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yandere-daydreams · 11 months ago

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file #1: the piss fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!neuvillette x reader (genshin).

length: 3.2k.

warnings: fem!reader, non/con, omorashi, semi-public sex, humiliation/degradation play, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, and unbalanced power dynamics.

The first sign that something was deeply, deeply wrong should’ve been the small glass bottle perched on the edge of your bedside table – filled to the brim with water so clear and so pristine that you might’ve thought it was empty, had you been a touch more optimistic.

You blinked once, then twice before summoning the strength to sit up, confusion and well-earned paranoia fighting to clear the fog over your exhaustion addled mind. Neuvillette stood at the foot of your bed, already dressed and currently focused on securing his cravat with a pointed intensity, or so he seemed to want you to believe. “What��s that?”

“Water. Fresh from the finest springs in Fontaine.” He allowed for a lengthy pause, then went on. “Admittedly, I thought you would’ve been more familiar with the concept.”

“I know what—” You started to defend yourself, then thought better of it – gritting your teeth as you snatched the bottle from the tabletop. It was odorless, unclouded, and as far as you could tell, containing a negligible amount of a foreign entity’s bodily fluids. All good signs, but Neuvillette wasn’t the caretaker type, and he knew you weren’t the type to want to be taken care of. You’d learned, over time, that any explicit display of his fondness for you was to be followed immediately by a demand that you reciprocate that fondness or, more realistically, grit your teeth and bear it while he poured further ‘affection’ onto you. “Is it… Is it supposed to be for me?”

“If you’d like for it to be.”

“And you didn’t put anything—”

“Please, love.” His voice was flat, but gentle. “I’d hate to find myself in the middle of an interrogation so early in the morning.”

You were more than tempted to refuse, but your dry throat and bleary mind provided ample motivation. With no small amount of reluctance, you brought the mouth of the bottle to your lips before pulling it away just as quickly, sending Neuvillette a half-hearted glare. “What are you getting out of this?”

At that, he folded. There was an airy sigh, a slight shake to his head, a notable pause before his answer – less hesitant and more measured, tempered. “As long as you’re under this roof rather than that of the Fortress of Meropide, you’re within my guard. That means your health and well-being is my responsibility, as well as your containment.” You opened your mouth, but he went on before you had the chance to cut in. “Left to your own devices, you’re prone to neglecting yourself. Is it so wrong of me to want to correct that?”

You shrunk into yourself, glowering. You could’ve done without the reminder that he saw your personality as something to ‘correct’, but compared to his methods, nudging you towards hydration was a negligible offense. “Fine,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. “But don’t get it into your head that I’m some… some incompetent child that’s going to start crying for your help every five seconds.”

His only response was a soft smile, as tender as it was ingenuine.

A member of his personal staff left your breakfast (Neuvillette never ate with you – in fact, you were beginning to wonder if he ate at all) in front of the door a few minutes later, and Neuvillette made sure you’d finished the bottle of water, everything on the tray, and an additional glass of bulle fruit juice before he let you dress. Usually, you were allowed to entertain yourself while he attended to his responsibilities as the Iudex, but today, you were taken by the hand and guided to his office – keeping your eyes on the floor as you passed by the secretaries and bureaucrats that populated most of the Palais Mermonia’s administrative floors. You might’ve had Neuvillette’s favor (however much you could’ve gone without it), but in Fontaine, a criminal record wasn’t an easy thing to erase. You tried not to draw too much attention from those who surely thought you should’ve been buried underneath the nearest ocean and forgotten. “I miss you most in the dull hours of the early morning,” he said, when you asked him why you were being denied your usual freedoms. “Bear with me just this once, and I might be able to find time for a stroll through the palace gardens, this afternoon.”

No part of you wanted to spend your day rotting on a loveseat in a dusty corner of his frigid office, but the promise of being able to step outside (a privilege you were rarely afforded) was irresistible. You dutifully nursed a lukewarm cup of bland peppermint tea as he sorted through decade-old casefiles, made a show of gulping down a mug of hot chocolate brought to you by a doe-eyed melusine while Neuvillette reviewed evidence for an upcoming trial, and managed to hold a strained smile when a man with a wide smile and a jarring laugh stopped by with two armfuls of vintage wines – gifts for the Iudex from a wealthy merchant hoping to buy for the favor of Fontaine’s most influential. Since Neuvillette didn’t have a taste for anything with more flavor than morning dew, you were called over to sample each in generous portions as their conversation stretched on and on and on.

By the time the man took his leave, your thoughts were fuzzy around the edges, your lips were stained red, and there was a pressure on your lower stomach that you didn’t care for. You made it about a minute, then another after his departure before pushing yourself to your feet and starting for the door. If you were quick, you shouldn’t have to weather the disdainful looks of too many of Neuvillette’s—

“Dearest?”

You cursed under your breath, glancing over your shoulder. Neuvillette spared a small smile when he caught your eye, tapping his knee. “If you have a moment?”

Your grin faltered. “I… I was hoping to—”

“It’s rather important.”

You pursed your lips, but relented. You’d already done your time. You weren’t going to jeopardize your reward, now.

Irritation written clearly across your expression, you made your way to Neuvillette and, with another tap to his thigh by way of command, clambered into his lap. He positioned you to his preferences; Your legs thrown over one armrest while your back rested against the other, your shoulder pressed gingerly to his chest – the contact minimal, but enough to earn a sigh, a feather-light kiss to your cheek. One of his hands settled on your waist while the other cupped your chin, tracing over your jaw for a moment before dropping lower – to the lace of your low neckline, then your stomach, where it settled. You tried not to squirm as he lowered his head, his cold breath fanning over your neck before his lips came to rest against the side of your throat. “Such a beautiful thing,” he muttered, his voice low enough to reverberate against your skin. “I’ll have to get you another dress in this color. It’s unbearable, just how lovely it looks on you.”

The praise was far from alien, but no less frigid for its familiarity. Whereas his wardrobe seemed to contain only the harshest of blacks, the purest of whites, and the richest of blues, he favored you in softer tones, faded pastels and desaturated hues that always made you feel like a doll, buried in sheets of silk and lace and left to gather dust on a forgotten shelf. The style, too, was a distinct departure from what he preferred for himself; all plunging necklines and full skirts and lacey bodices pulled so tight, you were tempted them to a proper corset. It was far from immodest, even for a setting so formal, but the length of your skirt never seemed to stop his hand from slipping under the many layers of fine material, his gloved fingers skirting over the length of your clothed slit. You felt his lips ghost over the side of your neck, the points of his unnaturally sharp teeth grazing over your jugular, but you shoved him away before he could make contact. “Wait, Neuvillette, I—I don’t—”

Your voice gave out, and Neuvillette raised his head curiously. “Is something wrong, my love?”

“I… I, uh…” You balled your fists in your lap. “I can’t, right now.”

You couldn’t remember ever seeing his smile so wide. “You… can’t?”

“Shut your mouth,” you mumbled, face burning with humiliation. “I… I have to use the restroom.”

It sounded so pathetic, so childish. More out of embarrassment than anything, you moved to stand, but Neuvillette’s sudden stock of mercy had evidently run dry. With an airy laugh, his arm found its way to your waist, his hand slipping under the thin fabric of your panties. Now, he chose not to waste time – the pad of his thumb finding your clit and pushing slow, languid circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves. You couldn’t temper your reaction, your elbow jutting into his chest as you jerked away from his abrupt touch, but Neuvillette held you tight, his fingertips digging into your hip as two of his fingers skimmed over your entrance, the leather of his gloves smooth and freezing against your cunt. Your stomach ached, your eyes flitting unconsciously towards the very much unlocked door of his office, but if Neuvillette noticed your lasting hesitancy, it wasn’t enough to stop him from pressing a lingering, open-mouthed kiss into the corner of your jaw, then the crook of your neck. Usually, you tried to bear his unwanted affection with a silent grimace, but you couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably as he gathered the arousal slowly starting to drip down your thighs. “Neuvillette, I don’t want to—”

“Hush, now. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Another kiss, this one to the dip of your shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about anything, I’ll take care of you.”

“I’m not worried, I’m—” You started to protest, but Neuvillette cut you off with a sudden nip to the tender patch just above your jugular. You weren’t enjoying this, you didn’t want to enjoy anything, but it would’ve been impossible not to feel something as his cool breath fanned over your neck, your chest, as his thumb fell away and he ground the heel of his palm into your clit, drawing a pained whine out of the back of your throat.

It took a conscious effort to keep your mind off of the fullness sitting heavy in the base of your stomach, to stop yourself from squirming quite so pitifully as he pushed two fingers into you with a cruel sort of ease. His pace was just as slow as it had been when he was only toying with your clit, but you didn’t know whether to curse or be thankful for the lethargic, ebbing way he pumped his digits into you, only ever pausing to spread them apart when his knuckles were flush to your entrance, when he knew he’d be taking advantage of the most vulnerable parts of you. Despite his vice-like hold on your waist, it took a considerable effort to stop yourself from swaying, from shifting, from moving in any way beyond the little, inevitable bucks of your hips you just couldn’t seem to suppress when his fingers brushed against that soft, sensitive spot inside of you. Moving only made it worse. Everything only seemed to make it worse, and it was only getting harder to ignore the pressure mounting against the walls of your bla—

Without warning, the hand on your waist fell to your hip. On moment, you were laid across his lap, and the next, you were straddling his thighs, your back pressed against his chest and your ass slotted against the now unignorable bulge in his pants. Whatever complaints you might’ve had about the previous angle were tripled in an instant. A third finger was forced into your cunt alongside the last two, the stretch immediately turning from awkward to unbearable. You thought you’d gotten used to the size of his hands, his monstrous tongue, even his twin cocks, but suddenly, it was like you were being forced to take him for the first time again, every new quirk and flick of his wrist bringing tears to your eyes, drawing fractured whimpers from deep in your chest. You tried to raise your hands, to cover your face, to make the thought of crying in front of him for the first time in months that much less devastating, but Neuvillette was faster – his hand finding your chin, tilting your head back and tearing away any foolish thoughts you might’ve had about hiding from him. His mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise your lips, his tongue shoving its way past your teeth and raking over your own with an almost zealous desperation – a type he rarely showed. His mouth moved against yours for a second, then another before he let out a throaty growl, the noise rough and gravely. If it hadn’t known it was coming from such a refined man, you might’ve taken it for that of an animal. “You still taste like that bastard’s grime.” It was the angriest you’d ever heard him. “To taint such divine purity with such wretched filth – it should be a crime, no, a sin.”

And yet, he was already reaching for the wine glass on the corner of his desk – still half full of a sugared white variety, nearly colorless if it wasn’t for the slight, pinkish tint to its hue. You tried to twist away as he raised the glass to your mouth, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and it only took a few seconds for him to slot the curved rim against your lips, to tilt the glass back and fill your mouth with sickeningly sweet alcohol. It was too hasty, too clumsy – wine splashing against your face, trickling out of the corner of your mouth despite your feeble attempts to swallow it down and save yourself just an ounce of further embarrassment. You’d barely managed a mouthful when Neuvillette’s patience gave out – the glass falling away, shattering on the floor of his office as his hand dropped to your midriff, groping at your bloated stomach while his fingers pounded into your aching core. “Stop,” you managed, between broken moans. “Stop, Neuvi’, I can’t— I don’t want to— Stop.”

He let you whine and mewl, twisted and thrash, but it didn’t make a difference. Neuvillette only nuzzled into the nape of your neck, laughing as he spoke over your pitiful noises. “It’s alright, love,” he muttered, the harsh edge of his tone softened by heady affection. “You don’t have to fight it. I promise, I’ll take care of you.”

You tried to reach for the edge of his desk, to make one last desperate attempt to pull yourself away from him, but it was already too late. You clenched your eyes shut as you came undone on his fingertips, as some badly beaten wall inside of you finally gave out and an awful, awful warmth sopped into the fabric of your gown and trickled down your thighs. You didn’t want to look, didn’t want to know how bad the damage was, but as Neuvillette nursed you through your stilted climax, you couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling open and dropping to the dark stain slowly spreading in the lap of your skirt, couldn’t stop yourself from hearing Neuvillette’s deep, rumbling groan as your… your accident began to soak into the priceless fabric of his pants. This time, he didn’t stop you when your hands shot up to cover your face, to muffle your broken cries as he finally drew back, pulling out of you entirely for the first time since he hauled you into his lap.

There was a second of stillness, of sweet-nothings muttered into the curve of your throat, but whatever relief you might’ve been able to feel was quickly replaced with a jarring, painful sort of vertigo as Neuvillette’s hands fell to your hips and he lifted you onto his desk – your chest pressed flat to the chilled wood and your ass raised high enough for your shirts to pool around your waist. You sobbed unabashedly as your ruined panties were torn away entirely, as the flat of Neuvillette’s tongue ran over the length of your slit, his saliva only adding to the terrible blend of slick and piss and mess leaking out of you. Any concerns he might’ve held for your pleasure were forgotten as he lapped and licked at your pussy, his tongue fucking shallowly into your cunt as his fingertips bit into your waist. If your nerves hadn’t been so fried, if your mind hadn’t been so clouded with embarrassment and despair and pure, undiluted humiliation, you wouldn’t have been able to feel anything worth salvaging, but somehow, you found little, wavering moans breaking through your incoherent sobbing, something other than pain and pressure beginning to coil in the pit of your stomach. You buried your face in your arms as you clenched around his tongue against your will, as Neuvillette left you whimpering and grinding against his mouth, helpless to stop your pathetic body from doing anything he wanted it to.

It was only when the final aftershocks of your second climax faded and the first pangs of piercing overstimulation began to set in that he pulled away, panting as he straightened his back. He didn’t so much collapse onto you as deliberately drape his form over yours – his chest pressing into your back as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “Perfect,” he mumbled, voice distant, dream-like. “So perfect for me. You did beautifully.”

Your only response was another wobbling cry, a trembling sniffle. You couldn’t so much as imagine attempting to stand on your own, but Neuvillette didn’t seem to need you to. With one arm wrapped around your midriff and the other underneath the bend of your knees, he pulled you against his chest and hummed softly as you sank into his shoulder, your ruined dress falling into place like a leaden shroud around you. You decided, in that moment, that you would burn it as soon as possible, as thoroughly as possible. Neuvillette’s chambers didn’t have a fireplace and you’d never found so much as a candle within the walls of the Palais Mermonia, but that didn’t matter. You’d get rid of it if you had to break down the furniture for kindling.

“Can I…” You melted further into him, your eyes drooping before shutting entirely. “Can I go back to my room, please?”

“Soon enough.” He pressed a tender, lingering kiss into your temple. In your dazed state, you could nearly miss the scrape of pointed fangs against delicate skin, as he pulled away.

“I believe I promised you a walk through our gardens, first?”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #genshin imagines #yandere neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #yandere neuvillette x reader

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seat-safety-switch · 23 days ago

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"Oh shit, my career!" shouted one of the interns in the bullpen when it becomes obvious immediately what had happened. Yes, Justin. You had now learned a new and uncomfortable truth about working for the Man, and your working life will never be the same again. And it all started because he didn't follow the mandatory security training that every employee needs to click through while half-paying attention.

Yes indeed. In a past life, I was an information-technology security specialist. For those of you in the back who have led worthwhile existences, these words may not make sense to you. Others are not so lucky, and at this moment are rolling their eyes, or looking for the closest exits. We are, or were, the folks who force you to use a password that isn't "password," and stop sending emails containing the company's bank information to Inner Somalia.

Being in information security is a lot like being a regular old computer nerd, except you're also incredibly paranoid. Imagine you live in a house full of vicious, murderous ghosts that only you can see, and all your family members keep doing horror movie cliche shit like leaving the doors open, shaking genie lamps they find in the parking lot, and reciting "Bloody Mary" three times into a bathroom mirror. You gotta keep them safe, which slowly drives you insane over the course of, oh, about your first six weeks of employment. After that, you've basically just given up and are like the hardened firefighters who respond to grisly highway accidents with an encyclopedic knowledge of what kind of solvent cleans what kind of human fluid off the roadway.

Back to Justin: part of our paranoia involved doing elaborate role-playing exercises. Some of our nerds would pretend to be a different kind of nerd, and try to talk themselves into places they didn't belong. The idea is that a horrible criminal or cyberterrorist could also use this rarefied power ("Hi, I'm the guy who is supposed to fix the servers. They're not serving. Please show me where the servers are, and leave me alone with them for several hours") and we needed to figure out who was dumb enough to fall for it. Justin was dumb enough to fall for it.

If only he had paid attention to the mandatory security quiz that we made him click through, this all could have been avoided. Everything ended up well for him, though. The whole experience made Justin incredibly, violently paranoid, which made him a perfect candidate to become a information technology security specialist. The system works!

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marcyvamp1re-blog · 1 month ago

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ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 ! ⺌ . ⸺ NPE!

PART ONE! | Volume I

Synopsis; "So, you’re an alien, huh?" Yeah, sure, maybe you’re a little... different. But honestly, who isn’t? The earthlings think you’re weird? Nope. It’s just that they’re a bunch of clueless humans, totally missing the point. You, on the other hand, have a higher calling. A mission to discover the meaning of life—you know, the whole ‘why am I here, and what am I supposed to be doing’ thing. Simple, right?

Except, uh... there’s a small hiccup. You don’t even know what species you are, because someone forgot to leave the alien instruction manual. Oops. So, while you’re out there doing some random side gig (you know, the one that might help you find out more about your roots and, oh yeah, pay the rent), you accidentally get tangled up in the lives of two earthlings.

Of course, you swear to protect them because, well, you kind of owe them. Maybe. Or maybe not. Who’s to say? Either way, your purpose might get a little... distracted. But hey, priorities, right?

Pairing ── Dan Da Dan x Alien! Fem/Neutral? Reader.

Content. MDNI ── Manga Spoilers, Violence/Death, Blood, Invasion of Privacy, Invasion of Mind, Abduction, Kidnapping, Angst, Murder, Disturbing Content, Corruption, Isolation,Paranoia, Manipulation, Unintended Time Travel Mishaps, Alien Romance Tropes, Sudden Existential Crises, Unexplained Tentacle Appearances, Turbo Granny's Sass, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Gravity-Defying Physics, Psychic Overload, Ambiguous Yōkai Allegiances, Excessive Hair-Related Powers, Sudden Dance Battles in Crisis, Outdated Alien Fashion Choices, Malfunctioning Spacecraft Humor, Intense Staring Contests, Time-Dilated Cliffhangers, Overwhelming Amounts of Sparkles, Overwhelming Amounts of Sparkles, Polyamory, LGBTQ+ Content, ¿Gender-fluid or Non-binary Character? (Not with respect to pronouns, but to their genitals xd), Unconventional Relationship Dynamics, Consent Issues in Alien Interactions, Mind-altering Love Spells, Extreme Jealousy, Existential Dilemmas on Love and Identity, Mind-Controlling Aliens.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish— Oh my god, how did this happen 😱 sorry to everyone (@flwes & @redberrysstuff) who saw the incomplete story, I feel SO embarrassed. Ugh, I swear, autocorrect and my clumsiness are going to kill me one of these days. :"(( But seriously, I promise the full version is coming, just give me a second to fix it.

"Idiot! Moron! Squid! Tuna!" Momo Ayase shouted from the ground, her face flushed with rage as she watched her now ex-boyfriend walk away with that annoying mix of guilt and annoyance in his eyes. "Never call me again!"

"Momo? Are you okay? Or should I sign up for the next round of sea insults?" asked a familiar voice behind her.

Momo turned around, still frowning, but the sight disarmed her a bit. There was Y/n Seigai, with that carefree energy that always seemed straight out of a movie. She wore a short plaid skirt and a white blouse that highlighted her figure, complemented by long socks and platform shoes with a puma print that screamed confidence. Her makeup was simple yet striking, enough to make anyone turn to look at her. And, as always, she had something in her hand: this time, a frozen yogurt popsicle that she licked absently as if nothing in the world could disturb her calm.

"Late again, huh?" Momo huffed, crossing her arms and standing up, her gaze as severe as a frustrated mother.

"What? Was that a 'thank you for coming to the rescue, Y/n'? Because if so, your tone needs a little work," Y/n replied with a cheeky smile, making an exaggerated gesture to offer her a lick of her popsicle. "Want some? Frozen yogurt cures broken hearts. It's science."

"I don't want your stupid popsicle, idiot! And stop changing the subject! You're late to school again! Do you know how many times I've been asked why you can't arrive on time? I feel like your babysitter!"

Y/n theatrically sighed, placing a hand on her chest as if Momo had wounded her pride. "Oh, Momo. Always so responsible, so punctual... except when you decide to sleep in on Mondays. Remember last Monday? Because I do; you were running out with a toast in your mouth."

Momo opened her mouth to retort but quickly shut it, blushing a little. "That was different! And don’t change the subject!"

"Okay, okay, sorry, mom," Y/n said with a mischievous smile, raising her hands in a sign of surrender. "But in my defense, it's not my fault that the coffee at that corner is so good it makes me lose track of time."

"You have a watch on your wrist, Y/n! And a phone with alarms! ALARMS!"

"Well, my alarms and I have a complicated relationship..." Y/n murmured as she took another lick of the popsicle.

Momo couldn't help but let out an exasperated sigh, although her lips curled slightly into a smile. That was the dynamic with Y/n: serious and responsible when necessary but with enough chaotic moments to drive her crazy. And even though sometimes she wanted to give her a good lecture, she couldn't deny that Y/n always knew how to lift her spirits, even on days like today.

"Come on, Momo. Let's get to class. I promise we'll make it before the bell rings... probably," Y/n said, offering her the popsicle as a peace gesture.

"Probably isn’t good enough! And I don’t want your silly popsicle," Momo shot back, but she couldn’t help but chuckle a bit as they started walking together.

As they crossed the school gates, Momo and Y/n couldn’t help but draw attention. They were, without a doubt, a striking pair: Momo, with her natural charisma and perfectly polished gyaru style, walked with purpose while continuing to rant about her now ex-boyfriend; Y/n, on the other hand, exuded a magnetic nonchalance, her skirt swaying with each step and a yogurt popsicle still in her hand, as if school were just another runway in her day.

"And then he has the nerve to say I’m playing hard to get! Can you believe it?" Momo gestured dramatically, as if still arguing with her ex.

"Mm-hmm," Y/n murmured, not stopping her slow lick of the popsicle. "Sounds like someone needs a 'How Not to Be an Idiot' manual. Should I mail him one?"

"Not even that! He’d probably lose it, like he loses all common sense," Momo shot back, rolling her eyes.

As they made their way down the hallway, students stepped aside to let them pass—some admiring their style, others whispering comments among themselves. Momo was so engrossed in her complaints she barely noticed the stares. Y/n, however, threw the occasional wink or offered a carefree smile, as if she were used to being the center of attention.

"Can you stop flirting with the entire hallway? I’m having a crisis here!" Momo snapped, giving her a light nudge.

"Flirting? I’m just being friendly. But if you want all my attention, Momo, you only have to ask," Y/n replied with a mischievous grin.

"God, you’re unbearable!"

Finally, they reached their classroom, where their other two friends, Miko and Muko, were waiting.

Miko was seated by the window, her small bow perfectly in place and her uniform impeccable, though always with her personal touch. Her beige sweater and loosely tied ribbon gave her a relaxed vibe, but her bright smile showed she was ready for a day full of energy.

Muko, in contrast, was impossible to ignore. Her tan skin stood out against her blonde hair styled into pigtails, and the manba makeup she wore proudly added a bold edge to her look. Her uniform followed the same pattern as the other girls', but on her, everything seemed a bit more daring—from the slightly oversized sweater to the way her loose socks fell perfectly over her sandals.

"Wow! Took you long enough," Miko said with a smile as she saw them walk in. "I thought you’d actually be on time today."

"Tell that to Miss 'Coffee is More Important Than Punctuality,'" Momo replied, giving Y/n an accusatory look.

"Me? I arrived just in time to make this spectacular entrance," Y/n said, spinning dramatically before flopping into her seat.

"Jealous, Miko?" Muko chimed in as she adjusted one of her pigtails. "They walk in, and the whole hallway stares. People only look at us when Miko shouts something ridiculous."

"Hey! That was one time," Miko retorted, crossing her arms with feigned indignation.

Momo let out a sigh, but a smile began to form on her lips. Being with them was always like this: chaotic, fun, and somehow reassuring.

"Alright, girls, now that we’re all here, I need advice. How do you get over an idiot who just wants you to pay for everything and only cares about sleeping with you?"

"Easy," Y/n said, raising her popsicle as if it were a trophy. "You get over him by being yourself: brighter, more fabulous, and completely out of his league. Like always, Momo."

"Amen," added Muko, lifting her phone for a quick selfie with Miko, who automatically struck a pose.

Momo rolled her eyes but couldn’t help laughing. Yes, her group was a mess in its own way, but she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

"Okay, seriously, what happened? Why are you so upset? We know it’s not because of Y/n, because when you’re mad at her, you yell louder than a megaphone," Miko said, raising an eyebrow with that teasing attitude she always had when she wanted to get under Momo’s skin.

Momo let out a heavy sigh and flopped onto the desk. "Nothing... that idiot dumped me, and then I started insulting him... using fish names."

Y/n, who was lounging back in her chair with her feet on the desk as if she were at home, couldn’t hold back a laugh. "Fish names. Like ‘Tuna’ and ‘Squid’. Because I’m sure that hurt his feelings a lot. Wow, Momo, terrifying. Do you really think that’s going to change his mind?"

"Ha, I’m dying," Muko said, testing a bit of her makeup while laughing. "Fish names aren’t insults, Momo. What were you expecting, ‘Shark’ or ‘Piranha’? Now those might be scary!"

Momo frowned, looking at her friends as if they were aliens. "You’re supposed to comfort me! He was my first boyfriend! My first, girls!" Momo waved her hands dramatically, as if she had lost something truly valuable.

Muko looked at her with a mix of sympathy and exasperation. "We told you to forget about him, Momo. It was obvious he wasn’t worth it."

Y/n nodded with mock seriousness, though her eyes still sparkled with amusement. "Yeah, can you remind me what was supposed to be so great about him? Was it the guy who always wore shirts two sizes too small? Or was it his talent for making you feel bad every time you talked about your dreams?"

"It’s just... he looked like Ken Takakura," Momo replied, as if it were an irrefutable justification, throwing her hands up as if there were nothing more to say.

The three friends sighed in unison, a sound so synchronized it could have been rehearsed.

"There she goes again..." Muko muttered, shaking her head and placing a hand on her forehead in a dramatic pose.

"Ugh, here we go," Miko said, glancing at Y/n and raising an eyebrow. "The story of the guy who ‘looked like’ Ken Takakura. Momo, are you sure you don’t have a poster of him at home?"

"She doesn’t just have a poster, let me tell you," Y/n said, remembering the time she stayed over at Momo’s house while her grandmother was away for a few days.

Y/n, who had just finished her popsicle and was now grinning mockingly at the others, tossed the stick out the window with perfect precision. "Here we go with your nonsense again, Momo. First it was ‘Ken Takakura,’ then it’ll be ‘Tom Cruise,’ and next you’ll tell me you fell for some guy who looks like an anime character. Stop idealizing guys, seriously."

Momo shot her a glare. "It’s not the same, Y/n! Ken Takakura is an icon, a real man!"

"Yeah, a movie man probably under contract with boredom, because guys like him don’t exist in real life," Y/n said, striking a dramatic pose as she crossed her arms.

Momo shrugged. "I don’t know what it is about him… but there’s something, I swear."

"What he has is that he’s in movies, not real life," Miko replied with a somewhat philosophical tone, as if she’d just imparted a profound truth about reality.

"So what, huh!? I like tough guys, like Ken Takakura!" Momo shouted, raising her hand as if she’d just made a worldwide announcement about her love for cinematic men.

Miko and Muko exchanged glances and, with almost perfect synchronization, replied, "Momo, we’ve got a surprise for you… those men are extinct."

Momo immediately dropped her head, as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on her. Her shoulders slumped, and her smile vanished in an instant. "What? Extinct? That can’t be true!" she muttered, as if she’d just taken a direct hit to the heart.

"Sorry, Momo," Miko said with a mischievous smile. "Men like that don’t exist anymore. All we’ve got now are guys in sweatpants with cat wallpapers on their phones."

Momo let out a deep sigh, an exaggerated expression of sorrow crossing her face. "So what?! What am I supposed to do with my life? Settle for guys who don’t even know what a good hairstyle is?!"

With the theatrics worthy of a telenovela star, Momo stood from her seat, leaving the others watching as she exited the classroom as if she’d just lost the most important battle of her life.

"Did what we said hurt her feelings?" Miko asked, a faint smile on her face, though she already knew the answer.

"No," Y/n replied, standing up without looking back, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and concern. "It hurt because it’s true."

Momo, on the verge of stepping into the hallway, didn’t notice Y/n following her. As Y/n caught up, she saw Momo walking with slumped shoulders, as if she were on a farewell mission for her love life.

Y/n walked up to her side and, with a playful smile, nudged her shoulder lightly. "Come on, Momo, don’t be like that. There are still guys out there who aren’t complete disasters."

Momo gave her a sad look. "I don’t know, Y/n. Maybe tough guys are just a fantasy. Like Ken Takakura. A legend of the past!"

"Well, if you ask me, the real tough guy is standing right here!" Y/n said, pointing a thumb at herself with a cheeky grin. "Forgot about us? We’re the tough ones now."

Momo glanced at her sideways, a flicker of humor returning to her eyes. "The problem is I don’t have time for girls who make bad jokes."

Y/n followed her, chuckling softly. "I’m the best company you could ask for, and I’ll prove it!"

The two walked down the hallway, leaving the classroom behind, Momo still a little down but starting to relax, with Y/n beside her as always—joking, stylish, and promising that there was always something better than a movie fantasy.

"Let’s go, Momo," Y/n said with a sly smile. "Tough guys may not exist anymore, but we’re unstoppable!"

Momo couldn’t help but smile, even if just a little. Maybe it wasn’t all that bad after all.

As Momo and Y/n passed by the nearest classroom, they couldn’t help but notice a group of boys throwing paper balls at a smaller, scrawnier boy with a hairstyle clearly modeled after Nobita from Doraemon.

Momo frowned immediately, spotting the bullying behavior. Y/n tensed beside her. Both of them hated bullies, and they weren’t about to stand by and do nothing.

One of the boys, grinning stupidly, picked up a paper ball and said loudly, "Stick a magnet in it! That’s gotta hurt!"

As he prepared to throw it, now with a magnet inside, a shadow loomed over him. Turning around, he found Momo sitting in front of him, her expression unimpressed. Behind him, Y/n stood with her arms crossed, her gaze so intense it could’ve melted anything in its path.

"Hey," Momo asked, looking at the boy with a mix of curiosity and disapproval. "What are you reading?"

"Uh… this…" the boy stammered, glancing nervously between the bullies and the girls.

The boys throwing the paper balls didn’t seem to realize what was happening. They turned back to their antics, ignoring the two girls who weren’t about to stay quiet.

Momo quickly stood up, shooting the bullies one last look. "What a bunch of idiots," she said, rolling her eyes. "It’s like this world is full of losers."

Y/n sighed, observing the chaos with a smile that hid something deeper. She was about to leave with Momo until her eyes caught the title of the magazine the boy was reading.

"The Occult," she read aloud, raising an intrigued eyebrow and smiling faintly. "Interesting…" she murmured before stepping toward Momo, leaving the minor chaos of the classroom behind.

"Come on, Momo," Y/n teased as she walked alongside her. "You look like you just had to pay taxes or something. Relax."

"You’d feel the same way if you were surrounded by idiots!" Momo snapped, crossing her arms indignantly.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice thundered behind them:

"MOMO AYASE! Y/N SEIGAI!"

"Huh? Now what?" Momo said, turning around with a frown.

It was the nerd from earlier. He was running toward them with all his might, gasping for breath as if he’d just escaped a marathon. When he reached them, he stopped so abruptly he almost fell over.

"I KNOW WHAT YOU LIKE!" he shouted, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

"What?" Y/n asked, visibly confused, glancing at Momo with a raised eyebrow.

"I KNOW WHAT YOU LIKE!" he repeated, louder this time, with an oddly intense conviction. "That’s the only reason someone like you would talk to someone like me!"

Momo blinked slowly and then let out an exaggerated sigh. "You’ve already said that. Can you switch up your dialogue? You sound like a broken record."

Y/n put a hand to her face, muttering, "Have you lost your mind? Where did you even get that crazy idea?"

The boy looked at them with desperate eyes, as if he was about to reveal some cosmic secret. "I’m talking about this!" he exclaimed, pulling something out as if presenting irrefutable proof.

Both girls tilted their heads simultaneously, trying to figure out what he was holding.

"Is that... a magazine?" Momo asked, squinting.

"Yes! A limited edition of The Occult! I know you’re into this because I saw how you looked at it earlier! President Obama has already been to Mars! This is the full story of the Pegasus Project! You’re into the paranormal!"

Momo closed her eyes and ran a hand over her forehead, clearly trying to summon some patience. "Look, genius, we’re not planning to be your best friends or start a paranormal book club with you. We don’t believe in UFOs or aliens."

"They’re not UFOs, they’re UAPs! Unidentified Aerial Phenomena!" the boy yelled enthusiastically, holding up the magazine like it was some sacred manifesto.

He began talking again, with a passion that seemed endless. Y/n listened with a half-smile, entertained by the chaos he brought with him. But soon, she felt Momo’s hand squeeze hers—a clear sign: Momo was about to lose her temper.

And then, she exploded.

"WOULD YOU JUST SHUT UP ALREADY?! MY HEART’S BEEN BROKEN, AND I’M NOT IN THE MOOD! AND YOU’RE SO ANNOYING WITH YOUR NERD STORIES THAT NOBODY CARES ABOUT, OKAY?! THAT’S WHY YOU HAVE NO FRIENDS!"

The boy froze, his mouth open and his eyes wide like saucers. Even Y/n, who was used to Momo’s outbursts, raised an eyebrow. "Ouch. Low blow," she murmured, mostly to herself.

Still fuming like a volcano, Momo pointed at the boy. "Don’t even think about talking to us again! Let’s go, Y/n!"

But Y/n didn’t move. She looked at the boy with some pity, her eyes softening. She stepped toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey... she didn’t mean it, okay? She’s upset because she had a bad day. Don’t take it to heart," she said calmly, trying to diffuse the situation.

Momo stopped and turned around, clearly picking up on Y/n’s accusatory tone even though she hadn’t said anything else. With an exasperated sigh, she rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine! I’m sorry, dude! I went too far. Happy now?"

She picked up the magazine that had fallen to the floor and handed it back to the boy, though her lips were still pursed. "But don’t get excited. I don’t believe in aliens. I’m more into ghosts and spirits, got it?"

Out of nowhere, the boy started laughing—not a polite chuckle, but a full-on belly laugh that echoed down the hallway.

"Don’t tell me you actually believe in spirits," he said, still laughing as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

Momo froze, her frown deeper than ever. "Are you making fun of me?!" she shouted, stepping toward him with clenched fists.

Before anyone could react, the two launched into a heated argument. Momo insisted that spirits were real, while the boy passionately defended his UAPs. Y/n, stuck between them like a referee in a wrestling match, glanced toward the hallway. There stood Miko and Muko, watching the scene with amused smiles as they whispered to each other.

"These two are hopeless," Y/n muttered under her breath, feeling her patience wear thin.

Finally, she snapped.

"ENOUGH! YOU’RE DRIVING ME CRAZY!" she yelled, pushing them apart with a hand on each shoulder. Her voice was so loud that even Miko and Muko stopped laughing to peek in with curiosity.

"Here’s the deal," Y/n said, crossing her arms authoritatively. "If Momo proves that spirits exist, you’ll become her personal errand boy. But if you prove that UFOs—sorry, UAPs—are real, then she’ll be your errand girl."

Both of them stared at her in disbelief.

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!" they shouted in unison, their faces a mix of shock and panic.

Y/n smirked, her tone daring as if she’d just announced the rules of a reality show. "It’s a bet. Take it or leave it."

Momo opened her mouth to protest but then glanced at the boy with a competitive glint in her eyes. "Errand boy, huh? That doesn’t sound too bad."

The boy blinked, clearly trying to process what had just happened. Finally, he raised his chin, determined. "Fine! But get ready to carry my stuff when I win."

Momo narrowed her eyes. "Me? Carry your stuff? Dream on, loser!"

From the hallway, Miko and Muko started laughing again.

"This is gonna be good," Miko said.

"I’m definitely not missing this," Muko added.

Y/n sighed, looking at the two challengers with exhaustion. "Great, now you’re both committed. But if you waste my time, I swear both of you will end up being my errand boys!"

They both nodded, though they still exchanged defiant glares. Y/n couldn’t help but smile. This was either going to be very interesting… or completely chaotic.

⊹ ・・───・・・・───・・ ⊹

"What is this place?! I’M GONNA DIE OF FEAR!" screamed Momo, clinging to you like a lifeline in the middle of the ocean. Her grip was so tight that you seriously considered whether you’d pass out from lack of air or from the creepy atmosphere of the hospital.

"Relax, Momo," you sighed, trying to wiggle free while scanning the surroundings. Nagi University Hospital didn’t disappoint: graffiti-covered walls, broken windows, dark hallways, and that classic feeling that something was watching you from the shadows. "Though… yeah, this place is pretty unsettling."

"UNSETTLING?! THIS IS STRAIGHT OUT OF A HORROR MOVIE!" Momo shrieked, practically climbing on top of you.

On the other end of the phone, the guy sounded thrilled. "Stop whining! Nagi Hospital is one of the prime spots for UFO sightings! They say if you’re on the rooftop, you get abducted!"

"What’s abduction?" Momo whispered in your ear.

"It’s when aliens kidnap you and experiment on your body," you whispered back.

"Hey, genius, why the rooftop?" you asked, frowning as you tried to keep Momo at a reasonable distance. "What does the rooftop have to do with UFOs?"

"Because UFOs can’t land in the basement, OBVIOUSLY!" he replied triumphantly, as if he’d just solved a universal mystery.

"Are you kidding me…? WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND BUILDS A HOSPITAL WHERE YOU GET ABDUCTED?!" shouted Momo, clearly on the verge of throwing the phone out the window.

"And who in their right mind goes willingly to an abandoned hospital for fun? Oh, wait... you two."

"THAT’S IT!" Momo yelled, red with indignation, and if you hadn’t stopped her, she probably would’ve smashed the phone against the nearest wall.

"Okay, okay, enough, both of you!" you interrupted, rubbing your temples. "Listen, Nobita of the UFO fandom, you focus on your tunnel and tell us if you see anything weird. We’ll try not to die or get abducted, deal?"

"Perfect! And record everything! This could change history!" he said excitedly, as if already drafting his speech for NASA.

"Sure, sure. If aliens take me, I’ll make sure to Facetime you," you muttered as Momo tugged at your arm.

"YOU GO FIRST! I’M NOT GOING ALONE!" Momo demanded, pointing at the dark hallway leading to the rusty elevator.

"Me first? I’d rather we just go home and call it a day. We’ve done enough for one evening."

Momo huffed but then crossed her arms and stared at the floor, thoughtful. "If we leave now, that idiot’s gonna laugh at us all week."

"What do you prefer? Him laughing at us, or us getting abducted? Because I know where my priorities lie, and aliens don’t make the top 10."

There was a brief silence as you both weighed your options. Finally, Momo sighed dramatically, like she’d just decided to climb a mountain. "Fine, but if anything weird happens, you handle it. I’m just gonna scream and run, deal?"

"I wouldn’t expect anything less from you," you replied with a tired smile as the two of you ventured into the dark hallway. The echo of your footsteps bounced off the empty walls, while the guy on the other end of the phone kept rambling about "electromagnetic phenomena and alien microwaves."

"By the way!" said the guy, as if he had just remembered something. "If you see strange lights, don’t get close. They’re a sign of imminent abduction."

"Great," you muttered, rolling your eyes. "Anything else we should know before we get abducted?"

"Yeah, if you get abducted, ask them how they travel faster than light. I’m really interested in that!"

"WHAT KIND OF PSYCHOPATH THINKS ABOUT THAT AT A TIME LIKE THIS?!" Momo screamed, and this time, you couldn’t help but laugh. At least the strange humor was helping to calm the terror a little.

"Hey, kid, let’s be honest... you’ve never seen a UFO in your life, have you?" Momo asked, crossing her arms and looking at him with a mix of disdain and curiosity.

The guy adjusted his glasses, clearly offended. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT REGRESSIVE HYPNOSIS IS?"

"DON’T CHANGE THE SUBJECT!" Momo snapped, pointing at him with an accusing finger. "I asked you something very simple."

He raised a finger, completely ignoring her while striking a dramatic pose. "THE QUESTION ISN’T WHETHER I’VE SEEN A UFO..."

"Uh-huh, sure," murmured Y/n, rolling their eyes.

"WHAT MATTERS ARE THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE THEORY!" he continued, in such a serious tone that it sounded like he was giving a lecture on astrophysics.

Momo sighed, clearly losing patience. "Again with your nonsense, oh my god. Don’t you ever get tired? Or do you recharge with solar batteries?"

"THIS ISN’T NONSENSE! IT'S SCIENCE! IT’S TRUE!" he protested, with an almost comical intensity.

"Yeah, sure. And how’s it going there, huh? Anything interesting besides your ‘theories’?" Momo said, looking around with feigned indifference as she tried to change the subject.

"I’VE ARRIVED... TOO SHY... SHY... TO THIS MYSTERIOUS PLACE..." the guy shouted on the phone, his voice echoing in the dark, damp tunnel. "WELL... NOW IT'S TIME TO PROVE IT!"

Momo frowned, not as convinced by his enthusiasm. "Please, do you really think this place is special? It’s all dark and super creepy!"

"YOU’RE SCARED! YOU KEEP TALKING ABOUT THE INTERNET, HAVEN’T YOU EVER SEEN A GHOST?!" the guy yelled, his voice strangely echoing in the tunnel.

"Not at all," Momo replied with a nervous laugh, though her gaze darkened a little.

"WHAT WAS THAT RANT ABOUT EARLIER?!" she shouted, pointing at the phone. "TAKE BACK EVERYTHING YOU SAID! How can you believe in spirits if you've never even seen one?"

"What's so strange about that?" Momo shot back, crossing her arms. She lowered her voice a bit before continuing: "I told you... my grandmother is a medium. She raised me because... well, because I don’t have parents."

There was a brief silence. Even the guy on the phone seemed to be lost for words. Y/n looked at Momo, noticing an expression they rarely saw on their friend: nostalgia mixed with sadness.

"I didn’t know..." murmured the guy on the other end of the line.

"Yeah," Momo continued, trying to appear indifferent. "My parents died when I was little. So my grandmother took care of me. But of course, my grandmother wasn’t a normal person. She always talked about spirits, spells, energies. Before going to school, she’d make me do a ritual to protect me from ‘bad vibes’ or something like that. And if I didn’t do it, she’d get mad at me."

"And did you do it?" Y/n asked with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood.

Momo sighed. "At first, I had no choice. But... it was horrible. The other kids would laugh at me. Even the guy I liked... one day he saw me doing one of those rituals and, well, he thought I was an idiot. From that moment on, he started avoiding me. It was the worst."

"That sounds tough," Y/n commented, with a more serious tone.

"Yeah, it was," Momo admitted, shrugging. "I got really angry with my grandmother for that. I think I even said things I shouldn’t have. I felt really alone. But... now that I think about it, it wasn’t so much the ritual that bothered me. It was seeing how they laughed at my family, how they didn’t understand what it meant to us."

"It must have been hard," Y/n said.

"It was," Momo repeated, looking down. "I didn’t regain trust in my grandmother until recently. I realized that, even though her ideas were strange, she did it because she wanted to protect me. And... well, it's all I have left of my family. So, even though it’s frustrating sometimes... I guess I understand her."

The guy on the other end of the phone cleared his throat, breaking the mood. "Well... I don’t know much about spirits, but your grandmother sounds... interesting."

Momo laughed a little. "That’s a polite way to put it. But yeah, she is."

"My grandmother..." Momo began, her gaze fixed on the darkness of the hospital, as if she were speaking more to herself than to anyone else. "Her work as a medium... I don’t know if it’s real. I’ve never seen a spirit. Never. I don’t even know if my grandmother can really perceive them. But you know something? I don’t care. Because, at the end of the day, she raised me alone. She accepted me as her family, even when I didn’t understand anything she did or said. And, in some way, I believe in her."

There was a silence in the group. Even the guy on the phone seemed to have fallen silent for a moment, as if Momo’s words had struck him.

"That’s why I believe in spirits," she continued. "Not because I’ve seen them, but because I believe in my grandmother. And that’s enough for me."

Y/n looked at her with a mixture of surprise and admiration. It was rare to hear Momo speak so sentimentally, but somehow, the sincerity of her words hit like a punch to the chest.

"And you?" Momo asked, turning back to the phone. "Why do you believe in aliens, huh?"

"That... that’s different," the guy replied, somewhat uncomfortable. "You don’t have to see something to know it exists. There’s evidence, theories, data..."

Momo let out a short, bitter laugh. "Oh, sure. Evidence and theories. But tell me something, genius: have you ever seen an alien with your own eyes?"

"Well... no," he admitted, somewhat hesitantly.

"Then what makes you different from me? Why do you assume that yours is more real than mine?"

"Because it’s science," he quickly responded, defensively.

"Science?" Momo raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "You call science looking at forums on the internet and reading conspiracy theories from people who’ve probably never left their basement?"

"It’s not the same!" he exclaimed, clearly frustrated.

Y/n decided to intervene before the conversation turned into an argument. "Okay, okay, both of you, calm down. Look, I think Momo has a point. But you do too, mysterious guy. At the end of the day, if you like something, you don’t need reasons to believe in it, right?"

They both fell silent, though their expressions showed they still had a lot to say.

"By the way," Momo added, slightly changing the subject, "you talk about aliens like you know everything about them, but... you have the voice of someone who doesn’t leave the house much, am I wrong?"

"What are you implying?" he asked, clearly offended.

"That you probably haven’t talked to another person in months, other than us on the phone," she replied with a teasing smile.

"That’s not true!"

"Uh-huh, sure."

Y/n chuckled softly while observing their dynamic. Even though they argued constantly, there was something strangely entertaining about their interactions.

"Anyway," Momo said, returning to the previous topic, "I don’t know if aliens exist, but one thing I’m sure of: we don’t need evidence to believe in what matters to us. That includes my grandmother... and I guess your aliens too."

"I guess you’re right," the guy admitted, in a somewhat resigned tone.

"Of course I am," she responded confidently.

"Well," Y/n interrupted, looking around, "before we continue to philosophize, can we just focus on not dying here? Because this place still gives me the creeps."

"I'll second that motion," Momo added, adjusting her hair. "Come on, Y/n. And you, kiddo, keep looking for your evidence. We'll do our thing."

"Don't forget to record something if you see a spirit!" he replied.

"Sure, and if we see an alien, we'll introduce you to it in person," Momo replied sarcastically as she walked with Y/n into the darkness of the hospital.

The boy moved slowly through the tunnel, his flashlight wobbling with each step. The place was dark, damp, and had a strange smell, as if time had stopped there. The echoes of his footsteps made him think he wasn't alone, although he tried to convince himself otherwise.

Suddenly, something stopped him. A few feet in front of him, a figure appeared out of nowhere.

It was an old woman, hunched over, dressed in worn clothes and a hat that looked like it was from another era. Her face was covered in deep wrinkles, but what stood out the most was her twisted, almost grotesque smile.

“What the…?” he muttered, trying to back away.

The old woman looked up, and her eyes shone with an unnatural intensity.

The old woman took a step forward. “I’ll let you suck my… tits,” she said with a twisted grimace, “if you let me suck your dick.”

“WHAT?!” the boy shouted, jumping back. His flashlight shook in his hand, and, in his panic, his phone almost slipped from his grasp.

“Momo! Y/n! It’s a ghost!” he shouted into the phone, although he didn’t know if they were still on the line.

From the other side of the tunnel, Momo looked up, irritated. “What is this idiot saying now?”

The boy ran as fast as he could, not daring to look back. Each step echoed like a drum in the tunnel, and his panting was deafening.

“This can’t be happening!” he shouted, stumbling slightly but staying on his feet. “It’s just an old exit! YES, THAT’S WHAT IT HAS TO BE!”

He reached his bike, parked at the entrance to the tunnel, and began to wobble as he tried to mount it. His hands shook so badly that he could barely grip the handlebars. “Come on, come on, come on!” he muttered frantically as he tried to pedal.

At that moment, the cell phone in his pocket rang again. It was Momo. With clumsy hands, he pulled out the phone and answered, still panting.

“AYASE! THAT THING IS FOLLOWING ME!”

“Don’t stop, you idiot!” Momo shouted from the other end of the line. “If it catches up with you, you’re done for!” “It’s the curse of the Old Turbo! If you lose the race against her, she curses you!”

“WHAT!? WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME BEFORE!?”

“Because I didn’t think anyone would be idiotic enough to provoke her!”

The boy looked back as he pedaled, and his blood ran cold. The old woman wasn’t running… she was floating towards him, with terrifying speed.

“NOOOO!” he shouted, pedaling even harder.

“Don’t look back!” Momo exclaimed, almost hysterical. “Just keep pedaling!”

Suddenly, the tunnel was filled with a strange echo.

Momo, who was still shouting into the phone, noticed something strange. “Hey, wait a minute! Y/n?”

The silence on the other side made her stop. She turned her head and realized that Y/n was no longer there.

“Y/n!? Where are you?!” he screamed, looking around in panic.

The boy’s cell phone began to crackle with static, and the call was abruptly cut off. He was now alone, the echo of the Turbo Old Lady’s laughter filling the tunnel as he pedaled madly towards the exit.

Momo, still holding his own cell phone, felt a chill run down his spine. “This isn’t right… Y/n? Answer!”

Momo made his way down the hallway, the light from his flashlight shaking with each step he took. The air seemed colder with each meter, and darkness enveloped everything around him. “Y/n? Are you there? Please answer…” he muttered, gripping his cell phone tightly.

Suddenly, a strange sound echoed in the distance. Footsteps.

Momo stopped dead in his tracks, his breathing quickening. “Boy? Is that you? Answer!”

But what emerged from the shadows wasn’t Y/n. They were three tall figures, oddly proportioned. They wore human clothing: buttoned-up shirts with collars, tucked neatly into their pants. The pockets of their shirts were filled with small items, such as pens and a notebook sticking out of one of them. They wore perfectly fitted belts and shiny shoes, as if they had just left an office meeting.

Their heads, however, were anything but human.

They looked like grotesque humanoid masks: expressionless faces with motionless eyes and thin mouths that curved unnaturally. Their movements were stiff, but their eyes followed her with chilling precision.

Momo took a step back, her body trembling. “Who… what are you guys?” she stammered, trying to maintain her composure.

One of them took a step forward, his head tilting slightly, as if he were studying her. Momo didn’t wait any longer. She turned on her heel and began running down the tunnel, quickly dialing Y/n’s number on her cell phone.

“Y/n! Please answer! There are some weird guys here and—!”

She couldn’t finish. One of the men appeared out of nowhere, blocking her way. Momo screamed and backed away, but she collided with something hard. She quickly turned around and found another one of them, who had appeared behind her without making the slightest noise.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed, throwing the flashlight at one of them in a desperate attempt to escape. The flashlight bounced harmlessly off his chest, and he showed no reaction.

Before she could do anything else, she felt an icy pressure on her arm. One of the men had grabbed her, his grip firm but inexplicably cold. “No, no, no! Let me go!”

The cell phone fell from her hands and hit the ground, illuminating for a moment the expressionless face of one of the men. “Y/n! Help!” was the last thing she managed to scream before she was dragged into the darkness of the tunnel.

The phone was left there, illuminating an empty, cold hallway. In the distance, the echo of the men’s footsteps carrying her away could be heard, but soon, even that sound disappeared.

⊹ ・・───・・・・ ───  ⊹

Momo opened her eyes in shock and confusion. The room was cold, with metallic walls illuminated by bluish lights, and in front of her were three disturbing-looking figures. With elongated heads, greyish skin and large, dark eyes, they looked like something straight out of a science fiction movie. One of them stepped forward and spoke in a monotonous, metallic voice:

"Greetings, human. We are Serpoians. We are called that because we come from the planet Serpo."

"Aliens?" Momo frowned in disbelief. Her mind struggled to comprehend what was happening. However, the evidence was undeniable: she was facing something that surpassed any logical explanation.

"Do not be afraid," another of the Serpoians continued with inhuman calm. "We are a peaceful species."

Momo, far from calming down, gritted her teeth. Her eyes frantically scanned the room as she tugged at the restraints holding her wrists. “Peaceful? Nice guys don’t kidnap girls! Where are my clothes?”

One of the aliens pointed to a nearby table where his clothes lay, in tatters. “Your belongings were handled with care. The damage was… accidental.”

“Accidental?! This isn’t cheap! You’re going to pay for this! And I demand that you return me to my home right now!” he shouted, his voice filling the room.

Despite his protests, the Serpoians seemed immune to his fury. “Our species is entirely male,” one explained in a mechanical tone, as if he were reciting a lesson. “For millennia, we have reproduced through cloning, but this has led to the loss of our emotions and genetic diversity. We seek to regain our biological capabilities… using your genetic code.”

“My what?” Momo looked at them with a mix of confusion and disgust. “You’re completely insane! I will not be a part of your Frankenstein experiments!”

Before she could say anything else, the sound of a sliding door interrupted the tension. A tall, sleek figure strode into the room. His futuristic suit gleamed in the light, form-fitting and full of metallic detailing. His face was hidden behind a sleek helmet that reflected his surroundings like a liquid mirror. His presence was imposing.

“Where is my payment?” he demanded in a firm, authoritative voice.

The Serpoians turned to her. One of them held up a black suitcase. “Here you go. However, it is less than agreed. You delivered late.”

The woman crossed her arms, her posture conveying palpable disdain. “My mentor accepts no excuses. Neither do I. This deal was for a larger sum.”

“The delay justifies the reduction,” one of the aliens replied coldly.

The woman clicked her tongue, visibly upset. Meanwhile, Momo, though still terrified, could not take her eyes off the newcomer. There was something in her voice, in the way she moved… Something that felt strangely familiar.

Her eyes widened as she connected the pieces. “Y/n?” she muttered, almost breathless.

The woman stopped. Slowly, she turned her head towards Momo. Although the helmet still obscured her face, the slight shift in her posture made her discomfort clear.

The room fell into a tense silence following Y/n’s words. Momo stared at her in disbelief, her lips trembling as tears threatened to fall.

“What are you doing here, Y/n? What is this? Why are you with them?” she asked with a mix of rage and desperation.

Y/n let out an audible sigh, placing her hands on her hips. “It’s not personal, Momo. It’s just work. You… were the target. I was paid to bring them what they needed. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” Momo raised her voice, her tears finally overflowing. “Is that what I am to you? A job? We were supposed to be friends! I was supposed to be able to trust you!”

Y/n’s helmet reflected the cold lights of the room, hiding any emotion that might have been on her face. But the stiffness of her shoulders gave her away. She tried to stand her ground, looking at Momo from a distance. “This isn’t about you or us, Momo. It’s about… surviving. You don’t understand how my world works. No one survives without making sacrifices.”

“Sacrifices?! Is that what I am to you? One more sacrifice to keep you going?” Momo screamed, struggling against the restraints that kept her immobilized. “You were my friend, Y/n! I trusted you like no one else! I always thought you would understand me!” But here you are, giving me away like I'm... like I'm a thing!”

Momo's words hit like a hammer. For a moment, Y/n stood still, unable to respond. Something in Momo's voice, in the broken sincerity of her words, touched her heart.

“Do you remember what you told me when you picked me up that night?” Momo continued between sobs. “You said that no matter what, you'd be there for me. That friends never betray each other. And look at you now... giving me away like I'm worthless.”

The tension in the room was almost palpable. Even the Serpoians fell silent, watching the confrontation.

Y/n lowered her head slightly, her voice sounding lower, almost unsure. “It's not that simple, Momo... I—”

“Don't give me excuses!” Momo interrupted her, her voice cracking. “Look at me! Tell me that all of this is worth it! “Tell me you’re okay with what you’re doing!”

Y/n stood still for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity. Then, she took a step back, clenching her fists at her sides. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, barely audible. Without another word, she turned to the Serpoians. “The deal is done. I’m leaving.”

“Y/n!” Momo screamed, her voice filled with desperation. “Please! Don’t leave me here! Please don’t do this to me!”

But Y/n didn’t stop. She headed for the door without looking back, her bright figure disappearing into the dimness of the hallway. Just before the door closed, Momo, her voice cracking, let out one last scream that echoed in the silence:

“I would never have done this to you, Y/n! Never!”

The echo of her words hung in the air, and for an instant, Y/n stood on the other side of the door. Her shoulders shook slightly, but she didn’t turn around. With a quick movement, she disappeared, leaving Momo alone, her sobs filling the room as the Serpoians turned their attention back to her.

“Why…?” Momo whispered through her tears. “Why did you do this to me?”

The Serpoians had run out of patience. One of them approached with cold, calculated movements, a strange humming sound emanating from his device.

“Let us prepare to extract the necessary organs. Your resistance is irrelevant,” one declared in a metallic voice.

Momo struggled uselessly against the restraints, her face drenched in tears. “Get away from me! You cannot do this!”

The alien lifted the probe, slowly bringing it closer to Momo. “We will begin the procedure now.”

Suddenly, the sound of a ringtone broke through the air, Momo’s mobile phone began to vibrate on the nearby table. The Serpoians paused, staring at it curiously.

“External interruptions are not acceptable,” one of them said, reaching out a hand to take the device.

Before she could touch it, the phone’s screen lit up in a deep red. A deep vibration filled the room, and suddenly, a figure emerged from the screen: Y/n, holding a strangely designed pistol.

“Did I interrupt something again?” she asked in an icy tone, pointing directly at the Serpoians.

Beside her, staggering, appeared the boy possessed by Turbo Granny. His body was bent at impossible angles, and his eyes shone with a mix of fear and rage.

“Ayase!” Ken shouted, struggling to stay on his feet as Turbo Granny seemed to control his movements.

The aliens took a step back, observing the scene with a mix of shock and wariness.

“How did you get in here again, Agent Jean Jacket?” one of the Serpoians demanded, raising his hands in a defensive stance.

Y/n let out a dry laugh, though her gaze remained fixed on them. “Let’s just say I have my ways.”

Momo, still trapped in the chair, stared at Y/n in disbelief and rage. “Now you decide to show up?! After everything you did?!”

“This doesn’t change anything, Momo,” Y/n said without looking at her, her voice strained. “This is still not personal.”

“Please don’t give me that again!” Momo screamed, tears sliding down her cheeks.

For an instant, Y/n hesitated, but didn’t respond. Instead, she pulled the trigger on her gun, firing a beam that struck one of the Serpoians, knocking it to the ground.

Turbo Granny, controlling Ken, let out a terrifying shriek and launched herself at another alien, biting it ferociously on the torso.

“Momo, take cover!” Y/n screamed as the remaining aliens began to respond to the attack, their suits glowing as they prepared to fight back.

“I can’t! I’m tied up!” Momo screamed in desperation, pulling at the straps with all her might.

Ken screamed in desperation, his body still fighting against Turbo Granny’s possession. Tears fell from his eyes as the words filled the room, his voice cracked from years of repressed pain.

“No matter how many times I called you, you never came!” He exclaimed, fists clenched, body tense under Granny’s control. “There I was bullied by children, ignored by aliens… children paid me to beat them up!”

Ken’s words were desperate, but the fury and pain seemed to give him the strength to keep fighting. “My life sucked! And no one cared if I was alive or dead… but (Y/n) and Miss Ayase were the only ones who stood up for me! So get your filthy hands off her!”

At that moment, a spark of control seemed to surge within him. His body trembled, but his mind struggled to take back the reins, preparing to attack. Anger fueled him, his will finally regaining some strength.

Momo, from her position, screamed in desperation, unable to do anything but watch as the fight raged. “Hidden-kun! Do it! We need you!”

But amidst the chaos, the aliens began to move, aware of the growing threat Ken posed. One of them, still reeling from Turbo Granny’s impact, gave an order. “Get those humans! They won’t let this end well!”

The tension rose, but the worst seemed yet to come. A Serpoian, with cold, calculated movements, approached Momo, holding her by the shoulders tightly. “If you don’t give us what we ask for, you’ll regret it,” he said in a monotone voice, while his companion watched Ken, who was still trying to break free from Granny’s influence.

“Gross!” one of the other aliens commented, watching the scene become more and more chaotic.

Momo looked at Ken, fighting against his own body, knowing that control was fragile. “Ken! Don’t give up! You can do it!” he shouted, his voice filled with desperation.

“Enough of all this!” The voice, firm and full of power, boomed through the room.

It was Y/n. Her presence was imposing, the helmet reflecting the light from the screens, but behind it, her expression was determined.

“I won’t let them hurt you anymore, Momo!” she said, as she raised her gun towards the Serpoians.

One of them tried to react, but a direct shot to his torso stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Hmm?”

Momo briefly looked away at Ken, but soon returned her focus to Turbo Granny, whose teeth were still piercing her calf.

“I’ll eat your cock!”

“What?” Y/n stepped back, horrified, but still trying to understand the situation.

“I… it’s not me! It’s Turbo Granny!”

“Are you really the only ones who can save me?” Momo thought, as her eyes focused on Ken. The situation was becoming more and more chaotic.

The alien and Momo watched the conflict in silence. Finally, the alien turned his gaze to Momo, noticing the chaos between the humans. “Now I will begin with the excitement.”

He extended his hand over Momo, who closed her eyes, feeling a growing pressure. Her face twisted in disgust as, for a moment, she thought she could no longer get out of this situation. It was then that, in her mind, an image from her childhood began to emerge: an important memory of her grandmother.

“Release your chi.”

“I don’t want to...”

Momo, as a little girl, found herself at the entrance of her grandmother’s house, long before she met you or Ken.

“The other kids always make fun of me for that. I look stupid.” Momo explained to the older woman, as her grandmother knelt in front of her with a calm smile.

“No, it’s not like that… When you release your chi, you will never get hurt or sick. It will also help you keep evil away.” Grandma placed her hands gently on Momo’s shoulders, before taking her small hands firmly.

“Now, tense your abdominal muscles and imagine your chi rising from the top of your head.”

Momo, with effort, tried to follow the directions. Immediately, a painful memory flashed through her: the children laughing at her when she tried to do that pose.

“I hate it! I won’t do it again!” Momo screamed, shaking her head as her eyes widened in fury.

Her grandmother, still patient, held out her hand, asking for calm. “Momo! Wait!”

“I hate you, Grandma! You’re an imposter!”

That moment of anger made the memory flash through her mind in a distorted way. However, deep down, Momo knew she didn’t hate her grandmother. She only felt ashamed, something she was now beginning to understand.

Then, he began to imagine his grandmother’s words, remembering the technique she had taught him. As he visualized the flow of her chi, something inside him triggered, and, in that instant, the chair containing her broke under her energy.

The fight between Ken and Momo stopped at the same time, both of them staring in amazement as Momo began to levitate.

“What?! She never said she had psychic powers!” Ken exclaimed, his eyes wide as Momo floated.

With a slight bend in her legs, Momo raised her hands, looking at the two men around her in surprise. “I… I didn’t know I had them either.”

The alien who had tried to attack extended his hands towards Momo, but she, now fully focused, stared at him. “My psychokinesis is being repelled by a higher force. What’s going on? Maybe the human’s brain waves were overloaded, allowing her to access her chakra.”

Momo, fascinated by the piece of metal floating above her hand, turned her gaze towards the alien with a determined smile. “She’s not an impostor! My grandmother is a genuine medium! Thank you, Grandma!”

Meanwhile, the boy tried to bite Y/n and in the process, ripped off her helmet, revealing Y/n’s pastel blue skin and the dark blue glowing antennae emerging from her head.

She tried to defend herself, trying not to shoot him with her gun, but he scratched her skin, making fissures that healed automatically.

Momo stood up and, with her newly acquired powers, launched a powerful kick at the alien. However, he raised his arm and stopped her with force. “Now I have the power to face these monsters! And make them fly!” Momo shouted, full of determination.

With a last effort, she kicked the alien, sending him through the walls. The explosion that followed was deafening, and the lights in the room began to flicker violently.

Momo screamed as she felt her body collapse, as she watched the destruction falling around her. “We are inside a real UFO!” she exclaimed, surprised, looking around for Y/n and Ken, and finding them on the ground fighting, she was horrified. “(Y/n)! Occult-kun!”

Swiftly, Momo approached Granny Turbo. Suddenly, her body began to glow with a clear light, while her hair flowed wildly. At that moment, the curse that weighed on Ken disappeared.

Suddenly, the room darkened, turning red. Before them, Granny Turbo appeared, her gaze fixed and malicious. “Who the hell are you two?” she said, her voice cold and challenging.

Turbo Granny curled her fingers, causing Ken to pull away from Y/n, his body arching as a painful gurgle came from his lips. Momo watched, eyes wide, recoiling slightly as she saw how Ken was still under Granny’s control. “Granny is out of her body!” she exclaimed, alarmed. “But he is still under her curse!”

“This child belongs to me,” Turbo Granny said with a mocking smile. “As long as I have him, the curse will not be lifted. I can't stay here for long, but if you want me to free him, go to the tunnel. If you want to fight me, come to me. Damn classless bitches!”

“Who are you calling a bitch, you filthy old woman?! Give him his penis back!” Momo shouted at the ghost that was walking away.

Y/n, seeing Momo so worried and determined, quickly approached her and, with unexpected strength, lifted her into her arms. Momo blushed at feeling so close to her, her cheeks turning red as she couldn't help but look down, avoiding Y/n's eyes, which were shining with determination.

“Don't worry! We're going to get out of here,” Y/n said firmly, beginning to quickly climb the walls of the UFO with the agility of an expert. Momo clung to her, the warmth of her body comforting her, but her mind was filled with chaos. In her chest, a strange feeling was born, something she had never felt before.

Ken, still disoriented from the curse and the explosion, was on the ground, slowly recovering. Y/n, still moving, lifted him up with one hand, placing him on her back as she continued to ascend.

“Come on, Ken! You have to get up, we have to go now!” Y/n shouted, and Ken, his eyes still somewhat clouded, nodded weakly.

The room was crumbling around them, and a dark energy filled the air. The walls were beginning to shake violently, and the lights flickered desperately. Momo, her face still flushed from the closeness to Y/n, looked down as they ascended, unable to stop her heart from beating faster than normal. What was this strange feeling that was invading her?

Suddenly, a loud boom shook the UFO, and a gigantic explosion went off behind them. The walls began to give way, and the ship seemed to be on the verge of total destruction. Y/n, not losing her cool, leapt forward, bringing Momo and Ken with her in her leap, escaping just before the UFO exploded into a ball of fire.

With a deafening bang, the UFO disintegrated behind them, and in the air, Y/n, Momo, and Ken flew through space, jumping out of the ship's reach, completely safe but on the verge of despair.

Momo hugged Y/n tightly, no longer caring about the blush, as the wind whipped at them, and Ken's body rested on Y/n's back. The scene was chaotic, but it had all happened so fast, and the only thought running through Momo's mind was how she felt so strangely calm in Y/n's arms, as the ship crumbled behind them.

"Are we safe?" Ken asked, his voice weak, as he watched the distance between them and the exploding ship.

"Yes," Y/n answered, without hesitation. "We're safe... for now."

But as they floated in the air, Momo couldn't help but wonder how they could have survived all of that. And even more so, how her feelings towards Y/n seemed to have changed in a matter of seconds, and what it all meant to her.

⊹ ・・───・・・・ ───  ⊹

Near Kamigoe Prefecture, a curious pastel-green being walked casually through the crowded streets of the city. It had the appearance of a puppy dog, though its size, its long antennae that glowed faintly in the daylight, and its tail that swung like a whip of jelly made it clear that it was no ordinary dog. In one hand it held a burrito wrapped in silver paper, and in the other, a large soda that made gurgling sounds with each step.

The little alien eagerly bit into the burrito, spilling some of the sauce on the ground. It paused for a moment, sucking its fingers before continuing to walk. Its attitude was that of someone who belonged there, though it didn’t bother to hide the strangeness of its appearance. People watched it in awe, but the alien seemed immune to the curious glances.

“Mom, look! A puppy!” exclaimed a little girl with braids, pointing at it with joy.

The being stopped dead in its tracks, its ears (or what seemed to be ears) perking up at the sound. It slowly turned its head towards the little girl, its eyes shining like a pair of tiny green suns. “Who are you calling a puppy, kid!?” it shrieked in a high-pitched voice with an accent that seemed to be from another planet… literally.

The little girl’s mother froze, tugging on her daughter’s hand as she tried to process what had just happened.

“Speak, Mom! The puppy is speaking!” the excited little girl shouted, tugging on her mother’s arm.

The alien, offended, snorted and raised his donkey towards the little girl, as if it were some sort of weapon. “Hey, on my planet, insulting someone by calling them a puppy is a declaration of war, you know? But I’m too busy today to respond to your taunts.”

The mother, now completely terrified, dragged her daughter away from the little being, muttering something about “moving to the country.” The alien pup shook his head as he took a long sip of his soda, producing a clattering sound that drew even more stares.

“Humans…” he muttered tiredly, his antennae twitching in slight annoyance. “You can’t just walk around town without someone mistaking you for a pet.”

He continued on his way, dodging the crowd with surprising agility for someone with a burrito and a soda in his hands. Every so often, he would stop in front of a store to admire some product, though he quickly grew bored and kept moving.

A man in a suit saw him pass by and frowned. “Is that… a dog in a costume?”

“I’m not a dog!” the alien shouted without even turning around. “And stop looking at me like that or I’ll throw my burrito in your face!”

The threat seemed to have an effect, and the man walked away muttering something about “needing more coffee.”

The little creature finally reached the entrance to the town, where the lights were beginning to fade and the shops were turning into open fields. It stopped and looked out at the horizon, its antennae leaning forward as if it were sensing something. It took a last sip of its soda, letting out a loud burp that echoed through the air.

“Fine…” it said, wiping its mouth with the back of its hand. “Now I just need to find that damn ship before someone else calls me a puppy.”

He continued walking towards the end of the city, his half-eaten burrito still in his hand. Behind him lay a line of perplexed humans, and ahead of him a fate awaited him that, as always, would be anything but boring.

The little alien continued to walk with a sure step, enjoying his half-finished burrito, when suddenly, his antennae began to vibrate intensely. A slight buzzing sound went through his head, as if he had tuned into a distant frequency. His expression tensed, and his eyes, which used to shine with indifference, now narrowed with seriousness.

“What the…?” he muttered, looking around as if searching for the source of the phenomenon. His antennae continued to vibrate, and the buzzing sound grew higher. Then, looking up, he saw it.

In the distance, a thick column of black smoke rose from the old university hospital, followed by an explosion that lit up the sky as if it were a misplaced fireworks display. The alien dropped his soda, which slowly rolled to a stop in a sewer.

“No way!” he screamed, bringing his hands to his antennae as if trying to stop the humming. He looked back at the hospital, frowning in a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “Y/n did it again?!”

The small being began to walk faster, then trotted, muttering under his breath. “I told you not to go soft on the merchandise! But no, you always have to play the heroine, dammit!”

He paused for a moment, as if he had remembered something, and shook his head in frustration. “And you sure left a mess behind, like always! By all the rings of Saturn, you’re really going to listen to me this time!”

With one last glance at the burning hospital, he let out an annoyed growl. “I hope you at least saved something valuable, because if not…”

The little alien ran off on his short legs, leaving his donkey forgotten on the ground. His pastel green silhouette was lost in the shadows, while the smoke from the hospital covered the horizon, promising chaos and answers in the distance.

A/N ── Oh, hey, it's me again.

First off, let me tell you something: I'm in love with Dandadan. Seriously, I can't even explain how much I was hooked on this series from the moment I found out how it went. It was like a cosmic crush. Each chapter left me more hooked, more obsessed, and obviously I couldn't resist. I ended up buying the ENTIRE manga set that was available so far. I literally couldn't wait to find out what was going to happen with Momo after those last chapters that left me with my heart in my throat. This series is pure magic and chaos, and I can't get over it.

Now, let's talk about my baby, or Y/n. Let me tell you that her spacesuit is directly inspired by Smart Lady from a Japanese series (if you know which one, you're one of mine). I wanted something that screams alien but with style, and I feel like I nailed it... sort of. But, here comes the kicker: her personality is still not well defined. She's a mess, I admit. But that's the whole idea. Because she's an undercover alien, her personality changes depending on the environment she's in. It's like she's constantly adapting to fit in, but at the same time, that lack of consistency is part of her identity. Existential drama at its finest!

And here comes the tricky but interesting part: the character doesn't have a defined gender. Visually, she could pass for a woman, and she identifies as a woman because that's how she feels, but here's the plot twist: she has no defined genitals. Yes, you read that right. She's neither biologically male nor female. She's something beyond that, something that she may not even fully understand. For now, she treats herself as a woman because that's what feels most comfortable and natural to her earthly experience, but... does it really matter? I want to explore how that ambiguity affects her, how it influences the way she sees herself and her interactions with others. It's a key part of her story that I hope to develop little by little.

Oh, and regarding the technical chaos... I know this first part had its problems. It was published by itself, the dialogues were poorly arranged, it was very long, blah, blah, blah. But now, it's all well and good. I think.

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wilwheaton · 11 months ago

Quote

There’s no plausible evidence that Republican voters are opposed to acts of sedition but will begrudgingly tolerate them if that is the only option available. Trump’s Republican competitors had been parroting nearly all of his flamboyantly ridiculous policies, only to be shot down by those very voters. You can offer up a Nikki Haley, but it will go nowhere. You can lob a Ron DeSantis onstage, full of hydraulic fluid and have him mimic the same Trump mannerisms and grievances and demands for violence—not just persecution but bullet-to-the-head violence against immigrants—and they won't bite. They like Trump. They want Trump, and when presented with candidates who are not facing 91 criminal charges, not found to have committed sexual assault, not proven to be a lifelong tax and bank cheat, and not the ratbastard personification of malice, they will not bite. This is a movement premised on ending the government itself if that's what it takes to assuage paranoia about globalist cabals and plotting immigrant hoards.

The GOP is about to officially coalesce around a seditionist for president

yikes

#vote blue like your life depends on it #because it does

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kanekisfavoritegf · 2 years ago

Text

Shameless

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI you will be blocked!🩷

@indigoballad and I were being messy after i came up with idea…

warnings: smut, cheating, multiple positions, kinda manipulative, infidelity.

Toji was a sick man. Sick enough to shake hands with your husband Sukuna as he congratulated you on the pregnancy. Eyes never leaving yours as he talked to your life partner. He had no shame. Eye fucking you as he held a conversation with the alleged father of your child. But Toji knew the truth.

He had no shame the night he decided to breed you on the very bed you share with your husband.

He wasn’t home, though, it seemed he never was anymore, and after a whole three hours of arguing, Sukuna let out a mumble of divorce before leaving you alone in the apartment.

Truly that man has no shame. Not as he cooed in your ear, “Stop crying, baby. You are too pretty for this.” wiping the few tears that slowly ran down your face. You could feel the heat coming from his body, from how close he was.

“Toji, he’s leaving me. Sukuna is actually going to divorce me.” You sobbed.

“He is an idiot and an asshole.” Toji would smoothly say like he wasn't a long-time business partner with your husband. Moving a braid away from your face, feigning any true care for what Sukuna did.

“I just wanted a baby. A child of our own, like little your Megumi. He is adorable.” You let out a shaky breath. “I thought he was ready. But then he started coming home later and later. So when I pointed it out, he snapped at me.

“If you want a little Megumi, I can give you one.”

“Excuse me?” Who does he think he is?

“I mean, I can give you a baby.”

“Do you not have any shame?”

“No.” He smirked. “Think about it, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby.” He only rolled his eyes.

“Just think about it. Sukana is leaving you anyway. And you want a baby.”

You weren’t an idiot, you knew he had a habit of lingering touches and wandering eyes. But you wanted to hear him say it out loud. To your face. “And what do you get out of it, huh?”

“You.” He said without hesitation

“Oh.”

“I want you. Let me give you a baby.” His face was now inches from yours. His breath fanned your face.

You’d be a fool to pretend you weren’t attracted to Toji in some kind of way. But this? It was different. He inched his hand up your lap and was now gripping your thigh awaiting your response.

It would be okay, right? If Sukuna is leaving you, then who cares? You can say you got a surrogate and divorce him.

And Toji wants you.

No. Toji needs you.

Needs to be in you.

So who were you to deny him, or yourself?

You don’t know how long it has been. Or what room Toji had dragged you into next. But you were bent over a desk. And Toji seemed to have made it his goal to fuck you in every room. All Eighteen…

Making you suck his dick in the cinema.

Fucking against the bookshelf of your personal library.

Bending you over your antique piano in the music room.

And now you lay over your husband’s desk in his home office as Toji plowed into you like a madman. It was like he had limitless stamina. In fact, it seemed like he was gaining more energy with each thrust. The way he was fucking you was inhumane.

He had one goal. And that goal was to breed you until he physically couldn’t keep moving.

And that he did.

By the time he was done with you. He had tears in his eyes, his pubes were drenched in both of your fluids, and he lay flat on his stomach, fingers scooping the cum that oozed from your beaten, raw cunt, right back in.

“I have to make sure it sticks. My love.”

Toji paid for someone to clean up the mess the two of you made, not wanting the regular maids to come and report back to Sukuna right away.

Toji reassured you everything would be fine if you got pregnant. He’d take care of you as soon as Sukuna left you.

But what Toji didn’t know was that Sukuna had no intention of leaving you. Ever.

Paranoia AKA Pt. 2

#cat writes ★#toji zenin #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji headcanons #dilf toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu kaisen smut #black reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

Note

aita for misleading cishet guys?

im very queer, i see gender as a performance and my sexual orientation is very fluid as well—but one thing is clear to me: im queer for queer. but since being queer is a punishable crime in my country and my parents are both queerphobe, i do this thing where every once in a while i go on a date with a cishet guy, both to get a free meal and to quench my parents ongoing paranoia about me being queer. then i break up with them.

i honestly dont think what im doing is bad, but my friend said that im being an asshole to these guys by misleading them into thinking that they have a chance with me, and then manipulating them into spending money for me. i think i should at least pay for the meals myself, but i dont think im toying with other people's emotions. so, aita?

quick note: im not coming out. its out of question. i cant stress enough, coming out will kill me. the government can actually kill me for it, so yeah. as long as i can im going to pretend to be cishet.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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zeroseuniverse · 10 days ago

Text

Maniacs

Word Count: 1.3K Summary: "You’re not scared of us," he said, his tone almost playful. "Why’s that?" She met his gaze, the weight of his curiosity pressing down like a storm cloud. "Should I be?" Jeongin’s grin faltered, just for a second, before snapping back into place. "Maybe. I think you’d like it." Pairing: Lee Know X Fem! Reader X Yang Jeongin

Disclaimer: Please be aware that this is apart of the from the ashes series. This series will have aspects of violence, weapons, angst, blood, injuries, killing, and will heavily focus on oppression and segregation of mutants, Look after your mental state if any of these make you uncomfortable please.

Series Masterlist

The warehouse smelled of rust and damp concrete, its dim light casting long shadows across crates stamped with syndicate sigils. She adjusted her stance, fingers grazing the hilt of a concealed blade. Deals like this never ended cleanly.

Minho stood opposite to her, his figure sharp against the muted backdrop. He was everything she had expected from the infamous enforcer—calm, deliberate, and as unyielding as the steel beneath their boots. Beside him, Jeongin leaned against a crate, his posture deceptively casual. But there was something in the way he toyed with the blade in his hands—casual flicks that sent it spinning, catching it without looking. It was mesmerizing, yet unsettling.

"You’re late," Minho said, his voice even, though his gaze was razor-sharp.

She smirked. "Traffic."

Jeongin laughed, the sound echoing through the space. It started light but veered into something sharper, more manic. He tilted his head, his grin stretching too wide. "Funny, considering you’re the only one who knows how to clear a path before you walk it, yeah?"

Minho’s eyes flicked toward Jeongin, a brief warning in his gaze. Jeongin shrugged, his grin unfaltering.

Sliding a data chip across the crate between them, she inclined her head. "You’ve got what you asked for. Let’s hope it’s worth dragging me into this."

Minho didn’t move immediately. Instead, he studied her as though peeling back layers to see what lay beneath. She fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny, meeting his gaze head-on.

"You’re confident," Minho murmured. "But confidence can be a bluff."

She raised an eyebrow. "And paranoia can be a crutch."

Jeongin snorted, flipping his knife one last time before embedding it into the crate with a sharp thunk. "Paranoia’s what keeps people breathing in places like this. Right, hyung?" His voice was sing-song, but there was a dark glint in his eyes that made her skin prickle.

"Enough," Minho said flatly, his tone brooking no argument. His fingers finally closed around the chip, his movements deliberate.

She bit back a retort, she felt the air vibrated with unease. A whisper of intent brushed the edges of their mind—danger, coiled and waiting.

Without thinking, they barked, "Duck!"

The room erupted. Bullets ricochet off metal, and the crate splintered as Minho yanked Jeongin down. Her pulse spiked as they darted for cover, their mind scrambling to pinpoint the source of the attack.

Jeongin’s laughter rang out again, sharp and wild. "Oh, they think they’re clever!" he called out, his voice laced with twisted glee. "Hyung, let’s show them how clever looks with blood on it!"

Minho’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his movements fluid as he returned fire. "Jeongin, flank left. You, stay close!"

"Close?" Jeongin laughed again as he darted to the side, his blade flashing in one hand. "Where’s the fun in that?"

She clenched ther jaw but followed Minho, pressing her body against the crate beside him. His proximity was grounding, his focus unshakable even in the storm of bullets.

"Your timing’s impressive," Minho muttered, reloading.

"So’s your aim," She shot back, though their eyes flicked nervously toward where Jeongin had vanished into the fray.

A strangled cry echoed from the shadows, and she caught a glimpse of Jeongin returning, his blade slick with blood. His grin was feral as he crouched beside them, tilting his head at her. "Wanna taste?"

"Jeongin," Minho warned, his tone sharper now.

The ambush ended as abruptly as it began, the attackers retreating when Minho’s shots found their leader. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by Jeongin’s humming—a jaunty tune that clashed horribly with the carnage around them.

She wiped sweat from their brow, their breath unsteady. "Still think I’m just a bluff?"

Minho regarded them, his expression unreadable. "You might be more useful than I thought."

Jeongin wiped his blade on his sleeve, his grin unwavering. "Useful, charming, and fun to mess with. Yeah, I’m Keeping you"

She rolled her eyes, but her heart pounded as Minho’s gaze lingered just a moment too long before he turned away. Meanwhile, Jeongin’s laughter echoed in her mind like a warning she couldn’t shake. On the way towards the safehouse, Jeongin’s voice cut through the tense silence.

"Wait."

She glanced back, and for a moment, something flickered in Jeongin’s dark eyes—a glint of something unhinged, barely contained beneath the surface. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the knife still twirling between his fingers.

"You’re not scared of us," he said, his tone almost playful. "Why’s that?"

She met his gaze, the weight of his curiosity pressing down like a storm cloud. "Should I be?"

Jeongin’s grin faltered, just for a second, before snapping back into place. "Maybe. I think you’d like it."

Minho’s jaw tightened, his hand subtly resting on the edge of the table. "Enough, Jeongin."

Jeongin laughed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Just curious, hyung. No harm done."

She lingered for a moment, her eyes flicking between the two. The air in the room felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken. Finally, she turned and walked toward the back room, her telepathic senses brushing against the edges of Minho’s simmering frustration and Jeongin’s chaotic amusement.

Sleep didn’t come easily. She sat on the edge of the narrow bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. The echoes of thoughts—Minho’s measured precision, Jeongin’s erratic whirl of emotion—buzzed faintly in their mind.

The door creaked open, and Minho stepped inside, his presence filling the small room. He carried a small first-aid kit, setting it down on the bedside table without a word.

"Figured you’d be too stubborn to patch yourself up," he said, his voice low.

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue as Minho sat beside them, his movements precise as he tended to her shoulder. His hands were steady, his focus sharp, but there was something softer in his touch—a care that he didn’t voice.

"You don’t have to do this," she murmured, their voice quieter now.

Minho’s gaze flicked to theirs, a hint of something unreadable in his dark eyes. "I look out for my team."

"Am I part of your team now?"

For a moment, Minho didn’t answer. He secured the bandage with a final tug and leaned back, his expression guarded. "For now." She opened their mouth to respond, but a shadow appeared in the doorway—Jeongin, his grin as sharp as ever.

"Hyung," he drawled, leaning against the frame. "You’re hogging her."

Minho sighed, his patience clearly thinning. "What do you want, Jeongin?"

Jeongin stepped into the room, his movements slow and deliberate. "Just thought I’d keep our guest company. Can’t have her getting bored, right?" She looked between them, the tension crackling like static in the air. Minho’s jaw clenched, but he rose without a word, brushing past Jeongin as he left.

Jeongin’s grin softened as he took Minho’s place on the bed, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "So," he said, resting his chin on his palm, "what’s it like having two of the most dangerous men in the city fussing over you?"

She gave a dry laugh. "Exhausting."

Jeongin’s laughter rang out, light but tinged with something darker. "Good. I’d hate for you to get too comfortable."

She didn’t stay long after the ambush. The safe house had felt suffocating, with Minho’s calculating stares and Jeongin’s unsteady energy pressing on her from all sides. She slipped out before dawn, leaving only a simple note:

"Thanks for the help. Don’t come looking for me."

Minho found the note first, his jaw tightening as he crumpled it in his hand. Jeongin, lounging on the couch with his usual smirk, raised an eyebrow. "She’s gone?"

Minho shot him a glare. "Stay focused. We’ve got other things to worry about."

But Jeongin’s grin faltered, just for a moment. "You really think she’ll be okay out there? After what happened?"

Minho didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

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foldingfittedsheets · 9 months ago

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So neither my wife or I have been sleeping well and their mother in law is visiting. She’s been hacking and coughing since she arrived setting off all my panic alarms about getting sick. We’ve gotten two negative covid tests but over the counter drugs aren’t able to tackle her cough.

It’s hard to tell what’s paranoia, allergies, poor sleep, or real illness but I’ve been feeling worse and worse over the last couple days. We have a feast planned at a medieval village on Saturday with several friends and an unventilated room full of people.

She’s staunchly resisting the idea of going to the doctor, insisting this is allergies even after admitting she’s never had allergies like this. The more medical questions we ask the more she digs her heels in. She finally admitted her nose fluids are not in fact clear.

My wife went to tell her we’re dragging her to a walk in clinic tomorrow to get a clear bill of health before the feast but I feel like she resents how alarmed I am by her illness. She’s not pleased with the plan.

#ramblies #trying to deal with this on so little sleep has my wife and I both on edge #and it is exponentially worsened by starting my period today #I’m at my most tired and hysterical trying to navigate feelings public health and interpersonal relationships #it’s hell

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studiogrimm810 · 1 month ago

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Cut and Dry

pairings/characters: (established) sam winchester x gn!you, dean is also there

summary: when on a hunt with sam and dean, things go wrong and reader ends up stuck in a very small metal box and has a panic attack

warnings: hurt/comfort, claustrophobia, graphic depiction of a panic attack, reader has major anxiety :(

word count: 4,013

A/N: this one is pretty freaky i think, i had a hard time proof reading it due to my own claustrophobia lolol. if you’re also claustrophobic or have anxiety issues just be prepared, i feel like i funneled some of my own paranoia/anxiety into this one :/

———————

This hunt has completely gone south, leaving you, Sam and Dean scattered across the expansive property. An eerily beautiful house was in the center of this small open field, showing signs of slowly becoming reclaimed by nature overtime. Snakes of vines wrapped around the edges of the home, dipping into any broken window or cracked siding. Moss stained the exposed wooden doors and shutters and years of wear and tear almost made this probably once strong, sturdy home look soggy and warped.

There was a small shed behind the heart of the property but it was almost entirely exposed bone, leaving nothing to the imagination and absolutely no extra hiding places.

You had managed to escape the confines of the home, taking a few deep breaths and trying to recenter yourself back into some sort of plan to gank the spirits haunting this house.

It had been at least 10 minutes since you’ve heard or seen Sam or Dean and your anxiety was starting to eat at you.

As you round the house, you spot the Impala still parked a little ways away and since you’ve lost your weapons, you jog to the car and open the trunk. You grab another sawed-off and a quick go-back of salt, lighter fluid, matches, and a few other essentials before locking the trunk and heading right back into the maws of the rotting entryway.

You keep the gun hugged close and up to your shoulder, aiming it straight ahead. Each step creaks the floorboards so you go slowly, letting your eyes drink in all of the dark shadows and details of the rooms before you.

Thankfully, this is a shotgun house, meaning you can see the complete opposite end of the home from the front door, which makes it easier to scan through. You head down the main hallway and peek into passing rooms, keeping quiet and steady.

As you get halfway through, you’re stopped at the stairway, deciding to creep up the steps and continue your search. The walls groan as your feet weigh down the aged wood and you silently pray that they won’t crumble beneath you.

Once you’ve reached the top of the stairs, you survey the open area. When you were last here- just a few minutes ago- you only got as far as exploring the main floor, so all of what you see before you is new and uncharted territory.

You take cautious steps to the closest room to you and push open the door only to find a decayed mattress and a rusted bed frame. The window to this room had been punched in by kudzu and was now practically flooded with green. You back away into the hallway again and go to the next room, a bathroom. Once shimmering porcelain was shattered and dusted about the small room, tiles cracked and the mirror almost completely vacant. You backed out of the doorway as well and went across the hallway to another door, creaking it open and finding one of the brothers’ duffels- Dean had taken the upstairs so it had to be his.

You pick up your pace and crouch down to look at the bag, it was half open and on its side- dropped. Glancing around the room, you find a few moldy pieces of furniture and more vines but on the far right wall, there was an opening. You stand up straight again and creep slower to the opening. Upon further inspection, it was a laundry chute and you guessed it led straight down to the basement since you couldn’t see past a certain point of silky black darkness.

“Shit,” you say, resting your hand on the cracked wooden framing of the chute. After grabbing Dean's abandoned duffle, you head back downstairs to the basement door that was under the stairs.

It was now almost midnight and the full moon only offered so much light, leaving the basement completely dark. You pull out your flashlight and aim it down the steps.

Each step feels like you’re purposely leading yourself down a well of quicksand, sucking you further into a voided abyss.

When you reach the bottom of the steps you shine your flashlight around, take in the general layout and make mental notes of how to go about this. The ceilings were low, so low that you bet Sam would have to crouch around door frames and support beams. The cement floor had numerous veiny cracks and layers of dust and rubble crunching under each step you took.

The air was so still and so thick that you felt as if you had to almost swim through the basement or push past mounds of quicksand to take another step.

Or maybe that was the tunacan feeling of the basement constricting your muscles into a tense knot of buzzing anxiety.

Between the radio silence from the brothers and the cramped basement that you were almost certain they were in, you felt like your heart was going to pound right out of your chest and abandon you with a heart shaped hole in the wall on its way out.

There was a dim spotlight of a cool glow in the far other side of the basement and it had to be the chute opening. As you pan your flashlight down, you find a Dean unconscious with blood at his temple.

“Shit!” You hiss quietly to yourself, quickly making your way over to him, discarding the duffle and shaking him awake. After an annoyed groan, you finally get him to open his eyes and look at you. His memories catch up and he looks pissed.

“Fuckin’ ghost shoved me down the damn dumbwaiter,” Dean grumbled, sitting up with your help and dusting himself off the best he could.

“I think it’s a laundry chute,” you mindlessly correct, wiping off some debris from the back of his jacket and only stopping when you noticed him turned to look at you with a ‘really? right now?’ kinda bitchface. “Sorry,” you murmur, hiding your smile as you help him off the floor.

“Where’s Sammy?” Dean asks, his eyebrows pinching when he realizes that Sam isn’t with you.

“I don’t know, he was behind me one minute, then the next he’s vanished,” you say, your own forehead contorted in worry. Dean sighed and looked around the basement as he felt his jacket, looking for something. You shine your flashlight around and spot another one that’s identical with its batteries popped out on the floor. Dean reaches down to pick it up and reload the batteries in the light, looking around the basement himself.

“Think he’s down here?” Dean asked, looking around the walls for any indent or signs of a hidden passage.

“That’s my best guess, the ghost obviously wanted you down here at least,” you say, looking around at a shelf along the back wall trying to find any clues.

Both of your lights started to flicker and you and Dean stopped to find each other's eyes again as if to anchor yourselves. The room dropped in temperature and a chill tickled up your spine. You shiver, walking towards Dean to be closer in case something happens.

But you aren’t quick enough.

The flashlight is smacked out of your hands and it’s shattered against the cement wall, leaving Dean's flickering lamp to be the only light. Your gun is the next to fly out of your grasp, clanking and scraping across the floor far out of your or Dean's reach.

You look around you, trying to find the invisible force that did this but you land on nothing. Dean calls out your name as he tries to progress to your location but he’s flung just like the objects in your hand and before you can react, your mind goes dim.

———

The cold is what wakes you up. Chills running along your skin like a million little ants scattering about. You groan softly as you tilt your head and you bring up a free hand to touch it to your temple but you can hardly get your arm up before it hits something solid above you.

You peel your eyes open and let your eyes try to adjust to the nearly pitch black scene above you. A metal pane covered in splotches of rust hovers only a few inches from your face, so close that you can see the individual specks of rust or dirt.

Your lungs immediately clench at the sight and you try to look down but your head meets the pane and a layer of dust ripples from the surface, settling on your face and body making any exposed skin itchy with its feather-light touch. You take in a sharp breath only to inhale some of the mixture and you cough. You try to bring up either of your hands again but due to the cramped space, you can’t lift or twist your arms in any way to reach your face.

You turn your head to try and look around, and thankfully there are a few air slots on either side of the box. There are three 4-inch long slits- sort of like gills, you think.

Past the gills, you can tell that you’re on the floor in some metal coffin. The moon shines through to cast a window beam into the center of the floor and you try to move your head to find the window. You successfully do so and also see the steep arch of the ceiling.

So far, you can tell that you’re on the floor, in the attic, in some metal confine.

You let your head fall back to its waking position and you’re met with the pane again. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to ignore the fact that you can barely move- or breathe.

Your hands feel around and you wiggle your feet a bit to try and find any way out of this thing but there’s nothing. Your hands get more eager and your breath picks up. With your building desperation you begin to pound your fist against the sides of the box but that only lets more rusty dust fall on you which leads to more coughing and leaves your breathing in more disarray.

“Fuck!” You grunt with a wavered voice after banging the box a few times. Your eyes start to prick with stinging tears.

A familiar voice calls out your name.

If your body wasn’t already completely malfunctioning, your heart dropping at the sound would be more noticeable.

You tilt your head to look back through the gills to find something you missed before, another box on the opposite side as you with matching slits and brick-red rust.

“S-sam?” You tremble out, your voice so small and so so scared.

“It’s me, honey, you’re okay,” he replies. The feeling of relief from his voice alone makes you feel lightheaded.

“Sam!” You call out again, your voice thick with tears and you bang on the box again, earning a fresh layer of dust.

“You need to calm down, sweetheart,” he warned softly. He knew of your claustrophobia very well. “We’re gonna be okay, but you just need to lay still and let yourself breathe, okay?” His voice floats over to you, slightly muffled but you can still make out what he is saying.

“N-no, Sam, I c-can’t-,” you stutter out, words interrupted with instinctual breaths or choked by soft sobs. Your body is trembling and you feel absolutely sick. Your lungs are beginning to feel like over-chewed bubble gum and your head is beyond dizzy.

“Yes you can,” Sam says sternly, his words dripping with worry and concern over your mental and physical well-being. “You can, okay? Are you hurt?”

“I- I don’t think so,” you say, your words drawn out with a whine as you continue to cry.

“Good, honey, that’s good,” Sam breathes out a puff of relief at shortening his list of concerns. His own worry was eating away at him, making him almost nauseous at the thought of you in such emotional distress. “Have you seen Dean?” He asked, trying to continuously ask you questions to distract you but also worried about his brother.

“W-we were looking for you when sh-she-,” you said enough for Sam to know that you were talking about the ghost.

“Okay, okay,” Sam said, taking his own deep breaths to try and figure out how to get out of this situation.

You kept your eyes so screwed shut that colors started to dance on your eyelids and your ears were ringing. You still couldn’t get your breathing under control and it felt like you were under water. Sam spoke again but you didn’t hear him this time, your sniffles and quick breathing piercing through the air. The sound makes Sam wince and his chest tighten with worry. He continues to try and talk but you can’t hear a word he’s saying.

Your fists are clenched tight and nails dig in your palms as you try to grip onto some sort of control over the situation.

Your breathing is getting fast- too fast- and Sam can hear it.

“Honey, you need to calm down, you’re gonna pass out,” Sam pleaded, it was killing him that he couldn’t get to you to help you or comfort you, “please,” he said, his own words trembling with heartache.

A loud thud rattles the floor and you feel the shake in your box which makes you freeze for a moment- in fear that the floorboards were caving and that you’d fall.

God, if you fell?

Falling in this metal death trap?

Another sob shook your body and you were really starting to get dizzy, you can’t do it, you can’t.

Heavy footsteps walk around and you hear Sam’s voice again and another voice- Dean maybe?

There’s some metal clanging and more rushed talking but everything is muffled so you can’t hear. You try and look through the gills again but your tears blur your vision to the point of complete disorientation.

You start to bang your fists again causing more dust to fall but you can’t even care because you NEED to get out of this box.

You think maybe if your fists can match the intensity of your heartbeat then you can push out of this dreadful box and never look back.

There’s some more heavy footsteps and voices- all muffled and a million miles away.

There’s even some more metal clanking and you know that it’s your box, but everything feels so distant and empty.

What shocks you back to reality like a defibrillator is a loud smack of metal on cold wood right next to your ear and you flinch, cowering away to nowhere since that’s all you can do. Your head snaps to see that the metal pane of which you once looked through its gills was now flat on the ground and there’s a hand reaching out to you. The hand pulls your body out and you're so lost in your own mess that you can’t see or hear that it’s Sam just yet so you struggle, sobbing and heaving small puffs of air that felt like your lungs trying to outrun your heart rate.

Sam beccons your name, lifting you up to look at him. Your wide eyes finally meet his panicked ones, completely freaked and unsure what to do- he has never seen you this bad.

“S- s-, oh m-,” you try to speak but your teeth are chattering as if you’re freezing to your core- you’re not.

Sam's hand reaches up to cup your face, his mouth gaping like a fish but he finds no words to speak. His own eyes are glossy with a well of tears and his jaw trembles with staggering thoughts that are unable to form complete sentences. He snaps his jaw shut and lets his face morph into a wince of such emotional pain. He pulls in a sharp breath and settles his face back into a look of complete determination and observance.

“You’re okay, you’re safe,” he says each word as if they’re their own statement, letting them melt into your ringing ears and soothe away the buzzing around you. “Dean took care of the ghost, we’re safe,” he continues to speak his words slowly and carefully, pausing to make sure you’re keeping up and understanding each syllable. “You can breathe, you can move, you can stand, okay?” He says, nodding his head to show his own certainty and confidence in his words, “I promise.”

You look up past Sam to see Dean standing behind him, watching you with his own pained eyes, glossy with emotion. Dean offers you a curt nod, showing no signs of ‘maybe’s’ or ‘if’s’.

You bring your gaze back down to Sam’s who hasn’t left you, looking over your face and taking in every last detail. You look down between you, Sam’s left hand gripping your bicep a little harder than he means to but the pain is grounding and his right hand still cupping your cheek. Your body is covered in debris from the rotting inside of your coffin. You look back down at it to see just how tiny it looks from out here and you can’t even imagine how you fit into that thing in the first place.

Your heart is still racing and breathing is still coming in short, painful gasps and looking at the box wasn’t helping.

“Hey, no,” Sam almost bit out, gently directing your face back to him, “You’re safe, okay?”

This wasn’t a hypothetical question and you know that, Sam was used to your attacks and usually you would go mute during them due to a complete inability to speak, so when you could respond then that meant you were okay enough to move.

But right now you can’t seem to get a grip.

As you look back into his eyes your face melts into another sob and you lean fully into him, letting your forehead rest against his chest and he quickly engulfs you in his arms.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he says as soothingly as he can but the crack in his voice betrays him, “you’re out.”

Your shoulders shake with pitiful sobs.

“Just breathe, just breathe,” Sam says, keeping his voice low and running his hand through your hair, hoping to calm you enough to get you to speak. “You’re okay, you’re safe. We can leave and never look back, okay?” Sam says again, hoping you’ll reply. Your silence sinks his heart.

Your breathing starts to slow a bit as your panicked heart realizes you’re now out of the box. You’re still trembling and completely exhausted but your more rational self is starting to come back a bit.

“We’ll leave and get in bed and be warm and so comfortable, honey,” he paints a mental picture for you and you now start to realize how cold it is up here. “We can get food if you’re hungry or you can take a shower to get cleaned up. You’ll feel so much better,” he promises, sniffling before he places a kiss on top of your head. “You’re okay,” he repeats.

“I-I’m okay,” you mumble softly into his chest, fingering the edge of his jacket. You feel his shoulders slump in relief as he lets out a lungful of air.

“Yeah, you’re okay,” Sam nods, holding you a little tighter before pulling away to look at you again. “Can you stand?” He asks, his face still layered with concern. You nod, ready to get the hell out of that house.

Sam stands first and then reaches back down for your hands, guiding you to your feet. Your legs are wobbly and feel like jelly but Sam keeps an arm wrapped around your torso to keep you balanced.

Dean led the way back to the opening to the attic which was a foldable ladder- that's what that bang was, you think. After a silent conversation with Sam, Dean descends first, looking back up and waiting for you to be helped down by Sam. Your legs are still weak so you hold onto Sam’s arms like a handlebar and when you get a few steps down you feel Dean's hands on your hips, guiding you the rest of the way.

The floorboards groan as you step off the ladder and Dean keeps a firm grip on you.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dean asks, looking down at you with the same concerned expression. You don’t meet his eyes due to the now growing guilt and shame you have over your reaction. You only nod.

Sam hops off the ladder and goes to reach for you again, letting Dean lead the way out of the house while Sam keeps you close and secure.

The drive back was silent- mind numbingly silent. Sam sat in the back with you and continued to talk you down, trying to calm you any way he could. You stayed silent.

When you all got back to the motel, Dean headed straight for the shower to give you and Sam some privacy which you appreciated. Sam led you inside and sat you on the edge of the bed, pulling up a chair to sit right across from you.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, his voice so low and so loving that it’s practically a hum.

You just shrug, looking down at your shaking hands that intertwine with his. He rubbed his thumb along the back of your palm and you watched.

“Are you thirsty?” He asks patiently.

You don’t respond.

“Honey, look at me,” he lets go of one of your hands to tilt your chin up to him, using only 2 fingers so as to not overwhelm you too much. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” He keeps his eyes glued to yours, waiting until you’re ready to speak.

You swallow thickly, trying to find the right words to say.

“I’m embarrassed,” you whisper and Sam could barely hear you but he followed your lips and immediately understood. He nodded softly.

“That makes sense, but you shouldn’t be,” he leans in a bit to show his emphasis- as if digging your eyes up with his own. “You did nothing wrong, you were scared and you reacted. That’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he spoke as if it were cut and dry.

Your eyes fall closed, letting out a sigh. You feel the last tear that your eyes can muster up roll down your cheek. He’s quick to wipe it away- cut and dry.

He’s really worried about you, sure you’ve had panic attacks before but this was next level. You were absolutely inconsolable and nothing he was saying had really gotten through to you.

“You’re safe, okay? And you have done absolutely nothing wrong,” he repeats, hoping you’ll just believe him.

“I-I’m sorry,” you mumble, sniffling softly.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Sam shakes his head, running his thumb along your jaw, “You never need to apologize- not to me.”

You’ll never understand how the sweetest, patient, most understanding and kindhearted man became yours. Sure, sometimes you question it, but you will always and forever take it.

“At least your fear makes sense, remember when I freaked out about that killer clown and you had to cover my ass?” Sam jokes with a soft and warm smile, you would chuckle if you had the energy. Instead, a small curl of your lips show him that you found humor in his comment and his chest ignites with a wash of relief at the movement.

You take a full breath that is staggered with the aftershock of your sobbing and let your shoulders slump as you let go of the tension holding you stiff and you wrap your arms around him, holding him close. He’s right in suit- pulling you into a firm hug.

“You’re okay, we’re okay,” he whispers in your ear, his cheek pressed into your hair and arms covering your torso.

“We’re safe now,” he says slightly strained with painful love, and you believe him.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

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lullabyes22-blog · 1 month ago

Text

Snippet - The Stretcher - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

An ugly reckoning...

tw: gore, violence, medical trauma, limb loss

cw: suggestions of inappropriate relationships between mentor and student

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

Silco walks on.

Inside, the odor of stale chemicals seeps through the air. Jinx's containment pod is a plexiglas sphere resembling a transparent hive. Inside, she is laid out on a narrow cot. Her left hand—the two clever fingers so cruelly excised—is strapped to a splint. The stumps are a little red, but clean and dry. Each one is neatly sutured with black thread.

Black as the sucking hole in her chest.

Through the covers, Silco can see the delineations of the wound, a map of gauze adhering to her torso. The flesh is still flayed. But it is no longer a disaster-site of hideous spillage. The raw tendons are scored with tiny stitches. Each one, a testament to Singed’s ruthlessly meticulous handiwork.

The rest of Jinx is bone pale as if the scant pigment on her skin has been sucked dry. Her freckles stand out in stark pinpricks.

Two bags of fluid hang on a metal pole, drip-drip-dripping down a tube into a needle jammed into her arm. The steady flow of antibiotics, morphine, and synthesized Shimmer will bolster her vitals and keep her under. Her breathing—a tarred constriction of bubbles caught in her perforated lungs—has smoothed over the course of the night. But it remains an effortful jag: deep, dragging, discordant.

Silco's guts churn. The instinctive grind of rage is offset by guilt.

Then: shock.

Jinx is not alone.

A longer body's curved around Jinx's small one. One arm, the sleeve rolled to the elbow, is flung over her hip. Fingertips splay against her thigh: an anchor. The other arm, metallic, makes a protective arc over Jinx's skull. The cybernetic fingers, tipped with steel, are threaded in her blue hair. The head, half-obscured in lank brown curls, is tipped to Jinx's own.

Their temples mirror. Their eyelashes kiss. The cadence of their chests rises and falls in concert.

The Hexcore, with hypnotic rotations, bathes Jinx and Viktor in a violet glow.

From his own extremities, Silco feels pure rage blast open as the Monster unlocks.

"What the hell—?"

Singed looms from the corner of the medbay: tall and fleshlessy thin as a mantis. He's clad in a white smock resembling a butcher's apron. The barest smear of blood is caught in the weave. He glances up at Silco's snarl.

Apart from an expression of insectile alertness, he shows no other signs of concern.

"Ah," he says. "You've returned."

"Open the pod."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Viktor. What in the frozen hell is he—?"

"He's aiding her retrieval."

"What?"

"Her retrieval," Singed says, in the same imperturbable tone. "From what I understand, a plunge into the Void is not unlike falling into arctic waters. It takes a strong grip to pull oneself out. J17 is a skilled swimmer. But she remains partially submerged. She'll need a guide to drag her to the shore."

"He has no right to—"

"To what? Hold his companion's hand?"

"Companion?"

Singed nods.

Silco's jaw locks as the Doctor's meaning sinks in.

Guardians and Mages. He'd known, in his bones, that the bond between Viktor and Jinx held a strange, unearthly resonance. A tie that binds, like gravity does a comet: two celestial forces, inexorably pulled together by the galvanic charge of their shared potential.

He'd assumed the nature of the bond was intellectual. That their kinship was a matter of mathematics: two minds, one wavelength. Then Jinx's spells of strangeness and self-enforced secrecy began. He thinks of the audio recordings in the Aerie: the susurrations and whispers. The ungodly silence.

It wasn't sex—no matter the wildness of his paranoia, he knew Jinx was still too innocent, and that her tastes lay elsewhere. But the overtones—of communion, and a deeper, almost otherworldly intimacy—were terrifying.

Now, seeing them together—a tangle of arms, a knotting of fingers—his worst fears have been made manifest.

It's plain, from the ease between their bodies, that Jinx has slept in Viktor's arms before. Plain, too, that it's happened enough times for this closeness to take on overtones of trust. A trust Silco had invited: to his doorstep, past his threshold, and straight to his daughter’s bed.

A trust that’s been repaid with disaster.

Reflexively, Silco's fists ball.

"Open the pod," he says.

"What?"

"Open it."

"With all due respect, that is not the wisest course of action." Singed remains maddeningly equable. He could be discussing a minor surgical procedure: the pros and cons of local versus general anesthetic. "The Hexcore—from what I gather—is acting as a buffer. It is protecting both J17 and Viktor as they work to draw her out. To separate them at this juncture would risk a backlash."

"Backlash?"

"I'm speaking in metaphysical rather than medical terms. From what I have gleaned, the Hexcore is a living organism. It has its own will and wants. I am not privy to the nature of the bargain it has struck with Viktor. But I hazard that it is his key to the Void. And that, in exchange for entry, it protects his and Jinx’s corporeal forms. To rip them apart would be... traumatic. For all parties present."

In Viktor's embrace, Jinx expels a sigh. There's a subtle alteration in her breathing. The Void creeping across her brainwaves, perhaps. Viktor's arm flexes around her. His own breathing—that half-mechanical, half-organic rasp—deepens. His lips touch her temple.

The Hexcore sings. The pitch is nearly ethereal.

Two spirits: locked in orbit.

Silco's jaw grinds. A vein ticks in his temple. Whatever's happening, it is not something he comprehends. Not something, he suspects, meant to be comprehended. But that doesn't stymie the rage. Nor the dread.

The former, he can dissect with a cool eye, peel it down to the viscera of what it is: a primal need to keep his child safe.

The latter, though...

That's a formless shadow stretching over his psyche. The sense of something very, very huge: a force the size of a godhead eclipsing the horizon. And the stormfront, lightning-laced, is rolling across the sea straight towards his ship of destiny.

It's not often Silco feels his smallness. But he does now, and the fallout is brutal.

"You knew," he says, deathly soft.

"Hm?"

"You knew. About Viktor. Compromising my child."

Singed is not a shrugger. Hedging is not his strong suit. But his silence speaks for itself.

"I would not call such a bond a compromise," he says at length. "In some ways, it was inevitable. Viktor is extraordinarily gifted. J17, a creature of pure potential. They are both seekers in the dark. It makes sense that they'd find each other." A slight cant to his head: a gesture of self-reproach. "I will admit: I should have informed you. But there was no reason to believe the entanglement was of a carnal nature."

"No reason to believe they weren't fucking?"

The vulgarism stirs Singed out of scholarly calm. He doesn't smile. But his lipless mouth shows a glint of teeth. It's the same expression he'd wear when Silco would return to the Cannery after prowling the dank cloaca of the Lanes.

Always: with a plaything on his arm and ill-gotten gains in his pocket.

He'd often likened Silco's gravitation toward vice as a form of self-medicating. The sex, the drugs, the power-plays: all symptoms of a man whose eye could not close, and needed other means to unwind. Other ways to blot out the light.

It was a diagnosis Silco only partially agreed with. It was not autonomic impediment that kept his bad eye from closing. Simply the refusal to look away from the world as it was.

Now, his bad eye smolders in its socket. It's a marvel the Doctor doesn't wilt in its heat. Then again, Singed's always been a hard man to burn.

It's what he and Silco have in common.

"No," he says. "That, I do not believe."

"Is that so?"

"Given Viktor's... condition... it's unlikely."

"I'm not sure if you're aware, Doctor—" Silco's tone, beneath the frigid civility, is honed to cut jugulars, "—but there are ways around that."

The glint of teeth deepens. A grin, however cold. "Oh, I am aware. But I'm also aware of Viktor's nature. I've known him since he was a boy. Frailty's always been his cross to bear. But that has not diminished his drives. Only... redirected them, as it were."

"Sublimation."

"You sound dubious."

Silco's good eye slits. Singed's grin fades.

"I understand. We're men of pragmatic bent. There will always be a selfish component to our pursuits. A willingness to see the big picture, even if it means putting our better selves on the backburner." He turns to the pod. "Viktor is different. His nature has a singular trajectory: up. He wants to ascend. To break free of limitations: both inborn and self-imposed. Sex, in comparison, is a dead-end. Love, though? That's something else. Something that can take him to the stars."

Silco follows his stare. The pair, entwined, are haloed in violet. Their breathing is slow and steady.

A duet.

"The boy's always longed for a taste of the transcendent," Singed muses. "I imagine, in J17, he's found it. A force of pure creation. Pure entropy. It is only in chaos that order can thrive. The sense of a divine plan is what gives meaning to the world. And a multivalent, fractal reality is what allows a scientific theory to evolve into law."

Silco's knuckles pop. He says nothing.

"If it helps," the Doctor adds, "I doubt the boy's done worse than hold her hand. The way he speaks of her, one would think her a... psychopomp. Someone to guide him to a higher plane of knowledge. Someone whose existence is to be worshiped. Not possessed."

"Worship and possession," Silco replies, in the voice of cold prescience, "often end the same way."

"Oh?"

"With someone on their knees."

Singed doesn't laugh, exactly. The sound's too measured. But his mangled lips stretch to show the full set of teeth. They hold the implacable sheen of scalpels. Each one slitting its careful way through the tissue of Silco's self-control.

"A cynic's view," he says. "And one I disagree with."

"Do you, now?"

"I'll grant there is a physical element to their closeness. But, I suspect, the physical is merely a conduit to that higher plane. A literal touchstone to guide them through the dark. The true roadmap, as it were, is the end each of them seeks."

"That end being?"

"Balance," Singed says. "If my theory is correct, they each serve as a counterpoise to the other. J17, in her unbound potential: a spirit of half flesh, half catalyst. A force in constant flux. Viktor, in his rigid catechism: a being forged in metal and magic. The very dictum of death. Each is, in their own way, an anomaly. Together, they are a paradox. One that introduces a new paradigm."

"Paradigm."

"Cause and effect." The grin's gone. Only Singed's eyes shine: a cold, methodical zeal. "Or, in your language: cost and reward."

A chill steals through Silco.

It's not the first time Singed's dissections of the metaphysical have taken a macabre turn. For the Doctor, the two are indistinguishable: the duality of life and death reduced to quantifiable variables of mess and mass. In his laboratory, Silco's witnessed the results firsthand.

The Doctor's a man who understands that knowledge only goes as deep as the knife cuts. And Silco, a man who has cut to the marrow of humanity's ugliness, knows there's no limit to the incision when the rest's been pared clean.

"If your intention was to disarm me," he says flatly, "you've failed."

"Disarm." Singed's chuckle is dry as bone dust. "Old friend, you are not the weapon. Only the steel that whets its edge."

"Flattery?"

"Fact." The corners of Singed's eyes crinkle. "We are, both of us, mere tools for a greater design."

Jinx cries out.

In the pod, the Hexcore spins rapidly. The rotations, faster and faster, become a multicolored blur. The fluctuating glow—sometimes blue, sometimes red—is phantasmagoric. Silco has the sense of something primordial unspooling into existence. The birth of a star, on a spiritual scale: chemical fusion gone mystic.

A subsonic hum fills the air. Jinx's cry spikes.

Her whole body begins shaking: a subtle network of pain radiating, it seems, from the epicenter of her wound. Viktor's embrace holds. But beads of sweat pop on his temples. His breathing goes choppy. The pod's plexiglas walls turn milky as if with steam.

No—frost.

Silco can see the lattice of ice spreading. The cracks, fanning in jagged starbursts, resemble spiderweb.

Meanwhile, Viktor and Jinx may as well be under a full rig of stage lights: both of them are simmering in their skins.

Jinx's pallor is engulfed by a bright pink flush. Her breath comes in rapid drags. Her good right hand, fluttering, finds Viktor's good left. Their palms align, fingers twining. The twin rows of knuckles, flesh and bone, are deathly white.

The Hexcore's singing deepens. Jinx's own cry climbs to a keen.

Silco races forward. "Jinx!"

Before he can touch the pod, Singed seizes his arm. The grip is cold, cadaverous, yet somehow comforting.

"Not yet," he urges, as Jinx's wails echo and re-echo. "It's not done yet."

"Let go! She needs me—"

"No." Singed's grip is as unyielding as his gaze. "She needs to finish this. As does Viktor. Let them see it through."

Silco stares. Blood beats in his temples. He understands, remotely, that he is terrified. Paralysis, its predictable residue, clings like a second skin. It's a heaviness he despises. It's why he is so quick to reassert self-dominion with a dose of violence. To defend himself, monster and man, from threats that would otherwise devour him.

But what if the threat's taken root in the tenderest parts?

What if it can never be excised?

(Is that fatherhood?)

Tossing her head, Jinx screams. Viktor, gasping, shudders.

The Hexcore's pulsations go critical.

Then—with a flash of brilliant blue—the humming ebbs. The pod's opalescent frost, in icy bloom, evaporates. Within, Jinx and Viktor subside into stillness. Their hands are still twined, their foreheads together. Both breathe in unison.

But there's a dissonance in the rhythm. A harmony, that, while still in tandem, is their own.

Viktor is the first to wake.

His arm loosens its cradle around Jinx. His head stirs, the dark crown dislodging against its blue perch of her skull. The gold eyes—with their black-rimmed core—flicker. They are glazed in shock. Then he blinks, and they regain focus. The lineaments of his expression—grim-lipped and hollow-cheeked—are ones Silco knows well.

The sense of a spirit coming to the limits of its endurance, and shattering the barrier.

Now he's unsure what awaits on the other side.

Slowly, the golden eyes swivel. They find Singed. They find Silco. Then they fall on his and Jinx's still-linked hands. Something flickers across his wan face. Not a smile, exactly. But a certain softness around the hard brackets of his mouth.

As if he'd held on to a fear for dear life. And now, finding it unfounded, can let it go.

With a gentle tug, he unthreads their fingers.

Jinx doesn't stir. But she lets off a long slow exhalation that could be sadness, or a deep release of tension. Viktor disentangles their bodies. He does so with a delicate, deliberate care, keeping a light contact of fingertips all the way down her torso. Silco follows their path to Jinx's ribcage.

Under the gauze, the wound is closed. The meat is seared like a brand. But there's no trace of torn skin. Even the stitches—each raw suture point—have shrunk into a smooth pink furrow.

Jinx breathes. Each rise and fall—seamless—is a small miracle.

Silco is not a devout man. Contemptuous of all matters devotional, he treats prayer like a poor business transaction: an unstable currency of sacrifice, with no guarantee of success.

Now, the gratitude that floods his lungs is nearly a baptism. He hates every iota: the helplessness, the loss of agency.

But loves, gut-wrenchingly, what it's restored.

With effort, Viktor straightens. His bare feet, touching the tiles, let off a metallic clink. One hand grips the bedframe. The other reaches for his cane. Every muscle delineates the difficulty of keeping his balance.

The sheer exertion of willpower in holding his mind and body together.

As with all impossible endeavors, he does not falter.

"It is done," he says, hoarse but steady. "She is back."

"Back?"

"Within herself. The Void... has touched her heart. She has seen its own. But she is intact."

"Intact?"

"She will recover." He swallows with a liquid click. "In time."

Silco nods.

On the rumpled sheets, Jinx sleeps. Her breaths hold a deep-sea serenity. Her delicate features are preciously girlish and lost-looking. The sight suffuses Silco with a tenderness that yet calls up the horror of it all.

He takes himself to a place of stillness, and allows himself to feel it. Not just last night's ordeal. Everything leading up to it. Strategy after strategy, error after error, so the outcome is the same as when Zaun first emerged from its ravaged shell.

His child in a sickbed. His paternal devotion in a deathmatch with politics. His and Vi's blood game no more than a war against specters.

A war they've both lost.

Badly.

Silco's eyes pass from his sleeping beauty to the man who'd saved her life.

"Doctor," Silco says. "Open the pod."

Singed does not argue. With a deft touch, he flips the controls.

The plexiglas shell retracts. The air, trapped, is instantly sucked out. It is unseasonably warm from Jinx's and Viktor's body-heat. The smell holds a sterile bite of disinfectant. Underneath, a faint trace of musk lingers.

The unforgettable odor has been imprinted on Silco's olfactory landscape since Jinx began working with the Hex-gem. The permeating ozone-stink of night sweats and lightning strikes.

The afterglow of the Void.

Now Silco detects the component he'd not dared to put a name to: that singular, almost sexual tang. Two spirits, intertwined, coupling in a realm without flesh.

Right under his roof.

His eyes lock on Viktor's. The younger man's ambivalent features, caught between exhaustion and relief, shift. Wariness creeps in. It's not the fear of reckoning. More the full awareness of a gamble gone sour.

Now the ruin, no matter how cataclysmic, must be accounted for.

The gold eyes—infinitely patient, infinitely reckless—do not waver.

"I believe," Viktor says, "you have questions."

"I do," Silco says. Then: "Doctor. Fetch the stretcher."

Singed's head takes on an insectile slant. As if he's caught the taste of blood in his mandibles, and is trying to parse its source.

"Stretcher?" he repeats. "Whatever for?"

"Viktor."

"The boy seems perfectly—"

Crossing the distance, Silco lays a hand on Viktor's shoulder. A steadying, almost paternal clasp.

The Monster, unsheathing its claws, rakes down.

His fist slams into Viktor's gut. The young man staggers with a strangled cry. His cane clatters. The rest of him slumps, jelly-legged, as Silco follows with a snapping right hook, smoking it straight through the boy's frail defense and connecting with his jaw.

There is a satisfying snap of bone on bone. The sound, visceral and rich, kickstarts a tidal wave of blackness that seethes from the balls of Silco's feet and climbs all the way to his hairline.

The Monster is awake, and it is hungry.

"Doctor," Silco says, as Viktor crumples to the floor. "The stretcher."

Wisely, Singed obeys.

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