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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 2 months

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OmfffffGGGG the fun I had writing this chapter GUYS—

I mean start to finish, I've been giggling like an idiot the entire mfing TIME

Well, alternating between giggling like an idiot and snickering deviously like a witch huddled over a cauldron but that's neither here nor there

Of course we have banter between Garp's dippy ass and Bogard's far more poised and reasonable demeanor, but also

BUT ALSO—

i cannot

I can't spoil it I cannot I will not I must not I shan't it would be positively rude in all honesty i will not—

Just———muffled screaming

Look I'm sorry in advance I had way too much fun with this

even mihawk is done with my shit at this point

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch. 4 of who even fcking knows at this point honestly, five? Six? Fifty? Whatever just let me vibe

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time. Your first recon mission, while more or less a success, left you wounded and your commanding officers more divided than ever over the operation at hand. You have since arrived at Marineford to complete your training for the mission, and gods only know where things might go from here....

Previous chapter, First chapter, Next chapter

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

No Trigger Warnings in this chapter. Possible future Trigger Warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later Word Count: 4,832

Taglist: @i-am-vita thank you so much you have no idea how much this means to me

♫♬Halloween Blues - The Fratellis♬♫

Well, I'm gonna make ya love me, gonna make ya wish that you'd never been born

Now ya wish you'd never met me, I could be the joker that you couldn't shake off

It was agreed upon by all parties involved that not a word would be spoken of your ill-advised “test” at Kuraigana Island to anyone but Fleet Admiral Sengoku. The brunt of the chastisement fell upon Garp and Bogard, as the commanding officers overseeing the mission; and while you were scolded yourself for getting far closer than your orders had suggested you should, you were still commended for providing valuable new information.

The Marines were now aware that Kuraigana Island was home to a population of large primates, of undetermined size or intelligence but with enough intellect to use basic weaponry.

The Marines were also now aware that the presence of Dracule “Hawk-Eye” Mihawk on the otherwise abandoned island was confirmed, and that the volatile pirate had most likely set up at least a temporary base amid the desolate castle ruins.

You were permitted to keep in contact with your mother over the following months of your training as promised, with the stipulation that your letters would be screened to ensure you didn’t relay any confidential information to outside parties. As such, you wrote your final letter aboard a small unmarked vessel bound to pass by Kuraigana Island perhaps four months after the first, and had handed it over to Bogard to scan over.

Hi, Mom!

I’m still doing great, I promise. Training has been exhausting but I’ve learned a lot, and it’s been a breath of fresh air to be among people that actually seem to like me. My commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay. I trust them.

This will be the last letter for a while since I’m being deployed. You don’t have to worry, it’s nothing serious and I’ll be fine, I just won’t be somewhere that I can receive any mail. You can still write me though, and I’ll be able to reply the second I get back to my base. I don’t know exactly how long that will be, but the tentative estimate is two months. It could be sooner, but it could be a little longer.

Love you, and give my love to all our feathery friends.

“Ten minutes out,” said Garp, sitting against the railing with a doughnut hanging out of his mouth as he finished filling out the remainder of the paperwork he had put off until the very last minute.

“‘Commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay,’” Bogard read aloud, lowering your letter to glance down at you with a wry look.

“She’s not wrong, you’re pretty damned irritating,” said Garp. Bogard lowered his eyes to the vice admiral sitting on the deck of the ship, lifting an eyebrow.

Garp only raised his doughnut with a nod and took another bite before returning to his report. Bogard huffed out a sigh and folded the letter, turning his gaze to you as you paced back and forth across the small deck. The vessel was little more than a sloop, designed for no more than one or two people to sail on their own, sturdy enough to withstand the unpredictable weather patterns of the Grand Line but far less advanced than the standard Marine vessel. You barely noticed his gaze upon you, staring down at your feet as you paced, counting the nails in the deck boards in a futile attempt to keep your mind clear from the quickly approaching start of your mission.

You stopped in your tracks the moment Bogard cleared his throat to get your attention, lifting your head sharply and standing at attention.

“A…at ease,” he said slowly, watching you shuffle your feet and fold your hands behind your back. “Your letter will be sent once Garp and myself return to Marineford,” he assured you. “Once you have left this ship, your own contact with the Marines will cease for a period of no less than two months, unless you are forced to make emergency contact. Emergecy contact will only be employed—”

“Under the circumstance that my own life is in immediate and unquestionable danger,” you responded immediately, to which Bogard gave a curt nod.

“Correct,” he agreed. “There will be a covert Marine presence at every island neighboring Kuraigana. Should you require rescue, the closest vessel will be able to arrive within twenty-four hours.”

“She won’t need it,” Garp chimed in through the last bite of his doughnut, and in a rare break of his iron composure, Bogard reached into one of his overcoat pockets and threw a pen at him in response. You watched as Garp caught it and used the implement to sign his name at the bottom of his paperwork before flicking it across the deck of the ship. “Have a little faith, Bogard. We have at our disposal a trained weapon of subterfuge.”

Garp wrapped his hand around the railing behind him and pulled himself to his feet, strolling over to your side and clapping you on the shoulder.

“Trained under our own supervision,” he went on proudly, while Bogard closed his eyes and heaved a slow, impatient sigh, waiting for him to go on. “Who has already provided us with more up-to-date information on the target than anyone else in our ranks—”

“—I’m still not saying your impulsive little test was anything but idiotic—”

“—and humbly declined to take credit for any of it,” Garp went on , ignoring his partner. You jolted as he gave you a sharp pat on the back. “She’ll be just fine. Won’t ya, kid?”

“I’ll—perform my duties as expected of…” You trailed off into a sigh yourself when Garp rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” you said stiffly. “I’ll be fine.”

“See? She’ll be fine.”

Garp gave a firm nod, as if your word was more than enough to affirm your fate as solid fact.

And then his brow furrowed as he stared across the deck.

His eyes narrowed into a squint, and he turned his head the slightest bit, his hand lowering from your shoulder and back to his side,

“No…that’s not…”

By the time Bogard turned his head, Garp was already striding across the deck, extending a spyglass as he leaned over the railing and stared through the scope. He gave a growl of annoyance as he held the scope out behind him for Bogard to take. Your heart raced as you slowly crossed the deck to join them, your already thin resolve faltering when Bogard slowly lowered the scope to glance at Garp.

“This changes—”

“It changes nothing,” said Garp, jerking his head to look at Bogard.

You didn’t need the spyglass to see the foggy haze around Kuraigana Island past the railing, no more than you needed it to see the small ship docked near its southern banks. You couldn’t make out much about it, but you could see the one thing that mattered—it flew a black flag.

“Red-Hair,” said Garp. “I knew he’d be trouble. I told Sengoku, I told him—”

“Why the hell would he be here?” Bogard said slowly, looking back out toward the island. He glanced behind him, and held out the spyglass for you to take. You moved to the railing between them, holding it to one eye and shutting the other to look through it at the distant ship. “There’s no chance any information has—”

“No, there isn’t,” agreed Garp, as your vision adjusted against the magnification of the lenses. You scanned over the small ship, which appeared to be empty, before lifting your head to focus on its flag—a jolly roger, decorated with a pair of crossed cutlasses and a skull with three slashes across one eye.

“Red-Haired Shanks…?” you said slowly, lowering the scope, glancing between Garp and Bogard as they stared out at the ship. “Ah—three hundred million, two hundred sixty-two thousand berry bounty.”

“Sixty-three,” corrected Bogard absently, glancing at Garp. Garp remained focused, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the ship, his grip tight around the deck railing. “Vice-Admiral.” He glanced over sharply when Bogard spoke up. “This does change—”

“It changes nothing,” Garp growled firmly.

You didn’t particularly like the way Bogard leaned over the railing, holding his hat in place as he shook his head, staring at Garp with no small degree of trepidation. Your eyes shifted to Garp when he turned around to face you, frowning down at you thoughtfully,

“Or it could change things for the better,” he said slowly, letting out a small chuckle. “Well, lass. This is your call. Seems more than just Mihawk might be docked at the island ahead of us.” You nodded shortly to show you were following, waiting for him to continued. “Not much is known about Shanks as yet…to the masses.”

“Garp—”

Garp held up a hand when Bogard tossed a warning look at him.

“—but I have on good authority that he trained under Gold Roger himself.” Your eyes widened, flickering back toward the ship in question, as Bogard let out a growl of annoyance and stormed back toward the opposite side of the deck. “This is an unexpected turn.” Your gaze shot back toward Garp as he straightened out, folding his hands behind his back and staring down at you. “We can head back toward Marineford and go through all the meticulous to-do’s of officially changing our plans, spend a few more months buried in paperwork, or—”

“I’m going.” He raised his eyebrows, his lips already twitching toward a smile at the firmness of your words. “The Red-Hair pirates would be no more aware of who I am than Mihawk. There’s no point wasting any more time.”

“No, I guess there isn’t,” he agreed, grinning. He cleared his throat, cupping a hand around his mouth and making a show of calling across the small expanse of the deck to Bogard. “You might just be able to gather us a little more intel than we expeced. Hear that, Bogard? No need to delay!”

“No need to pull a muscle patting yourself on the back, either,” Bogard grumbled, just loud enough to ensure Garp heard him.

“Alright, kid,” said Garp, happily ignoring him as he leaned against the side of the railing. “We’ve got under ten minutes, so here’s the rundown.” He turned his head, looking out toward the ship moored just off the edge of the island. “Shanks, as I said. Captain, pupil of Gold Roger himself. Primary weapon is a sabre. Straw hat, bright red hair, difficult to miss. There’s Yasopp, the first man to join his crew, at the time he was regarded as the sharpest shooter in the East Blue. Dark skin, dreadlocks, carries a pair of flintlock pistols.”

“So...that’s his first mate?”

“No.” Your brow furrowed. “That would be Beckman. Dark hair, ponytail, built like a brick shithouse. Carries a flintlock rifle. He’s a damn good shot himself but he’ll use the thing as a club in close quarters. Lucky Roux, the cook, bastard’s probably as wide as he is tall…”

You listened closely to Garp’s continued colorful descriptions of the crew officers of the Red Hair Pirates—and the potential dangers they could pose to your health should anyone discover what you really were.

“Red Hair isn’t the brightest match in the box,” he went on, “but there’s a great deal of evidence that he closely rivals Dracule Mihawk in swordsmanship. Should the two end up fighting, you keep your distance. Otherwise, be exceedingly careful around Benn Beckman. He’s the idiot’s first mate for a reason and probably accounts for ninety percent of the collective brain cells of the entire crew. You’ll have to keep a close eye on him while you keep up your act. There’s no telling why they’re docked here, and it would be in your best interest to figure it out. If they’re going to be around for a while, keep your distance.”

“I...sort of doubt any of them are ornithology experts,” you said, frowning.

“As much as one might doubt that a species of unknown primates could learn to use relatively modern weaponry.” You turned your head sharply at the sound of Bogard’s voice close behind you—you hadn’t heard him cross the deck. Your frown deepened as he gave a pointed glance at the scar spanning nearly the entire length of your right upper arm. Garp, gestured to the other Marine pointedly at his statement, and you couldn’t deny that he had a point either. “You’ll keep your distance. Fooling one pirate alone is going to be a great deal easier and safer than attempting to fool an entire crew of them.” He turned his head to Garp. “This is still the most ridiculous mission I’ve ever had the displeasure of being involved in.”

“Ah, girl’s got her act down fine,” he said dismissively—and Garp wasn’t wrong about that. Your favorite part of your training by far had been simply flying around the massive base at Marineford, taking tally of how many of the staff and officers you could fool. The only individuals privy to the exact nature of your mission were Garp and Bogard, a small selection of admirals and vice admirals, and Fleet Admiral Sengoku himself. Your performance had been enough to levy a unanimous vote to go forth with the mission. “Your persona, cadet?”

“Gray parrot, previously the pet of a pirate crew that perished in battle, therefore comfortable around pirates in general,” you said. “Able to repeat a number of sounds and phrases that might be heard aboard a ship, capable of learning new phrases and words faster than most other similar species of bird. Particular disdain for Marines and may fly into a frenzy at the sight of their vessels.”

“See?” said Garp, clapping you on the back hard enough that you flinched. “I’d say we’ve got this in the bag.”

Bogard stared between the two of you for a moment, frowning, before shaking his head. “God help us all,” he muttered under his breath, lifting a hand to rub his eyes.

The final few minutes of the voyage were spent with Garp and Bogard grilling you about the small amount of information known by the Marines about Dracule Mihawk, about the quick briefing you had just received on the Red Hair pirates, about your memorization of the den den mushi numbers you were to contact in the event that your life was in immediate danger or that you found any information useful enough to wrap the operation up early. Garp gave a resolute nod as you neared your destination, around a mile and a half off the shore of Kuraigana Island, and Bogard gave a heavy sigh and a short nod in silent agreement—no matter how little he approved, you were as ready as you were going to be.

“Alright, then, cadet,” said Garp, his wide grin a direct contrast to his partner’s pessimism. “Bird mode, activate.”

“Must you call it that?” said Bogard, tossing a weary look at Garp as you gave a quick salute and immediately shrank down into your devil fruit form on the deck. You fluttered your wings enough to hop up onto the deck railing in front of them, and Bogard frowned down at you. “Best of luck,” he offered. “Should all go according to plan, we’ll see you again in no more than two months.”

He cringed the slightest bit when you raised your wing in another salute, squawking out over Garp’s snort of laughter, “Wind in your sails!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Garp, waving you off. “Now shoo, bird. And no getting yourself killed.”

And once more, you found yourself flying out toward Kuraigana Island.

You made a high pass over the Red Hair’s ship, squinting down toward it as you soared overhead, and the cause of their mooring near the island became quickly clear—it appeared that there was work being performed on a few sizable cannonball holes on the port side of the vessel. You were surprised to see a handful of the crew on the beach near the edge of the forest, seeming to be laughing among themselves and having a grand time, the primates that had attacked you nowhere in sight. Lucky Roux was easy enough to pick out, exactly as Garp had described him—striped shirt and tinted goggles, easily as wide as he was tall, sitting against a tree and taking a bite out of what looked like an entire leg of lamb while another crewmate assisted in bandaging his arm.

Perhaps they had had a run-in with the local apes.

You took that as enough reason to remain vigilant as you flew high over the forest, scanning the treetops below for any signs of movement. It was a relief that there seemed to be none—if the Red Hair pirates had come in contact with the violent creatures, it seemed they had managed to beat them into submission. You considered how Garp had told you that no one had ever entered the island on foot and lived to tell the tale, and it sent a shiver over your spine to think that the crew might be that formidable.

The first signs of movement you witnessed came only once you neared the castle itself, and you nearly faltered in your flight.

Your target was directly below you.

Sitting on a broken piece of stone wall in the courtyard, clad in a white shirt with a ruffled collar and a pair of black pants, his hat sitting to the side next to him, his massive sword lying across his lap as he polished the handle. You slowly, cautiously circled lower, keeping a fair distance, your eyes remaining on the pirate. His mouth seemed to be fixed in a scowl, his posture tense.

You cautiously landed in one of the castle windows several feet away, side-stepping until you were perched in the very corner of the indentation, your gray plumage a perfect camouflage against the rugged stone, and the reason for Mihawk’s clear irritation became immediately evident as the sound of a nonchalant voice tore your gaze away from him.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Hawk-Eye.”

Shanks.

Garp’s description had once again been right on the money—his stringy scarlet hair was capped by a straw-hat, his hands tucked behind his neck as he paced across a pile of rubble that might have once been a wall, a long sabre tucked into his red cloth belt at his right hip. He hopped down to the ground as you watched, resting his elbow on the hilt of the sword as he stared up at the castle. “Be a shame if something happened to it.”

He reached over with his left hand, wrapping it around the handle of the sword, and you tensed immediately, prepared to take flight as he grinned and glanced over at Mihawk.

“Divi—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, his sword extended out at arm’s length, the blade less than an inch away from Shanks’s neck, his sharp yellow eyes narrowing to threatening slits as Shanks lifted his hands up in mock-surrender, still grinning.

“Only kidding,” he said, taking a cautious step back from the edge of the black blade.

Mihawk eyed him with a venomous glare for a few seconds longer before pulling his blade back swiftly to his side and rolling his eyes, a growl of annoyance leaving him as he turned on his heel and stormed back over to the broken wall, sitting down once more. “Remind me of what the hell you’re doing here and precisely why you haven’t left yet?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my friends?” said Shanks, clutching at his chest dramatically in feigned offense. Mihawk ignored the redhead as he sat down heavily on the ground, grabbing a bottle of dark liquor propped up against the pile of rubble and working the cork loose. “Hey, it’s not my fault. This is where the Log pose pointed us. We needed to do a few repairs on the ship. Noticed your old rowboat moored nearby—”

“Rowboat,” Mihawk repeated under his breath, one of his eyes twitching the slightest bit.

“So what’s with the pissed off monkeys, anyway?” said Shanks, nodding toward the forest before taking a swig from the bottle and flicking the cork over his shoulder. “Few of them were damn near as good with a sword as you are.” Mihawk’s eyes shot toward him in a warning glare, and rolled away when Shanks gave a broad grin in response. “Train them yourself?”

“No,” he said shortly. “The humandrills were already quite capable with a variety of weapons when I arrived—”

“Aww, you named them?”

“I discovered the name among the historical documents in castle,” he said through his teeth. “It seems they learned to use weapons by watching their human neighbors before they managed to wipe themselves out. Perhaps,” he went on, before Shanks could speak up again, “your time would better be served overseeing the repairs on your ship so you can leave the moment they’re done.”

“Oh, the repairs are almost finished,” said Shanks, waving a dismissive hand. “Just waiting for the log pose to finish linking up.” He took a sip from his bottle, lifting his eyebrows. “Why? Aren’t you enjoying the company?”

“Oh, yes, immensely,” Mihawk responded dryly.

Your eyes darted between the pair of pirates amid their exchange, keeping yourself perfectly still in the stone windowsill. It was clear that Shanks, at least, was enjoying himself, and that they seemed to have some sort of history between them. It was equally clear that Mihawk would have very much preferred that his company take a long walk off the nearest short pier. He still kept his irritation in check, though whether it was out of any actual sense of camaraderie or he simply didn’t feel like wasting his energy fighting remained unclear.

Their exchange gave you an almost overwhelming sense of déjà vu, and you made a mental note to inform Garp and Bogard of it the next time you saw them.

“Oh, so grumpy,” Shanks commented, leaning back against the rubble behind him, stretching an arm out across one of his knees. “Why don’t you go take a nap, old man? I’m sure there are plenty of beds more than suited for someone of your positively regal manner.” Mihawk went on polishing the golden handle of his sword, not bothering to glance up. “Probably more than enough beds for any number of guests—”

“No,” said Mihawk coolly, still keeping his eyes turned down toward his sword.

“Oh, come on,” Shanks groaned in complaint, laying his head back. His mouth turned down into a despondent sort of pout, tilting his head to look over at the castle—and you tensed immediately, holding your breath, remaining still as a statue. “I’ve never even been in a castle before—”

“No,” Mihawk said again, louder this time, his yellow eyes fixing on Shanks with a firm gaze this time.

“You’re absolutely no fun at all,” Shanks huffed, lifting a small piece of stone from the ground and tossing it in his direction in a half-hearted manner. “You know, you’re going to die sad and alone one day in your desolate castle.”

“And what a peaceful end it will be,” said Mihawk disinterestedly, rolling his eyes back down to the sword across his lap as he buffed a rag across the gleaming blue gem at the end of the hilt.

“But not friendless,” Shanks added, completely ignoring him. He offered another broad grin. “I’ll always be your frien—”

“Would you just go away already?” Mihawksighed wearily, lifting his head and tossing the rag aside. “It’s abundantly clear what you’re attempting to do, and it isn’t going to work.”

“Oh, and just what am I trying to do?” said Shanks...and he seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, before adding in a cheeky tone, “...friend?”

“You’re fishing for a fight,” said Mihawk, gritting his teeth, briefly gripping the handle of his sword before releasing it from his grasp. “And I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh come. On,” Shanks groaned once more, leaning back heavily and pouting. “I’m bored. There’s literally nothing on this damned island except a pile of rocks and a bunch of trees and a particularly nice castle—”

“No.” Shanks gave a huff of irritation, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Mihawk. “Go off and play with the other monkeys if you’re so damned bored.”

“They’re already afraid of me,” he huffed, pouting like a child. He brushed a few unruly strands of hair away from his eyes, turning his gaze out toward the forest. “Stupid apes.” Mihawk only rolled his eyes, shook his head, and returned to the idle task of sword maintenance. “I’m frankly surprised you didn’t just slaughter all of them the moment you set foot here.”

“They make for a decent security system,” he said levelly.

“Or you’re secretly just a big softie—”

Shanks straightened out and gave another broad grin when Mihawk tossed a sharp glare at him...and then slumped back down in defeat when his supposed “friend” gave a heavy sigh and turned his attention back to his sword.

It went on this way for some time—Shanks continually poking and prodding, attempting to annoy Mihawk enough to coax him into a fight; and Mihawk persisting in the task of sword maintenance, running a whetstone across the already razor-sharp edge of the blade as he fought to keep his composure. The entire spectacle was rather like watching an excitable puppy yip at a surly cat.

You shifted your gaze to the edge of the nearby forest when Shanks looked over, the young captain waving once the rustling of the dense leaves gave way to a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black shirt, picking leaves out of his ponytail—no doubt Benn Beckman, from the description Garp had offered you. There was indeed a large rifle slung back across one of his shoulders, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He glanced toward Mihawk, before stopping just short of his captain, looking down at him.

“Repairs are finished and the Log Pose’s set,” he said, his brow furrowing when Shanks frowned in clear disappointment. “We getting off of this rock or are you still antagonizing the current inhabitants?”

“I am visiting with a dear old friend,” said Shanks, giving an indignant huff and crossing his arms. He rolled his eyes back over to Mihawk. “Isn’t that right, Hawkie—?”

“Call me that again and you’ll be leaving this island wearing your entrails as necklace,” said Mihawk coolly.

“See?” said Shanks, gesturing toward Mihawk. “We’re just catching up on old times.”

Beckman stared down at his captain for a long moment, frowning, his cigarette smoldering at the corner of his mouth. He finally shook his head and stepped back a couple paces, leaning back against a pile of stones and crossing his arms. “Alright,” he said. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I am,” Shanks assured him with a positively gleeful grin. He rolled his shoulders and took a drink from the bottle of liquor clenched in his hand, his eyes drifting back over to Mihawk. “Well, it seems our all too pleasant reunion may be drawing to a close, Hawkie—”

Shanks’s grin only widened when Mihawk lifted his gaze to glare at him, his hand gripping tighter around the whetstone.

Shanks seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, pursing his lips to suppress his growing amusement at Mihawk’s growing annoyance, before his expression spread back into a grin as he lifted his eyebrows.

“How about a little kiss goodbye—y’know, between friends and all—”

“That’s it—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, tossing the whetstone away.

Shanks was on his feet just as quickly, a look of absolute glee brightening his features as he drew his sabre.

Beckman took a few casual steps off to the side, pulling his cigarette down from his lips to flick the ashes away, shaking his head, his hand tightening around the butt of his rifle almost imperceptibly.

And you, in spite of yourself, let out a tiny squawk of alarm at the entire spectacle...and quickly realized your mistake.

While Mihawk surged forward with his blade drawn, while Beckman kept his sharp eyes flickering between him and his captain, Shanks’s gaze flickered over toward the sound you had just let out.

And his eyes widened the slightest bit as his eyes met yours.

And he lifted his sword to block what would have been a deadly blow from Mihawk as he continued staring at you as you froze in the windowsill, your feathers ruffling out the slightest bit in response to the terror dawning over you.

Beckman also followed his captain’s gaze, lifting an eyebrow as he noticed your presence.

Shanks drew in a sharp breath, his eyes growing even wider, wide as the eyes of a child with a bottomless wallet in a candy shop. One single, almost breathless word left his lips as they spread into a delighted smile:

“Parrot.”

Next chapter link again, for your convenience

First chapter link again, for your convenience

#one piece #opla #mihawk x reader #mihawk #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #monkey d. garp #garp #bogard #red hair pirates #shanks #fan fiction #one piece fan fiction #fanfic #one piece fanfic #flightrisk

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

Text

The Sticking Point 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: I'm moving tomorrow.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

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Love you all. Take care. 💖

The tension turns roiling. Even in such airy halls, you cannot escape it, not that you venture very far from your rooms. It seems with each interaction, your relationship with your fiance only grows more fraught. You needn’t wonder why. It’s the very same reason your own father regards you with derision. You’re defective, less than what he hoped for.

You sit in the window seat, looking over the greenery that reflects Jade Garden’s title. It’s a home anyone would covet and yet it feels as a penitentiary might. These walls are unyielding and the isolation suffocating.

Your visions drifts into the distance as the leaves turn to green smears blending into the dimming blue of the sky. You close your eyes and turn your head straight, leaning against the wall as you hook your arms around your legs.

A banquet. It’s less than a proper debut. You’re not certain anyone would be expecting you, or even know who you are. Will they be surprised when they hear your father’s name?

There are things you know. Things you must ready yourself for. Certainly, there will be jeers, mocking whispers, and errant giggles. Just the same as anyone ever reacted to you. Even the farmhands would echo your speech and laugh bawdily. It hardly matter’s your a lord’s daughter when you sound so ridiculous.

You hang your head and sigh. It isn’t just one banquet, it is the beginning of a lifetime of events. You will not only face this one night, but many anon. You will be the one they speak of behind their hands and the joke at the card tables.

You stand, made restless by your dread. The window darkens with the evening’s arrival. Doreen raps at the door and leaves a tray of supper. You pick at it but don’t eat much. You must keep yourself busy so your mind is not.

You go to your chests. You will need Doreen to unpack these soon. It’s as if the longer you leave them full, the less assured your fate. You might still strap them up and flee.

You know that isn’t truly an option.

You take out a gown the shade of cooked pumpkin with an overlay that lends it a bronzish hue. The bodice is trimmed with an eyelet effect and the hem of the cap sleeves and skirt finely threaded with beads. You lay it out on the chaise and find a pair of slippers to go with it and ribbon for your hair decorated with black onyx and brass.

If Edith could see you then. It should be her in your place. That thought rings louder and louder, bolstered by the constant disapproval.

You back away from your attire, spinning so you won’t have to look upon it. You never thought to miss home so much. Not your parents, you’re certain they hardly grieve your absence, but for the familiarity, for the simple walls and memories. Edith is there, even gone, you know you would see her in every cushion and every corner.

You go to the door and listen. As silent as ever. You emerge into the corridor and make careful progress on the pads of your feet. You come to the top of the stairwell and peer down on the foyer. For all it’s beauty, this place is rather grim.

You descend and let your eyes lead you. You take in every ornament, every statue, every door trim, and every tile of the floor. You want to know it all. You don’t want to feel so lost.

You find your way along to the sunroom. Upon your approach, the door opens and you falter. A lithe figure emerges. You press yourself to the wall, unready for Loki’s appearance. He has a snifter of liquor in hand as he glowers in the light of a lantern in his other.

He steps towards you and pauses, lifting the light higher to cast over you. His breath escapes him derisively. He lowers the lantern and sniffs.

“Like a rat, you skitter incessantly,” he remarks.

“My Lawd,” you push away from the wall and angle away from him.

“I am speaking to you. Do not go until I give leave to,” he demands.

You stop and face him again, hands meeting in apprehension.

“This banquet business,” his nostrils flare, “I will not be humiliated. Not as you have tonight.”

“My Lawd, I have been twained in etiq—etiqwette,” you insist.

He scoffs, “your manners hardly bother me. Certainly you might have some grain of awareness.”

You seal your lips. He’s said it plainly, as you have. He might be able to close his ears to your impediment but it is with you always.

“Perhaps you might keep your words to a minimum,” he advises, “select them wisely.”

You stare at him, cheeks fiery and eyes tinging, “If you would wather, I might make an excuse. A sudden malady, my lawd. I’d hate to stain your chawacter.”

His eyes roll to the side and his features sharpen, “more would be said were I to appear without my betrothed after my mother’s promises.”

That he has referred to your nuptials is not so nice as it should be. He speaks to it as a sentence. You look him in the face.

“It won’t eva go away,” you say.

“Hm, I only need get through the wedding night,” he retorts and you can’t help but wince.

You swallow, your hurt turning bitter. “As do I.”

His head tilts and he squints. He lets out another snort, “pardon?”

“My sista would’ve hated you,” you whisper. “You did not desawve to know haw.”

“Be wary,” he steps closer.

“You make an enemy of me, not I you,” you lift your chin.

He’s silent. He shifts even closer. So near, you have to keep from wilting away. You stare back at him defiantly, heart beating.

“You do not know yet what it is to have me as an enemy so you best mind your mannaws,” he mocks your cadence with his last word.

Your lip trembles as he green eyes sparkle like dark emeralds in the lantern lights. Your chest is a flurry of hurt and anger. What have you ever done to him, or anyone, to make them so spiteful? You swing your arm against his to knock the snifter from his hand, sending a splash of alcohol across the wall and and his vest. The smell is acrid and sour.

You back away from him, horrified at your reaction. You have learned to restrain yourself, to tamp it all down, to swallow it with a smile and say nothing. In that moment, you simply cannot. You shake your head as your face twists in despair.

“I would wather an enemy, saw,” you hiss, “as I would be ashamed to call a cad like you husband.”

His glare flashes and he sways as if he might lunge at you. He rights himself and his brow arches. His lips draw and his cheeks pale.

“Very well.”

He spins on his heel and stomps away, the light limning his silhouette sinisterly. You stare after him mortified. What has come over you? You were never bold or brazen or brutal to any. Edith would be disappointed. A gentle soul like her could never even think a hot word.

You fall back against the wall and clutch your hands over your chest. Is this to be your life? Are you to live in loathing, not only of that man but of yourself. To be castigated for the lilt of your own tongue, the very pulse of your existence? You’d thought your father a villain but this man has proven himself worse.

Worst than his distaste is your own futility, for he has assured you there is nothing you might do to appease him. As he is bound to you most miserably, so are you vowed to the same fate. Not even in that might you commiserate.

🔹

You sit in front of the mirror, holding the brooch over the table, feeling the embroidery with the pad of your thumb. You turn it over and back again. It’s the only piece of your sister you have left. Every day she feels further away from you. Every morning, you awake, expecting to hear her, to see her, and she is not there, and you are not at home.

You peer up at your reflection as your hand hovers over the painted wood. You’ve not touched a tress or cheek. You must ready, you know it, but your reticence is like chains on your wrists. You know what you are to face but knowing cannot make it any less unpleasant.

A knock comes at the door. You call for the maid to enter, thinking Doreen’s come to remind you again of your pending engagement. The maid opens the door but says nothing, letting in the duchess instead. Lady Frigga is almost rapturous in a dressing gown of peach fabric as her hair is set already in tight curls around an elegant chignon. You stand, apologising for your misstep.

“Dear, it is quite forgivable,” she assures, “I only meant to look in on you before the banquet, to be certain you do not require anything, but darling, oh,” she sweeps towards you and cups your cheeks, “you’ve not even begun. What is the matter?”

“There is no issue,” you lie, “I mewely let time escape me.”

You smile and gently pull away, turning back to the vanity. You open your hand and once more consider the pin.

“Is this the dress you mean to wear?” Frigga asks as she crosses the room in a swish of silk. You peer over your shoulder as she looks down on the orange fabric. “It is a rather keen shade.”

“Yes, my lady,” you answer in a dulcet tone. You cannot find a glimmer of concern for your attire.

She sighs and returns to you, holding the ribbon you’ve chosen, “these are far too dour,” she touches an onyx, “haven’t you some pearls?”

“Somewhaw...” You bend your neck, staring at the bluebird, at Edith’s handiwork. You remember the day she gave it to you and the way she smiled so proudly. How she pinned it on you herself and made you go around and show all.

“Oh, dear, that won’t go at all. It would be nice for a lunch, no doubt, but not for a banquet,” she remarks and you close your hand around the brooch. You put your shoulders straight and face her.

“I have a pawl band in my chest,” you resign and step around her.

You go to the chest and sift around, careful not to let the brooch slip from your grasp. You take out the pearls on the ivory band and show it to her. She tuts.

“It won’t go with this gown,” she insists.

“Yes, the onyx--”

“Mmp, I prefer pearls. Darling, you must be your best. It is your first social appearance. I do not say this to demean you, only to assist. I know your own mother cannot be here to see you debut but I cannot imagine her pain at this moment. So much loss. Both daughters at once, in a way,” she bemoans.

Yes, you think of your mother too. You know she won’t be well. Nor your father. All their hopes and dreams dashed in a deficient daughter sent to carry a legacy on with a spiteful husband who mightn’t even have the stomach to deliver one.

“I vewy much appweciate it, lady,” you make yourself smile, “I suppose it must be nawvs.”

“Suppose it must,” she hums, “how about you wear the orange gown and I fetch you a feather pin from my own collection? I have a fabulous ostrich and topaz piece,” she assures, “and some black lace gloves. Ooh, yes, dear, we will make certain all is perfect.”

“Thank you, Lady Fwigga, but it isn’t necessawy--”

“You are to be my daughter, of course it is,” she preens. “Besides, who shall notice anything but how splendid you look?”

She twists on her heel and your smile dwindles. You know what is meant. What she will not state plainly. Perhaps a fine outfit might distract from your crooked consonants. You sit on the stool again and watch her go.

Even those who are kind cannot help their thoughts. She mightn’t be cruel about it, but you can hear the disappointment in her pandering cooing. You are not the daughter she wanted just as you are not the wife her son wanted. Just as you do not want to be as you are.

#the sticking point #loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #regency au #mcu #marvel #thor #avengers

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 5 months

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Just had the wild realisation that I can write whatever I want here. This is a thing that I am allowed to do. I can scream into the void. I don't have to tag my posts. Grammar is a social construct. It doesn't matter who's listening. The people I love and who love me will talk to me posts or no posts. Someone's going to read this and smile. Even if it's just me.

I can watch only the finales of shows to see their happy endings. I can eat cornflakes in the afternoon. I can go into bookstores just to creepily stare at the hardcovers of Victorian literature. I can write meticulous notes for subjects I'm not studying, and highlight it to Pinterest perfection. I can tell people I want to bite them out of sheer love. I can write long emails to my friends about weird slippers that remind me of them.

I can tell you that it's been a hot year, the hottest one to date, and that April hasn't seen a single drop of rain fall onto the earth. But it's hanging in the air, making it heavy with moisture and that relentless, relentless heat. It's muggy and the swamp theme I chose for my bullet journal couldn't be more appropriate. I can tell you how I keep singing that song in my head, Corner Of My Sky, the one whose music video has Michael Sheen wrangling with an occult toaster. "The rain, the rain, the rain, thank god the rain."

I can tell you anything I like. I can tell you that I'm afraid of being forgotten, that I've always longed to be famous, that I have a hard time not caring about every single little thing. I can tell you that I'm ace and I'm afraid that no one will ever love me the way I need them too, even if I love them the way that they need me to. I can tell you the nightmares have gotten better, but they're still there, they don't seem to want to leave me. I can tell you that I'm so much more ill and broken than I dare think about. Because I am afraid that if I start thinking about it, I shan't stop, and then it will become everything. And I don't want it to be everything. I can tell you that. I can tell you that I have beautiful memories, too, not just the fear and the loss and the anger.

I can tell you that I'm a performer, an entertainer, and I love making people laugh. I'm more comfortable on stage, where people are already listening, than trying to go up and make conversation to groups of strangers. I can tell you how wonderful it feels to have been able to speak to so many people all around the world, to have them know me, to listen to me, and to listen to them in turn. I can tell you that I don't know where to draw the line sometimes, I'm never entirely sure when I'm joking, and the act easily becomes a second skin. I can tell you all of that.

I can tell you all the things that I used to tell myself in letters sealed in envelopes addressed to Future Me. And it won't matter, and it does matter, and it's all so fucking absurd. It doesn't make any sense at all. Does it? I don't know. I can tell you that I don't know very much at all. Knock knock. Who's there? No one. No one who? No one who matters. Knock knock. I haven't been able to walk around for a month. This room is an oven and I'm being slow-cooked, broiled into a little Asmi pie. I read fanfiction yesterday after a long while. That was nice. I think it's really cool that you all know me. You do know me. Sometimes better than I know myself. I can tell you that.

I can tell you the truth. I can tell you I love you. And that to be seen and to be known is a gift that I will always be grateful for. I can tell you that you don't have to listen. But if you do, then hi! Nothing makes sense. Let's sit in the nonsense for a while. I have biscuits. Would you like one? I'm very human. It's one of the things that gets me so easily hurt. Maybe it happens to you too. I can tell you that my plant Crowley is surviving, unlike the others did. I can tell you that maybe you and I are, too.

It's 8:02 in the morning. I might just eat breakfast now. It does seem like the thing to do. How weird and wonderful that is.

#unravelling rambles

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puddle-nerd · 8 months

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Our Little Family

Summary: The three of you were anticipating the birth of the newest member of the Rongloa family, though you might just have to reassure Spider just a bit.

Prompt #14 for my final submission for #𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬𝟏𝟒𝐃𝐎𝐋𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Story Tags: No use of Y/N, Female Reader, Recombinant Reader, Omatikaya | Blue Flute Clan, Na’vi Culture, Na’vi Biology, Na’vi Language, Na’vi & Human Interactions, Pregnancy, Childbirth, Fluff and Angst, Spider is worried about the new baby, Spider needs a hug

Author’s Note: Originally, when I had first written this, I made it about Lo’ak’s future progeny with the reader but having to have some of these prompts be re-written after having my portable hard drive smashed during my move, well, Tsu’tey was determined to get more love this holiday season when I sat down to re-writes so we now have a part 3 for our Tsu’tey/Reader pairing for 14 Days of Love. This part’s not as explicit as the last chapter (Eternity) but it does involve details about Na’vi pregnancy, and it is my take on one of the deleted scenes we could have gotten from ATWOW had it not gotten cut. And since we only have the scripts to go off of, I got a little creative.

Na’vi Translation: Kuru – neural queue Muntxatan – husband | male spouse Nga yawne lu oer, oeyä’itan – You are beloved to me (I love you), my son Sa’nu – mum | mom | mommy Sempu – dad | daddy Syor – relax Tsaheylu – neural bond made through the connection of two neural queues

AO3 Link

Part 2

A nearly six-year-old Spider nestled himself into your side and kissed the side of your rounded belly tenderly, beaming up at you as you gently ran your blue fingers through his short braids that he had insisted on having to look like his adopted father, red beads, and all. (Tsu’tey had remained stoic when Spider had initially asked for his long blonde curls to be braided until the Na’vi male had had his son in his lap and then you had noticed a telltale wetness in the corner of one of his golden eyes as he carefully, gently, braided his human son’s blonde locks to match his own.) Your little family had settled into a routine after you and Tsu’tey had been married, Spider sleeping in the shack you and your muntxatan had had built to keep him close to you both. The three of you all ate in there as well as you would have your meals as a family should and you did not want Spider to suffer when the Pandoran air was toxic to him. The metal cabin was situated just outside your and Tsu’tey’s wooden kelku so that there would be no more middle of the night comm calls and rampaging through the forests if Spider was having a really bad nightmare or suddenly fell ill. Or that one very small period of time where he might have wet the bed once or twice. Now, you both could get to your human son in a matter of seconds if he needed you during eclipse. Especially as you had made the permanent switch to your Avatar body just a fortnight before the official wedding.

You enjoyed these moments you had, when it was just you and your little boy; you cherished them very much. You knew it would come to an end too quick and there would come a time when he wouldn’t want to do this as much if at all anymore, so you pulled him tighter against your body and sighed in contentment, until a small cramp made you wince.

“Sa’nu?” Spider suddenly whispered, and by his tone, you knew he wanted to ask a question, one he wasn’t sure you or he would like the answer to.

You looked down at your boy with a warm and loving smile upon your sapphire-colored lips and took a quick breath of air from the little mask hanging around your neck while you cuddled with your son within his oxygen-rich shack. “~Yeah, baby?~” you asked in English as you were a bilingual family and were determined to make sure your son understood both languages. And, you had been playing around with the idea that when your son got a little older, you wanted him to maybe start learning Portuguese in order to honor his birth mother – Paz Socorro’s – heritage, the same way you all made sure to continue to honor Sylwanin’s memory. “~What’s up, buttercup?~”

The five-year-old (almost six, he’d remind you as his birthday drew closer (it was currently forty-three days away and counting)) smiled slightly at the nickname you had given him because of his blonde hair before the grin disappeared once more, his brows creasing somewhat as he pondered how to ask. He spoke in the Na’vi language in response, asking, “When the baby comes… will you love it more than me? Because the baby will be your real child.”

You immediately stiffened, your whip-like tail lashing out in a surge of surprised rage at that innocent query and snapped your head down to look at him so abruptly you might have given yourself whiplash had you still been in your human body. “Miles te Socorro-Rongloa Tsu’tey’itan, why ~the hell~would you ask such a thing?!” You easily manhandled him into your palms, gripping his bare torso and easily holding his small body up in front of you so you could hold him up to eye-level and continue this conversation face to face. “You are most certainly my son! You are most certainly your father’s son! I might not have given birth to you in this body or my human one that I left behind, but you are and always will be ours! Do you not remember the official adoption ceremony we performed in front of the whole clan on your fifth birthday? You are ours by blood!” You referred to the small scar on the palm of his hand that had been placed there by Mo’at before she cut both yours and Tsu’tey’s palms to perform the rite that would officially make Spider theirs in the eyes of the People. Ignoring another cramp, you demanded, “Now, who ~the hell~ put such a terrible thought inside your head?!”

By the way that Spider wouldn’t meet your gaze and the way he fidgeted with the beaded bracelet he had woven for you, you immediately put two and two together and realized he had been eavesdropping on Neytiri or Ateyo, Tsu’tey’s father’s acidic words against all Sky People. Again.

You would have words with either of them one day about their attitude. And while you realized they had reason to hate most Sky People like Spider’s biological parents, your son was not one of them!

“Sa’nu, I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad,” Spider immediately pleaded, brown eyes tearing up.

You immediately pulled the boy close, murmuring words of love and reassurance that you were not angry with him, that you loved him unconditionally, and that everything would be alright. With practiced ease, he spread his little legs, his loincloth folding beneath him as he rested his bottom on the top curve of your pregnant belly and you hugged him tight, smothering him in kisses. You were noisily kissing his jaw, his cheek, his forehead, his scalp when the airlock beeped. You didn’t stop laying smooches on the boy as your mate ducked his head as he entered the shack and spotted his family upon the couch. He raised a hairless brow, the corner of his mouth lifting at your overenthusiastic display of affection.

“Your son needs some sempu-love, right now,” you declared just as Spider noticed his father, your face immediately turning into a scowl above the blonde head of beaded braids. “Someone has been putting a nasty bug into his ear that we will love the baby more than him because it will be our ‘real’ baby, Tey.”

The unvoiced threat was clear in your voice.

Tsu’tey plucked Spider up and off of you and tucked the child against his chest and immediately rubbed his cheek all over Spider’s scalp, scenting his son as he sometimes did with you. “What nonsense,” he muttered softly, coming to sit upon the couch beside you, careful of his tail and yours. “You might not remember this as you were about a year and a half old – just after the Great War and before your sa’nu and I were officially courting. Well, someone decided to put one of my braids within his mouth.” You immediately cackled, your happy mood beginning to get restored as you remembered this particular scene. Your muntxatan shot you a look but continued with the story. “And this little boy ate two of my beads.” You snorted, remembering the absolute terror Tsu’tey had experienced, thinking Spider would choke and die

Years afterwards, it was at least a little funny.

Back then, you had been just as frightened for his health.

“Your sempu commanded the scientists to perform an internal exam to make sure you wouldn’t be hurt,” you added, laying your cheek upon Tsu’tey’s shoulder and pulling at a loose thread on Spider’s loincloth. “Luckily, the beads were small enough that you were only a little uncomfortable until you pooped them out.”

You suddenly winced again, as you felt another cramp within your middle, causing your face to twist in discomfort.

“Sa’nu? Are you alright?” Spider asked. You tried to smile in reassurance but another cramp, even harsher than the one before made itself known and you groaned slightly, shifting in discomfort. Your mate frowned at you for a moment before his golden eyes widened and he sat up straight with a widening smile upon his features as you continued to scowl in pain. “Sempu?”

“Your mother will be alright in a little bit,” Tsu’tey declared, “but first, your sibling is coming.” He pressed his comm microphone button and called out, “Suli, do you hear me?”

“~Yeah, brother, what’s up~?” Jake’s voice came back half a minute later, his use of English a surprise as he had been dedicated to speaking the Na’vi language more and more.

With a proud grin upon his lips, Tsu’tey declared, “Spider’s younger sibling has decided to arrive. We need you to watch our eldest, please, while we make our way to the birthing pools.” There was a rude English curse on the other end of the comm unit before Jake agreed and said he would meet the three of them on their way to deliver the baby and that Neytiri was going to grab her mother. With a word of thanks, Spider was placed upon the ground and your muntxatan helped you to your feet, his eagerness and nervousness palpable within the air, his tail flicking back and forth swiftly.

Waddling out of the shack after securing Spider’s mask to his face, Tsu’tey guided you through the village towards the pools where you would deliver your baby’s chrysalis under the guidance of Mo’at, everyone recognizing the pinched look of pain upon your features and offering their congratulations.

Jake and Neytiri met you when you almost arrived, his mother-in-law in tow, the two Sullys looking both harried and excited for the upcoming birth while Mo’at was as calm and collected as she always did. “~C’mere, kid,~” Jake called, scooping up the human child while the baby sling on both his front and his back were laden with wide eyed toddlers, Neytiri’s sling pressing her infant baby to her chest. “You are going to be with us while your mother gives birth to your new sibling – or at least the chrysalis.”

“~I’ll see ya soon, baby boy~,” you told your son in English before reminding him in the Na’vi language once more, “Nga yawne lu oer, oeyä’itan. Understand?”

The little boy nodded and watched as your mate and Mo’at helped you away.

The water was warm upon your skin after your mate helped you out of your clothing before lowering you to sit upon his lap within the spring. Mo’at hummed a song-like prayer to Eywa as you groaned once more, hovering her fingers over the large curve of your belly. Tsu’tey took his kuru and made tsaheylu intertwining the pink tendrils of both black braids together so he could take some of your pain from you. You groaned as a sharper cramp hit you and you reached back, intertwined your fingers with your mate’s. Mo’at helped to ease your legs apart and began to sing her prayer a little louder while Tsu’tey rubbed his cheek against your own in a show of love and an offering of his strength for you. You smiled up at your mate as best as you could and tried to even out your breathing as a wave of pain washed over your senses and made you groan out loud.

“That is it, child. It is time to start pushing,” Mo’at hummed, her fingers still hovering over your belly. “Tsu’tey, help her up into a crouch. It will help ease her pain a little more.”

Your mate did as he had been instructed and he supported your body as you felt the need to push. “Oh, it hurts, Tey,” you whined, clinging to him as you felt your body trying to expel your baby’s chrysalis naturally. He grunted as he felt your pain coming through the bond but grit his teeth and continued to support your weight while you began to push, feeling the imago containing your fetus starting to ease towards your lower slit. He held you as you cried out and worked your inner muscles to force your unborn babe out of your body, the golden cocoon slowly but surely inching its way from your body while your mate took your pain as best as he could and Mo’at prayed to Eywa while making sure you didn’t run into any issues. “I think I want to wait to have another one,” you whined through gritted teeth as you pushed once more and felt your baby finally slide free of your body and into the water below.

Tsu’tey helped to ease you back down into the water and onto his lap. Mo’at gently scooped up the chrysalis and pulled the embryotic chord free of your body along with the afterbirth.

The older woman whispered, “Behold, your baby…” You and your muntxatan gazed upon the amber cocoon containing your unborn child in awe. She presented the fetus to the pair of you, murmuring, “One of you must make Tsaheylu now, to feed and nourish your baby in the last cycle before its birth.” Tsutey and you unconnected your kurus and he carefully took your braid and attached the pink tendrils to your baby’s embryotic chord, the fetus twitching within its casing for a moment before settling once again. You cooed, feeling yourself connecting with your child before glancing up at Tsu’tey to see tears trickling from his own eyes. “~Look at what we did, baby~,” you commented, feeling tears dribbling down your own cheeks. Later that night, when you were able to be brought back to your kelku and your son was brought back to your side, you hugged him tight, kissing his scalp as he beheld his baby sibling. “Is it a boy or a girl?” Spider asked, peering closely at the golden chrysalis. Tsu’tey shrugged and cuddled into his son’s back, replying, “We will find out in a couple of moon cycles when your sibling is ready to break free of this shell. Until then, you will have us to yourself for just a little while longer.”

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸

Originally Posted: 14 February 2024 Word Count: 2,342

@crybabies-heart, @cryingwhilereading, @ikeyniofthetayrangi, @erenjaegerwifee , @bambithewriter, @lloreya

AO3 Link

Part 2

#𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬𝟏𝟒𝐃𝐎𝐋𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 #avatar #female reader #recombinant reader #tsu'tey #tsu'tey avatar #tsu'tey te rongloa ateyitan #tsu'tey x reader #adopted spider socorro

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mercurymacaroons · 2 months

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woagh 2 posts in one day

#sketch #listen your honor i love him #im unsure if i wanna tag yosuke in this bc theyre like 15 min sketches so i think imma leave it like this and let the lord decide #i know hes not a like the fan fave in persona but somehow the trash boy has grown on me and is now like top 4 for the whole damn franchise #like mold or smth #you just gotta like reimagine him as a very tired repressed bi 16 yr old in a closet made of glass and he immediately becomes more likeable #like bro he works retail and is 16 thats why hes like that #also like the scene from the group date in pq where he goes “all right now we can be partners for all eternity!!!!”#that lives in my head rent free #listen he lives with teddie and works retail #as someone who also worked retail i promise you most of his not kanji related outbursts are justified #the kanji stuff is bad fr fr but like hes also 16 in 2011 #let the 1st 16yr old who was not an asshole and uninformed cast the first stone #sorry i have a lot of feelings for 1 yosuke hanamura and i needed to tell all of you in this my diary #which reminds me #most of yall came from me posting about dr which ndrv3 has a very special place in my heart and on my walls #but alas p4 kicked saihara to the curb so idk if ill be making anymore??????? maybe i might in the future but idk im old and tired #and dr is and always will be full of 13 yr olds which is fine but i dont wanna interact with them bc im old #and tired of the same discourse every 6 months #maybe when the not actually but totally is dr4 that kodaka is cooking up drops ill make dr art again but unlikely for rn #once i figure out how p4 protag chan's bowl cut works ill draw boys kissing #i do need to figure out how to draw boys kissing #since it will also lead to figuring out how to draw girls kissing which is almost dare i say more important #anywho thank you for coming to my newest diary entry #i will never stop yapping in the tags #this is a promise #yall gotta know all my thoughts in as many characters and tags tumblr will let me have

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affableramen · 11 days

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Assorted creditor Pantalone x afab!debtor reader headcanons. Episode one

((highly requested))

tags: tsundere!pantalone ; condescending, slightly vulgar villain ; he is a meanie ; toxic relationship ; early stage of relationship ; manipulative Lone ; slight degradation+humiliation ; choking ; slap dynamics (you slap him) ; degrading names (“bitch”) ; pet names (“kitten”) ; sexual themes ; criminal themes ; pantalone has chronic illnesses

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT Madman’s note: I like mean guys and judging by what we know about Pantalone so far (Arlecchino’s voice-line, Lazzo teaser, Wriothesley’s weapon, Pantalone’s artefact) he fits this category perfectly. I see the pattern of a rude boy here. Charming on the outside but once he opens his mouth it’s disgusting (hahaha.) He probably likes mocking and lecturing others, that’s for sure vibing in the Lazzo. He also talks a lot (thanks Cholde). As for the toxic assorted au, Ik half of you don’t like reading gentle n sweet Pantalone, but when I see this man I just can’t imagine him being cruel to his lover who accepted him when the Gods did not. I really think he is very soft inside (with a person he trusts). He’s all about equality and fairness so probably he treats people the way they treat him, and if ur nice to him, well Panty acts with equal respect to you back. That’s for the personality part. Speaking of other aspects, at least you guys get a happy ending. Coz I hate bad endings. Don’t wanna fuck up huge efforts. The angst and struggle was worth it. Come get your man guys. He’s like the mean classmate who bullies you but is secretly in love with you. As for the gentleman part, I wish I could write something more than just him protecting the lady, coz I believe Pantalone to be a big deal of a gentleman who has his standards even though what he does for a living is very questionable. I’m afraid it will be too much information for this post already. I must also mention that he might say a lot of disturbing and condescending things in the beginning. Oh, and to avoid any misconception--i don’t like writing innocent readers. My reader is fierce, chronically exhausted and crazy.

⟣

“You will be my prize. A perfect fit for a powerful man like me. You have no friends, your parents are far away, the only person to care for you is your grandmother who was, for sure, foolish enough to take a loan from Northland Bank. You are helpless in front of me, and I enjoy seeing that smug smirk disappear from your face once you realise you’re completely at my mercy. All alone, with your life depending on me. And I will, by any means, show you mercy if you are worthy enough.”

Said Pantalone as your résumé was forcefully slapped down on his desk. Your past jobs, experiences and skills — all in front of him, in his long fingers which are sliding through the pages as if it were an action book.

Your grandmother, indeed, was the only dearest person you had and, unfortunately, in order to save your life (and future) she took the risk of becoming a debtor to the old devilish banker who was by any means an extremely questionable person.

You had a rough path of changing jobs, trying to find the most fitting and well-paid one, however ending up in only worse conditions. A few years passed like this, the workload traumatised you so much that you couldn’t believe two years had passed since you started doing work for a living. Your grandmother was too prideful to retire, but you both knew her money alone could not sustain your happiness.

And thus, you ended up under Pantalone’s sharp gaze. Now, standing up in front of him with an unfazed expression, knowing too well this man just adores chewing on others’ suffering.

“Fuck you and your long ass monologues”, you think but your face remains cold.

The tapping of his fingers suddenly stops. You feel your heart sink, and it makes you wanna vomit.

“What was that? The look on your face just a moment ago”, Pantalone takes his glasses off and looks at you sharply. You can feel that heavy presence with your skin alone. The violet charm of his eyes suffocating you. His whole presence does nothing but choke you.

“Beg your pardon?” You narrow eyes and ask him as politely as possible.

“Were you thinking something a bit ago, dear? Or should I say, were you doubting my professionalism?”

“Shit, he is reading my mind. I have to think about something stupid.”

“You’re so untamed and so… wild, I’d say”, he says as he rises from his desk and approaches closer to you. “But alas, I can’t discount your value after one mere impression, can I? That would be too unconscionable of me as a businessman.”

You see him lean to your ear, his body bending cause of how tall he is, and you feel nauseous once he opens his mouth again.

“Your résumé is trash, but I’m not a monster everyone thinks I am. I will let you work under me because of how persuasive your grandmother has been. Though, I’ll be watching you, kitten. Perhaps I’ll even put you under my strict supervision—"

A sharp slap lands on his cheek. That is the moment Pantalone should realise that your pride cannot be underestimated. With his face thrown to the side, he pats his cheek, holding his fingers on the reddened skin.

“…at the lowest position”, he finishes the sentence. “Heh, the audacity of yours.”

Pantalone grabs your throat, your is suddenly pulled closer. While being choked heartlessly you turn your eyes to him and hold them for a few long deep moments.

“I’m not afraid of you”, the words come out of your mouth weakly. “Just let me work for you. I won’t be plotting anything. Not interested, to be exact.” He keeps suffocating you, you almost roll your eyes at the back of your head before the banker finally releases you. You slowly fall onto your knees. “Haah… hha…”

“I’d never be mean to a lady. But a particular someone just doesn’t know any manners.”

He signs the papers quickly, squeezes a used draft in a ball and throws it into the trash bin. The signature he leaves on your zero-hour contract is so lazily made as if the man wanted to deal with you as soon as possible.

“Don’t disappoint me. You wouldn’t like to see me when I’m angry.”

“Thank God”, you sigh in relief, despite being choked a few seconds ago.

His movements, his body are so quick and flexible, you do not notice how the eyeglasses return to his face.

“You have a zero hours contract here, but I’ll personally make sure you work not less than six days a week.”

“Just so you know, I won’t kill for you. That goes against my principles.”

Pantalone raises his eyebrows, giving you a bored look.

“I wouldn’t let you have a privelege like that anyway. I have enough henchmen of my own to stain hands with unneccessary violence.”

When the conversation ends, you go to the bathroom and throw out. This man gives goosebumps, and he is not easy at all.

To your biggest surprise, as a leader Pantalone turns out capable enough. Just seeing him intricately managing his resources and employees makes you admire him at some point. No matter how unattractive his personality, for sure, was, none could not deny the fact that he is a skilful individual. He possess finesse and determination. Though speaking of his other traits, you cannot ignore the fact how suave he is. Women touch him with or without his consent all the time. And you’d agree: the man is attractive. Affable demeanour in public, though quite closed in private. “Closed” is an understatement. He is, in fact, incredibly emotionally unavailable.

His ill-favoured personality, hidden under that affable demeanour and polished looks, however, could not prevent you from falling. For him. And you are gradually finding yourself more and more addicted to him. Brushing off these ideas as soon as possible, of course. Occasional touch of your fingers, frequent looks he’d give you. You cannot remember the exact moment when Pantalone started showing signs, but you remember well that his glances in your first meaning were anything but interest. As you are a “special” debtor with a large sum to owe, Pantalone almost cages you in his main office buildings. To your knowledge, there were a few of them, but out of all people the fate of working with him has fallen onto your shoulder.

There was one day when he scared you.

“You… killed someone?” You ask, holding your hand to your chest as you walk into his office to bring some papers. But they are dropped down the moment you see the so-called crime scene. The heavy metallic scent of blood blocks your breathing and you dream of disappearing from this room, however it is too late.

“Just taught a disagreeable debtor a valuable lesson”, Pantalone walks out of the shadows, lighting the cigarette right in his own office.

Your eyes widen at the sight of the blood on his face once he makes himself visible.

“What are you doing here? Ah, the job. I almost forgot.”

A panic attack crashes you sooner than Pantalone inquiries.

“Why the sour face? Just put the papers here and you’re dismissed.”

You look down at the body next, and even if!(fat chance) that person is alive, you cannot pull yourself back into the calm state.

“Are you deaf? Put your stuff on my desk,” the banker commands, wiping the blood off his cheek.

Your vision goes blurry when you see his stained with crimson skin and you feel like fainting.

“I don’t… exactly like… seeing blood, yes.” You turn away but lose your consciousness the moment after.

When you wake up you find yourself lying in the leather couch, a blanket dropped sloppily over your body. Pantalone is sitting at his desk per usual, working on his papers when he sees you slowly come to senses.

“Alive? Good. Now go back to your duties.”

You rise from the couch slowly, pulling the blanket down and slightly wobbly proceed to the door.

“Y/N.” Pantalone stops you with his voice.

“What now…” you think. But your expression softens one you hear what he tells you:

“There is a bottle of water I left for you on the desk. Take it. I’m not exactly eager reviving you after another fainting because your careless ass is dehydrated”, he stops writing with his left hand and says again, this time harsher: “And never enter my office announced again.”

“Thank you”, you take the bottle of water the Harbinger offers you. It has a distinct spicy scent from cologne lingering on it. “Your couch reeks of tobacco, by the way.”

One time, when you save him.

Pantalone storms into the office visibly injured and infuriated. You can see his secretary come up to him, presenting some sort of intel while her hand slips under his sleeve trying to pull his gloves out. You see it all through the small doorway.

“Lord Harbinger, you must have had a tough mission, let me release this stress of yours…”

The other employee of his, a male, presses a wet sponge against his expressionless face. Pantalone, seemingly weak and tired doesn’t respond immediately to the secretary boldly roaming her lustful hands over him but a while after his consciousness makes itself known. He grabs the recently presented papers and slaps the woman’s hand with them.

“Sir—”

“Have you two no shame? I need privacy. For once, just leave me alone!” He shouts, uncharacteristically to him. Both the secretary and the lowly subordinate rush out of the room under his strict command.

When the shift ends you can see everyone leave the office, however there has been not a single move from Pantalone’s office since he shut his door. You look on the clock, it’s already 9:15 p.m. Why is he not going home? You decide to spy on Pantalone. Soon, as everyone has left the office empty, you raise from your working desk and go to check on your CEO.

“Pantalone.”

You knock, but the response is none.

“Pantalone, coming in.”

You push the door slowly. Even his spicy cologne mixes up with the metallic scent of blood. You walk in the office and feel your heart sink at the sight: the banker is lying on the floor, as if he had fallen from his desk, there are lots of tablets scattered around the floor, and a bottle of wine, shattered, the salty smell filling your nostrils. The ashtray on his desk is full and messy. Everything looks chaotic and Pantalone himself is, for sure, out of character.

He is unconscious as he is lying on the floor. You rush to him, gently placing your hand on his shoulder and start shaking him.

“PANTALONE!!”

He doesn’t wake up and you have to resort to drastic measures. You slap him. At that, he finally comes to the senses.

“This is the second time you have slapped me. Are you not afraid of the punishment I might force upon you?” he asks, groggily putting his body into a sitting position.

“Why didn’t you go to the doctor?”

“I’m perfectly fine handling some scratch.”

“Just a scratch? Then, what are the tablets for? I thought they were painkillers.”

You see as Pantalone examines his own mess, and his expression is calm yet a hint of exhaustion can be spotted.

“Clever”, he says. “I was beaten up, and my muscles obviously hurt.”

“And the wine?”

“To relax.”

“I see.”

Pantalone eyes you once again, his face extremely pale and tired. “Are you done? You can go home.” He turns away from you, you don’t know what he’s doing but you hear a drawer being pulled and Pantalone let out a short sound similar to groaning. His knuckles turn white as he grips the edge of the desk. You see a used needle roll across the very same desk…

“You’re… you’re diabetic?”

“An astitute observation” (silently). “Didn’t I tell you to go home?”

You analyse him from the top to bottom and deem this person likely not being able to get home himself. You open your eyes to offer taxi, but realise that he has a personal chauffeur. “Right, rich people…”

“That’s all? You won’t even give me a lecture for spotting you in such a vulne-” Pantalone’s gaze becomes so evil that you rethink over the choice of your wording. “In such a predicament. I mean, shouldn’t your mighty self cut my tongue in order to prevent me from gossiping about your health concerns?”

“You’ve been reading far too many detective stories. I’m not so…” he sighs, realising that given the circumstances of his long list of crimes even as a polished businessman he is a perfect match to Meropide. So Pantalone cuts his wording as well. “Forget about it.”

“You sure will be alright?”

“Worry of yourself, it’s getting quite dark and seems like rain and thunder.”

Wow. That’s a gentleman indeed! He won’t even offer you a lift? You roll your eyes.

“I’ll get home just fine. And also, you reek of alcohol. Can’t have the employees think poorly of you.”

You don’t even know if you are happy with your doing or not, because if you didn’t wake him, he’d probably be lying there on the floor until the very morning.

As you’ve cleaned your desk and taken your coat on, ready to leave, you see that the raining outside has become even more aggresive.

You walk outside and slip on the first level of stairs. “Great.” Before you could dial the number of the taxi, you hear the voice behind you stopping you.

“Don’t need to spend money. You’re coming with my chauffeur.”

“No thanks, I am quite fine being al-ready indebted to you.”

“That won’t need repayment. You saved my life. If I were not woken up in time, and didn’t inject insulin, I would most certainly end up in a coma not long after.”

“Especially considering that you drank wine”, you think.

“If you insist. Look like today I’m but a slave of the weather conditions.”

Pantalone hums to your response and leads you to the sleek black car. He throws the door open for you and gets onto the back seat with you. Once he’s settled and you wait to be dropped off your place you notice the holes on his gloves, revealing already dry blood stained cuts. You are only able to see them properly now, due to your close proximity.

“May I ask who attacked you?”

“It happens quite often so no one is really surprised by now”, he clears throat. “An assassination attempt. But I’m faster” he gives you a warning look, by which you conclude that the killer is no longer alive.

“I see.”

As you’re dropped off safely to your place, you sneak into your bedroom before your grandma has questions. As you lie in bed under a fuzzy blanket you cannot brush his scent, the mix of spicy cologne with blood, off your mind. The sight of him almost helpless, injecting that insulin like he was on a thin ice, stays carved into your mind as well.

⟢

#those are some really sharp thorns you’ve grown around you Pantalone #tsundere pantalone #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #genshin impact x you #genshin smut #anime smut #anime x reader #creditor pantalone episodes #pantalone smut

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thebettertwin-obviously · 20 days

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INTRO WOOOHOO!!

art by @mrsleepytello !

Finally had the balls to finish this!!!!!!! (AUGSHSH i did this so many times aughhh)

Hehehja anygayysss the names Leon!!! (Elijah works too!), he/it/they, fiction kin :0, neurodivergent & mentally ill, tone tags needed sometimes, dm to get to know me more! ^_^

Im just a silly dude tryna make friends / talk to my kinfam (and maybe annoy them but shh/silly)!! Hmu if u mess w any of the fandoms im in :3 might post little rambles & art & updates bout my life, stick around to find out :3

Interact man!! I dont bite (or do i?…/j) — No DNI (other than like Basic DNI & Proshippers / TCESTERS), just dont be gross, k?

MY KINFAM!!! (I love you guys so much 💙/fam)

My insomniac twin dressed in purple!! (Donnie :P) -> @don-a-tron9000

Sir silly samurai (Yuichi ^3^) / Disney Junior!! (Casey Jr :D) -> @apocalyptic-future-boy

Mr. I get no sleep (Uncle Tello :3) -> @aster-in-disaster

Sensei one arm (Older me :0) -> @dis-in-disaster

Very honourable mentions !! (I love you guys eeek!!/p)

Mama!!! / Fagatron parent 1 (yu !!!!!) -> @yuzivzz

Purple testis!!! / Fagatron parent 2 (nyota!!!) -> @cyutezombie

Retty ^0^ -> @secretlytherealsonicthehedgehog

Casey >:3 -> @d1zsly

Emjay B) -> @randomcerealbrand

Not too proud of this, but thank you for reading !! X3

#rottmnt #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #tmnt #intro post #blog intro #introduction #pinned intro #intro #rise leo #leon #rise donnie #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise raph #rise mikey

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lilacxquartz · 4 months

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Don't Make Me Feel Alive I Chapter 3

Kenjaku (Pseudo-Geto) × Fem!Reader

[This fic contains Shibuya Arc spoilers and is updated every Saturday.]

ABOUT: Diagnosed at an early age with an illness that slowly deteriorated your body; you went from being a promising sorcerer to a retired husk of your once former self until he found you, offering you an opportunity to live instead—not that you had a choice to refuse.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You are taken out on a little field trip that could have ended better, despite not knowing exactly what you did wrong.

TAGS/THEMES: (in the future chapters): »yandere, chronically ill reader, forced dynamic, non-con, dub-con, violence, caretaking, unrequited feelings, sorcerer reader, dead-dove, mixed pov, potential interpretations of dubious sorcery«

< Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >

Side Note: reminder, this is currently pre-shibuya arc, so some characters will still be present in his alliance. also more dubious sorcery up ahead.

3. Outing

Come the next morning, he was already long awake before you woke up. His gaze fixated on the pendant that rested around your neck, finding its low pulsating hum to be quite soothing as it echoed through the otherwise quiet room.

“I adjusted it for you overnight,” he began, patiently waiting for you to fully awake before continuing, “this time it should use less energy for the things you actively do like walking, but the energy cost will remain the same should you choose to use your technique.”

You furrowed your brows in response, seeming a little confused, “So, I can’t use my technique in the end anyway because it uses up too much energy… or?”

“That’s not what I said,” he corrected you with a slight laugh, “we can train it, the better you get at harnessing your technique, the less energy it will drain.”

“But would that really work…?” you asked.

“Think of it like working out a muscle,” he explained, trying to compare it to something you could understand, “it’ll get easier to manage over time.”

He then stared at you for a long moment as he ensured you kept up with his explanation before having a different thought enter his mind.

Thinking of something new, he broke the silence again, changing up his neutral demeanour to something much more energetic, “I want to test your ability to keep up with me.”

“But,” you halted, feeling still so cautious, “what if it’s like last time?”

“Ah, but I don’t think it’ll be,” he replied, his tone filled with optimism, “besides, what good is it if I trial things on you without you testing them?”

“…Fair,” you sighed, choosing to trust him for now as you sat up from the bed, “So… keeping up with you?”

“I have a meeting of sorts today to oversee some plans in the future, I’d like for you to attend this with me and see how the battery is spent during social settings, if at all,” he explained calmly, his tone sounding suddenly a little clinical despite his relaxed demeanour.

You found him difficult to read as his tone often overrode the look he had in his eyes as well as the smile that he constantly wore. Something about this whole thing felt unsafe, but you had no choice but to go along, so you might as well go along with what was thrown at you.

Meanwhile, his intentions weren’t as terrible as he simply just had an idea to see if the battery drain was strictly physical or if mental stress negatively impacted it as well.

You slowly nodded in understanding, “Also… what do I call you exactly?”

“Anything you’d like,” he replied bluntly. He had so many identities at this point that he didn’t care. Regardless of what name you could conjure up for him, he’s likely lived under that identity for at least a little while.

“Okay, but really, what do you prefer?” you persisted, not quite accepting his answer.

A pause followed as his smile returned, finding the insistence amusing.

“You can call me Kenjaku.”

“And that’s your real name?” you asked.

He nodded in confirmation, “But you can call me anything, however, for the meeting,” he paused for just another moment, “Maybe it’s best for you to call me Geto, instead.”

“Wait, so your allies know you as something different…?” you asked, reading maybe too much into the suggestion.

“I will go as far to admit that this isn’t my true body, so feel free to interpret that as you will,” he continued to say, “I’d prefer if this particular alliance stays in the dark about it”

“Is there a reason why you’re lying to your allies?” you asked as though to recycle your question, unsure why he was avoiding giving you a proper answer. Maybe you shouldn’t have been asking somebody you didn’t really feel too safe around so many questions, but also you wanted to understand who exactly you were working with.

Kenjaku himself didn’t actually mind your relentless curiosity, as he always found people the most interesting when they want to learn more about what’s around them, rather than just accepting things at face value. The only time he felt that people, including sorcerers, were boring, was when they were a little too content with their position in life.

“The alliance is a group of special grade cursed spirits,” he spoke up again after a hot second, studying your reaction as he next considered his tone, “but being what they are, I can’t trust them.”

“Because they’re not human?” you asked once again, trying to keep up.

“That’s not the only reason, but it’s one of them,” Kenjaku confirmed, his expression remaining unreadable.

“So you don’t trust them but you trust me?” you asked, not following along again.

“Who said I trust you?” he smiled.

“D-do you?”

“If I’m being honest, I don’t truly trust anyone,” he replied in a sudden serious tone before it faded away immediately, a wide grin following after, “but that’s enough about me, you’re going to follow me along aren’t you?”

“You’re not giving me much of a choice,” you sulked. You could walk, but you didn’t feel great doing it.

“Correct, but you are free to fight back, you know,” Kenjaku teased, knowing you wouldn’t tempt it.

“Wouldn’t you just stop me?” you warily asked.

“Also correct, so why don’t you behave for now and follow me anyway, unless you’re prepared to find out what happens if you refuse to do so?” he sang almost, still wearing his smile.

Albeit reluctantly, you chose to go along with his request, pressured by what he was doing for you. His vague threat lingered in the back of your mind, reminding you that he wouldn’t let you refuse, wondering exactly what that had truly meant. While his threat remained empty, you couldn’t deny that there was danger behind his words and you weren’t in a shape to find out.

As you walked alongside him too, you couldn’t help but admit that there was a difference in your stride; the adjustments that he made proving seemingly beneficial.

The meet with his alliance proved however brief as he quickly determined that certain aspects of his plans shouldn’t be shared with you, wanting to keep you in the dark about the darker parts just to keep your willing participation—understanding that if you knew the true extent of it all, that you wouldn’t be so keen to help him.

Which would be a problem. For most things, he preferred a willing cooperation, which was what he was aiming to achieve by tricking his other allies too.

This was simply how Kenjaku worked though; he would be selective with his plans and how he chose to tell it and to whom. He told you that he would restore you in return for your cooperation and he told Mahito’s alliance that he’s on their side in exchange to bend them to his will.

Therefore, he decided that your role wasn’t to directly talk just yet. It was to be in the midst of a social setting, humans or cursed spirits be damned—either were draining enough, so he simply just kept you present as a shadowing ally knowing that the alliance wouldn’t care much to ask.

For now given your condition, your use was limited anyway. Even if you did return to your peak condition, he would likely just utilise you in combat regardless since that was his initial plan to exploit your technique.

As such while the discussion happened off to the side, your matters were turned elsewhere—towards a person that didn’t quite seem human but not like the cursed spirits up ahead either; seeking comfort within his company, feeling bored out of your mind.

Initially, Kenjaku paid very little attention towards your interactions with one of his creations, believing that your communication with him would be limited at best. However as you continued to speak with the death painting, he felt something stir deep within him that he didn’t quite like—let alone understand.

You continued your exchange with Choso either way, oblivious to his observations. You somehow got into the conversation about emotions with him.

“I’m sorry, I’m just curious,” the death painting mumbled, hoping to not scare you away—he liked humans and wanted to learn about them, but his opportunities were limited.

“You’re fine,” you tried to reassure, “I’m just a little lost on how to answer that question,” you added with a polite, albeit strained smile.

“Sorry,” he repeated again, his face looking at you with a sat yet fascinated gaze.

“I suppose that it feels a little chaotic, maybe?” you mused, considering his question with more thought. “I think humans tend to be emotionally driven, so maybe to be human is to be unpredictable.”

You paused, trying to determine if your words were even coherent.

“Does that make sense?”

Choso nodded as he processed your answer despite feeling still just a little confused by it—he also had emotions but he didn’t feel motivated by them but maybe he was also missing something.

“A little,” he replied.

He wanted to continue the conversation but the meeting seemed to have been concluded which meant that you were reunited soon with Kenjaku, who chose to move onto the objective of continuing the practice of your technique.

With surprising patience, he encouraged you to release small bursts of your technique as you learned to regain control of it, finding that there was progress to be seen already, causing him some relief as you continued to demonstrate what you were currently capable of, meaning come autumn, you probably could prove useful. With each controlled movement, you proved that the energy handled by the pendant was becoming more and more efficient, which is exactly what he wanted.

“I know you can do better than that” he teased you, wanting for you to increase your output.

You nodded as you then attempted to do just that, finding that you still didn’t have a proper handle of your technique as you were simply too out of practice. As a result, you ended up accidentally sending over a surge of energy far greater than anything you should have been capable of—at least currently.

Kenjaku’s eyes widened slightly in response while maintaining his relaxed posture as he watched you completely drain the pendant of energy once again but in a much greater amount, thinking that luckily you were stood over grass, since the fall wouldn’t be so bad this time.

And then, to his slight annoyance, Choso was the one who caught you mid-fall, leaving him confused as to why the death painting, usually so aloof and distant, suddenly seemed to intervene.

However, he didn’t let his annoyance show at all.

Not once.

He instead continued back with you completely alone, leaving the cursed spirit alliance to their own hideouts, wherever those currently were and even though they didn’t suspect a single thing, he still felt off about something to do with you.

Then there was you, who on the other hand, couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he acted strangely colder towards you as he guided you back, finding that despite his continued silence, there was something different about his overall demeanour.

Feeling confused and weary from what had happened overall, you reluctantly went off to sleep even though there was an unrelenting nagging confusion lurking in the back of your mind, failing to understand exactly why he treated you so well just yesterday ago and why you were now otherwise reduced to barely dirt.

Initially, you wondered if it was because the technique had failed you again.

However, you also found that after you had accomplished a full night’s sleep, that he seemed completely back to normal again.

In fact, he seemed to be over the top thrilled about something.

So what was that really?

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