱ: ★ Starring: Megumi F. x F! Reader ★ Run Time: 5.4k ★ Genre/Warnings: [Rated R: Adult Film/Drama/Rom] angst, smut, oral(m!receiving), penetrative sex, saying the L word during sex(all characters aged up!) ★ 01 . 02. [COMPLETED] ★ honestly this might be my best/fav fic ever, i wrote it high one night from 12am to 5am before my 7am shift at work. megumi is one of my favorite characters like ever and i always enjoy writing him

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megumi loved you. god he loved you so fucking much. he wanted to be with you, make you his. but there was one problem. you were a non sorcerer. you knew nothing of the jujutsu world. and megumi wasn’t selfish enough to bring you into it. as he walked into an abandoned building , the events of earlier today plagued his mind.

“hi megumi!” your face lit up as he walked into the diner you worked at, coming from behind the counter to give him a hug. he didn’t hug you back, swallowing the lump in his throat as he gently pushed you off of him by your shoulders. you looked at him with a small frown, not sure what was going on and why he looked so anxious.

“when do you get off,” megumi’s voice was low, hoping that maybe you wouldn’t be able to hear him and he could just blow it off and pretend he wasn’t about to do this. he watched as you pulled out your phone to check the time, looking up at him with a small smile.

“in half an hour… is everything okay?” megumi could see the concern on your face and thought he was about to cry. 

“uh i just need to talk to you about something,” you frowned when he didn’t directly answer the question. it made you feel uneasy and you wanted to question him more. but instead you just nodded.

“okay uh i guess you can just wait at one of the tables,” he nodded, the thin line of lips unwavering. you offered him one final smile before heading back off to work the register. you couldn’t help but glance over at him every once in a while from where he sat. he seemed fidgety, nervous, and distraught, all things you’ve never seen from him before. you furrowed your eyebrows, trying so hard to figure out what could be bothering him. 

time seemed to drag one for hours as you rang up customer after customer. but soon enough, your shift was ending and you were plastering on a fake smile as you said your goodbyes to your coworkers. 

“hey,” you spoke gently as you stood in front of megumi, tenderly placing your hand on his shoulder to get his attention. when he raised his head from his hands there was one word you’d use to describe his face. tired. 

he silently stood up, pushing in his chair and immediately shoving his hands in his pockets before you could even think about intertwining yours fingers with his. you followed behind him silently, a sense of dread pooling in your stomach. when you reached your car he finally turned to look at you. 

“y/n,” megumi spoke firmly, putting extra effort into making sure his voice didn’t waver. “i know we aren’t official or anything but i think its best if-”

“i understand,” you cut him off, your voice cracking slightly at the end. having had this conversation many times before, you didn’t really want to do it again. so instead you give him a polite smile. “i appreciate you telling me,” you nodded at him once before opening the door to your car. megumi was… dumbfounded to say the least. he didn’t expect things to be this easy and even though he should be grateful for it, he couldn’t help but feel a little hurt.

“wait-,” megumi spoke before he could think, a feeling of desperation clouding his mind. “i lo-,”

“don’t,” you cut him off once again, this time the hurt in your voice more prominent. you looked at him with tears pooling in your lashes. this situation feeling all too familiar to ones in the past made you snap. “dont fucking say shit you don’t mean,” your voice was filled with pain while megumi stood there and looked at you with shock. “goodbye megumi, thank you for taking the time to tell me.” with one final nod, you got in your car and drove off, leaving megumi alone in the dark parking lot to process what just happen.

“fuck,” he cursed to himself as he walked towards the door, not wanting to replay those moments while he’s supposed to be exorcizing. with one glance back, he watched as ijichi finished opening a barrier before getting back in his car. megumi had told him that he didn’t need to wait for him and while ijichi was on the fence about it, he reluctantly listened to megumi. 

with a deep breath he passed the threshold of the building and immediately could feel the cursed energy grow stronger than what it was outside. he looked around before summoning his demon dog, warily walking deeper into the building. 

from what he was told, there seemed to just be a couple low level curses, nothing he really needed to worry about. a loud crash rang through the building and megumi was quick to face in the direction of it. 

there was a curse crouching by a pillar, its energy was low and megumi wasted no time before ordering demon dog to exorcize it. after it was gone, megumi felt like something was off, the cursed energy still being very prominent. 

then it happened, another curse appeared with what felt like twice the amount of cursed energy. how did he not notice it before? he was quick to summon nue, having it strike the curse while he tried to move to a spot where he’d get the advantage. but the curse was quick, immediately tracking megumi’s movements.

it wasn’t particularly too strong, megumi knew he would be able to exorcize it with a little work. but what megumi wasn’t prepared for, was it’s abilities. right before he was about to attack, the curse made some sort of intelligible noise and suddenly he was frozen. 

memories of his life began to flash through his mind and for a second he thought maybe he was dying. faces of the important people of his life flashing before his eyes and then you. he saw you so vividly in his mind. you were smiling, giggling as you looked at him like he was the brightest star in the night sky. but then it flashed to your teary eyes, your pained voice echoing in his mind. 

all this was cut short when megumi was hit in his gut. blood spilled out of his mouth as he cried out in pain. vision blurry with tears he didn’t even know he was shedding, he began to attack the curse and with the help of nue and demon dog, he was able to exorcize. 

feeling the cursed energy disperse, megumi let his shoulders slump as he fell to the ground. wiping his eyes with the back of his hands he examined his palms. his hands were shaking, his whole body was shaking. tears were beginning to fall down his already wet cheeks again as his thoughts ran a marathon aside his head, 

he felt like he was going to be sick, he thought he was about to die. he thought his life was truly flashing behind his eyes and he saw you. you were sad. you were hurt. he thought he was going to die and the last thing he saw was your hurt face. his head was dizzy and he almost fell over as he stood up. 

megumi was now regretting telling ijichi to leave. with a sigh he surveyed his surroundings and realized it looked a little familiar. looking back at the building he just exited, he realized it was the very same building you warned him about. 

“look that building over there,” you pointed towards your window as you drove, glancing at megumi before turning back to the road. “it’s so creepy. whenever i pass by i feel a shiver go down my spine,”  you flashed a smile at megumi, missing his blush as you looked back at the road “but for some reason with you in the car im not scared,”

before megumi even realized it, he was at your front door. seeing the doormat with the silly cat that both of you laughed at being the only thing snapping him back to reality. he fished his phone out of his pocket, checking the time. it was late. you were probably asleep now. he should just call ijichi and head home.

he went to take a step back the way he came but before he could even move, memories of what saw in that abandoned building flooded his mind and within a matter of seconds he knocked on your door. megumi knocked only twice, firmly telling himself that if you didn’t answer he was going to leave you alone. much to both his relief and his dismay, you opened the door. 

“megumi?” by the tone of your voice he could tell that you were probably heading to bed soon. “oh my god- megumi-” the sudden change in your tone startled him as he looked at your now horrified expression. “what the fuck happened to you-,” your voice was full of alarm as you took in the sight of the man in front of you. he was leaning against the wall, superficial cuts all over his arms, a bigger cut on his shoulder, and already drying blood coming from what looked like his head. 

“i-,” he took a step forward, quickly tripping over his own legs that felt like they were submerged in concrete, and falling into your arms. you squeaked as his body fell onto you, just barely catching him and stumbling backwards into your apartment. you led him to your couch, panting lightly as you carried the brunt of his weight. 

“stay right there- do not move, let me go grab a first aid kit,” you spoke firmly, watching as megumi’s eyelids fluttered. his head lolled to the side as uneven breaths left his partially open mouth. your hands were shaking violently as you fumbled to grab the kit, opening it quickly to see what was in it. frowning, you looked at the scarce amounts of supplies.

hurry back into the living room you felt your heart stop for a second when you saw how still he was. quickly getting on the couch next to him, dropping the med kit on your lap, you cupped his face in your hands. 

“megumi- megumi please- should i call someone-”

“no,” his voice was hoarse. he sounded pained, as if he was using all his energy just to speak. “don’t… call anyone ‘m fine,” his head slumped against the back cushion of the couch, eyes still shut as his ragged breathing shook through him. 

“megumi you’re bleeding,” your hands clumsily grabbed a pad and a bottle of alcohol before gingerly grabbing his arm. megumi made no move to stop you, sighing at the feeling of your hands on him. the two of you sat in silence as you tended to his arm aside from the low hisses coming from megumi because of the alcohol and mumbled sorry’s from you. when you got to the cut on his shoulder you grabbed a small pair of scissors. “i’ll have to cut the sleeve off,” you spoke mostly to yourself, getting a slight nod from megumi. you worked quickly, cutting off the sleeve and cleaning it as best as your limited medical knowledge would allow you. “it doesn’t look that bad,” you said absentmindedly as you began to wrap his shoulder with gauze.

the corners of megumi’s lips twitch at the somewhat foreign treatment. usually in this scenario he would’ve gone to shoko, cuts like the one he has now seeming so small. and here you were, fussing over it and trying to console him. megumi found that he much preferred this over what he was used to.

shifting in your seat, you leaned forward, bringing your hand to megumi’s head to move his hair out of his face to see where the bleeding was coming from. to your relief it wasn’t coming from his head, but a very small gash on his head. being so focused on cleaning the cut, you didn’t realize megumi was now looking up at you until you reached down to grab a bandage. you smiled at him reassuringly, a small heat flooding your cheeks as you applied the bandage and smoothed out his hair. 

“all better,” you sighed, placing the kit on the coffee table before leaning back onto the couch facing megumi. you looked deep into his eyes, searching for answers you were probably never going to get. “you gonna tell me what happened,” you asked lightly, cocking an eyebrow at him. 

“i wish i could,” megumi’s voice was solemn, making you genuinely believe there was something keeping him from telling you. deciding to let it go, you switched topics. 

“you look ridiculous,” you motioned to the jagged ends of the sleeve to his shirt. megumi snorted, rolling his eyes. 

“you’re the one who cut it,” seeing megumi smile, no matter how small it was, made you feel a bit better. he didn’t seem to be in too much pain thankfully. 

“i’ll go get you a shirt to sleep in,” you got up from the couch, reaching down to grab the kit and put it away on your way to your room.

“sleep in?” he lifted his head to look at you, eyes widening slightly. 

“well do you have a way home,” megumi let his head rest against the cushions again. truthfully, he could call ijichi and if he didn’t answer he could call yuji, he knew for a fact that guy was still awake. but instead he found himself shaking his head. 

“then youre sleeping here,” you said with finality as you walked to your room. once you were out of sight of megumi in the confines of your room you found yourself shaking slightly. just to think you were about to head to bed and now the boy you were in love with was injured on your couch. you shook your hands as if trying to shake all of the nerves out of you before heading to your dresser. grabbing one of the many oversized shirts you own, you walked back out to the living. megumi was in the same position as when you left, his chest rising and falling in what looked like a much more normal tempo. “here, you can put this on,” you placed it on his lap, hands lingering for a split second on his thigh before you pulled away. 

“thank you y/n,” he looked up at you again, sitting up as he grabbed the shirt. 

“youre welcome megumi,” shooting him a smile, you stood up again, stretching your arms above your head. “you can sleep in my room,”

“what- no why-”

“you’re injured and my couch isn’t exactly the most comfortable,” you spoke as if this was common knowledge. as if you giving up your bed to the guy who basically broke up with you was the only reasonable option. 

“if it’s not comfortable why would you sleep here,” megumi looked at you incredulously, showing more emotion than he did when he was actively bleeding. 

“i’m used to it,” 

“i’m not going to sleep in your bed knowing you’re on the couch in your own home,” megumi’s voice was firm as he spoke, eyes locked on yours in a sort of silent battle. 

“well then do you want me to sleep with you?,” you were louder than you meant to be, eyes going wide in embarrassment at what you said. it grew silent as the two of you stared at each other. 

before you knew it, you were getting under your blankets, along with megumi. it was quiet and awkward as the two of you shifted under the covers. with your backs to each other, megumi’s mind was going wild. there was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to do. could he really be that selfish? could he really let himself love you and let himself be yours? did he really have it in him? surely he’d have to tell you about his line of work. would you think he was crazy? there was too much running through his mind and he began to feel tears welling in his eyes. 

“y/n,” his voice cracked as your name left his lips. 

“yea?” the two of you spoke with your backs still facing each other, both too scared of what would happen if you saw each other.

“i love you,” the words felt foreign as they slipped off his tongue. but it lifted a certain weight of his chest as they finally left him. the room became still, the only noise being your fan. he shifted under the blankets, getting slightly uncomfortable at the silence. 

“i love you too megumi,” your voice was weak, as if you too were scared to speak those words out. without giving yourself a moment to think, you rolled onto your other side, now facing megumi’s back. having heard and felt the movement, megumi followed suit. he felt his breath hitch as he took your face in. 

you were so beautiful, so kind, so loving, so sweet. you were everything megumi ever wanted and he couldnt help the weary smile that spread on his face. you returned his smile, lifting your hand to wipe a stray tear off his cheek. 

“why’re you crying,” you mumbled, now rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone. 

“ ‘cause i love you,”

“and that makes you cry?” you cocked an eyebrow at him, a small playful smile on your face. you had no idea what line you were now teetering on. had no idea what your world could possibly turn into if megumi let himself be selfish. this question from you was a rude reminder that you had no idea who he really was. 

“... yes,” his voice was sad as he kept his eyes on you. you noticed the sudden change in his tone and frowned slightly, deciding it was best to redirect where this was going. inching your face closer to his, you let your gaze flick down to his lips. megumi took in a slight breath as you moved, his eyes widening slightly. this wouldn’t be your first time kissing megumi, having gave him pecks on his cheeks and lips multiple time. but this would be the first time it truly felt real.

your eyes fluttered closed when you got close enough to feel his shallow breath fan against your lips. and within only a few moments your lips were on his. the kiss was incredibly gentle and ended way to fast for your liking when megumi pulled away. opening your eyes you see megumi staring at you with a sheepish smile on his face.

“why’re you staring at me,” you asked jokingly, now smiling with him.

“you’re just so pretty,” 

“you’re so sappy,” your teasing was lighthearted, and megumi knew that. but every joke thrown at him just reminded him that you truly don’t know how devastating this was for him. you noticed the change in his demeanor and frowned, still not having any clue what was going on with him. but before you could ask any questions, megumi pressed his lips against yours. this kiss felt different than the one you gave him. the difference in your urgency was incredibly difficult for megumi to deal with. so instead he opted for kissing you until he couldn’t think of anything but the feeling of your lips on his. 

megumis hands trembled as he slotted a hand in your hair, pulling you closer to him. you eagerly returned the passion he was putting into the kiss, pressing your body against his as you kept your hand cupping his jaw.

a small whimper left your mouth when you felt him bite down on your lower lip softly. megumi’s whole body seemed to be shaking as his hands smoothed over your side. your hand traveled to card in his hair, chest pressed firmly against his. 

megumi stilled when he felt himself growing hard, a tinge of guilt in his chest. he shouldn’t do this. he knew he shouldn’t go any farther- hell he shouldn’t have even gone this far. he shouldn’t have shown up at your door. he shouldn’t have even gotten himself involved with you in the first place-

“megumi,” you spoke softly as you could physically see him come back to the present. “you’re distracted again,” you looked over his face as you gave him the most reassuring smile you could, his lips now wet and slightly parted. 

“ ‘m sorry,” he mumbled before wrapping his arm around your waist and burying his head in the crook of your neck. you slid your leg between his, not trying to do inheritably sexual, just trying to get comfortable. but the moment your thigh pressed against his boner he hissed in your ear.  

“megumi-,”

“ i’m sorry, i’m sorry y/n,” he kept mumbling apologies into your neck and you tried to comfort him by playing with his hair. 

“you don’t have to apologize,” you whispered into your dark room, but this only made megumi feel worse. you had no idea what he was apologizing for. but he decided to take it, taking in a deep breath before lifting his head to look at you.

“thank you, i love you,” he smiled when he heard you giggle softly, pecking his lips.

“i love you too,” you were beaming up at him now and megumi had a mental war with himself to just let him enjoy the moment. “can you kiss me again,” your voice was so sweet, and you were looking at him with those pretty eyes- how could he resist. with a quick nod, his lips were on yours once more. 

things were escalating faster than megumi could keep up with and before he knew it, you were on top of him, kissing him messily while you grind down on him with your pajama bottoms long gone. small whines and moans from megumi were muffled by your lips, his hands tight on your waist. you broke the kiss to catch your breath, sitting up on megumis lap as you grabbed the hem of your shirt.

“is this okay?” you asked breathlessly, stopping your arms just before pulling your shirt up enough to show your chest. megumi’s eyes were wide as he nodded his head, feeling like he was in a daze watching you take your shirt off. seeing you in nothing but your underwear had megumi’s dick growing painfully hard in his pants and he couldn’t help his hips bucking up into you. you let out a soft sound of surprise at the pressure on your covered clit. with a smile you leaned back down, ghosting your lips over his. you watched his adams apple bobbed when you rolled your hips, a soft whine leaving both of you. megumi sat up, leaning back on his elbows as he pressed his lips into yours, both of your tongues intertwining while you continued grinding your hips against him. “do you want to do anything more” your voice was barely a whisper as you spoke against his lips. 

megumi stilled against you for just a second. this was a bad idea. a very bad idea. but god he wanted you. he wanted all of you. he wanted to be yours and he wanted to you to be his in every sense of the word. so, against his better judgment, he nodded his head, biting his lip as he watched your face light up. his eyes were glued to yours as you moved further down his body. you somehow managing to keep eye contact as you grabbed the hem of his pants had a shiver running down his spine. 

you slowly pulled his underwear and pants down in one go, giggling softly as megumi hurriedly helped by kicking them off. you smoothed your hands over his now exposed thighs, leaving wet kisses on the flesh. 

with his lip stuck between his teeth, megumi tried his hardest to not make any noise while he watched you inch your mouth closer and closer to where he wanted you to touch. and when he finally did place a kiss on his tip he thought he might cum just then. with your eyes on him you grabbed the base of his dick, squeezing slightly while placing kitten licks all around his slit that was now leaking precum. 

“ ah y/n- oh shit,” you moaned around his dick as you lowered your mouth on him, pushing your panties to the side to push two fingers into your wet hole. when you kept moaning around his cock and jerking your hips, megumi finally realized what else you were doing and his whole body felt hot. you began to bob your head at the same pace you were fucking yourself with your fingers and the site was megumi on the brink of an orgasm. 

“you like that ‘gumi?” you asked after pulling you mouth off his dick with a soft ‘pop’, smiling at him as you continued to jerk him off. the nickname had megumi whining loudly despite him biting his lip hard enough to almost draw blood. 

“w-wanna feel you,” he spoke before thinking again, the rational part of him telling him he shouldn’t do this and he should actually stop this all now and apologize and then go home and never talk to you again. but god the way you smiled at him with those lust filled eyes had him thinking with his dick.

“yea baby?” you asked excitedly, pulling your fingers out of you before situating yourself back on his lap and pressing your now wet fingers against his lips. you didn’t have to say anything, megumi already opening his mouth, tongue lapping at your fingers before you pressed them against his tongue. when he looked at you through those pretty lashes you felt yourself clenching around nothing. 

megumi watched you with hungry eyes as you lifted your hips, grabbing his dick and pulling your panties to the side, lining it with your hole. you elicited a long moan from the both of you as you sank down on him. your breath growing ragged as you bottomed out. pressing your palms into his chest, you let your head hang while you got used to the feeling of him inside of you. 

“ ‘m gonna start moving,” you whispered, lifting your head to look at megumi as he nodded his head. you smashed your lips against his, effectively muffling both of your moans as you lifted your hips and pushed back down. 

your room was soon filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin. both of you moaning and whimpering into each others mouths as you continued to fuck yourself on his dick.

“shit megumi-,” you whined as you pulled your lips away to catch your breath. he whined softly, a shaky hand sliding into your hair and gripping onto it. 

“y/n- y/n i love you,” he panted against your mouth, hips now jerking up into you as he his body chased his orgasm. 

“i love you too ‘gumi- love you so much- im- ah fuck- im close,” 

“me too,” he whispered, eyebrows pinching together as the knot in his stomach growing tighter with each snap of your hips. you snaked a hand between your bodies, fingers messily rubbing your clit as you got closer and closer to cuming. you mewled, resting your head on his shoulder as megumi let out a string of moans above you. 

with one whimpered warning from you, you came undone on his cock. your spasming cunt around him was what finished him off, quickly lifting you off of him as his cum spurted all over his shirt. your eyes were wide at his display of strength as you came down from your high, panting softly.

with a dramatic sigh you flopped onto the bed next to a spent megumi. you watched as he smiled up at the ceiling. 

“oh megumi you ruined my favorite shirt,” you pouted as you looked at the now cum stained shirt. you were totally just joking but the expression on megumi’s face as he turned his face to look at you was priceless. 

“y/n im so sorry-,”

“i was just kidding!” your laugh was undeniably contagious, making megumi laugh along with you until both of you couldn’t breath and your chests started to hurt. “you probably shouldn’t sleep in that though,” you said while wriggling your eyebrows. megumi rolled his eyes before sitting up to take off the shirt. seeing all of his torso was definitely something you were going to commit to memory. every scar, blemish, and mark now stored in their own little file folder in your mind. 

you watched silently as megumi went to grab his pants putting them on as he watched you slip back under the covers.

“you’re gonna sleep like that?” megumi spoke with a smile on his face, getting right under the covers next to you. 

“mm yea ‘m too comfy now,” you sighed, slinging your leg over his hips and resting your head on his chest. megumi hummed softly one arm wrapped around your waist while the other resting on your arm. 

“you havin fun,” megumi asked as you traced the edge of the gauze on his shoulder with your fingertips. laughing quietly, you nodded against his chest, placing a kiss right before the gauze. the room fell silent after that, nothing but the noise of your fan and breathing to be heard.

“megumi,” you whispered, not entirely sure if he was even awake. 

“yea?”

“i know you’re not ready to tell me now,” you started,  your face heating up slightly. “but i need you to know that i will patiently wait for you to tell me your stories,” this is what brought megumi back to reality. just now realizing what he’s done, what he’s currently doing. he was internally freaking out but didn’t want to alarm you. 

“thank you y/n,” was all he said, effectively ending the conversation as you let out a content sigh. he held you in his arms until you fell asleep, only then letting unconsiousness take ahold of him. 

he woke up with a jolt, heart racing while he laid in an unfamiliar bed. he was about to sit up when he felt a weight on his chest- oh. it was you. he was in your room. after sleeping with you, having told you he loved you multiple times, having gave you this false sense of security. god he was horrible.

he sat up slowly, looking down at your sleeping frame now clinging onto his legs. you looked so peaceful like this. so beautiful- angelic even. but then there was a buzz from his phone. pulling it out of his pocket, his frown deepened when he saw the notification saying he got assigned to another mission. this time to defeat a special grade.

in this moment he knew he couldn’t do this to you. couldn’t bring you into a world you never asked to be in. and so with a dejected sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep himself from crying before he got up from the bed. 

he was quiet as he moved, making sure to not wake you up. mostly for his own sake, not wanting to see you in pain again. he was selfish that way, not wanting to be there to know he was the one who cause your suffering. 

he rounded to your side of the bed, leaning down and slipping a strand of hair out of your face to press a gentle kiss against your temple. he let his lips linger on your skin for longer than he probably should have. 

with one last look with teary eyes, he walked out, closing the door to your bedroom quietly.

when you woke up you instantly searched for the warmth of the boy you loved. the boy who had confessed his feelings for you multiple times. with your eyes still closed, you swiped your arm over the bed, frowning when you only felt your cold sheets. opening your eyes, you sat up looking towards the bathroom your frown only growing more prominent when you saw the door was open to the dark room. quickly shrugging on a shirt you walked out your room, hands shaking slightly as you called out his name. and to your utter dismay, you quickly realized the truth,

megumi was gone.

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very appreciated <3 ʟᴏʙʙʏ ﹕ꜰɪʟᴍᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

[misedejem]

I did this on bsky earlier and remembered I had it saved in my drafts on here too!

More detail below 👀

She didn’t know Loghrif well, but Gaia was Kass’ senior at the Akadaemia, so they knew each other in passing for centuries. She was friendly with Hythlodaeus, so she was friendly with Azem by association.

Mitron was much the same as Loghrif, someone she was cordially acquainted with from school who she didn’t really see much outside of a formal setting. Azem did, however, secretly side with Mitron in the great ‘when is the fish no longer a fish and actually just taking the piss’ debate.

Azem, Emet-Selch, and Hythlodaeus were married, soulmates, absolutely inseparable. For Azem, it was platonic, for the others, romantic. They were friends from the day they met as children, and even after the Sundering, they cannot part until they return to the Star together.

Azem clashed with Pashtarot a lot, as a notorious rule-breaker, but there was no genuine ill-will. They just found each other frustrating to work with.

Fandaniel was her friend for years, from their time working in Elpis together before either of them joined the Convocation. Azem started to distance herself a bit after she quit her job to travel, and even more her father returned to the Star, but they remained friends until the very end. Hermes was never really certain exactly how he felt towards her.

I don’t think Azem and Altima ever interacted. Even in meetings.

She and Halmarut didn’t talk much, but they did have a close mutual friend in Azem’s sister-in-law, so sometimes they would end up in a social situation together. Having nothing in common, any conversation never made it past the small-talk stage.

Nabriales was her friendly rival, they just liked to fight and compete constantly. The arena from P11 is the Convocation Chamber in its reconfigured state that Azem designed for their matches.

Azem wasn’t certain on where she stood with Igeyohrm. She was Lahabrea’s family, but also Elidibus’ close friend, so she was never sure which direction Igeyohrm veered towards with her.

Deudalaphon was another old friend from before she joined the Convocation, and her old boss - Azem’s original role being part of the Words of Deudalaphon. Her concept specialities fell under their expertise, so they worked together even after Azem took up the mantle of the traveller.

Azem owed Emmerololth her life a hundred times over (due to her tendency to injure herself on duty) so she tried her best to maintain a friendly bond between them out of respect and gratitude.

Lahabrea and Azem vehemently detested each other. They did not agree with how the other operated at all, and neither felt the other should have a seat on the Convocation. In part, it stemmed from the unfortunate relationship that Lahabrea had with Azem’s father, Apollo, when he had been younger. When Azem heard what had happened with Erichthonios, Elidibus had to keep them from trying to kill each other.

Elidibus was like her little brother, she cared for him dearly and had since he was toddling. He looked up to her the way she looked up to Venat - to the point where she was concerned it would interfere with his duties if he took on the role of Emissary.

Venat was a personal hero from the day they met, and over time became her mentor and confidant. Even though Azem felt as though her predecessor could be difficult at times, and she didn’t understand many of her actions especially towards the end, she still loved her all the same.

a convocation relationships chart for all your azem needs ☀️

[the-daydreaming-show]

(3.) Dreams Made Heavy.

SUMMARY: It's the celebration of Nyx's first birthday.

Or

Your time in illusion is running out and the past is ending, unable to bear its own weight any longer.

NOTE: I love this chapter because Feyre is so excited to bring the reader into her life and introduce her to her son, it's adorable. Let me know what you think of this chapter and how things are going, I'm always happy to hear your thoughts. As always, English is not my first language so sorry for spelling mistakes and mistakes of the type, any comment on it is welcome if it is respectful. I am always trying to get comfortable and improve my writing in this language. I hope you like it. XOXO Ella

Memories/Thoughts in italics

Dragon Language in bold italics

Previus Part: (2.) EMBRACING ILLUSIONS

AO3 / Story Masterlist

“What lived and died between us—haunts me still.” – «The Chronology of Water: A Memoir» by Lidia Yuknavitch.

Lying on your back in bed, you held the hand-painted parchment invitation above your head, looking up at it with the expression of someone who knew they had flown too close to the sun.

Feyre had painted the invitations herself—each one was different—and, in her words, they were meant as a sort of souvenir, something for each recipient to keep as a memento of the very special occasion that was Nyx’s first birthday. You didn’t know what the others looked like, but you guessed that not all of them had the shadows of three little dragons flying in the corner of the invitation. The boy’s name and what looked like a tiny fingerprint also decorated the small square of parchment, proving that he had helped create it as well. You ran your thumb over the shape of the boy’s print, which seemed to reach out to the three dragons in the corner.

“I told you that you should have brought more of a variety of outfits,” Mayhem reminded you flatly from her spot on the balcony, sitting cross-legged with her dress bunched around her as she settled in for her prayer.

With that, you snapped back to harsh reality, dropping your arms carefully so as not to ruin the invitation, and rolled over onto your stomach, wanting to drown yourself in the mattress as you let out a tearful cry.

As if that was the main problem in the whole situation, you thought, too hopeless to put it into words just yet. Of course, you wouldn't tell your court how deeply you had gotten yourself into the mud of this situation—not when they had clearly warned you it would happen, and not when you had known, deep down, that it would.

But I think it’s what I need, you had told Armin when he warned you about the consequences. And maybe you really did need it. You needed to see the beauty of the life Feyre had now, to let her go, even if it would break your heart. But you didn’t want to. You realized you weren’t sure how you would survive that. Still, there was no way out now—you were up to your neck in the consequences of your own decisions, of what you had asked for. You had wanted to see Feyre one last time, to know she was okay. And now you have gotten your wish.

“I don’t think a kid’s first birthday has much of a dress code, especially if it’s just a family gathering,” Luka added from his spot in the desk chair, practicing his penmanship on different birthday gift card options while experimenting with different ways to hold the pen with his missing finger. “Let's just be grateful if the gift has a decent bow.”

“It’s the birthday of the heir to the court. For all we know, it could be a gala, even if it’s just a family affair. It wouldn’t be unusual for people with the kind of money that the High Lord and High Lady have,” May said without changing her tone as she placed her hands in position to begin her prayer.

“It wouldn’t be the first time she’s shown up in riding gear to an event like that, either,” Luka whispered, focusing on his movements on the paper.

“What’s wrong with my outfits?” you finally asked, wanting to divert the conversation, lifting your head from the pillow. “They’re all very nice and comfortable.”

“And they all smell like ash and burnt leather,” Mayhem stated before beginning to whisper her affirmations.

You gulped. You needed something to do, and figuring out party etiquette suddenly sounded like a great activity. You didn’t say anything, and no one paid you any mind as you got out of bed and walked out of the room, into the hallways of the house, on a mission to find Nesta and question her about what she might be planning for her nephew’s birthday party. Would she give him a birthday card or just the bow? Who was going? And any other information she was willing to share so that your anxiety could drown in the comfort of knowing a little more about what to expect.

When you had offered to give Feyre Nyx’s gift so she could take it to him, she had ended up handing you that beautiful invitation with the child’s name, time, and place for the party. But she had told you that the birthday hadn’t happened yet, and giving gifts or celebrating early was a no-no in mortal culture, as it was considered bad luck. So, she couldn’t accept the gift, and instead, she had invited you to the party, pulling the invitation out of her pocket and handing it to you.

You told yourself that you wanted to see if Feyre was happy, to see if everything was as it seemed. This is the perfect opportunity to do so. Don’t complain. You repeat to yourself as you walk.

As you turned into a hallway, you came across Morrigan walking toward you.

“You look like a woman on a mission,” Morrigan declared as she approached. “May I help you with it?”

“Indeed, you can,” you replied with a knowing smile. Morrigan simply followed suit.

Morrigan took you out of the house the next morning with Mayhem in tow. Your bodyguard had refused to let you go alone, following you in deathly silence despite your insistence that you could manage on your own.

It was interesting to see your friend, Mayhem—thin, pale as a ghost, with long, straight dark hair falling past her waist and piercing eyes like stone—contrast with Morrigan, who was tall, blonde, and radiant, her smile dressed in reds and golds as she walked elegantly through the city. Morrigan talked a lot, while May watched her out of the corner of her eye, expressionless, merely analyzing. She took you both shopping, exchanging gold for the currency used at court.

“Personally, this outing suits me well. I don’t know what I’ll wear yet, and if Feyre paints a picture of the occasion, I want my nephew to see that his favorite aunt was the best-dressed since before he could even remember,” the blonde commented, linking her arm with yours as she walked.

“At this point, the only standard I have is that it not be riding clothes, as has been widely pointed out,” you replied, casting an accusatory look at Mayhem, who simply shrugged, knowing she wouldn’t regret her insistence.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with that—you need more variety in your wardrobe.” Morrigan shot May a knowing look, which she didn’t return. Instead, your friend put on a pitying expression and looked away. Morrigan, however, didn’t seem offended or put off by her reaction. “Uh, let’s start with this store. It’s one of my favorites.”

Morrigan pulled your arm into a sudden U-turn that nearly made you trip, while Mayhem hurried to catch up, trying to return to your side as quickly as possible. You managed to straighten up before entering the store, where a kind woman immediately greeted Morrigan by name, and the scent of lavender filled your nostrils.

Your escort broke away from you to chat about the occasion she needed an outfit for, expressing her excitement about the birthday, while you and Mayhem wandered slowly through the store together.

You quickly let Mayhem take the lead, walking ahead of you and browsing options on your behalf, given your clear lack of enthusiasm and ideas after the first two rows of hangers. You rejected skirts of any length—not because you didn’t like them, but because riding a dragon in them often led to painful scrapes on your legs. And since you never knew when you’d be flying Balerion, you avoided them whenever possible.

Instead, you picked out a loose-fitting pair of pants. While they wouldn’t be ideal for riding due to the excess fabric, they would suffice in an emergency. You left Mayhem to decide on the color and wandered toward the shirts, where Morrigan was supposed to be—though you couldn’t see her among the hanging clothes.

Taking advantage of the illusion of privacy, you asked a question.

“Morrigan, will you give the birthday boy a card along with your gift?” You spoke into the air, waiting patiently for an answer as you admired the shirts, t-shirts, and tops around you. But when no immediate response came, you suddenly felt the need to justify your question. “I know he can’t read—it’s only his first birthday. But Fey enjoys keeping memories.”

“First of all, I’m giving him too many presents to include a card with each one.” You jumped in place when her voice sounded much closer than expected. “Second, call me Mor. And third—” Morrigan rounded the corner of the same row of hangers you were hiding behind, looking at you in amusement. “Fey?”

You felt like a deer caught in headlights. Or rather, like Balerion when you caught him stealing cattle.

Mor, carrying several red and purple dresses in her arms, walked toward you with a friendly smile. Mayhem, as silent as your anxiety, appeared at your side, making you glance over as she placed three pairs of pants in your arms, giving you a knowing look.

Are you okay? her eyes asked as she carefully arranged the clothes in your arms, hangers included. You nodded quickly while she adjusted the garments on your elbow.

“Yes, it’s—” You swallowed, realizing your mouth was dry, then turned to Mor. “It’s what I called her when we were kids. Pronouncing ‘Feyre’ was too much for me back then—my country accent kept me from being understood.”

Mayhem settled next to you, browsing through the pants among the shirts. You mimicked her, and Morrigan wasted no time joining in, glancing at the pants in your arms before helping with the search.

“You had an accent?” Mor asked casually. “Sometimes I swear I hear something in Feyre’s tone, but not enough to place it. Is that it? Did she have one?” She then lifted the sleeve of a nearby shirt, holding it against the fabric of one of the pants to check the match, only to let it go with a frown.

“No, actually, in all the years I knew her, she never quite managed to shake off her posh, aristocratic accent. She sounds pretty normal now—I guess time has won in that regard,” you explained, recalling little Feyre elegantly asking how to set up a rabbit trap in the woods. Even now, the memory was amusing. Morrigan must have agreed because she let out a genuine laugh.

“And your accent? What happened to it?” Mor asked, looking up from the shirts to meet your gaze. This time, you didn’t avoid her eyes or her question. Instead, you met her gaze and answered.

“Courtesans with accents aren’t well regarded unless they sound ‘exotic,’ and I didn’t fall into that category by any standard. So, I was trained until I lost it,” you explained simply, turning toward another rack of more casual tops. Mayhem mirrored you without thinking, even though none of the clothes in front of her now matched the outfit she had been planning with the pants.

As you browsed side by side, Mayhem silently took your hand, squeezing your fingers. You looked at her. She smiled sadly—a quiet comfort, an “I understand you”. Because even though Mayhem had never been trained as a courtesan, when she was raised to be a hired assassin for a slave master in the bay, they had done the same thing to her as they had to you. They trained her to forget who she was and become what was expected of her.

“What was she like?” Morrigan asked. You had almost forgotten she was standing next to you, but you turned to her, murmuring in confusion.

“Feyre, when you were children. What was she like?”

You thought for a moment. You could have said more if you had started, though at the end of the day, it wouldn’t have changed the fact that you genuinely believed the answer you ended up giving her.

“Not much different from now,” you pointed out softly, to which Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “But smaller, of course, and with an insatiable need to learn.”

“And with an elegant accent?” Morrigan smiled mischievously.

“Yes, my lady.” The phrase, mimicking the elegant, exaggerated tone Feyre used to have as a child, made Morrigan burst into laughter.

“She sounded like that?!?” she asked between giggles.

“Don’t tell her I told you—she always said it was my imagination. But I swear to anyone that she sounded exactly like that,” you told her, while May, noticing that you were calmer, returned to searching for shirts to match the pants.

“I’ll take it to the grave,” Morrigan assured, her eyes glinting with honesty and amusement, a look that went unnoticed by you. “Come on, you need some good boots for those pants.”

With that, Morrigan led you toward the stairs of the store, May hurrying behind both of you, shirts in hand, as you headed up to the second floor where the shoes were.

To Mayhem's bewilderment, Morrigan made sure to give—and impose—her opinions on the outfit the black-haired girl was putting together for you, quickly realizing that you had little drive or interest in making choices yourself, trusting their judgment without much thought. As the day went on, you got the impression that the blonde had started to genuinely enjoy debating Mayhem’s choices, gradually drawing her into longer discussions, getting her to argue more and more as the hours passed.

You picked out the pants from the first store, but May wasn’t convinced by anything else there, so the three of you scoured nearly every shop in Velaris to piece together your outfit. Jewelry became the biggest battleground between Morrigan’s yin and Mayhem’s yang, reaching its peak when May delivered a twelve-word speech to Morrigan about why silver jewelry suited you better than gold. Morrigan’s defeat did nothing to deter her��if anything, she seemed to enjoy it. When you finally walked out with the silver jewelry May had carefully selected, your two shopping companions each latched onto one of your arms, and off you went.

“I’ll pick you up at the House. And don’t even think about putting those pants on that beast’s saddle.” That was the last thing she said before leaving you in the living room of the House of Wind—then she disappeared without another word.

You wished you had put on a riding suit. Leather would have made you feel safer than the soft, airy fabric of the fancy pants you had bought. You regretted the logic that had led you to avoid Mayhem accompanying you—and the fact that it had worked.

“If I’m going to be killed at the birthday party, there’s nothing you can do. It’s a gathering of the most powerful beings on this continent—and all the continents—so it probably won’t make any difference whether you’re here or not.”

You were right. Mayhem knew that. But once you arrived, you realized that her silent support would have been invaluable. Mor had dragged you into the house happily, as if there was nothing wrong with your presence. Yet you could feel the guests’ wary gazes, and soon after, she left you alone—standing at the entrance to the living room with your gift in hand—while she excitedly went to greet the other guests. There was no way to feel balanced, but at least now you knew that it wasn’t just your side that was the problem.

Someone called your name, and before you knew it, Elain Archeron was in front of you, wrapping you in a hug.

“Hi,” you greeted her tentatively, trying to hug her back without dropping the gift in your hands. The gift was a small, handmade wooden chest carved with stars and the moon, barely bigger than your hand, wrapped with a perfect bow—one that Luka had managed to tie despite having one less finger than usual. He had been very proud of it.

“Hello,” Elain replied, pulling away and looking at you with emotion in her eyes. “How are you?”

A glimpse of the human life she once had—that’s what this was, you thought. It was no secret in your court how unhappy the middle Archeron was about her life as a High Fae, and how she openly longed to be human again. Elain was not comfortable in her own skin. You could understand that, and you smiled back at her because of it.

“Well, it was refreshing to have a change of scenery after so much time in the desert,” you commented softly, watching as she looked at you intently before hooking her arm around yours and gently pulling you toward an armchair in the empty living room.

“I’ve seen the dragons in the sky since you arrived,” she explained, smiling as they sat down peacefully. “They seem to enjoy the mountains, and the blue one always seems to stay near the flowers.”

“Yeah, they’re not used to seeing so many colors,” you explained, carefully placing the gift on your lap and making sure the bow didn’t shift from its perfect position.

“Balerion is the oldest, right? He’s quite large compared to the others,” she commented softly, her curiosity genuine.

“Of those who accompanied me here, yes, he’s the oldest. He was born in the volcanoes, but he’s the second-born of all the dragons—they have an older sister and a younger one,” you explained calmly. Elain listened attentively, and you didn’t mind. You loved talking about your dragons. “The other two that came with me are Caraxes and Dreamfyre. They hatched in the desert.”

“You need to stop pestering the poor woman with questions,” Nesta’s voice cut in as she sat sideways at the head of the chair. “She’s been obsessed ever since you flew over the city when you arrived, and she won’t stop asking me questions,” she added, taking a sip of her fruit juice.

“And you have no answers, Nesta,” Elain complained, turning her gaze back to you. “The blue one of the two—the middle one. What is its name? I always see it flying over the flower meadows outside the city.”

“Her name is Dreamfyre. The flowers in the desert—the few that grow—don’t have much of a scent, so the flowers here fascinate her. That’s why she’s always camping out in the meadows,” you explained. Elain seemed ecstatic, her eyes lighting up at the information, but before she could say anything else, another voice interrupted the conversation.

“Elain, I told you not to pester her with questions as soon as she got here,” Feyre scolded, sounding somewhat embarrassed as she approached you at a quick pace. She was wearing a dress. “Sorry, she’s been obsessed with them ever since you arrived.”

“That’s what Nesta told me. But don’t worry, it’s nice to talk about them out of curiosity,” you commented, smiling softly at Elain.

It’s nice to talk about them as if they were nothing more than weapons to be used in war, you wanted to say, but that would be saying too much.

Elain, seeing that her questions didn’t bother you, prepared to ask another, but Feyre’s hand suddenly appeared in both of your fields of vision, drawing your attention away from your curiosity. Standing in front of you, dressed in the style of her court, her hair half-up and decorated with pearl stars in a style very similar to Nesta’s—though with more hair cascading down her back—Feyre offered you her hand, a gleam in her eyes.

“Come,” she said, gently taking your hand and pulling you toward her. “I want to introduce you to someone.”

Feyre lifted you off the couch and led you down a hallway that stretched deeper into the house. The sounds of the party faded as the steady tug of her hand guided you through the house, and you nervously held your gift to your chest the entire way.

The silence of the house was suffocating as you moved forward, and you became hyper aware of the way she wouldn’t let go of your hand. In a sudden turn that took you by surprise, Feyre took the opportunity to intertwine your fingers more firmly, and you didn’t know what disturbed you more—the touch of another human being, something you had grown sensitive to since leaving the volcano, or the fact that it was her hand holding yours. The one who hid so many secrets from you that simply being in her presence made you feel tainted. You felt disrespectful.

You two climbed the stairs and then turned the final corner of the path, at which point you saw Cassian and Azriel, both casually standing on either side of a particular door. Guarding. That’s when you realized, with the same feeling as someone who had just received a punch to the stomach, who you were about to be introduced to. You quickly adjusted the gift in your hand, praying that the bow hadn’t shifted from its place when you pressed it against your chest, and Cassian waved at you as you walked past him, entering the room.

There was a huge stained glass window that offered a beautiful view of the mountains and the meadow of flowers Elain had mentioned earlier. From there, you could see your three dragons in the distance. Standing in front of the stained glass and looking at them was Rhysand, with little Nyx sitting on his hip, pointing and babbling. You stood in your spot, watching the child interact with his father, squeezing Feyre’s hand, torn between your own decision.

You looked at her, as if ready to lend a helping hand if she was sure of what she was going to do. After almost a decade of not seeing each other, you wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t feel comfortable introducing her son. But she was looking at you with an excited smile, genuinely happy that you were there about to do what you were going to do, and guilt closed your throat as you let her happily lead you over to where Rhysand was holding the child by the window. He turned to greet you as soon as he heard your footsteps, though you had no doubt he had known you were there long before. He smiled softly every time your gaze met as you approached. He didn’t look uncomfortable either; in fact, he seemed the calmest of the three because Feyre was vibrating with excitement and you were almost frozen with fear. If he felt uneasy about the situation, he didn’t show it for a second. When he greeted you by name as you reached his side, you managed to sense that the arrangement held back a little too strongly.

The bow, you scolded yourself as you breathed, looking at him and checking the state of the bow.

Nyx noticed his mom standing next to him and reached out to her as he babbled, and Feyre closed the distance between them, happily receiving him and resting him on her hip. She whispered your name excitedly as she looked at the chubby boy in her arms, then raised her head to smile.

“This is Nyx,” she proudly introduced, then pointed at you softly, drawing the boy’s attention in your direction. “Nyx, this is y/n.”

The pride in her voice and the smile on her face as she approached you with the child in her arms were undeniable, and it was also the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. At that moment, you panicked; you didn’t show it, but you looked at Rhysand, trying to convey: This is the moment where you get protective of your child or something and end this encounter. But the idiot was staring at his wife and child, mesmerized.

“Say hello, Nyx,” Feyre asked sweetly, moving closer to you and leaving you no choice but to accept the situation. Ever since you had met Rhysand, you had tried not to think too much around him because of the information you had received about his abilities, but now you could only think about wanting to know what he was thinking. It had been planned that something very different would happen, and you had even been advised not to bring the gift for Nyx because it could be taken the wrong way. Yet Rhysand didn’t seem to be reacting to the situation, which made you more anxious than anything. Meanwhile, little Nyx, with his chubby hand, made a greeting motion towards you along with a little sound that you assumed was the closest he could get to saying hello.

“Hello,” you greeted back, shifting uncomfortably, not knowing what to do. “Umm, I brought you a gift; it’s some toys.”

“I’m sure you can’t get enough of those. Right, my love?” Feyre ran her hand through the boy’s curly black hair, giving you a moment to admire him more closely.

You noticed two things. The boy’s wings weren’t in sight, which meant they were either hidden or he had already developed the ability to hide them. He was the spitting image of his mother. Yes, he had his father’s hair, skin, and reportedly wings, but it was Feyre’s eyes, color, and shape, as well as his nose and the shape of his lips.

“He looks just like you,” you pointed out, reaching up to run a finger over the freckles on the boy’s nose, just as you used to do with Feyre. The little boy looked at you, his eyes wide with surprise and curiosity.

“Really?” Feyre asked, her eyes alight with excitement.

“Yes. It’s a mini you, Fey.” You assured her without looking at her. Feyre didn’t say anything else, but you could feel her beaming with happiness; her enthusiasm was almost contagious, to the point that you smiled softly at the child who was watching you intently. Nyx reached out his hand towards you, pointing and looking at his mother, asking a silent question, to which Feyre repeated your name. The baby babbled and looked at you, as if waiting for you to answer.

Rhysand decided to make a move at that moment. He stood next to Feyre and met your gaze before the questions began.

“May I?” he said, pointing to the wooden trunk you still held in your hand. You handed it to him without much thought, your hands feeling the loss of something to hold onto. You missed your gloves and regretted not putting on any rings.

Rhysand pulled at one of the strips of the undone bow, all under your watchful eye. Feyre peeked out a little to see as he removed the small latch from the trunk and lifted the lid, revealing your gift. Inside the trunk, resting on a padded base, were three toy dragons, carved in intricate detail from wood and with polished black stone eyes.

“They’re very popular in the bay. I chose these because I thought that since Nyx would probably be able to see them through the window, bringing him the same ones he would see would be more appealing than a regular dragon. Maybe he would enjoy them more. The kids in the bay even collect them, so...” you explained hurriedly as you watched Rhysand pull out the one that was Balerion and stare at it.

“They’re beautiful,” Feyre whispered breathlessly, pulling mini Caraxes out of the box and looking at the carved wood intently.

Rhysand and Feyre seemed fine with the gifts; they hadn’t moved the boy’s toys away, so you assumed they considered them safe. But the opinion that mattered to you was Nyx’s. So you found yourself staring at little Nyx expectantly, hoping he would like your gift.

You weren't lying when you said they were popular in the bay. Of your adult dragons, who constantly flew over the bay and its cities, all of them had been immortalized as wooden toys in countless numbers by this point, for children to play with and enjoy. It was rare to see a child on the street who wasn't walking with a wooden dragon in hand or one within quick reach, either in the hand of one of their companions or hidden in a pocket or bag.

Sure, there were more expensive gold or silver versions sold to high-born children, but those were the ones you saw on the streets all the time, and they were the ones you enjoyed the most. You thought wood was the most worthy material to immortalize your dragons in; there was something about it that felt more alive than any metal. You had your own collection, as apprentice carpenters who learned to make them would give you the ones that failed to meet their standards so you could see if a dragon that looked like that would ever be born.

You had bought those three from an old carpenter who refused to die and continued to work on his craft with passion. He had been recommended to you on the streets, and he had ordered all three personally. The man hadn't made toys in years, according to his words, but he had made them for free despite your complaints and had exceeded the expectations you had for his work.

Nyx set her gaze on the dragon in Feyre's hand, looking at it for a second before glancing at the one Rhysand held. She reached out her hand towards the mini Balerion with eagerness, almost breaking out of her mother's arms to reach it.

“Looks like there’s already a favorite,” Rhysand laughed, letting Nyx reach for the toy in his hand. When she did, Nyx held the dragon in both hands, looking at it as she babbled excitedly. She shifted in place to face you and held out her hand with the dragon, babbling something in a questioning tone.

“Balerion,” you said, and it was immediately met with a determined babble.

“Bababa,” the boy said, looking closely at the toy, then immediately glancing at the dragon that Feyre still held in her other hand. He let go of Balerion without thinking and grabbed the other dragon. Rhysand managed to catch the toy before it fell. Again, he offered the toy to you with a mumbled question, grabbing it by the neck roughly, which you found funny. The long neck of Caraxes’ lizard was very different from the rest of your dragons; you called it Wyrm because of that.

“Caraxes,” you said, playing with your fingers and waiting patiently.

“Carrare,” Nyx repeated, stretching out the "r" so that it spit a little onto Feyre’s sweater. Rhysand offered him the third toy before he could ask for anything, pulling mini Caraxes from her hand to break his fall. The process repeated itself: Nyx offered the dragon to you, and you stammered in question.

“Dreamfyre,” and this time Nyx couldn’t even stammer a syllable; her attempt at pronunciation only got her tongue tied, ending with her tongue sticking out. “Two out of three is very good,” you assured him when he looked at you for approval, smiling sweetly at him. He mimicked the smile before turning around and searching for the missing toys in his hands.

Nyx babbled over to her mother, showing her the toys, and Feyre's attention shifted to the boy, her eyes shining as she looked at the toys and accepted the explanation of their names. It was lovely to see her interact with her son like this, but you soon realized that it left you and Rhysand in an awkward silence, or at least an awkward one for you.

When you glanced at him, checking to see if he was distracted by the sight of his wife as he had been a while ago, you found him staring at you with an expression you couldn't understand. You felt the heat of embarrassment build up in your neck.

“I’m glad he likes them,” you managed to say, looking at him with the softest smile possible. “Even if he stops playing with them, he can use them for decoration; I use them for that.”

“Do you have any of these?” Rhysand asked, his tone amused. Embarrassment crept up your neck and onto your face.

“Yes, I get them as gifts from time to time, and I put them on my mantelpiece,” you answered quickly, turning your full attention back to Feyre.

“I hear he has a taste for carved wood,” Rhysand subtly noted, directing the question at you but feigning indifference to your reaction.

You pressed your lips together in a tight smile and nodded softly, unable to stop yourself from telling him to fuck off if you spoke. The table—that was what he was referring to when he mentioned your taste for carved wood. When he had ordered the piece of furniture, you hadn’t thought that its acquisition would mean much, but once it was installed in the War Room of your mansion on the bay, word had spread that the new queen of Slaver’s Bay had acquired a table carved from wood and inlaid with stone, outlining in detail the shape of the great continent, with the lands and kingdoms of mortals carved into it, and the borders detailed. A huge wooden map, the map of a conqueror.

Everyone knew what that table was for; the cards declaring you queen had been an action long overdue on the continent, and that beautiful piece of art carved in wood was the reason.

“They are beautiful,” Feyre spoke to you, easing the tension out of your shoulders with just those words. “Thank you.”

You nodded with a softer smile this time.

The party officially started when they walked in with the birthday boy. Little Nyx happily passed from arm to arm for the first few minutes after his arrival, receiving hugs and kisses from practically everyone. You became a silent presence during this process, accompanied by a drink and the occasional snack that would allow you to eat because you were hungry, but you wouldn't be able to devour the food as your body demanded because there were so many people.

When people began to clear out around you, you felt like a child, sensing the gaze on your back—how you knew when one of the younger dragons thought to try and attack to see what would happen, or when you were within sight of the wolves in the woods in your youth. The eyes followed you as you walked to the drinks table and helped yourself again to the fruit juice you had been drinking.

The eyes fixed on your back followed you to the open doors in the courtyard, where you leaned on the railing that limited the unevenness of the floor, entering the building and the garden that you suspected was Elain's area. You felt her gaze as if she were looking at a bright red target on your back as she approached you with a calm step, as if she weren't stalking you or didn't care to be obvious in her pursuit.

When Amren stood beside you, the most primal part of you—the one that was more beast than person and as connected to Balerion as if they were one—wanted to growl in threat, and you were sure Balerion was doing it in the mountains, leaving room for you as the threatening sound bounced off his chest and tongue.

“Enjoying the food?” she asked with little kindness or dissimulation of her skepticism towards your presence. “I imagine you have a particular appetite since you brought your beasts to life.”

We are not talking about food. Of course not.

“My appetite is particular, but I only eat what I need,” you assured her absentmindedly.

“And if you are not satisfied, kovesh*? Where will you look to satisfy your appetite?” The question was cruel, accusatory towards you. And you smiled calmly at her because you knew what she was implying with the question.

Once you conquer mortal lands, how do you know you would not want more and look to us, conqueror?

Amren was not out of place. That was why her words did not affect you as much as they should have; you had expected these questions at one time or another. Dragons, as beloved as they were to you, were in the eyes of many like a strong brute, one that few defenses could stop or harm. You had conquered the bay in less than a year with them; you had already proven that you were capable of carrying out the actions necessary to take lands with only dragon fire as a weapon. And when you commissioned the carved table, you made it clear that the conquest of the bay and the liberation of the slaves had not been enough for you. It has not sated your appetite. You had already made the first move to conquer the rest of the continent owned by mortals. You offered peace before unleashing war again, but the statement was firm: you would not back down if the queen did not bend the knee. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, only your appetite for conquest and power moved you to seek to conquer those lands. You knew the truth; you knew what you had seen in the lava and what you wanted to avoid, but you didn't need anyone else to do it.

You sat up straighter and took a step closer to her, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Amren stood up straighter, as if ready to fight, but you just stared at the way her hair fell perfectly, framing her sharp jaw and slanted eyes; it was wonderful. Her eyes looked up at you, irritated by your boldness, no doubt. You weren’t sure if you were more irritated because, at this close distance, the height difference between you and her was apparent, even without her heels, or because you reached up and moved a strand of hair from her cheek delicately, leaning carelessly on one elbow on the railing beside you, daring not to fear the infamous second of the Night Court.

“On that side of the sea, dear and stunning Amren, it is not my appetite that is a problem.” You watched her as she blurted out the statement, her tone sweet, finding it adorable how beings like her could not see past their necks and did not understand the truth of life.

It was not you or your dragons. It was their kind, sworn to the gods with the lives of mortals even when the wall had been up for years and were now free to do as they pleased. It was them, not you, who planned to invade and sent their beasts to test the waters on the other side of the unprotected border the wall had left behind.

A name called out to you from inside the house. You turned your head to find Elain walking hurriedly toward you, followed by a man with stubby skin, hair that was more white than blonde, and a face that looked less than happy. Elain quickly hugged your elbow when she reached you, repeating your name with somewhat forced excitement.

“This is Varian,” she pointed to the grumpy male who came to Amren’s side and hugged her around the waist, looking you up and down skeptically. “You’ve been introduced to him; he’s Amren’s boyfriend.”

Elain stared at you, wanting to say something, but you weren’t sure what it was. You looked at Varian and Amren, searching for a clue as to what it was, but Amren had leaned against Varian, looking at you as you supposed she was looking at the people, and Varian was still frowning. You knew who he was and his relationship with her, but you didn’t think it was a state secret, so it wasn’t that big of a surprise or something that serious.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, not sure what else to say, moving your glass of juice in his direction. You're still confused as Elain pulled you into the house. 

“Have you seen Feyre’s paintings? Let me show them!” the girl said hurriedly as you let her lead you.

Elain led you down the hallway of the house, away from the central area. It was long and ended in double glass doors that led to the patio, making it perfectly lit for the paintings hanging on both sides. There were no doors or hallways that branched off from this hallway, only walls displaying Feyre's paintings.

At the beginning was the most recent one. A painting of Rhysand, Fey, and little Nyx when he must have been a newborn was the first one that caught your attention. It was proof of how the talent that had painted wooden drawers, tables, and small wooden figures had evolved wonderfully until it became that divinely illuminated image, with colors brightened by the rays of sunlight that flooded the hallway.

“Wow.”

“I know, right? It gets better every day. Soon we’ll be trying to walk inside its paintings in search of experiencing their beauty,” Elain spoke softly, as if she had lost her breath. You watched her smile at the painting with pride before she pulled you toward the next one.

There was one of the three sisters, along with Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel, and one of Nyx alone. You were surprised by the one of Mr. Archeron, but you didn’t wince. There were also remnants of all of them individually, and one that depicted them as a whole. A family. At the end of the hallway was a painting leaning against the wall, as if waiting to meet its fate; the nail it should have hung on highlighted the empty spot where it had been or should be hanging.

“Oh, I should get back—”

“Elain, do you mind changing Nyx’s diaper for me?” Feyre’s voice rang out in the hallway. You looked at Elain, confused, not understanding why she wanted to go back, but she just gave you a sad smile before meeting up with Feyre in the hallway and taking the child from her arms.

Nyx didn’t need a diaper change; you could smell it quickly—it was an excuse for Elain to leave. Looking back at you from the hallway, at the place where the painting leaned silently against the wall, that was when Elain realized she wanted to get you out of there.

Feyre slowly approached you as you walked carefully down the hall, moving toward the painting leaning against the wall as if it were an explosive of some sort. Feyre didn't stop you, which you assumed was a sign that she didn’t want to keep it from you but rather wanted to be there when you saw it.

As you stood in front of the painting, you noticed that a corner of the cloth covering it was falling away, revealing the right edge of the canvas. Your breath caught. You recognized the snowy forest you and Feyre had walked through so many times, and the dark, curly hair, just like your mother's, peeking out from beneath the cloth. Feyre reached under your arm and hugged you, holding your hand and interlacing your fingers.

“I made it a few months ago, before you sent the letters,” which was before she knew you were alive. Feyre had painted it thinking you were dead. “When I found out, I repainted it. I wanted to give it to her, but when we sent Mor to the bay with the letter, I thought it would be too much for you. I don’t know the exact circumstances, so I didn’t know how you would take it on top of everything.”

Feyre spoke to you in a whisper, so only you could hear her, but you weren’t able to look at her or answer her, or even return her handshake. You felt her gaze on your profile, full of concern, as if it pulsed out of her to you.

“I hope I didn’t overstep,” she admitted, just like you had a few days ago regarding the gift for Nyx.

But you weren't able to reassure her the same way she had done with you, because she had crossed a line—one you had blocked years ago when you decided to fight for your freedom in the volcanoes, ignoring the emptiness that weighed down and bled in your heart.

You ripped the canvas off the top of the painting's frame with one pull, like tearing off a band-aid while holding your breath, and you couldn't breathe again when you looked at the painting in front of you.

The scene depicted a winter afternoon, with the forest covered in white. Rue, dressed in her clothes to accompany you on hunts when you deemed it safe for her, was half-turned, facing forward, as if watching you as she walked in front of you in the snow. Her hair, a massive, curly mass just like your mother’s, was tied into a makeshift braid. You had never been able to style it the way your mother knew how, so it was loose and low, with many strands flying in the wind around her face as she stood halfway into the forest, looking at you as if you had called out to her not to go ahead on the walk.

You stood there, frozen, feeling the pain in your throat as the lump that had formed there became unbearable, and the burning in your eyes as you refused to cry, despite your body begging for it. You stared at the painting for a long moment while Feyre looked at you, still feeling her concern against your cheek.

Finally, you set your jaw and stared at the floor, blinking rapidly. Feyre rested her hand on your cheek, her thumb caressing your hand, and you were able to squeeze back, turning your knuckles white, but she didn’t complain.

“She looks like she’s saying goodbye,” she finally said, looking back at the painting, and Feyre looked at it too, admiring for the first time the depth of her own act. “Since she left, I haven’t been able to remember her any other way. But I like the ability to remember her this way.”

You didn’t explain to her that the way you remembered her was covered in blood, terrified, and with the feeling of helplessness tearing through your chest. There was no reason to put that on her, but you wanted her to know that the line she had crossed was significant. You might now think that she had left you like that—smiling, with her hair free in the wind, in the middle of the snow that she loved to play in so much and that she missed during her years on the pirate islands. You could imagine that those were her last moments, going into the forest you had accustomed her to so much, where she felt safe, never to return again, becoming part of the nature and the snow of the place.

“Thank you,” you managed to say over the tightness in your throat.

Feyre smiled softly. You felt her warmth as she rested her head on your shoulder, and you stayed like that for a while before going back to the celebration.

You left the painting leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door in your room so that you could see it from your place, sitting in the middle of the bed. You couldn't sleep and had resigned yourself to waking up and asking for some tea.

You didn't notice Mayhem in the room until she was sitting next to you on the bed, the hot cup of tea in her hands. It was only then that you realized she had even come in. You silently thanked her and took the cup from her hands, but she didn't move. She just sat there, and you looked at the cup, your hands, and the painting, constantly shifting your focus among them, but never looking back at her.

A silent understanding formed between the two of you, and Mayhem stayed with you as you drank all your tea. It worked; whether it was the tea or her reassuring presence, when you finished your cup, your eyes closed, and you fell asleep as soon as you laid your head on the pillow.

You dreamed of Rue. You always dreamed of her being scared in her final moments, but that night, for the first time since you lost her, you dreamed of her happiness. You saw her answering you in the forest, playing with the snow. You woke up with the certainty that she had stayed there, happily making snowmen, and also knowing that Feyre knew what she would do here, happy for the rest of the eternity that the Mother had granted her for her sacrifices.

It was time for you to go to your war; the illusions ended here.

*kovesh: It means conqueror in Hebrew, which is the language I have decided to use as a representation of the first language of mortals, without any particular reason other than I do not have the mind to invent a language for this story. All words in this language will be translated by me as best as possible, but if anyone knows the language that I do and sees any flaws in my translations in the future feel free to point it out in the comments.

Next Part: ...

TAG LIST: @pinksmellslikelove @saltedcoffeescotch @raisam @asweetblueberry2 @kabekusa @throneofsapphics @makayla2036789 @jojodojo02 @kooterz @rcarbo1

[ladyazurith]

I was wondering if you planned to do an analysis of what happened in Trey's dream? I enjoyed the one you wrote about Cater's and the analysis you did on Cater over all. The part about Trey and Cater being more like coworkers than friends, wasn't something I had thought about before, but it does seem to hold true. I know a lot of people were hoping for some emotional scene between Cater and Trey. Ace seemed to have stole the show on that one. But I did get the coworker vibe in Trey's dream. He was far more focused on Riddle and Che'nya who I would see as his 'real' friends and Cater was more of a footnote.

I wanted to hear your take on it if I could? If not I understand. You seem far more focused on Cater than the other characters.

I hadn't intended to do a thorough analysis of Trey's dream. (Honestly, i didn't think my one on Cater's was that thorough) But I do agree the 'coworker' vibes continued in Trey's dream. To tell the truth, I'm more interested in what we saw happen between Ace and Cater than I am in anything to do with Trey's dream. BUT since you asked I'll note a few things that I picked out.

First, the big thing is that Trey wasn't picked by Riddle to be his dorm leader, he got the position by vote. Honestly, I always assumed like I'm sure most of the fandom did that he was tasked with it by Riddle because of their history. And it does seem he got the role because of his connection to Riddle but only because of how much he vouched for him. Came across to me like he was basically Riddle's hype man when he took over as Dorm Leader.

Riddle and Trey's relationship is complicated, and I'm actually kind of cooking up a write up on a theory that has to do with Riddle, Trey and Cater's dynamic, and this only fed into it. A summary though is that I think Riddle favors Cater (he has gone out of his way to make accommodations for Cater, when he's overly strict with most everything else) because Cater isn't someone his mother disapproved of and furthermore since he doesn't eat sweets, he'd never have gotten in trouble with the tart incident if he'd been with Cater instead.

Trey on the other hand wants Riddle's approval, he still carries a lot of his own Trauma for what happened when they were children and the disapproval of Riddle's mother (Remember, Riddle thinks his mother is right about everything, so this has to exist in some fashion in his mind) and seems to almost be testing Trey at times (though he still views him as a close friend, and cares a lot about him).

In turn, I think Trey is resentful of this favoritism, and his poor treatment of Cater in certain situations is born out of this. With the way he dismissed Cater's objections sending him off to paint the roses during the sorting ceremony while he "dealt" with Riddle. Remember there is a LOT OF work Cater puts in around the dorm to cover for his dormmate's mistakes, which Riddle *never* knew about. With Cater not really realizing Riddle might actually favor him.

Anyway, that's a whole thing in and of itself. It would be a very long post with screenshots of interactions, backing up the theory.

Secondly, is that Trey really is just *weird*, he tries so hard to appear normal but ugh, those *things* that made up the rest of Heartslabyul were just out there. But he also has an unhealthy relationship with food. Something we already knew was true for Riddle, Cater, Vil, and Azul. He views it as a source of care and comfort, regardless of its effects on the person consuming it. This is something else that I think is a more complex issue, I can't cover too much here.

But those are my major thoughts on what we got out of Trey's dream. I hope you enjoy :)

[fwol-jintu]

Concept of transformers in svsss would be so funny

Like imagine shen yuan getting dragged into pidw but instead his system's like "aight, heres your stuff"

As in like, maybe his tablet or something?

But instead that dumbass does not give his tablet and instead gives him

*inhales*

[Ultimate Skill: Foreign Call]

[Due to your title, "Misplaced", you are now able to weaponize your surroundings.]

[Number of slots: 3]

"System, what the actual fuck."

And then like moments later he finds it incredibly cool.

Also its an evil system, not in the sense that its mean to shen yuan but in the sense that it wants pidw to go downhill and fast

And whats the easiest way to do that? Bring in pidw's biggest hater and give him the ability to make metal monsters cuz hell yeah

But then it backfires cuz sy is more interested in the fauna and flora rather than uhhhh killing the world

System: arent you suppose to be pidw's biggest hater?

Sy: but like, look, magical boar :D

System:

System: you know what, yeah sure.

anywayssss

__________________________

Shen Yuan tipped his hat down, trying to find an exit out this forest.

He could just tell Celadon to transform and fight, but- well. Trees. He is NOT going to be a deforester and potentially kill a lot endangered beasts, thanks!

「"Operator, they're locking in on us!"」 Celadon informed with much worry in his rough mechanical voice as he carried Shen Yuan out of there.

At the news, Shen Yuan snapped his head back to look and- holy fuck holy fuck why are those damn people still chasing after them?!

"Celadon what the fuck did you do for them to chase you like this?!!!"

He cursed loudly, panicking and trying to get them out of this situation. For context, they were being chased down by cultivators.

「"How would i know?! I was just trying to get a snack..!"」 Celadon weaved through the forest, movements swift and agile as he swung from tree to tree.

"Mistake number one! Don't try to buy food when you look like a damn demon, you punk~!"

[ The system thinks you both are stupid ]

They were in for a damn long of a run.

________________________

sy: bro wtf did u do!!!!

C: i just wanted to buy food????

System: bruhh.... these fuckin' idiots...

Also, Celadon is a giant mechanical spider cuz... yeah.

And! For shen yuan! A very badass-

Short hair

Martial artist lookin ahh clothes, aka pants instead of flowy gown cuz yes

backstory where he's an exile cuz his hometown prophecized that he'd bring ruin to the world (cant argue with that considering what system's goal is)

And uh yeah

yay!!

Celadon, drinking alchohol: yeaahahahaha! That hits the spot!

Sy:

Sy: can robots get drunk, or even taste?

Celadon:

Celadon: nah, not really, im just drinking for the sake of it lol (Downs another cup)

sy, blinking, and then raging: you punk~!!! You're just wasting my money at this point!! (Cries in a corner)

system: this is peak entertainment

Also no i dont know much about transformers, i just think theyre cool asf

[nwseems]

One of the reasons I love Nagito's character is because he is THE key to understand danganronpa's lore to a big extent. Creating such an op character in a sequel that can explain a lot of what happens in retrospect is amazing on its own. We are told and proven time and time again, that, yes, the universe bends to nagito's luck's will. And there is no one who has greater luck than he does (up until Kamakura, but that's for another time).

While reading this analysis all I could think of is Nagito's luck being at fault for the tragedy (partially) in order to kill such a large group of people that started to care about him (as we can see in dr3).

This is absolutely my interpretation but I do strongly believe that Nagito's luck is not completely external, but rather just as much internal. As in, it acts towards Nagito's best interest according to Nagito's own belief of what would be a good outcome. In sdr2 chpt.1 he gets the best outcome he could ask for (his classmates having a stepping stone towards hope etc - the internal goal nagito wished for) while also managing to stay alive ( the external force his luck used to keep the cycle going, otherwise he'd be dead like he wished to, the luck is also trying to preserve itself).

So as his self loathing grows and he keeps expecting the worst, his luck does so too. Almost like a "wish come true", but Nagito's too scared to wish for something truly good for himself or others. It's a vicious cycle to which he gives in as a way to cope. After all, he doesn't think he has any way to control it at all so he gives in to it.

And, as a result of many intertwined events, it leads to the tragedy where all those 14 people (15 if we count Chisa) that he oh so wanted to get closer to (as we see in the ova) become the worst version of themselves. Yet they are still alive. Why you ask? For many reasons but also because that's what the external force in Nagito's luck always has done. It keeps him alive DESPITE everything. Because being alive in that situation is a far and more desperate situation than dying. It keeps the vicious cycle going. It fuels itself

And the only way to beat it may be to find someone who is just as lucky as you

on nagito komaeda and love

I just think it’s sort of funny that for a character whose (arguably) most well-recognized CG is this: 

komaeda’s narrative so heavily centers love. and I don’t just say this because I’ve had komahina brainrot for years (though this is true!!). even if you don’t care about komahina, it’s tough to deny komaeda is a walking tragedy in large part because of the role that love plays in his life. his characterization is driven by the way his luck has denied him love, and how he seeks it out regardless. in that sense, I think that without understanding komahina as at least one-sided, you miss out on one of the juiciest, most miserable pieces of komaeda’s character development.

tldr; a love-centered reading of komaeda makes sense, recognizing komahina as “a thing” in DR2 (whether you ship it or not) is pretty important to understanding how komaeda operates, and I’ll try to prove it right here under this page break!!

Part 1: Komaeda’s Love Life (or, his life without love)

I think it’s safe to assume that if you clicked here, you know about komaeda’s absurdly miserable, tumultuous childhood, but I’ll do a quick recap just in case! meteor kills his parents on a plane, he inherits a ton of money. he’s kidnapped by a serial killer, he finds a winning lottery ticket in the garbage bag he’s thrown out in. he’s diagnosed with terminal cancer and dementia, he gets into hope’s peak.

in his free time events, komaeda *explicitly* frames his luck cycle as something that takes away the people he loves. it only “takes action” against him after his relatives have died (for the sake of this essay, let’s assume that komaeda loved his parents, or would have at least been hurt by their passing). by way of other close connections… well, his wording here implies that by the time of his diagnosis, he didn’t really have anybody in his life. 

either komaeda didn’t allow himself to get close to anyone after the meteor incident, or he did, and they were taken away by his luck. at some point during his childhood, komaeda learned he should view himself as a death sentence.

so, how does this loss of love shape the komaeda we know? I’ll talk about this in terms of four of his defining (and connected!) traits in DR2 canon – the ones that really make his actions make sense: his self-loathing, his hope-seeking, his learned helplessness, and his certainty that his existence poses a threat to those around him. komaeda’s experience with loss makes him view himself as a source of death, which in turn fuels these tenets of his character. ultimately, his loss and the complexes that arise from it give him good incentive to push people away.

his self-loathing

komaeda hates himself. he views himself as worthless outside of his potential to serve as a “stepping stone” for the hope of the ultimates. he claims that this is driven by his beliefs around talent, which are in turn linked to the way his worldview rests on viewing hope as “absolute good.” the talentless (himself included) are only good for advancing the hope of the talented. still, his self-loathing is a bit more personal than that. take what he says and dig just below the surface, and it’s a clean cut trauma response all the way down. which leads us directly to…

his hope-seeking

komaeda is willing to do literally anything to serve hope. on the island, this (in short) means dying. this is where I prod at komaeda’s reasoning a bit more: komaeda’s willingness to act the way he does in canon also stems from his belief that his dying would be a net good for the world. his existence kills the people around him. his illness will kill him anyway. he has less than no value, and hope is invaluable. to go out for the sake of hope would give his wretched life purpose; it’s his dream come true.

and it’s no mystery why komaeda cares so much about hope: again, it’s a coping mechanism! komaeda’s belief that all bad luck is a necessary precursor for good luck and that hope will always triumph over despair is (as he himself says!) the only reason he’s managed to stay alive. I’ll say it again because I really can’t emphasize it enough – komaeda thinks that just by existing, he kills the people he loves. ouch!

learned helplessness / his existence as a threat

komaeda has, essentially, learned to submit to his luck cycle. all bad luck is good luck in the end – isn’t that amazing?! almost paradoxically, he’s hyper-vigilant about the negative impact his luck has on those around him. this is a tricky one. I make sense of it this way: komaeda’s perception of how much his luck impacts the people close to him isn’t inflated, like, at all. the supernatural way the world bends around komaeda to screw him over really does pose a danger to himself and others, and he takes measures to minimize that danger. his stated acceptance of his luck cycle is… well, again, he’s coping. 

if komaeda really thought that all bad luck is ultimately good luck, he wouldn’t try to protect his classmates from his bad luck. but, as we see in island mode, he does!

but really, who could blame komaeda for lying to himself? I’ll restate the facts. komaeda thinks that luck is absolute power. he says that he’s powerless against it. his luck has taken his family, and it’s left him with nothing but money that he doesn’t want. he’s certain he’s a curse, and there’s no end to that in sight: so long as komaeda exists, he’ll keep on losing – murdering – everything he loves. 

in the face of all of that despair, what can you do but abandon your self-esteem and pray for something good to come out of all of it? how else could somebody possibly survive carrying that burden, truly believing that load will never be lightened?

tldr; komaeda thinks his existence is a threat, and a big chunk of his personality is a frankensteined way of surviving the pain that comes with that. still, we should question how much of his worldview komaeda has really internalized without inner conflict. 

Part 2: Enter Hajime Hinata

we get some answers on that front when we see that despite the clear and obvious danger it poses, nagito komaeda still finds himself falling hard for hajime hinata. that’s really, really loud.

I’ll preface this part by saying that you don’t need to actively ship komahina to understand what I’m trying to get at here. this said, I’ll be recapping an argument you’ve almost definitely seen before: komahina is definitely “a thing” – at the very least as a one-sided thing. to this, I’ll add the (perhaps bold?) claim that without recognizing that much as true, you’re missing out on a big part of what makes komaeda so interesting.

komaeda’s FTEs make it abundantly clear that komaeda has feelings for hinata. apart from his famed failed love confession, the fact that komaeda is willing to allow hinata to get close enough to learn about his views on hope and luck is telling. 

(the smoking gun here hinges on trusting that komaeda was telling the truth during the time you spent with him; in so many words, that he only lied about lying. so, for the sake of argument, let’s assume this is true! there’s good proof for it, anyway.)

if you read his final FTE as komaeda flashing his soul to hinata and making a decision at the very last second to retreat, turning to old coping mechanisms to protect hinata from his luck, it’s sort of a komahina bombshell. that capitulation spells out for us that komaeda understands sharing his life experiences with hinata to be one of the most intimate things he could possibly do.

he recognizes the exact moment he lets hinata get too close – when his life story is finally told – and he does what he’s learned he needs to do to get them both out of that situation safely: he tries to make hinata hate him, and tells himself (and hinata!) that he did it for the sake of hope.

(and yet, komaeda let hinata approach him every FTE, knowing damn well that they were both playing with fire… very interesting.)

now, let’s say you don’t consider the FTEs to be integral to canon. I mean, you can really easily miss out on all of komaeda’s content if you choose not to hang out with him in chapter 1! so, for the skeptic, in the unskippable main story, komaeda tells hinata this:

komaeda cares about hinata despite everything. and I really, truly mean despite everything. at this point in the story, the fact that he still cares about hinata calls into question basically every single one of his core beliefs. he’s read his final dead room prize – not only does hinata not have a talent, we can presume that komaeda also knows hinata became ultimate despair along with the rest of them. 

hinata has continually sought out komaeda’s company, even though komaeda knows himself to be worthless at best, lethal at worst. komaeda was willing to let him get closer, even though he knows how dangerous that is for hinata. he can’t help but let hinata try to know him. 

isn’t he awful? to want what he knows he can’t have, even though that wanting has never done anything but cause pain? he’s really the lowest of the low, to love someone who destroyed the world, who makes him question the views that will allow him to do the only good thing he’s ever been able to do for it: to die for hope. 

and yet, it’s a nod to how incredibly capable of love komaeda is that he’s still willing to reach out for it, no matter how many times it’s burned him in the past, and how much it hurts him in the present to want it. he understands more than anyone that his feelings can only result in disaster. reading komaeda as someone who can’t help but go on loving anyway makes his story hurt so much worse. 

but, you miss a whole lot of that without an eye for komahina. seeing hinata as the eye of komaeda’s emotional hurricane (and keeping tabs on their connection accordingly) allows us to glimpse past the cracks in komaeda’s front. we see that komaeda’s worldview is less stable than he presents it as – hinata is where komaeda’s coping mechanisms, for better or worse, run up against a wall. that tends to be uncomfortable for a guy who’s just barely coping in the first place. then again, growth is supposed to be uncomfortable, isn’t it?

Part 3: The Future He Chooses

so, all of this considered, I think one of the most interesting ways you can flesh komaeda out post-canon is by asking how he’d find himself willing to accept love. whether that love is from hinata or the ultimates, whether it’s platonic or romantic, love is the thing that komaeda wants AND fears in equal measure more than anything. it’s the source of his self-loathing and his obsession with hope. it’s the reason he’s lived the way that he has for so long – lonely, and afraid of being anything but.

getting into a relationship wouldn’t solve komaeda’s problems for him, and that’s a good thing. it would force him to confront old ones, and probably create dozens of new issues for him, too. writing him through that makes for great character study!

hinata (or anyone else, for that matter) can’t love komaeda into loving himself, but he can give him a shoulder to cry on while he works through 22 years of fear and sorts through the wreckage of a worldview that’s long since stopped serving him. I don’t think his progress would be linear. but, I think that he could do it. komaeda learning to accept care is what his healing looks like. 

(well. and physically recovering from cancer and dementia. but that’s neither here nor there!)

a post-canon komaeda learning to love narrative is also in line with the themes of DR2. hinata leads the survivors out of the neo world program because he makes the decision to choose his own future, creating a new version of “hope” for himself and his classmates. likewise, komaeda can make the decision to save himself. that is, if he trusts himself enough to actually touch and hold the thing that he’s never been able to stop reaching out for, anyway.

after all, hinata is lucky too. (and if it turns out he isn’t… y'all like angst fics, right?)

(shoutout to @cynopter for looking this over and confirming that I'm not spouting nonsense <33 thank you for reading my thesis of the week <33)

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Forty-Four

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“Cloudpaw?”

Of course Fireheart had to wake up to that.

“Cloudpaw!” Aspenpaw’s increasingly frightened voice, pitching further up with every word. “Cloudpaw, where are you?”

Fireheart started getting to his feet before his eyes opened. Half of him wanted to keep them squeezed shut forever, as if that would help avoid this situation.

Goldenflower’s voice came now. “What’s going on, dove?”

“Cloudpaw’s not in his nest!” Aspenpaw didn’t sound like she cared if she woke up the rest of camp. “An– and I checked the dirtplace, and he’s not there!”

Fireheart fought back uttering a curse as the cats deeper into the warrior’s den started mumbling and shifting, waking up at the terrified apprentice’s cries. Before anyone else could pass him, he stepped out of the den, shaking his fur of stray dead moss. His eyes opened just as Aspenpaw skidded to a stop in front of him, her own bulging with panic.

“Did you know where Cloudpaw is?” she asked desperately.

Fireheart barely kept his tone in check when he said quietly, “I have an inkling.”

“He didn’t go after the dogs, did he?” Aspenpaw twisted around, pacing between Fireheart and Goldenflower. “Oh, stars, what if he did, an– and they found him, and—”

“They didn’t.” Fireheart felt curious eyes on him as more cats came out of their dens at the noise. “He’s fine.”

“Then where is he?!” Aspenpaw cried. Her legs splayed out as she turned to face Fireheart again, her claws sinking into the moist sand.

“Fireheart?” Whitecloud’s soft voice came up beside him. Fireheart only turned with his eyes to see the concern on the deputy’s face. “Is something wrong?”

You’ve got to tell them, his logical side said, gentle but firm. He’s pushed his luck too many times now. And you made it clear that he’d get in trouble if he ran off again. Don’t hide this anymore. Now is the time to be an adult and tell the truth.

How he hated that this side was right. With a deep inhale that came back out as a much heavier sigh than he intended, Fireheart looked properly over at Whitecloud and asked, “Is it okay if I call a meeting?”

Whitecloud blinked, his yellow eyes pale with confusion. “Is it important?”

Fireheart nodded. “It’s something I think everyone should have a voice in.”

More confusion, and a bit of disturbance, but Whitecloud flicked a paw at the stump. “Go ahead.”

By this time, the entire Clan was awake, all either leaving their dens or poking their heads out and speaking to each other. The general tone wavered with worry, not helped by Aspenpaw’s fur sticking out in all directions as she looked around desperately for her brother. Fireheart wasted no time, striding for the stump just as Yellowfang and Cinderpaw came to its base out of the remains of ferns behind it. As he passed them, Yellowfang grunted knowingly.

He stopped right below the stump, exposed roots beneath his feet. He wondered why it was only now that he hesitated to stand above his Clanmates, when he was to command their attention all on his own. He hadn’t felt this apprehension the last two times he had jumped onto it, and the most recent time was far worse than the topic he had to broach now.

“What’s he doing?” someone whispered close by.

Fireheart clenched his jaw as tight as he could, releasing some of his tension when he relaxed. He didn’t give himself any more time to hesitate—he simply bunched up and leaped, landing on the top with ease (shorter than a fence, he thought, but still harder) and turning to face his Clanmates. Most of them stared at him in bafflement, but they slowly clustered in as Whitecloud came to stand on one side of the stump.

Fireheart gathered his courage, sent a quick prayer to the Three for help, and spoke, attempting to speak as loudly and clearly as his leader and deputies always had.

“I know where Cloudpaw is,” he started. “I know where he’s been going. I wanted to handle this privately, and keep it between me and him, but he’s disobeyed too many times now, and put himself in too much danger. It’s time for me to tell you all so, hopefully, we can find a solution together.”

The cats on the ground exchanged puzzled faces, but a few of them seemed to have an idea of where this was going, judging by their narrowed eyes and turned-back ears.

With a faint flame of boldness in his chest, Fireheart continued. “He’s been sneaking off to see his birth-mother in the Houses.”

The air burst with shouts of shock and anger—even the apprentices looked outraged, Thornpaw especially. Ravenwing sat by Snowpaw, signing to him with a troubled face. Greystripe, Fireheart noticed, had an expression of something like sympathy; he was the only cat that didn’t look scandalized.

“You never told any of us about this?” Willowpelt asked sharply.

“Only Yellowfang,” Fireheart replied.

“And why didn’t you say anything, then?” Sandstorm growled at the old seer.

Yellowfang stuck her jaw out. “Would that it were my business. The boy’s the one to handle it.”

“Then he should have handled it sooner!” Darkstripe shouted. “He’s been betraying us all, letting his stupid apprentice break the law! I bet he’s been eating kittypet food and letting those humans touch him!”

Fireheart was not ruffled by this; really, he’d been expecting someone to say it. It might as well be the cat he could disregard entirely. He instead kept his attention on the rest of the Clan, who were slowly quieting down so he could speak.

“I brought him to meet her once myself, once we returned home from the Barn,” he said, and waited for another round of outrage to pass before continuing. “Since then, he’s been seeing her for the comfort of having a mother who lives in a safe place that he doesn’t have to look around in to avoid being eaten by dogs.”

Dustpelt glared up at him. “And you let—”

“I am not finished talking,” Fireheart said coolly. 

To his surprise, the last of the mutters and growls cut themselves off, everyone’s eyes back on him. He took the opportunity presented while he had it.

“I can understand his reasoning, but I don’t agree with it.” Fireheart’s ears folded back of their own accord. “I’ve told him repeatedly that he was only going to see her if I went with him—yes, I’m aware that’d be me breaking the law too, but family is family, as you all know better than anyone else.” By the uncomfortable shifting of paws and twitching of mouths, he had them pinned for that, at least. “The last time he went, I warned him that I would properly punish him if he did it again. And, well, he’s done it again. He doesn’t have any other reason to have completely disappeared this early in the night.” He looked down at Cloudpaw’s anxious sister. “When you looked for him outside, you didn’t smell any dogs nearby, did you?”

Aspenpaw shook her head, but she didn’t look any more relieved.

“He’s got a knack for getting through the territory without facing any trouble,” Fireheart said to the rest. “I could probably head to the Houses right now and bring him back.” He paused, a gnarled little root of negativity coiling around the flame of boldness. “Truthfully, though, I’m probably just going to let him come home on his own and face all of us as a Clan.” He drew in another breath, hoping for the ideal answer to his question. “So, I’m up here because I want to ask you all: what should be done to ensure he doesn’t do this again?”

“Exile, I say,” Darkstripe snapped. “He was a mistake to bring in from the beginning. He should’ve stayed a kittypet, like—”

“Oh, shut up,” Greystripe said casually, then raised his voice to be heard by everyone. “I get where Cloudpaw is coming from—I mean, he shouldn’t be doing this, but I get it. I think he should be properly punished once he gets home, just not too hard.”

“Has he been eating kittypet food?” Frostfur asked, her tone icy. Fireheart nodded and she spat. “Then maybe he could eat it for the rest of his life. We don’t need a traitor in our Clan.”

“He’s an apprentice!” Ravenwing said to her, surprisingly angry. “And a very young one at that! This is a stressful time for us adults, let alone a young cat who was made an apprentice too early and lost half of his family out here. I don’t blame him at all for wanting comfort, even when he knows he shouldn’t be doing it. He doesn’t need to be kicked out like he killed one of us.”

A lump formed in Fireheart’s throat. He swallowed it, noting that the aura radiating from Ravenwing outward cooled down the surrounding cats significantly.

“I mean…” Mousefur grimaced. “He’s definitely in trouble, but… maybe punishing him too hard would cause him to leave anyway.”

“It’s easier to run to safety than face an entire Clan,” Goldenflower agreed. She spoke to Fireheart now. “He’s just an apprentice. He still has the capacity to learn and grow. You were barely his age when you came to us.”

“He needs to stop regardless,” Halftail retorted curtly. “He’s betraying the code, no matter how old he is.”

Mutters of agreement followed this. Dustpelt and Whitecloud whispered something to each other before Whitecloud looked back up at Fireheart.

“He’s already restricted to camp when he’s alone,” he said. “And he enjoys his apprentice duties. What can you offer that will ensure he understands?”

Fireheart’s eyes unfocused as he thought. An idea he really didn’t like was forming in his head.

“He’ll already have to face all of us,” he said slowly. “It’d be as close to isolation as he could get without actually living outside. But…”

“He needs something stronger to set it in stone,” Willowpelt said, more contemplative than angry.

“He’ll have it.” Fireheart breathed in again, bracing himself for his own ruling. “He won’t be allowed to visit her again, whether or not I’m with him.”

“And if he does anyway?” Lizardtail asked.

Fireheart’s claws unconsciously dug into the stump. Even when forcing it out, his voice was soft. “Then I’ll personally ensure he stays there for the rest of his life.”

This was met with complete, stunned silence. Even Darkstripe stared at him in surprise.

Ravenwing hesitantly broke the quiet. “Are you positive you can do that?”

“More than I’d like to be,” Fireheart sighed out, grateful that the breath wasn’t as shaky as his innards were feeling. He looked down. “Whitecloud, Dustpelt, does that sound fair?”

Dustpelt blinked at the sudden attention, but recovered quickly. “It does to me.”

“That will solve the issue either way,” Whitecloud concurred. He gestured for Fireheart to move, then jumped onto the stump, standing by the young tom’s side as he spoke to the Clan. “We need to remember that Cloudpaw is very young and very misguided. Fireheart has done his best for him, and he has the chance to change, like Goldenflower said.” His eyes went to Fireheart. “But we can’t afford to have a cat with us who proves himself disloyal and selfish. If his uncle and mentor decrees it, he’ll be sent to live as a kittypet. Our task is to encourage him to stay with us, not give him more reason to run away. Speak sternly, but don’t scream and threaten. Let him know this is his home for as long as he’s loyal to it.”

The Clan gave spotted nods and murmurs of agreement. Whitecloud turned to Fireheart fully.

“We’ll wait for him to come home on his own tonight,” he said. “If he’s late by morning, you can go get him yourself. He can have this last meeting with his mother.”

“She didn’t even raise him,” someone grumbled. “Why should she be rewarded for giving him up?”

“This will be as much a loss for her as it is for him,” Whitecloud said calmly. “She will suffer the consequences of never seeing him again.” He added to Fireheart, “And you need to stay away from there, too. Let her understand how Clan society works.”

Fireheart said nothing. He simply nodded, a slithering unhappiness in his gut.

---

Cloudpaw did not come back in the morning.

Fireheart was allowed to go out and search for a bit, just to make sure there were no dead ginger-pointed apprentices sprawled out in the fading snow. He found nothing—no scent of dog, no scent of Cloudpaw, not even a piece of prey making itself known. Despite his protests, Whitecloud had him come back to camp and wait with the rest.

Cloudpaw did not return by the next evening.

Two patrols were sent out to try and find his trail, or him himself. The damp and cold smothered what little was on the way to the Houses. Fireheart led one of the patrols into the northern forest, just in case his nephew was hiding. He was not.

The morning came. Cloudpaw still wasn’t home.

Even the cats angry with the little apprentice began peering out of the camp entrance, coming back in with concerned headshakes. Another patrol, this time in the south, produced nothing of note besides the scent of dog.

Aspenpaw, by this point, hadn’t stopped shaking since she woke up, muttering about Cloudpaw’s disappearance as Goldenflower tried to soothe her. Brightpaw wasn’t much better, staring down at the ground with trembling whiskers, like she was imagining what state Cloudpaw’s body was in.

When the night finally arrived, Fireheart went to Whitecloud, very aware of all the anxious eyes on him.

“I’d like permission to search for him in the Houses,” he said. “With a patrol.”

Whitecloud simply nodded. “Take who you want.”

Fireheart only had to glance behind himself to see Greystripe and Ravenwing trotting up to him, eyes determined, if worried. “I’ll take them.”  

“You’ve got us,” Greystripe said.

Ravenwing turned to Snowpaw, who had started following him, and signed for him to stay home. Snowpaw looked downcast, but he agreeably blinked and returned to his sister’s side. Aspenpaw hurried up to Fireheart just as he was about to leave and pawed at his leg to get his attention.

“Please,” she whispered, “please bring him home.”

Fireheart met her eyes with a kind, reassuring gaze. “I’ll do my best. I know I’ll find him alive.”

Aspenpaw moved her mouth, but she said nothing in return and stepped back, watching the trio trot out of camp in silence. Fireheart could feel her eyes on him even outside in the woods.

He paused for a moment, just to look at his friends. They caught up to him, both resting their tails on his sides in silent companionship. Fireheart managed a purr, turned for the Houses, and started running.