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hellooldshame · 9 days ago

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White

Mark Grayson x Reader (Angst)

Synopsis: You always thought Mark looked good in darker clothes. You didn't like seeing him wearing white.

CW: Angst, gn!reader, reader referred to as "beautiful" one time, childhood friends to lovers, grief, coping with grief, non-graphic violence, major character death

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: I got carried away again writing this. You know this was supposed to just be mini scenarios or a drabble. Hope you enjoy despite the sad sad.

Mark Grayson was Invincible.

When he first got his powers it was a matter of testing his limits. Bullets, lasers, punches. Everything bounced off and nothing left a permanent scratch on that perfectly untarnished body. You were skeptical but relieved when a black eye healed overnight.

"Hormones and puberty," was the lamest excuse Mark could give. He was terrible at keeping secrets and when you're as close as you two were—12 years and an awkward introduction—it wasn't hard to put the pieces together. Heroes hid in plain sight but you never did think he was ordinary.

When the Graysons first moved next door, you were peeking into their backyard. Tool boxes, chests, and several cereal boxes propping you up to just barely get a glimpse of a father, who was much bigger than yours, and his son. When the boy turned towards your direction and your eyes met, you felt the world spin. Probably because the cereal boxes collapsed and you were falling backwards into grass and cornflakes.

The next day, the lady—you very soon learned was named Debbie—had to explain to her husband that it wasn't an attack or threat when a note was left on their front porch. Messy handwriting on a ripped out slip of a notebook, a cartoon character printed out on the corner of the paper. "Get out of my neyburhood," scrawled in marker, letters written backwards because they had to give you some slack. It was impressive for a five year old to be writing full sentences, mistakes and all.

When you jumped the gun and asked Mark out before Amber could, you wished an alien crashed its UFO into the school. You hit it off easy as friends, sure, but dating was different. It was easy to claim how worrying about ruining the friendship was dumb. "Just confess," was easier said than done now that your mouth ran faster than your inhibitions.

Alien invasions didn't happen until later that week. At the moment, you were faced with the boy you grew up with. Awkward smile pressed into a thin line on his lips. You were ready to punch him and claim it was all a joke. Hurried words stopped your clenched fist from swinging, coupled with reddening cheeks that were quickly matching yours.

The second confession came as soon as the Flaxan fiasco ended and Nolan had come home. You told Mark you knew about his powers as soon as you heard him eat shit and leave a crater in his backyard.

When his father beat him to a bloody pulp, it was envying that his teeth grew back. It would've been funny. Maybe it would've been better if he had gone a moment with missing teeth that reminisced his childhood photos. You could almost smile at the idea of cyan and yellow zip by. Too fast for hellos lest someone notices the gaps.

It was hard keeping him in high spirits at that time. Most of the healing process was him saving the world and going on missions. It was a distraction more than a solution. You did your best to be supportive but months upon months of him leaving and coming back only to be sent to space again was getting too much.

When Mark disappears into the portal one last time, you wished you got to talk to him more. Regretted that you didn't tell him how hard it was. How much it hurt that you were left behind every time. You wished you had the chance to scold him and complain about everything because at least you had the chance to be with him for longer.

Mark came back in clean clothes but was devastated. Gone for barely a few minutes but had looked like he aged by months. He never told you what happened after he killed Angstrom Levy. But whatever it was had him jumping the gun just like you did in highschool. Relief, fear, regret, and determination all swirling in those surprisingly bright eyes despite the trauma. A desperate voice with an even more desperate question.

You were both too young but had gone through too much for two eighteen year old idiots. Somehow too young with too much time lost. You said yes.

You would've preferred him in a black suit. Selfishly, you wished he was next to you instead of across. White didn't suit him. He looked good in darker clothes.

Mark Grayson was Invincible.

But your husband was not an immortal.

When the old Guardians died, Mark needed you to come with him. It was raining that day. It rained just as hard today that the scene was nearly identical. Only now, it was you next to Debbie and Eve and that bastard Nolan wasn't around to recite a eulogy bullshitting about friendship and honor.

You considered pulling an Olga. Falling to the ground and sobbing. Cursing the corpse for staying pristine. For closing the wounds that kept your husband looking young and beautiful but not enough to wake him up. You understood what she meant now, two years ago. God, it had only been two years since everything went to shit. You were barely married a year.

No, you were luckier than Olga. You got to see him in the casket. Him and all his unblemished glory. It wasn't right that your brain played tricks and made you think the body was breathing. As if to give you hope that this was some morbid, tone deaf prank. That any second now he'd open the closed casket and tell you it was all a joke.

Debbie's devastated cries practically chastised you to keep calm. She had been so levelheaded during the first funeral. Then again, she didn't have to shed tears when her husband and son were alive and well. Now she had neither and a one year old tween to care for. You weren't going to take away her only moment to breakdown and grieve. Because Debbie was too strong and kind. If you started crying she could very well wipe her tears and comfort you.

You held her close, both to comfort and hold her up lest she fall and get her clothes all muddy. It was Eve's turn to speak as you held Oliver's hand. The Graysons lost too much in such a short span of time. Lose one gain another. Add one and end up subtracting a member. You should've known the family was cursed to fit only three.

Slowly the box was lowered and you hoped Oliver didn't mind how tight you squeezed his hand. Maybe he'll see it as you trying to comfort him too. Holding Debbie was keeping you standing, and Oliver's small hand squeezes in return kept you from crawling towards the descending coffin and following Mark down.

Black didn't suit you. You wished you were wearing white instead.

...

It was hard coping with the loss. It would always be hard to cope with loss. Having something to distract her, Debbie managed to go day by day. Oliver kept growing in significant rates that she couldn't really risk neglecting or shutting him out. And he needed the support. Maybe Debbie needed it more in the form of Oliver.

Apparently, he had really good memory. This wasn't technically his first death in the family. You had a talk with him about death and loss and he was surprisingly mature about it. It was relief if not a bit of a concern at how fast he was maturing. You'd always wished for a quiet life—nearly begged Mark on occasion to retire for the mundane. You hoped Oliver had the chance to at least get some semblance of childhood without the hero baggage. He proved to be the best in coping with the situation.

You had stayed living with the two of them. It was the most logical thing and you knew Debbie needed all the help she could get. Eve and William came by often as well to pitch in however they could between classes—you took a leave of absence to grieve. Meals were lively, no one ever letting things go quiet for too long. You all needed the noise. Needed something to keep your attention from the empty seat next to you. Recently, you had a feeling Oliver got into a few extra scrapes just so everyone else worried about parenting instead of...

It was getting a bit hard living in the house. Not to anyone's fault. You all tried to cope and grieve in your own ways. Debbie kept that practiced smile despite her brows knitting in worry. But in the dead of night, when it was too late for Oliver to still be awake, you could hear muffled sobs through the wall. You didn't blame her. She had barely just gotten over her grief with Nolan. And now with-

You used to come to her room, comfort her, and wipe a few of your own tears. She seemed to appreciate the gesture, grateful for your hugs and the shoulder to cry with. After all you, were her kid too, by law. She was elated to have you call her "mom" even before you got married. But you noticed the sobs get quieter, that they would come later in the night. It didn't take much for you to realize she was hiding the grief from you too. You understood that she didn't want you to worry or see her so devastated so often. It was why you didn't cry in this house either.

You knew Oliver would hear it, super hearing and all. Had a feeling he heard his mom's cries too. The kid, for all his maturity, wouldn't know how to comfort someone. Let alone the woman who raised and showed only strength around him. He needed a solid support and you wanted to be that for him until Debbie got better. He listened to you well and went to you to talk about things after all. Despite the grief, you could see things heading to some form of normalcy.

Three months. Usually, that was the benchmark for broken up couples to move on. You were nineteen and if things were different you technically had the right to date someone new. But did the same rule apply for married couples? Despite the vows "til death do us part," you had no intention of parting with anything.

The house was quiet when you got home, a very rare occurrence. A regular teen would use the chance to indulge. You used the same chance to make as much noise as you could. The problem with an empty house meant it was quiet. So quiet that your brain had to compensate with thoughts. Thoughts of things you hadn't stopped thinking about since- since the funeral. Since the all too sudden death. Since Mark.

Tears well up in your eyes faster than you were planning. Just his name had your heart aching. You couldn't tell if it was good or bad luck that you could still vividly remember him in white. Of all the things seared in your mind, it was the most recent image of him instead of the best. You had pictures, looked at the wedding photos so often that the pages were starting to discolor. But whenever you lied in bed it was his sleeping eyes that stared back.

It started with shallow breaths. Choked whimpers trapping in your throat because for a while you'd forgotten how to wail. You'd tried so hard to keep it all in that now you were struggling to get it out. You slept in his room, on his bed, in his sheets that still smelled like him even after you lived here for a year. Despite trying, you could not ignore that everything reminded you of Mark Grayson.

The whimpers turn to sniffles that give you enough air to babble words of sorrow. The ring on your finger was a reminder that you would never forget. It was a shackle you insisted on wearing. Heavy and painful but the one thing you had left of him that mattered the most. It was hard to scrape together money for a ring. It was even harder to plan a wedding on such short notice. The romantic man that he was, insisting on a celebration instead of just going to court.

The ache in your throat got worse as you cried loudly, screaming like you were being tortured. Because you were. Because you spent your entire life loving one man and losing him so soon. Not even an eighth of your life. Not even a fraction of his.

You collapse on the floor of your shared room, clutching the sheets of the bed. You felt the sound echo back at you when your face pressed on the mattress. You were a total mess. But you needed to cry. You needed to let this out before it made you crumble. Before someone gets home and sees that you weren't moving on at the same pace as them. Before anyone realized that this destroyed you more than-

The knock on the doorframe was drowned out by your wailing but you still heard it. It made you stiff, fear jumping in you that it shocked the grief of the moment right out. Thoughts ran through your head faster than you had the time to process. Fear curled into shame and you turned to apologize after wiping what was admittedly a really snotty nose.

Lips part to talk but a voice spoke first that had you turning faster. It was familiar. Painfully, horribly, impossibly familiar. You hadn't stopped hearing the voice that you would have thought it was a hallucination if you didn't see him standing at the doorway. Alive, healthy, not a single scratch or bruise in sight, smiling at you so sweetly. He wasn't in the white suit that haunted your dreams and you were too relieved to care what color he was wearing.

"Why're you crying, beautiful?"

A/N: idk what dead people wear in America during their funerals tbh. Cos where I'm from they wear white. Truly a not American moment bdjsbsn.

In any case, yes. Major character death indeed. Idk if I should expand more on this cos the idea is very much a set up for variant x reader

Idk if I've seen this concept before but Like- in which the variants meet a Y/N who lost their Mark. Because I love a replacement and unhealthy rebounds lmao.

It's 1 am and I got work in the morning but I really wanted this out before I gotta lock in. I still need to edit the animatic too

Anyways thank you for reading. Please comment or feel free to send asks cos I low-key wanna talk and imagine the variants in this situation.

#invincible #mark grayson #invincible mark grayson #invincible mark #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x y/n #invincible x y/n #angst #gn!reader #cha writing #its a set-up #for variant x reader #a prequel if you will #i dont have the strength to multi chapter tho #an hour once again to make banners life is so hard

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darlingxs-blog · 2 months ago

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hey omg i loved your luka angst... opens coat to show idea... what about the reader is actually alive and the rebellion saved her as she was being carried away by the aliens... and she just haunts luka's narrative....what then.. 😯

A/N: HiHi!! Thank you so much for reaching out with this absolutely glorious, stunning, beautiful ask and idea for a sequel!! I really hope this fits what you asked for but if not, feel free to ask again and include some more details that you would like me to add!!

Vestige

Luka x Reader- for more context please read part one Here! And here's part three

Third person Limited- Luka.

Tw/Cw- Major Character death (not reader this time, woo), mild gun violence, mild implied gore, emotional distress, stalking themes (with paper).

You have been an unshakable shadow in Luka's life. And he wasn't sure if he cared enough to rid himself of you.

He has grown used to the feeling of beady eyes staring him down whenever he walked the streets with his Guardian, Heperu, By his side. But he was used to your eyes too- full of pure adoration and admiration that he'd call pathetic if not for the way his ego swelled every time he turned his head to lock eyes with you and watch as you turned your head away with a face as red as the flowers in the field at the Anakt Garden.

This time it was different.

Whenever he rounded a corner he would be met with your face plastered on the wall framed in the familiar border of the wanted posters for the rebellion.

He thought you died- well, it's not like he cared anyway.

That what he told himself at the start.

But after the twentieth poster, after ducking into alleyways to escape your lingering presence, after your features began to blur into the same face he sees on the poster of Hyuna above his bed—he knew.

He did care.

And he wanted it to stop.

But you just wouldn't leave him alone.

When every song on the stage stop and the gunshot rips through the air the ghostly feeling of a familiar weight resting on his shoulders causes him to freeze, just for a second.

He didn't care.

You were dead-

you were supposed to be dead

but you weren't, and now you just won't stop making his heart prickle and his stomach flip and turn in a way that makes his throat close up without the feeling of bile rising up right after.

He hated it.

He hated you. you who would smile so sweetly at him, you who's eyes would gleam and sparkle whenever he walked into a room, you who would always look for him first before your shoulders relaxed.

Your features were engraved in his mind in a way that made his body tremble and he couldn't have that happen, not tonight. Not with the final match.

The lights were bright and vibrant- his head was throbbing but the idea of winning-of living- was the only thing that made the experience worth it.

His opponent was one he grew up with- the third on the leader board of the top three performers in Alien stage, a rebellious one that won't be swayed by his simple manipulation.

The song swiftly shifts to its final verse

his opponent stops as he looks out into the crowd

Luka can't help but side eye his actions. it's too late for any sort of hopeful reunion

the bullet hits and he falls to the ground with a muffled thump, the cheers from the audience takes over any other noise.

Luka won, again

And now he can walk back to his little room to be monitored as he clears the ghosts of the others that have sunken into his soul.

He's stopped by the view of Hyuna, and the silhouette of you

A/N: Credits go to Anonymous for the idea!! And sorry I didn't really introduce Hyuna all that well but I needed her in this fic, and sorry for constantly referring to Till as 'his opponent'.

I think I did the haunting Luka's narrative but it was a very very small, so again, if you wanted the fic to be more focused on that please don't hesitate to ask again and I really apologize if it didn't fit the expectations you had!! Thank you so much for reading and requesting!!

#luka x reader #luka alien stage x reader #alnst x reader #luka alien stage #luka alnst x reader #luka x reader angst #attempted angst #luka alnst #alien stage

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steddieas-shegoes · 10 months ago

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🪱 Wiggly Wednesday 🪱

cw: temporary character death (Eddie is alive and well in my heart and in every story I ever write don’t you worry)

steve doesn’t know why he still feels such a deep pull towards the trailer park. he thinks it’s because of max at first, but once max is awake and teasing him like she was never in a coma at all, he realizes that’s not it.

he feels…fluttery. like he can’t sit still, or focus, like he’s floating in the universe. like he’s waiting for something.

but he doesn’t fucking know what.

robin keeps telling him he should consider his feelings for eddie, how maybe the friendship they’d acquired meant a little more than steve initially thought. maybe steve has some internal deep-diving to still do.

but steve did that already. he concluded that he very much would’ve liked to kiss eddie on the lips with tongue. maybe forever.

eventually, he gives in and visits the trailer park. most people moved after everything, and eddie’s trailer is still neglected. his uncle moved closer to the plant as soon as he heard eddie was gone. trying to fix the trailer didn’t feel as important to him without his nephew coming home.

there’s no reason for the way his hands shake and his lips quiver as he walks up the porch steps. there’s no reason for his heart racing as he cracks open the busted front door. and there’s certainly no reason for his dick hardening the moment he catches a scent he recognizes as eddie.

the man is dead, dude. get yourself together.

but as he walks further into the trailer, closer to what was eddie’s bedroom before it got raided by the cops and ruined by people who thought the worst of him, the scent gets stronger. steve’s sweating. his breath catches and he nearly chokes on his own saliva.

eddie’s there.

eddie’s there in his bed.

alive.

and suddenly that pull he’s felt for so long makes sense, and he recognizes it for what it really is: some creepy monster connection.

“it’s about fuckin’ time,” eddie grits out. “i couldn’t leave here until you came.”

“what? how?” steve is so lost, so confused. “what’s happening?”

“what’s happening is that you and i both got some major shit to discuss with your friends. the bats gave us some kinda venom and i can hear every single thought you have.” eddie smirks. “which has definitely helped me pass the time.”

steve blushes because he knows exactly what eddie’s talking about. “you can hear my thoughts? why can’t i hear yours?”

eddie shrugs. “i guess my exposure was more so i have more powers? i dunno. but i love what you were thinking with the rope. that was clever. definitely up for it if you are.”

“can i please have a second to come to terms with you being alive before we start planning out my sexual fantasies?” steve rubs his hands across his face. “i don’t understand how you’re here.”

“probably the venom.”

“you seem way too calm.”

“i’ve had two months to find calm.”

steve looks around the room, sees wrappers on the bedside table and dirty clothes piled in the hamper. most of his personal belongings are still sitting at the police station, but his acoustic guitar and a notebook are sprawled in front of him on his bed.

“you’ve been here for two months? alone?”

“with your thoughts, yes.”

“so you-“

“yep.”

“and when i-“

“uh huh.”

“and you’d want to-“

“most definitely.”

steve nodded, sure of himself for the first time in a long time. “can you leave here now?”

“probably. why? you gonna whisk me away to your castle so we can pleasure each other in the moonlight?” eddie’s teasing grin should annoy steve, but he’s gone too long without it and he thought he’d never get to see it again. “quite sappy, aren’t you?”

“if you promise to never refer to sex as pleasuring each other, i’ll definitely take you back to mine.”

“i’m sorry. would you prefer the term making love?”

“yes, actually.”

eddie’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t tease. “then we should…go…do that.”

steve leans down to kiss the corner of eddie’s mouth, shocking both of them with how quickly and naturally it happens.

“should we bring a blanket to cover you in the backseat? until we figure out what we need to do to keep you safe.”

eddie wraps a blanket around his shoulders and stands up. “lead the way, my liege.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #wiggly wednesday #i dunno i just like when they both have something weird going on after the upside down #and i think it’s very funny that eddie can read steve’s thoughts so the last two months were just steve thirsting and being sad

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bagelbun333 · 3 months ago

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Godot is morally grey and that’s okay! | The most human Ace Attorney Deuteragonist

So I had like, several topics in mind relating to Godot that I wanted to ramble about, so I decided to just put them all together in one extremely long post. So, buckle up, it’s gonna be a doozy. :3c

TW and CW: References to murder, suicide, sexism, and mental health issues

Also major spoiler warning for the Phoenix Wright Trilogy, especially aa3!

Godot is a character who gets a lot of backlash for being morally grey, controversial, and for holding a grudge against Phoenix for seemingly “no reason”. He even gets labelled as a “raging misogynist.” I would like to go over in depth of his character and put into perspective just how much goes on in his mind that makes him do the things he does in the story. It may not excuse his actions, but it does help to have a better understanding. He’s one of those characters that if you view from a single-minded perspective, you’re not gonna get the best judgement of his character.

Misguided Hatred on Phoenix + Mental Health Issues

We’ll start off with his backstory. His real name is Diego Armando, a promising young lawyer with a beautiful girlfriend and has a loving (and smug) personality. He was so moved by Mia Fey, with her being so kind, caring and faithful. She wholeheartedly believed in the good of people, especially her clients. Diego loved that about her, and he wanted to make sure that she sees it for herself. He supported her through and through, and he stood by her side when her first trial ended in tragedy.

He eventually got poisoned by Dahlia Hawthorne, putting him into a coma for five years. He reawakens, learns of Mia’s death, and changes his identity to Godot. Ever since then, he builds up a deep loathing towards Phoenix Wright.

His hatred for Phoenix can be compared to Franziska von Karma’s hatred; but unlike her, there is a much more deeper connection between them. This is a deep, messy, traumatic and tragic story that tangled two unfortunate people together. There is a proper reason to be angry at someone here; a reason that isn’t even clear at a glance.

His hatred towards Phoenix stems from the hatred towards himself. This is called displacement; a defense mechanism that involves transferring negative feelings from one thing to another. In this case, Godot projects his self-loathing onto Phoenix to avoid blaming himself. Which obviously isn’t a good thing, or even a healthy thing. It can easily cause problems with relationships. But the important thing to consider is why did he have to cope like that in the first place? Well, because he had no other way. He didn’t just jump to that method immediately, he would’ve gone through other ways first, but those methods didn’t work out for him. It’s a process of trial and error until he had no choice but to use risky tactics. He has nobody to confide in, he nearly died in one of the most brutal ways imaginable, he woke up blind and suffers from chronic pain and depression, he needs to make frequent visits to the hospital, the world has moved on without him, and ultimately his girlfriend was murdered while he was in a coma. Then he finds out that the one person who was by her side seemingly failed to protect her and got to inherit her law office as a result, despite being an “incompetent” rookie.

It’s a lot for one person to take in, and enough to make anyone break down. Imagine how pissed he would be once he found out some amateur took over his girlfriend’s law office (the same guy who let your own murderer run free for eight months, which is the murderer who put you in a coma, preventing you from doing anything about your girlfriend’s demise) and that amateur renamed the law office after himself just after she got murdered. I would also direct my grief and anger towards this bozo too. He gets to have all this glory from doing nothing? I can understand why Godot would want him to have some consequences at the very least.

And this is a law office that Godot never had the pleasure of working in or even seeing for himself. And all of that was just given to Phoenix after only two trials under his belt. Not only did Godot have everything taken away from him; everything that Mia also had was given to someone who (in his perspective) didn’t deserve it. Phoenix is living in Mia’s success over Godot’s monumental loss. Mia basically died for Phoenix’s benefit. Meanwhile Godot lost everything he lived for, and Phoenix unknowingly took that away from him too.

Of course, Phoenix did not have any control over that. However, in Godot’s perspective, it would simply look like Phoenix took Mia’s place without a second thought.

The only things Godot knew about Phoenix was:

- He stood in Mia’s rightful place, having the nerve to take over when she died.

- He helped to conceal Dahlia’s necklace which allowed her to live freely without consequences yet again, resulting in Diego’s attempted murder to be unsolved for eight months.

Godot shows clear signs of the stages of grief, bargaining being a big one. He definitely asked a lot of “what ifs” to himself, like “What if I could’ve saved her?” “What if he saved her?” “What if I didn’t drink that stupid poison?” “Would I have woken up sooner if he didn’t hide the bottle of poison?” Considering he has nobody to confide in, he only has himself to ask these questions to. He only had himself to figure out what he must do next; and because of that he quickly spiralled into a huge depression, and tunnel-visioned onto Phoenix until he believed that he was responsible for Mia’s demise. This is the result of no therapy and no friends or family. Even less than that, he lost his eyesight, hair colour and good health too. His promising life was ripped away from him and some bozo got it all for free! How’s one person supposed to comprehend so much trauma effectively in his position? How was he supposed to think rationally after what he went through?

He had all of these problems suddenly thrown onto him and he had no time to mentally process any of them. Not only did he have to learn to adapt to being blind; living with the fact that he’s never gonna be the same again, and recover from a five year coma with nobody waiting for him — he didn’t even have the time to grieve for Mia.

He went through in his mind that he was responsible for “letting Mia die” before blaming Phoenix as a coping mechanism. At first, he would’ve went through suicidal thoughts because he couldn’t live with the fact that he “let Mia die.” Then in his mind, it clicked for him. The fastest way to atone for “letting Mia die” was to protect her little sister, Maya. If he couldn’t protect Mia, then he should at least protect Maya to make up for it. This became one of the two reasons for him to live. He really didn’t want to feel like a failure to Mia so he became obsessed with needing to protect whoever was important to her. Because that’s what she would want, right? He’s worthy enough for Mia, right? Worthy enough to be forgiven even though he left her to die, right? Godot doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how much she had changed over those five years, and he can only remember her as the little rookie he had so much hope for. For all he knows, Mia could’ve forgotten all about him, and that thought terrified him. But at the same time, he probably thought it was for the best. What he doesn’t know, is that Mia never forgot about him, and she wants him to be saved. And no, that does not mean she wants him to join her in Heaven so soon after waking up. It means she wants him to live the life that she doesn’t have anymore. If he knew this, he would do it for her.

His other reason for living was Phoenix. He needed to see the one person who Mia had taught, and test if he was truly capable and worthy of taking her place. He had to see for himself just what kind of person Phoenix was. After all, this is the guy who supposedly took everything away from him; does he really deserve it? He also really needed an emotional punching bag to avoid hurting himself, and Phoenix was, unfortunately, the perfect candidate. He’s a lawyer, he “failed” to protect Mia, he was “dumb” enough to be manipulated by Dahlia. It’ll be just like hating himself except he’s directing it to somebody else. It’s the only way he can process his anger and grief. This is what displacement is.

Speaking of displacement, it isn’t an excuseable behaviour by any means, but it does put into perspective on how he keeps his emotions together. Despite placing the blame and hatred onto Phoenix, he’s really comparing himself to Phoenix. But what he doesn’t realise is that Mia’s death is neither his or Phoenix’s fault. He’s so stuck on the fact that Mia’s death could’ve been prevented that he became blind to the real facts of the matter. The stage of bargaining really does have a strong chokehold on him.

Godot latched onto that belief so tightly that he ended up believing his own lie. Thus, he gaslit himself into believing Phoenix was actually responsible for Mia’s death, which in turn led to his seething anger and hatred towards Phoenix. Godot was terrified of being the one responsible for letting Mia die, so he had no choice but to believe in his own lie. If Phoenix can’t be blamed, then Godot is the only other one responsible; in his perspective anyway.

A neat little symbolism that I’ve noticed for Godot is the whole “hiding behind a mask” aspect. He’s a man of mystery, both in origin and appearance. Not only does he have the benefit of hiding behind a mask, but he often speaks in a quiet and calm manner to hide his vulnerability.

Every so often his calm yet cryptic demeanour cracks, and his true vulnerable nature seeps through. We see this for the first time when Mia gets channeled towards the end of 3-2. He instantly recognises her, and he completely freezes and goes silent. After a couple minutes of silence on his end, the judge asks if he’s alright, resulting in Godot snapping back into reality. Then he decides to let Phoenix do the final cross-examination, even though it’s not at all beneficial to his case. The only reason he did that was because Mia was there, and he could never say no to her, especially not when he feels like he’s betrayed her; he feels that he owes her everything, even his own life. She’s essentially his biggest weakness.

Then there’s the moment where he realised that he missed Maya’s name written in blood in 3-5. He realised that, once again, he failed Mia. Therefore he panics. He doesn’t panic when being accused of murder mind you, because he knows he deserves the consequences. But the fact that he panics over Maya being accused really tells me that he puts someone, who he doesn’t actually know that well, above himself. If he can’t save Maya, then he’s worthless. That’s what’s running through his mind at that moment.

He’s been panicking ever since Misty Fey died, even worse when Maya suddenly disappeared. So much more heavy burdens are weighing him down, and he knows that he set something into motion that he can’t undo. Does that sound familiar? That’s because he said that exact same thing to Phoenix. Projection strikes again! This is when his coping mechanism is at its absolute worst, and understandably so. His self-hatred was racing to him like an avalanche, therefore his anger and hatred comes to Phoenix the exact same way. He suddenly brings up Mia’s death for seemingly no reason, but in Godot’s perspective, that old incident has been fresh on his mind the entire time. To him it seemed like everyone moved on too quickly, and it hurt him so much in ways that he can’t even describe. How dare they move on while he’s still suffering?

Godot has been feeling shame ever since he woke up from his coma and found out about Mia’s murder. It wasn’t until he saw Mia’s spirit alongside Phoenix near the end of 3-5 where the shame and hatred disappeared. It was then replaced with regret. He realises that he was wrong and that he did terrible things to Phoenix, and he believes his actions were inexcusable. He feels immense guilt about the way he treated Phoenix, and he thinks he should’ve directed his anger towards himself all along, or as he puts it, the one who he couldn’t truly forgive was himself. He even questions if he really wanted to save Maya at all — he can’t trust his own intentions anymore. This sudden realisation makes him blind to his own good intentions that he was previously dependent on throughout the whole story. He then heaps all of the blame onto himself, (similar to Mia’s behaviour at the end of 3-4) but Phoenix and Maya believe that his good intentions were genuine, and they try to make him realise this, which results in him finally crying for the first time.

This is the moment where he finally releases his true emotions after keeping them bottled up for so long. Tired from keeping his shields up, all he can do is cry. This is the equivalent of Maya releasing Dahlia’s demonic spirit out of her body — his feelings are that intense. The demonic spirit in this case is his “Godot” persona. Diego has finally been saved from the “evil spirit” that has been cursing him this entire time. Remember how exhausted Maya was after channelling Dahlia? Well, imagine how exhausted Diego must be after being “possessed” by Godot the past year. Phoenix and Mia didn’t just exorcise one evil spirit that day, and Mia certainly seems to know this when she told Phoenix that he saved Diego. Maybe Phoenix will realise this later.

Godot wanted to be caught, and he wanted Phoenix to be the one to catch him. He didn’t want neither Phoenix nor Maya to overlook the mistakes he made but rather bring out the truth, no matter how painful it was. He believed that they’re strong enough to handle the truth, which shows that he really does respect them.

He’s not a bad person. He’s morally grey. He’s only human. He’s the most human character there is. Irrational, imperfect, emotional and selfless. He’s not entirely hateful, he’s scared. He’s grieving. He’s not rational, he’s traumatised. He distances himself from others and paints himself in a bad light. He doesn’t take pride in himself, he doesn’t care about what others think of him. He just wants to find reasons to live and be at peace with Mia’s death.

The “Worst” Prosecutor?

A huge misconception about Godot that I’ve come to notice is that he is another prosecutor who cares about maintaining a perfect win record — which is just… blatantly incorrect. Godot did joke about being a “legendary prosecutor who never lost a case” at the beginning, but that’s all it is: a joke. He was mocking the other prosecutors because he is very aware that a lot of them care about that more than anything; he wasn’t boasting about himself at all, just taking a stab at previous prosecutors because he has had enough with that reoccurring issue. He was the one who wanted to break that chain. He has no doubt dealt with these kinds of prosecutors when he was a defence attorney, so why would he want to become the thing that he disapproved of?

Plus Godot has a history of making fun of people, so him mocking other prosecutors for being so pretentious and full of themselves is not hard to believe.

More prosecutors need to take a page out of Godot’s book and learn how to take an L. Godot knows how to accept defeat, and that’s something all good prosecutors should do. Good prosecutors aren’t the ones with perfect win records, it’s actually the ones who fight for the truth and are able to accept the losses if it comes down to that.

The fact that the fandom declares Godot as the worst prosecutor because he never won a case is just so absurd to me, because the second game teaches you that a perfect win record doesn’t mean shit. It’s clear from the outset that Godot doesn’t care about a perfect win record, and would much rather find the truth on top of testing Phoenix’s capabilities. Godot doesn’t even let his own witnesses lie for his benefit, because he only wants to win legitimately. If that’s not a good prosecutor, I don’t know what is. (Also I believe Mia herself said “I don’t plan on winning through paper-thin lies” so there’s another neat parallel between them 🥰)

Godot’s motive for being a prosecutor was so that he could challenge Phoenix in the courtroom, as well as protecting Maya. He didn’t necessarily care about winning, he just wanted to test if Phoenix was truly capable of being Mia’s successor; and he wanted to believe that for himself. Phoenix was the only one who could pass on Mia’s legacy, and he really didn’t want that to go to waste. So who better than himself (the one who taught Mia everything she knew) should test Phoenix’s ability to be Mia’s protégé? Godot was making sure that Mia’s (and his own) teachings didn’t go to waste.

Then there’s still the matter of his hatred towards Phoenix. Despite gaslighting himself into hating him, he still believed in Phoenix deep down. He also wanted to be proven wrong. Proven wrong that Mia’s death was Phoenix’s fault, and to be proven wrong that Phoenix would never be half the lawyer Mia was. He secretly wanted to be saved by Phoenix.

In the end, because of Phoenix’s actions, Godot finally came to terms with himself and accepted that Phoenix wasn’t to blame at all. Godot made Phoenix prove that he is in fact worthy of being Mia’s successor, and he proved that neither one of them should be blamed for Mia’s death. Phoenix saved Godot, and that wouldn’t have happened if Godot didn’t challenge Phoenix so much to begin with. In my opinion, Godot has been Phoenix’s most challenging opponent as a lawyer. He tested his capabilities, his beliefs, his moral compass, everything — because that’s how much Phoenix really meant to him.

So Godot’s “perfect win record”? That never mattered to him ever. All he cared about was Mia’s legacy living on. He never felt damaged because of a trial loss, he felt damaged because he was slowly accepting that Phoenix didn’t fail Mia. He doesn’t care that he never won a single case as a prosecutor, and he shouldn’t be made fun of because of that either. Because perfect win records mean absolutely nothing in general. This perfectionism issue all started because of Manfred von Karma, and it should die with him as well. Let’s not have it rubbing off on the prosecutors who have nothing to do with him.

Godot is the first prosecutor who gives no fucks about winning for the sake of perfection. He genuinely wants to find the truth; he believed in that as a defence attorney and he still believes that as a prosecutor.

Godot is Phoenix’s ultimate parallel. Godot is what Phoenix could have been if he were pushed to the extremes. Whatever Phoenix throws at him, Godot throws it right back. He copies Phoenix’s methods in order to truly test his capabilities as a lawyer. He wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. He wanted to find out how well Phoenix can actually do when being opposed by himself, so Godot takes on that role. He prosecutes in a manner of a defence attorney, and this happens to be a challenge that Phoenix struggles with the most. Phoenix had prosecutors stumped many times in the past and now he’s finally the one who gets to witness what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that kind of trickery.

It makes sense, given that the person who taught Phoenix to use these kinds of tactics (such as bluffing) was Mia Fey. Of course, Mia learned this from none other than Diego himself. Godot testing Phoenix’s abilities this way makes perfect sense. Then it all comes full circle when Phoenix surpasses Godot’s expectations. The student has surpassed the master.

Godot is the perfect antithesis of Phoenix. They both have the same driving force but with one major difference; one had support while the other had nothing. If they swapped places, they would still fit each other’s roles. If Phoenix didn’t have the support he had, he would end up just like Godot.

Godot insulting and bullying Phoenix is also kind of a parallel to Phoenix’s snarky remarks to the people around him. The difference is that Godot reserves the most bitter snarky remarks towards Phoenix specifically. All of that is tied to his misguided hatred towards him due to Mia’s murder, but the way he insults Phoenix is so similar to how Phoenix insults other people. It’s another example of Godot giving Phoenix a taste of his own medicine.

Misogyny Allegations

Oh boy, here we go.

Godot’s whole purpose of character development is that he’s learning how to properly grieve and accept the loss of his loved one and learning how to move on. He goes through a painful lesson of humility by realising how important Phoenix’s role is and seeing how competent he grew to be. How does him being misogynistic correlate to any of that? It doesn’t. Anything misogynistic interprated from him is by the fault of the writers. You can see that with almost all the characters in this series; they have at least one moment where they say something blatantly sexist. Even characters like Gumshoe, Maya and Mia have had these moments.

Godot doesn’t even have that many moments where he says something sexist, and when he does it always comes off as out of character for him; along with the others. Just because he often talks about being manly, doesn’t mean he’s being sexist. He loves being a man, and he’s comfortable with that identity. That’s how many men feel, especially trans men.

In the anime, where the same story is being told, there were some interesting changes in the writing. All the out-of-pocket sexist writing from the games have been completely removed, further proving my point that the sexism in most characters are not intentional, and it’s the (game’s) writers themselves being misogynistic.

A character can’t be sexist purely because they’ve been written by sexist people. If you think Godot is sexist because of this, then you also have to say that all the other characters are as well, because they are guilty of the exact same thing. You can’t let favouritism pick and choose who you ignore the writing for. There’s evidence of other characters saying even more sexist stuff, but they get a free pass because it’s just them being “out of character.” But when this happens to Godot once or twice, he gets labelled as a “misogynistic asshole” and it’s deemed his only character trait. Why should Godot have to carry all the blame for this? Especially when he’s one of the few dark-skinned, disabled characters in the series? The Ace Attorney fandom is not beating the racism allegations.

Also, do you really think Mia would fall in love with a man like that? Someone who’s only character trait is misogyny? She wouldn’t. The reason she does fall in love with him is because he has many admirable qualities, and he believed in her when she needed support.

Now, there are characters who are actually written to be sexist, like Redd White, Matt Engarde and Dahlia Hawthorne. But guess what? They don’t even get nearly the same amount of backlash for the sexism allegations, even though they are fully intended to be that way.

Redd White attributes women as just accessories to his image (April May) and using them as scapegoats whenever he’s in trouble. He’s also described as a “lady killer.”

Matt Engarde is known as a “player with women.” He only views women as his toys until he gets bored of them and throws them away. One of them, as we know of, commits suicide over this. He also has that fragile “male pride.”

Dahlia Hawthorne attributes femininity as something that's weak and fragile who always needs to be saved, while the “horrible” men around her take the blame for the "pure, innocent” woman. Victimizing herself at its finest.

These are brilliant examples of writing sexism into characters. All three of these examples are characters who are antagonistic, selfish, and deserve no sympathy. Characters can be well-written and sexist if that’s supposed to be the writer’s intent. But with Godot, he’s not written with that intent in mind; anything sexist that comes from him always comes out of left field and feels very out of his character. Lots of other characters in this series have this exact same problem; such as Phoenix, Gumshoe, Mia and Maya and so on. Godot clearly is in the same boat as the other characters I’ve just listed off, but as I’ve mentioned before, he doesn’t get that free pass. The fact that he’s the one dark-skinned character not getting the free pass despite him being in the same boat is very suspicious. It’s as if the dark-skinned characters all must have that sexism trait. Why should that be if you’re not racist, hm?

Just a small footnote: I wanted to include Morgan Fey as one of the sexist characters but thinking about it some more I realise that a lot of it is just an interpretation, not something in canon text. It’s easy to interpret her as sexist due to her being reliant on her old fashioned values and her being suspicious of men entering the village, but that’s not something entirely concrete. It’s still an interesting thing to think about tho!

Going back to the main point, I'd like to add that I think a lot of people refuse to look deeper into Godot’s character and rather simplify him down to the sexist faults; not just because of racism, but fandom bias towards the characters as well.

For example, they’ve known Edgeworth longer and try to excuse his behavior as a fault of Manfred von Karma indirectly teaching him these values. And because of the fandom’s bias towards Edgeworth and against Godot, despite both being flawed characters with trauma written by sexist writers, one gets excused and defended while the other recieves the brunt of the hate for it.

Edgeworth had many moments where he’s sexist, even after his Bratworth phase. Him calling Mia a bimbo is far from the only occurrence of his sexism. He always views women to be inferior to men, especially when it comes to physical strength. It’s especially apparent in the first trilogy, such as him defending Iris’ innocence by claiming she’s too weak to use a sword as a weapon purely because she’s a woman, and him claiming that Valerie Hawthorne turned her back on Terry Fawles because he was a big scary man with a knife — even though she had police training and had a gun on her own person. He even specified that if the criminal was a “quaggy” woman like Mia, Valerie would’ve acted differently.

Here’s screenshots of the second example if you don’t believe me:

Edgeworth is a flawed character and I believe that sexism is intentionally written to be one of his many flaws. I can definitely see that it’s something he learned from Manfred, but that should not excuse his behaviour. You can enjoy a flawed character such as Edgeworth without needing to defend him and his flaws; because when you do that, you’re going to sound like you approve of the horrible things he’s done. Just because he changes overtime should not mean that all the bad things he did in the past should be forgotten about. A big part of his character development should be him getting humbled and taking responsibility for his actions and mistakes, not running away from it and making excuses.

I’ve seen Edgeworth fans defend his sexism by saying things such as “He’s only like that because of von Karma, it’s not his fault!” “He has autism and he is gay, therefore he can do whatever he wants”, “Well that’s Bratworth for ya!”, “He got better!”, “Franziska wouldn’t let him!” (I actually saw all those responses on twitter, big surprise 💀)

First of all, he’s a grown-ass adult, he knows exactly what he’s doing and he’s definitely old enough to be held accountable for his actions. Secondly, being autistic and gay doesn’t give him an excuse to be a shitty person; you can be autistic and gay and still have a horrible attitude like a lot of other people. Thirdly, saying “that’s Bratworth for you!” has major “boys will be boys” vibes when said boy is tormenting women, which is a disgusting thing to say.

And then there’s Franziska. Not gonna sugarcoat it, she’s intentionally written to be sexist too. A well-written sexist but still sexist nonetheless. Out of her own insecurity she lashes out and puffs herself up, trying to one-up people; women included. She seems to be extremely determined to prove herself to be better than the "men of the court.” Though for Franz, it could be that she became sexist towards men because she entered that workforce from the pressure of her father, and needed to keep up her image.

Now that I’m writing this, I’ve realised Franziska is kind of the antithesis of Dahlia, who is another intentionally well-written sexist character. Dahlia wants to appear weak and fragile and innocent. Franz wants to appear capable, confident, and strong; someone who is able to uphold her own image to get out of her brother's shadow. Yet they both act the same when confronted about this fact.

Because at the end of 2-4, Franz runs away wanting revenge on Phoenix and Edgeworth, and she cries at the fact that she isn’t ready to be left behind again. At the end of 3-5, Dahlia is forced away by the power of exorcism, and her last moments of grasping on the physical world was her crying about how she isn't ready to leave, and wanting a forever vendetta against Mia Fey specifically.

They both act aggressively when being confronted and their facade breaks, they just want to appear differently. They both also inflicted a heavy source of trauma onto Maya and Phoenix.

Edgeworth and Franziska are good characters, but they are far from good people. You can enjoy their flaws without resorting to defending them. It’s perfectly fine to enjoy them! But trying to put down Godot for having similar flaws only to uplift the other group of characters is just wrong. Demonizing people who enjoy Godot for his flaws is even worse. Let fans enjoy things ffs— This is why I think a lot of Edgeworth and Franziska fans have huge biases when explaining why they hate Godot so much.

We can appreciate the characters for what they are; like and dislike them for our personal reasons, and it’s best not to engage with people wanting to start arguments. For example, I really don’t like Franz but I can understand her character and see how she must've felt being raised by a severely strict perfectionist. Being held up to so many expectations and standards at such a young age can make you a complicated person, to say the least.

But that’s besides the point. Going back to the biased hatred towards Godot, the fandom tends to ignore how much trust Godot places in women. He trusted Mia, Maya, Misty and Iris — to name a few. This doesn’t mean he sees all women as being sweet and innocent all the time, but he sees women being just as competent as men; whether it’s them being good or evil. With Mia he saw her as a strong, bold and intelligent woman. He believed in her capabilities as a lawyer and as a person. Not once did he think of taking Mia’s place in 3-4 because he had doubts about her, in fact he encouraged her to take the lead the entire time.

With Dahlia he saw her as a threat; he feared her. He wanted to catch her because he knew how dangerous she was. He took her seriously because he knows how competent she was. He almost got killed by her, resulting in his severe trauma later on. And the reason he ended up acting so recklessly in 3-5 was because he knew firsthand how terrifying she is.

And just because he wants to protect Mia and Maya, doesn’t mean he views them as weak things that need to be saved. Adding along to this, if the ghost of someone who tried to kill me was going after somebody else I care about, and I had little time to prepare, yeah, I’d be desperately trying to find all the help I can get too!

He thinks he’s failed Mia before and he’s terrified of failing again. He wants to protect Maya because he knows that’s exactly what Mia would’ve wanted. It doesn't make you weak or fragile to accept help when you need it. The rhetoric that you need to do everything yourself and burden yourself with those responsibilities, all the while dealing with your own trauma and self-inflicted guilt, yeah— no thanks. I'd rather get the help than succumb to my own bad thoughts.

Fandom assuming Godot is sexist for wanting to protect Maya and Mia because of his own motivations is, in of itself, sexist. You see a manly character wanting to protect a woman in need and you immediately think “ew that’s sexist!” Why is that sexist? It’s been canonically stated that he’s been doing this through grief and trauma, but the fandom views it as him being sexist just because he puts on an image of a “manly man.” The fandom accuses him of being sexist but the points they are making to prove their argument are in itself sexist. The fandom is becoming the very thing they swore to destroy.

Manly men can (and should!) be able to accept help too! That’s Godot’s whole arc with Phoenix! He struggled with figuring out who he should be asking for help from. And good lord does he need it. But when he tries to get help, he’s accused of being a misogynist again! He also gets a lot of hate because he didn’t ask for Phoenix’s help from the very beginning. Bro’s been through so much trauma, you can’t expect him to be rational about everything. It’s so frustrating seeing that he just can’t seem to win no matter what he does. It’s all just biased bashing on a character at this point.

This argument is giving people who comments "Men used to go to war" under posts about a man making a smoothie or something because it’s just a smidge of not being the "standard" for masculine men. A manly man wanting to help those who are important to him is not a toxic masculine trait. It’s human compassion. If it’s fine for women to feel that then it should be fine for men too.

Plus, the fandom ignores the blatantly feminine things Godot does too. He’s a true manly man because he can accept both of the masculine and feminine aspects of himself. He flirts with men all the time, he admits when he blushes over receiving compliments, he loves strong and soft women, and he has a lot of silly moments too.

He flirts with Luke Atmey, Ron Delite, Jean Armstrong, and even Phoenix! He says things like “cut it out, you’re making me blush.” He even had a moment where he giggles to himself because Jean Armstrong was flirting with him. He’s able to do a spot-on voice impression of Desiree Delite. He’s brave enough to let himself cry, and he even hurts himself physically to show that he’s hurt emotionally. He does this because he’s so adapted to fooling others with his smile.

You can tell which characters are intentionally written to be sexist just from the way they behave. Antagonists and villains often use sexism to their benefit, using it as a weapon or as a way to protect themselves. They also have a deep-rooted source of where that sexism came from, which continuously grows as they age. Meanwhile characters who don’t have that intention always falls flat and goes absolutely nowhere with it.

I really think what sets apart Edgeworth's sexism from Godot's supposed sexism really comes down to the people they're talking about, and the context behind the scenes. Godot was targeting Franziska's position of power and her immaturity while she was acting all high and mighty; he did this to make her feel intimidated by him which ultimately made her shut up. She doesn’t whip people who are willing to stand up for themselves, and Godot figured that out. Godot’s sexism only came about because he was copying Franziska’s tactics in order to nerf her power. He could tell that she feels stronger when making men feel inferior, so he took a page out of her book and threw it right back at her. He tends to mimic his opponents’ tactics no matter who it is, it just so happens in this instance, his opponent uses sexism as a weapon, and so he reflected it back at her as a result. (Ofc this is still not excuseable on Godot’s part, nor am I defending this, but it’s an instance where his sexism makes sense, without it being one of his character traits. I also find it so interesting that he decided to handle her behaviour this way.)

This can also be attributed to the fact that the writers just felt like writing in a sexist line because that was a product of its time. This is one of the few examples that could be either source, because both sources are spontaneous.

With Edgeworth, he constantly talked down to Mia simply because she’s a woman. Even during her murder case, he spoke ill of her even though they only met once. His source of sexism is woven into his character because he was influenced by a corrupt man. He can’t have both excuses of being taught by a corrupt man and the writers making him out of character, because those are two completely different sources that contradict each other. One source is deep-rooted while the other is spontaneous, it can’t be both at once. Considering Edgeworth’s source of sexism is consistantly tied to his character arc, tells me that he’s intentionally written to be sexist.

And that’s not to say that sexism is Edgeworth’s entire personality. Even the characters that I accused of being sexist also have other character traits besides that, and I explained how they are all well-written. I’m not bashing on their characters simply because of this one flaw. So tell me how I’m being biased due to me being a Godot fan? Godot is the character who gets the most unfair treatment because of this issue when it’s something that’s common with the majority of the cast. It’s the reason why I made this long post so I can identify that this is an extremely ridiculous problem within the fandom, and it really needs to be called out. You’re allowed to like or dislike a character without having to demonize anybody. This one flaw of Godot’s character (that’s not even supposed to be intentional mind you, and can be interpreted in many different ways) is used as an excuse to specifically shit on a morally grey dark-skinned character, in a series full of morally grey characters. There’s plenty of characters in this series that have done much, much worse things than he did, but they don’t get nearly as much hate as he does.

The next point I want to talk about is the petnames Godot uses, particularly the “Kitten” petname. He often used it when referring to Mia, because him and her were dating. It’s not uncommon for couples to use cute petnames when referring to one another.

The argument that the fandom tends to use when hating on Godot/Diego is that he’s supposed to be her coworker and he calls her that term to be condescending towards her, and that it makes Mia uncomfortable. Well let me tell you, this is just objectively untrue. Mia does not feel uncomfortable with Diego’s “Kitten” petname for her. She never told him to stop calling her that; you can literally read her inner monologue, and not once has she ever thought about hating the petname, or ever felt uncomfortable around him. She never even lays a finger on him to tell him off. She certainly did that plenty to Grossberg later, she even steps on Phoenix’s foot to tell him off in the anime, she also thought about strangling Edgeworth too, but she never did so much of a slap to Diego. So clearly, she’s completely fine with him.

So what’s the problem then? Are you that insecure that you can’t handle the idea that Mia has a loving boyfriend? Is it really that upsetting to see a man having Mia Fey to himself? They both consent to the Kitten petname, so where’s the problem?

And the reason we don’t see Mia calling him Kitten in return is because we only see them interact in the courtroom. Mia’s not the type to behave like that in that kind of place, but we’ve definitely seen her to be more flirty outside of a trial. Such as when she seduces Victor Kudo for information, and when she offered Phoenix dinner and drinks to celebrate their victory. This makes it easy for me to believe that Mia flirts with Diego outside of a trial, and most likely uses the “Kitten” petname back at him, especially as she got older.

Also Diego calling people “Kitten” isn’t even sexist. He doesn’t solely call women kittens. He’s given the petname to men as well. Such as Ron. He used the same kitten metaphors for Phoenix, particularly with using claws, and he referred to Furio Tigre as a cat several times. Plus he generally has an animal theme going when thinking of nicknames for people. There’s “wild tiger”, “zebra boy”, “cub”, “filly”, “mare” etc.

Another dumb point I’ve seen is that the fandom thinks Diego was harassing Mia simply because they’re coworkers. You can be coworkers and lovers at the same time. Phoenix and Edgeworth are technically coworkers and they’re constantly shipped together by said fandom. If it’s fine for them then it should be fine for Miego too. Diego isn’t even that much older than her either, by about 4 or 5 years. And no, just because he’s older than her, it does not mean he’s taking advantage of her. They’re both grown-ass adults, and they were both in their twenties when they first met.

You’re allowed to not ship them, but you can’t deny that they’re intentionally written to be lovers. They are canon lovers. More canon than Wrightworth will ever be. Their character arcs revolve around their relationship, and their relationship ties together the main story.

Diego being “intentionally” written as a misogynist goes against his character arc. It goes against the fact that he always saw men and women as equals, and it goes against the fact that he put his faith in many women all the way to the end. The random sexist moments contradicts his character, and there weren’t many moments like that to begin with.

Hey, good job making it to the end! There was a lot to unpack there, especially since this is a debate that I’ve witnessed firsthand for almost 8 years! I wanted to put a lot of time and research into this to make it as informative and unbiased as possible. Clearly Godot is a character that means so much to me, and I absolutely had to go over this huge topic so that newer (and older) fans have a better understanding of this issue.

I hope this was an interesting, and maybe, enjoyable read! I really love making long analysis posts like this, and I definitely got more on the way! It’s fun to engage with the fandom like this. Feel free to share your thoughts as long as you keep it civil! ^-^

Have a great day/night! :3

#ace attorney #prosecutor godot #aa godot #diego armando #phoenix wright #mia fey #miego #character analysis #long post #bagel rambles #man godot needs so much therapy frfr 😭#i also go on a bit of tangent so hang in there 💀

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starmapz · 11 months ago

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shame on me - ch13: sacrifice || g. satoru

gojo satoru x female vessel!reader [canon divergent au]

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

❦ cw ; mdni. 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. heavy angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. major character death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. anxiety. panic attacks. slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader with love triangle themes but no competition. happy ending!

❦ additional tags ; gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. takes place after season 2. au where the shibuya incident still occurs, however gojo is not sealed and nanami and choso are still around. no major manga spoilers but contains themes and ideas touched on later.

❦ wc ; 11.7k.

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The late afternoon sun paints the walls a golden auburn fitting of a king. The still air is tense but the silence that hangs over the heads of the group gathered in the room is more rigid still. The beautiful afternoon sun is so serene you have half a mind to wonder if it recognizes the gravity of the situation you’ve found yourself in.

At the head of the room, Yaga and an older man that had only been referred to as an ‘old fart’ by Satoru stand with stern looks as they wait for a debrief from Choso. Megumi had taken him for a breather when he’d begun to panic and no one seemed to dare speak while they awaited their return.

Glancing around the room, you’re almost surprised by how few people you recognize, but with the higher-ups out of the picture, Yaga and the older man seemed to have been trusted with directing missions now.

When Choso returns, he doesn’t seem any less distraught, lips pressed into a firm and fearful frown. He takes a breath as he stands beside Yaga, exhaling shakily while overlooking the small room crowded with sorcerers.

“Yuji and I were on a mission,” he explains, casting his gaze to the floor momentarily, “when Uraume and Kenjaku appeared.”

Uraume?

Do you know Uraume? You wonder to Miriko.

They have been around a long time if I am to assume it is the very same. They are an ally of Sukuna. I do not believe this bodes well for us.

Your heart pounds in your throat as you find yourself inadvertently backing into Satoru. His arms move from their spot crossed over his chest to rest on your shoulders, soothingly rubbing circles into your tense muscles.

Without his grounding presence, you’re sure you would have fallen apart by now. Of course, you knew this day would come, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less knowing that someone was using the body of the man who was once your world to kidnap your student.

“Uraume cornered me and Yuji chased Kenjaku. I didn’t think about- I should have- I should-” Choso stammers over his words, staring down at trembling hands before a tall blonde woman you don’t recognize reaches out to him. It seems to reassure him as he continues. “Kenjaku led Yuji into a big warehouse on the dock and lowered a veil. I tried to join Yuji so that we could fight together but I couldn’t get into the veil.”

You frown, letting out a long breath of your own as you consider who exactly the veil would be designed to let in, if anyone at all.

“That’s… all I know.” Choso’s voice grows strained as he all but scrambles to join the blonde woman at the sidelines of the room, to get out of the watchful eyes of the room.

“If Uraume’s around, we can assume this is a part of the plan to complete Sukuna,” Yaga states confidently behind dark glasses not entirely unlike Satoru’s. “We should still have one finger which will give us an advantage. Ino, can you check on it?”

The sorcerer you can only assume is Ino salutes and bounds out of the room quickly, leaving behind a tense room of what remains of the sorcerers.

Satoru had mentioned once that the Shibuya incident last year had thinned out the ranks of sorcerers fairly severely. Surveying the room, you wonder if this is truly what’s left of those who can fight Sukuna, as you’re not sure it gives you confidence for the battle given what you’ve heard about the monster of a curse.

“The next question we need to consider is the veil. Given what we know of the Shibuya incident, we can assume it’s likely meant to keep Gojo out.” All eyes turn to you and Gojo and you suddenly want to shrink into oblivion, but the attention diverts quickly to Yaga once more. “We may also want to consider the possibility of multiple barriers.”

“This also brings into question the choice of location,” the older man speaks up now. You can’t help but feel as though he looks like he’s about to croak from the way he’s hunched over a cane, a thought which you’re all too confident comes from spending too much time around Satoru.

“Where was your mission?” Someone you don’t recognize speaks up.

“Takahama.”

The room goes silent in consideration. “The power plant?” Megumi points out, arms crossed over his chest. “Makes sense if it was near the ocean.”

Something nags at the back of your mind. A doubt, a little twinge of worry that you don’t want to allow to spiral, yet the more you consider it, the more it feels like a distinct possibility.

“They’re not trying to keep Gojo out,” you blurt out, cheeks heating up at the sudden attention as all eyes turn to you. The air is rigid around you. “Choso couldn’t get in because they want everyone except Sato- Gojo- out.”

“You think they’re trying to kill him?”

You shrug. “I don’t know what their goal is but he can’t fire off his attacks in there without killing everyone and causing a nuclear meltdown.”

“He’d obliterate Takahama,” the blonde woman agrees.

A tall blonde man in distinguished robes takes a step forward. His hair is black at the tips and his eyes are sharp, devoid of the empathy evident in the rest of the sorcerers. Just the sight of him is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t see why that’s a problem. Just evacuate the area. Not like it’ll kill Gojo,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

Your blood runs cold in your veins, agitation seeping from deep within you like the slow drip of coagulated blood. You consider him lucky you don’t rip him apart then and there when Ino returns to the door.

“The finger’s still there,” he reports.

“See? Feed the kid the last finger and blow the whole thing up. Boom, Sukuna problem solved.”

This time, he’s not quite as lucky. “How about I give you a taste of my technique instead?” You hiss, taking a step towards him.

His eyebrow raises in a silent challenge as he smirks. Confident asshole.

Satoru firmly pulls you back to him. “He’s not worth it, sweetheart. The Zen’in are all pieces of shit.” He whispers loud enough for the man to hear though your gaze never once leaves the Zen’in clan leader.

“Enough, all of you,” Yaga scolds, though the pointed look he sports is aimed at the blonde man and not you. “If you’re right y/n, then we have limited options. We need to figure out if we can get others into the veil.”

“Hold on, Kenjaku is inside the barrier, right?” Satoru finally speaks up, bringing a hand up thoughtfully to his chin.

Choso nods affirmatively.

“... was the warehouse near any kind of plant life?” Gojo’s voice is grave when he asks the question that he knows is dooming for the both of you. The question that will answer every subsequent one all with one response.

“I don’t think so,” Choso responds with a questioning tilt of his head, sunken eyes narrowing as he fails to understand the correlation.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach, your head woozy as you exchange a glance with Satoru, leaning further into his hold. His hands tighten on your shoulders, the deep frown on his face telling that the same wave of emotions was threatening to drown him as it does you.

“It’s a death trap,” Yuta gapes in disbelief, equally coming to the realization of just what Kenjaku and Sukuna have planned.

Your breathing grows faint, vision blurring as the world seems to spin around you. If not for Satoru’s firm grip on your arms, you’re almost positive you might have been on the floor by now. “Take a breath, sweetheart,” Satoru urges in your ear, his voice low for only you to hear in spite of all the eyes on the both of you.

As you cling to the string of hope that is Satoru’s strong grip, he goes on to explain his thought process. “They want it to be y/n and I’s graveyard. I can’t attack in a power plant without doing bad damage and y/n can’t use her technique without nature. I'd be willing to bet we’re the only ones meant to get into that veil.”

There’s also the fact that Kenjaku’s current host is Nanami and that’s a bridge you’re not entirely ready to cross yet, but you’re grateful at the very least that your boyfriend doesn’t rip the bandage off the wound that is Kento in front of a room full of your allies and the Zen’in.

You exhale shakily, standing straight with your back to Satoru’s chest. “How strong is Sukuna with one finger?” You wonder aloud, glancing around the room as you silently evaluate the team you have to support you. Half of the room is students, which doesn’t sit well with you. They shouldn’t need to be a part of this.

“He’s not overly strong, why?” The white-haired sorcerer tilts his head in an effort to get a look at your thoughtful expression.

“Then we kill Sukuna with nineteen fingers. If one isn’t a threat, then that can be a problem for later.”

A hum of approval ripples through the room, much to your relief.

“What do you propose then, y/n? It sounds like you have a plan.”

“Miri-” you clear your throat in order to cut yourself off, unsure of how widespread the knowledge of your technique is. “Merely-” you begin, a sad attempt at covering up the name of your curse, “-a guess, but I think I can kill him without hurting Yuji with my technique.”

“Not while we’re stuck in there,” Satoru tries to insist, not willing to entertain the thought of you using your technique without the ability to heal, especially on a being like Sukuna. He’s interrupted by the Zen’in again.

“Y’know Sukuna’s special grade, right sweetheart? What does someone like you think ya can do?” He sneers, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes narrow at you, trying to evaluate your skills as though your appearance was enough to go off of.

“Do you wanna find out?” You hiss back through your teeth, jaw clenched. When Satoru firmly grips your arms again, you actively pull against him this time, wanting nothing more than to clock the asshole.

“Zen’in. Y/n,” Yaga’s voice is stern as he scolds you both, an entire lecture held in just your names. “She’s special grade, Zen’in. Quit your whining,” the older man sighs, unwilling to put up with the interruptions.

The Zen’in’s brow twitches when he hears that and a swell of pride surges through you. You smile snidely at him as he huffs and leans back against the wall, averting his gaze as though he’d lost a battle.

Asshole, Miriko huffs in agreement within you.

“So, what? Do we just look for a way to dismantle the veil, then worry about Kenjaku and Sukuna after?”

“I- I’m actually a bit worried about that,” Choso hums uncertainly as he fiddles with his fingers. “Uraume mentioned something about locking Yuji’s soul away if they have enough time.”

Shit.

“It’s the perfect trap to pull in Gojo and I,” you sigh, resigned. You suppose at the end of the day, you always assumed something like this would happen.

From the moment you first met the white-haired sorcerer, you always figured he would be the reason for your demise. Yet, never in a million years would you have imagined it would be a freak accident which he had no part in orchestrating. Worse still, you can’t fathom the idea of being more afraid of losing him than losing your own life.

“Hey,” Satoru’s thumb and forefinger gently lift your chin, everyone else in the room completely forgotten as the blindfolded man keeps your gaze steady on him. “I know what you’re thinking. We’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out, together.”

“Together,” you repeat, clearly satisfying Satoru when he smiles.

“What do you need in order to kill Sukuna?” Yaga asks.

Pulling from Satoru’s grasp, you take a breath, stepping forward with more confidence now. “I need Sukuna severely weakened.”

Glances are exchanged across the room. You know very well that’s not an easy condition to fill.

“How long can you two hold out against Sukuna and Kenjaku? Surely we can take Uraume while we figure out how to get through the veil,” the blonde woman beside Choso raises a finger pointedly in the air and you exchange a glance with Satoru.

“I’ll be fine,” he hums confidently. You have to resist rolling your eyes as an overly familiar phrase slips from his grin-laden lips. “I’m the strongest, after all.”

You don’t expect him to speak again. You expect that to be the end of it and for everyone to move out. Satoru Gojo loves to find ways to shock you, though.

“Besides, I won’t be alone.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile.

–

The world around you feels foreign. Like unfamiliar territory, never once charted to paper. It’s as though you’re on a journey through new lands yet to be discovered, yet this experience is without the wonder of exploration.

Each mile closer to the destination is another twist in your gut, another soar of uncertainty in your heart. Another fearful look shared with your boyfriend, doing his best to comfort you even with all the unfamiliar figures alongside you in the car.

Even your own clothing feels unfamiliar. A compression tank top adorns the top half of your body with stretchy, skin tight workout pants on your lower half. Robes cover the outfit that matches those of Satoru, an outfit you’ve never seen him in before.

White robes are tied loosely around his upper half with matching pants around his hips. A black compression shirt is barely visible beneath the robes on his torso, his defined abdomen a treat for prying eyes.

Yet, you can’t bring yourself to feel an ounce of happiness even at the thought of spending time with your most treasured partner.

Because each mile further brings you closer to what feels like a concrete tomb.

Satoru’s fingers glide gently over your knee, squeezing your thigh in reassurance but it does little to ease the growing fear.

“It’s okay, sweet girl. We’ll be okay. We’ll win.”

The look you shoot him is uncertain. He knows as well as you do that no words could possibly ease the anxiety you feel. You wonder if he knows that the reason you’re so scared isn’t even for your own sake either, it’s for him.

The pitious stares from Choso, the tall blonde woman known as Yuki, Yuta, Shoko, and Kusakabe all make you want to shrink into yourself.

Yet you can only imagine how Yuji feels.

It all feels like a cruel, inescapable nightmare. Like you’re chained to the negative thoughts of the past, chained to events that will scar you for a lifetime. Your past always did seem to catch up with you one way or another. You can only suppose that you’re not destined to find happiness, otherwise why would the world be so cruel as to tear it from you each and every time you found it?

You swallow hard, staring at your hands.

You are afraid, Miriko states matter-of-factly.

Your eye twitches.

Thanks, Miriko.

I apologize. I can feel your fear.

Sorry.

With a soft sigh, you shut your eyes and reach for Satoru’s hand in an effort to calm your nerves.

I need to bring something to your attention.

Satoru’s finger intertwine with yours as Miriko continues.

I did not have the opportunity to bring this up when I intended to, but I feel it is worth mentioning that when your mother and I found my second scale, the clans grew weary of us and sent their strongest after us.

The strongest. It couldn’t be… could it?

I believe you are smart enough to piece together what that means, she hums inwardly.

You’re kidding. The Six Eyes?

The one and only.

The irony that that same person would sit beside you four hundred years later, as your partner rather than your enemy.

That is not what truly matters, however. I fear history is repeating itself.

Your brow furrows, deep in thought as Miriko speaks.

Your mother had a partner that day. She fought the Six Eyes alongside him and he fell at her side.

Your eyes widen in disbelief. After four hundred years, everything had come full circle. Here you are, in a battle alongside the user of the Six Eyes, your mother’s same weapons sat at your side, in Satoru’s traditional clan attire that was likely worn back then by his ancestor as well.

Four hundred years apart, and yet the situation bears a horrible resemblance, coming entirely full circle.

Satoru’s on our side, this time. That’ll give us an advantage. You’re sure that Miriko knows you’re trying to convince yourself more than her. She hums inwardly, letting silence return to your mind.

Subconsciously, your grip on Satoru has tightened to a degree that he’s staring at you with concern.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is low, whispered softly for your ears only as Choso and Yuki mutter something between themselves, Kusakabe looks as if he’s half-asleep.

“Hm?”

“You’re squeezing me like I’m the enemy,” he hums with a teasing lilt in spite of the tense atmosphere.

Blinking in surprise, you look down to your intertwined fingers to see your knuckles are white, nails digging into his skin enough to make you wince when you loosen your grip and see the marks left behind.

“Sorry, Toru,” you sigh apologetically, smoothing your hand over the indents left in his skin.

“You’re fine, pretty girl. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you sigh, leaning closer to him to keep your conversation between you. “Just worried is all.”

“Everything’s gonna be alright, love,” he reassures you, kissing the crown of your head so gently that your heart hurts at the thought.

Love. It’s the first time he’s ever uttered the word.

Your heart races in your chest and you shift in your seat in an effort to get your heart to calm and your mind to quiet, but it’s all for nought.

Your bond with Satoru is something you don’t dare question. Intense, passionate, playful, caring, and burning with desire. It came so naturally once you started to get along that you could only wonder how you had let things get so far away from you both in the first place.

He’s your universe.

You should tell him. You should tell him so that he knows. You should tell him so that your past doesn’t repeat itself. So that history doesn’t repeat itself.

“Satoru, I-”

The words die in your throat as the car pulls to a halt and Ijichi announces your arrival. They sit like an uncomfortable lump in your throat, one that makes you want to claw and tear until it’s out in the open, until you can make it known.

It’s not too late, right?

“Alright, let’s go over what we know,” Kusakabe takes charge, jolting to a suddenly wakeful state.

It’s too late.

Kusakabe lays out the plan before you as you do everything in your power to pay attention, but at the end of the day, it’s not much of a plan. You don’t have enough information to go off of and the longer Sukuna is left unattended, the more sullen the situation becomes.

When it comes down to it the plan is throwing spaghetti at the wall and praying you and Satoru can hold out.

No matter how long you spent trying to convince your boyfriend that his stupid title didn’t define him, it always came back to haunt him, only now it haunts you too.

The strongest couple.

When you take a step out into the cool late autumn air, a shiver runs up your spine. The night is fast approaching and with it brings a layer of frost that you can only imagine will make the upcoming fight more tedious.

Concrete warehouse or not, you’ll be inside at least.

The veil before you extends several dozen feet high, a perfect half sphere. It’s positioned to perfectly avoid the ocean that laps and sullies the dock with its harsh salt water and border any grass or nature.

You grip the handles of your sickles in one hand, while Satoru’s fingers haven’t left their place intertwined with your other hand. Although he sports that ever-present nonchalant smirk, you can sense his uneasiness.

“I think I always hoped we’d have more time to prepare,” Satoru speaks up abruptly, confirming your suspicions of his uneasiness as Choso, Yuki, Yuta, Shoko, and Kusakabe all scatter in their designated directions.

“I don’t want you to be alone,” you tell him, examining the way those starry blue pools of his swirl with melancholy.

“I know, my sweet girl,” a pang of heartbreak blankets his tone as he averts his eyes, “but I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

He’s right, but it doesn’t change the fact that somewhere along the way your priorities shifted. Somewhere along the way you realized that Satoru had become your world. The stars in your sky, the tide in your ocean, and the love of your life.

You need to tell him.

“Toru, I-”

CRASH.

Like shattered glass, shards of ice fly in your direction and in an instant Satoru is in front of you. The ice stops and eventually falls short inches away from him as his technique activates like second nature.

“We need to go,” he mutters under his breath, pupils growing small as he focuses on the task at hand.

Fuck.

His hand presses to the barrier and it relents in an instant, letting him pass through. You steel your resolve and follow after him, passing through shortly after.

You didn’t want to be right about the barrier, but it was too obvious what they’d set out for you. Obvious or not, it doesn’t change the horrible advantage they have over you in this location.

Before you, a jungle of steel and concrete plating and steel beams extends in every direction, towering over you. Two massive reactors can be seen a small distance behind the main building and the low hum of machinery drones around you.

Satoru takes the initiative, cautiously making his way around the side of the building in search of a door while keeping a careful eye on your surroundings. Rounding the corner behind him, you suck in a breath at the sight of a body slumped against the wall, sliced through so precisely you feel sick at just the sight of them.

“Oh god,” you whisper. Satoru pauses, numb to the sight of death. His lips are pressed into a tight line as he turns back to you.

“C’mon, keep moving,” he warns, surveying the area around you. Your grip on your sickles tightens at your sides as you hurry after him with one last uneasy glance at the pooling blood beneath what remained of the body.

A large pair of heavy steel doors stands at the end of the building like an imposing force to be reckoned with, as though it’s your first real opponent.

“Shouldn’t we take a less obvious entrance?” You query with a glance at the rest of the building.

“They won’t ambush us. They already have an advantage and that’s not Sukuna’s style,” Satoru replies with a frown. “He wants to win, fair and square.”

You nod slowly, subconsciously taking a step towards Satoru to feel the warmth of his body against you, but your movement stops an inch from his body. Right, Infinity. You almost had forgotten he had it.

Of course, he notices the way you seek the heat of his body, stopped prematurely. Cautiously, he leans down towards you, Infinity a thought of the past as he cups your face, carefully observing your crimson eyes and uncertain expression. “Will you be okay, sweet girl? Just remember to use the simple domain I taught you if you need to.”

“No- Yeah, yeah of course,” you shake your head, trying to shed your nerves. “I’m just… worried.”

With both Kento’s body somewhere within the power plant and Satoru standing before you, you can’t shake the horrible image your mind continues to conjure of both bodies limp before you with Sukuna standing over them. It sends a shiver straight up your spine. You can’t let history repeat itself.

“We’ll be okay, baby.” His tone is firm, reassuring. There isn’t a shadow of doubt in his mind, but he knows this doesn’t come second nature to you. His lips press to your forehead, lingering a moment as he breathes in your warm embrace. “Will you be okay… with Kenjaku?”

“I-” you hesitate a moment, exhaling. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

“Good,” he whispers against your forehead, “can’t have you going full lizard on me.”

“I take offense to that, Gojo.” Miriko speaks up from the back of your hand.

No matter how serious of a situation you find yourself in, Satoru never can resist cracking a joke. Strangely, you find yourself chuckling at your two companions, helping to ease your nerves.

Satoru’s eyes crinkle at the corners at the sight of your smile before wasting no time as he presses his palm flat on the door before him, ducking through the entrance as he enters the massive facility, holding the door for you to follow him.

Before you is a lobby with red flashing lights and hallways stretching out to either side with a set of doors lightly swinging at the end of the hall ahead. You swallow harshly at the sight of the blood-painted walls and sliced chairs, keeping your eyes fixed on the swinging doors in an effort to ignore the bodies that litter the halls.

Satoru seems unphased by the sight, confidently walking towards the doors that quietly swing back and forth in a subtle, small movement. Following after your boyfriend, you feel your blood run cold when he swings the doors open dramatically.

“Sukuna! Long time no see.”

You wish you had the same confidence as Satoru. You wish you found the same joy in fighting as Satoru did.

“Kenjaku, not a fan of the new look. It makes my girlfriend sad.”

You slide through the swinging doors behind Gojo, mustering every last ounce of confidence to face what you dread most. A massive warehouse stretches high and far on every side with several concrete and steel cylinders on either side of the facility storing the nuclear energy that likely feeds the two massive reactors you’d passed on the way in.

Standing atop one of the cylinders is, to your horror, Kenjaku. He’s adorned Kento’s body in a deep red pinstripe suit with a black button-up and yellow tie, while Yuji stands opposite him, wearing his usual school attire, however Sukuna’s tattoos adorn his face and his expression is smug and intrigued, a look that doesn’t sport the kind-hearted student you’ve come to know.

Although you’d mentally prepared, the sight of the three people you care for the most getting ready to face off is nearly enough to bring you to your knees and beg them to stop, but all you can do is remind yourself that it isn’t them.

It’s not Yuji. It’s not Kento. Neither of them would want this. You have to kill them.

The only positive is that Sukuna doesn’t appear to have been able to bury Yuji yet. He doesn’t sport the four arms you’d been warned about.

“Oh? Girlfriend, you say?” Kenjaku tilts his head and you swallow hard, biting down on the inside of your cheek as you stand at Satoru’s side in the matching clan attire.

“What a fun development,” Sukuna purrs with an amused grin. Your brow furrows at the deep chuckle that follows, “and here I thought you’d be the easy one to defeat, little Vessel.”

“Mmm, I thought I’d have you at your knees at the sight of me,” Kenjaku agrees.

You grit your teeth, muscles tensing under his sharp glare but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

“You know, I think the Vessel would suit me better than this skin, don’t you think Sukuna?” Kenjaku exchanges a sly look with the tattooed curse.

Your skin crawls at the way he speaks, so out of character for Kento that your chest tightens in pain at seeing him used in such a way.

“I’m ending this,” your words are low, intended only for Satoru, whose overenthusiastic smile shifts to concern.

“Are you sure? I can take Ken-”

“You can’t attack in here, Toru,” you point out in a whisper, glancing between the barrels of nuclear energy. One attack and it would end everyone in Takahana. “I can take Kenjaku. You defend against Sukuna, it makes the most sense.”

He hesitates a moment longer, but when he steels himself, the look he shoots Sukuna is one of amusement. He unties his robe dramatically, tossing it aside with bravado and leaving him in his black compression shirt and puffy white clan pants.

“Alright Sukuna, you always said I’d be first to die, so let’s see it.” Satoru leaps forward as the two bound off of the nuclear storage containers. Satoru’s expression is entirely too thrilled, too wild for your liking, but as your boyfriend still manages to use his technique to his advantage even in such a dangerous and confined space, you know this is what he was raised to be. He’s in his element. This is The Strongest.

Your attention turns to Kenjaku, who stares at you with a bored expression unfitting of Nanami. His leg dangles from the energy silo as he waits for you to make a move. Following Satoru’s example, you pull at the tie at the front of your robe, letting it fall to the ground as well. The cool air of the facility chills the bare skin of your shoulders as you prepare to face Kenjaku.

His eyes glint in the dull light that pours in through skylights on the ceiling. “Done wasting time, my dear?”

You inhale sharply at the sound of Kento’s sultry, honeyed voice calling you his dear. Your grip on your sickles tightens and you dart forward, using cursed energy to push yourself off the ground and into the air just as Satoru had taught you in the short month since you’d been learning to fight.

Landing on the silo alongside Kenjaku, he grins widely and full of malice as he ducks out of the way of your sharpened sickle attack. You reel backwards when he attempts to slice you with a blade similarly blunt to Kento’s, though you know it isn’t his given that you have it.

Narrowly avoiding the attack, he lunges forward with a grunt, the first of many misses that’s exchanged, however you quickly realize you don’t have the skills to face off against him alone. With each narrow miss of your skin, your sickles grow further and further from reaching him. Kenjaku has well over four hundred years of training and your month isn’t stacking up to him.

“Is that all you have for me, dear?” He taunts, voice lowering to a silky murmur as he taunts you with Kento’s voice.

Don’t let him get in your head. Keep trying, I will take over when I feel the time is right. Defend.

Heeding Miriko’s words, you very narrowly manage to avoid two more strikes from Kenjaku, breaths coming in heavy pants as you leap from silo to silo, taking care not to damage the barrels of nuclear energy. You can hear Gojo laughing above you, his form casting a shadow over you from where he stands atop the building windows now.

In the split second you’d spared a glance at Gojo, the blade Kenjaku wields hits you squarely at the ratio needed to critically hit your arm. You gasp in pain, adrenaline and shock spiking through your body like a drug as your sickle hits the ground.

Grab the sickle and find somewhere to hide for long enough that I can heal you.

You huff out groan, picking up the second sickle and throwing yourself down off the silo, using the hook of your weapon to swing yourself beneath one of the raised platforms built as a walkway between barrels.

Miriko takes over, wasting no time in growing your arm back before handing control over once again.

“Oh? And here I thought I’d have the pleasure of meeting your curse.”

“Tough luck,” you grumble, parrying an attack from the curse before just barely missing your target in retaliation. The crimson suit he dons has a hefty slash through the collar now.

“This is a new suit, you know,” Kenjaku hums in disapproval, taking a step towards you and effortlessly blocking an attack before laying hits on hard and heavy.

Three.

You recognize Miriko’s signal, brow furrowing as you focus on blocking hit after hit from the blade Kenjaku has. He hasn’t yet broken a sweat and you know he’s playing with you. Your power doesn’t match his at all.

Two.

The clang of steel is piercing and Kenjaku continues to back you into a wall, seemingly figuring he has an advantage.

One.

As your back grows steadily closer to the wall beneath the steel walking platform overhead, you charge your sickles forward, eyes flashing suddenly as your hair shifts to a dramatic silver.

Kenjaku’s eyes widen as you, no, Miriko, shove him back a step and leap off the wall, swiftly moving behind him and slicing at his dominant arm. It falls to the ground with a horrible splatter as blood pools from his arm.

His lip curls in irritation as he leaps back and picks his weapon up, not yet having noticed the very slow and far weaker decay than your usual attacks that’s been imbued into your weapon. If you can keep his attention pulled from his arm, you can win this here and now.

Never daring to back down, Kenjaku tries to get into a location that betters his advantage, leaping back atop the silo. Miriko bounds after him, following his moves with practiced precision as she leaps forward with eyes on Kento’s shoulder.

Her sickle collides with the cylinder beneath and you’re mentally grateful it only collides and doesn’t pierce.

“So you’re the curse?”

“And if I am?”

Kenjaku’s lips quirk up into a grin. “All the more fun for me.”

Their battle is a dance of elegant and well-timed attacks, blocks, and dodges in comparison to your battle just moments ago. Miriko moves with precision and ease, doing what she can to keep Kenjaku’s attention from the decay steadily crawling up his arm. If it can just reach his shoulder-

Kenjaku’s expression grows frustrated as his attention is drawn to the remaining portion of his arm. Shit, of course he would notice his arm hadn’t yet healed.

His lips quirk upwards in a smile. “Clever old curse, aren’t you?”

Miriko ignores his quip with no desire for chatter, watching as he manages to use the ratio technique barely an inch over the decay and slice off the rest of his arm, healing it as easily as Miriko had healed you now that her decay wasn’t in effect.

Rolling her shoulders, Miriko spares no time in launching attack after attack on Kenjaku, a flurry of missed attacks, until finally her chance comes.

Satoru crashes down from the skylight, spotting an opportunity to create an opening with his keen Six Eyes. Catching Kenjaku off-guard, he lands squarely on top of him, his ever-present Infinity blowing the cursed spirit within Nanami off the cylinder he was standing on.

Having spotted the white-haired sorcerer mere moments before he landed, Miriko made the quick decision to throw herself off the cylinder in her best guess at the direction that Kenjaku would be launched in.

Luckily, a thousand years gives you time to learn math and physics. As Kenjaku plummets down beside her, rolling a few feet and coming to a halt on his back, her sickle is square on his chest before he can recover.

“Still having fun?” She asks with a blazing fury behind her eyes as she plunges the weapon deep within his chest. He sputters and coughs and as Nanami’s pained expression reaches your eyes when Miriko hands control back over, you suddenly feel sick all over again.

No amount of mental fortitude could prepare you to say goodbye to Kento again. With a deep breath, you remind yourself it’s not him.

“You are a unique pair,” he groans out as the decay spreads through his chest and up his neck. You stand back, letting the sickle’s power seep into the man.

Regardless of the anger you feel for what’s been done to Kento, you can’t help the tear that falls down your cheek. The sympathy you feel for someone you’ve long said goodbye to already.

Somewhere beyond my domain, I am certain he is thankful for what you have done.

Thanks, Miriko.

You crack a small smile at the curse’s strangely comforting words as the cracks of decay spread up his face. His breathing grows ragged and increasingly strained until he’s gripping painfully at the sickle, slicing his hands open as decay spreads through his limbs too.

“You don’t stand a chance against Sukuna,” he rasps. “Not with 19 fingers.”

Your lip trembles as you tug the sickle from his chest and blood pours from the laceration. Even knowing it’s not him, the pained look in his auburn eye brings you to your knees beside him.

“Go to hell, Kenjaku.”

It’s the last thing he hears before his world goes dark. Your trembling hand caresses Kento’s cheek gently and you’re grateful you can have a proper burial for him now.

You swallow hard in an effort to keep your tears at bay as your fingers loop beneath the thread that keeps Kento’s head sewn shut. With each loop of thread that you pull, bile rises in your throat until your breaths grow ragged from the mental exertion.

When finally his skull falls open, you damn near wretch, swallowing down the bile just in time as your trembling hands pull the real Kenjaku, a disgusting brain with teeth, from Nanami’s skull. Liquid drips down your fingers and wrists, warm and slimy, as you set the brain aside.

“Never again,” you whisper, jabbing the sickle into the brain. It writhes and pulses when the sickle jabs it as though Kenjaku was trying to hide his ability to stay alive through a body’s death, but you knew better. You knew of Geto. It wouldn’t happen again.

With one final twitch, the brain falls flat as decay continues to spread.

Taking a deep breath, you stand up and spare one final glance at Kento, your heart twisting in pain at the sight of him, his whole body scarred, in a suit not belonging to him, with a weapon not his own and his head hanging open. Your lip trembles as you fight the urge to… you aren’t even sure. Cry? Vomit? Scream?

You don’t have the luxury of any of those.

With a deep breath, your gaze rises to the skylight where you can see Sukuna and Satoru’s shadows moving in a flurry of precise movements. You don’t want to join them, but if you plan on saving Yuji, you’re not sure you have an option.

Wiping a tear from your cheek, you leap up the cylinders, propelling yourself up through the skylight in a crash of broken glass as you lunge at Sukuna, hoping to catch him by surprise. His senses are too keen and he easily dodges, having sensed your cursed energy a mile away.

“Oh? Is your beloved ratio sorcerer dead?” Sukuna taunts with a dark chuckle.

You all know it’s a blow to your gut but you don’t so much as flinch, remaining steady and focused. “Don’t stop your fight on my account,” you reply evenly, glancing over to Satoru to see his skin marred with shallow cuts. Your lip parts in disbelief that Sukuna could ever land a hit on him, but they do seem to be healing.

Satoru’s gaze falls to you, keeping Sukuna in his peripherals. Though he doesn’t say anything, those big blue eyes soften and his eager, battle-ready gaze calms when he meets your eyes. Swirling within his irises is a glimmering reassurance that puts you at least a hair’s width more at ease as you return his gaze silently.

All attention turns to your opponent, grinning across from you. Of course, Sukuna knows more about your abilities than Kenjaku so you won’t be able to take him by surprise like you’d done previously. Sukuna is also more cunning and he knows Miriko better than you’d like.

“Let us see what one thousand years does to a death curse,” Sukuna hums, lunging at you in the same breath as he unleashes a rain of slices down. Satoru’s before you in the blink of an eye, a grin as wide as Sukuna’s spread across his features. His infinity protects you from each of Sukuna’s attacks but Satoru can do very little other than defend given the close proximity to the reactors.

You’re no match for Sukuna, but Miriko is. Your minds meld as you swap back and forth in a flurry of missed punches, kicks, and slices from both sides. Satoru’s six eyes help him manage both your safety, the safety of the facility, and his own as Sukuna unleashes more and more powerful attacks as though testing Satoru’s limits and abilities.

The king of curses’ slices cracks the concrete structure below you and you worry for the stored nuclear energy below, but you don’t have time to think about it when you miscalculate a movement and Sukuna’s slice hits squarely across your chest. You fall back onto the hard concrete with an unfortunate thump.

Blood spills from your mouth as you reorient yourself while Satoru takes over. You allow Miriko control as she heals you before managing to bound back up to Sukuna.

Your chest heaves as the battle rages. Your muscles burn with the intensity as Satoru tosses you around with his technique, both to move you out of danger and in an attempt to surprise Sukuna.

Yet as the sun falls below the surface of the horizon outside the veil, you begin to realize that something is wrong.

Sukuna’s attack launches you back in a flurry of limbs as you hit the concrete beneath and glass embeds itself in your skin. With a cough, you get to your feet as Miriko heals you from within. Satoru stands in front of you defensively.

“You know, this would be more fun for us all if you two would attack me,” Sukuna comments with an arched brow. He knows very well the reason that you won’t, but something else occurs to you as well.

He knows something you don’t.

Something is very wrong.

The veil should have lifted by now. The plan was to lift the veil and move the battle away from the power plant, but if Yuta hadn’t found a way to dispel it yet and defeating Uraume hadn’t done it, assuming they had been able to defeat them, then what kept it up?

Satoru takes a step back to exchange a knowing glance with you, clearly coming to the same conclusion. It’s Sukuna’s veil. The only way to break the barrier is to break Sukuna. That was his plan from the start. Whether it would be him or you, he planned on having only one side leave this battle.

“Fuck,” you mumble, taking a deep breath. You’ll have to adjust your plan. “Toru?”

“I know,” he responds gravely. He knows very well what needs to be done.

So, your strategy is adjusted on the fly. Miriko takes over and launches herself at full force towards Sukuna. His eyes widen at the thrill of what he considers a real battle as her sickle narrowly misses his arm.

Satoru moves to the sidelines, swapping his strategy to defend the power plant rather than you.

Each movement burns as your muscles scream for a break, unaccustomed to this kind of a workout, but each glimpse of Satoru is your reminder to keep going. Keep pushing.

Miriko strategically swaps positions with you at precise intervals, each swap burning into your lungs uncomfortably but you don’t- can’t- stop.

As Sukuna’s slices rain down in a tempest of pain, Satoru moves his body to block the nuclear facility while it rains over you in a flurry of agony. Your jaw slacks at the pain as you stumble over the concrete ceiling that creaks beneath you, holding on by a thread.

Miriko pulls control from you, working through the pain to heal you when she spots a single moment, a single opening.

A chance.

Sukuna and Satoru banter effortlessly while Sukuna pays attention to the sorcerer for just a moment too long. Miriko manages to get into his space, close enough to slash him if she can just manage to-

In an instant, Sukuna’s attention is returned to you and he bats the sickles away with a thrilled grin.

But at the end of the day if this is her only chance-

She has to take it.

Her hand connects with his shoulder in place of the sickle. His eyes widen, expression changing to one of shock as decay spreads through him from his shoulder just as quickly as it rises up your arm.

Sukuna flails backwards and Satoru takes the opportunity to slam into Sukuna with the full force of his infinity, blasting through the side of the buildings and forcing all of you to the small dirt area at the side of the building. It doesn’t offer much space until the edge of the barrier but it’s better than the potential of the roof collapsing.

Miriko heaves in each breath, making a constant effort to stave off the decay as it attempts to spread through your body. Your left hand dangles at your side, cracks trailing up to your jaw and blinding your left eye. Even for her, it’s intensely painful.

“Y/n!” Satoru calls your name, trying to reach your side only for Sukuna to raise his undamaged hand and throw a battering of cleaved slashes in the direction of a reactor and, in turn, Satoru.

Miriko? Even internally, your question is painful. You’re scared.

I apologize, y/n. I am uncertain of any other options.

Sukuna seems mostly unphased by the damage as he continues to attack Gojo, paying little mind to the heavily damaged Miriko who stands a small distance away, evaluating options.

I am truly sorry, y/n.

What?

Sukuna’s had a thousand years to perfect healing Miriko’s technique, yet it still isn’t an easy task. Regardless, the decay still lingers for enough time that there’s a chance. His movements are sluggish enough that there’s another opening.

“NO!” Satoru’s voice pierces the air like a siren, a warning that Sukuna is a split-second too slow to avoid. Miriko’s hand connects with the curse’s legs as she swipes low at him, pulling life from him in order to heal her own decay, however as the stone gray texture spreads up through his body beyond what Miriko can heal, she has to swap her technique again to damage you more.

She doesn’t dare disconnect her hand, her technique inversing itself as the decay spreads back through you and cracks through Sukuna’s lower right eye. He hisses and shatters your arm as he manages to back out of your grasp.

It could work, Miriko could split him and Yuji if she could just-

Decay wraps around your heart as Miriko’s focus wanes, cradling your vital organ like a baby but as she works to stave off the damage and keep you alive, your body collapses. Her breathing grows ragged, the shine in your eyes fading.

Satoru should take the shot. He should risk the facility and take the shot, kill Sukuna, but that’s not what the haze in his mind tells him as control returns to you and your body convulses on the ground.

“Nonono, no, y/n, no,” he breathes out, falling to his knees at your side. He hears Sukuna’s victorious chuckle behind him, ignoring it as he pulls you into his arms, his touch so gentle and delicate you would think you were a flower.

You are his flower. His world, his everything.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen, I told you we’d be okay. I- I promised,” he whispers, unsure if you can even hear him as your eyes glaze over. You’re breathing so faintly that fear spikes through him and his eyes go wide with horror. “Stay with me, baby. Come on, Shoko’s just outside, we- we can-” he hesitates, but he knows the barrier won’t let either of you through.

“This is pathetic to watch,” Sukuna hisses with a triumphant grin. Half of his body is still wholly covered in graying cracks and one arm hangs limp at his side. It’s healing slowly but at the end of the day it’s not worth it if you’re not there with him. It’s not worth it if you die and he still has to kill Yuji. Not after everything you’ve been through together.

“You don’t win this, Sukuna. You know that, right?” Satoru’s pupils are pinpricks as he stares at Sukuna, a crazed smile quirking his gorgeous lips up. The curse’s eyes widen, frowning at the sorcerer as he tries to decipher Satoru’s words.

The white-haired man laughs at the distraught and confused expression he receives, his grip on you intensifying.

“Miriko, are you still in there?”

Neither you or her respond, but your eyes flash alight with a glowing crimson that he recognizes as a sign.

“Princess?” His voice softens as he returns his full attention to you, holding you close to his chest, keeping that fading consciousness with him as you cling to life. “I should have said it sooner, but you’re my world. My everything.” He pauses, steeling himself to keep back his tears as he speaks. “I know I’ve said it before but I was a fucking dumbass and you didn’t deserve that and now…”

He shoots a sidelong glance at a confused Sukuna, knowing he needs to speed up his speech if he’s planning on keeping you with him and giving you the shot he knows you have to take as Sukuna is still immobile.

“Now I took everything from you, all over again. I… Don’t think I can live with myself for that. So just know that I’m sorry,” he pauses again, letting out a trembling breath as he cradles your face with his hand. “I love you, y/n,” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours. Your lips twitch in an attempt to respond, but you’re too weak.

Satoru Gojo has spent so long thinking he’s the strongest sorcerer, the strongest man, the strongest- well- everything. Yet in this moment, one where you’ve sacrificed your entire life to help him protect Yuji and still failed, one where somehow Sukuna is the one still standing while he cradles the dying body of the person he loves most, he feels hopelessly weak.

His lip trembles as it parts from yours, still brushing the soft skin of your lips as he whispers something meant for only you and Miriko.

“Now, Miriko.”

Life surges back through your body as Miriko grips Satoru tightly. His gorgeous blue eyes fade just as your crimson ones had and the curse within you doesn’t spare a glance back at him as she tackles the king of curses to the ground.

NO!

You scream as you try to pull control from Miriko, but your consciousness is lost in a haze, trapped behind a fog that seems endless. Where normally you would sit comfortably on Miriko’s ship, you’re now trapped in an endless pale fog. Its grip on you is tight and your consciousness falls to your knees, sobbing, begging, screaming.

You can’t feel pain in this form, and yet your lungs and throat sear. Your eyes burn. Pain tears through your body like claws ripping at flesh, threatening to tear you apart from within.

MIRIKO!

You scream for her, but she doesn’t respond.

MIRIKO, PLEASE! Not again, not- please- I can’t-

You can’t even tell if she hears you until suddenly the fog dispels and you’re in an unfamiliar environment.

Your breaths come in harsh pants as you take in your surroundings. The harsh iron smell of blood taints the air and you wrinkle your nose in an attempt to keep the rising bile down. Before you sits a pile of bones while a massive rib cage stretches overhead.

Atop the pile of bones, Miriko’s massive form ducks and weaves through slashes and slices, attacking Sukuna with everything she has. Within his innate domain, he’s at his full force with no need for domain expansion. This is a dangerous play.

“Y/n!” Yuji’s voice cuts through the haze as his footsteps approach quickly, splashing the thick crimson liquid at your feet up your body with each rushed step.

“Yuji?” Your eyes travel slowly from the curses to your student.

“Shit, you look bad,” he comments.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

He shoots you a wry smile, offering you a hand. “Are you alright?” He asks apprehensively as he pulls you to your feet. You’re certain he knows what’s happened, you’re certain he saw through Sukuna’s eyes.

“I’m fine,” you lie, but your voice breaks.

Taking a shaky breath, you spare a glance at Yuji. He looks fairly battered from his fight with Kenjaku and Uraume earlier, but he’s in better spirits than you in spite of everything.

It’s a tragic end to everything, really. To think that you and your student would watch everything and everyone you love get torn down and killed by your own hands and neither of you could do anything but watch.

What a cruel end.

History repeated itself after all.

Miriko cries out in pain as her arm is sliced off. She works to use the reverse cursed technique as she continues her mountain of attacks on Sukuna.

“We can beat him,” Yuji says suddenly, pulling your attention away. You shoot him a questioning glance, although you’re certain he can see defeat written plainly on your expression. “We can beat him and then maybe…” he trails off hesitantly. You nudge him in an attempt to get him to continue. “Maybe if we win, Shoko can…”

Heal Satoru.

It’s too late, you know it is. But if this is what your life was leading to, then fuck it. You’d be damned if it was the king of curses who walks out of this barrier and not Yuji. Even if Satoru and you are left dead, Yuji will live. He had to. Kento and Satoru wouldn’t die for nothing.

“What did you have in mind?”

“We just need to get close enough to hold him down for Miriko. I should be able to get to him if you can distract him.”

You nod solemnly, sparing a glance at the curses that now danced elegantly above the ribs that tower over Sukuna’s innate domain within Itadori.

Miriko slinks around a rib as she whips her tail at the curse.

You leap up the bone pile, letting Yuji throw you upwards until you walk along the long spine.

“Sukuna!” You call, but he pays you no mind. Without Miriko, you’re an insect to him. And you know that. Which is why you play dirty. After all, if he won’t respect you, then you needn’t pay him any respect. “Now, Gojo!”

Sukuna’s eyes widen as he takes in your words.

It’s not Satoru that attacks though, it’s Yuji that tackles Sukuna off the ribs and down into the pile of bones below. The pile clatters as Sukuna and Yuji disperse them and Miriko falls after him.

She moves with urgency as she wraps her snake-like body around the curse once, twice, three times, as decay takes its hold on Sukuna.

“You insect!” He hisses in disbelief as he unleashes wave after wave of cleaves into Miriko’s body.

You watch with anticipation as cracks scatter across Sukuna’s body, over the muscles of his tattooed arms and up his jaw, all the while Miriko falls apart around him with each powerful slash that slices through her scaly flesh.

To your horror, although his body is nearly entirely stone, it’s Miriko’s muscles that twitch and falter first and allow what remains of Sukuna to escape. He chuckles darkly, turning his attention to you.

“No,” you whisper, collapsing to your knees as you stare down at Miriko’s body, limp on the ground.

Sukuna’s skin slowly regains its structure, graying cracks fading and healing gradually as he grins at you. “Did you think you had won, little vessel?” He asks tauntingly.

Kento, Satoru, now Miriko too. They all lay dead at the hands of this monster.

Yuji uses the distraction to leap into action, eyes fiery as he goes hand-to-hand in combat with Sukuna while you sit helplessly and watch. What else can you do? Your technique is dead on the ground below.

Yet… you’re still here. Still using her technique to enter Sukuna’s domain. Your eyes train down to the pool of blood below, looking over Miriko’s body. She’s still in pieces, but she’s in fewer pieces than she was.

Your lips part as you realize all hope isn’t lost, Yuji just needs to bide his time. You silently fall to the pool of blood, letting the warm liquid cover your body as you find Miriko’s head. She doesn’t move when you set your hands on her snout, but her pupil shifts to you.

You don’t dare blow her cover, you don’t dare make a sound.

Her pupils roll over to watch Sukuna again, still distracted by Yuji’s flurry of punches. Sukuna gripes loudly about him using dismantle, his own cursed technique, against him, and you’re glad your training with him paid off.

Miriko’s muscles tense under your fingers and you realize she’s ready to strike, when suddenly the course of battle changes. You would recognize this feeling anywhere. It’s nothing, it’s everything.

It’s Satoru.

Infinite Void.

Your chest tightens as you search frantically for him, but he’s nowhere to be found. No, he’s turning the tides in your favor with whatever power he has left, just as Miriko had brought up months ago.

You frantically look between Sukuna and Yuji, both paralyzed by the domain. Beneath you, Miriko shifts. By all accounts, she shouldn’t be able to move. But unlike last time when Satoru kept only you safe from his domain and Miriko was unable to move, you now were keeping her safe within the innate domain as well. The three of you connected as one within the Infinite Void.

Your fingers tangle in the serpentine curse’s mane as she slinks forward, blood staining her white scales and silver hair.

Under usual circumstances, Miriko is the most angelic form of death, the most merciful end, and you’re her gentle and kind vessel. Covered in the blood of Sukuna’s domain with anger coursing through your veins, you’re the ruler of hell and she’s your most loyal demon.

You leap from Miriko, pulling Yuji away from her form as she wraps herself around Sukuna once more. Satoru’s grip slips just in time for Miriko to wrap around him once again.

“Six Eyes,” Sukuna snarls in disbelief as he unleashes cleave attacks against Miriko again. You watch in horror with Yuji as Miriko’s body falls to shreds once more with each slice through her scales, blood spurting from each laceration.

The difference between this time and last, however, is that Sukuna was already nearing death. And so even as Miriko’s grip on Sukuna slips, so too does his hold on life, and his hold on Yuji Itadori.

Miriko falls to the ground and as she does, she leaves behind a statue of what was once Sukuna.

“She did it,” you whisper in disbelief, taking a step towards Miriko. She shuffles in an effort to face you, red eyes flickering as she searches for you, but her eyes are glazed over, blood dripping from her lashes. She’s blind.

“Miriko?”

“I am sorry, y/n.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, swallowing down the bile rising in your throat as you rest your hands on her snout. She writhes under your touch, her long whiskers twitching as her tongue tastes the air.

“I promised him, you know.”

“Promised who, Miriko?”

“When you were recovering. I promised Gojo that should the time come, I would save you by taking his life.” She exhales heavily and you watch in horror as her detached foot twitches at your side.

Adrenaline, grief, fear, you aren’t sure which one it is that’s keeping you numb, but you don’t realize you’re crying until a tear wets your hand, slipping down to her scales. Your hands tremble as everything begins to crash in on you.

“That asshole,” you whimper, more tears falling down onto Miriko’s scales below.

“Don’t cry, little one.” The timbre of her voice changes as she rasps her breaths.

“Can’t you heal?”

She chuckles lightly, her snout rumbling beneath you.

“Take care, y/n. You make good company.”

“No, no, please. Miriko,” you beg, clutching at her but you feel the innate domain of Sukuna fading and the serpentine curse needs to sever the connection between Sukuna and Yuji before it’s too late.

You glance back desperately at Yuji, your chest heaving as you gasp for air.

“Miriko, you have to heal, please,” you beg, tears falling down your cheeks as you sob, falling to your knees.

When next you open your eyes, Yuji sits before you, alive, though his gaze is distant. Where once there was decay, he’s healed now. From within the innate domain, Sukuna must have healed him, expecting to win. The veil has dispelled but there’s no sign of the rest of the sorcerers.

With his knees pulled to his chest and a forlorn expression, your student stares at you with a clearly guilty conscience in spite of the fact that he has no reason to feel responsible for what’s transpired. You swallow your agony as you muster your most convincing reassuring smile, trying to be the responsible adult, but Yuji’s focus is already on something behind you.

Blinking away the disorientation of the innate domain, you feel your chest tighten when you whip your head around, seeing Satoru’s limp body splayed across the ground with his hair over his face. His hand loosely clutches your ankle, other hand still just barely holding the familiar hand sign of his domain expansion.

“Toru?” Your voice barely manages to penetrate the air, not even loud enough to call a whisper.

You scramble to his side, pulling him desperately into your arms. His body is decayed from his feet to just beneath his chest. Miriko must have spread the decay to him from your feet in an effort to potentially save him.

It’s moments like these that make you question whether ‘curse’ was the correct term for her.

Your lip trembles as Satoru’s figure lays limp in your arms. Your mind seems to move slower than your body as your entire frame shakes with your relentless sobs, barely allowing you an opportunity to breathe.

“Gojo-Sensei! Y/n! Yuji!”

Yuta’s voice is a distant sound, blanketed by the shrill ring in your ears with blurred vision as you hold your boyfriend close to you. You bury your head into his shoulder, gripping at him desperately.

Yuta bolts over to you, setting his sword aside as he falls to the ground beside you, although you don’t fully process that it’s him. In truth, you’re not sure you care. It doesn’t matter much at this point, because your love is gone.

In your peripherals, Yuta kneels at your side, looking over Satoru. Shortly behind him is Shoko, who kneels opposite you, healing his surface-level wounds.

“Y/n,” Shoko softly whispers, lost on you. She repeats your name once more, setting her hand over yours. Blinking tears away, you meet Shoko’s gentle gaze, her kind eyes and reassuring smile easing your pain just long enough to hear what she has to say. “Look,” she says softly.

You follow where she points at his torso, eyes widening at the spot where his shirt rides up as you see that slowly but surely, the cracks are healing.

“Is- Is he…?”

“He’s stubborn, is what he is,” Shoko smiles at you with sunken eyes. “Satoru, you dumbass,” she sighs, placing her hand an inch away from him in an attempt to speed up the healing process.

Yuji comes to join you after reuniting with Choso and Kusakabe, all waiting with bated breath to see if he would awaken.

You aren’t sure how long you wait when a muscle twitches beneath your fingertips.

“Satoru?” You whisper desperately, biting your lip as your heart pounds in your ears. His expression is so serene that you wonder if he was an angel in another lifetime. His skin is flawless, with the faintest hint of stubble on his chin that matches the color of his lashes and gorgeous white hair. You feel like you stare at him for an eternity, when it happens again.

His muscle twitches.

“Toru? I need you baby, please, I-”

His low groan cuts you off as one eye flickers open and you let out a gasp, relieved when he shifts in your arms, leaning into your warm embrace.

“You didn’t say it back,” he rasps as tears fall from your eyes like a river, relief coursing through you.

“Oh my god Toru, I love you too, I thought I lost you and I didn’t know what to do, you scared me, you idiot-” your words come out as a ramble when you hug him tight to you. The crowd around you has been long tuned out as you bawl into Satoru’s shoulder. The world slows for you, allowing you the moment to yourselves.

“Hey, pretty girl, I’m here,” he coos, hushing you softly as he reaches up to gently stroke your hair. “I’m here, my love.”

“I thought I lost you too,” you cry, voice breaking and betraying your relief. It’s all so overwhelming to love, to lose, over and over and over, that you clutch to him desperately as though you might lose him again.

“I promised you we’d all be okay,” he whispers, pushing himself up as he heals more. His lips brush yours softly before he kisses you languidly, savoring the moment as though it’s his last. “I meant it.”

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes remain shut and you breathe his living scent in, trying to bury your face into his shoulder again.

“C’mere, love,” he urges, shuffling to take your head in his hands. He lifts your face to his, pulling you into another tender kiss. “I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, eyes fluttering open. “And I should have fucking said it earlier,” he chuckles dryly, averting his eyes guiltily.

“I love you too,” you whisper back, voice growing even enough that Satoru’s heart flutters. You’d succeeded. He’d kept his promise. Everything would be okay and you had your way out now, you could finally leave the world of curses and sorcerers and it’s all he could ever want for you.

When your eyes open again, Satoru’s eyes widen. It’s the first good look he’s gotten at you since waking up and his lips purse, brow furrowing. “Your eyes…” he whispers.

Your head tilts as you sniffle, unsure of what he means, until it clicks. Miriko is dead. Your eyes have returned to their natural color. “Oh,” your voice breaks, your grip on him tightening. “Yeah. They were only red because of Miriko.”

Satoru sighs, understanding passing over his features as he solemnly drops his head. You embrace the moment of silence, each paying respects to the curse that likely saved the world and only a small crowd would ever know. “She’ll be back someday, you know. It might be a lifetime from now, but she’ll be back.”

“I think she severed the connection between Yuji and Sukuna and then herself and me. If she didn’t then I… I should be dead, shouldn’t I?”

Satoru grimaces. “You should be,” he answers. “I owe her one for trying to avoid my heart with her attack and bringing my girl back to me,” he whispers hoarsely, a bittersweet timbre to his tone.

Your heart jumps to your throat, pounding as he calls you his girl. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” You tell him suddenly, the words falling from your lips before you have time to process what you’ve said.

His brow furrows.

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to say that I love you back again,” you tell him, pinching his shoulder. He recoils, playful frustration passing over his features. “Gimme a break, I told you I shoulda said it earlier,” he grumbles, pouting.

You sigh, leaning your forehead into him. “Just… don’t you dare pull that sort of shit again,” you mumble. He huffs out a sigh, caressing you tightly against his toned form just as he regains movement in his feet.

“I promise, my love.”

You lift your head to look at him. His pout fades, replaced easily by a mesmerized smile, absolutely lost in your gorgeous eyes. “Shit, you have beautiful eyes. I mean you always did, but-” he shakes his head “-I had no idea they weren’t always red.”

Your smile doesn’t quite meet your eyes, after all, you still have a lot to process, but Satoru is just thrilled to be alive to see the way your lips curve so beautifully, the way a timid laugh slips through them as you hold back your grateful tears.

Thank you, Miriko. Thank you for keeping us all alive.

She doesn’t respond, of course, but you hope somewhere out there in whatever afterlife she’s experiencing, that she’s watching over you both.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

❦ a/n ; wowowow i just want to say thank you as always for all the support and i'm sorry for the angst- this hurt to write </3 but i hope you all enjoy and stick with me for the next and final chapter full of fluff ♡

writing & format © starmapz. dividers © adornedwithlight and cafekitsune. do not repost, translate, or copy.

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screamlet · 2 months ago

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fic: the crash is coming soon (8x15 coda)

lol, fuck

bucktommy; 4k; complete tags: 8x15 coda; reference to mcd; grief; alternating pov; fix-it

Summary:

"I just got put on administrative leave, pending an investigation." Tommy takes a shaky breath. "Can I stay at your place for a while?"

---

TOMMY

It's only when Evan starts swearing that Tommy realizes he never swears much.

"It can't be that fucking hard," Evan says slowly, dripping with condescension, "To fucking take that giant truck and let my people get into the giant truck so they can go to a fucking hospital."

Tommy sees a major's insignia on their uniform so he doesn't feel that bad about Evan's tone; he's just surprised. The major says, "Sir—"

"In," Evan says, hands out, "The fucking truck." Suddenly they all hear the whine of ambulance sirens and Evan rolls his eyes. "Alright, thank you for nothing, I'm gonna go make sure the firefighter with a collapsed lung gets to a hospital, and maybe if I have a goddamned minute or two, I'll get to the one with the plague."

Tommy swears he had something to tell Evan, something to offer or help with, but Evan doesn't need it right now. Doesn't need him. Needed him earlier, with the helicopter, but needing him—that's over. Just his luck, because Tommy needs him now. Selfishly, desperately, he needs him now. A soldier in need of a duty.

It's like Tommy's attention or longing has tugged on one of Evan's strings. He turns around and catches sight of Tommy, something in his eyes softening immediately. He crosses the space between them and clutches Tommy's arm. "Hey, what is it? I'm kinda." He laughs shortly. "I'm kinda running on adrenaline right now and I know the crash is coming soon, but—but what do you need?"

"I just got put on administrative leave, pending an investigation." Tommy takes a shaky breath. "Can I stay at your place for a while? I don't…"

Evan on that security camera footage, sinking to the ground, shuddering violently, will be burned in his brain forever. He thought he'd offer Evan his shoulder, hold him tight, take care of him, and then his captain had driven up and took him aside with Colonel Hartman to tell him about his unexpected vacation.

"I want to help," Tommy says, "And I don't want to be alone right now."

Evan's huge eyes take him in as he nods minutely. "Yeah, I—" He swallows and points between them. "Same. Can you check on the medical people with Chim, see how and when they're getting him to a hospital? Because a chair under some plastic tarp in a parking lot isn't good enough."

Evan clutching his arm turns into a clap on his shoulder, so butch-bro Tommy can't help but laugh. As they part ways, he remembers the cruise ship rescue, Bobby and Athena reuniting, the lingering hand on his shoulder as Evan silently thanked him. He pushes through it and winds his way to Howie.

---

Read the rest on AO3

#911 fic #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan #tevan fic #my writing #my fic #911 spoilers #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 coda #cw major character death #(reference to/mention of)#god please read yarrow's baseball fic instead #this is not a place of honor

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corrodedcoffinfest · 29 days ago

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May Mayhem Bingo FULL Masterlist

Thanks to those of you who helped create some mayhem over here at @corrodedcoffinfest! Everyone who participates in any way makes these events what they are.

This event had 65 total entries from 9 unique participants: 61 Fics, 4 Pieces of Art & 0 Other Works were submitted. We had 17 Bingos and 1 Blackout! (Be on the lookout for the individual masterlists of everybody that finished at least one bingo, they'll be coming soon!)

I've updated the big spreadsheet with these newest entries, bringing our current total from all events to 457!

And don't forget to check out our ao3 collection!

Prompt: Sold His Soul For a Donut

Sympathy for the Devil by @thisapplepielife | Word Count: 6666 | Rating: E | POV: Eddie | CW: Unprotected Sex, The Devil Doesn't Just Want Sympathy, But Praise Too, Mild Dom/Sub BDSM Vibes | Relationship(s): Steddie, Eddie & Gareth | Tags: AU, Accidentally Selling Your Soul, Like a Dumbass, But With A Happy Ending, Steve Harrington is the Devil (No, Really)

Terms and Conditions by @dame-zoom-a-lot | Word Count: 3950 | Rating: E | POV: Gareth | Relationships: Gareth / Unnamed Freak (who I call Doug) | CW: Non-con | Tags: The dove isn't dead but it's high as fuck and behind the wheel, Rarepair, I meant the non-con I cannot emphasize that hard enough, Monsterfucking, Monster!Doug, Monsterfucker!Gareth

We admitted we were powerless by @felixir-of-moths | Word Count: 1805 | Rating: T | Relationships: Chrissy&Freak, Eddie&Freak | CW: eating disorders, addictions | Tags: AU modern setting, 12 steps program, eating disorder, Chrissy needs a Hug, Freak is a Sweetheart, Eddie is a Little Shit

Prompt: Lounge Singer AU

Lounge Singer Eddie by @dame-zoom-a-lot | Medium: Art | Details: Eddie on a stool with flames painted up the legs.

I1: Lounge Singer AU by @the-unforgivenn | Word Count: 1.7k | Rating: M | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson | CW: Eddie’s pasty white ass and maybe a horny Steve Harrington. Tons of references to fantasy football, too. | Tags: Pre-Steddie, Corroded Coffin, Gareth Emerson, Robin Buckley, nudity (partial), betting/gambling

Prompt: Last Kiss

N1: Last Kiss by @the-unforgivenn | Word Count: 5.7k | Rating: M | Pairing: Rockstar!Gareth Emerson x Fem!Reader | CW: referenced cheating (reader's ex is a dickhead), Gareth's super-sexy lip ring, strong language, low self-esteem | Tags: Corroded Coffin, Jeff, Gareth, Roommate!Reader, kissing

Prompt: Locked Door

Despite All My Rage I'm Still Just a Rat In a Cage by @thisapplepielife | Word Count: 3335 | Rating: M | CW: Kidnapping/Hostages, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Injuries | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Steddie | Tags: Post S4, Future Fic, Famous Eddie, Teacher Steve, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Finding Themselves in a Predicament, Getting Together, With a Drastic Nudge

G1: Locked Door by @the-unforgivenn | Word Count: 3.4k | Rating: E | Pairing: Pep!Band!Gareth x Basketball!Player!FemaleReader | CW: Nervous Gareth, smut - oral (f receiving), protected p in v sex | Tags: Pep!Band!Gareth x Basketball!Player!FemaleReader, College AU, Modern AU, Corroded Coffin, eventual smut, Fem!Reader

Prompt: Childhood Enemies

Baby Brother by @dame-zoom-a-lot | Word Count: 2889 | Rating: G | POV: Al, Eddie, Steve| Relationships: Eddie / Steve, Eddie & Wayne | CW: Child neglect, emotional abuse by not setting boundaries, use of f-slur (but not in a totally negative way), parent death, grief, teacher abuse | Tags: Al dies, good uncle Wayne, good brother Wayne, complicated feelings of grief

This is not my idea of fun by @alicetallula | Medium: Art | Tags: Swan Princess AU, Gareth, Chrissy, watercolors, ink pens, colored pencils, gel pens, graphite pencils, acrylic paint pens and Photoshop for the background, Gareth's freckles, lyrics and for the title

Prompt: Nice Guy Who Only Hates You

Freakier than me by @felixir-of-moths | Word Count: 2575 | Rating: T | Relationships: Eddie Munson & Gareth Emerson, Eddie & Jeff & Freak | CW: period-typical transphobia, past bullying implied, knife | Tags: pre-season4, miscommunication, enemies to friends, Corroded Coffin, background Hellfire, Eddie Munson is a Little Shit, Gay Eddie Munson, no romance, trans!Gareth, coming out, light angst, happy ending, LOTR references, Eddie & Gareth's friendship

B2: Nice Guy Who Only Hates You by @the-unforgivenn | Word Count: 1.7k | Rating: E | Pairing: Gareth Emerson x Fem!Girlfriend | CW: threesome, cuckholding/voyeurism, MFF, oral fem!rec, past-tense FF relationship/situationship/explorationship | Tags: College-ish AU, Gareth Emerson x Fem!Girlfriend (unnamed OC), past Gareth's Girl x fem!reader, fem!reader x Gareth's girl x Gareth

Prompt: Spot the Imposter

I2: Spot the Imposter by @the-unforgivenn | Word Count: 1.8k | Rating: E | Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | CW: Dirty talk, oral sex, unprotected sex, Eddie is pretty damn confident in his skills, Fem!Reader doesn't have the greatest history with obtaining orgasms which causes some self-doubt. Don't worry. Eddie' helps. ;) | Tags: Rockstar Eddie Munson, Groupie!Reader, oral sex, dirty talk, p in v sex

Spot the Imposter by @dame-zoom-a-lot | Medium: Art | CW: soft vore, plant monster | Tags: monster attack

Prompt: End of the World

i get stoned for survival (it helps with the healing) by @thisapplepielife | Word Count: 9396 | Rating: E | CW: Injuries, Unprotected Sex, Mention of Weed | POV: Eddie (and a little Steve) | Relationship(s): Steddie | Tags: Canon Divergence Before Events of S4, Zombie Apocalypse, Surviving in Hawkins, Forming An Unlikely Alliance, Virgin Eddie, Corroded Coffin Boys, Good Uncle Wayne Munson

N2: End of the World by @the-unforgivenn | Word Count: 4.8k | Rating: E | Pairing: Pep!Band!Gareth x Basketball!Player!FemaleReader | CW:Gareth's a dumbass. Seriously. A magnificent dumbass. Smut, overuse of the word jock, and sportsball references. | Tags: Pep!Band!Gareth x Basketball!Player!FemaleReader, College AU, Modern AU, Corroded Coffin, eventual smut, Fem!Reader

Prompt: Nobody Lives, Everybody Dies

The Next Step is Love by @tedewitt | Word Count: 1400 | Rating: NR | POV: Eddie | Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | CW: None | Tags: Nobody Lives Everyone Dies, Post-Season/Series 04, Hawkins has fallen, Afterlife, Vecna Wins, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Purgatory, Parent Death, Author was inspired by the stairs in Soul

Prompt: Crack Fic Treated Seriously

O2: Crack Fic Treated Seriously by @the-unforgivenn | Word Count: 3.1k | Rating: E | POV: Eddie | Pairing: None - maybe background Eddie x Gareth, if you squint | CW: I'm just sorry about this one. The words cock and dick are used an inordinate amount of times. The ridiculousness of this is off the charts. I -- just have nothing else to say | Tags: Corroded Coffin: Jeff, Grant, Gareth and Eddie, Freaky Friday with dicks

Prompt: Too Many Beds

we went down swingin' (yes we did) by @thisapplepielife | Word Count: 7117 | Rating: E | CW: Spouse Swapping, Some Cuckolding Kink, A Little Dash of Dom/Sub Vibes | POV: Eddie, Steve, Gareth | Relationship(s): Steddie, Gareth/Di (OC) + the Swinging Pairings | Tags: Future Fic, Everybody Lived Nobody Died, Middle Aged, Road Retired Corroded Coffin, Lifelong Friends, Bored Empty Nesters, Swinging, Key Party

Bed-hopping by @steddie-island | Word Count: 1409 | Rating: G | Tags: Too Many Beds, Jeff is a little shit, misunderstandings/ miscommunication, minor Jonathan/ Argyle and Robin/ Vickie

Prompt: Hate at First Sight

I3: Hate at First Sight by @the-unforgivenn | Word Count: 1.4k | Rating: T | POV: Grant | Pairing: Grant, Eddie Munson, a very little smidgen of Gareth Emerson | CW: Some strong language and the boys are nakie, but that's it! | Tags: Alternate universe, Grant is an Eagle Scout and a master survivalist, Naked and Afraid AU

a charity case by @thisapplepielife | Word Count: 3450 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Underage Drinking, Canon Injuries | POV: Steve | Relationship(s): Steve & Everyone, Pre-Steddie | Tags: Set at the End of S3, Post Mall Fire, But Before the 3 Month Time Jump, Everybody's Coddling Steve, Except for Known Menace Eddie Munson

Prompt: Free Space

Free Space: Lightsabers by @dame-zoom-a-lot | Medium: Art | Details: Lightsabers inspired by @jo-harrington's Star Wars AU.

Prompt: Time Travel Break-It Worse

What Happened, Happened by @thisapplepielife | Word Count: 1586 | Rating: M | CW: Canon Character Death, Other Temporary Character Deaths | POV: Steve | Relationship(s): Multiple Mentioned | Tags: Post S4, Time Travel/Time Loop, Eddie Died and Gareth Blames Steve, Steve Tries to Fix It, It Only Goes Downhill From There, Angst, Guilt, Bargaining, Regret, Acceptance

Prompt: Faking the Dead

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures by @thisapplepielife | Word Count: 1320 | Rating: T | CW: Temporary Character Death, Language | POV: Gareth | Relationship(s): Corroded Coffin & Eddie, Background Steddie | Tags: Post S4, There's Finally a Funeral to Attend, And For Some Reason Gareth Has to Sit Next to Steve Harrington

Prompt: Riches to Rags

What Condition My Condition Was In by @thisapplepielife | Word Count: 2790 | Rating: T | CW: Traumatic Brain Injury, Alcoholism, Housing Insecurity | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Pre-Steddie, Background Ronance | Tags: Struggling After The Events of S4, Future Fic, Middle Aged, Finding Each Other, Hurt/Comfort

A Party of Freaks by @felixir-of-moths | Word Count: 2,978 | Rating: T | Characters: Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, Freak, Robin "Rob" (they/them), Steve | Tags: AU Dungeons&Dragons, tieflings, high fantasy, mercenaries, Eddie & Robin are little teasing shits, politics, taverns

Prompt: If I Can't Fix Them, I'll Just Make Them Worse

Prompt: Lovers to Friends to Strangers

N4: Lovers to Friends to Strangers by @the-unforgivenn | Word Count: 1.8k | Rating: M | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson, Older!Eddie x Older!Steve | CW: angst, TBI | Tags: Steve brings up an uncomfortable topic. One that's been bothering him for ages; and Eddie does his best to be there for the man he loves.

i needed the shelter of someone's arms (and there you were) by @thisapplepielife | Word Count: 3636 | Rating: E | CW: Teen Sex, Voyeurism | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Steddie, Background Stoncy | Tags: Post S1, Post S3, Time Hops, Eddie Sees Things in the Woods That Leave Him Even More Obsessed With Steve Harrington, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending

Prompt: Idiot Ball

G4: Idiot Ball by @the-unforgivenn | Word Count: 3.1k | Rating: E | Pairing: Pep!Band!Gareth x Basketball!Player!FemaleReader | CW: Gareth’s lack of charm, despite his best efforts, some suggestive language, lots of sports talk, eventual smut (none yet) | Tags: Pep!Band!Gareth x Basketball!Player!FemaleReader, College AU, Modern AU, Corroded Coffin, eventual smut, Fem!Reader

Prompt: True Hate's Kiss

Prompt: Grand Theft Me

Their youngest fan by @felixir-of-moths | Word Count: 1331 | Rating: T | Relationships: Chrissy&Eddie, Steve&Robin | CW: involuntary kidnapping | Tags: AU modern setting, Corroded Coffin on Tour, accidental baby acquisition, pre-Steddie, pre-Buckingham, minor Joncy, kidnapping, implied alcohol abuse, Eddie Munson is a Mess, Babysitter Steve Harrington, Happy Ending

Prompt: Marriage of Inconvenience

Four Ring Circus by @steddie-island | Word Count: 943 | Rating: M | Tags: Steddie, implied Gareth/ Jeff/ Unnamed Freak, Las Vegas wedding, drunken shenanigans, crack fic

Prompt: Meet Ugly

Prompt: It Gets Better Before It Gets Worse

Prompt: Mutual Resentment

#corrodedcoffinfest: may mayhem bingo #masterlist #corrodedcoffinfest #mod post #ccf

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talesofdraiocht · 1 month ago

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Uhm so like, a prequel to that Memorial comic? For the bonus prompt “Laughter” ✨ Sits at 3k ish words, so 10 points, but double for bonus? 20? Rip the math y’all have to do @kkgiweek

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66081340

Kakashi tries to adjust to a life without Gai.

“the sound of you” a/n:

CW: grief, major character death, ptsd, all of which is canon typical but can be heavy, so please read at your own discretion. I dialed down kakashi’s suicidal ideation, but the references of it are still pretty clear. This is the first time I’ve written something in a bajillion years rip and is nooooot edited (time constraints). ALSO! HAPPY KAKAGAI WEEK 2025!! (this is for the bonus prompt “Laughter” for kkgiweek2025, and also the prequel to my comic “memorial” for the same challenge).

Edit: pasted from my ao3 rip formatting

“the sound of you”

They do not have the resources, or the time, to bury everyone.

Forces are spread thin, and the shinobi who aren’t critically injured have their hands full with rebuilding.

Kakashi nimbly steps out of the way of a team of kunoichi. The body on the stretcher they carry is frighteningly still.

The war may be over, but Kakashi knows this is really just the beginning. In reality it’s only been a week since it ended.

Since he died.

A week, and Kakashi feels the loss of Gai like a gaping maw in his chest. Fresh, raw. Oozing.

The village is quiet, without him. Too quiet.

Tsunade has announced the date for the mass funeral. He’s expected to give some sort of speech. Encouraging those remaining, leading the people towards a new future, yadda, yadda.

But Kakashi hasn’t showered in four days. And he’s threatened, on at least six different occasions, anyone who has approached him about the ceremony with bodily harm.

He can hear Gai chastising him. Challenging him. Laughing at him. Warmly and brightly, loud enough to chase away his demons. Loud enough to make the world feel at least a little bit okay, even though everything has gone to shit.

Gai would have galvanized him into action—or at least a bath.

He sighs.

Kakashi also knows Gai would have made a better speech.

“Hatake,” Tsunade strides down the hall, robes billowing. “Stop scaring my staff. They’ll be yours soon enough.” Kakashi has half a mind to launch himself out of the office window, but Tsunade bars his exit. She thrusts a stack of papers in his hands.

He tilts his head. Groans with distaste. Swallows the bile in his throat.

Tsunade tsks. “Just read from them, brat.” She tugs on her sleeves. Her hands are red and chapped. “At the funeral, tomorrow.”

Kakashi bows his head. She turns on her heels, waving at him almost dismissively. “Feel free to adlib, kid.” She looks back at him for a moment, eyes dark and weighty. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Then, she wrinkles her nose. “But for kami’s sake, shower.”

When he stands on the stage Yamato had hastily thrown up, peering out at the broken, quiet, masses, Kakashi dissociates the entire time.

He mouths the words from the papers with a numb and leaden tongue.

It’s a good speech, he’ll give Tsunade that. The civilians look up at him, misty eyed and grateful. The few shinobi who make it carefully school their expressions, but he knows that they’re listening. Processing.

Kakashi ends the speech by reading out names.

Not everyone. Gods, no. They’d be standing in the centre of Konoha for hours, wasting time, wasting away.

No, the names he reads are those the council wants announced. Heralded. Paraded. As if death was some sort of noble sacrifice—

“Maito Gai.”

He catches and squashes the hitch of his breath, wrapping up his performance with such intensity it makes Tsunade shift her weight on his left.

He’s very careful of the eyes on them. Very careful not to shrug off Tsuande’s hand when she places it on his shoulder.

He thinks someone cheers. Someone grins and chuckles and—

RIVAL!

Tsunade pulls him off the stage before he can make a fool of himself.

Designated collection days.

Kakashi knows they’re necessary. They provide closure to those grieving. Families are meant to retrieve items of the deceased.

It still feels like his guts have been scooped out with a rusty spoon.

It’s early in the day when Kakashi ventures out, ignoring the ants that crawl under his skin and the way his ears ring.

It’s a beautiful day. Sunny. Warm. Green.

Yosh! Perfect day for training!

Kakashi narrowly avoids turning around. Gai won’t be there. Not to greet him, or challenge him, or laugh with him.

Kami. Kakashi misses his laugh the most.

He rolls out his shoulders, turning the corner sharply. The collections office is really just a mednin tent that hasn’t been taken down yet. It’s also green and Kakashi’s breakfast sloshes about in his stomach.

Lee and TenTen arrive at the same time. They look haggard. It’s a sharp reminder that while they have lost Gai—Kakashi’s heart clenches—they’ve also lost Neji. He nods at them.

What was it that Yamato had once said? That Konoha had a knack for cutting down saplings?

As Kakashi shuffles along in line, listening to the muffled sobs of those around him, taking note of the blank stares of shattered shinobi—he, once again, hears Gai’s laughter.

He has a visceral reaction. Jolts in place and twists. Kakashi’s panic momentarily bleeds through, and Lee is placing his hand on his back.

Kakashi supposes it’s something Gai would do. Declare something utterly ridiculous and boisterously chuckle as he slaps kakashi on the back, if only to break the sombre atmosphere. He’d pose in his ridiculous green jumpsuit, head band wrapped around his strong waist, and Kakashi would let himself be manhandled—to be held in the way only Gai could hold him.

Even in death, Gai is there to pull Kakashi out of his head. It’s sickening—and for one, brief, moment, Kakashi wishes Obito had killed him instead.

His stomach sinks like stone. Gai’s cheery grin flashes in his mind. Gai tells him how proud he is of everything Kakashi has accomplished, of the man he’s grown to be, and the things he’s overcome. Gai is so loud, in the cramped space of his own mind, that he wheezes out a short breath.

RIVAL!! He’s shouting. YOUR YOUTH IS NOT YET OVER!

Kakashi rolls his shoulders again, old wounds tugging and pulling. TenTen shifts in place. Lee is uncharacteristically quiet, but the soft assuredness, the determination, that sits so quaintly on his face…that is entirely Gai.

Though Kakashi supposes it is now entirely Lee.

And for another brief moment, Kakashi thinks everything will be okay.

But then they’re at the front of the line. And Sakura is there, behind the desk, volunteering. She’s been working triple shifts at the hospital, hands equally red and raw as Tsunade’s and Kakashi knows Sakura’s finally been kicked out for some much needed rest.

Though, Kakashi also knows his student. Sakura won’t be able to rest. Not when she understands there are things to be done and people to help.

When Sakura looks up, she meets kakashi’s gaze. Her expression pinches, then softens. She hands Lee and TenTen their own, separate, packages. They’re addressed in Gai’s hand, and Kakashi feels the world fall out from beneath him.

There is one for Neji, and Sakura only pauses for a moment before TenTen is asking to take it, too.

Silence stretches out between all of them. Someone coughs in the distance.

A look is exchanged between the three students. Lee and TenTen leave, huddled together with their packages, which they cradle in their arms as if precious.

“Sensei,” Sakura begins, “wait here a moment.”

She heads to the back of the tent and rummages around. Unlike Lee and TenTen’s crude packages—that were lovingly prepped by Gai’s hand, his mind unkindly supplies—Kakashi gets a box.

He knows this box. He’s seen it a thousand different times, for a thousand different reasons. For a thousand different people.

Obito had a box like this, once. So did Rin. So did Minato and Kushina and Yasu and Sakumo—

Kakashi takes a breath.

Blinks.

Estate boxes.

Boxes curated by teams of shinobi, for shinobi. A detached offering. Remnants that weren’t always remnants. He’d be lucky if Gai’s headband was in there.

Kakashi’s not quick enough to hide the flash of horror that flits across his face. The shameful disappointment that arises in the same moment. His heart seizes—he can’t help it. It seems so impersonal, so—

Sakura’s hand is gentle on his. “—Sensei,” she murmurs, low enough that the families behind him don’t hear. “Gai-san left something for you, too.” She reaches beneath the desk and pulls out another, smaller, package. It’s as messily wrapped as Lee and TenTen’s had been.

It’s very Gai.

It’s beautiful.

Kakashi stares at it for a moment. Sakura’s hand is still on his, and she squeezes it warmly. Her gaze is heavy, but she says nothing.

“Maa, maa.” Kakashi lilts, gaze refocusing, “I’ll be alright, Sakura-chan.” He holds up his prizes carefully. “Thank you.”

She pins him with a look, then sighs.

“Take care of yourself, Sensei.” Sakura warns as he practically flees from the tent. He doesn’t look back, knowing she’s already moved onto the next bleeding heart behind him.

For the next few hours, Kakashi lets his feet lead him.

He passes Yakiniku Q, stuttering to a halt only once when he spots something green in the distance. The woman turns the corner, scarf billowing out behind her. It’s not quite the hazardous green Gai was so partial to, but it’s close enough that Kakashi gets lost in his thoughts.

Asuma had gathered the jounin for a barbecue. He’d downed his third drink by the time he finally mustered up the courage to tell them all, in hushed tones, that Kurenai was pregnant. Gai had laughed so loudly Kakashi’s sure the paint on the walls had peeled. CONGRATULATIONS! He shouted, privacy be damned, and clasped both Asuma and Kakashi’s shoulders, shaking them. Gai had celebrated. He had always celebrated. With every smile and every word, Gai lived his life the only way he knew how to. And his hand had been so warm on Kakashi’s back, Gai’s joy so infectious, that Kakashi couldn’t help the smile that parted his own lips.

He walks a little faster.

Ichiraku slaps him in the face as he turns the corner.

47-45! Gai groaned as he flopped over the counter. In your favour, Rivalurrggghh! The word had ended in a cut off garble. Kakashi paused, asked him if he was alright, to which Gai had then promptly emptied the contents of his stomach—on Kakashi’s brand new sandals. Kakashi, incredulously, had tilted his head back and laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

No one stops to ask why Kakashi Hatake, Hokage candidate, is suddenly speeding through the streets of Konoha, white knuckled and pale.

“Are you going to haunt me, too?” He whispers to the tiny package he’s balanced on top of the box. Surely Gai can hear him from the Pure Lands by now.

He doesn’t bother making his way to the memorial. Gai had found him there often enough, scolded him often enough, that Kakashi knows Gai would frown if he stood there like a ghost, speaking to ghosts.

He is so sick of speaking to ghosts.

When I die, Kakashi suppressed the muscle spasm that threatened to overwhelm him. Gai’s voice was clear as day. Don’t you dare waste away your youth in front of that stone. The man had been uncharacteristically serious, even as he plucked at the spiked ends of Kakashi’s hair, checking him for injuries after a spar. You’re not dying any time soon, Gai. Kakashi had levelled him with a flat stare, then challenged him to a sushi eating contest. Gai’s laughter echoed throughout the courtyard.

That had been years ago.

It had also been a lie.

“Ma,” Kakashi mutters, gaze despondent as the sky begins to darken. Rain was sweet on the wind. “Maybe I’m cursed.”

He pauses on his walk. His apartment is just over the hill. But suddenly he can’t bring himself to finish the trek.

The guilt consumes him. It’s always been there. Ever since Sakumo.

It had grown, and grown, and grown—from his father to obito to sensei—kami. Kakashi will greet guilt with a smile. He’ll shake hands with it on most days; face it toe-to-toe with his hands burning and birds chirping—

But now, now, it eats at his entrails and pecks at his eyes. Because why the hell is he still alive, when every good person he has ever known is buried 6 feet in the fucking ground?

When Gai is gone?

A sudden shove at his shoulder makes him stumble. When he looks back, no one is there, but the box sits warm in his hands.

Lightning arcs across the sky. Rain clouds swell and thunder rumbles through the heavens. He shunshins across rooftops, box tucked against his chest and package in hand. He makes it to his front door just as the rain crashes down.

Gai had lived in the same complex, once.

Yosh! Gai had cried, vaulting over the balcony rail as Kakashi trudged up the iron steps. Rival! While Mother Nature blesses us with her shower of youth, we should spar! Kakashi remembers how Gai had bodily collided with him, warm and heavy, as Kakashi lost his footing on the wet stairs and tumbled back down to the ground. Gai landed with a grunt on top of him, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly as Kakashi wheezed beneath him. Gai. Kakashi groaned. He was certain he’d broke a rib. I yield. The world had started to spin then. Kakashi cracked a grin through the pain. It definitely looked like a grimace. If only people could see the infamous copy nin now, laying in a heap of tangled limbs, concussed to the point of delirium. Gai had taken one look at him and laughed. Gai always laughed.

Kakashi fishes out his key, precariously balancing his possessions on one hand, and slots it into the lock. He takes a moment to collect himself before pushing open the door. It creaks and groans as if mocking him. As if trying to fill the sudden, painful, silence.

The world around him wept. It roared and flashed and it was quiet. The world was so quiet without Gai. Without his laugh. Without his voice.

Kakashi shucks off his shoes, leaving them in a puddle of water, and shuts the door. He places the box on the entryway step, gently, forgotten, as he stares at the small package Gai had left him.

His name is scrawled across brown paper. He’s not sure if Gai has glued or taped it shut, but he spends the next fifteen minutes trying to pick it apart while keeping most of it intact.

Kakashi barks a laugh when he finally sees what it is Gai left for him.

It’s a fucking turtle. Of course it’s a turtle.

…Kakashi knows this turtle.

He doesn’t move from his spot in the entryway. His left eye aches as he remembers what was once recorded by his sharingan.

Kakashi tried his hardest to understand why, exactly, sandaime-sama had paired him with Gai. He had really, really, tried. RIVAL!! Gai had been loud and green and— -Gai. Kakashi hadn’t hid the disdain in his voice back then. He had, however, twitched monumentally when Gai all but wilted like a daisy upon his greeting. Right. Sensitive. Kakashi pointed to his hound mask. Gai instantly brightened. OH! RI-IGHT! Kakashi shook his head at Gai’s mix up, shoulders slumping. He cursed the gods. He cursed Hiruzen. Treason sounded good most days. Then, Gai slammed a friendly fist into his back, chattering about all the things he had seen in the village they’d travelled to, the souvenirs he’d bought. He waved his parcels around without a care, and an oddly shaped piece of pottery went flying through the air. Gai’s startled gasp hardly registered as Kakashi flickered over to the left, catching Gai’s…whatever…with practised ease. It was a turtle. For burning incense. Kakashi had snorted, turning it over in his palms and muttering a quick it suits you to Gai, as he pressed the ceramic into his partner’s hands. Gai had gaped at him. Kakashi never did understand Gai’s reaction, and his sharingan burned in his socket as Gai leaned in, near reverently, to plant a sloppy kiss on his mask. Not many things had ever shocked Kakashi Hatake, boy genius. But Gai. Gai . Rival? Gai prodded at his shoulder. Kakashi stared dumbly into the distance, unresponsive. Gai spent the next several minutes trying to figure out how he had managed to break his dearest companion. Fretting and probing as if he hadn’t done anything wrong. We should—. Kakashi’s voice hitched. He warbled around his words and rubbed at his mask. W-we should head home.

Home. Kakashi is home, now.

He holds the turtle ever-so-gently in his hands, thumbing at the curves and lines. It’s stained with soot and smells cloyingly like jinkoh.

“Sentimental fool,” Kakashi admonishes. Whether to himself or Gai, he doesn’t know.

A single finger traces the line of his cheek.

The rain pelts the windows. Sighing softly, Kakashi presses forward. He meanders down the hall, to his bedroom, and sets the turtle on his nightstand. He fiddles with the contents of his drawers for a while before procuring his own incense.

Kakashi prefers mild scents, with the sensitivity of his nose. He has bundles of Tabu, which some would argue has no scent—but it does, he tells Gai—since it acts as a binder.

He switches out the incense and lights some jinkoh with a small katon.

Kakashi shuffles further into his bedroom. He flips the picture frame on his nightstand over. Then flips it upright. Then repeats the process two more times before he finally realizes the flowers Gai had given him are dead.

The picture stares back at him.

“Tomorrow,” Kakashi murmurs. “I’ll change them out tomorrow.”

His footfalls are soft against the wood floors. His kicks a stray tatami out of his way as he ventures down the hall, back to the entrance of his apartment, to stare at the box on the landing.

It takes him another three hours to pick it up. The rain still howls outside, and Kakashi’s hands burn from where he grips the box.

It finds its place on his bed.

Four days later it’s still on his bed, the flowers are still wilted, and he’s burned through all the jinkoh he’s ever owned.

“Tomorrow.” He reiterates. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Gai’s laughter echoes quietly off the walls, and the scent of jinkoh is renewed.

Notes:

Sits at a little over 3k words? So in the 10 point bracket, but double for bonus prompt. 20? the math y’all have to do rip sorry LOL Special thanks to Ari and captainscoffee for inspiring me teehee. (Also, Yasu is an oc of mine. I snuck him in lol)

#rivalschallenge25 #team kakashi 25 #teamkakashi25 #kakashi fanfiction #hatake kakashi #kakashi hakate #hokage kakashi #gaikaka #kakagai #maito gai #sakura haruno #rock lee #tenten #tsunade #I’m so sorry for the Gai treatment y’all I swear I love him #Gai my beloved #read the tags on ao3!!! Don’t get jumpscared!!

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almostfoxglove · 5 months ago

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LOCK THE GATE: EPILOGUE

THE FINAL CHAPTER.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only) | Word Count: 14k Pairing: Joel x ofc (Bill's Niece) - reader format/pov CW: Full content warnings are under the cut, in case you want to avoid spoilers!

SUMMARY: Ten years after meeting Joel and Tess, you send out a signal that things at the compound have gone south.

read from the beginning | series masterlist | main masterlist

SNEAK PEEK:

Now he’s here, just a black cutout against bleached hills, watching you sheath your knife, crack the safety off your gun to toss it aside—it lands with a heavy clatter against the echo of what once was a yellow stripe in the road. You want to run, why? Not away for once, toward something.

READ THE EPILOGUE ON AO3.

dividers by @thecutestgrotto

NOTE: I have officially moved away from tag lists as they've gotten lengthy (thank you for that <3) so please follow @foxglovenotifs and turn on notifications to get alerts for future updates!

EPILOGUE CONTENT WARNINGS: Reference to canon-typical violence, injury, and gore. Brief mention/description of animal death (natural, not killed by a human, something like a mouse). Major character death (not reader and not Joel). Explicit smut (fingering, unprotected piv). Hopeful/open/ambiguous ending.

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou fic #joel miller x oc #almostfoxglove #myfics #fic: lockthegate

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strawberrystepmom · 2 years ago

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pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

word count: 6.8k

about: Gojo is many things but you get to know him best as Satoru through the eyes of the people who see him as something else entirely - nothing but a fellow human being.

contents: Told through three non-linear stories. CW: Reader is drinking alcohol in story 1, discussions of non major character death and marriage in story 2, discussions of trauma with Megumi and food mentions in story 3. Established relationship, reader is a sorcerer and teacher alongside Gojo, reader is referred to as girlfriend and my girl in story 1 and he is referred to as boyfriend. A bit of angst/discussion of losing someone you love in story 2 but otherwise it's mostly silce of life fluff.

notes: Happy early birthday to my Sagittarius superstar! ♡ This isn’t birthday themed but i’ve been working on this for a few weeks and am proud of how it turned out. If you read, thank you and I hope that you enjoy.

“I have this thing tonight and I want you to come.”

Generally when Satoru says something like this you roll your eyes, irritated about the last minute notice he’s infamous for, but his grin was so earnest you said yes without thinking too hard about it.

It’s easy to indulge him no matter how hard you try to deny your tendency to give in to his whims and it’s how you’ve ended up stepping into a bar in a neighborhood you have never been in with his arm slung over your shoulder, the moon hanging high in the sky while the stars twinkle above. The atmosphere is practically buzzing before he enters and it’s even louder when the patrons spot him, various cheers scattered around the room and arms raised in the air.

Clearly, they know him and he knows them.

“Hideki!” He points to a man who cheers. “Takahiro!” He points to another who nods. “I don’t remember your name,” he points to a third man who is already tipsy enough that he simply smiles and shrugs. Alcohol helps but you’re sure that Satoru’s smile and demeanor are half of the reason his worst behavior isn’t held against him by anyone in the small group that is clearly regulars to this bar.

Food sizzles behind the counter and you start to ease into the unfamiliar setting, sliding onto a chair and leaning back to watch the master at work, his natural charm infectious and soon it feels like the dimly lit room is practically thrumming with energy, voices chatting excitedly and other patrons typing texts inviting friends to come see the man, the myth, the legend in person.

GOJO SATORU - DARTS CHAMPION!

His name is written on a napkin and stuck in the wood paneling above the dart board with a dart. Seeing the bold characters when you spot them on the wall, you giggle. It’s so like him to do something like this for no other reason beyond what was likely boredom and inability to sleep one random night.

The patrons buzz amongst themselves about Gojo’s appearance, his sunglasses slung low on his nose while he flashes a grin at anyone who comes near him, and you watch from afar with a far more demure grin of your own. His name clearly carries weight even outside of the confines of the sorcerer community and you hide your smile by looking around the dimly lit bar, sizzling coming from behind the counter while the chefs flip yakitori by the skewer sticking through it. Your mouth waters and a beer is placed in front of you without even asking for it, your eyes darting across the bar only to be met with a wink tossed over his shoulder from your boyfriend.

One of the men he was speaking to sidles up to you and offers a polite bow of his head. Returning his gesture, you lift the beer glass to your mouth and take a sip, raising your eyebrows when he speaks.

“You must be the girl he always talks about.”

Raising your eyebrows, the warmth in your throat from the beer you’re sipping slowly spreads through your face out of slight embarrassment he talks about you at all when you’re out of earshot. You can’t control what he says when the two of you are apart and only whatever God reigns above knows what he has said but it couldn’t have been too terrible considering the man doesn’t look at you lecherously or with anything but curiosity. Smiling, you fan your face and tilt your head toward the grills to play off the heat of embarrassment as heat from cooking.

“I certainly hope so.”

You believe that you are the girl in question but your gut churns at the thought he may be mentioning someone else despite the two of you recently making it very clear you are serious about one another, closing off any lingering attachments elsewhere to focus on your relationship.

“Oh, I know so. He shows us pictures of you all the time.”

Sipping from your beer, you look away briefly, embarrassed about that as well. Gojo has many photos of you, not all of which are meant for other eyes, and you hope that he has enough decency to keep them to himself. Looking to change the subject, you remember the legendary title held by your boyfriend within these walls and shift in your seat to face the man next to you. He’s probably in his 40’s and looks a little worn around the edges but it could also simply be the hazy vibe of the entire bar making him seem that way. Nothing here seems clean, pristine, or perfect - unlike the way Gojo is elevated by his peers - and it amuses you how easily he has found his place amongst it all.

“So, how long has he been coming here to play darts?” Your question makes the man shake his head and shrug. “A few months, maybe. Came out of nowhere one night.”

He gratefully bows his head when a dish with a skewer is passed across the bar toward him by the chef and wordlessly, another is passed in your direction. You accept it with a bow of your own, appreciative of how kind everyone has been despite your status as an outsider. It’s easy to feel outcast when you consider how isolated the work of a sorcerer tends to be, something you’ve lamented to your boyfriend on more than one occasion, so being accepted open armed and without question is almost uncomfortable no matter how well you play it off by saying thank you for the meal and biting through a perfectly charred green onion and humming your approval.

“It’s the craziest thing any of us have ever seen. He hits the bullseye without even looking sometimes.”

Snorting as you chew, you keep it to yourself that he’s in all likelihood using his excellent perception to cheat knowing that the average person doesn’t care about Limitless or Six Eyes or anything remotely similar. They don’t know he has been exceptional since birth, they just know he has a mean wrist and hits his mark every single time. Honestly, you think that may be why he likes it here so much. He doesn’t have to be anything but some guy sipping on a cold soda.

“He has a knack for a lot of things,” you mutter to no one in particular, noticing that your companion has left his seat and walked toward where a crowd has gathered around the dartboard. The show must be about to begin and you settle into your seat, taking another bite and washing it down with a sip from your beer. More people weave past you and Satoru appears almost out of thin air, joking and laughing at the crowd.

“Who thinks I should show my girl over there why I’m the champion?”

The champion, The Strongest, it’s all the same to him as long as he’s the star of the show no matter where he is.

The crowd erupts and turns to glance at you, much to your mortification as you shrink slightly into your seat and another skewer is passed across the bar. You aren’t shy or apprehensive about receiving attention but it’s the insinuation that you are his girl that makes you feel a little uncertain. It’s a big responsibility to love a man with the world in his palm and there have been many times you’ve wondered if you are even up to the task. Will you be enough to keep him happy forever?

He doesn’t give you much time to chase a trail of darkness in your own mind, your attention grabbed when he shouts your name across the bar and flings a dart. It whizzes through the air and hits its designated bullseye with a definitive slam and the bar erupts into applause and hooting.

“That’s not even how you play darts.”

You’re talking to yourself again but simultaneously biting back a smile while Satoru spreads his arms wide and looks around as if to say, “yeah, I did that.” You want so badly to be annoyed by his pomp but his enthusiasm is nothing if not contagious and the crowd grows more rowdy with each second that passes.

“Now it’s her turn to throw one for you!”

As soon as the suggestion is tossed out, you lift the yakitori to your mouth and take a bite to avoid having to walk toward the opposite end of the bar to do just as you’re being asked. He’s a tough act to follow and although your ego isn’t even a speck compared to his, you aren’t sure you can handle the disappointed aww-ing that would come as a result of firing a shot that lands off of the board.

“Come on!”

“Do it for Gojo! Do it for Gojo!”

Just as you’re about to throw your hands up and shake your head, Satoru locks eyes with you and crooks his finger, beckoning you toward him with a smirk that you know you are far too weak for him to deny. Making a show of groaning and rolling your eyes, you trudge across the wooden floors and finally you stand next to him. He throws his arm over your shoulder with an easy chuckle and bends his knees to get low enough to whisper in your ear, voice a rasp.

“Yeah, do it for Gojo.”

He produces a dart between his fingers and you reach to grab it, plucking it between your own to get a feel for it while casting him a sidelong glance that clearly amuses him. You have done this just once or twice at an arcade with darts that do not have the sharpened metal point but this is real and everyone is watching you and you’re doing it for him - the man you love no matter where the two of you are.

You take a deep breath and he removes himself from hovering over your shoulder, giving you ample space to get comfortable. Spreading your feet apart, you make a few motions with your elbow to test the angle you need to throw at and you swear the bar falls completely silent the moment you gnaw your lower lip with your teeth and toss it, hoping some of Satoru’s natural good luck has rubbed off on you.

Instead, the dart clatters to the ground. For a millisecond, you want to follow suit and fall to the ground and hopefully disappear and never come back but without missing a beat, everyone cheers for you anyway. The eruption makes the building feel like it’s shaking, stomping feet and clapping hands coming from every direction while Satoru bundles you in his arms and pulls you against him. Dipping his chin, he presses a kiss against your temple and you sigh, leaning into it.

“Looks like the champion is still undefeated!” He shouts and you elbow him playfully in the ribs. This only draws a wicked little snicker from your boyfriend and he bends down to whisper in your ear again, one hand wrapped around your waist. “Better luck next time, baby.”

The crowd continues to cheer and several patrons take their turn approaching and clapping Gojo on the back. It’s surprising despite knowing his Infinity is off because you’re in his arms but you know it means that he’s comfortable. He trusts everyone here and their intentions, at least for now and that’s good enough for you.

You tap his arm once and he lets you go, his eyes following your every movement as you bend to pick up your dart from the ground and hold it in your palm. Smirking, you turn toward him with a twinkle in your eye that he recognizes all too well and the patrons hold their breath wondering what will happen next.

“I think the champion is counting his chickens before they hatch.”

An ooh spreads across the bar and you grin to match Satoru’s toothy one, holding your arms open to offer yourself as a contender. His glasses slide down his nose a little and he pushes them back up, covering his eyes enough that you won’t be able to tell if his abilities are on or off.

“Finally, a worthy opponent!”

His words send the patrons into another frenzy and you laugh although the only person who can hear it is the man standing closest to you, the one who wants to make you laugh the most. You join his side and he wraps one of his arms around your shoulders again while plucking a dart from his pants pocket and moving to toss it again.

“Good luck,” he mutters while looking down at you with a smirk and he lands yet another shot perfectly without even looking.

It’s always evident when either you or Satoru have a rough day. Your shoulders slump and smiles become half hearted, hiding the frustration simmering inside of you. His need to cling to you becomes more intense than ever, you are the desperate reminder he needs that he’s human after maiming curses, and that’s how you’ve ended up walking hand in hand back to his apartment.

The two of you were lucky enough to make it off campus before sunset and you can count today as one of the handful of times that you’ve been reprimanded by Principal Yaga thanks to a mission that leveled the bottom floor of a local preschool. Thankfully no one was injured but you were reckless and deserved the reminder of the innocent that needed protecting. That’s why you do what you do.

Gojo, well…he is rarely not in trouble but today hurts worse because he got you in trouble, too. The two of you are rarely paired up for missions after the Great Restaurant Destruction of 2012 where he leveled a small family restaurant in Yokohama in an ill guided attempt to impress you but now that three years since then have passed, Yaga insists it’s to keep at least one instructor on campus at all times.

No matter what occurred today, both of you seem a little zapped. His steps are heavier and slower and you’ve been quiet the entire walk to his apartment from the train station. It has been awhile since the two of you have spent any time over here, too busy with work and crashing at your place that is closer to campus than his if you have a night together, but it’s nice to get a change of scenery. His neighborhood is far nicer than your very normal one and you enjoy taking in the sights of how he lives when he’s not with you.

Down the sidewalk, an elderly woman catches your eye and you see her struggling with a few bags. Nudging Satoru’s ribs, he looks down at you and then down the sidewalk and immediately shouts, holding his arms in the air.

“Baba!”

Before you can reprimand Satoru for being impolite and skipping all sense of formality, especially toward an elder, the woman turns her head with a smile and offers a small wave in his direction. She’s slightly hunched in the shoulders likely due to age and her hair is a beautiful pale gray, the fading sunlight catching the hollows of her cheekbones. Your breath catches in your throat as you’re reminded that there’s nothing more beautiful than to grow old, something you pray often that yourself and Satoru are able to do together. Especially after a day like today.

“That’s Mrs. Ikedo, remember?”

You nod at his words, vaguely remembering a conversation the two of you had about Satoru helping her move some things from her home into storage a few months ago. Mrs. Ikedo steps slowly in the direction of the two of you and he takes a few long legged steps toward her and offers his arm to help. She swats it away playfully and you smile watching the interaction, almost identical to how the two of you behave often. How does he so easily find stubborn women to surround himself with?

“Where have you been, young man?”

Witnessing the two of them interact, you wonder how much she knows about the life Satoru leads. Does she know about his abilities? The danger he willingly puts himself in to keep people safe? He doesn’t see it as dangerous, of course, his incredible belief in himself outweighs all other possibilities but there is always a chance he’ll never come home regardless. A breeze blows by as the ominous thought of him never coming back bleeds into your mind and you shiver slightly, pulling your jacket closer to your body.

“You know me, I’m a wanted and busy man.”

She laughs and you smile despite only being on the fringes of the conversation. The sun dips lower in the sky, dusk coloring the world in warm amber, and you’re almost too lost in your thoughts when he joins your side once more and pulls you close to him. He doesn’t caress all of your sadness away but the way his thumb massages your side even through your jacket helps you feel more grounded.

“Baba invited us in for a cup of tea. You up for it?”

It would be impolite to say anything but yes so you nod, letting him lead the way to the home you know belongs to her because it’s four buildings down from his. The longer you’ve been standing here, the more you recall about her because he has mentioned her more than once.

“Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Ikedo.” You smile warmly in her direction and she walks slowly beside the two of you, her grocery bags now slung over Satoru’s free arm despite him jokingly picking up the lightest one and then asking her to handle the rest.

“You don’t have to be so formal with me, this one sure isn’t.”

She jerks her head in the direction of Satoru who chuckles and waves his arm, the reusable bags hanging from them rustling against his shirt. Your formality is almost always a balm to his brash nature so you too easily fall into the role. Gratefulness warms you against the cool evening air and you lean further into your boyfriend’s side.

“Remember who is carrying your bags,” she pats his forearm and you follow her inside of her home, taking your shoes off at the door and looking around. It resembles the home of every other elderly person you’ve ever been into - covered in various collectibles and photos. Smiling faces and one you can easily recognize as her a long time ago, hair cropped to her chin in a tidy bob.

“Satoru looked at that one and asked me what century I was born in.”

It would be best to reprimand him for rudeness once again but instead, you giggle and rub your palms together to warm them. Winter has arrived and while there isn’t yet snow on the ground, the air feels chilly even indoors and you will welcome a cup of tea between your hands as soon as you are able. Mrs. Ikedo leads you through her home and into the kitchen where Gojo places her shopping bags on the counter, sighing.

“I just remembered I have something for you from Gifu,” he says with a sigh and a stretch, pretending the bags were any kind of a hassle for him. “Is it okay if she stays here while I run home to grab it?”

The woman nods and you fight the urge to be annoyed that he’s leaving you in a stranger’s home no matter how kind she may be. This day keeps going on and on and you are fighting off a pout and an attitude when a warm mug is offered to you with a smile, the lovely scent of green tea filling your nostrils and calming you down.

“He’s quite something, isn’t he?”

You laugh, head bobbing in agreement. That is certainly one word to describe him and many have said the same thing to you in the past. He is something, the word takes a life of its own and has a different meaning to everyone who says it. To you, he’s your “sometimes not but currently yes” boyfriend, a man who has known you since you were fifteen years old and still had baby fat making your cheeks chubby, your best friend most of the time but you understand why others struggle to see him that way.

“He knows it, too. Most people say that’s the worst thing about him - he knows who he is and brings him everywhere he goes.”

The woman laughs and ushers you in the direction of the sitting area of her home, inviting you to sit down at a kotatsu that she flicks the switch on to heat up. You will be the last person to ever turn down the opportunity to warm up and you kneel on the ground, holding your mug against your legs that are tucked beneath you.

“I was surprised when he told me he’s a teacher.” You nod again, understanding that this surprises many people that the mouthiest man in the room has apparently been entrusted to create future well adjusted adults. “I figured he would be a model or something judging by the size of him. What do you feed him?��

“It always surprises people when he tells them that he teaches but he really has a way with the kids.” You respond with a giggle, sipping your tea as you finish speaking and letting the warmth seep through you. The strain of your shoulders starts to relax and you lean back, comfortable. “He keeps things fun for them so they don’t realize they’re learning most of the time.”

She hums and nods.

“He brought that Hakari over here last year because he told me the boy needed to learn a little hard work.”

That’s an amusing sentiment from someone who doesn’t work very hard himself, you think, but you remember the issues he had with Hakari last year and how only a few of them resolved themselves going into his second year and now he’s your problem - attitude and all. Despite his hands off approach to work, he is a good kid deep down and you know the support of the man the sorcerer community basically views as a god probably helped bolster his confidence. That’s what makes Satoru so good at what he does - the weight that his praise carries. All people dream of being told they’re doing a good job by the star in their field.

“He was right about that. Hakari is my student now and it must have helped him a little bit, he shows up to class three days a week now instead of one.”

She grins at you and sips from her tea, settling beneath the warmth of the kotatsu with a contented sigh.

“You’re a teacher too, I recall Satoru telling me. You seem more suited to the role than he does.” She nods and sips again, placing the cup in front of her when she’s finished. “A lot more nurturing.”

It always embarrasses you a little bit to know that Gojo talks about you when the two of you are apart. That’s not to say that you don’t talk about him because you do. In fact, you gush. Your sisters and friends get tired of hearing about it during the good times and put you on temporary bans against talking about him at all. It feels more vulnerable when it’s him doing the talking, though.

“Thank you for saying that. I’m glad I get to work with him, he’s definitely one of the best parts of the job even on bad days like today.”

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you for a moment and you know she’s appraising you but you aren’t sure on what criteria. Are you slouching? You’re certain that the mascara you put on this morning is likely flaking beneath your eyes by this point and you look a mess but you doubt she’d care too much about that kind of thing.

“Would you take some advice from a nosy old lady?”

She sure is funny. You find yourself laughing at her again, nodding gratefully. You are warm and relaxed and you can see why he has made friends with this woman.

“Of course. All of the best wisdom comes from nosy old ladies.”

Sighing, she leans forward and makes a face while moving her legs.

“This cold…terrible for my joints,” she laments while settling back in. You sip your tea and watch patiently, scooting closer to the warmth of the kotatsu yourself.

“He loves you.” You choke on the mouthful of tea you were swallowing and she chuckles while you wipe the corners of your mouth and cough. “The person you want to spend the night with after a bad day is the person you love. Don’t push him away or punish him for not understanding everything yet, he has a lot to learn too.”

You’re shocked by the wisdom and you blink at her dumbly. Words aren’t coming to you easily and she can tell, smiling kindly and watching you grip your mug for dear life.

“Give him time. He’ll grow to be the man you’re married to for 70 years.” She nods toward the wall behind you and turning your head, you gasp to see a portrait of Mrs. Ikedo and who you are assuming is the now gone Mr. Ikedo by her side, matching grins in wedding kimonos. It’s overwhelming to be compared to a couple that clearly had so much love in it and you blink tightly, willing yourself not to cry and embarrass your boyfriend in front of his friend.

“Take it from me, the ones who need a little patience are the ones you have the most fun with.”

Sniffling, you nod and sip from your tea again. You hope that she won’t hold it against you that you’re struggling to find the words of appreciation for her sentiment. Blessedly, you hear her front door open and Satoru hums while taking his shoes off and entering her home, whining when he sees the two of you are comfortable without him.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he mutters sarcastically while joining your side, kneeling and sliding a decorative box across the floor in the direction of his friend. You lean your head on his bicep and he smiles, glad to be touching you in any capacity. You are his comfort and his Infinity always off when you’re near, something that the woman across from you likely has no idea about.

There is a wall between him and the world and you are what reminds him of what exists between the two places. You make him more..human.

“If you brought me another set of tea cups I’m going to throw them at you,” she mutters while opening the box but a delighted grin quickly replaces her teasing frown when she sees a ceramic frog inside the box. Lifting it out, she shows it off and you smile.

“Another for the collection. You know me too well.”

Satoru shrugs and you see it rather than feel it, making a note to ask him a few more questions about just how close he and the widow are when the two of you get home.

At 8 am on a Saturday, a knock rings through the Fushiguro children’s apartment and Megumi rises from where he sits on the floor reading with a groan, his sister scrambling to get up behind him to see who could possibly be visiting them this early. He would assume it’s Gojo but usually he just invites himself in so it has to be…

You.

Megumi opens the door wide enough you can see his eyes and you wiggle your fingers in a wave. The morning sun shines behind you and his sister appears behind him and says your name excitedly. Suddenly he feels annoyed and shy and a million other things he can’t explain because he’s twelve and the world is nothing short of frustrating at that age anyway.

He almost got into a fight at school this week and that’s why you’re here. Satoru is off in Iwate on a mission and as his guardian, he received the phone call while “decimating a den of second grade curses” (his words) and debated even telling you about it. His concern for Megumi outweighs all else though and he asked you last night to check up on them today, just to see how he seems. Tsumiki is always the angel of the household and right now she’s pushing past her brother to let you in even though he’s reluctant. He knows you must know, that big mouthed overgrown idiot-

“Good morning, I’m here to make you breakfast!”

Megumi’s mean thoughts cut themselves off when you offer to cook and he moves enough that the door can open, letting you slip through a narrow crack with a smile. He knows you’re a capable cook and he’d be silly to shoo you off when you’re offering so kindly.

“What’s for breakfast?” He asks as you toe your shoes off and enter the apartment, taking a deep breath along the way. It’s clean as always, the futons are folded, it’s small but cozy and you smile seeing pictures of Satoru and the two of them hanging on the walls. Megumi can pretend he doesn’t like to be around him but there are many signs that point to otherwise, a little smile evident on his face in each framed image.

“I was going to ask you the same thing! What do you want?”

Breezing through the living room, both of them follow after you.

“We usually have rice with a fried egg on top,” Tsumiki chimes in while she trounces to your side. She’s almost taller than you are and it amazes you how time flies. It wasn’t all that long ago you were braiding her hair and polishing her fingernails for her, her brother shyly requesting you paint his thumbnails alongside hers.

“I’m not asking what you usually have, silly, I’m asking what you want to have.”

You raise yourself up on the balls of your feet slightly to reach high enough to affectionately rub the top of her head and it makes her giggle, the two of you finally making it through the kitchen where her brother is already waiting.

“Depending on what you have in the cupboards, I can make just about anything,” you offer with a hum at the end, wondering who will offer up a suggestion first. You know the two of them are shy about their needs and often pretend they don’t have any lest they concern their guardian or anyone else he has around to help out with the situation but you try to encourage them to speak up when they can. They’re both good kids; wonderful, even, if you consider the situation they’re in.

“How about something fancy? Oh, I can make some French toast.”

Despite himself, the surly almost teenager smiles and shrugs. His sister practically dances out of the kitchen, walking back toward the small living room space of their accommodations, her unabashed sweetness the perfect foil to her brother whose mouth remains in a flat line while his green eyes scan over you, hunting for ill intent he will never find.

“Why are you here?”

You look up from combing through cabinets to find even the most basic ingredients and make a note to give Satoru a piece of your mind for keeping the kitchen mostly stocked with convenience food rather than what they need to make meals, meeting Megumi’s uncertain glance. He rests against the counter and for a moment you realize that he is no longer the unruly haired child the two of you used to take for the occasional picnic and day at the museum with Tsumiki. He’s growing up and you feel guilty for making things confusing for him thanks to your admittedly confusing dynamic with the man who more or less cares for him, his de facto big brother.

Megumi and Tsumiki both have experienced a lot in their young lives and all of the attempts everyone in Satoru’s life have made to help them have a normal childhood cannot fix the pain of loss and the anxiety of not knowing what comes next. Neither of them are apt to open up about all of it, satisfied long ago with the thought that their parents ran off together and never returned, and part of you hopes they never find out the truth. There is safety in ignorance and what have these last four years been besides an attempt to keep them as safe as two children can be?

Stepping away from the cupboard, you turn to face him and lean your own hip against the countertop, attempting to meet him on his level.

“I’m here because the two of you got good grades and I wanted to celebrate with you. Is that okay?” His skepticism practically wafts off of him and you snort. “We got good grades three months ago.”

You sigh, knowing you’ve been caught in an admittedly bad lie but you don’t bother to elaborate the real reason knowing he’s well aware. Changing the subject is probably the worst way to handle it but hey, you aren’t here to discipline him so you assume the role you’re better at and that’s comfort.

“Can’t I just do something nice for you two? You don’t have to earn everything.”

A shadow falls over his face and you notice it, leaning forward on your elbows slightly to look at him. He is a boy with big emotions even if he hides them to appear stoic on the surface, something you have worried for years that Satoru is not equipped enough to handle given he rarely blinks at his own distress before compartmentalizing it. There’s more than meets the eye for the enigmatic man who ties all of your lives together but children aren’t always the most capable of picking up on that, seeing him as an overly happy nuisance rather than someone who covers up anguish with smiles.

“People have been doing things for me my whole life even if I’m not acting my best.”

Tilting your head, you wordlessly ask him to elaborate if he would like to and he sighs. The way his shoulders slump gives away anything he’s trying to hide and the nurturing part of you fights the urge to make him spill knowing it would surely backfire. You’re aware he has mixed emotions about his relationship with Gojo thanks to the few times you’ve been able to get him to open up enough to talk about how he feels indebted to the man for saving his sister more so than saving him but that’s a big load to carry for a twelve year old. To keep things as light as you can, you take a card from Gojo’s book and play it off as nothing, propping your chin up with your fist and keeping your elbows on the counter.

“So? It’s not like they’re asking you to pay them back. We all have times where we are not our best.”

The unspoken part of your statement is that Megumi knows he will eventually have to become a sorcerer someday but given his abilities, it was inevitable no matter whose care he came into. Perhaps this is some form of payment for the guardianship he has been given over the years but you don’t believe that Gojo sees it that way on more than a surface level, a debt paid with flesh is hardly one that the cornerstone of sorcerer society would care to collect on from a child.

“Listen,” you use the weighted silence in the kitchen to your advantage and keep your tone low and even while speaking. You’re sure that if Tsumiki were listening that she would hear you anyway but you don’t think too hard about it. “All anyone wants is for you and your sister to be safe and happy. We stop in because we care about you and want you to know that you always have people on your side.”

Watching him carefully, you hope that your words bring him some comfort and you swear that a trace of a blush comes across his cheeks. The tips of his ears are red which always gives him away and you reach to pinch his cheek, to which he responds by slapping at your hand and groaning, scrunching his nose.

“We love our little Megumi, what can we say?”

He rolls his eyes but something about him feels definitively lighter so you feel as though your job is done. You open your mouth to speak again but you’re stopped when you hear the front door open, Megumi looking over his shoulder to see who could possibly be here.

“Pancakes!”

The shout comes from the front door and you recognize the voice immediately. A smile comes across your lips and Tsumiki stands up in the living room and rushes to the door to greet Satoru who just arrived at the apartment with still hot breakfast in takeout bags dangling from his arms.

Megumi rolls his eyes but his usual frown is replaced by the hint of a smile. He leans against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest and watches his sister greet Gojo gleefully, already thanking him profusely while he heads toward the kitchen to see you standing there. He raises his eyebrows, feigning surprise, and you roll your eyes as he holds up his arms and shows off the bags.

“Celebrating the two little geniuses in apartment 9-A!”

You nod and he sticks his tongue out at you while he passes, shimmying past Megumi to place the bags on the counter next to you. Wordlessly, you try to indicate that the smart boy has already picked up on the lie and to not proceed with it by widening your eyes and shaking your head but he misses the cue.

“I had the same idea.”

Megumi scoffs and lifts himself away from where he leans, stepping quietly toward the enticing smell of a fancy breakfast looking between the two of you while gathering plates from the cupboard to his right.

“Yeah that’s because you guys are exactly alike.”

Tsumiki opens her mouth to reprimand him for being rude but you shake your head, smiling as you lean over toward her brother.

“Yeah but which one of us do you like better?”

This finally draws a chuckle from the usually sullen boy and you nudge him playfully, a shy smile on his face that he dips his chin to try and hide. The curve of his cheek gives him away and you decide to leave him be for now until he leans in and fake whispers, plates between his palms.

“You but don’t tell him.”

“I heard that!”

Feigning offense, Satoru scoffs and holds his hand to his t-shirt clad chest. You smile up at him and he winks down at you, the two of you aware that the Fushiguro siblings are watching your every move. Megumi pushes past you to begin unpacking the bags after handing the plates to Tsumiki who giggles and leaves the three of you alone.

“So I’m not in trouble?” Gojo sighs and claps Megumi on the back, shaking his head. “No but if you start a fight you better win it or else you will be.”

You gasp and smack his bicep with the back of your hand, frowning while Megumi genuinely laughs and starts opening containers that smell so good it makes all of your mouths water. The discussion isn’t over but it’s paused for now and that’s something all of you can accept.

“What? I’m just saying,” Satoru argues while picking up a container and heading toward the set table. “Haven’t I always taught you to finish fights that you start?”

Megumi nods, following after the man with another container. Their relationship is unconventional but he can’t deny that he has learned not just that but much more from him. Each of you sit and you notice Megumi perk up a bit, Satoru using his chopsticks to put pancakes on each of the plates.

“To winning fights!”

“Hey, I thought it was to good grades! And he didn’t even fight!” Tsumiki interjects and you laugh, hugging her shoulders. Her brother scoffs at the white haired man next to him while he pours criminal amounts of syrup over his plate and for a moment, you think that maybe this arrangement is more comfortable for them than it seems.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #kendall writes #satoken

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sundayworshipper · 1 year ago

Text

*~Orthodoxia

«Sunday x Gn! Reader»

🪦| SFW, Angst, Undefined relationship, can be read as romantic/platonic (bed sharing, cuddling)| WC: ~11K

⚰️| CW: Inspired by the song Orthodoxia by Guchiry, misplaced religious worship (fictional religion), Sunday is a priest and cult leader, Small town cult setting AU, Third person prose (reader is referred to as [Name]), Major character death, Minor character death, Murder, SH? (Sunday), Allusion to suicide, Graphic descriptions of violence, Non sexual grooming, A bird dies, Ena=God, Gopher sucks ASS, mostly Sunday angst with reader being there sometimes, English isn’t my first language, non chronological, first fic ever （╹◡╹）

Credit for the commandments to Guchiry

A/N: This is so long 💀.. There’s a few plot holes? and the writing is kinda repetitive but i spent too long on this not to post. Extra warnings, beta read but not proofread, reader char is intentionally bland, not canon compliant/OOC-ish ∩^ω^∩.

EDIT: Oh god this got much more attention than I was expecting. I am (slowly) working on rewriting it 🤍

1. God’s great grace is given to those who are completely faithful.

Sunday inhaled deeply while tugging at his pristine white glove in an attempt of straightening it. In his mind, he looked like a complete mess, completely unfit for a High Priest. His Master and founder of the One True Religion, Gopher Wood, had recently taken his last breath, finally succumbing to the horrible illness that had tormented him for years. As his adopted son, the gray-haired halovian was to take on his duties post-haste. The young man only took half a day to compose himself enough to make a public statement. He probably would have taken longer, had he actually cared to pretend to grieve.

Upon deciding he was satisfied with the state of his attire, Sunday stepped out of the sascrity, taking his place at the pulpit. The gazes of all of his Master’s- no, his own followers, locked onto him, confused and impatient to hear the reason for Mr. Wood’s absence at yesterday’s service.

The man smiled, hoping that the way it didn’t reach his eyes wasn’t very obvious. After a few moments, he just decided to close them.

The fear of rejection by his followers felt as if it was rapidly piercing holes trough his insides, however, he knew that THEY wouldn’t fail him when he needed THEM most. After all, the first ever thing taught to those interested in the religion, is that good things come to those who believe.

2. Only the high priest is permitted to take God's name in vain.

“Fuck! God fucking damn it!” An unfamiliar voice screamed from an alleyway, which Sunday was just about to pass while on his routine walk. His wings twitched, and the ones on his torso tensed. He contemplated if this even counted as a violation of the second commandment, as the use of the words ‘God’ and ‘Lord’ had less restrictions than the uttering of the true name of the one they were referring to. He also thought about the possibility that ‘God’ was the three-faced idol the next town over worshipped, that maybe one of them had snuck in. He ultimately decided that using any heavenly title accompanied by such words was disrespectful, and he’d try to steer the speaker onto the right path, be they a follower of Order, Harmony, or something else entirely.

Despite the amount of information he mulled over, he really didn’t spend long thinking before rushing into the alley.

“Are you alright?” He inquired to the person that had emitted such obscene words just moments ago. Their clothes didn’t reflect those of a citizen in this town, nor the neighboring one’s. They whipped around to face him, wearing a frightened expression.

“Ah..Huh?” The emotion of surprise seemed to overshadow that of fear. Sunday gave an amused smile at this.

“Do not be afraid. I am Sunday, messenger of Ena. I heard you…Cussing, earlier. Judging by your attire, you are a foreigner, which explains that. However, I feel as if I should inform you that such an act is quite worrisome here.” He could no longer suppress his giggle, which confused the stranger.

“What’s so funny?”

“Hmm..Do not worry. Mind telling me how to address you? And, if you’re comfortable, what brings you here?” Sunday stepped closer, and leaned in towards the person.

“I’m [Name].” They replied, taking a step back. After spending a moment deciding whether or not to reveal the circumstances that led up to them ending up where they did, they concluded that he was trustworthy.

Sunday listened, and considered their words carefully.

“I see. Since you have no home, would you like to live with me, for the time being? I’ll help you find a job. All I ask is that you attend church and clean up after yourself.” He offered his hand, wings relaxing.

[Name]’s breath hitched. It wasn’t like they had many choices… If they stayed on the streets, they’d most certainly die. If they went with Sunday, the outcome had a slightly lesser chance of being the same.

After thinking very carefully, they took Sunday’s hand wordlessly.

3. Those who do harm to God's messenger, the high priest, will be expelled.

As much as Sunday wished he could forget the worshippers of Xipe existed, trade between the two towns was beneficial for everyone. After the death of Gopher Wood- who refused any sort of contact and terminated the transaction of goods-, Sunday begrudgingly sent one of his trustworthy followers to request that the old commerce deal be reinstated. And so, it was.

To the average citizen, all seemed well. However, Sunday could notice the way everyone that interacted with Xipe’s Worshippers on a regular basis attended church less and less often. He tried to brush it off as them being busy with such an important new task. This was until, on the seventh day’s service, the holiest of all, one of the traders defied the rules and interrupted Sunday’s sermon by standing directly next to him. The halovian’s heart skipped a beat, but he simply smiled.

“Good sir, are you not feeling well? This is not an appropriate place for you.” He placed a gentle hand on the trader’s shoulder. His kind act was met with a harsh slap which resounded through the entire chamber. However, his smile did not falter.

[Name], who had been sitting in the front row of pews ever since Sunday ‘rescued’ them, stood up, as did the woman next to them. They wanted to separate the two, but the priest extended a hand towards them as a sign to stop.

The atmosphere was painfully tense and uncertain, until the merchant reached into his pocket to retrieve his dagger. He then pressed it to Sunday’s throat, finally causing his expression to shift.

“You bastard… You rotten, filthy, deceptive scoundrel! You lied! All you and your good-for-nothing father have ever done is lie! You will pay for this.” The trader hissed, preparing to slice the man’s flesh. Sunday’s eyes narrowed as he effortlessly ripped the knife from his hands by the blade, cutting deep into his own palm. He then tossed it to the side, and grabbed the traitor by the neck.

“Tsk..What a shame. You were quite valuable.” He shook his head disappointedly before dragging him outside.

No one dared to follow… Except for [Name]. Before anyone could tell them not to, they sprinted after Sunday, finding him kicking his attacker in the stomach repeatedly just outside church doors. [Name] gasped, but they were cut off by the disgusting feeling of bile rising up their throat. This caused Sunday to turn his head. His eyes were wide, however, a disturbingly sweet smile stretched across his features. He delivered one final kick- to the chest this time- and quickly closed most of the distance between him and [Name].

“You shouldn’t have followed me. But, I suppose it’s my fault for not teaching you what to do in such situations.. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

[Name]’s eyes darted between the priest and the corpse he had just created. They soon murmured the first thought they could muster:

“Your hand..”

“I will be fine. Go back inside, and stay put. Service will resume shortly.” He smiled before promptly walking out of sight.

[Name] considered running for their life as far away from this town as geography would allow. However, something was holding them back. After taking a minute to process, they re-entered the church, earning dirty looks from the other members. Only the woman that had stood up alongside them earlier spoke to them.

“Don’t do that. No one wants to see what happens to those who get ‘expelled’.”

4. It is the high priest who is the rightful successor to God’s will.

Despite it not feeling like such, Sunday was once a child. He had a family as well, more or less. Although thinking of Gopher Wood as his parent made him feel sick to his stomach now, a brief period of time where this wasn’t the case existed.

After the traumatic loss of their parents, Sunday and his dear sister, Robin, were sent to an orphanage much like any other unfortunate soul in the same situation. Robin thought they’d be adopted within the year, but Sunday was already planning the way in which he’d make a living for himself the moment he became an adult. He’d save up any and all money he didn’t use strictly on survival to be able to sustain his sister when she reached the age of eighteen as well, he thought.

In a surprising turn of events, a man from a small, far away town, visited the orphanage only three months after the siblings’ arrival. He smiled the instant his gaze landed on them. Originally, Sunday thought it was because of their shared, relatively uncommon species, but he’d later come to convince himself that Gopher Wood saw something in them that day.

In what had to be record time, he had legally adopted them. As they rode the horse carriage to their new home, Robin snuggled close to her brother, and whispered an optimistic ‘I told you so’. Sunday simply smiled, for the first time since the death of their mother.

The first day felt like the most fun a recently orphaned child could have. They were given various sweet treats by their new neighbors, and a tour of the town. Everyone seemed to dote on them, which almost made the young boy finally lower his guard fully. He thought he was safe at last, and could heal.

Big mistake.

That very night, Sunday was ripped from bed by his eerily silent ‘father’. Before he could even ask what he was doing, a hand had been slapped over his mouth. He, being docile and untrained at the time, allowed himself to be molded like clay.

In less than an hour, Sunday had been exposed to things that would shatter the mind of most children into pieces. At the end of his extensive explanation, Gopher took Sunday to the dark, empty church, where he forced him to kneel in front of the altar. Because he hadn’t succumbed to the information that he had to forcibly ingest, Gopher considered him a worthy heir, and introduced him to Ena as such.

And yet, that was not the point where he stopped seeing that man as family. In fact, he never saw anything wrong with that behavior. He always felt so proud to be chosen, entrusted with such an important position.. Gopher said he was special. Smart. Nearly perfect. He was everything he could’ve ever wanted in a son. The knowing glances they exchanged as Robin discovered the surface rules of the religion at the pace that everyone else except for him did made Sunday feel good.

For about a year, Sunday loved his life. He felt as if he finally had a purpose..

On the night of a seventh,going into first day of the week, in the latter half of November, Sunday found himself choking back tears on the bathroom floor, knees hugged tightly to his chest along with his discarded shirt. Gopher Wood, that monster, sat behind him, trimming away at the child’s lower wings. When he was done, he’d move on to permanently tainting them black, like his own.

‘The truest act of devotion’ he called it. To prove their loyalty to Ena, high priests had to discard something they held dear at a young age.. For halovians, their wings were naturally their pride and joy, so, the dark haired man picked those for him. Sunday asked to be allowed to choose something, anything else, but his request was declined.

Of course, this wasn’t any form of religious practice. Gopher had made it up to further mold his poor victim into what he needed him to be. Every time the boy dared to show any feelings regarding that action, he reminded him that as the high priest, all his actions were carried out trough God’s will.

Sunday never wore a base layer of clothing that didn’t almost perfectly match his new wing color after that. He felt hideous, and he’d rather have people think he lost his wings completely than show off the cruel defilement he’d endured.

Since then, Sunday could no longer see him as a father. Of course, he still respected and obeyed him, as not doing so would be disrespectful to THEM, too. After all, priests were naught but a mirror of their God’s desires.

5. God’s teachings are the divine providence of this world.

Sunday tossed in bed, wings wrapping around his face as he groaned quietly. He was tormented by thought, and couldn’t sleep.

Upon the passage of one hour, he rose from his spot, and slowly stepped out of his room. [Name] slumbered on his couch, as they had since the first time Sunday brought them home. He felt bad for not being able to provide them a proper bed, and made a mental note to work on that soon. After all, it wasn’t like it cost much, or… anything at all. He was just a very busy man.

The priest then stepped on the single creaky floorboard in the entire house, alerting his roommate.

“Sunday..?” They yawned, rubbing their eyes as they blinked them open.

“Ah. I’m sorry that I woke you.”

“It’s alright,, but what are you doing up so late? And why are you going out?”

“Mm. I need a walk, to clear my head. I’m finding it hard to rest well tonight.”

“Me too. I barely even fell asleep a few minutes ago, and it was so light.” [Name] stretched their back as they spoke.

“I see. Do you want to join me?” He offered, and the other person excitedly accepted, standing up and almost stumbling. Sunday caught them, helping them to stand better. They gave a grateful look in response.

The two then exited the house, the cold night breeze gently biting at their skin. They set a comfortable pace as Sunday directed them to the woods across the river that served as town border. [Name] hadn’t gotten the chance to go there yet, as it was ill-advised to venture too far from the town.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?”

“Don’t you trust me? Do you think I’m going to murder you for your sins?” Sunday smiled, turning his face away so [Name] couldn’t see.

“I do! It’s just that… Wait, have I sinned?”

“Of course you have. You are still new to our religion, you’re bound to make mistakes. Even devout believers sin sometimes, but God forgives all, therefore so do I.”

“Do you sin?”

“Me? No. Sinning would be disgraceful to our Lord. I mean, if even the high priest doesn’t carry himself as THEY intended, how would any normal person be inclined to either?”

“True.. Doesn’t it get exhausting having to be perfect all the time, though?”

“Not at all. Do you know the fifth commandment?”

“God’s teachings are the divine providence of this world?” [Name] cocked their head at him, almost tripping on a fallen branch in the process.

“Very good. As the high priest, I have to know these teachings better than any other mortal. The stronger one’s knowledge, the stronger they feel God’s love.”

“Oh. I never thought about it like that.”

“Well, now you have.” He halted, left arm occupying its spot behind his back as usual. [Name] stopped as well, confused.

“Why’d you stop? Aren’t walks supposed to be continuous?”

“Yes…Would you mind pausing here for a moment? If I’m not mistaken, this is the clearing I used to come to for respite when I was a child. I have no time for such things anymore, but it brings me a sense of nostalgia.”

[Name] nodded, and awkwardly walked closer to Sunday. There didn’t appear to be any sitting spots, so they just took a moment to appreciate nature’s beauty.

Not much time later, Sunday decided it had gotten far too late to be outside any longer. As they trekked back home, the priest noticed [Name] become slower by the second. He offered to carry them, and in a moment of exhausted weakness, they accepted. They’d soon fall unconscious in his arms.

The following morning, [Name]’d find themselves in Sunday’s bed, with him nowhere to be found.

Confused, they stepped into the living room. Sure enough, the man was curled up on the couch.

6. To disobey God is to deviate from Paradise.

[Name] was integrating nicely into the town already. While trying to decide what job they should try land, they picked up gardening as a short pastime. Sunday had graciously lent them a patch of his backyard to plant things in, so long as they managed to keep it free of weeds. They agreed, and were doing a great job so far. The first thing they tried was strawberries, as it was the optimal season for planting them.

[Name] decided to ask the neighbors to see if anyone had any runners they could borrow.

“Hello!” They waved at an older lady who was conveniently planting something in her own garden. She lifted her head, smiled, and waved back.

“…Ahem. I was wondering if you had any strawberry runners? I want to grow strawberries… I don’t have any money right now, but I’ll pay you for them someday!”

“Ah, such nonsense.. Since Mr. Wood saved us, money is obsolete.”

“Huh? Then why do people still have jobs?”

“So they don’t get bored, of course! If you’re worried about payment, pay with a favor. Give some to Mr. Sunday when they’re ripe. I’m sure he hasn’t had strawberries since Miss Robin… Ah, nevermind, I’ll fetch ‘em for you.” The lady hobbled into her house, leaving [Name] confused. They made a mental note to ask Sunday about this ‘Robin’ someday.

The woman soon returned, and handed the runners to [Name], eagerly.

“Here you go, dearie. Give some to me too, if I’m still around by then…” she chuckled, trailing off into a cough.

“Don’t say that.. But, I will! Thanks so much!” They waved again, and sped off to plant the strawberries.

About three months later, the fruits were ripe. [Name] was utterly delighted… They looked absolutely perfect, as if it was obvious from a glance that they had the perfect texture and amount of juice. They quickly collected them all in a basket, and ran inside, where Sunday was actually home, for once. [Name] was happy about this, and hurried to separate the basket’s contents into bowls. The priest tilted his head at them, curious.

“I see you’ve made good use of the land I gave to you.” He hummed observantly.

“Mhm! I couldn’t have done it without the grandma across the street, though. I have to give her a portion back, but.. She asked for something else as payment.”

“Oh?”

[Name] handed Sunday a full bowl, happily.

“She wanted me to give this to you! She said you probably haven’t eaten any since some Robin something something..”

Sunday froze, and his breathing paused abruptly.

“Who’s Robin anyway? It sounds like you know her…”

“Robin is a sinner who denied our Lord’s presence in her life. She is where she deserves to be right now.” His voice had a weird edge, almost as if it was breaking.

“She’s not someone you should concern yourself with again. Ahem; thank you for the gift. It was very thoughtful of you. Send my regards to the neighbor, too.” He left, strawberry bowl in hand.

[Name] frowned, dejectedly dragging themselves and one of the remaining strawberry bowls to the neighbor’s house. She was in the yard once again, so they just walked up to her.

“Ma’am! I picked the strawberries today!” They handed her the dish.

“Thank you, dear. You gave them to Mr. Sunday too, yes?”

“Of course. He said to give you his regards. But, something weird happened. When I asked him about Robin, he just said she was a sinner. That wasn’t much of an answer, so could you tell me more, please?”

“Really? Hm. I wouldn’t expect him to be that cold towards the memory of his own sister…”

“…What?”

“I’ve said too much. Please leave.”

[Name] frowned, but did as asked. It was taking them some time to accept the fact that there were certain topics everyone seemed to get tense around..

7. To harbor doubts about God is to suffer the disintegration of thought.

Gopher Wood always despised the neighboring town, in which he was born, raised, and first established his religion. He hated not having control over every single atom there, so, he left. However, he wasn’t always completely unwilling to maintain a cordial relationship with them.

When his daughter, Robin, reached the age of twelve, he assigned her the role of ‘peacekeeper’. She was to befriend politicians and people of note, engage in the culture there. and report any intel she could’ve gained back to Gopher, who would then try to usurp the town and convert its residents to worshippers of Ena, ergo himself, by commandment fourteen.

By her 13th birthday, Robin’s reports suspiciously all turned into ‘They didn’t tell me anything’. The high priest soon grew skeptical, and ordered Sunday to get an answer out of her by any means necessary.

And so, he did.

He approached her door, taking note of the unfamiliar tune she appeared to be loudly humming. Due to growing older, they now had separate rooms. This didn’t help their relationship whatsoever, as their paths in life were already pulling them apart.

“Sister?” He knocked.

“Come in!” She called out, ceasing her singing. Sunday did, avoiding her gaze.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure. Sit down.” She gestured to the empty spot on her bed, next to herself. Sunday shook his head, which felt like a dagger being pierced trough robin’s heart.

“Oh. Okay… What did you want to talk about?”

“Master ranted to me earlier about the lack of new information regarding the neighboring town lately. I found this weird, so I just wanted to ask you about it. Please be honest with me, are you hiding something?”

Robin’s eyes widened, before drifting downward. She dipped her head in a slight nod.

“Brother… I’m sorry, I meant to tell you earlier, but I feared your response. I..” she inhaled, then exhaled. “…I worship the Harmony.”

Sunday stared at her with the most disgust his face had ever held. He began to slowly shake his head.

Robin stood, paced over to him, and grabbed his hand, holding it close to her chest.

“Please, just listen to me. I discovered something that will change your view on-“ She trailed off as she met his gaze. It was evident that there was no possible way to reason with him. At that moment, it didn’t feel like she was even looking at her sibling; but rather, at the man that destroyed him.

Defeated, she let go of his hand, and sat back on her mattress. As she watched her beloved brother leave her room, she accepted that her days were now numbered.

8. To blaspheme God is to deny one's own existence.

Robin wore a gentle smile as she was walked down the path to a completely empty plain by her brother. The girl was dressed in pitch black robes, a symbol of her betrayal and a way to make her death far more painful. And yet, she didn’t seem all that bothered.

“Sunday..” she hummed.

“You’re not supposed to speak.”

“I’ll be dead soon either way. What’s one more sin?”

“…”

“I love you. Please don’t blame yourself, I forgive you.”

Sunday didn’t reply to this, and pushed her towards her final resting place.

“Press your back to the stake, please.”

Robin obliged, placing her hands behind the wooden pole as well, without even having to be told. Sunday, under the watchful gaze of Gopher Wood, tied them together, then her torso to the stake.

A citizen then dumped the wood Gopher had hand picked the day prior as the fire fuel to Robin’s feet, before backing up. As per the high priest’s request, Sunday was to light it.

The heir felt nothingness rip and tear away at his being. As his Master placed a flaming torch in his hand, Sunday thought about all the things he wanted to do right now. He wanted to cry, but that would be ‘disgraceful’. He wanted to grab his sister and run, far away from here, and start a new life together, but they were just children, with a horde of angry, violent adults behind them. He wanted to fall to his knees and scream in despair, but the raven-like man behind him would definitely punish him severely for that. As his legs trembled, threatening to give out, Sunday wondered what the worst consequence could even be. Upon remembering the ruined state his wings were in and that he had another pair in an incredibly visible location, he took several deep breaths to calm himself down.

“I’m sorry.” He mouthed, before pressing the torch’s tip to the firewood.

9. God sees, but THEY never save.

Sunday inhaled deeply, eyes shut. The winter air numbed his lungs, allowing the cold to overwhelm his body. He felt no pain, or any physical sensation at all. He simply felt like pure consciousness.

“Brother!” The worried voice of his sister called out to him. Alarmed, he exhaled, and ended his meditative state.

“What is it?” He questioned, tone unusually flat.

Robin held her hands out to him. They contained a baby dove. It was barely even covered in pin feathers, meaning it couldn’t have been more than seven days old.

“I was walking to Mr. Gary’s farm because I promised to help feed his animals, but i found this hatchling crying by a tree… I can’t find its nest, or parents, b-but it’ll freeze to death if we don’t do something!” She sobbed. Sunday examined the tiny avian closely.

“Yes…I do suppose the best course of action would be to raise it ourselves.” He crossed his arms.

“Why do you sound so hesitant..?”

Sunday was worried about what his Master would do upon discovering the animal. He wondered if its wings would be clipped, like his own were. The boy pressed a hand to his mouth in thought, eventually settling on the conclusion that there would be no reason to commit such act, as it was only done to himself so he could prove his worth to Ena.

“Fine. Give it to me.” He demanded, and the girl obliged.

The siblings rushed back home, where Robin filled a shallow bowl with warm water. Sunday placed the chick in it, but held on, just in case. It let out chirps of increasing volume, which the boy found endearing. He soon let go, stroking under the bird’s chin instead. Robin gasped, and leaned in closer to observe this. Her brother interacting with animals was a truly beautiful sight.

“How long will it take until it’s grown? I can’t wait to teach it how to fly!” She smiled widely, blinking up at Sunday.

“Huh? Why would we do that..?” He raised an eyebrow.

“So we can release it?” Robin now looked confused.

“What? You can’t be serious. What even is the point of saving it now if you just want to send it to die later?” He pulled the bowl closer to himself, protectively.

“It won’t die! It’d just be cruel to keep it inside for the rest of its life!” She argued, straightening her posture.

“It will.”

“No, it won’t!” The girl gripped the edge of the table. Sunday pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned his back to her.

“Fine. If you insist, you’re now responsible for its well-being until the end of the next week, when you must release it into the wild.”

“Fine.” Robin huffed, and pulled the bird and its makeshift bath back towards herself.

Seven more days passed, in which the dove grew out all the needed feathers for flight. Robin was absolutely ecstatic, and dragged Sunday outside.

“Okay..How do we do this?” She asked.

“What, you made a decision that could be the difference between life and death for another living being without any research?”

“Well, when you put it like that-“

“Do you admit defeat?”

“No! I know it’ll survive! Just tell me how to help it fly.”

Sunday simply shrugged, which upset Robin. After some contemplation, she placed the dove down on the ground, and held her breath waiting.

The bird soon spread its wings, and departed from the ground. The young girl squealed happily, and watched with wide eyes. She then turned, grinning triumphantly at her brother. It was then that she noticed the tall, dark figure looming right behind him.

“Master? What brings you here?”

Gopher Wood simply smiled eerily, and Sunday grimaced, eyes fixed on the now flying dove. A chill of deep dread struck Robin’s spine, making her turn again… Just in time to see the razor sharp talons of a raven dig into the body of the smaller bird. Right as its beak was about to rip flesh off, the girl ran into the house, sobbing loudly.

Sunday and Gopher kept watching. The scene was horrible, gory and disheartening, to say the least.

After a period of silence, the boy spoke up.

“That was a trained raven.”

“What a keen eye.”

“…Why? Robin didn’t have to see that. She’s just a child.”

“I disagree. It was her choice to free the dove, wasn’t it? She has to learn that her actions have consequences, and that defying the concept of order won’t get her anywhere.”

Sunday wordlessly nodded, before walking off.

On the way to the clearing he’d claimed as solely his- which he only turned to when he was having ‘sinful’ ideas that he felt too scared to even think about in the confines of the city- he wondered if Ena would really want one of THEIR creations to suffer, just to teach another a valuable lesson. He then considered that THEY might not truly even care about anyone and anything at all. If he could see and intervene in anything happening in the world, Sunday would try to save every being. But, in the end, he was not God, and THEY were.

10. God listens, but THEY never speak.

“Father..” a weak voice on the other side of the confessional threatened to break. Sunday straightened his posture, as he instinctively always did when spoken to, even if he couldn’t be seen.

“Speak your sorrows, child of the Order.”

“I can’t take it any longer. It feels… It feels like my prayers are falling on deaf ears. My life has only been spiraling into misery… Hell, even a sign would help loads!”

Sunday closed his eyes, thinking deeply.

“I understand how you must feel. However, you should know THEY don’t often give ‘signs’. You may share your troubles with me, and I promise to try my hardest to help you.”

“You’d really do that?”

“I would.” He nodded. He’d trained himself to be aware of his body language and what every single difference in stance could be interpreted as. So, he applied that even when alone, hidden, or in an otherwise casual situation.

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you… May I ask a question first?”

“Hm?”

“Do THEY give you signs? Speak to you? Anything at all?”

The halovian fell silent. He didn’t know. Ever since he’d taken over Gopher Wood’s duties, he felt like a failure for being ‘spiritually disconnected’ from the Lord.

“The answer is what you think.” Was what he settled on.

The person on the other side sighed. The next time they spoke, their voice sounded muffled.

“I’m a murderer. I don’t deserve to live. Do you think THEY would forgive me if I..”

“Don’t say that. You are stronger than you think. Why do you consider yourself a murderer?”

“I had an argument with my little sister. It was over something so stupid, I don’t even remember what it was. I was so angry that I pushed her. She hit her head on the kitchen counter, and… oh god. There was so much blood. I saw her brains, Father. I will never forget the sight. I see it every time I sleep, every time I close my eyes, every time I see things that remind me of her. Please, how do I make it stop?” They sobbed.

Sunday was silent, eyes unfocusing as the vivid memory of Robin’s body being charred alive by flames tore its way out of the corner of his brain he’d banished it to.

“Father?”

“…Apologies. That is a lot to process, I was thinking of the optimal way to help. How long ago did this accident happen?”

“I don’t know. It could be anywhere from a few days to several months. After I buried her, everything’s been a blur. She was everything I had left… i hate to think that if I treated her nicer, showed her how much I appreciate her; if I tried to understand her better and didn’t let my emotions get the better of me, she’d still be here.”

“Yes.. You said you buried her body?”

“I did.”

“Where?”

“…”

“I see. You don’t have to tell me. I can feel that you are genuinely remorseful. Fear not, the Lord will forgive you, and I’m sure your sister would too. As for the mental scarring, I can only hope that your confession has lifted some weight off your shoulders. You are not alone. If you ever feel as if you need to take drastic measures, I hereby permit you to seek me in my free time. Your life matters, and I’d rather a slight inconvenience to myself than lose another life. It gets easier, I promise. Hardship is the key to happiness.” Although he was saying all this, he barely even believed or understood himself. He’d never had anyone comfort him when he was in a similar situation, nevermind attempt to help him. When he tried to turn to Ena for solace, he was only met with silence… Which was to be expected. However, the toll it took on him was greater than he could’ve ever expected. In any case, he hoped he’d helped the member of his community, even slightly.

The sound of the fabric belonging to the other person’s clothes could be heard- presumably them standing up. It was then followed by footsteps. Sunday groaned loudly once he figured they’d have long exited the church, and placed his face in his hands. This was going to be a long day.

Upon returning home way past midnight, Sunday looked uncharacteristically horrible. His eyes were bloodshot, his wings drooped pathetically as he slouched, including his ‘deformed’ second pair, which usually stayed tucked into his coat.

“Sunday!” [Name] ran to the door as soon as it opened. As they bore witness to the state of the halovian, they fell into baffled silence. He blinked blearily, far too tired to be embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. Go to sleep.” He mumbled, trying to push past them and towards the couch, as the two had traded sleeping utilities after their late-night walk.

“No! Are you okay?”

“Excuse me?”

“You look horrendous. I’m worried.”

“Thanks.” He deadpanned.

“I obviously didn’t mean it that way. It’s just not like you to be so… improper. Woah, wait, you have four wings!?”

“I don’t want to talk about either of those things. Please move, I’d really like to sleep.”

[Name] frowned, and instead of letting Sunday go to sleep on the near back-breaking couch when he was clearly in no condition to, they intertwined their hand with his, pulling him towards the bedroom. Before Sunday had the chance to protest, they’d reached their destination.

“What are you doing?”

“What, you said you wanted to sleep.”

“Are you implying you want to… share a bed?”

“Yeah! That’s not sinful, right?”

“I suppose not.” Sunday gave up.

“Great. I’ll let you change, call me back in when you’re done.”

Sunday didn’t know what had happened to him by the beginning of the next hour. He found himself cuddling his housemate, face buried in their chest as their fingers carded through his hair. If he wasn’t so far gone, he would’ve felt shame to the depths of his bones.

As [Name]’s breathing and heart rate slowed steadily, so did their hand. Sunday smiled, slowly shifting their position until they’d fully swapped roles. While he appreciated being on the receiving end of affection for once, it was just his nature to want to return any kind act done for him.

He draped a wing around their body, figuring he’d finally found a use for the unsightly body part.

11. God knows, but THEY never teach.

Sunday’s hands balled into fists at his sides. He’d been staring at the glass casing containing the stone slate which the commandments had been first carved into for what must’ve been many hours now. He read them over, and over, and over, and over… Despite the fact that his mind was already similar to the slate, in the sense that the words had been permanently etched into both. Every day, he could feel himself growing more and more…Hateful. And so, he decided connecting with the Lord again would be the best course of action.

Unfortunately, he was wrong. As he obsessively examined and carefully thought over every word of the sacred obligations, he could only form more and more questions… More anger. More doubt. The contradictions between several entries now seemed painfully obvious. For example, it was specified that the high priest was the exception to commandment two, but no such thing exists for the numbers nine, ten and eleven… But, communication between God and the high priest was supposed to be the basis of the religion.

As the gears in Sunday’s brain turned, he began to laugh. How could he have been so foolish? These were all just lies. Lies made up by a selfish man who desired nothing more than to rule the whole world by himself. As his laughter grew, so did his fury.

Sunday dug his fingers into the side of the glass; fragile, as all things in this forsaken town. If everyone was under the permanent illusion of safety, why was there any need for precaution? It was so bad, that nobody locked their doors anymore. No one would want to break into your house and kill you, after all. The most likely murderer was the person you trusted enough to live with. As these realizations plagued his mind, Sunday’s hands only gripped the long since shattered shards of glass tighter, and tighter. It hurt so pleasantly right now. Although, soon enough, he dropped them in favor of grasping the stone tablet itself. As he turned around, his eyes darted through the church. He needed something to break it with.

After looking for a considerable amount of time, Sunday decided he’d just fling it at the wall.

As the glorified boulder was about to leave his hand, he hesitated. What if he was wrong? This definitely had to be a misunderstanding. Maybe he just wasn’t open minded enough to understand the deeper meaning of the commandments. After all, every older resident seemed so happy living the way they were. The younger generation- including himself- would grow into doing the same, surely… God is good, Sunday thought.

God is loving.

The priest lowered his hand slowly. He rotated back to his original position, regret filling him at the sight of the broken display and bloodied glass scattered across the floor. If he were to look into his hand, he’d notice the crimson seeping from his open wound was quickly transferring to the commandments.

Sunday closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He just had to clean this up, find a replacement case, and no one would ever know. His sin could stay between him and the Lord, forever.

As for understanding all the contradictions, he was now sure that he just had to try a little harder. After all, God doesn’t teach. For a start, this probably meant THEY wanted THEIR subjects to learn from their and others’ mistakes throughout their life.

Yes, this had to be the solution. This was nothing but another trial for Sunday to overcome; a test of faith.

12. The entire Word of God is passed down through THEIR oracle, the high priest.

In an extremely rare occurrence, Sunday had found himself with a few hours of free time on his hands. He decided to spend one of them browsing the local grocery store, deciding on what snack to purchase for [Name], as a token of appreciation. He hadn’t asked them about their tastes outright, so he was attempting to piece them together from the few, yet valuable conversations they’d had. This was proving to be a more challenging task than expected, but he wasn’t about to give up.

“I believe this is what you’re looking for.” A voice coming from Sunday’s right spoke sweetly. He turned his head, confused. Before him stood a person, with an appearance so strikingly out of place that he managed how they even managed to make it into the city. They had white hair, parted into short twin tails on either side of their head. They also had long curtain bangs, however, the upper part of their hairstyle didn’t even utilize as much as half of their locks. The expanse of white fell down to the floor, dragging along it whenever they moved. They wore simple, yet eye grabbing make up, which nicely complemented their tanned skin. Their eyes appeared to naturally stay shut for the entirety of Sunday’s examination of them, not displaying any of the twitching that the eyes of a normal person forcing them to stay closed would. What was really out of place, though, was their clothing. They wore a tight, black dress which was about as long as their hair. It was rather revealing, especially in the chest and leg area. Whilst the town Sunday lived in didn’t exactly enforce ‘purity culture’ anymore, it was still unusual to dress immodestly. Additionally, the sort of corset piece wrapped around their midriff and neck appeared to be real gold, solidifying their status as an outsider. The followers of Order weren’t exactly wealthy, as money had not been used since the founding of the religion, and Gopher Wood considered the concept to be inherently unfair. Of course, this didn’t stop him from continuing to hoard any currency he came across, to be able to afford imported garments and accessories of the finest quality for only himself and his children.

“Pardon?” He narrowed his eyes, inspecting the item. It was one of the choices he’d been considering for [Name]’s snack, although he was still second-guessing himself.

“This is their favorite.” The foreigner extended their hand further, as if urging him to take it.

“What are you talking about?” Sunday was becoming uncomfortable.

“[Name]? Your.. Friend. This is their favorite. You are looking for something to get them, no?”

“Hah..I see. You’re one of Xipe’s slaves.” He chuckled bitterly, and grabbed a duplicate of the item they were holding off the shelf.

“I’d strongly urge you to return to your home, if you know what’s best for you. Good day.” He turned to leave, but a hand as cold as death itself gripped his wrist with a hold that would be sure to cut off his circulation if it was kept too long.

“Is this all the thanks I get? You would’ve spent another hour deciding if it weren’t for me.” The person pouted in mock offense.

“Stop. Get out of my mind, please.” He tried to pull away, to no avail.

“And what if I don’t? Are you going to call upon Ena to save you? Oh wait..” They laughed.

“Tsk…Do not use THEIR sacred name with such mocking purpose.”

“I really don’t get what you see in THEM. I mean, THEY’RE such a deadbeat! The Great One would never let THEIR subjects suffer.”

“Says the one whose idol abandoned THEIR town without leaving as much as a divine messenger.”

“Hm? But I am the High Priest.”

“High Priest? My a-.. ahem… That does not sound very likely. Clearly, you’re blessed in some form, but knowing Penacony, they would hold a week-long festival in your honor if you gave substantial proof of this. Who are you, really?”

The person smiled, and let go of his now bruised wrist. They’d still not opened their eyes once.

“Oh, would you look at the time. Well, I should get going. Until we meet again~” they waved, and walked away, humming an awfully familiar tune.

Sunday would then stand in the middle of the aisle, snack in hand as he tried to make sense of what had happened. He wondered if the person was trying to convince him to turn to the Harmony, or just teasing him. What’s worse is that if it was the former, he believed he might’ve actually considered.

The halovian soon dragged himself home, deep in thought. As he opened the door to see [Name] sitting on the couch as they had been doing more often lately, Sunday smiled. He sat next to them, far closer than usual.

“…I got you something.” He handed them the snack. [Name] gasped quietly.

“Ohh.. Did you know this was my favorite? Thank you so much!” They hugged him.

“Really? Must’ve been a lucky guess. In any case, consider this payment for the strawberries.” Sunday shut his eyes. Perhaps the worshipper of Xipe wasn’t all that horrible.

13. God’s aims are the aims of the world

Lately, Sunday had been frequenting the church in the dead of night. Since the meeting with the strange worshipper of Harmony, he’d been questioning his faith more than ever before. A part of him struggled with the same urge to run that he’d felt in Robin’s final moments. However, instead of his fear of angry, violent adults holding him back now, it was the fear of repercussions for becoming one.

He considered himself weak minded. He knew very well what he was getting into before accepting the position of high priest. He knew he’d have to murder and hurt, and yet… He never truly could. A secret Sunday swore he’d take to the grave, was that he never truly punished traitors as God commanded. Even after the incident with the tradesman, the worst he could muster was kicking him into unconsciousness and dropping him off into Penacony’s territory. That very night, he prayed to the God he himself had just betrayed, that the man was taken to a hospital. In his heart, Sunday still believed that if he were to implore the Lord to forgive those who turned away from them, THEY would.

Sunday had what one might call a heart of gold. He wanted the best for everyone, even if it directly contradicted the teachings of his Master, and the undeniable holy rules given to the world by God. However, his constant desire to help came at the cost of his own sanity- fact which he was acutely aware of. He considered it a small price to pay for the joy of others.

In his mind, he was responsible for the actions of each and every one of The Order’s followers. If they sinned, it was purely his fault for not managing to stop them. He’d be the one spending eternity in the burning embers, while any who sinned under him and died before he did, would be forgiven and led to the peaceful afterlife they strived for all their lives. If he’d explain this to any sane person, they’d most likely immediately pick up on how specific, flawed, and barely comprehensible his logic was… Unfortunately, he never would.

“You look tired.” The sickly sweet voice of the strange worshipper called from behind Sunday, making him halt.

“I know for a fact that I locked the gates.” He crossed his arms, but didn’t give the person the pleasure of looking at them.

“What can I say, I have my ways… Anyway, I don’t think burying yourself in your delusions is very healthy. You should rest.”

“I must say, you’re very bold. You simply can’t hold yourself back from insulting the Lord in front of THEIR messenger, hm?”

“I am simply stating a fact. You’re starting to doubt THEIR very existence, and you know that. If you acknowledge your situation, why do you still choose to indulge?”

Sunday did not speak for a long period of time.

“If you truly were a High Priest, you’d understand. God is all I have. I’ve invested so much time into becoming what I am now, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself otherwise.”

“And you still don’t follow the very principle that supposedly founded your religion. Clearly, deep down, what you want is to help everyone. You’d be well suited for the Harmony…”

“No. The harmony dictates that everyone must live through trial and error. That’s such unnecessary suffering, that can simply be avoided by protecting everyone.”

“Learning through mistakes? Isn’t that what you ultimately decided Ena’s ideal was, when you noticed people making mistakes over and over again, even when the whole point of this religion is to establish ultimate control and peace to the point where people will actively seek out pain to break the monotony?”

“…Then, I was mistaken. I never saw the similarities to the Harmony before. I pray THEY can forgive me as I try to truly understand THEIR commandments once more. Thank you for telling me this. I shall… Become a better fit for my role, through any means necessary.”

“Really? Or will you do as you’ve always done, and continue to refuse to harm anyone as your God dictates?”

“…Even if I were to do that, which I will earnestly try not to, the spiritual consequences would fall onto me, solely. I’m the one not doing my job, I-“

“Sunday! When was the last time you’ve uttered or thought something that makes any sense, at all!? Look deeply within yourself, you’ll realize how absurd you’re being.”

The halovian simply smiled. Perhaps, long ago, that would’ve been true. However, that was no longer a possibility. Any time he’d come to the same realization, his being would instinctively suffocate itself with a half-hearted explanation that would seem plausible enough at first glance, until he’d begin to deconstruct it, at which point the process would repeat.

The stranger’s expression shifted into a sorrowful one. They’d really tried to help him, but he was truly too far gone.

“I see. I hope your soul will someday be able to find peace.” They left, giving Sunday the opportunity to continue destroying himself in peace.

14. God and the high priest shall be regarded as one and the same.

Gopher Wood’s amber eyes intently observed Mikhail. His head was informally resting on the table, wings fluttering in anticipation as he waited for his ally to finish reading the documents he’d presented him with.

“So? What do you think?” He finally spoke, having grown impatient.

“I’m not done yet..”

“Well, you’ve read most of it. What do you think so far, then?”

“I didn’t know you had such little patience, Mr. Wood.”

“Yes, yes..Well, now you know.”

“I don’t consider it appropriate to share my opinion on something that I don’t fully understand. I ask that you continue waiting.”

“Fine.” Gopher scoffed, and stood up.

“I’m going to get another drink. Want anything?”

“No, thank you.”

Mikhail sighed as he continued reading. Him and Gopher had met just over three amber eras ago, under inexplicable circumstances. At the time, it seemed they had similar ideals for the future of Penacony- a beautiful town, ravaged by an unfortunate dispute. The two quickly struck up a friendship, or at the very least, a cordial working relationship. At first, they agreed that their end goal was to join The Family, a union of towns and cities who worshipped a god known as Xipe and believed in the concept of Harmony. The men slowly gained the respect of most Penaconians that, too,wished for peace, who allowed them to become something akin to a two-person government.

After all that, they successfully completed their goal. Although, soon after, Gopher began acting unusually. He distanced himself from Mikhail, only talking to him to ask odd questions, such as ‘if he ever wished the entire town’s residents could be puppets’. The blue-haired man grew incredibly concerned for his partner’s wellbeing, but could never reach Gopher to speak to him about this topic.

A few days prior, he had invited him out to drinks to discuss ‘an exciting new discovery’. They now found themselves here, Gopher having handed Mikhail a folder full of papers, detailing the proof of the existence of another deity before Xipe. THEY were known by the name of Ena, and represented Order, which was awfully close to the concept of Harmony, besides the awfully concerning attitude towards those who desired to follow their own path in life.

Just as Mikhail finished reading, the halovian returned.

“Are you done yet?”

“Yes…?”

“Wonderful! So?”

“I’m… Not quite sure I understand. Do you want to leave The Family and pursue this religion? Do you even have any current proof this, ‘Ena’ even exists..?”

“Oh, THEY don’t!” He giggled, joyfully taking a sip of his wine. Just as Mikhail was preparing to open his mouth, he continued:

“Not anymore, at least. But if we can make people believe THEY do, we’ll have them wrapped around our fingers. They’ll just do anything we want under the guise of religion. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? There can truly be peace upon Penacony.”

“…How drunk are you?”

“Plenty.”

“You’re not thinking straight. That would never work, it’d just be defying human nature. Besides, if the ones who continue trying to end our lives for opposing them can’t even agree with Harmony, what makes you think they’d want to obey the words of an imaginary God?”

“Oh, them? They have no place in Penacony either way. If I were to execute my plan, I’d be doing a great favor to everyone.” He grinned.

“That’s enough. Get up. I’m taking you home, and you’re going to sleep off all that wine.” Mikhail stood, tossing the documents into the nearest trash.

“I know what I’m doing, my dear Misha. I’ve been fantasizing about this since before we even met… It’s my greatest wish, and what’s the best for Penacony- no, the world, even! Why must you be so cruel~?”

“…You’re not who I thought you were. Why.. Why would you even say that?”

“Mm.. Tell me one thing, then.” He rounded the table, until he was face to face with Mikhail. He then grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him even closer, grinning. “How long do you think a society under the Order’s rule will last? Hell, even with the most haphazard basis I can throw together in one night?”

“Don’t-“

“Answer me.”

“…A decade, at most.”

“Very well.” Gopher hummed, and let go.

“I say… Triple that, before it spreads to Penacony. At least a century after that until the downfall.”

“What are you planning to do..?”

“You’ll see.”

“You’re,, a psychopath. This will never work! Even if it somehow lasted for your entire lifetime, you’d never find a successor gullible enough to extend your little cult’s existence for that long.”

Gopher’s smile widened sinisterly.

“Cult? I prefer the word social experiment. Anyway, I should get going now. I heard the next town over has little contact with outsiders, and I’d like to get there before that changes.” He turned, and began to walk.

“Until we meet again, Misha.”

15. God is absolute.

After his second encounter with what seemed to be Xipe’s chosen one, Sunday felt completely drained. He hadn’t fully felt like a living, breathing entity since he was maybe six years old, but the mental haze that affected him worsened with each significant event that happened to him. He stumbled home at the same time that the sun began to peek over the horizon.

Despite the fact that he returned to sleeping on the couch after the night him and [Name] cuddled, he didn’t feel like sleeping alone at this moment.

Following several minutes of hesitation, Sunday opened the bedroom door, cautiously stepping in. Of course, his friend was sleeping peacefully, and luckily for him, deeply. The man stalked over to the closet door, which had been divided into halves to accommodate both his and [Name]’s clothes. He quickly discarded his current outfit, changing into a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. The shirt rode up his stomach slightly, as he hadn’t ever found the time to poke wing holes into his casual garments; therefore, his wings were just hanging naturally.

He slowly sat down on the unoccupied side of the bed, pausing to see if the sleeping person would wake. When they didn’t, he made himself more comfortable, even pulling half of the blanket over himself.

That action caused [Name] to turn. Sunday was preparing an apology speech for waking them, but they were unbothered. They grabbed his arm, snuggling it. The halovian took a moment to process, upper wings tensing in surprise. He was still not used to being touched, but he’d feel too bad pushing them away. So, instead of getting any rest, he just awkwardly stared at them for hours, frozen in place.

Finally, [Name] yawned, attempting to stretch. They were stopped by the sensation of a warm, solid object being held between their arms. When their eyes shot open, they barely stopped themselves from screaming at the sight of Sunday, who looked at them with a tired frown.

“Sorry,, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just feeling unwell, and I thought…” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“It’s alright. I’m just, a little surprised. You don’t really seem like the type of guy who’d enjoy this kind of stuff.”

“‘Stuff’…?”

“Yeah. You know, like, closeness.”

“Really? Hm.” He turned his head away, deep in thought.

“I guess you’re right.“ He nearly whispered, pulling his arm away.

The silence that followed was painfully awkward. So much so, that [Name] decided to speak the first thought that came to mind:

“Can I touch your wings?”

“Sorry?”

“I want to touch your wings. They look super fluffy.”

Sunday narrowed his eyes, wondering where they obtained such courage. A halovian’s wings were just about sacred, and most only allowed those closest to them to do as much as stare at them for extensive amount of time. And still…

“You may. But, please be careful. They’re very sensitive, and tear easily.”

“Wait, really? I wasn’t really expecting you to let me..” [Name] was dumbfounded.

“I suppose so. The idea doesn’t make me uncomfortable, as I… Truly appreciate you. It feels like you’re the only person that has seen me as human in an embarrassingly long time. This is the least I can do to express my gratitude.” He leaned in closer, extending the wings on the side closest to [Name]. They didn’t speak, only reaching out to pet the wing sticking out from under his shirt. Sunday was surprised, as he figured they’d first pick the carefully preened, pristine, and intact wing on his head.

“It’s so soft..” they gasped, brushing a finger along the trimmed edge of the appendage. They then moved on to his upper wing, scratching behind it like one would with a cat.

Sunday metaphorically melted, gently collapsing onto [Name]. His eyes closed contently as his roommate continued their exploration of his features.

Unfortunately, their happiness didn’t last long. The distinct sound of wood being axed through snapped both people out of their relaxed state. Sunday jumped out of bed, and out the bedroom door. The sound was coming from the front entrance- which was stupid, as it was unlocked, much like any other door in the town. He crossed his arms, glaring at the widening hole in his door.

Upon completely decimating the wooden structure, a furious mob of followers of the Order barged in, carrying pitchforks and unlit torches. Sunday blinked in disbelief, if only for a couple seconds.

“You liar… Murderous whoreson of a cunt! How could you… How? Do you even realize how many people have lost or wasted their lives on your fuckass cult!? You will pay for this!” A man near the front screamed, spit flying onto Sunday as he did so. He wiped it off his face, giving his subjects a tired smile.

“My children, please. This must all be one great misunderstanding. I urge you to lay your weapons down, and explain to me what crime exactly you think it is that I committed.” He clasped his hands together, eyes closing inoffensively. Once again, his communication attempt was met with a slap.

“Misunderstanding? Hah. Tell that to The Devil! Tie him!” The man ordered, in response to which, the follower of Harmony stepped forward, rope in hand. As they stood parallel to Sunday, they opened their eyes for the first time. The blue outer ring transforming into a deep purple one didn’t look the least bit human, and neither did the grey sclera. If anything, such colors more closely resembled the written description of Ena, if only reversed.

It was then that it clicked.

Sunday began to twitch, in what seemed like the unfortunate moment where the psyche of a tortured man finally shattered. Hell, maybe that was accurate. He soon began to laugh, louder than he ever had before.

As he found himself preoccupied with that, Xipe gave him one last pitiful glance.

“I’m sorry.” THEY mouthed, beginning to bind his arms and wings.

[Name] gripped the edge of the bedroom doorframe. They had been observing for the entirety of the conflict, frozen. Perhaps, if the sea of people didn’t extend well past the confines of the house, they would’ve tried to help Sunday.

“See? He’s gone far past mad- Wait, should we do something about [Name]?” A villager questioned another, causing Sunday to cease his laughter.

“Absolutely. Burn the entire house down, everything he’s touched is tainted.”

“Are you insane? They’re pretty new. What do you think are the chances that they knew?” A third chimed in.

“[Name] didn’t know. It… It was all on me. I’m the one who lied to you. I deceived each and every one of you in pursuit of control. I corrupted the pure intentions of Gopher Wood, and, I ended his life via poison. I am the only culprit.” Sunday tensed, frantically looking around to see how many people believed his faux confession. Of course, only the first sentence was even remotely true. However, if he were to die today, there was no reason to drag the dead and the innocent along with him.

The villagers fell silent, looking between each other in a silent discussion.

“I believe him.” Xipe said, tugging on Sunday’s binds as THEY lead him towards the door, clearing a path through the mob.

The crowd followed, much like a herd of sheep would. This left [Name] alone, and confused.

When the silence became deafening, they hurried to follow. They figured that even if they couldn’t physically be that close to him during whatever was going to happen, then being there at all might make Sunday feel less alone. Even if what he’d confessed was true; which they didn’t fully believe, he did save their life. This was the least they could do for him.

Tears rolled down Sunday’s face, shining golden from the bright sunlight seeping into them. He was awarded the courtesy of choosing when he’d be ended, and he picked sundown. He’d been nailed to a cross, through his hands, wings, and shoulders. The fallen priest was in utter agony, and yet, he was quite alright with this.

Xipe took the same role Sunday had all those years ago; the killer. The villagers were seething, and craved nothing but blood. So, they all collectively decided Sunday was going to be nailed, burnt, and finally shot in the neck. Xipe offered THEMSELVES as executioner. No mortal deserved to have to live with the fact they were the direct cause of another human being’s untimely demise…

As THEIR lit torch approached the kindling, Xipe gazed into Sunday’s eyes once more. They smiled. It was barely visible, yet earnest.

Sunday returned the gesture, inhaling the last breath of fresh air he’d ever take.

[Name] kneeled in front of the charred, bloodied, and decaying corpse of Sunday. They didn’t even think he saw them in his final moments, ergo, they exposed themselves to his disgustingly brutal end for nothing.

They dipped their head, placing the bouquet of wild flowers they’d picked from the clearing which Sunday introduced them to, at his feet.

“Do you want to bury him?”

“…What?” [Name] turned, recognizing the voice as Sunday’s executioner.

“You cared about him. I doubt you want him to publicly rot for..What, a decade?”

“Yeah.”

“Stand. And take the flowers. I’ll carry him.”

And so, they did. In the same clearing the flowers had been picked from, [Name] and Xipe had buried Sunday. They didn’t mark his grave, deciding to finally let him rest.

“So? What will happen now? To everyone in the town, I mean. I don’t know about anyone else, but I have nowhere to go, and a town without a leader is a town without laws. But they’re all so violent…”

“Hm..Penacony has a place for all. Even with their violent tendencies, they can learn and grow.”

“So, why couldn’t Sunday?”

“Despite not knowing what he even believed in, Sunday thought he was nothing without Order. No matter what anyone could ever try, he’d refuse to change. It’s unfortunate, but, he should be allowed to make his own choices.”

“…But that’s so unfair.”

“Being forced into obedience would be equally unfair, no? Sunday died on his own terms.”

“I guess. It’s just, sad.”

[Name] received no reply. They felt as if the other presence had suddenly vanished, but didn’t bother to confirm this.

They laid down next to Sunday’s resting place, closing their eyes. They still struggled to comprehend how their life had taken such a horrible turn so quickly.

It didn’t matter now. [Name] yawned, rolling over onto the side they were most comfortable on. Upon waking, they’d set off to Penacony, where they would find a job and make a living for themselves. But tonight, they just wanted a semblance of a proper farewell to the cozy lifestyle they had grown so accustomed to, and to the man that made it all possible.

#sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday x y/n #sunday honkai star rail x reader #sunday hsr #sunday hsr x reader #honkai star rail fanfic #sunday fanfic #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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steviewashere · 1 year ago

Text

Love, Rest Your Head

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Canon Typical Injuries Tags: Pre-Season 4, Aftermath of Starcourt Mall, Aftermath of Torture, Season 4, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Steve Harrington, Major Character Injury, Established Relationship, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Head Trauma, Mentions of Vomiting, Self Sacrificing Steve Harrington, Mentions of Major Character Death (In Reference to Hopper), Foreshadowing, Ambiguous Ending

💕—————💕 The news was pure devastation. Overhead shots of the Starcourt Mall burning. Flames engulfing the building on all sides, swallowing it up until it sat a collapsed, ashen mess. There was no structure. No semblance to any kind of store that was inside. Just dust. Blackened walls. Melted floor tiles.

Eddie sat on the edge of the couch cushion, left hand tucked harshly under his thigh, chomping down on his right hand’s fingernails. There was a metallic tang on his tongue, but he couldn’t get himself to stop. Not even when the raw, exposed parts of his skin bared themself as a tender ache in his mouth’s warmth. Nothing could stop him. In between bites, there were moments where he was holding his breath. Gasping for it when push eventually came to shove. At least it was air he was choking on, not bile.

His uncle was stoic in his recliner in the corner. Until, with the quietest and gruffest voice Eddie’s ever heard, Wayne said, “Your boy. He’s in the parking lot. Has to be.”

“What if he isn’t?” Eddie barely mustered. “What if—What if he’s not there in the parking lot with all those ambulances? What if Steve’s stuck in the debris and he can’t get out and nobody can hear him and then he doesn’t come home and I never—“ He was back to choking on his breath. Sipping at the smallest pockets of air he could manage.

Wayne didn’t answer. The promises that could be made in this moment, every single one of them could be a fallacy.

Then, the news reporter read out those who suffered in the fire. That crisped with the building. Ones that couldn’t be recovered. Ones that were found, yet only identifiable by the licenses in their pockets.

Jenna Kinling Parker Smith Tony Roberts Billy Hargrove…

Eddie bit his fingers harder at that last name. Maybe they didn’t run in the same circles or maybe they weren’t friends. But Billy was still a young dude. He had a life ahead of him. They had classes together. What if…What if…What if, rings loudly in Eddie’s head.

Except, Steve isn’t listed. Neither is his new friend, Robin. They aren’t…They weren’t found in the rubble. They weren’t believed to be in it either. And, as if on cue, the trailer’s phone begins to ring. Eddie is up and out of his seat before he has a chance to miss a single ring.

“Munson residence, Eddie speaking,” he answers hastily.

On the other end is the wet, nasally, raspy breathing of another person. The deeper the breaths, the more he can make out it’s somebody masculine. Their intakes are interrupted by small sniffles. Short bursting whimpers that come from sure pain, not pleasure.

“Hello?” Eddie speaks quietly.

The person gasps. Sobbing around the words, “Eddie…Eddie, I need help.” Steve.

“I’ll help, sweetheart,” he promises immediately. “What do you need? I—Uncle Wayne is here, too. We can help. We can—“

“‘M at the mall. And it’s all charred and…and gone. And I think I—I left your birthday present in Scoops and I’m sorry that I—My head hurts, Eds. It hurts and I’m bleeding and the paramed—they think…Billy’s dead and I watched him die and it scared me and—I don’t like him, I don’t like him at all but he looked sad and he looked…He’s dead, Eddie. I watched somebody die, Eddie,” Steve rambles. His words are heavily slurred. Barely breaking by his breath. Almost swirled by puke.

Before Eddie has the chance to interrupt, Steve is continuing. “I protected Robin from getting hurt,” he says seriously, gravely. But his next words are tiny, as if Eddie was listening to a child, not his eighteen year old boyfriend. “You’re going to be mad at me.”

“Why?” He asks. Shakes his head though, and asks instead, “Where should I pick you up? Does Robin have a ride home?”

“I got beat up again,” Steve barrels on. “’T’s really bad, Eds. Everything is ringing. Makin’ me nauseous.” His breaths grow heavier as if he’s ready to retch on his sneakers.

Eddie prepares himself to hear it all, because he knows it’ll happen. Knows it like the back of his hand, unfortunately. From how many other times Steve’s been concussed. Yet, he doesn’t care, saying, “I’ll take care of you here at home, but I need you to tell me where I need to pick you up. Does Robin need a ride?”

Steve mumbles, “She already left. Hugged her and everythin’. Rob—Robin’s safe. I protected her from getting hurt. They were going to hurt her, Eds. It would’ve been my fault for getting her involved.”

The words crawl under Eddie’s skin like spiders. He wants to scratch at himself, get them out of his head. Get away from how small each word is that comes from Steve’s mouth. He wants to find out who ‘They’ are and kill them. Wants to rip this world apart for making Steve sound so…horrified. But he just calmly asks, “Where are you, Steve? Where at the mall are you?”

“Front,” Steve mutters, “at the payphone. The one with all the gum on the back. It’s gross, Eds. I feel gross. Smell like—I’m sorry.”

Eddie just swallows harshly. Doesn’t know why Steve’s apologizing. But he’s scared shitless, that’s for sure. He grabs for his car keys on the dining table. “I’m going to hang up, Stevie. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

The last thing he hears is Steve coughing and retching up his lungs. Spiders work their way into his veins.

——— Sure enough, Steve’s by the payphone. Sitting with his knees up to his chest. Leaning against the thin pole of the phone. Inches away from whatever lunch he had last. Doesn’t look like much. Eddie just thought Steve was busy with work and relaxing at home. Though…Eddie’s starting to piece together that maybe Steve never left work. Like he’s been here way too long.

Steve shivers where he grasps to himself and Eddie approaches with great caution.

He crouches down to Steve’s level, keeps his hands to himself, and speaks softly. “Steve, it’s Eddie. I brought you a jacket. And some water. I’ve got crackers. You ready to go home?”

With his one good eye, Steve looks to him. Blood caked around his nose and mouth and chin. Eyebrow split, though covered with a butterfly bandage. His left eye is swollen shut and a deep, concerning purple. A part of Eddie almost wants to ask who left Steve here like this. To sit by himself and hold to his elbows. But, a stronger part of him cares too much about making sure Steve gets home.

Slowly, Steve reaches out his right hand and grasps at Eddie’s left wrist. Thumb harsh over his pulse point. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. Without any fanfare or warning, Steve’s eyes fill with tears. Streaming down his face in sluggish lines. “I was stupid and got in trouble again and now I’m all…I’m all broken and ugly and I smell really bad and you’re gonna have to stay awake with me because I’m not allowed to sleep and I—“

“Baby,” Eddie whispers lowly, “Steve, I’m just glad that you’re alive. I’d rather look after you all beaten up and bloody than…Well, y’know.”

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” Steve meekly asks.

“Do you want me to be mad at you?”

With great force, Steve shakes his head. Hissing and hiccuping at the pain that surges through him. “It hurts so bad,” he whimpers. “I just—They were going to hurt Robin and—and the kids. I couldn’t let them do that and now I—“

Eddie gently shushes him. “You don’t need to explain yourself right now, okay, sweetheart? We’ll talk about it when you’re better.”

“What if I never talk about it?”

He shrugs. Wraps his free hand over Steve’s where it still grips him. “Then you don’t talk about it,” he whispers. “Let me take you home, though? Give you the food and water I brought. Warm you up and change your clothes. Can clean your face,” Eddie lists. He cups the injured side of Steve’s face with a tentative hand, barely touching his swollen skin. “Clean this all up and brush your hair. Let you sleep.”

“I can’t sleep for long,” Steve reminds him.

“Wake you up every few hours, that’s fine. I don’t have school tomorrow, we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“‘M’kay,” Steve agrees quietly. He’s drooping in Eddie’s hold. Exhaustion quickly swamping him. “Sorry if I throw up in the car.”

Eddie gently hefts them up off the ground, leads them towards the van, and gets Steve situated in his passenger seat. He murmurs, as he buckles Steve in, “I can clean up. But I’ll leave the window rolled down. I’ll drive slow. Do you want the jacket?”

Steve shakes his head softly. His eyes are closed and the rest of him is very still to his seat. As if moving anything physically pains him. It probably does, based on what Eddie’s able to see. “I don’t want to be reminded of the heat,” he state quietly.

“Okay,” Eddie whispers. He leans up into Steve’s space, presses a short kiss to his temple, and cranks the passenger window down. “Just lean towards the window a little. Rest. I’ve got you, baby.”

The car ride is incredibly slow, it makes Eddie antsy. But out of the corner of his eye, he notices Steve tensing at every gradual rumble and deep pothole. It makes Eddie want to just get out and push the van. He slides a hand off of the steering wheel and goes to grab Steve’s left wrist, but he jolts away. Head colliding solidly with the window frame.

“Don’t,” Steve bites. “Don’t touch me there,” he whispers.

Eddie swallows down the sudden rise of bile in his throat. “Okay, Steve,” he murmurs right back. “Do you…you need me to pull off for a second? Give you a break from the bumpy road?” Steve gives a slow and tentative nod.

He pulls to the shoulder, parks in silence, and just sits in the driver’s seat. Face forward, eyeing beyond the windshield. He’d turn on the radio, try to fill the gap between their bodies, but knows that the noise would be too much. Instead, he listens in on Steve’s audible deep breaths. Like he’s trying to ground himself to the carseat or maybe veer away from puking out the window. Eddie wants to touch and soothe, like he normally would during Steve’s concussions. But…he can’t. There are tears percolating in the corners of his eyes.

“You need water?” Eddie quietly asks.

“Please,” Steve mutters lowly. His voice is crackling and snotty wet.

Eddie moves slowly between the front seats, grabs an unopened bottle of water, and uncaps it. He leans across the center console to find a straw in the glove box. Plops it in the bottle and offers it up for Steve to take. “Slow sips,” Eddie states, “don’t need to make yourself sicker.” Steve angles his body away from the window, leans forward slightly, and takes the straw between his lips. Each swallow of water looks like he’s trying to consume rocks. His tongue working slowly, hesitantly against the straw. Testing it. “You’re doing a good job,” Eddie can only praise.

When Steve pops off the straw, it’s with a gasping breath. Catching and falling and catching again. He lolls his head on the seat, looking over to Eddie. Chest moving up and down with shallow, croaking shakes of air. “We can go,” he rasps, “I wanna sleep.”

The water bottle goes to the cup holders. And Eddie does what he’s told. Crawling slowly back home. Taking small pauses to check in with Steve, help him drink water, nibble on some crackers, rub his back when he hurls out the car window.

But when they make it back home, they move in complete and utter silence. Through the front door and to the couch. Wayne ogles the two of them, fear present in his eyes. His mouth hangs open, suckled dry of all words he could ever think to say. Eddie makes him grab a bowl of warm water and a rag.

And they just exist in silence.

In fear, Eddie now realizes, of whatever happened to Steve.

Because they’re not stupid. This wasn’t a fire. There was something else. Something more…disastrous. Dastardly. But Eddie places the bowl on the coffee table, sits on Steve’s right on the cushions, and turns them towards each other.

“Alright, I’ve gotta clean the blood off of your face, Stevie,” he encroaches their silence. “I’m going to be really careful. I’ll go slow. But I need you to tell me when you need a break, okay?” Steve blinks groggily at him. His eyes are dilated beyond belief. Eddie’s nauseous just looking at them. These aren’t the eyes he fell in love with.

These eyes are like terror in existential form.

Steve nods, though. He places a shaking hand on Eddie’s left knee. Doesn’t tighten it, doesn’t pet the fabric under his hand, just rests it there. As if he’s searching for an anchor.

Eddie wets the wash rag with the warm water. Raises it to Steve’s chin. “If this hurts, you need to tell me. Here we go.” The rag stains pink and crimson as soon as it touches Steve’s skin. He hates how hard he has to press just to work the blood off, but it’s dried to him. It’s coming off in flakes, Eddie sees the particles fall to Steve’s dirtied uniform. As he works the rag over Steve’s face, he can’t help but notice how stained and red the uniform is, too.

It used to be something Eddie could tease Steve about. Be flirtatious and saucy about it. Talk about stupid things with. Make dumb fantasies and see if Steve will play into them. But looking at it now only makes Eddie’s chest hurt. Makes his stomach turn uneasily. Shrivels something inside of him that will never live again. But he’ll get Steve into his clothes. Get him comfortable. Maybe he’ll burn the uniform when Steve isn’t looking. Rid of it like a demon needing to be expelled.

The last bit of the blood finally comes away, flaking from Steve’s nostrils to the washcloth. Eddie places it back in the pink tinted water. And then he looks back. At Steve’s child like eyes. And his split lip. The plum like bruise around his left eye.

Eddie’s never had homicidal thoughts, but today might just be the eye opener for him.

But he continues to be gentle. Offering, “Let’s get you some of my clothes. I’ll wash your hair in the bathroom sink. Then, you can rest.” Steve just nods, allows Eddie to pull him along to the bedroom, and change him out of his clothes. Ignores the slight bruising on his ribs, where he most likely struggled or fell. Tries to not think about the red, twisting lines across Steve’s chest, arms, and wrists from where he’d been tied. Just covers Steve back up in reds and blacks and soft things. And, while Steve is looking away, throws the Scoops uniform away in a nearby waste basket.

Washing his hair is no struggle. Steve goes listless and quiet when Eddie scrubs at his scalp, carefully detangles knots that were glued together by sticky blood. He barely blinks as he watches Eddie move and go through his hair washing routine. Doesn’t protest any of what Eddie chooses to do—even when he puts too much conditioner in the ends of his hair or doesn’t do two wash throughs with the shampoo, even if he uses a hair dryer instead of a towel. Allows him, which Eddie finds a little odd. He has an inkling, though, that it may just be the gentle touch that Steve doesn’t want to mitigate.

When they’re back in bed, Eddie lays flat on the mattress. Putting space between their two bodies. His alarm is set for three hours from now, where he’ll wake Steve up and make sure his concussion symptoms either are stagnant or lessening. But for now, he just stays put. Eyes up at his ceiling, stomach turning and knotting at whatever happened today.

Whatever happened almost doesn’t matter, knowing Steve made it out alive.

But there’s a haunting to him that Eddie can’t ignore.

Right when he thinks Steve is asleep and goes to close his own eyes, does he hear the smallest of statements.

“Hopper died, too,” Steve murmurs.

“No…”

Steve nods sagely against his pillow. “Heard about it through some of the kids I babysit. Guess he…Guess I wasn’t the only one to make a sacrifice.” Eddie hears him shift, coming closer. His body warmth radiating and tight against his rigid body. There’s a hesitant palm that slithers and sits on Eddie’s chest. Where his heart beats rabidly. “Could…Could’a been me.”

Eddie places his own hand over the back of Steve’s. Presses them together firmly. His chest caving with the push. “Don’t say that,” he harshly whispers. “Don’t…Steve, I thought it was going to be you. Please don’t say that.”

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I just…That’s the only thing I could think of before you got me. How I—I almost didn’t get to see you again.”

“At least you’re with me now, right? I’m just glad that you’re alive.”

“Yeah,” Steve croaks. “I just wish I could bring myself to tell you what happened.”

“Don’t need to do that, Steve. Just rest up and get better for me, alright?”

Steve shuffles closer. His head resting on Eddie’s shoulder. He nods. “Thank you. I love you,” he sleepily murmurs.

Eddie wraps an arm around his back and squeezes him tightly. “I love you, too, love bug. Get some sleep and I’ll check on you in a bit.”

The snores are a comfort after tonight.

——— And when he looks Steve in the eyes, mere seconds before he leaves for Vecna, Eddie understands the harrowing sacrificial fear. He’ll be the one to protect Steve now. “Make him pay,” he says. But he knows, reflected in Steve’s eyes, that there is finality in his stare. His stomach turns and his hands shake, but damnit, he’ll make sure that Steve won’t be the one drowning in blood this time.

He hopes to hear snores against his shoulder tomorrow night.

If night comes.

💕—————💕

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #angst and hurt/comfort

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