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ankababy · 19 days ago

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A Home (part 25)

Part 1 Part 24 Part 26

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

TW: self harm inflicted by a lighter

Your sweater had twisted around your torso in the night, riding up over your stomach, your arms tangled in the sleeves like you were trying to hold yourself together and failed somewhere along the way. You weren’t cold. But you were shaking.

Your throat was dry, your mouth tasted like metal, and your eyes—your poor eyes—ached behind the lids. When you opened them, the light in the room was soft, honey-colored. It would’ve been beautiful, once. It would’ve meant something.

Now it just made you cry.

Sniff. Then a hitched breath. Then it crashed in again, full force.

You turned over on the floor, curled in tighter. Your voice cracked in your own throat when you tried to speak, even to yourself. No words came. Not even the ones you used to say, the gentle nothings that used to fill the air when things felt too bad. The humming. The lists. The dreams.

You didn’t have those anymore.

Now it was just:

He killed someone.

They killed someone.

And you—

Your fingers clawed weakly at the rug beneath you. Just something to hold onto.

You pressed your face into the floor, and the sound that left you wasn’t a sob—it was a crack.

“I didn’t—” you whispered. “I didn’t know.”

Like it changed anything. Like it mattered.

You had told Niragi to get out.

You had told Chishiya to go.

And now, they were both gone.

But that didn’t stop your heart from screaming for them.

You thought about Niragi’s hands on your body, about how he looked at you like you were a religion. You thought about Chishiya’s comfort, the way he held you without asking why.

It hurt so much you didn’t even know where it started anymore. It was just everywhere. In your bones. In your eyes. In the shape of your fingers as they clawed uselessly at your own sleeves.

You were supposed to be so sweet.

You were supposed to be their little light.

You were supposed to be untouchable.

But now there was blood on everything.

So you cried.

You cried like it was all your fault. Like if you cried hard enough, it would roll time backward. Like it could undo all the awful things done in your name.

And even when the sobs stopped—when your body was too weak to keep up—your eyes kept leaking. Silent, shaking. You couldn’t stop. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t feel anything except the awful pressure in your chest, the screaming in your brain that never made it out of your mouth.

You didn’t try to get up.

You didn’t try to be okay.

You just laid there, small and broken, on the floor of your own room, and let yourself come apart.

Because what else was left?

The Beach was full of killers. The men you loved were monsters. And you were just a girl who wanted to be good.

The sun was coming in too hot through Niragi’s curtains—he never fucking closed them—and it carved a line down his face. The sweat sticking it to his ribs, his chest. His hair was damp at the roots, matted against his forehead like he’d been running. Dreaming. Dying.

And for a moment—he wasn’t sure if he had.

But then he turned his head and saw the mess. The shattered lamp. The broken glass. The blood dried on the knuckles of his right hand. And oh yeah. He remembered now.

You.

You crying.

You saying get out.

You looking at him like that.

His neck ached. His ribs ached. Something in his soul ached so violently he thought it might just up and crawl out of his throat.

He sat up, slow. Like every movement might shatter him worse.

He could still hear you crying.

He’d do anything to make it stop. Rip his own skin off if he had to. Break his fucking jaw and shove his fingers down his throat if that could pull the guilt out of him.

But the worst part? He didn’t regret killing that asshole. Not even a little. Not even for you.

He regretted hurting you.

He regretted what it did to your heart. But Akira? Bugsy? Whatever the fuck? He could kill that guy a hundred times over and still sleep like a baby—except that now, sleeping meant dreaming of your voice when it broke.

“Get out.”

He dragged a hand down his face, digging his fingers hard into his cheekbones, scratching down until the sting felt real.

You’d loved him.

He knew that. Maybe not the way he wanted—but enough. You’d touched him like he mattered. You talked to him like he was someone. And he had fucked it. Blown it apart with his anger. With his name, with his hands, with his fire.

“Fuck.” he muttered under his breath.

He stood up, knees weak. Walked barefoot through broken glass because he didn’t care. The sting felt honest. He needed more of it.

He missed you.

That word wasn’t even strong enough.

He ached for you.

His whole body remembered the weight of you in it—the light you brought in every room, the way you looked up at him like you saw something worth saving.

Now?

He didn’t think you’d ever look at him that way again.

He couldn’t blame you.

He didn’t deserve it.

He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, pressed it to his lips, and inhaled like it might fill the hollow space in his chest. It didn’t.

It had always been like this. Always him, in the wreckage of his own making. Always a mess of teeth and fire and damage.But this time, the wreckage had your name on it. And that made all the difference.

He exhaled, slow.

“I’m fucking sorry.”

Even if you never heard it.

Even if he never said it right.

He was still the monster you let in. Still the boy with a gun for a heartbeat and too much fire in his veins.

But for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to be.

He just wanted to be yours.

Your words hurt him.

Not in the dramatic, rage-fueled way that usually ended in blood. Not like when someone disrespected him, or mocked him, or looked at him like he was just another dog in the dirt. Those things he could handle. Those things he welcomed.

No—you hurt him like a person.

And for once in his life… he didn’t want to hurt back for it.

That was the first fucking sign. That something had shifted inside him—rotted or bloomed, he couldn’t even tell. But it was different. It wasn’t normal. Because Niragi was an animal that bared its teeth the second it tasted pain. He never sat in pain. Never soaked in it like this.

He was the one who inflicted.

And yet there he was. Sat on the floor of his room in the center of the glass and filth he made, cigarette between his fingers, blood on his hands, lip trembling like some weak little thing.

You told him to leave. You flinched when he touched your things, when his voice got too loud, when the fire in his chest caught your name and burned it out like it was his to burn.

You weren’t supposed to matter this much.

But there he was, alone. Ashes on the floor. Smoke in his lungs. Blood in his mouth.

And all he could think about was how bad he wanted to take it all back.

Not because he wanted you to forgive him. No, he didn’t think he deserved that.

But because he didn’t want to be the reason your voice cracked like that. Didn’t want to be the reason you cried so hard you couldn’t breathe. Didn’t want to be the monster in your story.

He was used to it from everyone else. He liked it, even. The fear. The disgust. It made him feel big. Unstoppable.

But from you? You, who always called him out and still smiled at him? You, who always touched his face? From you, it tore him to pieces.

So he sat there, head tipped back against the wall, teeth gritted, and he let it hurt. He let your words echo in his skull. Let your tears haunt the air. Let the silence eat him alive.

He wanted to wreck something. Tear the world down. Set fire to the Beach and everyone in it.

But instead?

He stared down at his palms.

The same ones you used to hold.

The same ones that shook when you touched his jaw and called him all those sweet words in that dumb little voice like it was true.

He stared at them and thought, I should’ve used these better.

And then he did the worst thing Niragi Suguru could do.

He blamed himself.

For everything.

For the way he spoke to you.

For the way he treated people like they were disposable.

For the way he let the violence take him again and again, even when you gave him other options.

He could’ve stopped it.

He could’ve listened to you—like you asked, so sweetly, so gently, like you believed there was still something worth saving in him.

But he didn’t.

And now? Now it was gone.

Now you were gone.

He brought the cigarette to his lips again. It shook. So he crushed it against the wall instead, watching the embers die out one by one. That was the closest thing to repentance he had in him.

He wanted to cut the words you said into his skin.

Not to punish himself, but so he wouldn’t forget.

He wanted to split himself open and show you he could change.

But you weren’t here. You wouldn’t believe him anyway. And maybe you shouldn’t.

He curled in on himself like something feral. Not crying. Not screaming. Just breaking. Quietly. Bit by bit.

Because you were the only good thing. And he’d wrecked you too.

He wanted to destroy the world. But not because he hated it.

Because he hated himself.

Chishiya woke up in his bed.

At least there was that.

No glass on the floor. No broken furniture. No blood on his hands.

Just the soft rustle of sheets, the sterile chill of morning air sliding through the open balcony door, and the quiet ache of a realization that wouldn’t leave him alone.

He was still. Flat on his back. Eyes staring at the ceiling like it held answers—like it could map out what went wrong, and where exactly he’d stopped being immune.

He wasn’t made for that. He was made to watch. To calculate. To manipulate. He was supposed to be untouchable.

But you touched him.

God. You touched him.

Physically, sure. Hands on his clothes, fingers brushing his, that casual intimacy you gave everyone. But it was more than that. You saw him. Through him. Past him. And didn’t turn away.

You were sweetness. Unfiltered, inconvenient, reckless sweetness. The kind of softness that should’ve annoyed him—should’ve made him roll his eyes and leave the room.

But he stayed.

Again and again.

Not because of the plan. Not because of utility.

But because when you looked at him, it was like he wasn’t wrong. Like he wasn’t some cold, disjointed thing pretending to be a person.

You made it easy to forget that he didn’t know how to be soft back.

He should’ve lied. He should’ve spun a story, kept the mask on, played dumb about not being a part of killing Akira. But he didn’t.

Because he respected you.

Because—somehow—you mattered more than the comfort of denial.

He sat up slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, his chest tight with the pressure of something unfamiliar and loud. It buzzed beneath his skin like static, like adrenaline, like the first time he realized he was going to survive a game by letting someone else die.

It was that same sick weight.

Except this time, it was about you. The way you laughed. The way you curled into Kuina like she was home. The way you never stopped giving people chances.

Even him. Even Niragi.

God, Niragi.

Chishiya pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and exhaled.

He knew how that bastard felt about you. He didn’t need to ask. It was written in every quiet second Niragi let you speak, in every time he let you sit in his chair, in the way he didn’t kill someone just because you looked at them a certain way. Well, except this time, but anyways.

And Chishiya hated that it made him jealous.

Because you liked Niragi, too. You chose to be around him. And Chishiya didn’t understand it. Not really. But he didn’t blame you.

You were drawn to broken things.

And fuck, weren’t they all broken?

He stared out the window now, eyes heavy, mouth a flat line.

He wasn’t going to cry. He didn’t do that.

But he felt it. In his hands. In the beat of his heart. In the way his thoughts looped back to you again and again like a skipped record.

He liked you.

Your dumb little smile. Your kindness. Your stupid sweaters and weird questions. Your warmth. Your chaos. The way you lit up a room full of people who didn’t deserve it.

You cracked him open.

And now he couldn’t close it back up.

He stood finally, bones stiff, mind messier than it had ever been. His eyes flicked toward the mirror as he passed it.

Still cold. Still sharp.

But with a fucking crack running down the middle.

And her name was Y/N.

Kuina waited.

Leaning against the side of the stairwell, arms folded, her foot tapping rhythmically against the concrete. Ten minutes had passed since the time she and Chishiya were supposed to meet. It wasn’t that he was always on time—he wasn’t—but he showed up. Always. Even when he didn’t say anything. Even when all he did was lean on the railing and blink at her while she talked about everything and nothing.

But today, there was no Chishiya.

And no you, either.

That was the part that twisted something low in her gut. You hadn’t missed a single one of these little meetings since you’ve been included. Even when you were late, you always came running, panting and grinning and apologizing for something stupid, some random conversation you got dragged into or a detour that “seemed like a good idea at the time.” You were the little heartbeat of the Beach that somehow made all this shit bearable.

But now?

Now it was just empty.

The world felt… quieter.

She stared up at the hallway that led to your room for a while, debating. She could leave it. You were probably fine. Maybe sleeping in. Maybe fucking Chishiya and that’s why she was all alone.

But a knot had formed in her chest and it wasn’t loosening. So she pushed off the wall and made her way upstairs.

She tapped her knuckles against the door. “Hey… it’s me.”

There was a pause.

Then your voice. Quiet. Barely audible. “Come in.”

Kuina opened the door slowly, expecting—she didn’t know what she expected. But not this. Not you sitting on the floor with your knees pulled up to your chest, sleeves of your sweater tugged down past your wrists like they were trying to shield you. Hair messy. Eyes puffy. Cheeks blotchy. Like someone had reached inside you and scrambled everything that made you, you.

Her breath hitched. Just for a second.

“Hey.” you mumbled, voice shaky.

Kuina shut the door behind her and crossed the room in two quick steps, crouching in front of you. “What the hell happened?”

You didn’t answer at first. You just stared down at your hands, twisted in your sweater. Kuina waited, gently placing one hand on your knee.

“I saw…” Your breath stuttered. “I saw them carrying a body. Last night. Niragi was there. He told me Aguni wanted to see me—but it wasn’t true. I—I was scared. And I ran back here, and—and Chishiya was here, and I was crying, and—” Your voice cracked. “And I told him what happened and he—he explained it.”

Kuina’s brows drew together. “Explained what?”

“That he was part of it, Kuina. He was fucking part of killing Akira.”

Her hand stiffened on your knee.

“I thought—I thought they were just… messed up. That’s it. You know? But they planned it. Together.” You choked on the words, shoulders curling forward. “They just did it. They killed him. Like it was nothing.”

Kuina sat back on her heels, trying to take it in. She’d seen violence here. She’d seen the darkness in people—especially Niragi—but something about this…this felt worse.

Maybe because it involved you.

You, who still said “please” and “thank you” to people who didn’t deserve it. You, who made everyone feel like they mattered. You, who smiled at Niragi like he was redeemable.

And now you were crying. In pieces. And Kuina had no idea how to fix it.

“They just looked at me.” you whispered, like the horror was still clinging to your skin. “Like they knew I’d fall apart and didn’t care. And Niragi—he threw my stuff, Kuina. He fucking lost it. And Chishiya just… stood there. Watching. He didn’t even stop him.”

“Oh, babe…” Kuina reached out and pulled you into her arms before she could stop herself.

You didn’t resist. You just folded. Like you wanted to be held. Like the second someone touched you with kindness, your entire body gave up.

“I shouldn’t have trusted them.” you whispered against her shoulder. “I was so fucking stupid.”

“No, no, don’t say that.” Kuina tightened her grip. “You weren’t stupid. You were kind. You were fucking brave. You saw something in them that no one else could.”

You sniffled, your fingers curling into her body. “It wasn’t enough.”

Kuina didn’t have an answer for that. She just held you tighter. She didn’t know what to say to a girl breaking in her arms. Not you. You weren’t supposed to break. But here you were. And all she could do was be here while it happened.

You crying wasn’t like anyone else.

You crying felt like a failure of the world.

Like something precious had been ruined.

She’d fight every battle for you, if she could. Tear this place apart piece by piece. But this? This was something she couldn’t punch. So she just stayed. Held you. Let you cry.

You didn’t make a sound anymore—your breath was shaky, your fingers twitching slightly, like the crying had left you hollow instead of relieved. Kuina could feel the little stutters of your inhale against her body, the way your body kept trying to hold on, even when everything in you had given up.

You were so warm.

So small.

So good.

God, she hated this.

She hated what they’d done to you. She hated that you were the one paying the price for their darkness. And she hated how badly she wanted to tuck you under her own ribcage and keep you safe forever.

Pathetic, she told herself. You’re so fucking pathetic, Kuina.

Because here you were—falling apart in her arms—and all she could think about was how soft your hair was against her cheek. How it smelled like that lavender soap. How she wanted to run her fingers through it and whisper something ridiculous, like “you’re gonna be okay,” even though she didn’t believe that herself.

She’d never really gotten over that little crush.

And especially not now.

Not when you were broken. Not when the world finally got to you the way it got to everyone else.

It should have ended her crush—watching you cry like that, raw and messy and ruined. It should’ve drained all the illusion from you. Made her realize you were just a girl like the rest of them. But instead…

Instead, she felt it worse.

Felt it in her chest like a bruise. Like she was thirteen again, fumbling for the shape of something she didn’t understand. The way you looked at her like she could make it better—even if only for a second.

For you, she could be gentle. She wanted to be.

Her hand rubbed circles on your back without thinking. Maybe to comfort you. Maybe just to remind herself that you were here.

“I feel so fucking stupid.” you whispered after a while, voice raw and sleepy. “I thought I meant something. I thought they cared.”

“You do mean something.” Kuina said.

You didn’t answer. Just tucked your head deeper into the crook of her neck.

She almost told you. Almost whispered it right then and there.

That she cared.

That she’d never hurt you like that.

That she’d never leave you sitting on the floor with a hole in your chest.

But she didn’t. Because this wasn’t about her. And maybe it never would be. So she just sat there. Breathing slowly. Holding you tighter when your hand gripped hers. Letting her dumb little heart hurt in silence.

Maybe one day she’d get over it.

Maybe one day she’d stop thinking of you like this.

But not today.

Today, she just wanted you to sleep. To breathe. To survive.

And she’d sit there for hours if that’s what it took.

The next few days passed like rot under the floorboards—silent and steady and everywhere.

No one said anything.

No one fixed anything.

Niragi coped the way he always did—with fire. With recklessness. With cruelty turned inward, then outward, then inward again.

He didn’t speak to anyone unless he had to. Not like he ever really talked, but this time, even the militants avoided him. He shot at bottles. He threw knives. He got so drunk one night he nearly fell from the top balcony of the resort, laughing the entire way. He burned a towel on accident and didn’t even look at it as it smoldered on his floor.

There was a bite in him now, deeper than before. Not just rage, but sadness. Quiet grief that made him rip his room apart again and again just so he wouldn’t have to feel it.

He didn’t go looking for you.

Because if he saw your face, he might do something worse than scream.

He might fall on his knees.

And Niragi didn’t kneel for anyone.

Chishiya handled it differently. Predictably. Quietly. Almost…cold. He didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. Didn’t break anything. Not even a breath of chaos around him.

But that didn’t mean he was okay.

He just stopped moving. Like someone had cut the wires inside him. He stayed in his room. Sat on the balcony for hours. Barely ate. Kuina came by once, knocked on the door with her usual rhythm. He didn’t answer.

She didn’t come back.

It wasn’t personal.

He just couldn’t do it right now.

He thought a lot about you. About your crying. About the way your voice broke.

He’d wanted to protect you.

But why had it turned out like that?

Why did he feel like the villain?

He played every second back in his head over and over. And still—he’d do it again. If it meant keeping you safe. He’d kill ten more Akiras.

But it didn’t stop the guilt. Or the strange, sharp ache under his ribs.

What a stupid thing to fall in love with someone like you.

You were hollow.

You laughed once or twice. At something Kuina said. But your eyes didn’t crinkle anymore when you smiled. You walked slowly. Talked softly. Not your usual soft—this one was dulled, like something pressing down on you from the inside.

Kuina stayed close. She didn’t speak much. She didn’t need to. You two just existed together—she’d braid your hair in the evenings, sit by the window while you lay on the bed with your face turned toward the ceiling, fingers playing with your own shirt hem.

You saw Niragi from a distance once. He didn’t look at you.

You saw Chishiya too, on the opposite side of the fourth floor railing.

You looked down first.

Sometimes you wondered if you were just being dramatic. Sometimes you wondered if maybe you were as dumb as you felt. But then you remembered Akira’s body. And you remembered their silence. And your heart would fold back in on itself.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, Kuina stayed still. Stayed strong.

For you.

But even her heart had limits. Even her fingers shook sometimes when you weren’t looking.

Something had to give. It just hadn’t yet.

So yeah, it had been… days. Maybe a week. Maybe more. You weren’t really counting anymore.

Time passed thick and slow and kind of tasteless. But at least you were talking now. At least you weren’t curled up on the floor, whispering nothing to no one. That was something. That had to mean something.

You were sitting cross-legged on your bed, a soft old hoodie hanging off your frame. Kuina was across from you, her back propped against the wall, chewing the thing in her mouth while she watched the frog and the lobster.

Now the two creatures sat side by side, clean, well-fed, probably living better than most humans in the Beach.

You stared at them for a moment in silence before finally saying, “We have to name them.”

“Alright. Frog first?”

You nodded, serious about this. “I think… maybe Charlie.” You blinked at the frog. “He looks like a Charlie.”

Kuina tilted her head. “Yeah. Okay. Charlie’s cute. He’s chill. I vibe with Charlie.”

You smiled for real at that. The kind of smile that didn’t hurt your face.

“And the lobster?” she asked, leaning in closer to the tank, peering at the slightly slow, big-clawed creature dragging itself across the sand.

“He’s dramatic.” you said immediately. “Look at him. He’s like a little Victorian man crawling to his death.”

Kuina laughed. “That’s just how lobsters walk, babe.”

“I don’t care.” you sniffed. “He’s a drama queen.” A pause. Then: “…Henry.” you said finally. “He’s a Henry.”

You both fell quiet for a moment, just watching them exist. Tiny creatures. So small and useless and out of place in this world, and still—alive. Still here.

Like you.

“I think Henry likes it here.” you said softly.

“Because you saved him.” Kuina replied, just as soft.

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t look away, either.

It helped. The little tank. The stupid names. The way Kuina brushed your hair without you asking. The way she let you talk about things that weren’t them. About colors. Dreams. About this weird little book you found in one of the back rooms that made no sense but had a good smell.

You were still not okay.

But you were trying.

You were eating again. Sleeping, kind of. Smiling. Still haunted, yes. Still aching. But not completely gone.

Charlie croaked softly, like he agreed. And maybe, just maybe, Henry lifted one claw.

That was enough for today.

Niragi sat down in his chair at the meeting that had been called. The one you had once occupied, a ghost of your presence still there if he let his eyes blur. He didn’t. But he felt it, like a stain.

Chishiya, as always, didn’t say anything. His arms crossed, his expression the usual. But still. The room didn’t quite balance right without you in it.

You weren’t there.

And no one said your name.

They talked about cards. The next games. Supplies. The cars. Some new guy offered something, Mira shot him down with one elegant sentence. Hatter drank wine before dinner. Kuzuryu kept his hands folded. Aguni said almost nothing. Last Boss absolutely did not speak. Ann was useful.

But no one said your name.

Not even in passing.

Because your absence was a hole. An obvious, aching, unnatural space. And everyone felt it. But most of them were smart enough to pretend they didn’t.

Except for the way Niragi sat too still. Except for the way Chishiya kept looking—not at anyone—but at nothing.

That nothing was always you-shaped.

Mira looked prettier than usual. Watching the boys like she was counting their breathing patterns. She said nothing about you, but her eyes were curious. Always curious. She didn’t miss the way Niragi had one finger twitching against his gun. Or how Chishiya’s mouth was tighter than usual.

You weren’t there. But you were there.

And everyone saw it.

Especially in the silence between the agenda points. Especially when Hatter’s gaze skimmed over Niragi, then Chishiya, then moved on without acknowledging what he clearly knew.

You had burned yourself into the bones of that room.

And without you in it? The air turned stale.

Niragi caught Chishiya’s eye across the table.

Neither of them looked away. Not right away.

Chishiya’s stare was calm, that same expression that made most people assume he didn’t feel anything at all. But Niragi knew better now. Knew what it meant when Chishiya stayed too quiet, when his fingers tensed around the arm of his chair, when he didn’t even blink.

Niragi’s jaw twitched. His knee bounced. He wasn’t good at this kind of stillness. Not when everything inside him felt like it was breaking glass.

It was your fucking fault.

All of it.

The silence. The weight in his chest.

The fucking hole where his heart should be.

He used to be proud of not giving a shit. Now he felt stripped. Unarmed. Like someone had crawled into his skin and peeled him apart cell by cell—and that someone was you. With your sweet voice and stupid angel face and softness that didn’t belong here. Not in a place like this.

Chishiya loved that softness. Niragi could see it. Had seen it in the way Chishiya looked at you.

Not like Niragi did. Not like he wanted to own you, or protect you in a fucked up way, or crawl inside your ribs and live there. But still—still enough to break him.

And now here they were.

Two idiots.

Chishiya finally looked away first. Back to the table, as if something one of the others had said was important. It wasn’t.

Niragi scoffed, barely audible, but it was sharp. He leaned back in his chair like he didn’t care, like he wasn’t falling apart inside. Because he was.

And Chishiya? He’d tried to fix it, hadn’t he? He’d let you cry on him. Let you thank him. Then you’d asked him to go. And he had. That part was worse.

Because Niragi would’ve stayed. Would’ve stayed and fought and burned and bled just to make you look at him again the way you used to.

But Chishiya… Chishiya respected you.

And maybe that was why you loved them both in your own twisted way. One who tried to protect your innocence. One who wanted to sink his teeth into it and never let go.

The meeting droned on.

Niragi’s knuckles cracked where he clenched his fists.

Chishiya didn’t move at all.

But their hearts?

God, their stupid little hearts.

So broken. So fucking loud.

They missed you.

God, they missed you.

It wasn’t even about the silence. Or the room. Or your laugh, or the way you always touched someone when you spoke to them—fingers curling into a sleeve, resting against an arm, brushing past someone’s shoulder with a softness no one in this place deserved.

It was about what you did to them.

You’d come into their lives like a sugar-sweet virus and they’d both let it happen. Chishiya, with all his walls and logic and cold observations, had still let your light bleed into his world until the grey wasn’t comfortable anymore. Until solitude felt lonely instead of safe.

And Niragi?

God, Niragi had bent. Had bowed.

He hadn’t even known he was capable of it, but now, sitting in a room that felt too cold without you, too sterile, he found himself shifting in his chair like he couldn’t get comfortable without your weight nearby.

You were supposed to be there. In that chair. In that meeting. Talking, joking, playing with something in your hands—because you were never still for long.

You made everything around you come alive.

Now? Everything felt like ash.

Hatter talked. Ann nodded along. Mira smiled. Aguni didn’t speak unless he had to. Kuzuryu offered things. Last Boss… yeah.

But nobody said your name.

Not even once.

It was too dangerous.

Because saying it out loud meant acknowledging that you were gone. That something had broken. That maybe this place—the Beach, the hierarchy, the cards, the systems—they could survive almost anything. But they couldn’t survive you falling out.

Niragi leaned his elbow against the table, fingers tapping the edge, staring into nothing. Every now and then, his eyes would flick up and find Chishiya again.

They didn’t glare anymore. They didn’t try to start anything. They were just… there.

Two boys gutted by the same girl.

And it was sick, wasn’t it? How you’d turned these two knives into people who longed. Chishiya longed in silence. In thought. Niragi longed in fire. In destruction.

But the ache was the same.

You had carved out space in both of them. Warm space. Real space. You’d made Niragi wonder what mornings could look like with you in them. You’d made Chishiya curious about what it meant to feel.

Now you were locked away in your room or Kuina’s. You didn’t walk the halls. You didn’t make appearances by the pool, didn’t throw your sweater over that ridiculous bikini, didn’t beam up at them like they were made of gold even when they’d done nothing to deserve it.

You were gone.

And they were still here. Miserable. Hollow. Missing you like you were air.

And god, if they could—if they could—they would’ve undone it all. Not for themselves. Not even to clear the blood. They would’ve undone it because it took you away.

And that was unforgivable.

The meeting ended eventually, but Chishiya and Niragi didn’t move for a while. They sat there in their stupid chairs, silent and heavy and haunted.

Because your absence was more than noticeable now. It was loud. And not in the way you used to be—laughing, cooing, soft fingers brushing someone’s arm, talking about lava lamps or frogs or whatever sweet thing your brain was tangled up in that day. It was loud because there was a space in the world shaped like you, and nothing else would fit in it.

Eventually, Niragi left.

He didn’t stop to talk to anyone. Not even the girls who usually trailed after him with sugarcoated words and hollow adoration. Not the militants who nodded his way, hoping for a grin, a joke, anything.

He gave them nothing. He had nothing to give.

By the time he was in his room, he could barely stand to be inside. So he slid the balcony door open with more force than needed and stepped into the open air.

The night air was warm. Humid. Stupid.

He pointed his rifle down at the pool where the lights danced across the water and people—empty fucking people—laughed and played like nothing in the world was broken. Like you weren’t broken. Like he wasn’t dying inside.

He didn’t shoot.

He just… pointed.

Finger resting lightly on the trigger. Just to feel the weight of power. Just to pretend.

He tracked movement with the barrel lazily, watching some girl splash her boyfriend, watching another guy throw himself into the water in a cannonball.

He could kill them.

God, he could.

But he didn’t.

Because then he remembered the last time you stood out here. Wrapped in his blanket, eyes soft, voice softer. Asking for a cigarette. And when he told you no, you didn’t push it. You didn’t pout. You respected it.

“You said it kills.” he mumbled to himself now, pulling out a cigarette anyway. “You didn’t want me to smoke.”

He lit it with shaking fingers, the tiny flame flickering against the wind.

It touched his lips.

Burned warm.

Bitter.

But before the first inhale made it past his lungs—he stopped.

Just froze there.

Because he remembered the look on your face when you said it. Not angry. Not controlling. Just… worried. Loving, in that soft, ridiculous way only you could pull off in a hell like this.

He stared at the cigarette for a long time.

Then, quietly, almost like a ritual, he crushed it against the railing before the smoke could even sink into his skin.

“Fuck.”

It was the only thing he could say. The only thing his voice could carry without cracking. He leaned on the railing with both elbows, head hanging low, mouth parted like he couldn’t breathe.

His chest ached. Not from guilt. Niragi didn’t really do guilt.

But from loss.

You weren’t dead. You weren’t gone.

But he’d lost you anyway.

And it was torture.

Because you were the only fucking thing he’d ever wanted to protect. You were supposed to be his. His girl. His angel. The only softness he’d ever let touch him.

And now? He was standing out here alone, with trembling hands and a broken heart, destroying the one thing that used to calm him down because you told him to. Because you wanted him alive. Because he fucking mattered to you.

God, he wanted to scream.

Or cry.

Or shoot the sky until it bled.

But all he did was stand there.

Breathing.

Barely.

Chishiya sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he was praying. He wasn’t. Not to a god, at least. But maybe to a version of you that would show up in the doorway and forgive him.

He missed you. And he didn’t even like people.

That was the joke, right? That his first real crush—his first time actually feeling anything for someone, anything real—had to turn out like this. He should’ve expected it.

You were so sweet. And not in a stupid, naive way. You were strategic. You were brilliant. You played the people here like they were instruments and your kindness was the melody, and Chishiya had watched you do it, always amused. But when you did it to him, it didn’t feel like a trick.

It felt real.

You made him laugh. You touched his arm when you talked to him. You gave him stupid little names for things. You made up plans and whispered them with eyes full of fire, and god, he believed in you.

It didn’t feel like a game.

Not with you.

So when he saw the way you looked at him after you found out, after Niragi told you Aguni wanted to talk to you, after you walked away so happy and trusting, after he helped hurt the person you were kind to once—

It hurt.

It fucking hurt.

Not because he regretted what they did. That wasn’t it. He still thought Akira deserved worse. Anyone that touched you without permission deserved worse. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was…you cried. Because of him.

You stood in front of him in your room, shaking and red-eyed and betrayed, and he just—stood there. Let you go. Let Niragi crash in like a storm and fuck everything up even more.

And even though he stayed calm—always stayed calm—it didn’t mean his heart wasn’t screaming the same way yours had.

Now, here in this room, he missed you like a fever.

He kept remembering the flower you gave him. When you made him food back at the apartment.

Why the fuck did that hurt?

He sighed and leaned back until he was lying flat on the bed.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Usually, you’d be buzzing around someone’s room by now. Probably Kuina’s.

But now the halls were silent.

You didn’t visit.

You didn’t smile.

You didn’t sparkle.

And even though Chishiya had lived his whole life in silence, suddenly it felt suffocating.

He turned his head and stared at the door like you might walk in. Like it wasn’t completely shattered between you two. Like you hadn’t looked at him like a stranger that night.

The way you whispered thank you before telling him to go… god, that stayed with him more than he wanted to admit. Because you were always grateful. Even when you were ruined.

And now he was the one left with the wreckage. No plan. No way to fix it. Just him. And a heart he finally acknowledged, now cracking in his chest.

It was stupid. It was all so fucking stupid.

He should’ve just let Niragi handle it alone. He should’ve told you. He should’ve—god, he should’ve done something different. But he didn’t. And now, you were gone. Still in the building, sure. But gone.

And his first real crush—his one soft, human thing—was curled up in a room somewhere, afraid of him.

So he just laid there. In the dark. And listened to the quiet that used to be his friend, but now felt like a funeral.

Niragi felt like he was rotting from the inside out. He hadn’t touched a cigarette since that last one he stopped at the start—your voice echoing in his head. He didn’t eat. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t fuck. He didn’t scream.

But he wanted to scream. He wanted to grab someone by the neck and demand where you were hiding all that sweetness now. He wanted to make a scene. Set something on fire.

Instead, he paced. Aimless. Quiet. Not even the burn in his chest felt like enough punishment.

Chishiya didn’t move from his bed for hours. He didn’t even blink sometimes. His eyes just rested on the ceiling, as if expecting it to fall in and crush him.

He thought about you all the time. Not even consciously.

You were his first warmth. His first mistake.

And somehow, his first loss.

Niragi laid on the cold floor of his balcony later, his gun on his chest like a lover. He watched the night sky.

Your voice. Your laugh. That sparkle in your eyes when you joked. All of it played behind his eyes like a hallucination.

He hated this. He hated you for doing this to him.

He loved you for doing this to him.

Chishiya stared at the unopened can of juice you once brought him. You thought he didn’t notice that you kept sneaking them to him.

He noticed.

He noticed everything.

But he never said anything. Because he was scared that if he acknowledged it, it would become real.

Now, all of it was real. And it was gone.

Niragi smashed a glass against the wall, just to see something break the way he did. It didn’t help.

The sound was nothing compared to the silence you left in him.

He sat down in the glass and let it cut into his skin.

At least the pain reminded him of how much he missed you.

Chishiya finally stood up and went to the mirror. He looked into his own eyes, deadpan. Cold.

He watched the mirror like maybe he’d see your reflection behind him.

He didn’t.

Meanwhile,

“AHHHH!”

You screamed so loudly it echoed down the hallway. Your hands flew to your mouth.

“Sorry! Sorry!” you gasped, breathing hard. “You scared the shit out of me—!”

Last Boss stood there.

You blinked, heart still racing. You let out a laugh, one of those panicked little laughs that turned sweet when it fell off your lips.

“Jesus, you’re like a ghost.” you huffed, hand still to your chest. “Could’ve warned me.”

He didn’t say anything. Not a word.

“Okay.” you smiled, recovering. “That’s fair. You’re not the warning type.”

You straightened out your top and tilted your head at him. Your hair was a bit messy, eyes still red here and there from the past few days, but there you were—smiling. Sweet. Still trying.

“You okay?” you asked. “I haven’t seen you around in a bit.”

He looked at you.

“I mean, not that I expect you to be all chatty.” you added quickly. “But, y’know. Just in case no one asked.”

There was silence between you both. He shifted slightly, barely a nod.

“I named the frog.” you told him, proud for some reason. “Charlie.”

You beamed, just a little. That soft little beam that always made people stop.

Still, he didn’t speak. But he stayed.

“I had a hard week.” you admitted. “I mean, that’s obvious, right? You probably heard. Everyone probably did. I’m not stupid. Just…” You sighed.

You leaned against the wall next to him. Not close enough to invade. Just enough. You looked up at him, searching his face, though you didn’t expect it to give you much. It never did. That was part of the charm, you guessed.

“You’re a good listener.” you said after a moment. “Not many of those left.”

You both stood there in the stillness. You weren’t crying now. But your voice was tired. Your heart was on the table, whether he chose to take it or not.

“I always liked those.” you murmured, nodding slightly toward the tattoos on his face. “They’re… cool. Like, I don’t know, like they were made to be there.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak.

“I think they suit you.” you went on. “I mean, they probably mean something, huh? Most things do around here.”

You smiled anyway. Small, crooked, like you weren’t trying anymore but you meant it all the same.

“You’re cool.” you said simply, finally, and that was the truest thing you said all day. “Like… the kind of cool that doesn’t ask for attention. Just is.”

And still, he said nothing.

You sighed, letting your head rest back against the wall, shoulder brushing barely against his. It felt warm. Not in a romantic way, not even comforting. Just human. Real.

“I’m not gonna make you talk.” you whispered. “That’s not what I’m here for.”

You paused for a beat, eyes flicking to him once more.

“I like you anyway.”

No pressure. No expectation. Just that. And then… nothing. You didn’t move. You didn’t look for a reaction. You just stood there beside him, like you were holding space. For him. For yourself.

Because even if he never said a word, he had never made you feel like you had to earn your existence.

A small breath through your nose, a final glance at Last Boss and then you turned on your heel and wandered back into the maze of corridors. The silence you left behind wasn’t awkward. It was just… silence. You’d learned to appreciate that.

You weren’t dressed to impress. Not today. Still in one of your usual soft sweaters thrown over a tank, loose shorts. Your feet were bare. But when you approached the doors of Hatter’s suite, the two stationed bodyguards shifted.

Not threateningly. Not even cautiously. Just… attentive.

Their eyes met yours, but they didn’t block your way. They didn’t ask your name. Didn’t ask if he was expecting you.

All it took was a smile. Soft and angelic, without even trying.

And they let you in.

Impressive, really.

Inside, Hatter sat on his long couch, robe sleeves rolled up, cigarette half-burned in one hand and a drink in the other. His legs were spread, posture relaxed, but his eyes— lifted the second you entered. And he smiled.

“Ah. My favorite surprise.”

You returned it, your voice softer. “You’re not surprised.”

“No.” he agreed with a little chuckle, “I’m not.”

You crossed the room. Sat beside him, not too close, legs tucked up slightly beneath you. The way he looked at you wasn’t like the others. Not hungry. Not territorial. Not even curious anymore. No—Hatter had figured you out long ago, and liked what he saw.

“Something happened.” you said gently, almost childlike in the admission.

His head tilted slightly. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.”

And you did.

You told him. Not everything. Not all the dark ugly parts of it. But you told him about the three of you. About Akira. About the chair and the blood and your panic and the hurt. About Niragi’s explosion and Chishiya’s words and how your heart didn’t even know how to beat anymore. You told him in your soft, trembling voice, and you weren’t even crying this time.

Just exhausted.

Hatter listened. No interruptions. Not even a hum or a nod. Just silent attention.

And when you finished, when your words drifted into stillness again, he finally set his drink down on the glass table and leaned back, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling.

“You’re too good,” he said. “to be walking around in a place like this.”

“I’m not.” you answered, voice barely audible.

He turned to you. “No. You’re not.” he echoed. “You’re just good at walking around in a place like this.”

A difference. One you understood.

You breathed deep. The couch was warm beneath you.

“I think you were right.” you whispered. “When you said something was going to happen to me.”

“I’m right about a lot of things.” he said with a crooked grin. He flicked ash from his cigarette.

Hatter saw potential in you the way an artist saw sculpture in untouched marble. You were something golden underneath all the softness. Sweet, yes, but never stupid. You could listen. Adapt. Influence.

And you made people want to protect you. Without asking. Without demanding. Just by being.

“It’s not just the way you talk.” he told you. “It’s the way people feel seen by you. You’re a mirror, in a way. You make them feel real.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything.

He softened then, gently, eyes not so calculating anymore.

“I’ve seen a lot of people break here.” he continued. “They get stronger, harder, colder. Or they die. But you… You hurt, and it brings people together.”

You blinked.

That might’ve been the nicest thing anyone had ever said to you.

And you believed it.

Not because you thought you were important. But because… maybe he was right. Maybe you had a place here. Even if it hurt. Even if it bled. Even if you cried yourself to sleep some nights and didn’t speak to your own reflection the next morning.

Maybe you still had a place.

“You don’t have to be alone.” Hatter said quietly.

You looked over at him again, and for a moment, something fragile flickered behind your eyes. Trust. And you smiled, gently. Not because it fixed anything. But because you felt safe here.

Hatter wasn’t touchy in the way men in the Beach usually were. He wasn’t grabby, or forceful, or territorial.

It was subtler than that. Kinder.

A hand on your shoulder. A palm pressed warmly to your back as you shifted closer on the couch. His arm draping across the back of it, never pulling you in—but there, just there, enough that if you leaned a little, you’d feel held.

And you did.

You leaned.

Not because you wanted anything from him, not really. But because physical touch felt like oxygen, and your lungs had been burning for days.

He smelled like spice and tobacco. And his warmth? It wasn’t suffocating. It was like being wrapped in a blanket after being out in the rain.

“You alright?” he asked after a quiet moment, voice deep and low, meant just for you.

You nodded against his shoulder. “Not really. But also… I’m glad I came.”

He chuckled, soft. “Glad I didn’t scare you off.”

“You’re probably the only man in this place who doesn’t scare me.” you said, and meant it only partly. Aguni didn’t scare you. Last Boss didn’t scare you. But Hatter didn’t scare you on an… extra level?

That made him laugh—really laugh, his whole chest shaking. It was comforting, the way he could find joy even in the way you said dark things like they were light.

You pulled your legs up beside you, settling deeper into the couch. His arm stayed over your shoulders. A protective curve, not a cage.

“I used to be a little scared of people like Niragi.” you admitted.

“And now?”

“I still am.” you said. “But I think I understand him a little now. Which is maybe worse.”

Hatter looked at you, something knowing in his eyes. “He loves you, you know.”

“Yeah.” you sighed. “I know.”

“And Chishiya?”

Your laugh this time was quieter, more tired. “That one’s harder to explain. He doesn’t… say much. But I feel it.”

“Dangerous types, both of them.” he said, though his tone wasn’t judgmental. “You’ve got a taste for trouble.”

“No, I just… I don’t know.” You played with a loose thread in your sleeve. “I think people like them are the only ones who’ve ever looked at me and seen something more.”

“They do.” he said, voice lower now, heavier. “But they don’t know what to do with it.”

You looked up at him, your cheek still brushing his robe. “And you do?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just looked at you, that steady gaze still so gentle. “I don’t need anything from you, sweetheart. That’s the difference.”

You blinked.

Your chest ached.

That simple sentence had more weight than any speech. It didn’t ask anything of you. Didn’t expect you to save him, or choose him, or mold yourself into something lovable.

It just told you you were okay. As you were.

You reached up without thinking and touched his wrist where it lay across your shoulder. Just a small touch, grounding. “Thank you.”

He smiled again. “You don’t have to thank me.”

But you did. You really, really did.

“You ever miss the real world?” you asked after a while, your voice softer, as if the question could break if you said it too loud.

“Sometimes.” he said. “But I also know I didn’t have much waiting for me there.”

You tilted your head. “That’s sad.”

“It’s honest.” He looked ahead, as if seeing some memory across the room. “I was always chasing things that didn’t exist. Here… at least I know what I’m dealing with. At least here, I built something.”

“You did.” you said. “This place is terrifying, but… it’s also incredible.”

“Because of people like you.” he said, nudging your shoulder lightly with his. “You keep it breathing.”

You smiled at that, even if your eyes stung again. “I don’t feel like I’m keeping anything together lately.”

“You don’t have to feel like it to be it.” he said.

You let that sit for a moment.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next.” you whispered.

Hatter turned a little toward you, enough that he could see your face. “You don’t have to do anything. Just… be. Heal. Rest.”

You leaned into him more. “You’re really nice to me.”

“Of course I am.” he said, almost playfully. “You’re my favorite.”

You rolled your eyes with a soft laugh, but it wasn’t sarcastic. Then you went quiet again. Not because you were sad—no, not this time. Because you felt something. Something full and warm and real.

He looked at you a little more seriously now, though the soft curve of his mouth never left. “About what I told you before.” he said. “How something was going to happen to you?”

You nodded. You remembered too well.

“Well,” he continued. “it is happening. People talk, you know. Eyes are on you.”

You laughed softly. “Probably not for the best reasons.”

“I disagree.” he said. “You’ve captured something most people can’t even define. You’re not trying to be a leader—but you make people want to follow you. That’s rare.”

You turned your head slightly, looking at him. “Is this the part where you tell me again you want me to be the next boss?”

He smirked. “I never stopped wanting that.”

“But what about Kuzuryu?” you asked, voice more curious than doubtful. “Isn’t he… next in line?”

Hatter let out a quiet breath through his nose. “In rank, yes. In spirit? I’m not so sure anymore.”

You raised a brow. “You’re saying I have more of the spirit of the Beach’s number one?”

“I’m saying you’ve got more than that.” He met your eyes. “You’ve got heart. And presence. People are drawn to you—not because they have to be, but because they want to be. Even those two boys who’d sooner burn down the world than admit they’re hurt.”

That made your chest ache again, but you smiled faintly. “You think I’m strong enough?”

“I think you’re already doing it.” he said. “Without even trying.”

You stared at your hands for a moment. “I don’t know if I want power.”

“Then don’t take it for power’s sake. Take it because you’re the only one I trust with it.”

There it was again. That unwavering faith. He didn’t just believe in you—he knew. And it made something rise in you that had been lying cold and broken for days. Not pride, not quite hope.

Just… dignity.

You sat in it for a while, letting the warmth of it sink in, before Hatter broke the silence again—this time with a smile dancing back onto his face.

“So,” he said. “want to be spoiled?”

You blinked. “What?”

He sat forward, just a little, eyes glittering. “You’ve been through hell. You’ve held yourself together better than most men here would. I say that earns you something.”

“Takeru,” you laughed, a little overwhelmed. “you don’t have to—”

“Let me.” he interrupted gently. “You deserve it. And I want to.”

You stared at him for a long second, caught off guard by the honesty in it.

He held up a hand, counting on his fingers. “Anything from the bar, anytime. You want a full new wardrobe? Say the word. Want a balcony? A view of the pool? A new sound system? A thousand more frogs and lobsters? Done.”

You snorted, grinning despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious.”

You tilted your head. “Why me?”

“I told you already.” He leaned back, still watching you. “Because you keep the Beach breathing.”

That shut you up for a second. Not in a bad way. Just… full again. That heavy warmth that came with being seen.

Then he added, voice softer this time, “And because I like to see you safe. Somewhere no one can reach you unless you let them.”

You looked at him.

And he looked at you.

“You want a new room?” he asked.

That one caught you. You sat up a little straighter. “A new room?”

“One of the best. Luxurious. Big bed, clean walls, balcony, hell, big carpet.” He smiled again. “Somewhere untouched. No memories. Just… yours.”

You blinked.

It hit harder than it should’ve.

Because you had memories in your old room. Of Chishiya sitting on the edge of the bed. Of Niragi throwing things. Of crying. Of whispering. Of nights tangled in bodies and others curled up alone.

That room was a graveyard of emotions. This? A new room?

That meant space. That meant air.

That meant starting over.

You nodded, almost shy. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” His smile widened. “Good.”

You glanced at him again, something softer in your eyes now. “Thank you. For… all of this.”

He waved you off playfully. “You don’t need to thank me.”

You let yourself settle, let your voice drop into something softer. “How would it work? The room, I mean.”

He smiled—just the slightest pull of his lips, like he’d been waiting for you to ask that. ““You’ve got a game tomorrow, don’t you?”

You blinked. “Yeah. I do.”

“Well,” he continued, his voice easy, like this was just another detail in a busy calendar. “I’ll have my guys move your things while you’re gone. They’ll set everything up. You won’t have to lift a finger.”

You stared at him. That felt… unreal.

“I—wow.” you muttered, kind of caught off guard by how simple he made it sound. “You really want to do all that for me?”

“I really am doing all that for you.” he said, grinning. “You don’t even have to ask.”

You shook your head slowly, a quiet laugh slipping out. “You spoil me.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms over his knees, his tone still light but not joking when he replied, “I take care of people who matter.”

You looked at him again, and there was something in your expression that flickered—something between gratitude and disbelief and a need that was still trying to be small enough not to be a burden. You didn’t say thank you again, but you didn’t have to. He saw it in your eyes.

“You’ll like it.” he said after a while, sitting back again. “Barely touched. No memories sticking to the walls.”

You let out a breath, one that shook a little. “That sounds perfect.”

He nodded, then added, more gently, “And maybe it’s time for that. Something new. Just for you.”

You nodded too.

And finally, slowly, you stood.

Hatter stood with you, and when you hesitated—just a breath—he opened his arms again. You stepped into them.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t confusing.

It was just comfort.

His embrace was warm and real and steady, and your cheek against his shoulder felt like pressing your forehead against an open window.

When he let you go, he kept a hand on your shoulder. “Get some rest tonight.” he said. “My guys will take care of the rest. You focus on the game.”

You smiled, softer than before, eyes a little glassy. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” he said, like he meant it. And you knew he did.

You stepped out of the room, the guards moving again with that same quiet respect—like just being in Hatter’s company had elevated your status even more, like they saw you differently now.

Like you really were the favorite.

It wasn’t even a secret at this point. Not anymore.

It wasn’t favoritism because you were lucky, or because you begged for it, or because you played a game. No.

It was because you earned it.

You’d started to sleep again.

Kind of.

Eat, too.

Sometimes.

Because even with your gentle bones still barely held together, with your spirit cracked but not crushed, even with mascara sometimes drying at the corners of your eyes from days before, you were rising. Quietly, but definitely. Hatter had handed you something no one else ever did in this place.

A chance.

A choice.

And while you breathed a little easier inside your walls that night, thinking about what will the next room be like, Niragi was doing something else entirely.

His room was dark.

The curtains hadn’t been pulled in two days, just the heavy smell of smoke hanging in the air, not from the cigarettes this time, but from the singed edge of his own skin.

His lighter flicked open again.

Flame. Burn. Skin.

Again.

The hiss of flesh, the brief sear of pain—it was his rhythm now. Because if he couldn’t feel anything else, at least he could feel this.

He wasn’t screaming. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t punching walls or breaking mirrors or smashing things to bits like he used to. That was the old brand of Niragi chaos, and this—this was something else. Quieter. Darker.

Worse.

Because this time, the person he wanted to hurt most was himself.

He’d broken something. Something that mattered.

And unlike every other time in his life, this time, he didn’t feel triumphant about it. He didn’t feel like the most dangerous man in the room. He felt like a fucking ghost. A nightmare without an audience. A mistake dragging its knuckles through the carpet, leaving ash and blood behind.

Because you were gone. Not gone-gone—but gone from him.

He didn’t even have your voice anymore. Not the real one. Just the echo.

Don’t smoke.

You said that like you believed he could actually be different.

And now he was worse.

He burned himself again. The lighter dropped on the floor and kept flickering until it died on its own.

He didn’t bother to pick it up.

Chishiya sat on the edge of his bed with one arm resting on his knee, his eyes blank.

He hadn’t moved in a while.

He wasn’t thinking in the usual way.

He was existing. Breathing. But still.

Your face wouldn’t leave his mind.

The way you backed away from him. The way your tears came up. Your voice.

He’d spent most of his life avoiding this.

Closeness. Connection. Feeling.

And then you happened. Sweet. Soft. Bright-eyed and loyal and goddamn stubborn. You pulled him in without even meaning to. You didn’t try. You just… existed.

And now? You existed without him.

Was this what love looked like?

Not romance. Not roses and candlelight and confessions under the stars. But this—this gnawing ache that sat under your ribs and didn’t move. This quiet kind of hell that didn’t scream, didn’t shout—just emptied you.

He wondered if Niragi felt it too.

He knew the answer.

Of course he did.

And wasn’t that the most fucked up part? That two men who could never see eye to eye on anything, could hate each other’s guts and laugh in the other’s face—

Both of them still wanted you.

Both of them were losing it for you.

Because you were that kind of girl. The rare kind.

So what if they were crazy?

What if they were already past that point?

Because Niragi had a lighter burn spiraling down his forearm, the smell of charred skin mixing with smoke. And Chishiya—he sat in his pristine, silent room, completely still, like if he moved he’d shatter. And you? You were curled up on your bed with your frog and your lobster in a glass tank in front of you. A blanket over your legs, Kuina’s sweater slung over your shoulders.

Niragi leaned against the wall of his bathroom, eyes half-lidded, cigarette barely lit between his fingers. He hadn’t smoked it—just held it there, thinking about you, your voice, your hand gently snatching it from his lips that one time back at the apartment.

Fuck. You were gone. And he still couldn’t make himself take a drag.

Chishiya hadn’t moved in hours, sitting cross-legged on his bed with his back against the headboard. He stared out the window, watching a few birds hop across the railing. He wondered how many games it would take to forget you.

Then decided he didn’t want to forget you at all.

You laid on your bed. The frog blinked slowly from inside the tank, and the lobster sat at the bottom.

You watched them both. “You guys don’t lie.” you whispered.

They didn’t respond. But they didn’t kill anyone either.

Niragi stared down at his floor. Lighter. Broken glass. The memory of first meeting you.

He hated that it made him smile now.

Then he picked up the lighter again.

Chishiya flipped a card between his fingers—King of Hearts. He got it from a toy store back in town. He stared at it longer than he meant to, then finally flicked it across the table. It landed face down. He didn’t flip it back over. Didn’t need to.

He knew what the heart stood for.

It was mocking him.

You pulled on a pair of socks even though it wasn’t cold. You just wanted to feel like something hugged you. Something soft. Something gentle.

Your room was nice. Expensive. Thoughtful.

But none of them were there. Not even one.

And you missed them.

God, you missed them.

Niragi ran a hand through his hair and pulled a piece out. Literally yanked it from his scalp. He didn’t even flinch. He just watched it fall, his fingers twitching like they were searching for your touch and kept grabbing at nothing.

Chishiya touched his collarbones. The ones you had complimented once.

Now? It reminded him of you.

Everything reminded him of you.

Even the silence.

You looked at the mirror for a while. Then turned it face down. You weren’t sure if you didn’t want to see your face, or didn’t want to see their fingerprints still on your skin. Your mouth, your heart.

It was your fault for caring.

But was it?

They did kill someone.

Niragi sat down in the corner of his room, knees up, arms slung over them. His skin was red. Singed. Burned in little shapes.

But he wasn’t crying.

He didn’t deserve to.

If you cried over him, that was already more kindness than he had ever earned.

Chishiya traced the edge of a notepad with a pencil. The page was empty. He didn’t write anything anymore.

No plans. No outlines. No graphs.

There was no point. He already lost the only variable he couldn’t account for—you.

You opened the window, the music from the party slipping into the room.

You closed the window.

Covered your ears.

And cried.

Niragi punched the side of his bedframe. Just once. Hard. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t grief. It was something in between. The kind of pain that made your chest cave in, where rage had nowhere to go.

He thought maybe if he bled enough, you’d come back.

Chishiya wondered if you could ever forgive him.

Not just for the body.

But for breaking the only real thing he’d ever held.

Could he fix this?

Would it even matter?

Would you look at him again and not flinch?

You sat on the floor beside the tank and whispered your secrets to Charlie and Henry.

“I miss him.”

“I miss them.”

“But they’re not good people. I know that.”

You didn’t cry this time. Your voice just cracked.

“They were good to me, though.” you added. “Sometimes.”

Niragi still had your perfume on one of his shirts. He pressed it to his face, like some desperate addict trying to breathe you in one last time.

Chishiya got up. Finally. Looked at his reflection and thought of how you used to look at him. With so much hope.

He didn’t deserve that. But maybe—just maybe—he could try to become someone who did.

You stood up too. Hugged yourself in the mirror. Then wiped the smudge off your lip.

Niragi sat legs sprawled. The lighter clicked again. And again. He didn’t hesitate this time. Pressed it to the inside of his arm.

Ssshhh.

It hissed. His skin jumped under the heat, but he didn’t scream. Didn’t even flinch. His eyes were blank, mouth parted, like maybe he was somewhere else. Somewhere far from this room.

He remembered your laugh.

He remembered how small your hands were.

He remembered how you looked at him, like maybe he was human for a second.

And now all of that was gone.

The lighter dropped from his hand, still burning against the floor, flame kissing tile. He didn’t care. He was tired. And his skin hurt. But not as much as his chest.

You stared out the window.

Someone was dead.

You couldn’t forget the way Niragi looked that night. Like he hadn’t done anything wrong. Like he was proud. And you couldn’t forget how Chishiya stood there, quiet, guilty but unmoving.

And then you remembered that night in your room—how Chishiya had looked at you. When you two talked.

What a fucking joke.

Were you supposed to just get over that? Forget that someone died and laugh about it in a week?

But the worst part? The worst, most awful part?

You missed them.

Even now. Even after.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

You didn’t hate them at all.

Chishiya thought about your voice. He thought about the way your fingers tapped when you were thinking, how you talked to animals like they were people. How you looked at everything like it could still be beautiful.

He had ruined that.

He told himself it was logical. That Akira was dangerous. That this world demanded brutality. But you never did. You never demanded that from them.

And that was why it hurt so fucking bad.

He thought he could outsmart heartbreak. Thought he’d never be weak enough to love someone. And now here he was. Wondering how to ask for forgiveness from someone who had every right to hate him.

Niragi held the shirt tighter to his chest. It smelled like you. Still. He knew that wouldn’t last forever. He had to hold onto it now.

He had burned his arms raw. Skin angry and blistering. It didn’t matter. He deserved worse.

You weren’t talking to him. Not even looking. He would’ve taken any kind of attention—even a slap, a scream, a shove—if it meant you still gave a fuck.

But you were gone.

And he didn’t know how to exist without you anymore.

You changed your clothes three times before lying back down again. You didn’t know why you changed. Maybe because every outfit reminded you of a memory with one of them.

And still, you couldn’t scrub them out of your mind.

You missed Niragi’s chaos. His wildness. The way he acted like no one could hurt him but looked at you like maybe you could.

And you missed Chishiya’s calm. The way he listened even when he said nothing. The way he always knew more than he let on but still showed up beside you, every time.

You loved them.

And that was your tragedy.

Chishiya turned the lights off again. Sat in the dark. Sometimes it was easier that way. No reflections. No reminders.

He thought maybe if he had told you sooner—how much you mattered, how much he wanted to change for you—you’d still be in his life.

He should’ve fought harder. But instead, he let you walk away. Because he thought he didn’t deserve you.

And maybe he didn’t.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t want you.

Niragi picked up his gun. Not to use it. Just to feel something familiar in his hands. Something solid. Something real.

Like maybe it could tether him to the ground.

But the only thing that had ever really made him feel real… was you.

You whispered their names into your pillow. Just once.

Soft. Like it hurt.

And it did.

Because even now… even with everything…

You still loved them.

And it was killing you.

❤︎︎ @lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mocchii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess @onyxmango @bluerthanvelvet444 @risingofjupiter @enhasrii @potato-vagina @cherryyserenade @l5byrinth @soaplickerrr @sillyenemyarcade @miellette @sk1ndx0

#alice in borderland #aib niragi #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya shuntaro #niragi suguru #niragi x reader #aib chishiya #chishiya x reader #niragi alice in borderland

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searchingforatrail · 2 years ago

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The one thing I really love about Earthspark Megatron is that he's very self-aware about the fact that he's done terrible things. He knows he's been a bad person, and actively works with the people/mechs he's harmed on all sides to do better. Mainly if they're wanting to change.

Whether it's letting Decepticons go and not reporting them to GHOST, or working with Optimus to align with the humans even though he doesn't trust them, Megatron just doesn't sit back and do nothing.

He's actively undoing the harm he's caused, teaches other about just how bad he was, and never sugarcoats it. When people bring up how he treated others, he doesn't deny it or excuse himself. He might give reasons as to why he acted the way he did, but never in a way to take away just how bad he was.

I also think this is why Dot loves him, and lets him around her family. Because he's not in denial about the kind of person he was, he's someone who knows what he did and wants to do better. And Dot is partly the catalyst for that so they have a connection there, but he's a genuine person in his path to redemption.

Not only that, but he's put his own life on the line to protect innocent people. And he still considers himself a Decepticon while doing it, showing he's not trying to whitewash or step away from the mess he created.

(This is why his relationship with the Decepticons is so interesting to me. I don't think he betrayed them in the way that's portrayed by them. I think it's more of his people got used to having power, most likely because they had none to begin with, and weren't willing to stand by and do the right thing when the realization that they were bad people settled in. And considering they still scheme even when in prison & when he gives them second chances, I think this is pretty much proven. And it's more complex than that, ofc. Many have personal reasons for not wanting to work with autobots, but will still kill innocent people).

Anyway I think about that often. He never ran away from what he created, and is actively trying to fix it. Even if he's a one mech Decepticon army (plus Shockwave since he was the only one willing to work with him lol).

His self-awareness is only part of it. The rest is that he actively tries to fix it.

And in my own biased opinion, I think this makes him the best Decepticon. Especially since he's the only Decepticon (with the exception of Tarantulas) that acknowledges his wrongdoings.

And this isn't saying he's perfect or that he's fully redeemed, he's not. And if you expected him to be, than you're not wanting a realistic redemption arc. But he's trying, and doing a hella good job at it.

#megatron tfe #tfe megatron #megatron #transformers earthspark #earthspark

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terapsina · 1 year ago

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(@tinknevertalks no worries, I seriously don't mind at all 💖 And thank you. Sorry for the wait, but I hope the little fic is fun enough to make up for it.)

ao3

"A bit ironic, isn't it?" Nikola whispered, his characteristically sharp smile pulled tight by a grimace of pain. "Me, the last remnant of the glorious race of Sanguine vampiris, immortal and nigh unkillable, and yet you've watched me nearly succumb to the eternal finality of mortality far more often than I have you."

"Shut up, Nikola," Helen ground out, trying to stem the flow of the blood that was poring out of the wound from his chest with worrying speed. Her heart squeezed her throat nearly closed and only stubborn anger kept the tears from her eyes.

She couldn't believe she was here again. With Nikola's vampire gene active again she'd thought she'd be safe from this horror. Helen squeezed shut her eyes only to be immediately bombarded with the memory of the last time, -- when his eyes had closed and all that stood between her and a way to save him had been dwindling seconds and the amber prison encasing the sleeping queen.

But there was nothing here for Helen to smash through this time. Nothing she could batter against with all her desperate terror until the purple crystal cracked.

What she needed was to convince the one responsible to undo whatever it was they had done.

"I don't understand," came the very young voice of the rumored phoenix they'd come here to invite to the safety of the Underground Sanctuary. Their appearance was that of a child. Utterly ordinary in all senses except that the golden ringlets of their hair were encircling a face that was shockingly, -- though somewhat hazily, -- familiar to Helen. "I did good, why are you sad?"

Helen swallowed and looked at the abnormal who seemed to have taken on the appearance of a six or seven-year-old version of Helen herself. The abnormal who afterward had taken one look at Nikola, flashed with golden-red light and made him fall to his knees with a hole through his rib cage that wasn't closing the way it should be.

She swallowed, mind racing to find the best words. The abnormal's outer appearance might be a lie but something about the innocence she could see in their eyes made Helen sure that the childish confusion wasn't an act. And she knew how dangerous a juvenile abnormal with truly immeasurable power could be.

She made her voice as gentle as she could, keeping any trace of accusation off its tone. "You... hurt my friend, I--"

"Just friend? Will your cruelty know no end, dear? Your words pierce my heart, I shall henceforth know no joy--" Helen pressed her hands tighter against Nikola's bleeding wound. "--ow. That was uncalled for."

'When we get out of here I'm going to murder you myself,' Helen mouthed without sound and with a less than amused glare, letting Nikola read her lips.

She knew what it was he was trying to do, hoping that flirting obnoxiously would distract her from her worry and fool her into thinking that it wasn't as bad as all this blood was making it look. It didn't work, Nikola visibly couldn't quite keep his head up anymore, and even for a vampire, the pale grayness was getting a bit extreme.

"But he's one of the monsters," the child insisted "I'm supposed to hurt the monsters. I remember that."

"Rude," Nikola muttered.

But Helen barely heard him, her scrambling thoughts had already halted, catching the words of the phoenix as they echoed around them.

"You're supposed to?" she asked, as her mind for a moment finally put aside her fear for Nikola and started working on the mystery of the newest abnormal. "Of course, the phoenix is associated with sunlight, maybe not all the myths were inspired by the vampires spreading false rumors to protect themselves from the humans looking for and maybe finding their true vulnerability. It just wasn't literal sunlight that could harm them."

"Fascinating. But can we please stay on point and get the very nice Tiny Magnus from doing the world the great tragedy of snuffing out the life of Nikola Tesla just as things were starting to look up in his century-long plan to court the heart of one Helen Magnus? I expect great things from this millennia, you know."

The child took a few cautious steps closer to the two of them, suddenly visibly fascinated.

"He's a very weird monster. Usually, the monsters just say that they're going to squish my head or drink all of my blood or--"

"Usually?" Helen caught. "When exactly was the last time you met someone like my friend?"

"I don't know," they rolled their eyes in the exaggerated manner of kids who had only recently learned the power it gave them. "I'm too young to remember time. That's for my Olds. But I think it was lots and lots of Youngs ago."

She exchanged a silent look with Nikola. Apparently, the part of the myth speaking of a phoenix's constant death and rebirth had some grains of truth in it too.

"I see," Helen started out the sentence carefully, hand constricting against Nikola's chest and making him wince again. "Well, this is my friend Nikola. He's an irritating thorn in my side but he isn't here to hurt you or to hurt me; we just came here to ask you if you wanted to come with us to a safe Sanctuary. The... monsters you remember have been gone for a very long time, Nikola is the last one and he's not exactly the same as them. But there are other threats--"

"You're the very last monster?" The child's voice turned pained and Helen saw their eyes filling up with the kind of all-consuming loss that was eternally older than their borrowed face. "I'm the very last one too. It- hurts."

"Yes, well mine turned out to be--"

"Language, Nikola," she interrupted what was sure to be a string of words not meant for the ears of a child, even a very, very ancient one. And Helen couldn't help the way something sharp poked into a raw corner of her heart, -- which she knew would never truly heal, -- because Helen's younger face wasn't that different from what Ashley had looked like as a child and so it was difficult to stay objective in the face of the phoenix's apparent grief.

She opened her mouth to answer when Nikola coughed, blood spraying in a splatter with droplets hitting Helen's face, and she felt the breath freeze in her lungs.

He choked, eyes rolling behind the top of his eyelids and slipping closed as he slumped unconscious.

"No, Nikola!" she gasped in denial, hand flying to his neck, looking for a pulse. She couldn't- couldn't quite find--

Panic hit Helen like a colossal wave, shaking something vital off its axis. She couldn't do this, -- he couldn't do this to her; he couldn't leave her as the last of the Five, to face centuries by herself with no Nikola Tesla there to show up like a bad penny every few decades and drink her wine cellar empty again; or to get her caught up in one of his insane schemes of world domination; or to use that brilliant mind of his to help her with the latest catastrophe; or to tell her he loved her with a quick quip but nothing but the truth behind his eyes.

The last time she'd kissed him Helen thought she was about to die. After, she'd neatly sidestepped it when Nikola had tried to bring it up. Frozen by the same fear that had once, centuries back -- or she supposed it would be more accurate to say, two versions of the same century back -- made her choose John as the safer option.

Because Nikola had always been full of frantic energy, swinging between ideas on wings that never landed from flight. She had misjudged both men so badly back then, blind to both the unhinged possessiveness in John and the true softness Nikola was capable of when not under threat of mockery or cruelty -- the softness he hid behind ego and careless humor.

He was waiting for her the way he'd once waited on those bloody pigeons, completely still, so as not to startle them into flight. Just proving that he was safe. That he could be trusted. That he would not twist their wings or bind their feet.

Of course, the birds didn't have to deal with the smug, self-satisfied heel-face turns that could leave Helen ready to strangle him at any given point in a day. But then, Helen knew herself well enough to know that without them she'd have grown bored in their friendship inside a single decade.

His unpredictability was what made him interesting.

She had kissed him because she'd known she'd regret not doing it. But if he died, Helen would regret--

"Please," she turned to the phoenix "please just let him heal. Whatever you did to him, take it back."

"But--"

"I know you were trying to help, that you saw someone from a species that once enslaved millions and did what you did in self-defense. I do understand. But--"

The child bent their head, something terribly old and alien briefly flickering to awareness in the depths of their eyes.

"Your heart, is that what it looks like when it breaks? I had forgotten."

"Please," she begged again, voice hitching.

The child said nothing but they walked over, dropping on their knees and leaning over to hover with their small palm over the place where Helen's bloodstained hands still tried to press the blood back into Nikola's chest. Reluctantly, Helen withdrew.

There was a surge of something that was a mix of that golden-red light from before and Nikola's own power of electricity.

The child giggled. "Tickles." And pulled back.

At once, Helen took back her spot, feeling something heavy within her straining under threat of crumbling to dust in her arms. She felt one set of her heartbeats pulsing against her eardrum, then another, then--

Nikola gasped in a deep breath of oxygen as the torn skin above his heart knit back together, his eyes and nails growing pitch black as an instinctive growl was let loose from his throat. In her periphery, the phoenix didn't so much as flinch, and some buried corner of Helen's mind wondered if here there was finally the answer to how the combined power of humanity and the abnormals had managed to destroy the terrible empire of Nikola's ancestors.

"Nikola," she said calmly, trying to get him back into the present, and to jar his rational mind back into place.

"Helen," he blinked until his teeth lost most of their sharpness and his eyes regained their stormy blue, a smug grin already sliding into place. "Are those tears for me? I'm touch--"

Dopamine was flooding her system full of relief. And Helen knew she could use it as an excuse for grabbing him by the collar and pulling him forward to smash his lips against hers. For kissing him. Even for the tears that kept running down her cheeks now.

But the truth was she didn't know if she wanted to use an excuse anymore. All that those excuses had ever given her was yet another notch in her list of regrets.

And Helen Magnus already had so many of those.

"I hate you, Nikola Tesla," she ground out as soon as they finally parted. "You are reckless and selfish and I need to change the hiding place for my Cheval Blanc 1947 bottle every other day when you're around, and--"

An exhilarated smile began to rise across Nikola's face with her every word.

"--and if you do that to me again I am going to--"

"Do something absolutely horrid to me. You know I have every faith in you, dear," Nikola interrupted her, softly wiping something from her face -- tears, or the splattering of blood that had come when he'd collapsed, she didn't care, -- his face turned serious as his touch lingered over the side of her face. "I love you too, Doctor Helen Magnus."

#teslen #teslen fic #helen magnus #nikola tesla #sanctuary #sanctuary tv series #sanctuary fic #fanfic #otp: and because i love you #tinknevertalks

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multishipper-baby · 2 years ago

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now im thinking about the cast being remnants of despair... if goldami was actually a thing before the game, imagine they got rid of golden's family and started ruling together... and made everything worse, the exact opposite of what they had once hoped for 🥲 anyways, what atrocities was the cast up to before the game?

Oh yeah that would majorly suck for the both of them- finally being in control of everything and just using that power to hurt others. I especially think it would sting given what went down in the killing game; Remnant Cami has probably used her hypnotism to manipulate others into commiting horrible deeds just like she did with Golden. And having their relationship absolutely destroyed because of that would be more painful if they used to love each other... Hopefully with time they'll be able to recover from that?

As for what the remnants were up to... Generally they did a bunch of atrocities (murders, terrorism, stalking, etc). More specifically:

All the characters that had families were responsible for having them killed. Some did so directly and with their own hands, some did so indirectly by sending others to kill their families for them. The exception to this would be Usagi and Loon, since their families where is another country when the Tragedy started and they lost track of them. They're the only lucky ones, though.

There's also Deuz, who was a special case since he considered the Nightmares to be his family. Instead of killed, they were brainwashed alongside him to help the remnants. Long-term they still died, but in their case it was during confrontations against the Future Foundation, instead of because Deuz himself doing anything to them. So he at least doesn't have that in his conscience.

Springtrap made a lot of machines for the Ultimate Despair, including bombs, weapons, vehicles and even some executions. Aside from Owynn, he's probably the one who most contributed to the whole operation. The only upside is that at least now that he's been reformed, he can use his knowledge to help the Future Foundation deal with the problem he caused- searching for weaknesses in his old creations, explaining how to defuse the bombs he made, etc.

Loon has the most versatile talent, and thus has the biggest range of things he's done for the Ultimate Despair. The others usually specialized in a few things, but he did anything and everything under the sun. It made the process of remembering very, very painful, because there was always something new and horrifying to uncover and every single memory was its own kind of messed up. He needs a lot of support from the others.

Towntrap probably had a lot of things regarding animals, which sort of ruins all the love he had for his talent. For a while after waking up he can't be anywhere near an animal at all without being triggered and it takes him some work to get over that. He also feels alienated from his classmates, in that he's like "I have no right to feel so traumatized when most of them had it worst, since they harmed more humans than I did", which hampers his healing process constantly.

Eak is an special case in that he didn't actually cause too much direct suffering (although he definitely did kill people) but as Owynn's personal bodyguard he indirectly made things worse. Once he starts getting memories of Owynn almost being killed only to save him, it kind of drives him to blame himself for everyone else's suffering, even if it's not really his fault. After all, Owynn wasn't the only Ultimate Despair, and killing him wouldn't undo their brainwashing, but still. Also he has many injuries from using his own body as a shield while trying to protect Owynn, so he needs some amount of physical healing as well as psychological.

Toddy is very detached from her own memories, so she has a harder time truly accepting what happened. She can't see herself commiting all those acts that she's done, so she buries herself in denial and tries to run away from the truth. It makes it pretty hard for the others to aid her in recovering.

Meg is another one that needs physical recovery- as a remnant, she often committed acts of arson, and so the right side of her body has many serious burns. You know how Fuyuhiko loses an eye in Peko's execution and then it turns out he's also lost that eye IRL? Yeah it's the same with Meg getting burnt in Fox's execution.

Speaking of Fox, he's an special case in that he had surgery while as a remnant. Top surgery, specifically- none of which were done in a safe way. Miraculously, it didn't get infected, but his chest has a lot of extra scarring, almost like he got butchered. It certainly made his experience of waking up quite a bit more shocking than for the others; having your own body changed so majorly without your knowledge is quite the experience.

...I kind of lost the plot at some point and started talking about what happens to them after they wake up rather than what they did as remnants, oops. Probably shouldn't answer asks while sleepy.

#FHS: Farewell Despair Highschool #ask #asks #chocottang #long post

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rusame · 2 years ago

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Finally getting back into the groove

@reposhillo submitted:

Viktor sighed, feeling the unfamiliar wave of temporarily contentment emanate from his being as he languidly stroked along the back that was presented to him, having just finished inside the body still splayed so invitingly on his lap for a third time.

The other in question was panting heavily from his nose, teeth still digging into the ball gag that had been shoved into his mouth and fastened tight around his head. His wrists were bound together with one of the Russian’s favored scarfs, the skin reddened and split open from the American’s struggling. Allen, as he was called, sighed heavily from his nose letting himself lean back into the man he was sitting on, a thick, flaccid length still wedged inside of him. He took a moment to collect himself, sighing as the temporarily bliss of orgasm ebbed away, making the more familiar tugs of paranoia and rage nip at his conscience.

Allen shifted, bringing his bound hands to brush against Viktor’s bare chest, wanting the Commie bastard to finally pull out of him and undo the bindings. Instead, his body tensed as Viktor took a hold of his upper arms and tugged him further against him, one arm coming to loop over the American’s waist to keep him in place while his other hand began tracing along Allen’s tanned skin.

“Nyet.” He spoke, voice gruff from constant lack of use except for one word responses and short sentences. “Not just yet.”

Allen grunted in indignation, tugging at the scarf around his wrists as he wiggled a bit. He didn’t want to be bound any longer, the haze of lust having faded that had led to him allowing to be bound, and now he was left with the feeling of being powerless. He felt fingers, long and nimble, tracing over various scars and bruises, some made by the Russian himself. Allen growled, trying to lean away from the uncharacteristically soft touches. His attitude simply made the Russian give a brief huff of laughter.

“You just took a beating, some personal time with my sickle, and my cock inside of you multiple times, yet you are more concerned with these mere touches?” He spoke, voice ghosting over the American’s ear. To prove his point, he brushed his lips lightly over Allen’s neck, the male in question tensing and jerking in response. “Are you really that paranoid to believe that no one thinks of nothing more than causing you pain?”

Allen simply jerked forward, his fists clenching as his teeth bit into the gag, wriggling his wrists in an effort to break free. He felt Viktor’s hand trace over a scar on his back and he jerked his head back, attempting to head butt the Russian. He missed, succeeding only in Viktor using his other hand to grab a fistful of his hair and keep him in place. “Do that again and I’ll leave you tied up all night.”

Viktor let the threat linger so that Allen had a moment to process it before finally releasing his hold on the ruffled mane of chocolate colored hair. He used his other hand to give the other a light shove, letting Allen fall from his lap, landing on his stomach on the wrinkled sheets of a worn down mattress. Everything about this hotel room they continuously found themselves in spoke of decay, withering away as the wallpaper peeled and the colorless t.v picked up nearly nothing more than static. Yet this was…Theirs. Something they both shared, without fight or compromise.

The Russian was cut off from his musing as Allen emitted a soft growl, attempting to slide his knees underneath himself to aid him in sitting up. Viktor halted the movement as he splayed his large palm over the other’s exposed back. “Nyet Allen. Stay down. Just be still. You will not be harmed.” To prove his point he used one hand to grasp Allen’s ankle, using it to pull one of Allen’s legs out from under him so that he settled back onto the mattress, while the other gently slid along Allen’s back, tracing circles and meaningless patterns. “See. No harm done. So just be still and let me touch.”

#hetalia #aph #2ptalia #rusame #reposhillo #fics #trl #wfsn #28

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zodiariesworld · 2 years ago

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| day 2 of living with zoe

tw: discussion of passive suicidal ideation and depression.

living is something that’s honestly been hard for me to do these past few years. i’ve been alive, but truly i’ve been actively trying to undo for that for years passively.

the harmful words i would throw at myself as i stare into the mirror comparing myself to others. anyone who breathed was competition to me.

i went into high school used to being the best. i went to a small prep school where our 6th grade class was filled with 26 people, the most it had in years. and there i was the best.

my high school classes at from 30-40 people in there. not to mention i also competed against everyone in the grade.

i hated anything with games and competitions. i hate how people acted during it, and how angry and aggressive they got. so to enter an environment where everyone was competing against each other was not for me.

that’s when i developed anxiety to an extent that was unhealthy. other girls too had this same anxiety (i went to an all girls’ high school. one of the best in the country.) but they were used to it. they thrived in competition. they encouraged it. me? i feared it.

when the anxiety hit me and i lost control of my own body to where it envolved into shakes. shakes i’ve never experienced, hospitals and tests i had to do. blood tests to the point where the needle was comforting to me. learning how to swallow pills as at least of nine of them had to go down my throat for the day.

that’s when i started to struggle to want to live. that’s when those words i’ve never said before, the voices in my head encouraging me to give up. and i did many times.

i’m not a fighter.

i don’t like to push myself past my limits.

i distinctly remember the moments when i gave up. not actively but passively yet it was still actively. i still actively hated living. i hated waking up and having to drag myself to do tests and hoping i can find some validation in them.

but now i’m pushing. slowly, but surely i’m pushing. i’m a second year uni student who is trying to figure out what the hell to do with her life. i’m trying to push to get my degree. no matter what it takes except. i’m actually taking care of myself.

doing little things like saying, “it’s okay to go to sleep if you’re tired” or “it’s okay if i don’t understand. i understand other things.”

by actually being positive, instead of saying “there’s no way i’ll pass this test.” i say “i can do it. i’ll pass it and if i don’t. i’ll do better next time and move on,”

granting myself those graces that i never gave poor 13 year old zoe is healing.

though sometimes it hurts me because i do have stuff to get done. but i allow myself to slack off a bit, because i’m tired. and my body deserves rest.

i’ll keep practicing this. it’s just me against me in this competition. being healthy is what’s best for me. i’ll keep trying my best. and i’ll keep trying to be happy. i want to be alive i realized. no matter how much it’s painful to keep trying to keep that want. i know it’ll pay off to where i’m content.

i’ll keep finding these small but certain happens in life. ☁️🩷

#livingwithzoe #self improvement #lifestyle #self motivation #living with mental illness #positive energy #Spotify

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nagalias-mindscape · 9 months ago

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So. The Tiefling party D&D adventure. This group, I swear.

My character was brewed up by the DM for me to play because he took my character and won't give her back. He's an asshole (the character, not the DM). Aarakocra Monk / Celric, level 20. One of the only level 20 characters in this multi-staged campaign.

He joined the tiefling party because he was part of the researchers who created them, and wanted to know how they were doing in a world that was biologically engineered to be against them and if creating new human-like life out of the invasive, otherworldly spores that'd infected the entire world would help with their understanding on how the virus was spreading and if it could cured.

Literally post-apocalyptic, and my DM-created character made it happen for no other reason than he was bored and curious. he holds some remorse, but that's mostly hind-sight going "We could have done it this way instead of that way". He's not upset with the results he's gotten.

My little bird boi, also, coincidentally, has very loose morals. Like, will fatally stab an orphan child if it benefited him, but will happily cast revivify on said child afterwards because- "whoops, just had to do something real quick, no hard feelings, yeah?".

The Sorcerer of the party also has loose morals. Better morals than the monk / cleric , but still some pretty terrifying things can and have been done by the sorcerers hands.

So when my character betrayed the party, seeing as I was supposed to play the BBEG for this section of the campaign, I had Dominate Person cast on me. Which I promptly failed the saving throws with a Nat 1. Between the table's laughter and the DM frantically trying to figure out how to undo this, I was given a single command.

Remove the largest threat to the party.

Now. This wouldn't be a problem for me because, under Dominate person, I am no longer the most dangerous threat to the party.

Except that I had haste cast on me the previous turn. And I can fly. That's 140ft of flight range in a single turn. I also have a spell called Banishment. Which has a range of 60ft. That's 200ft of potential area for Bird Boi to pick a target.

What I haven't mentioned is that previously, the DM ruled that if I cast Banishment on a creature carrying something, I banish only the intended creature. Not anything that it was carrying, which presumably now falls straight down towards terra firma.

I mention this, because within 200ft of us, in mid air, are two dragons. And I was told to remove the largest threat to the party. Zombie Plant Dragons are, while normally docile, still very aggressive. And very large.

And these were going to be attacking the party I had just betrayed and then force to work for.

Dragons that were carrying the reinforcements that my character had called in.

Dragons that were, until I harm them, technically my allies and not hostile towards me, thus not getting Advantage on saving throws, and Zombie Plant Dragons aren't legendary monsters in this campaign, nor do they have a very high Charisma stat.

... Dragons that I promptly banished from the material plane with a pop.

And with them banished, the allies I had called in to assist with capturing the runaway tieflings from the research labs?

yeah. They were in a metal container suspended by the dragons. They were a red paste by the time said container landed from 200ft in the air, and the allies I did have on the ground... yeah, they were at the impact zone.

... I honestly thought the DM was going to throw a fit. Because a literal army was reduced to one by their own leader on turn five. I'm more surprised the DM allowed me to target the dragons.

(His reasoning, afterwards, was that- yeah. It was a totally valid move. Bird Boi would very much take the command literally, and there's nothing saying I can't target my own allies with banishment. Even dragons- just that they have to pass a saving throw and within range of the spell and allies don't get advantage until after I've attacked them.)

I also think he's more impressed I managed to get revenge on said Sorcerer, because... uh, they forgot to bind me before arguing about the Geneva Conventions with the rouge and paladin.

... I might have given myself Resistance (cantrip) to break free, and then cast Banishment again to make the Sorcerer not-my-problem. To a different place than the dragons, mind you.

This did restart combat, but I still lost. It was just... a somewhat more even fight.

#text #d&d homebrew #tiefling party

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thisaccisdead · 4 years ago

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montreal - roman hurt/comfort

pairing: this was written to all be platonic prinxiety, but can definitely be interpreted romantically !

warnings: unconventional self harm, non-graphic descriptions of wounds/injury

summary: a post-POF roman hurt/comfort fic in january 2021? yes <3

word count: 3.2k

notes: large portions of this were salvaged from one (1) night last summer at 4am when i was having a . time. the rest has been mainly recently written before i go to bed, with some extra bits added during my history classes B)) also shout out to [REDACTED]. u may not read this but if u do, i hope u know who u are & ilu

Virgil had been trying to calm himself down for the better part of an hour, as soon as they got back from the wedding fiasco; and he was doing a relatively okay job. Considering the circumstances, at least. Or so he thought, when he registered a spike in Thomas’s anxiety. This only served to make Virgil more anxious, because he had thought he had been doing well—until, he realized it wasn’t anxiety, not exactly, not fully—and it wasn’t coming from him.

Once he'd figured that out, it wasn't hard to trace the feeling to the imagination. He paused at the door. If this was where the strongest negative emotions were coming from, he already knew which side this was about. And could he really be surprised? Roman had wanted that callback for so long. Even at the court case, even when Roman gave Thomas his sentence, Virgil knew it killed him. And Virgil didn't do anything. Because he was so fucking scared of Thomas being bad, or of Janus winning, or something, and now whatever was going on was his fault, and--

And now was not the time for these thoughts. He breathed in. He opened the door.

Immediately, he was coughing out soot, heat burned his cheeks, his eyes blurred with protective tears forming against the smoke. It was hard to see, let alone process, what was happening. Then, he caught sight of the Dragon Witch. And he caught sight of—

“Roman!” Virgil choked on the yell, coughing again.

Obviously Roman couldn’t hear him from the distance, especially considering the brutal roar of the creature. Adrenaline kicked in, and as Virgil began to sprint towards the prince, he took in the entirety of the scene with alarm. Roman was...fighting, sure, except that Virgil had seen him fight before, and this... wasn’t right. Roman bested manticore-chimeras like it was a breeze, he HAD bested the Dragon Witch herself in every form she took, “just for training.” He always moved like he was in a ballet, not a battle, like it was more for show than challenge, and now...

Virgil watched Roman fall to a hard swish of the creature’s tail, and stay there. He almost expected the Dragon Witch to take mercy, or at least, to accept an early victory. But he watched her rear back, raise a taloned hand, the magma-red in her throat glowing brighter and brighter—just as Virgil got close enough to let fight win over flight.

Virgil crashed into Roman; they rolled just far enough that the swipe of claws only ripped the edge of Virgil’s jacket.

Immediate danger out of the way, Virgil clenched his eyes tight, trying to do it how Logan taught him. He found something that didn’t make sense--the grass. The grass was dry, therefore it should have been burning, but it wasn’t. He took that foothold to dispel all the fantastical elements of the scene, Dragon Witch and all her carnage blinking from existence. The new calm of the scene was jarring.

That just left a great big field, Virgil, and one absolute dumbass.

"What the fuck, Princey?!"

Virgil’s voice was distorted with stress, and Roman stared up at him wide-eyed, unsure—even terrified in a way that hurt. Virgil quickly pushed himself up so he wasn't pinning the other. Roman tried to copy this movement, only to groan, start coughing, and fall back again.

“Shit, I—“ Virgil looked at his hands and found red on them, looked at Roman and saw the color painting his chest. “I thought I dispelled all the imaginary stuff, why—?“

“Left brain sides can only dispel so much of what right brain sides feel,” Roman said, voice rough and thin and upsettingly casual, “Since they feel so real to me, you can’t get rid of them.”

“They feel…? Christ, ok, you need a medical kit, uhm—“ Virgil closed his eyes again; he was notoriously shitty at summoning things, and he had to concentrate for this—

“That’s ok; I’ve got it,” Roman said, letting out a quiet hiss as he propped himself up on one arm, and summoned the medical kit with the other, “You can go now.”

Virgil gaped at him in disbelief. When Roman attempted to stand up, and Virgil could no longer deny he wasn’t joking, he exclaimed, “Like Hell am I going, idiot!”

Roman just stared at him, and Virgil cursed under his breath. “Ok ok, let’s just... we should do this in the bathroom, uhm—“

Virgil awkwardly clambered over to Roman again, taking his hand, so he could blink them over together. He knew it would probably be more comfortable for Roman to sink in and out, but considering Virgil wasn’t practiced at that, he wasn’t going to risk screwing it up.

They apparated into the bathtub, and Virgil scrambled up, taking the med kit from Roman's hands.

Ok, ok, now Virgil just had to remember that one time Logan lectured them all on “Side Safety.” He took a shaky breath and washed his hands quickly, before turning back to Roman. He allowed himself to fully assess the prince this time and… Jesus. He was slumped against the back of the tub, having given up his attempts at composure while he thought Virgil wasn’t looking. His litany of scrapes, cuts, bruising, his shallow breathing, and--most of all--the wet, red patch slowly growing on his shirt, sparked renewed panic in Virgil.

“Ok, fuck, ok--let’s do this,” Virgil said, mostly to himself, as he knelt down by Roman to undo his already tattered shirt and take a wet towel to his chest. He had to suck in a breath at the sight of the jagged wound, a nauseous feeling catching up to him.

“You’ve already done a lot, you know,” Roman insisted. “You can--”

“If you tell me to go, Princey, I swear I’ll make these wounds worse myself,” he said, not meaning it in the slightest, which he would assume Roman knew--but the way Roman flinched and shut his mouth told a different story. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. Of course I didn’t mean that!”

Roman glanced away, and Virgil reached to cup his cheek, an instinct he didn’t know he had. Luckily, he caught himself in time to retract his hand. They both avoided eye contact for a second; Virgil cleared his throat; and he reached for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide before pausing. He vaguely recalled Logan mentioning how strong alcohols would only cause more harm, and they should just stick to mild soap instead. He gave the cut a longer look-over—it was certainly not a pretty sight, but probably not as bad as it looked. It was large, but not too deep. Plus, as sides, it would heal itself without needing anything like stitches or professional medical work. The past scars littering Roman’s body were proof of that. Actually--had he always had this many scars? Virgil squinted. How often did he do this?

Virgil finished cleansing and bandaging the wound to the best of his ability, with little talk beyond the occasional, soft “sorry” at Roman’s winces. When he had finished, he gave Roman his hoodie (an action the Prince was too tired to take much notice of), since summoning a new shirt seemed like a waste of whatever energy he had left.

“Ok, Princey, all done. Uhm, are you—how, how are you?” Virgil mentally kicked himself.

A small, bitter smile tugged at Roman’s lips for just a moment. He opened his mouth and then closed it, and finally shrugged. “Thank you for your help.”

It hurt, Virgil realized. Roman’s quiet voice, where near-shouting was his usual speech. His unkempt hair sticking to his forehead, where it was usually styled to be very lightly and intentionally ruffled. The bags beneath his eyes where there was usually concealer. All of it hurt.

Virgil sucked in a breath. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m being annoying, but I hope you know there’s absolutely no way I’m leaving yet.”

“Virgil,” Roman almost said it as a whine, which was closer to his usual style, so Virgil considered it progress.

“Roman,” Virgil deadpanned back.

Roman huffed. “Maybe I need space to really explore my feelings, and you’re actually being a terrible friend right now,” he argued.

“Uh-huh, well being a terrible friend is always my favorite, so,” Virgil leaned down, fumbling slightly as he picked Roman up bridal style, “We’re gonna get you to bed, and you can explore your feelings by sleeping.”

“Great, now you’re damsel-in-distressing me,” Roman said sarcastically, but he leaned his head into Virgil’s chest as he did so, which kind of ruined his point.

“Yeah, yeah. Act more like Megara next time, and maybe it’ll be different.”

•••

Roman groaned upon waking up. His whole body ached, but mainly it was focused around a sharper pain in his chest. He let his eyes flutter open, only to find Virgil staring at him from his desk.

“Ah,” Roman uttered, a jumble of memories from the past few hours returning. They felt foggy and mildly icky, but mainly the pain in them was the numb kind of pain, the tired kind. Really, it was indistinguishable from the dull ache of his bruises and cuts.

“Yeah,” Virgil said, as though he understood, even though he couldn’t possibly. “Uh, wanna talk about it?”

It was clear Virgil felt awkward asking the question. It was unclear whether that was due to his tendency to be embarrassed by everything he said, or—far more likely—that he wanted to stop babying a stupid prince, and just go about his business.

Roman sat up, suppressing a wince as best he could. “Do you want to hear about it?”

“Of course I do.” Virgil said it without an ounce of hesitation. Roman’s breath caught.

“Oh.” Roman shifted slightly over, and Virgil took a seat by him on the bed. “Okay. Uhm. I don’t know, I just—I messed up.” What else was new?

“...What did you mess up?” Virgil asked, with an inkling of suspicion, like he knew what this was about. But it wasn’t that; it wasn’t the callback—that was over and done and dead. Roman had created so many fantasies, so many crazy scenarios where they could somehow still make it in that stupid movie, and it had always filled him with hope or crushing pain or something, but as of this afternoon? He didn’t even care. It didn’t matter.

So, Roman ignored the question, and instead commented, “Janus got accepted.”

“What the fuck.”

Roman observed Virgil’s stricken expression like an unsettling kind of mirror of himself when—

My name is Janus.

“Yeah,” Roman sighed, “I didn’t take it so well either.”

Virgil looked at him for a long moment, seeming to go through several series of emotions, before he was able to ask, “...What happened?”

Roman inhaled sharply. “I was wrong about being wrong about the wedding. Patton was also wrong; Janus was right, and then Patton was right because he wasn’t a total asshole to Janus, and I’m evil; Thomas hates me; whatever, you get it.”

He thought he would break down, saying it, but he felt oddly… fine. He sat, staring at the same spot as he was before, absentmindedly annoyed at the way his bandages itched. The normalcy of the situation almost made it worse. This sucked. This wasn’t even bad.This was the worst he had ever felt.

“Oook,” Virgil said, clearly not knowing where to start, “I—you—what do you mean: Thomas hates you?”

“Thought that one was self-explanatory.”

“He can’t hate you,” Virgil said with a laughable amount of conviction. “You’re still his… y’know.. goals. Desires. Hopes. Whatever. Just because this one didn’t go… perfectly, doesn’t mean you won’t keep—“ he struggled to find the phrasing for a moment— “...fighting, uh, valiantly for Thomas’s dreams!” he attempted at the encouragement with a weak smile.

Roman just shook his head. “No. I don’t know what he wants.”

Virgil’s smile dropped into confusion. “But… you are his wants.”

“That’s kind of the problem.”

Virgil seemed at a loss, and Roman felt like an asshole. Here he was trying to help him, and Roman couldn’t even be bothered to put on a smile to dismiss him from the duty.

“Please go,” Roman attempted weakly when he couldn’t find a more convincing argument in himself. He was meant to be an actor, but he knew he couldn’t hide the fact that he wanted him to stay, of course he did, so badly. He hoped Virgil would just quit with the chivalry and go despite that.

Virgil sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I'm going about this all wrong.”

Roman knew it probably wasn’t really him Virgil was mad at, but it was hard not to shrink away anyway.

“Look, Roman—“ Virgil turned to him, looked at him seriously, took his hands in his— “To be honest? I don’t care what happened. I don’t care who was right or wrong—I mean, we all know I’ve been in the wrong more than my fair share. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Roman didn��t miss the ambiguity of the end statement. “But… look, you don’t get it. When you mess up, you’re still you. You’re still...,” Roman gestured vaguely, which upset his bandages, and when he looked down at himself, he took note of the black/purple hoodie he was wearing. He melted slightly. This was exactly the point he was trying to make, “You’re still... y’know. Important.”

“Wh—? Of course you’re important, Ro. You’re creativity—“

“Thomas has two of those.”

Virgil looked at him like he was stupid. “Right, as if you’re anything like Remus.”

Roman’s lip quivered at that, and he had to look away, which was so stupid. And suddenly he felt all of the embarrassment at once—of this situation, of everything that had happened before, of the way he was about to cry, in front of Virgil, after he said that, which must look so—

“Roman?”

A hand was on his cheek, softly turning his face towards Virgil’s, though Roman still refused to meet his eyes.

Virgil cursed to himself under his breath. “Shit, this is exactly what I was trying not to say.” He sighed, and Roman hesitantly looked up at him. “Look. Even if you weren’t creativity, if you weren’t hopes or dreams or any of it—if you were a completely pointless side, which you aren’t, but if you were—I wouldn’t care. What I care about is that you’re... Roman. That you bother me until I sing Disney with you, that when you put your heart into something, you do it to a stupid amount, that you make Thomas take trashy buzzfeed soulmate quizzes when he’s stressed, and that you fucking try so hard for everything, even when I’m being a little bitch about it,” he paused. With the hand on Roman’s cheek, he traced the line of a scar down his jaw. It was one of the ones Roman usually made sure to put an illusion over, he noted offhandedly. “I care, because you’re my best friend.”

“Don’t say that,” Roman choked out. He couldn’t handle it if it was a lie, and part of him couldn’t manage hearing it as anything but exactly that. “Just—just—“

“Oh, Princey..”

Virgil held him as he broke. Roman didn’t know how long they sat like that as he let everything wash over him for a final time, let it all truly sink in at long last. He took heaving, messy sobs, no doubt ruining Virgil’s shirt in the process—he was quiet, though. He shook silently, save a couple choked breaths, in the other’s arms--that was a habit he had taught himself long ago.

When Roman had tired himself out, when all that was left was the pain in chest, (which was also suddenly duller—he was healing fast, even for a side—) he pulled back from the embrace. Virgil didn’t move by much, kept them so their fingers were laced together, as they sat staring at each other.

“Uhm. Thanks,” Roman gave a shaky smile, “You really—uh... I... I said some stupid stuff, huh?”

Virgil hesitated before he spoke, as if he knew he shouldn’t ask this right now, but needed to anyway. “...Roman, why’d you go to the Imagination?”

Roman felt ice stab at his chest upon the question. He didn’t want to do this. They had already talked about so much that he shouldn’t have gotten into; this was meant to be the part where they either parted or watched a stupid movie. And this, out of everything, was the conversation he most needed to avoid.

“Uh—I mean, to let off steam?” Roman gave a laugh as best he could. “Obviously, it didn’t go to plan—“

“Didn’t it?”

Roman’s face fell immediately. He struggled to come up with an answer, and even if he had had one, he didn’t think the sound would come out. This was enough of an answer in itself

“Shit,” Virgil breathed. Roman couldn’t help but be mildly annoyed by his surprise—clearly he had already known, he didn’t have to make it a big deal now.

“I… Princey—Roman…” Virgil looked him up and down, and Roman wanted to curl up and hide. “...how many times?”

“Not many,” Roman mumbled. Virgil must have known he was pushing the subject too far, because he just frowned and said,

“OK. I mean...it’s not OK, obviously, but you already know that, I just—“ he sighed. “Just… can you talk to me? Instead? Please? When you feel like… that.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Roman responded hastily, wanting an out from this topic.

Virgil gave him a look. “I’m serious. I mean—look, you don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want. Just, come to me first, yeah?”

Roman’s face burned; he was embarrassed; he wanted to shrug this whole thing off, or roll his eyes, or maybe scream in annoyance. But the rational part of him knew Virgil was right. “OK,” he agreed softly, “...Thanks. For everything.”

Virgil looked surprised, and then flustered, and then waved off the earnest reply. “I mean, it wasn’t--I didn’t--it’s not like I did anything really--”

“You did.”

Virgil’s face softened. “Yeah, well... you’d’ve done the same for me. You... have done the same for me.”

Roman smiled gently at him. “By the way, Virge--” He hesitated. He was about to sound like a real dumbass if Virgil had only been saying this stuff for comfort’s sake. But making a fool of himself was becoming a theme for him anyway, so he continued, “You’re my best friend too.”

I love you.

In the same beats Roman thought it, Virgil squeezed his hand lightly 3 times. A breath passed between them. An understanding. That Roman couldn’t say it out loud, and Virgil wouldn’t.

Instead, Virgil fell back across the bed, bringing Roman with him in the motion. Roman let out a startled gasp and elbowed him lightly. “Hey! I’m injured, that could have been a fatal impact for me!” he whined.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, yeah, OK. So, do you wanna watch a stupid movie, or what?”

#lucy.fic #romangst #roman sanders angst #roman hurt/comfort #prinxiety #platonic prinxiety #ts roman #ts virgil #everyone ik reading the title of this fic: ohhh my god we know u like penelope scott we know #‘we know u associate this song w roman we KNOW</3’#roman sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #also standard statement that im not a writer i just write sometimes pls do not. judge thishehusgs

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ribbononline · 4 years ago

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When the joke AU gets out of hand and now its like, a whole thing

SO uhm here is the post about the fake marriage on Pasio au! Where the whole fake marriage thing ended up becoming more of a B plot more then anything, oops. The premise kind of got lost on me as I went along.

First things first, here’s the information I gathered from the Hoenn timeline in Pokemas itself so yall know what im working with (and as a side note, if you have no idea about the basic story of Pokemon Masters, the rest of this entire post might be a little confusing);

-Brendan is Normans son, and May the daughter of professor Birch. Brendan has at least defeated Normans gym, and neither of them have met Aqua or Magma, nor Archie or Maxie.

-Magma and Aqua don’t seem to be publicly known as bad in any way.

-The meteor with Zinnia has already happened, and someone else took that destiny from her. (I’ll be honest- I never end up really explaining this here. I had no idea how to even begin making sense of this considering this is post game stuff and Brendan never even seems to have made it to the Elite Four as far as we know)

And with that ! Here’s the actual story I managed to make out of that.

-The backstories for Archie and Maxie are the same as they’d normally be. Things only get different once the ORAS plots would normally start.

Magma and Aqua both don’t commit crimes (such as orb or submarine stealing) with their uniforms on and under their team names. As such, they’re still seen as regular, legit environment organisations trying to better the region.

May and Brendan never get involved with them either. Between no meddling kids and their crimes not being tied back to them, things end up going pretty fast on their end.

-Their crimes aren’t connected nor is anyone looking into them as something bigger- right up until the orbs get stolen. Those are considered important enough artifacts to raise some attention, and so, Steven and Wallace brought on the case to investigate as the Hoenn champions.

-It’s a lot easier said then done, and while they start to suspect Aqua and Magma have something to do with it, they have no concrete proof. Still, they do their best to figure out if it’s them and what their intentions with it would be.

-Regrettably for them they are too slow. Maxie and Archie both make it to the sea cavern , and both raise their respective legendaries. Kyogre is there, Groudon is there, as a result even Rayquaza shows up. There’s a lot going on— and then, within a couple of minutes, there isn’t. All legendaries vanish into thin air, so fast that the population of Hoenn never even realised what was happening out on sea. Except for some unfortunate swimmers who never end up being believed.

Maxie and Archie feel devestated, and the Hoenn League who did notice what happened is very alarmed. Keeping the incident quiet as to not incite a panic, Steven and Wallace are pushed onto this case instead now- to locate the missing legendaries, and ensure they won’t cause any harm- and maybe figure out what caused them to awaken in the first place.

Wallace and Steven immediately link that to the orbs, and as such, Aqua and Magma. Still, they have no actual proof- no one outside their teams saw Archie or Maxie doing anything.

-The reason behind the sudden disappearances turns out to be Hoopa! Who brought all of them to Pasio. The legendaries immediately went from fighting mode into very confused mode. They don’t know where they are or what happened. Groudon ends up hiding in the volcano on the island, while Kyogre keeps to the bottom of the water surrounding the island. -Rayquaza however doesn’t hide itself- and instead, floats around on a mountain top on the island. Rumors start floating around about it, and before long Zinnia shows up and becomes a sync pair with it.

-Steven and Wallace hear Rayquaza is over in Pasio, and figure the other two might be as well- so they go over to investigate. They also talk some with Zinnia about Rayquaza, but since it appears to be fine and calm and Zinnia is not planning on giving it up, she ends up keeping it and they leave her be to search for Groudon and Kyogre instead.

-Magma and Aqua also catch wind of Rayquaza being over there, and even hear about some sightings of what appear to be Kyogre and Groudon around the island. Now the plan is to get over there and get them…. but the problem is that Steven and Wallace are both there, and they’re well aware those two suspect them- and that suddenly showing up for no reason would probably only worsen those suspicions. While the both of them have complete faith in their power as a team, they’d rather not pick a fight with two champions if they can avoid it- especially when they’re on an island full of other champions and elite four members who would probably back them up if asked.

-Going with their entire team would definitely be too suspicious. That’s out. Going with their admins might still be risky- Plus, they can’t exactly leave their teams unattended back in Hoenn. So, Maxie and Archie end up figuring that the best course of action would be for them to go alone, at least for the time being. Scout out if they can locate the legendaries and a way to get to them- and then call backup if needed.

…But if they both go alone at the same time and end up fighting each other while they’re there… it wouldn’t help their case.

-And so, after some thinking things over, Maxie ends up deciding it’d be best if they went together under a temporary truce. So off to Aqua to talk it over with Archie he goes! There, they come up with their plan; faking a marriage, and going to Pasio under the excuse of being on honeymoon. Steven and Wallace wouldn’t be expecting it, so maybe it’d throw them off track! And for the rest of the trainers on Pasio- well, who isn’t happy for a couple living their best life? With a little luck it’d immediately make people trust them a bit more.

-So to Pasio they go! Maxie takes Camerupt as his sync partner, Archie partners with his Sharpedo. They rent a little vacation home- for obvious reasons, they’ll have to live together for a while, but with a little luck they can just avoid each other most of the time. Besides, at least the ad specified there being two beds.

-They misread the ad. There’s one single two person bed. Archie is promptly demoted to sleeping on the couch.

In general, while they do well enough at faking being very affectionate and loving in front of people, the moment they’re back in their house it’s a lot of fighting.

-Steven and Wallace are not stupid, and are immediately wary when Maxie and Archie suddenly show up no matter how well they’re putting on an act. Still, there’s not a lot they can do except keep an eye on them and ensure they stay away from the areas Kyogre and Groudon are spotted.

-The rest of the island however thinks they’re nice! Look at the cute couple having fun. Good for them.

-Overall, while things are going decently okay for Archie and Maxie, Steven and Wallace constantly blocking off areas where they could gather intel and trailing their every move is really hindering their ability to be able to do much of anything. And so the four of them enter an awkward stand still, where neither can really get the other off the island.

-For a while, Maxie and Archie just try to put on the act as best as they can, to hopefully get Steven and Wallace to lower their guard. They go on ‚dates‘ together, hang out with the other people around the island, attend events together, etc. Steven and Wallace still don’t trust them for shit however, and end up pushing May and Brendan towards them in the hopes that they might be able to spot something off.

-Brendan and May have no idea what anyone is trying to do here, and actually really like Archie and Maxie. They help show them all there is on Pasio and introduce them to new people time and time again.

-Eventually, Maxie and Archie realise that this is going to take a lot longer then they were hoping for- between Steven and Wallace not budging, and the trainers on Pasio constantly keeping them busy- they’re going to need an excuse to keep staying here. And they don’t actually need to wait long! -While being a lot less aggressive and in people’s face about it, Archie still talks about the environmental impact the island has on the ocean around it a good bit to some of the other trainers there- he is leader of an environmental group focused on the sea back at home, after all! People actually start agreeing with him, to a point it even reaches Lear. Conceding something should be done, Sawyer starts working on putting a team together that would help undo the damage they’ve caused by making the oceans around the island more habitable for the Pokemon that were made homeless because of them. Archie is one of the first people to get asked to join the team- and having a job there makes a great excuse to stay a while longer. Besides, it’s still working towards his goal to some extent, so he’s down! -A bit after that Maxie ends up joining the team that made the island and is currently in charge of keeping it thriving. Same for him- the job still aligns with his ideals, so he doesn’t mind doing it.

-This was also the time Archie started having serious back pain from sleeping on the couch each night, so he took the bed as well. Maxie threatened to kick him out, Archie wished him luck with that and… well, they both just keep to their side of the bed now.

-Back at home, Magma and Aqua are being good legit environmental groups working within the law. It’s been gaining them a great reputation, and being fully legitimate and not having to fear getting charged for crimes is also very nice for the teens working as grunts there.

-And so back in Pasio, Maxie and Archie forcefully have to take a step back from their plans… to live relatively normal lives instead. Surprise surprise, it’s not actually that bad! They enjoy their jobs, they actually start making some friends, half the kids on the island seem to have adopted them as cool new uncles… and they even start fighting less in private! They can actually get along sometimes.

Eventually the realisation hits that they’re living out the lives they wanted- before they ever joined Rocket and everything went so terribly wrong. Except their marriage being ‚fake‘, this was more or less the future they envisioned… and it’s very weird to think about.

-For Maxie, he does get sad reminiscing, and reminisce he does- but as long as Archie keeps going , he’d never give up his plans. While originally raising Groudon was truly out of his ideals, over time (and when their original breakup happened) it became less about that- and more about ‚winning‘ - winning out over Archie, and proving to both himself and the other he’d been right all along. Even when the evidence started pointing towards that not being the case and Tabitha only agreeing this was a bad idea, he was so caught up in not being able to lose now he never backed down- and just reassured himself the science had to be wrong.

As long as Archie is going, so is he.

-Archie however…. Archie’s plans of flooding the world to reset it- undo the damage humanity caused by ending it entirely- were born out of feeling like there truly was no other option, truly was no other good left. Being focused on that goal every day, it wasn’t hard to stay in that mindset. But now, having to forcibly take a step back- suddenly getting to live a normal life again, with a way to help that doesn’t require death and a support system outside of Aqua… Suddenly the hope returns that maybe there is more out there- maybe there is another way to go about this.

And so, after a lot of thinking, and a lot of doubting every answer he came up with- finally he rang up Shelly and Matt to talk things over, and talk about leaving Kyogre be. Shelly was thrilled- at the end she didn’t trust his plans with Kyogre anymore anways and seeing Archie finally with agree with her on that was a big relief to her. Matt didn’t entirely understand, but Archie seemed happier with this idea, and Shelly definitely seemed happier with this idea- so he certainly didn’t mind.

Afterwards, Shelly ends up privately talking to Archie some more, where he confided a lot in her about stuff he never told her before. It was a lot to take in, and she definitely wasn’t happy about his plans having always been to more or less commit genocide on humanity without ever having told them- but at the end of the day, he’s still her friend, no damage has actually been done, and he’s finally talking to her about it so they can work it out. As such, with some help from her, Archie ends up going to therapy on the regular to help keep him in a better headset.

-After all of this, Archie pulls Maxie aside to let him know he’s giving up on Kyogre, and Maxie… just doesn’t know how to feel about it at all- doesn’t even know if he can trust him. He certainly wasn’t expecting this either way. For a while, Archie just goes about his day on Pasio, while Maxie went very very quiet, just watching him from a distance.

They both spend so much time on this- suddenly given up was something he never thought would be an option, and it’s a lot to process. Besides, Archie could be lying. ….But truthfully, he’s known the other way too long to believe that. Archie is serious about this, and it’s not particularly hard to tell.

So, after a lot of hemming and hawing, he too finally rings up Courtney and Tabitha and calls of their mission with Groudon.

Magma and Aqua are both just legit regular environmental organisations now.

-Now with that decision made, they end up talking a lot over between each other themselves. About their past, about their teams, and about what they want to do now. This is where they finally decide to actually give their relationship another chance as well. Not necessarily as a romantic relationship- thought not strictly as just friends either. They decide to just take it slow, see what they’re comfortable with, and see where it takes them from there.

(A lot of trainers in Pasio actually worry this is when they got into a fight- since they stop acting overly affectionate to put on an act, and instead get to have awkward conversations trying to rekindle their relationship. Everyone is so worried about what happened. Sorry guys, they’ll be okay)

-Though they fully intent on going back to Hoenn and their teams, they’re not in a hurry to leave and stick out their job contract which only were for about half a year total anyways. During this, even Steven and Wallace start noticing a change in them and finally lower their guard a bit. They never do end up attempting to get to the legendaries- they’re just enjoying their time here now.

-When they do finally get back to Hoenn, they merge the teams and help the land and the sea together now. Archie also ends up convincing Maxie to join him for therapy sometimes- even without them almost ending the world, they do still both have their things to work trough.

-Groudon and Kyogre just vibe on Pasio now. They let kids battle them for fun sometimes. They’re doing alright.

-Brendan and May end up visiting Archie and Maxie a lot! That’s their cool gay uncles now.

-Somewhere along the way, as time passes, they actually end up legitimising the marriage documents they faked at the very start. And they still return to Pasio from time to time to meet up with the friends they made there. :]

Apologies if any of this was messy or unclear! it was a lot to try and condense down into a single post and I did my best, but ykno. if there did appear to be smth missing feel free to shoot me a message or an ask orz also this is my second time writing this post- first time i made the stupid mistake of typing it up in browser. And after over an hour of typing this all up…. tumblr refreshed for no reason, and deleted all of it. so writing this all a second time has been even harder then the first. ;; it hurt so bad.

Also, I do have a lot of thoughts n ideas abt the actual relationships they end up having w other characters on the island, but I’m saving that for another post! With the premise of Pasio there’s just so much potential to stuff all these diff characters from diff games into a place togehter and i want to make the most of that- so its prolly gonna b another long post lmao. i wont make this one even longer then it already is, so diff post it is

just know that they did in fact once see Giovanni on the island, and they almost ended up throwing hands.

(bonus; the link to the page where I keep all my oras HC posts and comics sorted)

#oras #pokemon oras #magma leader maxie #team magma maxie #team aqua archie #aqua leader archie #hardenshipping #fuck man #i was done w the OG post at 3am #n i was gonna go to bed #then it self destructed #its 5am now. i hate it here #AT LEAST ITS DONE. HELP #welcome to the shitshow <3 where i write up a Lot #i hope this makes sense ! it took uh. too much time #n i cant wait to get to character interactions wwwww #i like how the premise was a fake marriage au for funni hijinks then it immediately became the B plot #i promise the funni hijinks exist. theyre just more minor n as such not included in full on writeup posts where i have to keep an entire #plot going lmao #ok i post this now before the site crashes again #also i meant to get done on the starting the teams main timeline hc post first but #brainwaves suddenly hit hard for this one KJHFDS #i was bored one day at work n the brain was like congrats. we r making this a serious au now #n i was like HUH

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jaskicr · 5 years ago

Text

fae witcher jaskier

aka the most self indulgent thing i’ve ever written in my entire life as i combine my favourite tropes of fae jaskier, witcher jaskier, and identity porn

the school of the manticore is experimenting with alchemical formulas to create witchers, not just from humans, but from other humanoid creatures as well (such as elves, fae, and vampires)

jaskier is a curious fae who wanders into the human world, but he’s taken by some manticore witchers and experimented on

but they didn’t expect him to be such a powerful fae and he resists their efforts to experiment on him, so to subdue him, they brainwash him

they take his memories of being fae, making him docile, and successfully turn him into a witcher

the mutations make jaskier’s fae features even more prominent - he has pointed ears, horns, deadly sharp teeth, claws, and he’s very tall, with fully black eyes (like he’s under the effects of a potion) and white hair

due to this, he’s ostracised even amongst the witchers in the manticore school - with the exception of those who experimented on him, they all think that the mutations made him monstrous and they don’t know that he’s fae

at this point, he’s mutated beyond both a fae and a witcher, he’s clearly neither - fae features are generally delicate and elegant, whilst jaskier’s have been made deadly and lethal by the mutations

with the brainwashing, jaskier is very compliant and he lets the witchers train him without complaint

he’s very good at signs, and he’s able to do magic outside of the signs for reasons that he doesn’t know

his trainers are afraid of his magic and try to suppress it, but jaskier’s magic is too connected to nature for them to sever the bond

so when he finally sets out on the path, his trainers keep a really tight leash on him, knowing that his power could mean that he might break out of their control and go back to the fae

jaskier’s appearance is so obviously other that he’s immediately hated by humans, but because of the brainwashing, he’s very passive in the face of their hatred

he just weathers the horrible things that humans call him and how they assault him, and it doesn’t even hurt him because he’s so conditioned not to feel anything

this happens for many years, with jaskier taking contracts and enduring the hatred from humans, and returning to the manticore keep to be conditioned/brainwashed further every winter

one day, tissaia stumbles upon this fae/witcher whose mind is completely and utterly blank, and it just feels wrong

and she knows that whoever did this to jaskier must have been unspeakably cruel, so she takes him in

jaskier is very confused by tissaia’s actions - on the one hand, he’s so used to be docile and passive that he doesn’t want to resist tissaia, but she’s not his trainer so he knows that he shouldn’t trust her

but tissaia calms him, treating him far more gentle than anyone has ever treated him, and jaskier’s instincts tell him to trust her

tissaia quickly grows fond of jaskier, who’s inhumanly tall and monstrous but oh-so-sweet and gentle, and she slowly undoes his brainwashing and helps him become more human

but jaskier’s trainers realise that his brainwashing is being undone, and they decide to go after him

tissaia, who’s now become protective of jaskier, portals them far away, refusing to let them take him

jaskier is slowly coming to his senses and regaining his memories as they escape, and he becomes desperate not to go back to his trainers

they stumble upon vesemir, who takes one look at jaskier and decides to adopt him, and the three of them run all over the continent to escape jaskier’s trainers, who want jaskier back under their leash

but tissaia becomes exhausted, and she tells jaskier that the only way he can escape his handlers is to let her strip all their brainwashing/conditioning from him completely

but it might take years or even decades, and it would hurt his body a lot, so she offers to transfer his consciousness to a human body while she works on healing his witcher body/mind

and jaskier agrees, because he’s so close to remembering his fae family and fully regaining his magic, and he refuses to be under the control of the manticore school again

so he’s reborn as julian alfred pankratz in lettenhove, while tissaia and vesemir fake jaskier’s death and spread rumours of it across the continent

jaskier, now human, grows up without any knowledge of his past, even after he goes to oxenfurt, even after he starts travelling with geralt

tissaia checks in on jaskier every once in a while, and vesemir asks after the bard who’s travelling with geralt to keep tabs on jaskier

however, tissaia hadn’t anticipated how strong the brainwashing had been, so it’s taking decades for her to strip it away without utterly destroying jaskier’s mind

one day, geralt is hunting a fae, who lures geralt and jaskier into the fae realm

the fae realm somehow manages to connect to jaskier’s consciousness/his magic, and all of a sudden he regains his memories from his life in the fae realm (but not his memories from being a witcher)

so he remembers growing up as a fea, he remembers his family, but there’s a huge gap between that and his life as a human bard

as geralt is trying to find the fae, jaskier is stumbling around, confused by his identity and his sudden influx of memories, but he knows that something is missing

while this happens, tissaia feels a surge of magic in jaskier’s real body and realises that something must have happened, and jaskier’s body starts destabilising

and she knows that she needs to put jaskier’s consciousness back into his body before it implodes due to the magic

meanwhile, as jaskier stumbles through the fae realm, recognising different places that he used to go to, he suddenly catches a glimpse of his sister, all grown up

and he tries to leave geralt to talk to her and tell her that it’s him, but right before he can do that, tissaia grabs his consciousness and yanks it back into his real body

jaskier’s human body drops dead once his conciousness leaves it, and geralt hears his breathing and his heartbeat stop, and he grieves

in a fit of grief and fury, he hunts down and kills the fae who had lured them here

this angers the rest of the fae, and geralt is quickly overpowered by them and he’s taken to a dungeon

and he just sort of accepts his fate, letting them take him without putting up a fight, because jaskier is dead

as he’s awaiting trial, geralt thinks that he won’t even mind being exeuted. after all, jaskier is gone, and what’s the point?

at the same time, jaskier wakes up in his real body with tissaia hovering over him, his last memory being seeing his sister and being in the fae realm with geralt

all his memories return to him in one go, and it’s so overwhelming to have three lives (fae, witcher, bard) in his head and jaskier has a bit of an identity crisis

and then he remembers that geralt is alone in the fae realm, which immediately makes him forget about his identity crisis for the moment as he readies himself to go after geralt

tissaia tries to stop him, telling him that he needs to recover, but jaskier needs to get to geralt right now

when he tries to walk, he stumbles a bit, forgetting how tall he is in his real body, but he powers through - even if his coordination is awful, he needs to go and save geralt. who knows what the fae could have done to him by now?

and he portals himself to the fae realm where he left geralt behind, only to see his own dead body, and the dead body of the fae that geralt had been hunting - but no one else

when he smells geralt’s tears, he realises what must have happened, and he panics since the fae must have taken geralt, but he doesn’t know where

he tracks down his sister, who doesn’t recognise him at first due to the changes the mutations had given him, but when she does, she launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly in a tearful reunion

(it’s very cute, jaskier is tall enough that he dwarfs her and can pet her head)

jaskier’s sister tells him what happened to geralt, and jaskier heads off to save his witcher

none of the fae expect geralt to be rescued, so it’s laughably easy for jaskier to sneak to the dungeon and find geralt

and while he’s on the way to the dungeon, jaskier wonders whether geralt would hate him now that he’s little more than a monster

so when he does find geralt, jaskier pretends not to know him, and due to jaskier’s different appearance, geralt doesn’t recognise him despite a faint sense of familiarity

he’s confused why this large, not-quite-a-fae is helping him, and geralt can tell that he’s sort of a witcher, but not really

but jaskier’s dead, and geralt really doesn’t want to be rescued, so he pleads, ‘please, leave me to die’

jaskier is horrified and picks geralt up, knowing that he can’t just let geralt die, and geralt is fighting him - he doesn’t even know this fae/witcher

jaskier portals them to his sister’s house, and geralt passes out from his injuries

jaskier and his sister patch geralt up, all while his sister teases him for having a crush on geralt, which jaskier tries (and fails) to deny

when geralt is unconscious, jaskier sings to him, the way he always had whenever he used to treat geralt’s injuries after a hunt

and geralt, fading in and out of consciousness, thinks he hears jaskier, but surely that can’t be true - after all, jaskier’s dead

when he fully regains consciousness, he sees the large fae witcher who’d rescued him

‘who the fuck are you?’ he demands, slightly pissed that he hadn’t been left for the dead

and jaskier, who still doesn’t want geralt to know who he is, panics and introduces himself as julian

it takes him a while, but jaskier manages to convince geralt that he’s trustworthy - after all, the fae can’t lie, and when jaskier tells geralt that he’s safe, that he doesn’t mean any harm, geralt tentatively relaxes

with geralt still injured, he can’t leave the house even though he just wants to go back to kaer morhen and grieve jaskier, so he stays

jaskier helps him around the house whenever he needs to get around, and geralt is too weak to stand on his own, so he leans on jaskier as he walks (jaskier is tall enough that geralt only comes up to his chest, which geralt finds very nice and warm)

and as days pass, geralt realises that, despite his imposing size, julian is soft and gentle and caring, and it makes his head spin, because only jaskier has ever been this gentle to him

meanwhile, jaskier is having an internal crisis - over his identity, over his memories, but also over geralt

because he knows that geralt thinks he’s dead, so jaskier concludes that he can pretend to be a whole new person who’s decidedly not jaskier, and geralt would never know - after all, jaskier’s human body is dead

and jaskier thinks that’s better for both of them, because he doesn’t want to taint geralt’s memories of human jaskier since he’s a monster now

jaskier’s sister is just done with him, she tries to slap some sense into him but he insists on not telling his true identity to geralt

so geralt feels safe around julian in a way he’s only ever felt around jaskier, but he doesn’t suspect anything

(there’s one morning when geralt wakes up to julian spooning him from behind, and he feels so safe, so cared for. he feels seen)

as he recovers, he realises that he really doesn’t want to leave - julian is so nice to him, and geralt wants nothing more than to stay here with julian

but part of geralt feels like he’s betraying jaskier, even though he’s dead - julian makes him feel like jaskier did, and gods, he misses jaskier so much

so geralt pretends that he’s reocvering slower than he really is, and jaskier pretends not to know what geralt’s doing, and one day, geralt stumbles and falls backwards, and jaskier catches him

geralt realises that their faces are really close as he stares into endless black eyes, and he’s unable to stop himself from pulling julian into a kiss

all while he tries not to feel guilty about it, because he feels like he’s kissing jaskier, but it’s julian

and jaskier is stunned that geralt would even want to kiss him in this form, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he kisses back, and internally decides that he won’t ever tell geralt who he really is

jaskier and julian can be two separate people - let geralt remember jaskier as a human, not a monster

after that, they get closer and more intimate, and jaskier tells geralt about his trials and what the manticore school had done to him

geralt’s heart aches for this kind man who’s been through so much, who’s suffered so much, and yet, he’s still so gentle and caring

he asks how julian how he’s escaped the manticore school and regained his memories, and jaskier panics

‘... um...’ he stutters. ‘... magic?’

and geralt gets slightly suspicious because julian is hiding something, and he tries not to think about the fact that julian has the same tell that jaskier did when he was lying

geralt knows that julian physically can’t lie, but clearly, he’s hiding the truth, but julian keeps avoiding the question whenever geralt asks, making him more suspicious, but he decides that julian can have this secret

after all, it’s not harming geralt or anything, and he trusts julian

then geralt fully recovers, and he’s reluctant to leave julian, so he shyly asks julian to join him on the path so they can go witchering together

of course jaskier agrees, beyond joyful that geralt wants his company, even now, and before they leave, jaskier’s sister tries to talk sense into him one more time, but jaskier is still too dumb to listen to her

as they set out on the path, jaskier realises just how much he misses singing, how much he misses playing the lute

he hasn’t sung since rescuing geralt, since he doesn’t want geralt to recognise his voice, and he hasn’t played his lute since it was broken by the fae after his human body died

besides, he can’t really hold a lute now - he’s too big, and it would break in his hands

as they sit together one night, geralt quietly tells julian about jaskier, his heart aching and grieving

when jaskier freezes up, geralt thinks that he’s jealous and gently teases him for that, despite the pain in his heart as he tries not to compare how similar they are

in fact, jaskier’s just panicking a lot, and he tries to act normal

they’re both really dumb

that night, jaskier is lying awake when he suddenly hears geralt having a nightmare about losing jaskier

he’s whimpering, voice pained and fearful, ‘no, please, jaskier, please don’t go, i can’t lose you -’

and jaskier tries to soothe geralt, but it doesn’t work and geralt thrashes harder, going deeper into the nightmare

then jaskier remembers that the only way he used to be able to calm geralt down from a nightmare was to sing, and he can’t bear to thrash and scream in his sleep, filled with grief and anguish

so jaskier sings

he sings geralt’s favourite songs, the ones that always loosened geralt’s shoulders and made him smile, and as he watches geralt relax, he falls asleep as well

the next morning, geralt wakes up before jaskier, remembering his nightmare, and he knows that he heard jaskier’s voice

grief almost threatens to overwhelm him because he must have hallucinated jaskier’s voice, but then he realises that if the singing hadn’t been real, he wouldn’t have been able to return to sleep, and he would’ve woken up instead

so geralt knows that someone must have sung to him - had julian sung to him

and he twists to look at julian, who’s curled around him, and he looks closer

geralt thinks of the way julian would hold him gently, the way only jaskier had, thinks of the way julian made him smile and laugh the way jaskier did, thinks of how only julian and jaskier had ever cared for him like that

and it makes sense now, why julian had kept a secret about regaining his memories, because it must have been tied to jaskier somehow, and it makes sense why julian decided to just come and rescue him

jaskier is alive, and geralt hadn’t known

but jaskier is real, and he’s here, and though geralt is mad that jaskier hadn’t told him, his joy at jaskier being alive makes him forget his anger

when jaskier wakes up, blinking blearily at geralt with a soft, lazy smile, geralt says, ‘jaskier?’

and he prays that he’s right, because he’ll be shattered if jaskier is truly dead -

and jaskier responds, exhaustion slurring his words, ‘yes, geralt?’

then he realises what he did, and he freezes, but geralt gentle pulls him into a kiss, and jaskier relaxes

‘why did you never tell me?’ geralt asks when he pulls away, light and buoyant with love and joy

jaskier has no choice but to confess

‘i didn’t want you to remember my human self as a monster,’ jaskier murmurs, looking away. ‘i wanted to keep jaskier and julian separate, so i wouldn’t taint your memories of me.’

‘you’re not a monster,’ geralt says fiercely, tracing jaskier’s face with gentle fingers, tracing over his horns and his ears, brushing under his eyes and over his teeth.

‘but i am,’ jaskier insists, spreading his arms. ‘look at me, geralt. how am i not a monster? why would you want to remember me, my human self, as this - this monstrous thing?’

geralt’s heart breaks for him, and he tugs jaskier into a tight embrace, peppering him with kisses.

‘you’re beautiful,’ geralt whispers, and jaskier sucks in a breath at the sincerity in his voice. ‘you’re not a monster, jaskier. and i’ll love you no matter who you are, no matter what you look like. it doesn’t matter to me.’

‘even like - like this?’ jaskier asks, vulnerable, as he gestures to his too-large body, to his mutated features.

‘especially like this,’ geralt says, and kisses him

as jaskier wraps his arms around geralt, and geralt tips his head up to meet jaskier’s lips, they feel warm, they feel loved, they feel whole

(afterwards, they travel the continent together, hunting monsters and killing the people who had experimented on jaskier, and they get a glamour for jaskier so he can be a bard again, they get married on the coast and they live happily ever after)

someone once asked how many AUs of i have often dreamed of a far off place can i write, and i think that this might be my third one... with a fourth version that i dumped into the wj server earlier today oops?

#geraskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #fae jaskier #witcher jaskier #witcher!jaskier #buffskier #mine*#thank you to the rbb server for suggesting this wonderful thing #i spent an hour typing this into the wj server and another hour compiling this into a post

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