#i could honestly turn it into a fic

[courfee]

it's been exactly a year since the last chapter of Operation Walburga's Arbitrary No Kissing Ever Rule and I still miss it. This scene is probably one of my favourite things I've ever written and I've wanted to draw it for forever, so now seemed like an appropriate time

[cloudcountry]

the burdens of royalty

Genre/Tropes: Established relationship, MC and Diavolo are married.

Summary: the weight of both the devildom and the human world are on your shoulders. if it wasn't for diavolo, you would have given up a long time ago.

Author's Comments: diavolo has a very tough job. every time he said he adores mc or that one time he confessed his love to them i panicked because thats so much. its heavier than the brother's "i love you" because hes ROYALTY and its a lot of take in.

i also find myself thinking about what his affection means for mc in the long run. i mean, surely diavolo has suitors. there are obviously higher up demons like the brothers (and maddi, that one witch that pursued diavolo so aggressively it was...icky.) for diavolo to actually pursue mc, i can't imagine what would happen when those same demons figured that out. if they were to make their relationship official or even get married, mc would probably need a bodyguard 24/7 because demons are OBVIOUSLY not chill with humans (like every single brother threatening mc and especially belphegor, although his circumstances were different because they involved lilith.)

anyways i'll be quiet, i hope you enjoy C:

~~~~~

It wasn’t easy being you.

Your now husband would always tell you that being him wasn’t easy, but now that you share the burden of his position, does that not also apply to you?

It came as quite a shock to the entire Devildom the day your engagement was announced—to think, the Prince of the Devildom, marrying a human! The demon aristocracy would have had your head if they weren’t so terrified of Barbatos. You were called many things (a manipulator and a cheat being among your favorites. Really, the higher ups in demon society would know too much about manipulating their way up the social ladder.) It was like they could comprehend that you just wanted to be with the man you loved, and that race and position and titles meant absolutely nothing to do with it.

If nothing else, you suppose being human was the easiest thing they could target. It shielded Diavolo from most of the backlash, at any rate. The last thing you ever wanted was for the public to lose their trust in him (and never give his ideals for the three realms a chance.) The fact that he only wanted the best for them seemed to fly right over their heads, as if Diavolo was just as untrustworthy as you, the foreign soul from another realm.

You, now their ruler, too.

But that’s exactly why you had to clench your teeth and bear it, bear the shimmering dresses and horned guests and Barbatos breathing down your neck so nobody would even think of attacking you. Snide remarks about your clothing of choice were met with “my husband picked it out, actually,” comments about how delicious your flesh smelled were ignored but met with a stern glare from your bodyguard, greetings that sounded so fake and that were obviously meant to butter you up were laughed at just as falsely.

Is this what it meant to be a royal?

“I apologize, My Liege. This ball runs til midnight. I assure you that you may retire to your chambers once this is over.” Barbatos whispers, strategically whisking you away from a group of demonesses muttering to each other and staring at you.

“Thank you.” you try to smile, but it probably seems like more of a wince than anything, “My feet are killing me. And the guests are just as bad.”

He smiles back sympathetically, and although he isn’t touching you at all, you can still feel the warmth emanating from him. Though the Avatars of Sin fear him, Barbatos has always been nothing but kind to you. You wonder if it has something to do with Diavolo, or if he really is that cruel. You suppose it doesn’t matter, whether you’re naive or not, because the fact of the matter is that you have the man Barbatos is loyal to encased in an eternal matrimonial vow. There is no way Barbatos would attempt to harm you.

“I will run you and My Lord a bath once this event is over.” he promises, and you can only sigh with relief when you notice he’s lead you outside, were the amount of people is nowhere near what it is inside, “Do you have a preference for which aromatherapy scent I use?”

“Use whichever one Diavolo chooses.” you reply, knowing he’ll be just as tired.

Barbatos laughs, a sound so full of mirth it makes you happy, too.

“I am sorry if that was out of line, My Liege. I was just amused by the coincidence. My Lord said to select whichever scent you would like.” Barbatos chuckles.

You find yourself laughing too, despite how nasty the demons around you treat you every time you hold one of these balls. It’s so sweet and considerate and just so Diavolo. You wish you could hug him right now and thank him for always trying to be a better man for you. He doesn’t seem like he will ever realize that he’s enough already, which simultaneously warms and breaks your heart.

He really thinks too highly of you. You’re not that special.

Barbatos leads you to a bench and gestures for you to sit. You do so without complaint, and before you can say anything he’s on his knees and massaging your calves. You feel yourself heating up in the face (because you still feel like he shouldn’t be doing these things for you), but you’ve learned a while ago that he takes pleasure in serving people. So you let him do his thing.

Part of your flustered state is also embarrassment, and despite your best efforts you cannot stop your eyes from darting around the gardens to check if anyone is paying attention to you. Thankfully, they all seem enraptured by an illusionist hired for the event who’s stationed in front of the grandiose fountain. He keeps making wispy demonic figures swallow running humanoid figures whole.

You’re used to this.

Another servant comes by, one by the name of Marie Anne. You know her well. Diavolo has always been very kind to her, offering her a life away from the downright cruel aristocratic family she had before. You don’t know the details, and you don’t ask. It’s not your place.

The demoness curtsies and smiles, offering you a bubbling glass of Demonus. It can’t get you drunk, but it can be refreshing. You take it and thank her. Her cheeks turn pink and she curtsies again before scurrying towards the crowd of demons watching the illusionist.

It’s funny how some demons could be so kind and others so nasty. There were many similarities that they have with humans, whether they wanted to admit it or not.

You tell Barbatos that he can stop now, and he halts his motions and stands up immediately. You’re still not used to being pampered in such a way, so you thank him. He only smiles and tells you it’s not necessary.

“I believe this is why the servants are taking a quick liking to you.” he muses, “I hardly think they would be this receptive if My Lord had married a witch or a member of the aristocracy.”

“You really think so?” you say, feeling your cheeks burn again from the praise, “I…I’m not doing anything special.”

“A simple thank you goes a long way, My Liege.” he hums, a content smile on his face as he stands beside you.

You suppose he’s right. After all, you’ve only heard (and seen, you think bitterly) terrible things about the aristocracy. They’re rude and impatient and only ever think about themselves when it comes to policies that affect the entire Devildom. If they didn’t fear Diavolo so much they surely would have attempted to overthrow him by now.

Too bad, you think smugly, staring at the insolent illusionist again as he makes a smokey human child scream at a demonic creature emerging from an equally smokey closet, He would destroy all of you if you even tried.

You feel immature for the thought only seconds later. You’re a ruler. You need to get your act together—you can’t be just as bad as them.

“My Liege, it’s almost time for the first official dance of the night.” Barbatos bows to you, swooping his hand gracefully towards the ballroom, “Would you like to reconvene with My Lord?”

“Please. I thought I would never get to see him tonight.” you groan, attempting to walk off the slight cramp in your calf as you follow Barbatos back into the fray.

The second your shoes hit the shiny flooring and make that click clack sound, there are shimmering eyes drawn to your form. They snap away as soon as they look, though, and whether it’s disgust or fear of Barbatos you don’t know. It doesn’t matter though, because finally you’ll get to see your beloved after he’s been mingling with the aristocracy all night. It isn’t hard to find him either, because amidst all the other clumps of beautiful demons you can clearly see an even bigger clump closer to the center.

You don’t even have to mumble awkward ”excuse me’s” as they all step aside for you (mostly for Barbatos though, as he’s leading the way and they’ve already made it plenty clear that they do not respect you) and before you know it, you’re standing in front of your beaming husband and a rather disgruntled Lucifer. He looks about as comfortable as you do in your formal wear, though he doesn’t show it. It’s too bad you know him well enough to see past his facade and pick up on all his little mannerisms he would never allow anyone else to see.

You spare him the teasing right now.

You try not to feel self conscious as you take your place by Diavolo’s side, a soft giggle leaving the lips of the demon you kiss goodnight every evening.

“Hello, my dear.” he whispers in your ear, stooping down to kiss your hand, “I’m pleased to see that you’re well. Have you been enjoying the festivities?”

Lie. Lie until you’re alone with him and can finally be yourself again.

“Yes, it's been lovely.” you lie through your teeth, a single drop of sweat sliding down the back of your neck as hundreds of pairs of eyes bore into you, “Barbatos has been most helpful. I’m incredibly thankful for him.”

Diavolo lights up like a little puppy dog at the mention of his butler’s name, and lets another loud laugh escape him. Despite his cheerful demeanor, you can still feel the hateful glares being directed your way. In the periphery of your vision, you can see Lucifer glaring right back at the demons behind you, and that gesture alone warms your heart. You are safe with these demons. Things will get better.

Even if better is in a few hours, when you and Diavolo will be in bed and he’ll spoon you and hold you tightly and whisper words of love and affection into your ear until you fall asleep. You discovered his habit for sleepy rambling relatively quickly after the wedding, and eventually you couldn’t sleep without it. If it wasn’t for his love, you surely never would have gotten this far with interrealm relations. If it had been anyone else, you would’ve given up.

Diavolo was the definition of shoot for the stars. He truly was an amazing demon.

“My dear.” he coos, eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiles that cheesy grin you know all too well and love far too much, “May I have this dance?”

He stretches a hand out for you to take, a symbol of how you two are bridging two realms together. Some of the people here tonight may think that’s the reason you two are doing this, that it's a diplomatic display to marry each other, but they’d be wrong. You know Diavolo isn’t the type to do something like that.

It’s like the demons in this palace tonight can’t understand that you two just love each other, and that's that.

And so you take his hand.

He sighs, a blissful sound that you know only you can produce from him, and sweeps you across the dance floor. His hand on your lower back is firm and unyielding, but it’s not possessive. Even when you were still living with the demon brothers, he never once overstepped any bounds.

Part of you wished he did.

It wasn’t just him that had wanted you two to spend time together.

You suppose that doesn’t matter anymore, not when his grip is so sure, not when his heartbeat is pounding in your ears as you rest your head against him, not when the demons and demonesses are moving out of your way. You know the respect is short lived and that they are only doing this for Diavolo, but that doesn’t stop you from enjoying it for now. Moments where a demon steps aside for a human are few and far between, but with you and Diavolo working together, you hope it will become more common.

“I love you.” you whisper to him, the words quiet enough so that only you two can hear them. You aren’t ready to declare such a vulnerable thing on your own, not when these demons have the strength to rip you apart.

And so Diavolo helps you, just as he always does.

“I love you more than anything.” he declares, his voice as loud as a blaring trumpet, a sharp contrast to your softness. You feel your face begin to burn, especially when you hear a murmur ripple through the crowd, but you cannot stop the wobbly smile on your face.

“Disgusting.”

“A human? Really? How will they rule us?”

“It would have been better if we stayed with our own kind.”

“What is Lord Diavolo doing?”

The ballroom begins to buzz and you feel yourself growing less and less sure of yourself. There are tears pricking your eyes, but you will them away. You cannot let them win.

And then, you see Diavolo’s form ripple. Wings sprout from his back and horns protrude from his head and there’s an uncharacteristically stern glare on his face as he fixes his malice at who you can only assume are the perpetrators.

You feel safe.

Maybe it’s a farce.

Maybe it’s make believe.

Maybe it’s temporary.

But Diavolo’s dream is possible, and you believe in him.

You just need to endure the burdens of royalty for him—the burdens he’s been bearing by himself for far too long.

[karizipan]

orv dump 5(?)

[mothfables]

♡ Bunny Flops ♡ - Part Two

(Legend has like 0.5 seconds of angst cause ✨trauma✨, but then it’s just fluff <3)

The second time it happens, the Chain is taking a much-needed break at Lon Lon Ranch. Several weeks have gone by since the first Incident (as they’ve taken to calling it when Legend isn’t around to hear), and it’s mostly passed from everyone’s minds by now.

Legend refused to answer any of their questions, growing embarrassed and awkward any time someone brought it up. Eventually they gave up and let him be, to his relief. He doesn’t want any of them knowing it’s a holdover from his Dark World form - or that he suspects that isn’t the only reason for his more...rabbit-like tendencies. Luckily (or, perhaps, unluckily in this case), those tendencies really only show themselves when he feels truly comfortable and safe, with a few exceptions.

(He doesn’t want to think about what it means that it’s happened around the other heroes. Thinking about it means acknowledging it, and acknowledging it means he has to face the fact that he’s let himself get close. Close to people who will just get taken away go away again.)

(He can’t go through that again. He can’t.)

As it is, Legend is curled up on the rug in front of the fire in the main house, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug and a fluffy blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Quiet chatter mixed with soft music flows around him. Chores are done for the day, none of his weapons are in need of maintenance, his belly is full, and he’s warm and cozy in a house that makes him feel as safe as he’s ever been.

Legend feels himself start to drift, his mind growing hazy and soft. Each blink is longer than the last, and he fumbles to keep from spilling his drink as he begins to drift off. Someone takes it from him, their hands gently easing it from his own, before patting him on the head. Half-asleep, he barely registers giving a soft chirring purr in response to the affection, hearing the other chuckle warmly as they continue petting his hair.

Sky smiles down at him as the younger hero begins to doze. He pauses for a moment to twist around, searching for the coffee table so he can put down the mug he’d taken from sleepy hands. Once that’s done, he turns back around to continue his ministrations, only to blink as he realizes the other boy is not where he’d left him.

He glances around, confused, before looking down and seeing Legend curled up on his side before the fire, blanket clutched in his thin hands and violet eyes blinking sleepily into the flames. Giving a relieved sigh, Sky shuffles closer and lays a hand on soft pink locks. Legend starts purring again as Sky gently pets his hair.

He only half-listens to the sounds of the other heroes in the room with him, most of his attention on the cozy bundle before him that is the young hero. As he weaves his hand through his hair, marveling at the softness of it, he senses more than sees someone moving to sit next to him.

“He’s doing it again, huh?” Warriors’ voice, hushed in the quiet peace that’s settled over them all, comes from his left. He joins Sky in reaching out and laying a gentle hand on Legend’s arm. The Vet sniffles once before sighing. Wars runs his hand along his arm in a soothing motion, and his eyes slip shut as he finally nods off.

“So, it’s not anything to worry about then, do you think?” Sky asks, keeping his voice low. “Since he’s just sleeping when he does this?” ‘This’ being tipping over and falling asleep with ease as compared to the restless, guarded nights they’re all used to.

Wars shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. This is-” he stops, looking for the right words. Sky nods; he understands what his brother means.

This is an incredible show of trust. For the Veteran, prickly and snappish and guarded to his core, this may very well be the equivalent of lowering every wall he has and opening the door straight to his heart. Sky’s own heart warms at the realization. He lets himself trust that they will not hurt him, and in turn allows them to protect and care for him at his most vulnerable.

The Chosen Hero turns his head to meet the Captain’s eyes. They both nod, coming to an unspoken agreement that they will do everything they can to keep this trust. Their brother deserves to be able to let his guard down, to be able to open himself up, to know he has people he can depend on, and that none of it will be taken from him.

With a content sigh, Sky lets himself lean into Warriors, resting his head on his shoulder. They each keep a hand on their sleeping brother, protective and soothing both. The two of them will keep watch over their brother tonight, here in this house of safety and warmth and love, to make the most of every ounce of trust they’ve been given.

<< First : Last >>

[ghostbsuter]

They really should have thought better before letting Damian take the reigns.

Alas, the giant green dog had already destroyed 2 buildings and caused unimaginable chaos. Fortunately, there are no deaths.

Upon hearing the news of said giant green dog causing mayham, Damian had been the first to arrive at the scene and successfully... tamed it.

It seemed docile enough.

Batman isn't trusting it for one second.

All hell breaks out when the goddamn dog gets damian by the cape, opens an interdimensional portal, and leaves.

[yujeong]

There's this idea that possessed me the other day, and since I don't trust myself to be able to write it at all in fic form, I'm going to share it: Pete experiencing symptoms of narcolepsy post-canon Pete feeling tired all day after they leave the hospital with Vegas and Macau but paying it no mind - he barely slept the past month after all, it's logical that he feels this way. Pete trying to sleep at night but being unable to, again paying it no mind - he's anxious about Vegas, he can't sleep without sensing his breath on his skin, without hearing his heartbeat. Pete at the verge of sleep seeing Vegas' bloody corpse on the floor next to him - it scares him shitless but the excuses never stop. It'll be fine, he'll adjust to his new reality, Vegas will get better, he'll get some sleep soon, it'll be fine. Except Pete eating breakfast with Macau and out of the blue collapsing on the table, his head falling onto the plate with the food Vegas prepared for him to eat. He's awake, he can hear Macau screaming his name and asking for Vegas to come and check because Phi fainted, except Pete hasn't fainted, he's wide awake, but he can't move and he can't open his eyes or his mouth to tell Vegas he's fine, and he's sorry for ruining the food he went in the trouble of making. He tells him eventually when it passes and he can open his eyes again and he can apologize to a frantic Vegas who's inspecting him all over and cleaning the mess he made on his cheek and his hair. He convinces Vegas to let it be and that it's probably because he's tired. Pete driving with Vegas on the passenger's seat when suddenly the tiredness is so overwhelming he falls asleep. It happens so quickly he doesn't register the consequences of it, how it'll lead to a crash, how he's going to lose Vegas and it's going to be his fault again, just like back then. He wakes up to find Vegas shaking him with teary eyes, screaming his name while being in evident physical pain. Pete wants to let it go, it's fine, he's just tired, except it's not fine because he's careless, he almost killed Vegas, but he can't have him being in distress. Porsche eventually comes to pick them up - they were on their way to meet him anyway. Pete didn't trust himself enough to drive. ^those are the two main ideas I have at the moment + another one which would be a variation of this: Pete experiences an intense emotion (I'm thinking either stress or laughter, it depends on the context) and losing control of his muscles again. It'd fuck up Vegas tenfold if the reason for that emotion was him :) One last thing: There's no cure for narcolepsy. You can only treat some of the symptoms with medication and lifestyle changes. Would you like to know what one of the options for medication is? Well:

Now wouldn't that fuck up Vegas' little mind just a bit? Mmm, I wonder. Decisions, decisions... (Everything I've found about narcolepsy so far is from this article my beautiful beta shared with me. I want to study narcolepsy a lot more to see how it could be used for this story, if I end up writing it.)

[peterstrk]

“When will you stop calling me Mr. Stark?”

“I don’t know… never? It is your name, yeah?”

“Uh-huh, I know it, but Pete, you know you can call me Tony, right? Or anything you want, for that matter. You have my permission, sweetheart.”

“Oh, Sweetheart, I like it! Anything I want, huh, Dr. Stark?”

“Ugh… I brought that on myself, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. However, I have a question to ask you.”

“Sure, ask away.”

“Um, I know it sounds silly, but I can’t help but feel like you’ve lived all these moments with others too. And no, I don’t judge you or anything, but it’s just… everyone you’ve ever been with has had the privilege to call you by your name and just… ugh, what I’m trying to say is, I love you, Mr. Stark, I truly do. But I want to come up with something that would be only mine! And I’m rambling again, I’m sorry… Anyway, my question is, can you wait for me to do that, please?”

“Oh, Pete, I didn’t know you felt this way. I’m so sorry you’ve gone through so much distress because of it. But Pete, sweetheart, the love of my life, never, you hear me, never question yourself around me, okay? I can’t change my past actions, but I don’t even remember their names, honey. You are the one for me… all I can think about all day is you and just how much I love you.”

“It’s always Peter,” Tony whispered, looking deep into Peter’s eyes and leaving faint kisses across his face. Peter’s bright, relieved smile reassured Tony that everything would be alright.

“Thank you…I think I came up with something for just us. What do you think of Anthony?” Peter said teasingly, his voice laced with a hint of mischief. Tony’s eyes lit up with amusement. He was all too eager to hear his boyfriend call him that.

“I love it, Peter. Anything you want, sweetheart, anything you want,” he replied with a hint of amusement. If anyone who knew him saw him now, they could easily tell how fond he was of the young pretty man standing before him.

[grishaverse-chaos]

hmmm something about dominik haunting the narrative in king of scars. everything nikolai does is at least a little bit for him. he learns about the life of average ravkan people by meeting dominik's family. he starts gaining influence in politics just so he can improve dominik's life. and then he promises dominik that he won't let ravka break him.

that promise fucking haunts him. it follows him wherever he goes. it's the driving force behind everything he does, every step he takes to heal the centuries-old wounds in ravka. it's what drives him to do better, be better.

dominik is always there, in the back of his mind: this country gets you in the end. always pushing him to do more, because he couldn't save dominik and so he has to save ravka (for dominik) (because he promised) (because he loved him)

[fearandhatred]

oh hi. this did not in fact take only an hour to write but hey it's done! any support is so so appreciated <3

also thread of me lowkey liveblogging myself (not) writing this lmaoo

Summary:

A fun little side perk of being a demon is that Crowley only gets to see the world in shades of grey. That is, until that world is touched by one particular angel.

They say that it's not the fall that hurts, it's the landing. That's a partial truth, at least for him. The landing did hurt—his bones had shattered almost methodically, travelling through his legs and up his spine like a shiver; the whiplash from his head hitting the ground had felt like an explosion of guts in his mouth. But the fall had hurt, too. Because the wind had cut into his useless wings like knives, his skin and grace peeling away under the friction, and he had been looking right up at the multicoloured and unreachable expanse of sky just to see it fade from his eyes into dull greys. And that was that. For the indiscriminate time afterwards, he and all the other demons wandered Hell's corridors like strays, lost and trying to adjust to a new life where hope looked just as bleak as despair. They wore all black, because the identifiability of that darkest shade meant that they wouldn't have to worry about clashing colours. An inconsequential problem, maybe, almost laughable in its insignificance, but it was the one piece of self-dignity they could still control. Back then, that was everything.

eybe surprised me with a drawing based on the holi scene in this fic and i treasure it with all my heart and it captures my mental image of it perfectly. it's included in the fic now too <3 love you eybe

[essektheylyss]

I really need to actually sit down and figure my worldbuilding shit out. Like, not the worldbuilding itself, but my personal process for it. Because I reread some fic and it was fucking great. And I KNOW that's because there was a whole element of it that I did not have to personally manage, because the world already existed and additional information just needed to be able to slot into what was already there, which took a whole category of mental energy and input out of the writing process. But I'm terrible at writing worldbuilding shit down and organizing it for that purpose, so then I struggle way more with the writing process than I do with fic. And to an extent I think that's because my brain simply does not like the software options I have for it, at least for the beginning setup. So regrettably I think I am going to have to go restart my high school habit of carrying a binder around because I think I just need to be able to have different sections and movable pages and seven different papers laid out in front of me at once.

[true-blue-sonic]

Alternate Sonic Rivals 2 wherein the teams are as follows:

Sonic and Silver

Espio and Rouge

Tails and Shadow

Knuckles and Metal Sonic

for maximum hijinks, silliness, and incompatibility on all sides.

[mechazushi]

Heart-To-Heart {A Kaiju Number 8 Short story.}

[Warning: Major Character Death] [Warning: Depictions of Gore]

It was a long drive back to the First Division base. It felt even longer since you could feel everyone collectively reeling from the news. It hadn't hit the front-liners just yet. The higher ups were waiting to see just how many were going to come back from the fight alive first. Mina and Soshiro couldn't bring themselves to tell Reno or Kikoru just yet either. They knew something was off when they rushed their friend into an armored truck as soon as the dust settled. They were just going to have to writhe in a lack of understanding for a little while longer. At least, just until the captain and vice captain could get a better understanding of what Kafka; or, they guess in this new situation, Kaiju Number 8, was now.

"You seem to have developed a new staring problem." Hoshina observed bitterly.

Him and his captain were riding in the back of a mostly empty armored box truck. Other than them, there was what was to be assumed to be what remained of Kafka. That being just... the kaiju itself. It wasn't clear what had happened to Kafka after the end of the fight, but that's why they were in here. Although, neither of them felt like getting a head start on questioning.

"Apologies. It's just... you, remind us... of someone. Someone... we miss." Kaiju Number 8 spoke as it cocked its head to the side, it's sight not leaving the commander's face.

It was strapped to a metal chair again, similar to the one they had placed their friend in three months prior. It's voice wasn't the same as Kafka's anymore. Even when Kafka was in his Kaiju form, you could still hear it and tell it was still Kafka, even if it had developed a deeper tone and a rolling grumble. Now... there was nothing of that jolly voice left. It sounded more like listening to a stadium of people talking in unison behind a closed door. It was almost hard to listen too... in more ways than one.

"We? All I see is the one knucklehead." Hoshina retaliated, his voice unchanging. A brief pause was filled with a low, clicking growl. Almost like thunder rolling over mountains.

"Was that a purr? He fucking purrs now?" Hoshina thought as he continued to return the stare down the Kaiju was giving back.

"Looks like... we, won't miss... him... for much... longer." Kaiju Number 8 said with an uncanny level of hope in its voice. It was an odd sight watching the kaiju speak. It moved its mouth like it was talking, but the movement didn't match the words themselves.

"We. You keep saying we. Why is that?." Mina spoke up for the first time since they entered the vehicle. They watched the kaiju as it took its time coming up with an answer.

"We are... gone. All gone. We are now... shame. Regret... Fear. Rage...Revenge." Kaiju Number 8 said cryptically.

"Well, that wasn't exactly helpful." Mina thought.

"Revenge? Against what?" Hoshina questioned on his turn.

"To finish... what we started. To kill... Kill all Kaiju." It said as it's voice became more threatening, dropping in tone and developing a deeper growl.

A harsh, wheezing laugh came from the vice captain as he got up to walk around the container.

"Great. The damn thing's turned you worse than a mindless, killing dog." He muttered to himself as he was turned away from both of them.

"Hoshina." Mina said with a warning tone, having heard what he had said very clearly.

"Oh, don't act like you're being okay about this! How is anyone going to be okay about this? How's he okay about this?" Hoshina suddenly became very shrill and his movements became exaggerated despite him still feeling the toll the back-to-back fights had put on him, "This is Kafka we're talking about! Or, well, at least it was Kafka."

"Our host... is still here." the kaiju interrupted, "He has joined... the others." There was a weighty pause as the information settled into the commanders.

"Is there... a way to bring him back?" Mina cautiously questioned, trying to not let her hope betray her tone.

"He was presented... a choice. To heal his own heart... and walk away. Or to let it become... our new core." It spoke longer now, gaining speed as well as confidence while it acclimated to it's new state. That harsh laugh rang out again from Hoshina's bruised lips as he tried to not shake his head at the absurdity.

"Why am I not surprised. Ohhh, I should have seen this coming." He sighed as he gently rubbed his face, "He didn't have to do any of this. I had that fight handled." the vice captain continued to mutter as he paced the metal box. This earned a disappointed look from his captain and a curious head tilt from the strapped down Kaiju.

"Oh, don't give me that look." Hoshina said quickly.

"You said he's... that Kafka is still around. Do you think that... it's possible he can hear us?" Mina continued to question cautiously, her heart quietly grasping at any straws that Kafka could have a chance. A chance to understand, to come back to them, or anything that would assuage the pain she felt in her chest, she didn't know.

"He can... He is." the Kaiju answered. Mina tried to prepare a statement, something that could have be reassuring to the both of them at the moment, but the words were killed on her tongue as Hoshina stomped over to their altered friend and slapped a hand on one of the metal arm cuffs while he rudely pointed his finger at it's chest.

"Good. Then that self-sacrificing, one-percent lump of dead weight can hear in great detail about how I'm going to jump down your throat and drag his hairy ass back into the sunlight the second the option seems viable." Hoshina was growling and practically frothing at the mouth by the time he finished his tirade. He took a deep and shuddering breath as he stared the unflinching Kaiju down before calmly turning his head to side-eye his captain.

"You've picked one hell of a friend, captain." he said, his tone unfortunately still harboring misplaced resentment. Mina's normally unflinching face cracked as her brows furrowed and her lips pinched as she got up from her seat.

"You're the one that wanted him on the force." her voice was dark and deceptively even as Hoshina rose to meet her eyes.

"You might want to rethink your tone, captain." He said, trying not to spit it back in her face. The tension in the air pulled tighter and tighter behind the sound of the road noise, only to be cut short as the Kaiju in the room spoke up.

"Kafka... Were you and Kafka... friends?" It asked softly. The two of them turned to face it with puzzled expressions.

"Did having him melt into your little hive mind not already clue you in to that?" Hoshina scoffed.

"It did." The kaiju answered.

"Then why ask?" Mina questioned slowly, becoming deeply curious as well as a little worried for the answer.

"He felt he had... lost the honor." it said as it's white pupils flicked away sympathetically, "He had... broken his promise."

Hoshina shook his head a little at the answer, not understanding completely what that would mean to Mina. He was already aware at this point that her and Kafka were childhood friends, but without any deeper knowledge as to what that friendship meant to each other, he just felt left out of the loop. What ended up grabbing his attention was a shallow, rattling breathing next to him. He turned to look at his captain and saw an emerging and disheartening marvel. Mina seemed to be on the verge of tears. Lips quivering and tears threatening to spill from her shocked eyes.

"Hadn't he?" the kaiju asked, tilting it's head again.

The final nail in the coffin it seemed. Mina spun around on her heels and sprinted to the container's reinforced doors as she put her finger up to her ear comm.

"Stop the vehicle." She commanded, her voice not betraying an ounce of what she felt at the time.

A brief pause was held before she commanded again, this time screaming the order into the comm. Hoshina quickly widened his stance against the force of the truck breaking suddenly.

"Mina?" Her voice captain called out as he watched the back doors fly open and his captain hop down and out of the vehicle.

He tried to rush forward and catch up to her, only for the doors to be slammed back in his face before he could leave. He banged his fist on the metal for a moment, hoping for someone to open them back up. All he felt was the truck rumbling back to life and continuing down the road. He shook his head in disbelief and concern, not knowing why his captain reacted like that.

"Do you believe... that this is not a good price... to pay?" that infinitely echoing voice rang out from the back of the truck.

"What?" Hoshina spat, not understanding the question.

"You continue to fight against... what has already been decided. Do you think that... this form... was not a good price... to pay?" It spoke slowly, not in intentional mockery, to be sure, but it felt like it to Hoshina.

"Pay? Pay for what?" he shouted back.

"No more lost lives... No more shattered families... No more broken promises." It spoke, leaving the idea open ended. It didn't need to expand further anyway. Hoshina got the idea pretty well as he calmed down.

The only thing worse than a predictable friend, was knowing how predictable you were yourself. Because Hoshina asked himself the same hypothetical question and found himself coming to the same answer. A heart for a core... a thousand times over.

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"Epidermis breached. Eight, you're up!" Soshiro called as he leapt back from the entry wound he caused in their newest threat.

Some sort of bastard child of the Meraki Kaiju a year earlier. It hadn't developed Number Nine's shape shifting abilities or possessed any way of speaking, but it damn sure inherited its intelligence. Emerging without warning in the northern part of Japan, it made it clear it still had an ax to grind. A writhing mass of acidic smelling meat, tentacles, and eyeballs, it looked the part to start a spaghetti monster themed cult.

Kaiju Number Eight made a mad dash from the sidelines, focusing solely on getting to the gaping wound the Vice Captain had started. Getting to the weeping slash, it pried the edges of it apart with as much force as it could muster, sending violent arterial sprays of acid around, over, and behind it. From then, it was just a fury of movement. Strong claws ripping and yanking large chunks of hazardous flesh from the threatening mass of black and sending it away from them so it could dig ever further to its center. An example of perfectly honed equilibrium comprised of streamlined intent and raw berserker rage. A flicker of bright, webbed strings of multi-colored light let it know that its destination had been reached. Quickly scrapping the muscle around the core, the Kaiju noticed that the monster had picked up another thing from its progenitor; a hard-light barrier around the core.

"Core two of three located. Beginning demolition." Eight called out loud enough to be picked up by its custom ear comm.

"Core sighting confirmed. Begin neutralization." Okonogi had said on the other end of the link.

It reared back its fist as it felt the thruster tubes in its forearm slide out and into position. It waited for the jets to build up sufficient pressure before letting it send its fist rocketing forward to the shield with each punch.

First hit.

Second hit.

Third hit. Shields gone.

Fourth hit.

Fifth hit. Core shattered.

"Energy readings dropped. Core Destroyed! Good work Kaf-I mean, Eight!" Okonogi let out a reserved cheer as she read out the information at her station.

That wasn't the only surprise the monster had in store it seemed. Just as Eight turned to launch itself out of the slowly enclosing wound, a barbed tentacle shot out from behind the broken core and propelled through its chest with enough force to send its body flying out and down the street. When the tentacle stopped moving, Eight's body flew off of it, feeling the barbs rip through its flesh as it tumbled through the air. Eight hit the asphalt, hard. Would have sent any ordinary officer unconscious with a concussion even if they had the suit's shield. It felt itself rolling down the street and over the harsh edge of a curb. With the wind knocked out of it's lungs and the very obvious sign that it's blood was pouring out from its chest, it made the now monumental effort to prop itself against a solid surface and take a mental rundown of the damage. Bringing a clawed hand to its chest, it made the devastating discovery.

"Well... shit."

On the other side of the offending mass of destruction was Mina and Narumi, tag-teaming their attacks to crack the first layer of the Kaiju. Dodging the slashing appendages coming for them left and right, they felt they weren't any closer to breaking its resistant shell. The fight had been going on for so long that the both of them could feel their fortitude percentage dropping with every twitch of muscle. Out of nowhere, Mina saw her vice captain drop from the air in front of them and plunge the sword in his suit's tail to cut a deep gash in the beast top-to-bottom.

"Heard ya'll were having some trouble." Hoshina panted with a bloody and cocky grin.

"Hoshina! You're supposed to watch Eight's back!" Mina yelled as she shifted her cannon's muzzle away from him.

"Kafka got his mission handled. He should be on his way." Hoshina replied as he dashed in a circle around her, dicing up any tentacles shooting out her way.

"About that! Eight's vitals just dropped off the map!" Okonogi cried in panic, watching the screens turn red.

The captain and her vice immediately looked to each other as their faces turned to shock. Okonogi could only watch as she witnessed everyone's vitals go haywire at the news. Mina could just barely bring herself out of her nightmarish thoughts and leveled her cannon at the kaiju's gaping wound, making sure it stayed open a little longer.

"Go to him! Me and the Bowl-cut Bastard can handle this!" Narumi cried as he fought off his own barrage of barbed obstacles.

Mina looked over to her vice as he reassured her with a quick nod before jumping into the fray with Narumi. She whistled hard and loud, calling her faithful tiger to her aid. She leaped onto its back and held on tight while they tracked down their fallen comrade, trying not to think the worst.

Back on the other side, Eight had managed to prop itself against a shockingly still intact dumpster next to one of the few miraculously standing buildings this close to the fight. Black rivulets of blood trailed behind it and stained its path to false safety. A jagged tunnel had been left behind from the tentacle's blow, acting as the main source of agony and fear for its health. This kind of an injury wouldn't normally be a problem, even the acid melting away at his chest wouldn't have raised any concern. It's healed from worse before, but not this time. No, this time was a problem as it could feel where the barbs had ripped and shredded its way through its core and the acid making quick work of whatever was left to touch.

Inside the dark, flesh textured walls of their mind, Kafka's presence manifested as a battered and broken soldier. Redder blood leaked from various gashes on his face and body. Dark, angry bruises littered his sore chest and limbs. Outside of the pain, he mostly felt numb. At most, a dull ache in his chest where his heart-turned-core would have been. He turned to one of the other presences in his mindscape, the samurai soldier that held his powers before him, and smiled a weak smile. He couldn't tell if the samurai was as badly battered as he was, but he could tell in the way he held his chest they at least felt the same pain. Kafka chuckled raspingly as he turned and shuffled toward the last being in the brain, the big Kaiju bug that held all the power, and painfully shambled his way over to it.

"So... Was that a damn good last run or what?" Kafka playfully mocked as he carefully settled himself to the floor, leaning back against the equally battered Kaiju bug.

"No... We're not finished. We have to finish the fight!" The samurai shouted wheeling around to Kafka, still clutching his chest.

"Can't do that if there's no more fight left in us, Papaw. Face it... We're fucked." Kafka panted from the pain as it spread more viciously and his muscles released its tension.

"How dare you call yourself an officer! There are still lives on the line back there!" the samurai angrily shouted at him.

"AND HOW DO YOU EXPECT US TO CONTINUE WITHOUT ANOTHER FUCKIN' CORE, HUH?" Kafka screamed back with more rage than the samurai could ever express.

There was a lot of words that both of them wanted to say, things to be said in anger and fear, in hopelessness and tiredness. But they were getting tired themselves, feeling the energy being sapped from their muscles and the warmth being leached at the same rate as their blood. There was no denying that this... this was it. No more hearts for cores, no second chances, no turning back the clock. Kafka never got to feel what it was like to be by Mina's side. The Samurai won't get to see other people live a life without fear from otherworldly threats. The kaiju that made all this possible will never know what a quiet mind could have felt like.

"But we got close though, didn't we?" Kafka softly begged, "Tell me we got close, Papaw."

The samurai looked down for a moment, seeming to think his response over, before looking away entirely.

"Even if one fails to reach the moon, one still lies among the stars." He finally said, still not looking back.

Kafka gave a soft smile in return, leaning his head back as his head grew heavy with a lead-like feeling. He knew he didn't mean it, but appreciated the effort anyway.

"And not a night sky to be seen." Kafka muttered to himself as the dark started to overtake his sight.

Something in the back of his mind wouldn't let him rest completely, however. He could sense something coming closer and moving in rapidly. He could tell it was a kaiju, but a smaller one giving off an abnormal but familiar signature. Mina's tiger, no doubt bringing its owner along with it.

"Shit. Can't let Mina see us like this." Kafka groaned painfully as he tried to stand both inside and outside the body, "She doesn't need to see this."

The samurai just eyed his mental roommate from the unchanging confines of his mask and made no move to help the struggling Kafka up to his feet. In their mind's eye, they watched as Mina dismounted and bolted forward to their devastatingly injured remains. Her voice was muffled, but they could definitely sense the distress in her tone as she dropped to her knees by their side.

"Oh God! Nonono, KAFKA!" Mina cried as she harshly dropped to her knees beside his still body. She brought up a hand to its chest wanting to slow the profuse bleeding, only to feel the massive opening staying warm through the power of the acid alone. It became all too clear to her that at this moment... that her friend couldn't be salvaged

"Mina... please. You need to go." Eight muttered out as more blood dripped from its teeth.

"No, Kafka, this can't be it! Not like this. I can't lose you again." Mina's eyes rained its tears freely, taking advantage of their privacy to stop holding back in this vulnerable moment.

She could barely hear the sounds of the on going battle in front of them through her wet sniffling and ragged coughing. She held on tight to its chest and shoulder, trying to focus her thoughts away from another time. An earlier time where this had happened before, where she lost the last pieces of her long gone friend. Her cheeks were hot with anguish as she bowed her head against its shoulder, thinking of any and all prayers she could think of. She didn't want this moment to finish and take the last shreds of hope she had with his passing.

Back in the dark passages of their mind, Kafka had only managed to drag himself to his hands and knees as he tried to speak to Mina. He barely had enough strength to keep himself upright, let alone to project his voice out of the confines of his mind. The samurai just stood still as it quietly watched this all go down.

"Mina... Mina I'm so sorry *cough* for everything... I... I know this is going to be hard... but I know that... you can be strong-" Kafka coughed again and almost landed on his face from exhaustion. Planting his trembling arms as firmly as possible underneath him, he tried to look over at the samurai standing next to him.

"For fuck's sake, Papaw! Can you help me up sometime today, please?" He called out as he managed to lean back onto his legs somewhat.

He watched as the samurai continued to ignore him, not even bothering to look his way. As Kafka busied himself with finding the strength within him to push Mina away in any way he could, he missed the telltale sound of a sword being pulled out of its sheath. As Kafka got off of one knee, he felt something hard and sharp push its way through the back of his neck and out of his mouth. He instantly felt all of his limbs going numb in that second and all of his weight being carried by what was shoved through his neck.

As the sword pulled itself back out, Kafka felt warm trickles of his blood start running down the back of his throat. He couldn't swallow the blood into a different direction and could only feel it all sliding right into his lungs, making him choke reflexively. As he fell onto his face, he felt the growing pain from the wound grow from the back of his head and slowly turn into the worst, practically splitting headache he had ever felt before now. Feeling his body twitching from the numbness and his lungs quaking in the fight against being able to breathe, he just laid there and saw his Ancestor flick his sword and clean it on his sleeve before placing it back into the sheath. Had Kafka not been choking on his own blood or had enough feeling in any of his limbs, he would have certainly returned the favor. What happened instead was the feeling of the floor opening up underneath him and dropping him down into that familiar, watery, bottomless pit in their shared conscious, eyes and mind growing darker the further down he drifted.

Back up top, his Ancestor took control of the body and started talking to the grieving Mina.

"Mina..." He called out.

"Kafka? Kafka, are you still with me?" Mina cried out desperately as she continued to hold the body close.

"We need... another heart." He asked, trying to stretch out whatever remaining willpower he had left to finish his request.

"A heart?" Mina questioned in the interlude, slowly gaining control over her tears.

"Yes... Another heart... for another core." He finished, hoping for Mina to understand what he was asking of her.

"A... a heart." Mina reiterated as the request she began to realize what was being asked of her, "I-I can't... I can't ask something like that from anyone..."

"You don't have to ask... If they're not here to question..." He answered, hoping he wouldn't have to spell it out further than that.

Mina's eyes grew wide as the tears threatened to spill over again. He was asking for her to drag over an already dead body? Just to continue fighting? Warning lights went off in her head as this ask dawned on her. Kafka would never ask for something like this, it was too underhanded. But then again... Maybe this wasn't Kafka talking anymore. Maybe Kafka was gone, and it was whoever made Eight was talking now. It had to have been, because Kafka's hate for the Kaijus was never deep enough to warrant this.

Still... some part of Mina refused to give up on him. Even if he wasn't the one talking right now, Eight was all she had left of her friend. Mina was strong, she led the forces, she joined the Division because of Kafka. She had watched him struggle year after year to catch up to her, falling back to square one every time. This Kaiju helped him on his last chance to get his foot in the door, and she hated to admit that it was probably the biggest reason as to how he managed to stay this long.

It wasn't the only reason, however. If the Kaiju helped him physically, his promise to her helped him in every other way. All he wanted was to be by her side, and even after every roadblock and setback and debilitating snag he hit, he got to this moment... this fight, and it was the closest he had ever gotten to fulfilling it. But one can't be expected to carry that kind of fight alone. She knew that well enough after blitzing through the ranks to Captain. At some point, a hand needs to be extended, a branch to hold on to, a sign that this isn't a one sided fight. That someone else wants what they want too, and wants to see that dream realized for them... with them. It took both of her hands to muscle the slackened arm up to her chest and placed the bloodied and acid-stained hand over her own heart.

"Take mine... You can take mine." She said, her voice betrayed no cracks, only a solitary hiccup.

"Mina... no. Anyone else..." The ancestor argued, knowing well enough that this would hurt more than just Mina.

"Well, you're not getting anyone else, goddamnit!" Mina screamed, " I've wanted too damn long for you to be by my side and watching you sacrifice everything on the dotted line, just for it all to stop here! I'm tired of waiting. I'm done waiting."

She placed her head back on its shoulder, waiting for it to decide. She worried that she took too long and that there wasn't any life left within it to finish the task. Eight found enough strength to bring his head over to the top of her's and lightly placed his closed mouth on it. For he had no lips to kiss away her fears, or a voice left to reassure her that everything would be okay. All it could give was a low, throaty rumble as her tears fell down like a storm.

'I'm sorry... for everything.' It thought.

A loud squelching noise was heard in tandem with a dull ache suddenly spreading out in her chest. Mina looked down and could see that Eight's hand had pushed itself through the barriers of her suit and was now being drenched in warm rivers of red blood. Her lungs spasmed irregularly as that dull ache started to feel more and more staticy. As she coughed, she felt a little spurt of blood splatter out of her mouth. Eight waited for her eyes to roll into the back of her head and for her body to grow limp before he sucked her heart out of her chest. Warmth began to travel down its arm and flowed freely into the rest of its body. It shed one lone black tear as the cavity in its chest began to close up.

Soshiro and Narumi's fight with the Daikaiju had gotten only a little further than nowhere in the time that Mina had left them. Soshiro had managed to keep the wound that he had made earlier open and could only stand by and watch as Narumi ventured inside it while slicing his way deeper in. A weighty moment had passed before he saw that back of Narumi's suit being propelled toward him at unbelievable speed. The two of them made contact and were sent flying backwards. Hoshina took his own fair share of damage as he ended up getting abruptly sandwiched between a broken piece of a stone wall and the full weight of Narumi in his numbered suit and weapon.

"Augh! What the hell, Narumi?" Hoshina cried out in pain as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Damn thing must have learned from the last two times we hit its core! It tried to skewer me with a tentacle and launch me backwards. I managed to deflect it with my weapon, but Jesus! That acid stings!" Narumi yelled as he shifted off of Hoshina's lap, trying to use his now ruined jacket to wipe off the rest of the acidic blood from the suit.

Hoshina tried to get back onto his feet, but could only manage to slowly shift himself onto a knee. Bracing himself against the wall, he leveled his one undamaged eye toward the hulking monstrosity before them. He panted heavily as he weighed his options, finding all of them to be far from satisfactory plans to finish this brutal beast once and for all. Still, no one could rest until that thing was put down for good.

"Get up Narumi." Hoshina growled through his pain, "We need to finish this." Narumi just squinted up at him with a question on his mind, before deciding that the smack talk back wasn't worth the effort. As they propped themselves to their feet as best they could, an unearthly voice came over the ear comms.

"Hoshina. Narumi. Stand down and head to safety." the voice commanded with easy authority.

Hoshina peered his head over the chunk of wall first. Off in the distance he saw a slim figure walking towards them. The sound of metal dragging over asphalt matched the sight of the stilted silhouette and its heavy looking object it brought with them. He grabbed Narumi by the shoulder and dragged them both off to the side of the street to hide behind more rubble. Leaning against a shattered chunk of roadblock, Hoshina watched with great interest as the figure got closer and closer. The sound of metal being dragged got replaced with the sound of metal being loudly pried apart, sheets and gears popping and buckling under great pressure. He studied the new arrival as best he could from his distance and made one startling discovery after another.

The being that approached looked almost like Eight and carried Mina's cannon. Only now that cannon had looked like it was caught in a tangle of thick, black, jungle vines that had wound itself into every part of the complex machine. The body that was connected to the cannon looked very different from what he remembered as well. Eight looked taller, leaner, and not as wide. And he certainly knew that Eight didn't have a full head of long black hair.

Narumi watched the new figure as well, but was focused on a very specific part of them. He watched the new kaiju open one set of eyes, then a second set below that, then a third set above them both. It only got stranger as he saw the borders of the eye's sockets stretch and lengthen out to the borders of the other eyes. Once the edges touched, the sides popped open and the eyes melded into each other, forming one long, glowing, teal band extending across the width of its face.

The tentacles on its arm had finished their job of weaving their way through the cannon and lifted the whole mess level with its target, the Kaiju everyone had been fighting. Hoshina watched on in slowly dawning horror as he heard the voice on the comms match to the movement of the teeth on the new Kaiju warrior in front of them.

"All should know better than to be caught in their Captain's line of fire."

Inside the mind of the new beast, Kafka could feel his mind turning on to a sense of alertness. It almost felt like waking up from a paralyzing nightmare. As he blinked his eyes and got them to focus, he tried to recall what had sent him sprawling over the floor in his own mind. His memories slowly worked their way forward from the moment he entered the fray, to when he felt the acidic sting of the tentacle pierce his core. He rolled onto his side and brought up a hand to rub his face, trying to dislodge anything more important or at least relevant. Even moving around in his listless state, he could instantly tell he felt different. His arms didn't feel sore or bruised, his chest had lost its weighty pain that had settled deep in his core. His core. If that had been broken, then how was he still able to think? As Kafka landed on his back and pushed himself up onto his hands, a deep, reverberating thump rattled in his chest as more recent memories started to crop up.

The fight. The killing shot. Crawling away to hide his shameful death. Mina... Oh gods, Mina! She found him, and... and... His Ancestor, the samurai. What did he do to him? Kafka felt his chest tighten as his breathing became labored and ragged, quick puffs of angry air sucking its way past his teeth. He shot up to his feet quickly, the lack of pain making him all the more angry at the thought of his Ancestor committing some atrocity that somehow fixed this. His only reasoning for this being that if it wasn't supposed to be a bad decision, then why bother silencing Kafka at all?

"WHERE ARE YOU?" he screamed out into the vast space of his mind, "FACE ME AND EXPLAIN, YOU COWARD!"

Kafka made a slow turn, viciously eyeing down any shadow in the dark recesses of his mind that could have been his murderer's form. Spying a dark shape off in the distance behind him, he turned and ran toward it, thinking it to be the samurai. As he got closer and closer, it became very clear that this new person wasn't the samurai. His Ancestor didn't have a flowing curtain of black hair, nor did it wear a defense force suit. He slowed down his pace for a second, becoming worried and praying that his mind had just decided to play a cruel joke on him, now of all times.

"Mina?" Kafka hesitantly called out, a thousand prayers for salvation from this fear echoed in his heart.

He watched on in horror as the familiar shade turned to the sound of its name and faced him with shock in her eyes. He picked up speed again, this time not with intent to maim and harm, but to approach this mirage of agony faster with the hopes that he'll just run right through it.

"No. No, no, no, nononono, MINA!" He cried as he got close enough to see that this wasn't a horrible joke, but a nightmare made flesh.

Carelessly plowing right into her, Kafka held her tight as they fell to the softly giving floor. Sobs racked his ribs and shuddered his lungs as he scrambled to his hands and knees. His hands roughly busied themselves with pulling her onto his lap and brushing strands of hair out of her face, chanting that simple word over and over. They slowed as the realization of this, of her physically being in his mind really meant, began to chip away at his already war-torn heart. He could feel himself rocking back and forth, cradling Mina's warm body close to him as he looked into her unbothered expression with his being stained with a flood of tears. He supposed it was him trying to bring comfort to Mina, but as her gentle hand placed itself on his cheek and stroked with her thumb, he knew that this was all to comfort him.

"No, Mina why? Why would you do this? You had to have known, right? I would never ask you to do this, you had to have known that it wasn't me! Why, Mina? You didn't have to do this." He whispered

Kafka could barely get the words out over the snot and bile building up in his throat. His tears soaked his cheeks and fell like rain onto Mina's hand. His face felt like it was on fire as he sniffed hard and tried to clear his throat. Holding her in his hands made any attempt of composure in vain as it just reaffirmed to him that what was done was irreversible. The Third Division lost its captain, but it certainly didn't feel like he had gained back his friend. He tried to restrain his violent sobs as he felt her arms tighten around his neck, pulling his body down over and closer to Mina. His arms tightened in return as he felt the other hand come up to play soothingly in his hair, the other rubbing gentle circles over his spine.

"My heart... was already yours." She whispered into the crook of his thick neck, the vibrations of the words sending small shockwaves through his torso.

All Kafka could bring himself to do was cry. Cry and scream and cry again until his voice became shot and he had no more tears to shed. Hands forever tight around his new heart.

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(Some thoughts I had while writing this that won't fit into tags well)

Real quick, I just wanna mention that this is based off of a recent theory that I developed after reading chapter 118 and its that Kn8' true power isn't that fact that he's a shape shifter, or that he's got super strength or a sonic screech or anything else.

His true power is that he can turn hearts into cores, indirectly making itself partially immortal. (we could be immortals, immortals...)

So I see the end of this story going one of two ways:

One: Once the Third Division finds out what happened, they all come to a mutual agreement that they want their hearts cryogenically frozen after death so that Kaiju Number 8 is forever supplied with back-up cores. This ending kinda gives off this lovecraftian feel where in the future, Kaiju Number 8 stops being considered a Kaiju at some point and is more of an amalgamation of undying spirits that haunt the base forevermore.

Two: Kafka pulls a Hellsing Ultimate Abridged. He fights against Papaw first and then proceeds to fight and kill every soul that inhabits his core, ultimately evicting the collective consciousness that made his powers in the first place and distills it into himself. The only better way I think I can explain this is "Imagine Venom bonding to Eddie and then something happening to Eddie, causing Venom to sort of... recreate Eddie. But it's just Venom, so now it's like if Venom was his own host." Kafka is now Kafka, the parasite, and the Kaiju all at once. (He also somehow figures out a way to spit Mina out into her own body so she's fine.)

He's not a human that can turn into a Kaiju or the other way around. By Legal Definition he is, technically, the first, true, Human Kaiju.

[iangallagherisadeadman]

post-s11 Tami definitely gets tired of Lip and leaves him.

yes, I do like them as a couple, I think it is an interesting dynamic and that Tami is good for him honestly, even though they lived completely different lives and crash so many times because of it throughout the last seasons.

fact is Lip won't ever change and will keep making the same kind of mistakes and she will get fed up with it eventually. they'll go different ways, maybe keep a somewhat friendly relationship, and she will get a new partner and Lip will have a Sean kind of relationship with Fred: that kid is the most important thing in his whole life and he's constantly hunted by the fear of drinking again and hurting Fred.

[clegfly]

The one and only good thing rebellion has done for my mental well-being is motivate me to do more pmmm omori au art

[hidey-writes]

wip wednesday

Shen Wei doesn’t even know what he’s done, at first. On the battlefield, among the noise and clamor of fighting, all he can think to do is rush across the way to [guy], to bundle him back to shelter. To pat him over, check him over, tear a strip of the edge of his robes to bind his wound. All he can think is: I made it in time. He’s alive.

some words in the not-even-really-a-down-draft-yet for guardian bingo bonus prompt 1! after the 520 day exchange fic uh, grew a lot unexpectedly, i'm using this as a training exercise to practice a kind of writing discipline (to me) of not beginning until i know the full shape of the fic, and distilling the actual story on the page to 3-5 scenes of most interesting turning point. i don't want any of these to be longer than 3k but i guess we'll see how this goes!

[theflyingfeeling]

💖 it's here, it's pink, it's sparkly, and full of fluff 💖

Hiiiiii and welcome to witness my attempt at an Olli/Allu Advent Calendar, in which I'll give you ~a cute little something~ about these two idiots in love almost every day until December 24! My plan is to use prompts from this list to either write a fic based on the prompt or just some good ol' delulu thoughts if all else fails. I cannot guarantee there'll be a post literally every day, but I'm really excited to try this out and I thank you for your support along the way in advance 💝

The biggest thanks and a million hugs go to one of my favourite human beings @kraeuterhexchen for making the adorable banner!! I mean helloooooo?? 😭 Go show them some love ❣️

For December 1, the prompt list is titled One True Pairing Moments, and the prompt I chose was 'calling just to hear their voice' 🥺 You can read the fic below, I hope you like it <3

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PS. Even though this is an advent calendar of sorts, I'm not planning on making this particularly Christmassy. I hope no one minds terribly!

~

Falling for Aleksi had, in a way, sneaked up on Olli, at least if he fooled himself a little. He could pretend he didn’t feel any different about the man than he did about, say, Joonas or Tommi, but that strategy only worked for so long – that is to say, approximately until Aleksi as much as smiled softly at him from across a room or bumped his shoulder into his jovially when walking down the street and Olli would feel his breath getting caught in his throat or stumble in his words, his tongue tangled like shoelaces, which was so unlike him as well and frustrated him to no end. It really took a special kind of fool to not only develop some level of feelings for a friend, a colleague, a bandmate for Christ’s sake, but also become so hopelessly enamored with him that you rolled awake in bed in the dead of night, grabbing your phone and tossing it back on the nightstand again and again because you couldn’t decide whether or not you should, on some erratic 2 o’clock impulse, call him to let him know he was the very reason for your insomnia. 

Turning on his back, Olli groaned (only a little desperately) as he remembered losing himself in the lingering hug they had shared just before the arrivals lobby at the airport, inhaling Aleksi’s scent and wishing they wouldn’t have to go home just yet, even if Olli was more than ready to finally sleep in his own bed again. Ironically, ever since they had returned home from tour, Olli had spent night after sleepless night missing Aleksi terribly: his stupid jokes and playful banter that bordered on being flirtatious if Olli allowed himself the benefit of delusion; his quick, subtle smiles that probably meant nothing; his little touches Olli hoped meant something; his smell and his touch and the softness of his hair at the back of his neck, compared to which the blanket Olli was grasping in his fist was like sandpaper. (How he had come to know of the qualities of Aleksi’s hair in such detail, he preferred not to dwell on too much to save himself from the heartache, so let’s just leave it at ‘stressful, emotional week far away from home’ and ‘a little too much to drink’).

Above all, Olli missed Aleksi’s voice. He hadn’t even thought that was possible, until the other morning when Olli had woken up to a voice message Aleksi had left just hours earlier, rambling about a song idea he had gotten in the middle of the night – something he did from time to time – and Olli had spent the next several minutes replaying it over and over again as he had lied in bed procrastinating getting up and and instead closing his eyes to better imagine Aleksi lying there beside him, turned on his side to face Olli, talking to him sleepily like they often did when they shared a room on tour and were just too lazy to join others at breakfast. Much like the hug at the airport, Olli wished those moments would have lasted way longer than they did, often ending abruptly when either of their phones would go off with Santeri’s name on the screen, a passive-aggressive interruption to the soft, low tone of Aleksi’s early-morning thoughts. (Sometimes, when Olli was lucky enough, he had been blessed with the bliss of feeling the light touch of a fingertip tracing along his collarbone, cut short just as frustratingly by their well-meaning tour manager politely enquiring whether the two of them had plans of dragging themselves downstairs for some toast and coffee, or if they’d rather starve until lunchtime, for which he wasn’t at all sure they’d even have time that day.)

The lovesick idiot that he was, his thumb hovered over the ‘play’ button of Aleksi’s voice message, probably for the millionth time that week. The chest-carving hesitation turned into a heart flip when he noticed Aleksi was online.

Then Aleksi began to type, and Olli held his breath the entire time until a new message appeared in the thread, anticipation holding him by his throat.

You awake?

Olli exhaled and typed his affirmative reply, leaving out the reason why.

He blinked at the screen, waiting for Aleksi to ask him a random question that clearly couldn’t wait until morning, or perhaps talk about something related to another late-night Twitch stream (from what Olli had gathered, Aleksi had been doing a lot of those recently, and with his last remaining braincell Olli had managed to resist the temptation to watch every single one of them, because he knew that if he did, it would only dig his grave of pining and longing deeper, seeing Aleksi smile and giggle about but not being able to do that with him or snuggle up next to him when he was wearing that flannel Olli often used as a blanket in the tour bus). But instead of another text appearing on the screen, Olli’s phone began to vibrate in his hand, and it took him an embarrassingly long while to understand it was because Aleksi was calling him. 

“Hi,” he sighed when he finally collected himself enough to speak. He prayed he’d be able to hear what Aleksi was going to say from the thumping heartbeat echoing in his ears.

“Hi,” a soft voice said. “Sorry, I know it’s late…”

“No, not at all,” Olli hurried to say, “I mean, I wasn’t sleeping. Not even close, actually.” Part of him hoped Aleksi wouldn’t ask about it, but in some foolhardy way the possibility intrigued him. 

Nothing much, he would have likely said anyway, but what would happen if he told Aleksi how it really was? That he squeezed his pillow imagining it was him instead, or wailed into it because something had reminded him of a moment-that-was-probably-not-a-Moment™ they had shared? What would Aleksi say if he knew Olli sometimes touched himself the way Aleksi had touched him That One Night they never talked about? The only obstacle between Olli and that knowledge was a bottomless ocean of cold sweat and cowardice, and Olli had never been a great swimmer.

“So, ummm…,” Olli said when Aleksi’s end stayed silent. “What’s up?”

A short breath of laughter sounded through the phone line.

“Honestly? I don’t know, I… It’s just been a… weird week, I guess.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like… my head’s just been so full of… everything and… I’ve been so busy and kinda tense and… fuck, this is going to sound crazy,” Aleksi laughed that brief laugh again, although to Olli it didn’t sound particularly cheerful. Tired, more like. Strained, somehow. Not sad, but definitely a little troubled, and Olli intended to find out why.

“I’m all for crazy, you know.” Olli hoped his sorry attempt to lighten Aleksi’s mood would work, and so he smiled in relief when he heard Aleksi chuckle at his comment.

“I know,” Aleksi said softly, in that tone of voice that had Olli melt against his bedsheets. “So yeah, it’s been a rough week, but… in between all that stupid shit, I’ve been thinking a lot about… umm… well, the tour and– and… about you, for some reason,” (the troubled laugh made its return) “and… yeah. That’s sort of helped me a lot recently.”

Olli listened to the words carefully, not fully believing what he was hearing, yet clinging on to them until they were all but swirling around in his otherwise empty head like dry leaves in October wind.

“And tonight I just couldn’t fucking sleep for some reason and nothing I did seemed to help and so I thought I’d call you. And I’m–” If it hadn’t been dead silent otherwise, Olli wouldn’t have heard the shaky breath Aleksi paused to take, “I’m sorry I’m calling you at this hour and bothering you with this all but I guess I just… wanted to hear your voice. To see if that would help.”

“Does it?” Olli asked. Aleksi’s confession had made him clasp his blanket close to his chest, as if that would do anything about his rapidly beating heart.

“Yeah. It does. So maybe just… keep talking?”

Despite his mind living a life of its own, completely unfit to form a single coherent thought, for Aleksi’s sake Olli tried his best to think of something to say, but everything he came up with was something he was not ready to tell him quite yet. 

“Uuummmm…” he said to buy himself some time, but while he waited for his useless brain and mouth to form any actual words, Aleksi spoke again.

“Fuck, I’m– I’m sorry, this is too weird, I shouldn’t have– I’ll let you go back to–”

“I miss you,” Olli blurted before Aleksi would hang up on him. He squeezed his eyes shut when Aleksi went silent, too silent for too long for it to mean any good.

The line stayed open, however, which Olli took as a positive sign, even if the seconds during which all Olli could hear was Aleksi's quiet breathing seemed endless.

“And I you,” Aleksi finally replied. “A little too much, probably, or at least that’s what it feels like,” he chuckled. Olli almost missed the quiet sniff that followed.

He had to steel himself for his next question.

“What do you mean?”

“Just… forget it.” Aleksi said quietly. Contrary to Aleksi’s request, Olli knew he was going to all but ‘forget it’ for the next 3-5 business days; mentally he booked all his evenings as well as most of his mornings and noons for pondering what exactly had been in Aleksi’s mind in that moment or why he had sounded so sombre, almost disappointed. He’d probably never come to any satisfactory conclusion about it though, at least not without a little help from Aleksi himself. 

A ridiculous idea popped into his head, and before he could stop himself, the words flooded out of his mouth.

“Do you wanna come over some time? To hang out? When your schedule’s a little less tight, I mean.” He sucked on his lips and closed his eyes as he waited for Aleksi’s answer, ready to hang up the moment he’d decline the offer on some obvious and logical reason for why Aleksi couldn’t possibly make nor want to take a trip to the north to see him, such as ‘didn’t we just spend over two months on the road together?’ or ‘damn, buddy, I miss you alright but not quite that much, I’ve done enough sitting in public transportation for one year, thank you very much lol’ or ‘what about Rilla?’

“You could take Rilla with you, you know.” Olli hurried to say, just in case, the deranged part of his brain thinking there might be a chance Aleksi might be at least considering it.

“Oh! Well, umm… I actually might have time next week? If– if you’re actually being serious about this.”

Funny you should ask, Aleksi; I’ve actually never been more serious about anything in my entire life than I am about having you here with me so that I can hold you and be held by you and see your face when I wake up in the morning and say goodnight to your annoyingly cute face instead of via text message and maybe, if the stars are in position and the northern wind won’t discourage me too much, I might actually be brave enough to torment you with the knowledge of just how miserable I’ve been since we last saw each other.

“I think it would be cool,” he said, because he had a feeling what he wanted to say would’ve been a tad too much and sudden. “I mean, if you’re up for it, of course. I understand if you can’t make it though, I know you have all those side projects.”

“No, I think it might actually do me some good to get out of the capital area for change.” Then there was a muffled ‘ouch’, followed by a laugh that sounded much brighter than any of the other ones Olli had heard from Aleksi that night. “Sorry, correction, it might do us some good. Rilla just told me she’s most definitely coming too. Rilla, stop nibbling on my toes!”

Olli smiled tiredly at the mental image that was painted in his mind of Aleksi and Rilla cuddling in bed, both minding their own business from what it seemed while still minding each other as well, very much indeed.

“I’ll be sure to set up a bed for her in the guest room.”

“The guest room? Do you not know her at all? If she’s not getting the master bedroom, she’ll ruin all your rugs and most of your shoes. Probably also gossip about you to all the neighbourhood dogs. And she’s brutal.”

Olli held his stomach as he laughed, tears almost forming in the corners of his eyes. In his defence, it was late and he was finally becoming tired, thus too far gone to help himself, let alone feel embarrassed about being in stitches about something Aleksi had said that was only mildly amusing. (It wasn’t the first time that had happened either, and likely not the last time.)

“So yeah, ummm, I can take a look at some flight options for next week and let you know, alright? I’m gonna let you sleep now and… I should get some myself too.”

Olli wanted to tell Aleksi he’d love to stay up chatting until dawn, but the yawn he let out when he opened his mouth to speak implied Aleksi had a point.

“Yeah, let me know. And… thanks for calling, I… you have no idea how much I needed this tonight.”

That was as close to a confession as Olli was able to get as of now.

“Probably not half as much as I did.”

Olli chuckled at Aleksi’s response, mostly to hide his own agony.

If only you knew. If only I knew how to tell you.

It didn’t take long for Olli to doze off after they hung up, and when he woke up to the kids from next door having a snowball fight under his window in the morning, he noticed new messages from Aleksi, sent half an hour after their phone call had ended, complete with screen captions of airplane schedules.

Would these days work for you? I might be free all week actually 😇

Olli cuddled into his pillow while typing his reply, hoping it wouldn’t wake up Aleksi.

yeah I’m free as well. I’ll pick you two up from the airport 🖤

From then on, Olli started counting the days until he’d see Aleksi again.