#i've been staring at the panels for too long
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heybenlook · 2 days ago
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[Image description: MudBoyMan posts a colored digital comic of Light and L.
Panel 1: Light and L sit at their computers. L says, "Light kun." Light: "Hm?" L: "I have a question I've been meaning to ask you,"
Panel two: A close up of Light. Light narrows his eyes and says, "a question?" He thinks, "dammit… another test to gauge my likelihood of being Kira… What could it be this tiem. Have I done something suspicious? Darn… The baster knew just when to catch me off guard…"
Panel 3: L looks at Light and asks, "What are your pronouns?"
Panel 4: Light looks shocked and says, "My… Pronouns?" Light thinks, "FUCK!!! I wasn't expecting that! What does he mean by this? Do I just say he/him? But that's how we've been refering to Kira! I cant afford any more similarities…
Panel 5: Light presses his lips together tightly and stares into the middle distane. He thinks, "Should I just l just leave it ambiguous and say they/them? but Kira is ambiguous! That would raise L's suspicion for sure… What about a neopronoun? But I'm only a teenage guy in the early 2000s! That would shatter my cool straight guy persona, I shoudn't even know what a neopronoun is! I'm taking too long to respond… I need to say something, fast!
Panel 6: Light says, "she/her" with a strained smile on his face. Internally he says, "FUCK."
Addendum for a second comic:
Panel 7: L stares in surprise.
Panel 8: Light stares back, shaking and squinting with a nervous smile. His thoughts, very faint behind him and with portions cut off, read, "Uhhhh I'm fucked there's no way I just said that oh my god oh god what the fuck is wrong with me this is literally the worst case scenario god oh fuck—too pretty to—convicted crim—why isn't he saying anything oh fuck I need to write some names to calm—oh my lord this—I'm fine I'll just—he'll—kill." The rest is cut off.
Panel 9: L looks tired and thinks, "I see… A trans villain. In hindsight I suppose it explains a lot, but l admit this is an unexpected outcome. What does she expect me to do with this information? Am I to refer to her as such in front of the investigation team? In public? Or is this something I'm expected to keep between us? "I need to tread carefully to maintain her trust and expose her as Kira without being transphobic. She knows she's put me in a very precarious position, socially speaking. I can't afford to slip up here."
Panel 10: L's expression sharpens as he thinks, "I know just what to do."
Panel 11: L says, "me too" to Light, whose eyes widen as he makes a wide frown, his face looking sunken-in. End ID.]
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Light answers a tough question
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kyri45 · 20 days ago
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I don't think anyone (myself included) is going to survive the possible 40 panels update on December 8th
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sirtadcooper · 1 year ago
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Your demeanour should be all cheer, gentlemen. You understand? It’s going to be tight, but that’s what we signed up for, an adventure for Queen and Country.
An adventure of a lifetime.
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a-mint-bear · 4 months ago
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Courtship Rituals
Male Yandere x Reader
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So… that's definitely space outside the window. It's been a week since you woke up on this ship, and the weird alien who keeps checking in on you is… nice enough. But something about him seems off...
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"I see you're doing well, starlight."
He’d been checking up on you more often lately. At least you were pretty sure they were a "he". Since his voice started getting translated by the device on his temple, it was sounding decidedly masculine.
Since you’d woken up on this ship, he’d been keeping an eye on you. At first, you’d been terrified, and rightly so. Waking up to an eight-foot-tall, armored alien staring at you had been too much. After screaming and throwing things, and more screaming, he'd seemed unbothered by your reaction. He tried talking to you, but it just sounded like chirps and chuffs, like a big cat. He'd done his best to communicate, but nothing was coming across.
With a defeated hiss, he disappeared for a day or so. You’d attempted to get out of the massive, round bed but the sudden movement made your vision swim and a nauseous feeling crashed over you. With so many questions still bouncing around in your head, you were frustrated that all you could really do was wait.
You had a dreamless sleep, the night sky trailing on endlessly outside the massive floor-to ceiling window that made you feel all the more insignificant.
____________________________
When he came back the next day (maybe?), you finally got a good look at him. His face was the only vaguely human thing about him, save for large, dark eyes that glowed in the dark and odd scales on his cheeks and forehead. He had pointed ears that almost looked like they belonged to a bat. They swiveled and twitched, especially when you spoke. He was rarely expressive, though you did see him attempt a smile from time to time. You say "attempt" because it was way too wide and revealed far too many sharp teeth. It set off some ancient instinct in you to stay the hell away. You tried to ignore it but still kept your guard up just in case.
A keyboard-like light panel that projected from a device on his forearm chimed as he tapped away at it, and he approached you with a metal circle no bigger than your thumbnail, matching the one he wore. You backed away, hyper-aware of the stranger's touch. He… purred at you? And while you were distracted, he tapped it to your right temple.
There was a sharp pinch, the pain pulsing away with your heartbeat. When you cried out, he was quick to touch his long, clawed fingers to yours, maybe trying to comfort you.
You could hear the device whirring away against your skin, latching onto you and beeping intermittently. You’d never felt anything interacting with what felt like your brain before, and you could say without a doubt that it was NOT great.
The noises stopped, and a low, almost ghostly voice purred in your ear.
"Communication link established. The device should be fully functional now…"
“Hello there.” His clawed finger caressed yours, soothing your pain. It eventually faded, that purring of his actually seemed to help. “I hope your rest has helped you overcome your transfer sickness.”
From then on, any time he talked to you, it swung between intelligent, endless technical talk that one might expect from this extra sci-fi guy and…
Awkward small talk?
"Lovely weather we're having today." He smiled that horrifying smile of his, sitting on the end of the bed.
With an awkward glance out the window, you had the thought that there was, of course, no weather in space.
"Have you read any interesting publications as of late?"
You shook off the odd nature of the questions, cutting to the chase.
Why were you here?
"Of course, I've brought you onto my ship for the… hmm. It seems there is no exact translation for it." He seemed puzzled, tapping away at the device. "The closest term that I can find is… ah. The Courtship."
You froze.
Courtship?
He seriously abducted you to… woo you?
And here you thought that was a cliché for extraterrestrials…
That would explain the awkward small talk. But it was still too weird.
You tried to get to the bottom of all this. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the wave of anxiety that had yet to wash away.
You had no idea as to how he would react to you just saying “No, take me back to Earth.” So, you’d have to ease into it, gauge his reactions.
You told him your name. He mulled over it, mispronouncing it a few times before growling a little. It made you freeze, your brain was again screaming “Danger, get away from here NOW”, but you needed to keep your head.
“If I could, it sounds… very similar to the word my people have for… the closest translation I can come to is the… electromagnetic radiation from self-gravitational fixed plasma points that are visible to the naked eye. Starlight… yes, that will suffice.”
If he weren’t an actual, literal alien, you would swear he was upping his word count to sound smarter. But you had no clue how this translator worked, maybe it just pointed him to the closest words to what he wanted to say.
But it seemed you had a nickname. A very romantic-sounding one. Great.
You asked him for his name in return.
"Yes, my designation. My species has little use for such titles." He brushed off the notion with a shift of his dark eyes, staring into yours again. "We do not interact with one another to require such differentiation. I have heard of my people taking a title assigned to them by their mate, for their own assurance, as we mate for life."
He leaned to be closer to you, his face uncomfortably close to yours. You guessed he was kind of handsome, for a literal alien… But that wasn’t any of his business.
"Would you like to assign me a title, my starlight?"
He was thinking of you… as his mate? Already? Or was that just an example? You’d literally spent less than a full day actually talking with him and he was talking about mating for life? It was all too much.
You didn’t want him to assume you were okay with any of this, but it might help him see you in a better light. Make you a person in his eyes, and not just a (hopefully temporary) guest on his ship. Maybe even sympathize with you when you asked him about turning the thing around and taking you back home.
You combed your mind for anything that would fit, digging deep for your middle school astronomy/mythology phases.
You asked if he would be okay if you called him Cygnus, only telling him it was the name of a star back on Earth. But it stood out with his casual “mate for life” comment, even though he resembled a dragon/cat more than a swan. Not to mention the story of an otherworldly being making advances towards someone he really shouldn’t, as Zeus once did to Leda.
“Siig…nussss…” he hissed out the last syllable, his tongue flicking out over the strange word. “Cygnus… I will cherish this title, starlight.” he nuzzled your hand to his scaled cheek, purring again. Before you could say anything else, the panel on his arm went off with a sudden alarm.
“Apologies.” he stood, tapping at some of the keys. “I must attend to something.”
Before Cygnus could step away from the bed, you panicked, reaching out and grabbing his hand. He stared at you, a curious purr slipping out before he knelt by the bedside.
You held his large hand in yours, pleading with him that you couldn’t do this. You had a life, he took you from it and this was all too much. You just wanted to go home.
His expression never changed, but he touched your hair, seeming almost entranced by it. You wondered if this alien would take pity on you, if he could be persuaded to do the right thing.
“Ah, you seem to be misinterpreting something.” You could see the realization in his dark eyes. “The language barrier is beginning to become a hindrance.”
He held your hand in a placating way, patting it gently like he had seen someone do the same thing without knowing much context.
“The Courtship is… something my people have been doing for eons. They believe that genetic variation is the key to a long-standing civilization. No two of us are genetically similar to each other after a few generations. We have varying appearances and life expectancies. We visit a faraway star system and… take a viable mate from the populace. Some do this at random, some monitor their prospective mates to assess compatibility.”
“After searching for so long, I found myself interested in the humanoid species of Earth. The longer I observed, searching for my perfect mate, the more I became… intrigued by the courtship rituals I observed.”
“You engage in meaningless banter where neither party really cares for the answer. The lingering touches, the subtle glances. Small meaningful gifts or large shows of extravagance to display to the prospective mate that they can provide. And dancing… I was especially intrigued by how your species uses such a thing for showcasing sexual compatibility. The Courtship is such a… straightforward and dull undertaking by comparison.”
“I saw you, just walking alone…” His eyes were shining as he looked at you, that damn purring started back up whenever he paused. “I’ve heard from others of my kind that we just… know. And when I saw you I knew…I knew you were my mate.”
The way he said it, it felt like you stopped breathing. He was looking at you like… like a predator who’d finally cornered their prey. That’s what your brain had been warning you about.
“We take our mate aboard our ships and begin… this word isn’t coming across. I will do some research… Regardless, this is not traditionally a… harmonious process?” he tilted his head, still as emotionless as before. “No, perhaps… consensual is the better term.”
You didn’t dare to look away from his eyes, that horrible, terrified feeling clawing down your back. You suddenly wondered if you’d ever seen him blink.
“That particular element of The Courtship continues to be necessary.”
Cygnus caressed your cheek, you could feel his claws gently touch your skin, they were blunt and curved. You were suddenly reminded of how some claws like that weren’t meant to tear and slash, but rather pin and capture.
Words completely failed you, not that you knew what to say. He leaned forward and kissed your forehead.
“Get some rest, my starlight.” he touched his forehead to yours, nuzzling you as he purred. “I’ll court you as long as it takes.”
He stepped out of the room and left you to your own devices, and you went into the “flight” option of fight or flight. There was no obvious way to open the door to the room, no handle or lock, just a slab of metal that stood out from the surrounding wall. You tried to rattle it, push on it, kick it down. But it didn’t budge.
The little thing on your head beeped, and it seemed to communicate with a robot eye-looking thing above the door. It lit up in recognition of your device, but then blinked red with a quick negative-sounding chime. It was confirmation of something you already suspected, but didn’t want to accept.
You were locked in. You’d probably been locked in the entire time. Cygnus’ calm demeanor made you think he could be reasoned with, made to see you were your own person who deserved to live your own life.
You slid down the door, collapsing into panicked tears.
It was clear that he saw you as anything but.
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Affectionately nicknaming the alien yandere "Siggy" in my head. because Cyggy looks a little silly, but either are acceptable.
with his face it's possible that there was a human somewhere in his lineage, way way back when. it's mostly surface level, as he doesn't even recognize it in himself. to be fair, there's no one way his species is "supposed" to look.
His people do the whole "alien abduction" thing to reproduce, probably not in the old-fashioned way but more of a gene-splice-y way, but it's still a terrifying practice.
it's been a hot second since i posted anything, started my new job and i tend to get into a creative slump when i get into work mode. but sitting down at my actual computer to write this instead of editing it on my phone or old tablet did the trick.
now im sitting here thinking "does he have a tail?" and now im debating it lol. he probably definitely has those legs, you know the ones. google tells me it's called digitigrade.
and that "armor" is really just like... a scaley exoskeleton. but not really, more like a crab shell that would grow back if damaged or ripped off. it protects his soft, vulnerable body. he molts it every year and he gets super embarrassed being seen without his "armor" ha
until next time, i have to get some work done ✌️
edit: art of Cygnus
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profeminist · 5 months ago
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Cartoon by https://www.instagram.com/vulgadrawings
AGGRIEVED ENTITLEMENT
looks like this:
[The single panel comic has a pink background. A white man with short brown hair wearing a white collared shirt and black pants is sitting on one end of a wide wooden bench. His arms are crossed and he is staring straight ahead, his legs splayed out to either side wider than his hips. To his right stands a woman with dark hair and brown skin wearing a green vest over a lilac long-sleeved shirt and black shirt. She is gesturing with one hand at the bench, smiling as she looks sideways at it.]
Woman: I THINK I DESERVE TO SIT ON THIS BENCH TOO!
[Below the first drawing, the woman is now sitting on the opposite end of the bench, her hands on her closed knees. She is looking sideways apprehensively at the man who has fallen onto the ground. His arms are flung out and he looks horrified.]
White man: OH MY GOD I'VE BEEN PUSHED OFF! THERE'S NO ROOM FOR ME ON [Underlined text.] MY [End underlined text.] BENCH ANYMORE!
See also: human conversation.
"Men perceived the discussion as being equal when women talked only 15% of the time, and the discussion as being dominated by women if they talked only 30% of the time."
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saphiccarma · 11 days ago
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- Sweet Thing
Relationships - Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader
Summary - Sirens weren't all that bad, instead hunted for their tails that had glimmering scales worth a high amount of value. Agatha and Rio intended to sell your tail, but soon became rather attatched
Warnings: Kidnapping (fishnapping?), spear wound, non consensual kissing (Kind of? Reader doesn't know human customs so it's a bit iffy)
A/N: Uhm- I fell in love with this prompt and this is my fav thing I've written for aaa week so far.
Sirens were creatures of the sea, brilliant ones that were meant to swim free and wild. Unlike most tales, you did not sing sailors to their death, only a few sirens chose to do that. The sun bore down on the vast ocean, not able to reach the depths where you lived, so you swam near the surface. It was a dangerous move to do so. Pirates still roamed the seas, even as far out as you were, and sirens' tails sold for a high price.
Typically, you lived in the depths where humans couldn't reach, swirling in between coral and rocks while following colorful fish. Flat areas were used as farming grounds for food. It was a perfect life, yet part of you still longed for the human world. You had never gone close to shore before, always living too far out. Not only that but your father had prevented you from contact with humans.
As you grew older, so did your defiance for your father and you had been wandering closer to the surface, going further away from home and closer to the shore. Once you had gotten close enough to hear voices. People danced along the shore in the night, sticks with a bright thing glowing off of them. From what you had heard they were torches. Humans swung their arms and feet, joyful laughter echoing as odd garments attached to them swayed with their movements.
You wished so desperately to join them.
Sirens were rumored to be able to transform into humans, tails shifting to legs, gills and fins disappearing into your skin. The odd tint of your skin would disperse, and you would look like a normal person. You never had the confidence to try it out. Humans wore these odd things, clothes, your grandma called them. Sirens didn't have clothes. You figured you would stand out too much and that was the last thing you wanted if you were trying to explore the human world.
Seagulls cawed above you as you leisurely floated near the surface, the tip of your tail peeking out. There was only a split second you had after you saw them. A large ship, its sides climbing up and up, wooden panels lined up neatly to prevent water from getting in. Large metal nozzles peaked out the side. Silver flashed through the air and then there was a piercing pain in your tail.
Yelping, you paled when you bled into the water, a sharp spear sticking out of your tail. Panic overcame you as you reached to pull it out, wincing at the sting. It had gone all the way through your tail. Scales came out with it, leaving bare skin and a large hole in your tail. Shock kept you stuck in place, staring at the gaping gap in your tail that leaked a bright red.
"Dammit Billy!" You heard a voice curse from the ship and your head snapped up, eyes widening with fear, "You weren't supposed to hit the tail."
Once again you hardly had time to react before a net was hurling at you. With your tail damaged and pain pulsing through you, you weren't able to get away as the net dropped down on you and closed all around you. A scream bubbled in your throat. There was a harsh tug and then you were dangling in the air, your blood dripping into the water and you could see shark fins circling below.
You winced as your body slammed into the ship, wood digging into your sensitive skin. Thrashing as you were dragged across the wood, you tried to break free. But your tail flapped uselessly, and your arms did nothing against the ropes. A taunting chuckle echoed behind you, and you were no longer being dragged across the wood. You stopped in your struggles for a moment, meeting eyes with a woman.
Her piercing eyes were an icy blue, framed by brown hair that fell around her face and highlighted her sharp cheekbones. Her tongue dragged over her pink lips as she crouched, one hand on her knee, and studied you.
There was nothing you could do to stop the fear that tore through your system. It overran any common sense you otherwise would've had and numbed the pain in your tail. Blood leaked onto the deck, seeping into the wood and staining it an even darker color.
Another woman stood behind the blue eyed one. This one had big brown eyes, one that was often associated with childlike innocence, but she looked anything but innocent. Her lips, a pale pink, were pulled into a smirk that made her eyes twinkle with dark joy. A knife twirled between her fingers and when your gaze caught on it your breath hitched. Sun light bounced off it, highlighting the sharp edge.
She met your eye, pausing in her fidgety movements, and held the knife up for you to see. You flinched back, trying to get away. Your eyes flickered around for an escape, searching for somewhere to go.
It was then that you noticed how many people were here, watching in silence. There were four others on board. A woman who had a pink shirt, one with red in her hair, and older woman who looked weird, and a young boy - the youngest out of all of them. His eyes were wide, and face flushed as he looked away from you, keeping his gaze
Inhaling shakily, you forced a question past your lips, "What do you want with me?" Your words were unsteady, hesitance and fear dripping from them.
"Well, we wanted your tail," the blue-eyed woman drawled, "But then Billy hit it, so you have no more use, hon."
"You’re pirates," you breathed softly. If you thought you were scared before, it was worse now. Your heart beat frantically in your chest. Humans may have portrayed sirens as these horrible creatures, luring sailors to their death for fun, but that was only some of you. Sirens told tales of pirates who murdered their friends in cold blood, laughing as the blood tainted the water and dolphins pocked at their bodies sadly. Pirates were the most brutal type of humans.
"Well, I thought that was obvious," She glanced around dramatically, her long fingers flaring around. Your tail twitched.
"She needs medical care Agatha," the boy, Billy you think, said. He made a pointed glance towards your tail which was leaking out onto the deck, a steady stream of blood. Your head was lightheaded as you propped yourself on your elbows.
"Put me back in the water and I'll be fine," you mumbled. Your father will find you. Or the fish would tell him. It didn't matter but you would rather die in the ocean then on this ship.
Agatha scoffed, her head tipping back slightly, "That's funny." She leaned closer for a brief moment, eyes slowly dragging from your face down to the gaping wound in your tail. "Billy go get some cloth and a needle with string. And what are the rest of you doing? Get back to work!" Everyone but the brown eyed brunette left, Billy scurrying away to get whatever she ordered.
With a small nod from Agatha, the other woman stepped forward, her smirk widening as she twirled her knife around. You flinched when she bent down, prepared for more pain. Except she only cut through the rope and let it fall to the floor.
"She's skittish," She said, glancing at Agatha with some sort of emotion gleaming in her eyes, "I like it."
Billy came back a moment later, carrying a bundle of cloth in his hand with a needle and string in the other. He averted his eyes towards the ground as he got closer. The shiny metal caught your eyes, and they widened in more fear. You tried to scramble back, no longer tangled by the rope, but it did little use when Agatha grabbed the tip of your tail and yanked you back. A yelp escaped your lips as she held you firmly in place, despite your frantic squirming.
"Hold still," she snapped. Her hands were surprisingly tender as they pressed the cloth onto your wound, the white material becoming red quickly. The other woman knelt by your head, her hands held out placatingly before she pressed down on your shoulders, forcing you to lay down. Her eyes lingered on your chest for a moment, something dark in her eyes.
"How does your healing work?" Her words were soft, not matching the mischievous glint in her eyes.
You gasped when Agatha pressed down on the wound, your tail flicking up, "Uhm- like normal?"
You watched as Agatha raised an unimpressed eyebrow as she wiped the blood on your tail, the cloth occasionally catching on your scales. They shimmered under the sunlight, and you were suddenly aware of how hot it was up here. It was like you were being held above a heat vent, the water bubbling and searing your skin. Your skin and scales were drying out.
Baring your teeth, you hissed when Agatha swiped through the wound, her towel collecting blood and giving you a clearer view. A hand cupped your chin, tilting your head up and forcing your mouth open. An offended sound left your throat as the brown eyed woman examined your mouth. She squeezed your cheeks and leant closer.
Their hands were all over you, on your tail, your face - it was too much. You shoved at the woman holding your face, although that did nothing but make her tighten her grip and grin wildly. Her eyes were ablaze with delight as she tugged your face close.
"Don't do that," her voice was light, almost like a song, "Be nice."
Agatha scoffed from her spot at your tail, glancing up with a small smile. You would snarl at her if you could, but the other woman still held you tightly. Her grip was bruising against your face and her nails dug into your skin. She hummed as she twisted you, giving her different angles of your fangs that protruded like spikes from your gums.
It was a defense mechanism that ran in your specific genes, but it did nothing to help you now. Finally, she let you go, her fingers uncurling from your cheeks, but her eyes never left your face.
"Can you have stitches?" Agatha was threading the string through the needle as she asked the question, sitting back on her shins.
You blinked, wide eyed and confused, "Those are?"
"I'll take that as a no," she sighed, chewing on her lower lip, "How do you heal?"
"I've never-" you shrugged. Pain throbbed from your tail, worse than anything you had ever felt. You had gotten small nicks and cuts before. "Nothing has been this bad."
Agatha threw the needle onto the ground, "Well that's helpful." She glared at you as if it was your fault that you had been speared through your tail. You returned her harsh look.
"Water," you croaked, your throat suddenly dry. The two women exchanged a glance before the unknown one stood, her boots clicking on the floor. Biting pain coursed through your veins, and you wished it would stop. The harsh sun beating down didn't help as you lacked the familiar comfort of the sea. A moment later the other woman returned, a bucket in her hands before she splashed it all over your tail. It wasn't graceful or much but soothed the ache of the puncture.
Agatha leaned past your tail, cupping your chin in her face with a sick grin, "I think I'll keep you."
^____________^
A few day cycles in you figured out how to turn into your human form, your tails becoming legs and gills vanishing. The only thing that remained was your sharp teeth. It was awkward at first, stumbling around as you tried to figure out how to walk. They made it look so easy and Agatha and Rio laughed as you fell flat on your face.
The two had dressed you in their clothes. It felt restricting to be confined by such human things and you hated it, but apparently that was what was expected by humans. You were stuck in their room, stuck to stare longingly out into the sea as you watched the waves crash up against the side of the boat, but they never let you out. If you were let out, you were bolt in an instant and jump into the sea.
Billy brought you food on a tray with a sympathetic smile and a soothing voice. He offered empathy, a listening ear, which you turned down at first. Then days turned into more and you were still stuck in the room. You took up Billy's offer to talk when the days began to become longer and longer, drawing out as if they would never end.
Agatha and Rio would return at night, snuggling up in their bed as you slept on one parallel to theirs. Once you had woken up to the bed creaking and obscene moans being drawn out. You had flipped over, the blanket pulled up to your shoulder, as you sat still as a rock in bed. After casually mentioning it to Billy when he came to see you, he turned bright red and spluttered before explaining it was the way humans reproduced. You decided not to question it more after that.
Snapping you out of your thoughts, the door creaked open, Agatha walking in. Rio trailed behind with her hands shoved casually in her pockets. Per usual, you scrambled back as far as possible on your bed, hissing. Agatha rolled her eyes. She sat on the edge of the bed, eyes scanning over you in a way you would never understand. It was as if she was trying to see inside of you. She scooched closer and you bared your teeth.
Lips curling in annoyance, Agatha's hand shot forward, grabbing your chin. There was a split second before she had a tool in her hand, pliers if you remembered correctly, and they were latched tight onto your teeth.
She leaned in close, her eyes narrowed, "I told you to stop that," her voice was low, a warning, "I will give you one more chance before I yank your teeth out, understand?"
Rio was smirking behind her when you glanced back, your cheeks flushed a dark red. Agatha raised a brow.
"Understood?"
You huffed but nodded the best you could with her firm grip on you. Her nails dug into your skin one more time before she let go with a satisfied smirk. Closing your mouth, you licked your lips and sat back, face red as the tomatoes Billy showed you how to juggle with once. Agatha twirled the pliers in her fingers before shoving them into her pocket.
"How would you like to leave this room?" Agatha's words sent a jolt of joy through you, and you perked up, pointed ears alert and ready to hear what she had to say. She smiled at your excitement, "Hang on pretty girl, there's a couple things first. If you try to run, I will lock you back up in this room again. You are to stay by my side. Do not make me tie you up like a dog."
You tilted your head, blinking at her. What was a dog? Although being tied up did not sound like fun, after a moment you reluctantly nodded. There was hardly a moment before Rio's hand was latched onto your forearm and she was dragging you out. You stumbled over your own two feet, still not used to without a fin, and let Rio drag you along. Not that you had a choice.
You glanced back at Agatha for help, but the woman was just watching in amusement, eyes twinkling brightly.
"Alright," Rio said softly, shoving a door open, "Here's the sun."
Blinking, you took in the sunlight, hand coming up to shield your eyes. It shone down brightly, a harsh heat compared to the cool of the bedroom. While the coolness reminded you of the depths of the ocean, it was nice to see the sun again. You tilted your face up, closing your eyes and letting the heat seep into your skin. You hardly noticed Rio's grip on your arm, or the way it loosened, and she stood watching you with a soft smile.
"Y/N!" Billy's loud voice interrupted your peace, and your eyes snapped open. He was running towards you, shirt untucked and flapping in the slight wind like his fluffy black hair.
You forced a smile onto your lips after a nervous glance at Rio, "Hey Billy."
He grabbed your hand, tearing you away from Rio. You were partially glad for the distance from the woman, but a part of you wanted to be near her. Billy dragged you up the stairs, once again tripping over your own two feet. It was a miracle that they managed to stay on them for the whole day.
The sea splashed against the side of the boat, a consistent and steady sound that made you long for the sea even more. That deep yearning inside of you arose again, even stronger than before. Your eyes latched onto the waves, imagining yourself in them. You would no longer have legs - you would have a fin and gills again and the wet feeling of the water on your skin.
The fish circling around you, the water cool and comforting. A little bit of sun shining through the blue surface when you came up. Your family's faces were slowly fading from your mind, but you still longed to be with them again.
You didn't realize that since you stopped so did Billy, his hand still in yours as he stared at you.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, "You don't deserve this."
You shrugged. Maybe you did deserve it. Even after hundreds of lectures from your father, you still chose to push your luck. The thrill of adrenaline you got made it all worth it. If you had just listened, then this never would have happened.
"Billy," Agatha's voice cut through the air, "I'll take her from here."
Billy smiled sheepishly, directing one to you with a deeper meaning, before he scurried off. Agatha gave him an affectionate glance before she turned her eyes to you, an unamused look in them.
"Don't let Billy drag you around." She muttered it like it was a piece of advice, but it sounded more like a command. You rolled your eyes at her and curled your lips in defiance. Agatha narrowed her eyes and grabbed you by the arm. "Watch the attitude."
And once again you were tempted to respond with some sort of snark but refrained in exchange for walking away and further up the deck. The wind blew your hair in your face and whipped against your skin. It wasn't so different from the underwater currents and made you miss home even more. Agatha trailed behind you, although you could hear a second set of footsteps that told you Rio was there too.
You wandered up the front of the ship and stared down into the water. It would be so easy to jump.
A hand clamped down your shoulder and hot breath hovered by your ear, "You gonna jump?" Rio lips brushed against your cheekbone as she leaned even closer, and you could feel her chest press up against your back. A part of you wanted to pull away from her touch, leap into the water and enjoy the comforting embrace, but something held you there. It wasn't Rio's hand, nor Agatha's piercing gaze.
Even as you tried to pick your feet up off the wooden deck, you failed. It was as if you were stuck in place. Frustration boiled in your stomach as time passed on and your brows furrowed.
The waves crashed against the ship, seemingly more aggressive in tune to your emotions. Tears of resentment pooled in your eyes and your fists clenched.
"Why?" you croaked, "Why not just let me go?"
Rio's lip teased the column of your throat, and you shrugged her off while your heart pounded in your chest.  You could practically feel her smirk even though you couldn't see her. The movement of her lips felt personal although you didn't know why, it felt as if it meant more, but you didn't know why. Her arms slowly circled around your waist, tugging you even closer and trapping you.
"Because you're too sweet to let go," she whispered against your skin. Your lip wobbled as she squeezed you tight and kept her palms flat against your stomach. Dolphins surfaced, their fins peeking through the top of the water as they leapt and dived happily. It irked you that you couldn't be there with them. You used to swim with dolphins every chance you got, swerving through you their pods like an obstacle course.
The thought only made your eyes burn further and your heart tighten.
"I want to go home."
You hated how broken your voice sounded, how cracked it was. Desperation leaked through as you felt a tear fall. Another human weakness. It trailed down your cheek and you felt Agatha's hands cup your face, turning you towards her. Blue eyes, shimmering with desire, met yours. Except hers weren’t filled with tears. Agatha’s hands were so gentle on your face, kinder than she should be.
Her thumb wiped away the fallen tear with a soft smile, one that almost hid the sharp look in her eyes, "This is your home."
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revelboo · 14 days ago
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good lord I just very recently found your blog and it's everything I've been begging for out of a transformers blog I'm so weeeeaaaak for transformers x human content, I've been kicking my feet and SO giddy giggling or crying over pretty much every chapter of "everything is Alright" and let me tell you I spend every chapter screaming to myself that everything is NOT alright, I love them and how you write them SO much, literally tore through Everything Is Alright in a few days just to be blessed that you're still kicking with this tasty brilliant feast and UGH the glee I felt ripping into the new update like it's my favorite brand of chocolate 👌 your writing is such a comfort and is so,,,, hot chocolate on a winter night while huddled in blankets with a heating pad type feeling, literally so good, actually had to get up and pace around in petty anger about Megatron being like "yessss a bargaining chip" bc SIR THATS EXACTLY WHY THEY DIDNT TELL YOU ABOUT THE HUMAN DONT BE SHOCKED, seeing your takes on Starscream and Soundwave too are so GHRRHRGRHRGRHR/pos, just so good, you're cooking and we're all eating very very well
Thank you!
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Everything Is Alright Pt 81
IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader
• It’s worse, hearing him say it. Admitting to the things he’s done, to how cold he can be. And you’ve seen that indifference from time to time, felt that chill but not in a long time. But as he speaks, his voice is empty, cold as ice. Like the things he’s done mean nothing to him. There’s no regret, no horror. He’s just recounting them like someone mentioning the weather. When it’s over, you’re both silent aside from the ragged way he’s venting, the only give away that saying all of it affected him. “You think I’m a monster, don’t you?” He asks and your chest hurts. Because he is a monster, he’s awful and unrepentant, but he’s your monster. The one who’s so gentle with you, who wipes away your tears, and takes care of you like you’re the only thing he actually does care about. And maybe you’re a monster, too for still loving him despite how awful he is, despite how what’s he’s done hurts your soul.
• Tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling because he can’t look at you, he waits for the condemnation. Can’t bear to see the disgust there. Because how can you not despise him now? You’ll ask to be freed and then realize how awful he really is when he refuses, because he can’t lose you. Even if you hate him, you’re his and he won’t let you go. “You were,” you say, words so soft he almost can’t hear them. “But I don’t think you still are.” And now you’re lying to yourself, wanting to believe he’s better. That he can change when he’s not so sure. Unable to crush that fragile hope of yours as he slides a servo against your side. So he’ll let you choose to believe that he’s better than he is. That he’s not as awful as he knows he is and that he can change. Again, he thinks of all things he wants to say to you, but never can. Wanting to live up to your hopes and knowing he’s just going to fail you.
• “You’re going to be disappointed,” he mutters, lying back on his berth and lifting you on top of him, servos lingering. Your soft ‘maybe’ hurts, but he laughs anyway, the sound bitter. All those things just there on the tip of his glossa that he can’t bring himself to say. He’s always had a way with words, but he has none now. Can’t say them, but can show you. Knows you don’t want this, him, right now even as he pulls back the protective panels around his spark and nudges you toward it. Your eyes still red and tired when you push back even as he slides you closer and you give in. “Let me have this,” he says, as you sigh at him. Lying down against him and dipping your fingers down, tendrils of spark energy reaching out hungrily to snare you as you both shudder at the connection.
• It’s like falling. Like when he mass displaces under you even though you don’t actually move, but part of you gets pulled into those luminous waters that are him, his spark. Drowning in him as he envelopes you, wrapping himself around you. Protecting you as his emotions and thoughts wash into you like a tide. All the things he wants to say and can’t. What you are to him, that thought so tentatively offered, so fragile. Love. Afraid of rejection, so scared of being alone. Always alone, always betrayed. Tangling in him, you swim through him. Seeing everything. The good and the bad. Fear so visceral it leaves you breathless, hate and despair so hot they burn you. And his love, consuming and desperate. So overwhelming it’s almost terrifying even as you gather him to you. All of him, the monstrous and the good and claim it as yours. Accept it. Aware that the real you is crying, the broken, ragged sound of it echoing through you.
• Sitting on the side of his berth, Soundwave’s hands begin to tremble. Unable to sense you suddenly, your mind just disappearing from his awareness. The Seeker. Had he taken you away from the base like he had before? Had he accidentally hurt you in a fit of temper? Frantic, he reaches out for that warm chaos that’s your mind, finding nothing. The disconnect too sudden, almost crippling with how abrupt it was. You were right there in the back of his processor and now you’re gone. Just gone. And it’s his fault, all of it coming apart even though he’d been trying to protect you and Starscream both. Because he needs you, the warmth of your mind humming in his own, the softness of you against him. Staggering upright, he finds himself striding out of his quarters, his cassettes watching worriedly. Almost running down the hall, because he needs to know. Even if you’re gone, if Starscream did the unthinkable to you, he has to know.
Previous
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anachronismstellar · 2 months ago
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What about Wei Qingwei? 👀
hehehHEHEHE WHO IS READY FOR SWORD PUNS-
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"Thrity percent."
"Ten percent."
"Twenty five percent."
"Five, and if you keep pushing, I will give you nothing at all." Shang Qinghua slammed his book closed, the threat like a sharp knife being held over Wei Qingwei's dreams of a new forge.
"The Immortal Allience Conference is coming soon, I need a new forge to make new weapons," Wei Qingwei said as if his argument couldn't be refuted. Better start sooner than later, right? Even stubborn Shang Qinghua couldn't find fault in a point like that!
"Wei-shixiong," The An Ding Peak Lord rubbed his hands all over his face, smearing ink on his cheek as he gave the biggest sigh Wei Qingwei ever seen someone give. "I understand your frustration and your anxiety to start things now, believe me, I know," Shang Qinghua gestured at his entire desk, a chaos of papers and parchments, some of them covered in numbers so tiny it hurt Wei Qingwei's eyes to look at them for too long. "But as you can see, everyone wants a head start, and as we have discussed, many times I may add, the Immortal Allience Conference budget will be given next year. And is no one's fault-" Then he paused, mumbling something suspiciously like "but your own", only to continue with a smile. "That your disciples blew up a forge. Again."
Wei Qingwei crossed his arms, tapping his fingers. It annoyed him to no end that his lie had been caught before he could use it, but something nagged on his mind that the money wasn't actually the problem here.
He had heard... Stories. You see, blacksmithing could be really boring. When you're waiting for a new ore shipment, or when one had nothing to do besides polishing metal (hehe) again and again, what one could do besides gossiping? And the last big whisper among his older disciples had been too good for him to ignore.
Long night meetings with Zhangmen-Shixiong, visits at odd hours to a certain bamboo house, doctor's appointments in the middle of the night while being perfectly healthy... One had to be stupid to not connect the dots.
The quiet as a mouse, shadow of twelve peaks, Lord Shang Qinghua fucked. And he must be pretty good at it if the types like Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu came back for more.
Another thing that wasn't hard to see was how stressed the man looked. To be honest, Wei Qingwei doesn't remember any time Shang-shidi was not stressed. Maybe it was because they met only during meetings. Or when he went to ask for money. Hm.
What Qi Qingqi said? Something something vinegar and bees and honey? Maybe he should try another strategy.
"This one would like to apologize to his Shidi for the insistence. But maybe I could bid on a final offer?" And Wei Qingwei didn't curl his finger on his hair because he wasn't that shameless, but he wasn't ashamed to pull his sleeves up to show off some muscle, leaning forward to let his outer robes slide just enough to show his clavicle.
Shang Qinghua stared.
"Very well, a final offer," he agreed and then proceeded to pretend to organize his desk, taking a glance or two at Wei Qingwei's neck.
"Shidi goes back to his first ten percent advance deal," Now Wei Qingwei knew he was laying on too thick by Shang Qinghua's snort. Still, he didn't back off, winking as he said: "and I can craft something special for you."
"Hmm..." Shang Qinghua moved more papers around, pulled his collar as he took another peek at Wei Qingwei's chest. "I do have some projects in mind that would require Wei-shixiong's expertise..." He hesitated for another moment, slowly laying back until his back hit the panel behind him, one of his hands going to his sword, playing with the tassel like a cat about to catch a mouse. "Also, it's been a while since I've polished my sword. Would Wei-shixiong consider putting that in his offer as well?"
The next day...
"I swear to Heavens, your hair is possessed by something. What did you do to make it so knotted?" Qi Qingqi was being delicate, mind you, she would never be less than gentle, but she also couldn't resist pulling the curls a little bit stronger than she would. Served Wei Qingwei right for making her spend an entire morning taking care of his curly creature.
Also, Wei Qingwei's dreamy sighs were starting to annoy her. He was acting worse than her teenage girls!
"I went to talk to Shang-shidi yesterday," he said as if he wasn't almost vibrating to share how did it go.
"And?" she rolled her eyes, pulling her comb just enough to make him hiss. "By the look on your face he agreed on giving you more money."
He started laying back on her, but before he could ruin all her hard work on the lower part of his hair, she hit him with the comb. And it was a testimony of how smug he was that his only reaction was to laugh, eyes creasing into two half moons, smiling like a sly fox.
"He gave me something alright."
She stopped mid movement blinking once then twice, mouth opening in a surprised gasp.
"You didn't."
"Oh I did."
"I can't believe you did it."
"I can't believe how huge is his-"
"Stop!" She hit him again with the comb, and then a second time. She didn't need that image in her head the next meeting, thank you very much!! "Shut up! I don't wanna hear it!"
"Ow, ow, alright I'm sorry!" He apologized but kept laughing, no, not laughing, giggling like he were about to kick his feet and start making plans for a wedding.
She loved him, but. Ew.
"How is he that good?" She wondered out loud when they finally calmed down and went back to controlling Wei Qingwei's hair. "He looks like he's about to faint half of the time, and the other half, he's crying about us being mean to him."
"I have no idea, but he's growing quite the reputation. But it does make sense after you think about it. And!" This time she couldn't hold him in place, Wei Qingwei turning around so she could see him wiggling his eyebrows. "Explains a lot why a lot of lords were blushing last meeting. You know the voice he does? The bossy one?"
She dropped everything to cover her ears, closing her eyes as well so she couldn't even read his lips. "I don't wanna hear it!!"
That send Wei Qingwei into another fit of giggles, throwing his head back while covering his face with both hands.
Qi Qingqi didn't understand, honestly she didn't want to understand. But her best friend was having fun, so if she sent a blessing on Shang Qinghua's way, that was between her and the Heavens.
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Aaaaaand Wei Qingwei had his turn! :D I wanted to make it more naughty but I'm at work and djahskfjskdks Everyone here knows English so- LETS JUST SAY I WORKED ON MY POKERFACE TODAY
Bonus points for Qi Qingqi!! :D
There you go anon <3 I hope you enjoyed!! Also, the demon curly hair Wei Qingwei hc is from @artsarasp comic here!!!
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starshipdecay · 8 months ago
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Toon Zelda redesigns! I've never been fond of the Toon Zelda design, and these girls deserve some individuality. Design notes and rambles below the cut :D
(time to turn the proper grammar off i aint capitalizing all this. warning: i am verbose)
first up, tmc zelda!
shes the one most like toon zelda, since i felt like the vibes fit the *most* (though not a lot). also, with her place on the timeline, i could justify a lot of bits, like the wings and the cape
the cape! obvs it comes from the toon zelda base design, but also it involves skyloftian fashion! i take the timeline as a challenge, and i once saw a take somewhere that the skyloftians all wear their family crests (most often birds lol) on their person. zelda here (and link too) do just that, wearing their family crests on little caplets. on the back is, of course the royal crest
i went very cutesy princess for her. tmc has such a *whimsical* vibe that i feel is very. muted? by the fact its stuck with the toon style. so i wanted to put in that vibe here. also her sprites make it look like her skirt is super poofy, so how could i not?
curly hair: i wanted something interesting, and most zeldas have straight hair. so! adds to the cuteness
i didnt draw it so well but she (and link) both have very sleepy expressions. zelda especially just has a sleepy expression in her sprite, its quite adorable.
shes not as decked out as other princesses, cuz i see tmc taking place before the royal family really starts to get *royal* as we see it. shes still of course got a tiara and some embroidery tho.
Tetra! her base design isnt all that changed from the original. her name is a fun hc of mine tho. i think "von Hyrule" sounds better as a surname than just "hyrule". shes not zelda, but shes still a descendant.
(WW) princess z (as i call her)
I went more oot zelda vibes for her, since she would be closer, temporally, to oot. i also went very warm, since ive never seen the flood as a *warm* endeavor.
shes got the shoulder danglies, as most zeldas have shoulder armor of some kind. the danglies instead of actual armor are supposed to kind of evoke a royal sea captain kind of vibe.
shes ghostly, with a fish-eyed stare. shes been dead and gone for a long time. shes also a bit taller and a few years older than tetra (as of ww). shes just some spectre the king saw in tetra, not at all a close match
tetra, being smaller than princess z, doesnt fit into the clothes. the dress is too big for her (as is in canon gd that skirt is WAY too long for her), the coat is baggy. the role of a princess *literally* does not fit her.
the ribbons! theyre my replacement for the wings, and they represent the wind in the game! since its represented by white lines, the ribbons are a perfect symbolic match. (also, a note, tetras hair is shorter and coarser than princess z's)
i mostly bullshitted the blue panel but the vague idea i gave it was 'a hope for the triforce to give good fortunes to the people' (pictured as dots, mostly behind her arms)
Pirate Queen Tetra
ph! about a year has passed, and tetra has really grown into her own! as well as literally grown!
shes still tetra, pirate and captain, but shes incorporated that royal heritage into her identity: quite literally! she made piecemeal of the original outfit (what was left of it anyway after the fight), and added bits and pieces to her new life.
she also takes full advantage of said heritage to call herself pirate queen. its great for branding. whos gonna say she CANT go by pirate queen?
the seagull feather is from Aryll. only crew member tetra wears a trinket from (who can say no to that ball of sunshine! certainly not tetra)
not many notes. yall can see whats there. (also she still wears her hair in a bun, its just in a low bun (you can almost see it) when she wears her hat)
st zelda!
first note is: shes not a princess! shes an heiress of the company tetra had made and left behind. hence her title of Lady zelda. ("new hyrule" rly just like-- the ending of ww was *literally* that hyrule is dead and thats okay. how did they miss that :sob emoji:) also calling her Lady Zelda fits with the train vibes
shes in a 1880s style bustle dress because 1) i am OBSESSED with bustle dresses. i love them. so much. 2) the more historical vibe works really well with trains! also a lot of the other outfits in the game have late victorian vibes, so shes certainly not out of place.
her hat (and gloves): any proper lady has a hat on when going about town, however, when she gets body snatched, she pulled out her hatpin to use (ineffectively) as a weapon (she IS tetras great-great-granddaughter), causing her to lose her hat *and* hairdo.
shes still got the hatpin in her ghost form, too. she uses it to threaten people for funsies
Ribbons! on the topic of hairdo, her ribbons! visually tying her to tetras design, the ribbons here instead take on the image of train tracks, with her pin (on the left side) evoking a train engine. the pin also makes her look rich and girly. when her hair comes undone, this makes the ribbons all loose, like how the train tracks disappear in game. (the hat also kinda connects her to tetra)
thanks for reading :D i hope you liked reading this as much as i liked typing it
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norikuna · 2 months ago
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DITTO — Gojo Satoru a rewrite of this post.
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prologue. → brave, lucky, courageous. these are the words that people bestow upon you when the dust has cleared, and the king of curses is no more. you disagree, for if you were lucky, gojo satoru would still be standing at your side. instead you've been left to stare at the ocean shoreline on your own, without your best friend (the love of your life) by your side.
pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader
warnings+. unfulfilled/unresolved love. angst, hurt, comfort, fluff. your usual shenanigans. sfw! implied, minor satosugu (mb because geto is my beautiful sad princess and i love him so he has to be a part of everything). pining, idiots in love. grief, and what you do after you've lost what you treasure the most etc u get it. reader is from an unnamed clan, has a younger brother. reader also wears skirts, dresses sometimes, character death + injury
word count. 11k! 😭 song inspiration. ditto — newjeans / 뉴진스 (2022) a/n. i wrote rough headcanons and posted them yesterday but i woke up thinking dang i should actually write something better about that lmao. update: i thought i'd finish this in a few hours, why did this take me like 2 days? update #2: dawg this is long as fuck...this kinda depressed me to write CROSSPOSTED ON AO3 <3 💙
mp3. do you think about me now, yeah. all the time...
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✉️ — 1995. 💬 — gojo.
these meeting rooms were hushed, grand, and the kind of place that simply swallowed up any sound and echo; where the wood-panelled walls were lined with the tapestries and polished symbols of his clan.
and in the hush, gojo had sat cross-legged on the tatami mat, trying to listen to the conversation of the adults, with their low and steady voices that droned on. this was so boring. they were always speaking of things that he just couldn't understand, but his parents said these meetings were important, and so he was dragged along - much to his eternal chagrin. still, he shifted in place, glancing around at the detailed screens painting around the corners of the room, in varying shades of blue.
across the room, there was another kid. one who sat beside her father, fidgeting just as he was. and gojo could tell by the way that you kept glancing towards the door that you, too, longed to escape. your gaze caught his, and there was that flicker of mutual boredom that sparked between you two. you had scrunched up her nose, as if to say 'this is so boring, isn't it?'
gojo grinned, stifling a giggle. he had leaned back, just a little, surveying the adults who paid no heed to him, before letting himself inch across the rough texture of the mat towards the door.
"do you want to see the garden?" he mouthed silently, his words exaggerated and slow, so you would understand.
your eyes had lit up, and you nodded, just as your father (well, he assumed it was her father) leaned down to whisper something in your ear, his voice a low rumble that was far too quiet for gojo to catch. you were nodding obediently, but your eyes were now fixed with the glimmer of excitement, and he quickly held the door open for you as you scrambled out the door, following him quietly as they creaked down the long hallway.
and soon, they reached the back of the estate, where the garden stretched out like a hidden oasis, filled with the flowering bushes, the winding stone paths, and the pond that glistened in the morning light. suddenly, he stopped by the edge of the pond, brushing pale hair out of his stinging eyes, "i'm satoru, by the way."
you had sat down quickly, as though the long walk had winded her (gojo had barely needed to stop to catch is breath), and your robes dipped into the pond, letting the water seep up slowly, "i've heard of you. my parents say you're an only child."
gojo shrugged, trying to think of something important he could tell you, "it's not so bad. one day, i'm going to be the head of my clan," puffing up his chest a little.
you had nodded, "i would like to be too, but my younger brother would get it. because...you know."
gojo didn't quite know but he nodded like he understood, and he tried to think of something smarter to say, "well the job isn't that fun anyway. it's just sitting around reading papers, and telling people what to do."
you had pouted, frowning, "i want to tell people what to do all day. and i would get the nicest robes too as clan head."
and you had looked so unhappy at the prospect that you were being robbed of a stellar wardrobe that gojo made up his mind, right then and there, "tell you what, when i become my clan head, i'll make sure you get the nicest robes, how's that?"
your face had lit up, holding your little pinky up to his, "promise?"
gojo linked his finger with hers, sealing this silly vow and laughing, "why not?"
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✉️ — 1996. 💬 — you.
when you're seven years old, you’ve resigned yourself to trailing behind gojo, watching as your friend takes on the world with the same reckless, eager energy that he seems to pour into everything that he does.
his voice has picked up a confidence that you haven't felt yet, and there's a permanent, flashy grin on his face that says he doesn't care what anyone thinks about him, not his parents, nor his clan.
and today, gojo's decided that the old shrine on the edge of your family estate needs exploring. you're a little less certain, especially since your father had told you that this shrine was haunted, but you find yourself following the boy anyway, and there's that silent agreement in place: he leads, you follow. you're alright with that, that's just the way it's always been.
he's dressed, as usual, in a loose grey hoodie that's two sizes too big for him, and his jeans have a hole in the knee; some small rebellion against his clan's strict sense of tradition. even his hair is awfully emssy, tousled and getting a little too long, and you know he hates it when his mother tries to comb it down, and you easily suspect that gojo just ruffles it on purpose to get a reaction out of those around him. he probably does everything on purpose for a round of reactions, honestly.
you, on the other hand, have your nicest lilac skirt on, and there's a small bow in your hair that the maidservants had pinned themselves (your mother had been too deep in her cups all morning). but you had fluttered around, feeling quite pretty in your skirt; like you were a fairy that would sprout wings and live in the clouds.
gojo glances back at you, and rolls his eyes, "you know, you look like you're going to one of the clan meetings," he mutters, but there's a playful glint in his eye. he's pulled a twig from the ground, and he's waving it around like a sword, slicing through imaginary enemies as he marches forward like an idiot.
you just shrug, quietly watching him cut through the tall grass ahead, "i like looking nice," you mumble, a little embarrassed. you can feel the careful way the sweet, old servant (she turned seventy last week!) had arranged your hair, and the press of the bow keeping it every lock in place.
"well, if you ever decide to look like you're not on your way to sit for a court painting, let me know," gojo says, smirking (he thinks he's funny) as he waves his 'sword' around, battling on the false frontlines.
but despite yourself, you laugh, and quicken your pace to keep up with him, and so, gojo slows just a bit, enough that you're walking side by side now, and his arm brushes against yours.
"did you know that they say that this shrine is spooked?" he asks, his voice falling to a dramatic whisper.
"i live here, satoru. obviously, duh," and the shrine comes into view, and it's small, weathered with age, but to you, it looks grand and mysterious, even magical, "do you believe it's haunted?"
gojo shrugs, unfazed, "nah, probably just an old rock. but it would be cool if it was. maybe, we'll see a ghost."
now you've taken a hesitant step back, but gojo just grins, grabbing your wrist and pulling you forward, and his hand is warm and steady in yours.
"c'mon, don't be a chicken," he teases, laughing as he drags you closer, and you plant your feet firmly in the ground, watching as clouds begin to roll over the sky, ominous and gloomy.
oh, this place is definitely haunted. your father was right, it's so over for you now. a massive, ugly curse is going to pop out and eat you alive, and steal your pretty hair bow. you mutter a small prayer under your breath. gojo satoru, you will pay for this.
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✉️ — 2000. 💬 — you.
you'd always heard whispers about yourself from the other kids, how you were too quiet, or you tried far too hard to be perfect — unwilling to roughhouse the way they did. perhaps they were right, and it was true that you preferred to sit alone. you think it was the feeling of order you enjoyed, of a world you could control, even if it was just through lines on a piece of paper.
but today, their voices were louder than usual. a small group had gathered near the cherry blossom tree where you'd settle yourself, and they circled around like hungry wolves sniffing out something they could tear apart.
one girl wrinkled her nose and called you prissy (well, okay) and another boy had snickered and muttered that you were so boring, and it was a wonder that you even had a friend like gojo.
ouch.
their words felt like small, precise cuts, sharper than expected. you had heard these things before. after all, everyone had reached the age where they were aware of their abilities, their techniques as jujutsu sorcerers.
you didn't mind your own technique, making sure to channel time and energy to learn so you could grow up and be as good as your father one day (a well established sorcerer in his own right, if a bit out of shape).
but you didn't have to be very smart to know that gojo's abilities stood out entirely in a different way, and you heard your parents whisper in hushed tones at how lucky his clan was to have a child like that. with the right training and moulding, he could be the most powerful man to walk the earth.
how silly. gojo was all laughs, and smiles, and stupid jokes and bright, clever eyes. you thought it was dumb how they all spoke about an eleven year old boy like he was a weapon, kept in its sheath until it was ready to be drawn.
but of course, all the kids wanted to be friends with him instead. and today, these barbs hurt more — and you kept your eyes down, clutching your books a bit tighter, willing for these supposed 'friends' of yours to go away.
but before you could say anything, you heard his stomps.
"hey!"
gojo's voice was unmistakable, sharp and sudden as he clamoured over, all brashness and bravado. he had gotten a bad haircut recently (entirely his own fault for thinking he could put scissors to his own hair, but you had laughed so hard as he swore curses) so white tufts stuck out all over his head, making him look like he got stuck in a wall socket, even crazier than usual.
but gojo didn't look at you, just planted himself between you and the group, bruised fists clenched (they trained him too hard), and shoulders set, "what's your problem?"
the other kids stammered, clearly surprised, but that didn't stop him, he who looked like a small, lanky and angry polar bear.
"you think you're so funny? talking like that? say it again, and i'll knock your teeth out."
"ah, satoru -" you ran your tongue behind your teeth, the last thing everyone needed was another fight of bruised pride, and yanked hair, rolling around in the dust.
but one of the boys had muttered something under his breath, taking a half-step back. the others followed, shuffling, rolling their eyes and looking anywhere but at you and gojo.
and your best friend didn't move until they had scattered completely, leaving behind only the faint echos of their derision as they fled. and then he turned to you, his scowl fading into something kinder (good, you didn't like seeing him so upset) as he dropped onto the bench, beside you, pulling his knee up onto the bench so he could rest his chin against it casually.
"they're just idiots," he said, rolling his eyes, and his voice was softer, playful again, "don't listen to them."
you gave him a small smile, nodding, as the knot in chest loosened a little, "i wasn't really listening to them," you murmured, even though you probably knew that was a bold-faced lie.
gojo released a loud laugh, much too loud and forced, as he nudged you with his elbow, and he must have known it too, but he was smiling, "good, that's the spirit."
You managed a small smile, nodding, the knot in your chest loosening a little.
the world was quiet again as you both sat in silence, the soft breeze ruffling the grass and the cherry blossoms overhead. and then, with a shyer glance, you managed to look over at your friend, watching as messy tufts of his snowy hair moved ever so slightly in the breeze.
"thanks, 'toru," you said, quietly, but he just shrugged it off, brushing it away as though it was nothing.
"hey, what am i here for?"
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✉️ — 2003. 💬 — you.
gojo was sprawled across your wide bed, looking at you as if you were the most ridiculous person in the entire world. his own suitcase sat beside him, already paced with the very few things he needed, and now he watched you with that eager, restless gleam in his blue eyes, like he could barely sit still.
"you're so overthinking this," he said, bright voice full of impatience, "just throw some stuff in a bag, and we're good to go. it's just tokyo, not the end of the world."
you scowled at the boy, holding up two sweaters; one sensible in a shade of pale blue, and the other thick, deep red and woollen, "but what if it gets cold? or rains?"
gojo rolled his eyes, throwing his head back dramatically onto your pillow, hands behind his head as he sprawled around like a snooty prince with all the time in the world.
"it's summer, it's tokyo, and it's not like we're moving to america," he smiled, "besides, if you pack any slower, we'll miss our first year."
you tried to brush it off, and something about his easy confidence made you feel a sharp twinge of nerve. this was really happening, you were truly leaving the bounds of your family estates, stepping out into the world, to attend jujutsu tech, a school in tokyo that you had heard so much about. well, there was another school here, in kyoto, but god, it would just be nice to get out of these ancient walls.
and yet -
gojo simply looked like he couldn't wait to shake the dust of his home off his sneakers, you felt something pull at you, like a sudden-appearing string that tied you to your home city, and it wouldn't let you go.
your best friend had caught the look on your face, and softened — just a bit, as he twiddled with a brand new pair of sunglasses, and he sat up closer, watching you carefully, "you're really going to miss it here, aren't you?"
and you shrugged, fidgeting with the sleeves of the red sweater, "i don't know. maybe, i suppose. don't you feel that way at all, satoru?"
he shook his head, resolute, "not even a little," but he saw your uncertainty, "listen, you'll be fine. you'll love tokyo. and hey," he nudged you gently with his knee, "i'll be right there with you anyway."
you appreciated that his confidence felt like a promise, something that you could at least hold onto, even in the big capital, and with a big, exaggerated sigh you tossed both sweaters into the suitcase.
"finally!"
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✉️ — 2003. 💬 — gojo.
the both of you had arrived, bright-eyed and tired, as he clambered off the tall bus that had parked on the outskirts of tokyo, where jujutsu high was located.
gojo stood beside you, hands stuffed in his denim pockets, plastering a disinterested expression on his face. but he couldn't help how his eyes flittered to the sid,e underneath the dark shades of his glasses, watching you fawn over another new student, another boy who had arrived from some small town, who-knows-where, from a non-sorcerer family.
geto suguru.
well it was no lie that gojo liked him a lot too. there was no denying that he seemed polite, clever, maybe a bit shy. and effortlessly cool.
gojo had grown up in the stifling, grand estates of the big clans, constantly fussed over, and robed in fine silks printed with his clan motifs. all of those stuffy rules would sit, push around and make space in one's head, like a constant mantra from the elders.
he didn't need to look at you too closely to see what was going on, and he could tell right away, just from how you reacted. your smile stretched wider, and your eyes lit up like you were meeting someone who you really wanted to talk to.
geto who hadn't even changed into his uniform yet, with his stray strands of dark hair falling out of the knot on the back of his head, looking politely aloof, but cheerful, in worn black jeans and converse, and some baggy band t-shirt that would get gojo scolded by his mother for even wearing that inside the estate.
gojo noticed everything, especially the way your fingers slipped up to tuck your hair behind your ear when geto grinned at you (all because you’d recognised the band on his t-shirt, so what?) he saw how your eyes brightened, like geto suguru had unlocked some hidden code only you could decipher.
it annoyed him to realise that geto's calm, quiet charm was exactly the kind of thing you’d be drawn to. that’s what you liked, wasn’t it? the understated, thoughtful types who let the world come to them. not the loudmouth who cracked jokes at every opportunity, hoping to pull a laugh from his best friend.
well, fuck, he had to be a part of this too now.
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✉️ — 2005. 💬 — both.
gojo's new obsession had a sleek, silver body and an olympus logo stamped on it in black, a camera that he'd been itching to buy; refusing to settle for anything less than the latest model. suddenly, he was determined to capture tokyo through his own eyes, and you and your friends had quickly become his reluctant muses on an impromptu day trip to the ameya-yokocho market.
"stop! stay right there, don't move! fuck, no! a little to the left!"
he waved his hands around, motioning for everyone to gather just as he wanted. you all exchanged amused glances, with shoko huffing around dramatically, as gojo crouched down on his long legs, then stood back up, and then crouched down again, as one of jujutsu high's most powerful sorcerers struggled to bring a camera into focus.
eventually, geto had laughed — raven hair falling over his beautiful face, and had gotten up to help gojo, fiddling with the lens as the rest of you milled around.
and then, suddenly gojo turned the camera directly on you. he pointed his finger your way, wide grin half-hidden but unmistakably earnest, 'c'mon, turn that frown upside down!'
he needn't have said a word, just seeing your best friend there, with his hair tousled and carefree grin, with the camera strap hanging off his neck, was enough to make you laugh, the kind that felt as bright as it sounded.
and so, you found yourself standing in the middle of the bustling market street, surrounded by friends and fellow students, and the lively hum of the weekend crowds, as you looked directly into the lens, with your smile softening under his gaze, as though the rest of the world had blurred into the background.
afterwards, gojo had taken a good look at the photo, and he didn't say much, but the look on his face lingered, almost like he was seeing something that he wasn't sure he was allowed to hold onto. you had shyly asked him later, coming up beside his shoulder, whether he had printed a spare copy of the photo, but he shook his head with the lie rolling off his tongue.
love was a selfish endeavour, to its core. he wasn’t about to tell you that he wanted to keep that photo for himself. and later, when no-one was looking, he slipped the small print into his wallet, right between his train pass and some spare change.
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✉️ — 2006. 💬 — you.
your best friend, your dear satoru, had always been resilient; the kind of guy who threw himself at life with reckless energy, shrugging off injuries like they were just a part of the ride. he'd laugh off a scraped knee or a bloodied lip, flashing that cocky grin and a shrug as if pain was something for other people.
life for you went on, with your own routines and small moments. you learnt long ago that you didn't quite possess the natural, raw sheer jujutsu power that gojo had (or geto for that matter) but you could certainly hold your own in a scuffle. regardless, you had chosen to turn to academics, flitting between classes and study sessions, arm in arm with sweet shoko.
there was joy in sneaking off campus with friends, or scrolling through lists of new albums to download onto your mp3 player (you had been partial to the south korean boyband, tvxq!).
and so, life seemed both incredibly mundane and slightly electric, with days marked by shy smiles and inside jokes, with walks home on the streets wet from the spring rain.
but it had been late summer when gojo had returned from that last mission, when the days were still long and hot and the afternoons were bathed in a thick, heavy amber. and he had come back...different.
he moved carefully, as though each step was suspicious and took more effort than he'd let on, and his usual bright glimmer was dimmed, his laughter quiet, and his smiles withheld like a rare currency. he'd sit through the long evenings with you, in silence more often than not, hands stuffed into his wide pockets as he stared at a place that you just couldn't reach.
when you'd catch him alone in the courtyard after class, he'd be training hard, working through his cursed techniques with a relentless focus, perfecting each hand gesture as if he could shake off whatever shadow lingered behind him. and sometimes, he'd stay for hours after school, practicing beneath the dying and dusty light of the last days of summer, as if he could not afford to stop, to rest.
“gojo?” you called, hesitating as he finished a strike to some poor unsuspecting pile of soda cans, leaving them obliterated in the heat. “what's going on with you?”
he paused mid-motion, glancing at you, his face carefully blank. and you hated that, you hated how the flicker of distress would pass from his face before being schooled into that carefully constructed mask of 'the strongest.'
i love you, idiot. i love you, i love you, tell me what's bothering you and i will help, you're my best friend.
but these words never saw the light of day, always curling up and choking up in your throat, and instead being twisted into feigned, casual interest. losing the cloak of deep devotion that you held for a friend of ten years.
"oh - hey! nothing," gojo replied, too quickly, with that half-cocked smile that painted over his pink lips, "nothing that deep."
lately, this repeated lie had been hanging in the air between you, clear as the last streaks of summer sunlight that would soon give way to fall.
you crossed your arms over your uniform, dark fabric crinkling, "you're not fooling anyone, you know. geto told me about the mission, he said that you —," you swallowed, with the words just as heavy as the steadfast beat of your heart that you kept under lock and key, "he said you shouldn't have come back. what does that even mean?"
gojo's face flickered again, just for a second, before he barked out that irritating, false chuckle, "guess it's a good thing you weren't sent on tengen's fuckin' mission then," before reaching out and snatching your strawberry milk carton from your hands with a grin.
after a few punctuated slurps and lip-smacking (just to watch your face redden in fury, gojo would admit) he spoke again, voice strained, "you'd probably be crying about it still."
"hey!" you protested, grabbing for the carton again, prying his slender fingers off your sweet treat, "i don't cry that easily."
"could've fooled me. you cried during that american movie about zoo animals."
"madagascar was a sad movie about displacement and the loss of home! i know animal rights activists hate to see your ass coming to the zoo."
gojo snickered, drawing out the words, "fuck that zebra," but now, he was looking off into the golden haze of a beautiful sunset, with that frayed grin, "seriously, though. it's fine, it's all in the past."
over time, gojo never spoke many a word about what happened to the star plasma vessel, but he just seemed to move forward, like he always had. his resolve somehow sharper, tighter, and his laughter more intense when it finally did return. there were moments when you'd catch him staring into the great expanse of nothing, haunted (but beautiful), though he'd just shrug and smile when you prodded him about.
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✉️ — 2007. 💬 — gojo.
gojo thought he was astoundingly self-aware, in his own humble opinion. he never let anything get to him, that was the trick, you see. to take life as it came at you, to carry that fire and stubbornness and throw it back in the face of the trouble.
and so he wanted to be angry, to be furious. why had suguru done this? why?
he had known that geto, one of his dearest friends (one who always been so sure of himself) had fallen into disquiet lately, and even gojo had prodded him on whether he had lost weight through sleepless nights. but suguru would have just turned his head back to his book, lost in thought, with his dark hair loose around his face.
had he been blind? how had suguru's silence been covered by what gojo (privately) considered his own loud, defiant return? no, he knew of ghosts. he knew that some spirits and spectres could not be shaken, and sometimes when gojo himself closed his eyes, he could feel the sharp sting of an assassin's blade ramming through his throat, leaving him for dead.
but to murder over a hundred innocent people...
you had found him alone that evening, where he had sprawled over the stairs as the sunset blazed, painting them aglow in dusky hues. but gojo could barely notice any of this beauty, and so he just stared, lost in his thoughts that wouldn't settle.
(are you the strongest because you're satoru gojo? or are you satoru gojo because you're the strongest?)
he didn't hear you approach, until you placed a gentle hand on his shoulders, causing him to flinch, surprised out of his sorrowful reverie.
the warmth of your touch steadied him, and he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, and he wondered how you could always seem to know exactly when he needed you most.
but the thought twisted, sharp and bitter, for what if you would follow suguru the same way? had you not often looked at geto with light in your eyes? and you had never looked at him like that.
what if, someday, you left him the same way? what if you turned around and saw someone else worth following? he couldn't help his fists from clenching, tension rippling down his shoulders and painfully gripping his head.
"suguru..." his voice came out quieter than he meant, with a crack that he couldn't quite hide, and he heard you sharply inhale, "i can't believe he's gone. i don't know if...if i'll ever see him again. why would he -?"
you still didn't say anything, just tightening your hand on his shoulder. and satoru hated it. hated that he wanted to lean into the weight of your touch, hated that this is what being the strongest now entailed. that now he was plagued by fear, of losing you, of watching you slip through his fingers into another's orbit.
i'm only seventeen. what happened to my youth?
the thoughts are acidic, cynical and they leave him angry (with the world, with the higher ups, with himself, with his parents) and he can't help himself from blurting out the next question.
"did you like him?"
gojo tries to keep his tone light and casual, but he loathes how he sounds pleading, heavier. he feels the embarrassment of vulnerability shroud him as you meet his eyes, and he hates how your eyes are teary too.
you shouldn't cry. ever.
"like? as in like?"
"as in love," gojo mutters, "shoko said you did."
you sniff, and now your head is leaning on his shoulder and he can inhale the scent of your shampoo (apples? caramel?) and despite the crick in his neck, he lowers his shoulder further down so you are more comfortable.
"shoko talks too much sometimes," you laugh weakly, "but probably. i think i did."
gojo tries to tamper down the acrid lurch in his stomach, but you continue, "i think i did love him. but so did shoko. so did nanami, and haibara back when, -" you sigh, "and so did you. we all loved him. he was our friend."
his fingers had been hovering close to your hand for a while, almost as if he couldn't help himself, the pull. finally, he slid his smallest finger to let it curl around yours, drawing out a memory from over a decade ago.
"tell you what, when i become my clan head, i'll make sure you get the nicest robes, how's that?" "promise?" "why not?"
how silly that the hardest things in life had once been a bored child, and his new friend who fretted about her future wardrobe.
and when you clasped in hand entirely in its return, gojo's breath caught, his throat tightening. the words that he wanted to say, to spill from his throat, hovered in his mind but there was no infinite word strong enough to bring them out.
he wasn't an idiot, he wasn't daft and unobservant, he knew exactly what he wanted to say to you, to tell you from his lips to yours. but the way his heart laid itself bare in that moment unsettled him deeply, not the yearning itself, but how fierce it was. it disgusted him, the rawness of his desire, exposed right there in the open, where anyone could see it, including you. especially you.
with a realisation that was long coming, beneath the golden wash of the setting sun, he sighed deeply. if he ever lost you, if you ever looked at him with the same betrayal that he'd seen in suguru's eyes, he didn't know if he could survive it. it would cut deeper than his infinity could bear.
he tried speaking again, "if you ever -" but he doesn't get the chance to speak before you're leaning further into him, a quiet sniffle punctuating the silence.
"i won't."
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✉️ — the next decade... 💬 — you.
"sweetheart, honey, my precious pumpkin pie."
you shot gojo a death glare, his attempt at flamboyant charm bouncing right off you, "i hate you. never speak to me again."
and your gaze dropped to what was left of your beautiful hermès scarf, once a beautiful concoction of cream-white silk, now reduced to tatters that fluttered pitifully in your hands, stained with some suspicious green goop.
you had cherished this pricey product, but gojo, in his infinite wisdom had decided to pick it up as a perfect blindfold right before a gnarly mission. and so, it got tangled with a nasty curse, and met its tragic, shredded end.
gojo raised his brows, feigning the innocence of a cherub, blinking his long lashes, "i'm sorry, i'll get you a new one, baby."
he drew out the pet name with exaggerated gusto that made you snarl, "enough with the pet names. you are a grown ass man."
and you gave him a first shove in the ribs that made the strongest sorcerer in the world stagger dramatically, only to catch himself with that easy grin still plastered on his face.
but before you could storm off and mourn whatever was left of your one-million yen possession, gojo darted in front of you, blocking your path with his ridiculously long arms. "come on, let me make it up to you, what if i had died on that mission?" he pleaded, looking at you with mock sincerity.
"i wouldn't have even come to the funeral," you sniffed, sticking your nose in the air, ignoring the fake choking sounds that came from the man as he clutched his chest.
months had turned into years, where you and gojo had grown up and graduated jujutsu tech together, carrying triumphs (you won valedictorian, out of a grand total of eight students), losses (gojo was a notoriously bad driver and almost crashed the car that the two of you were in) and countless moments in between.
the two of you had returned to your alma mater as teachers, and mentors, guiding younger sorcerers who were much like you'd once been; eager, impatient, and a little rough around the edges.
gojo took to teaching like he did most things, with his own reckless charm and devil-may-care attitude. he'd joke about skipping staff meetings, but he'd be there anyway, leaning back in his chair with his legs sprawled underneath him, mouthing snarky comments that only you could hear.
you'd like to think you'd grown more confident, no longer the uncertain teenager who used to glance at herself twice in the mirror. time had given you the chance to learn your strengths, and exorcising curses had left you all the more enduring.
gojo had noticed, though he'd never say it outright. he'd make some teasing comment about the way you would boss around a room, and you'd roll your eyes as you nudged him telling him that you had learnt from the biggest ego in tokyo. but sometimes, he'd watch you a little longer than he should, with that flicker in his gaze that he thought you hadn't noticed.
some things hadn't changed at all, and he still came back to you after every mission, every right. you'd hear him shuffling in from down the hall, his paper bags of desserts swinging as he tried to balance it along with his jacket, and whatever ridiculous trinket he'd picked up for you that week (you kept every single one).
and there the two of you would be, sitting cross-legged on your apartment floor, sharing sweets straight out of the boxes. he'd pass you a slice of cheesecake that he insisted that you simply must try, nudging your hand until your fingers enveloped his.
wouldn't it be a lie to claim that you didn't bask in the warmth of your best friend's gaze, even as he feigned interest in some story that he had overhead from the students on his way over from the school, with his low laughter filling the quiet around you.
sometimes, in the silence that would fall after the conversation ebbed, he’d reach over and trace circles absentmindedly on the back of your hand with his thumb, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. neither of you would move or speak. gojo would be looking anywhere but at you, yet his hand wouldn’t let go, tethering you to him in a way that made the apartment feel smaller — almost as if you’d already crossed some line neither of you dared to talk about.
what a pain to be haunted by someone who was already living and breathing right in front of you. sometimes, it left you nauseous, ill, and even screaming into your pillow after he left, and dialing shoko's number so she could give you an earful.
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✉️ — october, 2018 💬 — you.
your car idled at the curb, the sounds of the city filtering in through the barely open window, with the faint chill of the october night brushing against your skin.
gojo looked up from his phone, tapping his fingers on the screen, and there was a sober look on his face that made your stomach twist. you watched as he ran his head through his white hair, and sighed, his eyes still on the screen.
"apparently i was summoned by name," he said quietly, "to shibuya. whatever curtain's been set up is only allowing sorcerers through."
you kept one hand on the wheel, "ijichi reached out to me too, but he wants me covering the perimeter on the other side, away from the metro. but who would summon you by name?"
"i know. do you think it's...?"
"the traitor everyone's guessing about? who else?"
gojo scoffed a little, "fuckin' surprise," he muttered, casting you a glance that spoke volumes of protectiveness, one that made you lurch ever so slightly. his eyes met yours, an unspoken worry passing between you. you bit the inside of your lip to keep yourself from blurting out the words that lived in the forefront of your mind.
and so, gojo reached for the door handle, and you saw him hesitate as his fingers drummed against the door, before pulling his blindfold up, "well, stay safe, yeah?"
you swallowed, trying to find some false platitude to offer back, "hey, i will if you will."
he gave a short laugh that must have not fully reached his eyes, but it softened the rest of his beautiful face in that way that you loved, "y'know, we could have been going trick-or-treating. dressed like idiots, stuffing our face with candy."
"tweedledee and tweedledum?"
gojo snorted, "next year then."
you hummed, "i'll keep that idea then, tweedledumb."
the bow of his lips quirked, and he looked away again before pushing himself out of the car, stepping out onto the suddenly cold, quiet sidewalk (too quiet, where was everyone?)
he paused, turning back to you through the window, as he lifted his hand up in a small wave, and you could tell he wanted to say something else — but the moment passed, and he closed his mouth, smiling instead in that way of his that said everything without a single word. and he pushed his hands back into his pocket, strolling away as you sat there, suddenly ever so lonely in your silent car, as chills went down your spine.
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✉️ — october, 2018 💬 — you.
"gojo satoru has been sealed."
what the fuck?
the world has slowed down, every sound muffled as if you'd been submerged underwater. shibuya had left gojo sealed in the prison realm by...no. it couldn't be.
suguru geto was dead. dead, executed. had it not been almost a year? you had mourned, gojo had grieved. and yet, the impossible had clawed its way into reality, leaving you feeling like you were teetering on the edge of something dark and unknowable.
soon the shock twisted into dread, an icy grip that clenched tight around your chest, left the blood draining from your face. god, your hair must just turn as white as his from the stress alone. your best friend, the one who had been beside you in sickness and health.
it was cruel, you thought, to not even be allowed the time to fall apart, now now. there was little space for it in the chaos that had erupted the next day, when waves of curses crashed through the city like nothing you had ever seen. what fresh hell was this, you wondered as you nursed a nasty set of wounds, trailing after (tormented, sweet, far too young) itadori yuji, and his supposed older brother, some blood manipulation user that had done his fair share of damage throughout the night.
the culling games.
the brutality of it shocked you, and several times during the upcoming days, you had to blink back hot tears as sorcerers were summoned, drafted, and thrown into what was quickly a gladiator spectacle, some devilry concocted from geto's, no, kenjaku's mind. and the stakes were not just your own survival, but the students you had mentored — the young souls who had grown under your watch, and needed you now more than ever.
it quickly cost you an eye. a clash with a fierce, blood-thirsty wayward sorcerer had left you bloody and bruised with a clean gash that ran through your right eye, and you had screamed, taken a life even. only the baritone, dulcet tone of the yuji's half-curse brother (choso? a member of the kamo clan? since when did half-curses even exist?) had pulled you away from launching the contents of your stomach over the pavement, as you stared at the crimson dripping off your hands. were you supposed to be grateful that you had survived this, when so many others had not? yuji's tears had kept you awake in the night, his sobs when he thought that no-one could hear him.
gojo's absence had become a wound, raw, with a side of constant ache that you could feel with every waking heartbeat. and so you tried to fight hard with his voice echoing in your ears, remembering the half-smile he'd flash when you'd land a difficult hit, or the grateful look in his eyes knowing that his students were safe.
days blurred together, and nights bled into ceaseless combat, of the terror of being on the run, and still gojo was with you. the thought of finding him, the thought of him being unsealed from the prison realm almost had you blurting false, desparate promises to the sky that you would tell him exactly what you felt for him, bare your heart out in its entirety for him to hold in his hands.
like it had always been.
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✉️ — november, 2018 💬 — you.
it was surreal seeing him again, unsealed and standing there against the burnt umber of the sky, rough around the edges but undeniably gojo. nineteen days of living with the ache of his absence, of waking every morning with a hollow flower blooming in your chest, he was here — alive, breathing, real.
but god, it had been so beautiful to meet his blue gaze once more, and that fleeting smile cross his face before he rushed to pull you into his arms, closing the distance and pulling you into his arms with a new strength that almost lifted you off your feet. and if you closed your eye, you could pretend that nothing had happened, nothing at all. that it was just you pressed against the warm, beating heart in gojo's chest, unrestrained and fierce as thick arms pulled you close, filling your senses with smoke, and earth, and long-spilt blood.
"don't you look eye catching?"
you huffed and leaned away from him, slamming your fist on hard muscle in exasperation, but if you hadn't turned your gaze away, you would have seen gojo's eyes twitch as he took in your battle-worn appearance, the scar that ran underneath bandages where an eye would have once been. if you had paid more attention, you would have heard his intake of breath as he ran his tongue behind his teeth, with a vow, a promise.
"guess who's going to kick sukuna's ass so far back to the heian era," gojo murmured, and you let out a shaky laugh that echoes all the way down to the marrows of your bones.
"yeah, i thought you were just all talk."
"i'm still alive, aren't i?" he shot back, cocky and boyish once more, and your eyes traced over him, drinking in every small change, the sharper clench in his jaw, the tautness in his frame, the way his shoulders seemed broader, like he had been carved up in the prison realm anew. and it leaves you melancholic.
in another universe, the two of you were still young, hand in hand underneath the blue sky as the cool breeze ran through your hair. but battles had turned to war, and the night had no time for what ifs.
"hey, don't go worrying about me," gojo murmured, almost as though he had caught the shadow in your heart, and he plastered a grin on his face, stretching his toned arms in some show of nonchalance, but his gaze lingered on the ruins too long, on the mottled group of assembled sorcerers who seemed to brim with new-found confidence at his return.
and when he finally looked back at you with a new dullness in your eyes, a heaviness you hadn't seen in a long time. it left a dead weight in your chest, but you forced yourself to return his own bland smile, playing along with the front he was trying to maintain, "well, i guess i'll have to keep you out of trouble from now on."
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✉️ — november-december, 2018 💬 — you.
the month began to stretch and pass in a blur on the endless horizon, complete with the aching and unbearable waiting where you knew something was going to happen, and yet you did not know when and where. shoko had forgone her own exhausation to see to the rest of the wounds, the ones that had festered under bandages and grimes, leaving faint trails over your skin but she had shaken her head sadly when it came to the socket on your face, even she could not restore an eye.
gojo had swapped his suits and jackets for loose martial pants, and a tight black top that had clung to the muscular frame that he'd honed over the years, laughing off your concerns like they were nothing more than passing clouds.
"don't fret," he'd say, "how bad could this be? you know i told yuji once that even if sukuna was at his full power, i'd still wipe the floor with him. you believe me right?"
you weren't sure if his question was cocky, or a plea, and the fatigue had caused you to snap, "and now, yuji flinches when he hears loud sounds, and he's just another kid who can't fuckin' stop wringing his hands in blood! look what you've done to him!"
gojo's eyes had twitched afterwards, the corner of his mouth pulling down, but he hadn't gotten angry. and you hated it. you hated it all.
but you had wanted to believe in him, in his optimism. you wanted to let his smooth words settle into your bones like the warm comfort they should have been. but how could you feel at ease when everyone was now playing a role? each sorcerer in this building was feigning whatever mask or persona that they had painted and drawn across their face, just as you had. just as gojo did.
but nothing was the same anymore.
and neither were you.
the loss of your eye, the streaks of scars on your skin haunted you. it felt cowardly to say, but this was not the life you should have lived. you simply just didn't see yourself as strong enough, and your eyes watered thinking about the days when you dallied under a clear sky, skirts swaying along the grass as you trailed after your best friend, catching fireflies, exploring shrines, falling to the earth in child-like innocence.
the hollow space on your face, the empty socket served as a reminder of what you had survived, of the world that had fallen into pieces. was there anyone here who would recognise themselves in the mirror anymore?
some nights, the world felt impossibly still, and you would sit at the window and press your hands to the cold of the glass as you watched a scarred city sprawl ahead of you.
you didn't turn at the sound of footsteps at first, and you sat there, with your fingers still dancing on the edge of the window. you closed your eyes as you felt him approach, close, but not enough — you wished he would sit by you, press his soft head to your own, close enough for you to hold him in your hands, curl into his skin.
"satoru, can you make another promise?"
gojo's steps had paused, just a breath but it was enough to know that you had his attention. but when he spoke, "please tell me we're not doing theatrics right now," his voice was laced with that same dismissive edge that he always used when he was trying to push the truth far away.
"can't you shut up, just once? promise me you won't let sukuna kill you, i can't even imagine -" and how irritating, and how melancholic (fuck, this was like a bad soap opera) that your throat was already tightening, your voice wavering with tears that you had been holding back for weeks.
for a moment, gojo didn't respond, and he just stood there and you needn't have turned around to know that there was no trace of laughter nor joy on his face. no easy smirk to deflect the gravity of your well-founded fears. and the silence left you cold.
for the first time, you were suddenly hoping that he might say something blasé, to tell you to stop worrying, to brush it off and just reassure you. but he didn't, he was quiet.
and so you turned to face him, and you felt almost villainous for verbalising your future grief like this, to one who must already have carried such an eternal, heavy burden.
no longer did the blue of his eyes shine like a spring sky, with feather-like clouds that danced in his iris. now, there was only a fractured storm. and god, you loathed that for the first time in what must have been years, his own face was reddening, his eyes suddenly teary, clouds gathering torrential rain.
you knew he hated being seen like this. over a decade of holding him close to your heart had made you privy to his ways, to the way that he'd furiously rub at his face when upset, as if he could will the distress away and hide his tears.
gojo had outstretched his little finger towards you now, hooking it with your own, and your heart stuttered as he brought your finger to his lips, so quick that a ghost may have brushed your skin, with the seal of a promise.
"i will try. god, i swear, i...i promise, i will try." and you knew that gojo satoru was scared, terrified even of what december 24th would bring.
"i -"
you wanted to say it all, wanted to tell him everything. but the words stuck in your throat, love and want and need and ferocious, capricious grief all sat lodged within your beating heart that was so tightly bound in iron chains.
it was a shameful thing. you should have sat there, and comforted him instead. should have told him that it was alright, and you did not know a more powerful and capable sorcerer than he, that he'd leave sukuna in ashes. should have laid your hand on his brow to soothe the lines away from his pale, streaked face.
but you had always been selfish, held onto your heart like a being of folklore, guarded and self-assuming. you wept heart-aching tears, feeling them pool in your sleeves, and run hot salt trails over your lips. maybe it was a testament to how much gojo satoru loved you too, that he could not bear to see you in such grief, and he hesitated.
then he turned to leave you by the window.
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✉️ — december 24, 2018 💬 — you.
the turn of the year felt cold, far too chilly, even though the night was still young. the city lights twinkled in solitary clumps outside, but they were just as dim as the heavy weight in your chest. the walls seemed to close in as gojo prepared to leave, to face sukuna — the king of curses. and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was slipping through your fingers, something that you would never be able to grasp again, no matter how tightly you gripped.
everyone had wished him luck, calling your their bravest words of encouragement as he walked past them, their voices echoing through the hall, as they slapped him on the back.
they all cheered the same platitudes.
"go fuck sukuna up!"
"language!"
"sorry, choso."
"show him what you're made of!"
"prove that you're not just a pretty face, gojo!"
and so you had plastered the same smile on your face, hoping that it would reach your eyes as gojo winked at you, "hey, before you start telling me off, now it's your turn to promise me something."
you had cocked your head up at him, ignoring shoko's narrowed, tired eyes, "yeah?"
"mhm," satoru nodded, pulling his arms around you, "after this, after all this bullshit, we get to take a vacation."
a barked laugh escaped you, before it collapsed into a giggle, "you want paid leave? that's all it is?"
your best friend's large hands gripped you, flat against your back, "yeah, that's all there is. we're gonna go take a holiday, sit by the beach, watch the ocean. keep it simple."
"a picnic too, eh?"
gojo nodded, humming, "we'll plan everything. about time we got to take a break. i'll be back before you even know it."
you felt his voice hitch against your ear, and your heart twisted painfully in response, he wasn't saying it but you both knew the cold truth, there was a real chance that he may never come back. before your vision could blur, you pressed his lips to his cheek, letting them linger for a moment on smooth skin (and you felt his arms tighten around you) and hoped that whatever you hoped to say, whatever spine you lacked, could be expressed so swiftly.
"come back then, please. i'll be ready." you whispered between his skin and your lips, the tremble leaving no space for air in your lungs.
for a moment, he didn't answer, just held you, and you tried to focus on the feeling of his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. then, just as you were about to pull away, he spoke, the words falling from his mouth, so familiar and so effortless.
"of course i will. i always do."
there was a flicker of something raw there in his eyes, and you had seen it both before and after shibuya. his lips parted as if he were about to say something, but whatever it was, it never came. instead, he just nodded, a silent promise — unspoken, but felt deep in your bones.
without another word, he turned toward the door. and just before stepping out, he looked back one last time. that smile, that arrogant, confident smile that always made your heart race —i t was there, but it wasn’t the same. it was stretched thin, fragile. his blue eyes were tired, haunted, and for a moment, you saw the truth — the part of him he always kept hidden. the fear. the doubt.
"i'll be back," he repeated, but this time, it didn’t sound like a joke. it sounded like a prayer. a desperate, half-broken promise from the closest thing that the world had to a god.
you couldn’t speak. your heart was lodged in your throat, and the words that you needed to say just wouldn’t come. you wanted to tell him that you loved him, that you always had, that you were scared to lose him, that the world without him in it felt like a hollow echo of what it could be. but you couldn’t.
instead, you just nodded, your face a mask of emotions you couldn’t express.
and then, with one final look, a look that held everything neither of you had the courage to say — he stepped out into the cold, his footsteps fading into the distance.
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✉️ — december 24, 2018 💬 — you.
gojo satoru was dead.
dead. killed.
for a moment, you stood frozen in the doorway of shoko's office, numbness seeping into your bones with a furious grief as you stared at the cold, unmoving form that was once satoru.
fuck, there was bile in your throat as a once lively boy now lay in four pieces, cleanly sliced by sukuna's unforgiving technique, and the sight was a nightmare made so real, something that you just couldn't reconcile with the man who had once been so vibrantly alive.
the warmth that had always clung to him had vanished, leaving his skin pale in the grasp of rigor mortis, and his lips were still flecked with dried blood that had painted a stark contrast against his stiff skin.
and his eyes, those striking blue eyes that used to glint with love and hope and dreams, were now dull, and still open. you had not the heart to close them, for once your hand pulled his eyelids down, you would never see them again, never look into his eyes until it was your time to pass from the circles of the world.
the last thing you’d seen of him had been that cocky grin, that wink that seemed so unbreakable, that laugh that lingered even as he left your embrace. he’d held you, promised you that he would come back, but now, as you stood there, that promise felt like a cruel lie, something that should’ve warned you but instead gave you nothing but hope.
you choked on a breath, your hand coming up to your mouth as you felt the weight of your unspoken words sink down like lead. i should have told him. you’d wanted to say it all, to let him know how much he meant to you, to tell him that he was your everything. but the words had died in your throat, held back by fear, by the delusion that there’d always be another chance, that he’d always come back.
you’d believed him. you’d believed, with every part of yourself, that he’d make it out alive.
but here he was, torn apart, the last shreds of life stolen from him by the king of curses. you had seen him being cut down, like a sheaf of wheat under a god's sickle, how sudden and gut wrenching it had been, and for the second time in a month, you had been on the edge of hurling onto the stone. but this time, the half-curse beside you, choso, hadn't stopped you from losing the contents of your stomach, as instead he had pressed his younger brother's cries to his broad chest, the grief swallowing the entire room.
gojo hadn’t been given the chance to fight back, hadn’t even been able to draw a breath before he’d been torn apart. and that final thought — that he’d been caught off guard, helpless, alone in his last moments — left you feeling shattered, grief clawing at you with merciless hands.
your knees felt weak as you moved toward him, your trembling fingers reaching out to touch his face, cold and unyielding beneath your hand. you traced the lines of his face, memorising every detail, as if somehow, through touch alone, you could keep a piece of him with you. a tear slipped down your cheek, landing on his lips, lips that had once murmured promises, had brushed against your skin in fleeting, unspoken moments. the tear brought moisture once more to the blood that splattered his face, but quickly, it disappeared, drying and taking away any life.
"i should’ve told you,” you whispered, your voice broken, raw, laced with the pain of regret, "i don't know if you ever knew how much i loved you."
you closed your eyes, the silence thickening around you, pressing down until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. your mind replayed every smile, every laugh, every word he’d ever spoken to you, each memory twisting the knife of grief deeper into your chest. the emptiness of the room swallowed you whole, and all that was left was the aching, unbearable reality that he was gone — that the man who had been your best friend, your confidant, your everything, was nothing more than a memory now.
you stayed there, your hand resting on his cold cheek, as if the warmth of your touch could somehow reach him, bring him back. but he was gone, and with him, he’d taken the words you’d never been able to say, the love you’d never been able to give.
and as the silence closed in around you, suffocating and absolute, you knew that part of you had died with him.
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✉️ — not so long later. 💬 — you. it could only be you now, for you are the only one left.
the sun was beginning to set as you reached the shore, casting an amber glow over the ocean. the waves lapped quietly against the sand, as a gentle roll becoming a reminder that the world was still moving, even when the battles were done.
even though everything within you felt like it had come to a standstill. you clutched a folded piece of glossy card, and a box. two things that shoko said she found on him, things that she thought you should keep, she added quietly.
and so, you sat down on the sand, letting the evening wind sweep over you as you gazed out at the endless stretch of water. the ocean had always been something you had dreamed of seeing together, an endless horizon that was wild and untameable, just like gojo satoru had been. but he was gone, gone, and that promise would forever remain unkept.
you opened the folded glossy card, wincing as you tried not to press the faded creases further, brushing over the faded edges. it was dated to the fall of 2005, and you bit your lip as you saw your own image stare back at you. when the world had felt endless, and you had two wide eyes to see it with. there you were, that day in the market, laughing in the photo with your head thrown back sweetly, and you wetly laughed as you saw geto suguru's confused expression in the background, clearly exasperated with gojo's photography skills.
a choked sob escaped you as you traced your smile in the photo, so oblivious to what would come. you’d been so happy then, wrapped in a moment that had felt simple and whole. gojo had teased you relentlessly that day, snapping photos every chance he got, and you’d thought he was just being his usual, silly self. you’d never realised he’d kept this one one, never knew it meant enough for him to carry it all this time.
with a shaking hand, you opened the box, revealing the ring nestled inside. fuck.
it was beautiful, impossibly beautiful, as if he’d carefully chosen each detail with you in mind. the diamond glistened in the fading light, flecked with small blue stones that reminded you of his eyes, the eyes that used to light up every time he looked at you. this ring was supposed to be a promise, just as the ones you made when you locked little fingers — a promise he never got the chance to make, a life together that you’d both been too afraid to admit you wanted.
the first tear fell, splashing onto the sand below, followed by another, and then another, until you were trembling, the grief tearing out of you in waves, raw and unstoppable. you held the ring to your chest, clutching it as if somehow, by holding it close, you could feel him, hear his laughter, feel the warmth of his arms around you.
you could almost hear his voice on the wind, that playful edge mixed with tenderness as he called you by one of his ridiculous pet names. sweetheart, honey, my pumpkin pie, followed by your irritated huff telling him to drop those names.
but truly, here was nothing. just the sound of the waves, relentless and indifferent, echoing the hollow ache in your chest.
the what-ifs clawed at you, memories replaying over and over in your mind: moments when you’d almost reached for him, almost whispered the words, almost let your heart break free. but each time, you’d held back, too afraid to disrupt the delicate balance between you, too certain there’d be another day. but now, those moments were gone, scattered like dust in the wind, and the weight of those unsaid words felt unbearable.
you pressed the photograph to your lips, closing your eyes as if you could summon him back, if only for a moment. but when you opened your eyes, all that greeted you was the empty horizon, stretching out into nothingness.
"i love you,” you murmured, voice broken, barely more than a whisper. "i love you. i always loved you."
the words hung in the air, unheard, unanswered. it was too late, too late for confessions, too late for promises. the life you’d wanted with him, the life he’d carried in his pocket with a ring and a photograph, was gone, lost to the cruel twist of fate that had taken him from you.
you stayed there on the sand as the sky darkened, the weight of his absence pressing down on you like a storm. the wind whipped around you, cold and biting, and you shivered, clutching his ring, his memory, as if that alone could keep you grounded.
as night fell, the stars began to appear, dotting the sky with fragile points of light, distant and unreachable. and you sat there, letting the grief wash over you, lost in the silent, aching expanse of the ocean and the memories of a love that would remain forever unspoken, forever unfulfilled.
wasn't love the greatest curse of them all?
192 notes · View notes
dilatorywriting · 2 years ago
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Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song
Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.1k
Summary: What do you call a deaf pirate? Not 'Siren Food' apparently, which is really sort of hilarious when you've been kidnapped by a hungry Siren. Not for the Siren though—he's definitely not having a good time.
A/N: *rushes in at the 11th hour* Happy Mer-May!! I've been back and forth with clinical rotations and also working on some commission things and Leona's Part 4, but like, it's a fanfiction holiday. I couldn't miss out. And for one of my favorite tropes nonetheless. So here we are.
[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]
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There was a legend that floated throughout the Sage Island Seas of the Pirate With No Ears. Which was ridiculous—half because such a tall tale managing to survive so long and so wildly really showed just how pathetic the rest of the gossip around here was, and half because you still had ears. They just didn’t work very well was all.
Some said you’d been deafened by a prowling sea sorcerer who had tricked you into trading away your once keen sense for some mortal foible or other. Others whispered about how you’d been trapped in an ice cavern, surrounded by electric eels and sharks, and that the only way you’d been able to weasel your way out was by cutting off your own ears so that you’d have enough wiggle room to escape from your bindings. Which made absolutely zero sense at all.
In reality, all you’d done was stand far too close to a canon for far too long when you were far, far too little, and ever since all you could hear was the dull ringing of post-battle silence. Sometimes it was a bit sad. When the waves crashed against the shore, or when the gulls flew overhead—you were sure all those things sounded very lovely. You remembered music and laughter and sometimes they echoed in your head at a distance—a memory not quite forgotten but certainly fading at the edges. But other times, like now, where your fellow crewmates were bawling into their ales and wailing about lord knew what… well, it was always nice to find a silver lining in these sorts of things.
One of the tipsy lads tottering around the deck of The Rose Queen tripped and landed against the wood with something that looked like it’d be a very loud smack. Your brain helpfully filled the silence with some nonsense noises and park-play-style laughter instead. You watched Cater stumble by out of the corner of your eye. He patted your head and said something that twisted his mouth into a gaping ‘uuuuu-eeeee-oooo’ before he puttered away to leech off First Mate Clover instead. Ace threw a drunken arm around your shoulder and burbled something against your cheek that popped with the scent of stale booze, and you decided to pretend that you were as alone at sea as your muted senses would like to think.
The party raged on long into the evening and you stared down at the rabble contentedly from your perch in the crow’s nest. They were a good bunch—dullards though they may be. You’d heard (hardee har har) that they were planning to raid the Port o'Bliss, and something must have gone terribly right. You only really hung around to scrub barnacles off the paneling and keep an eye on the tides well enough that Deuce wouldn’t run the lot of you ashore, so you weren’t really sure how the whole ‘pirating’ business actually went about. But clearly they were doing a pretty good job of it.
You rested your chin on your crossed arms and sighed into the salty breeze. The night was warm and pleasant, and before you knew it, you were nodding off against the rough fabric of your sleeves. You weren’t quite sure how long you spent dozing there tangled in the ropes of mast, but it was long enough that by the time you snorted back awake the festive lights had dimmed to embers and most of the crew had sidled away below deck to either keep drinking themselves blind or collapse in a pool of their own colorful vomit.
There was a lone figure swerving towards the bow—precariously close to the railing for someone so clearly unsteady on their own legs, if you did say so yourself. You squinted suspiciously at his mused lavender hair, not entirely sure you recognized the head bobbing around below you. But perhaps The Rose Queen had picked up some fresh recruits at the Port, or maybe the crew had gotten a bit too booze happy with some dye. Purple Hair leaned up against the rails and tipped forward on his toes like he was thinking about diving in, or maybe barfing. Either or, you sighed and shimmied your way down to stop him from tumbling into a watery grave.
“Oi!” you called, the shout vibrating up and out of your throat, and the kid jumped half a foot in the air. “What do you think you’re doing? Get away from there. Riddle’ll have your head if we have to send out the rescue rafts this late at—”
The kid turned to face you with wide, wide, glowing eyes. Your own went round as dinner plates as you watched his too-dark pupils pulse like drumbeat. They were so bright, practically illuminating the whole of his delicate face, but there was no light to them. Matte and sleek like a shark’s eyes.
He shouted something at you so whip fast that you couldn’t even begin to make sense of, and then he was glancing nervously back and forth between the roiling waves at his back and the encroaching deckhand at his front—making all sorts of nonsense gestures that had you sighing behind gritted teeth.
“Look,” you said, interrupting whatever indiscernible gibberish he was spouting, “I don’t know who you think you are. But you’ve picked the wrong ship to try and—I don’t know—seize? Pirate? You can’t pirate a pirate ship! But either way, you—”
Then the kid opened his mouth like he was screaming, and you frowned again. There was strange prickle along your arms that had goosebumps crawling up your skin and the hair raising at the back of your neck, but you shook it off and moved forward with another weary sigh. You pulled a length of rope from the belt slung around your hips and held the limp bundle of salt-soaked mesh up like a threat.
“I will throw you overboard. And hogtie you first,” you promised cheerily. “So you actually sink.”
Purple Hair just looked like he was trying to scream louder, and you were sourly tempted to stick your fucking tongue out at him and make petulant ‘nyeh nyeh nice try’ noises at him, but then there was a heaviness behind you. A creak in the wood that you could feel if not hear. You rolled out of habit—tumbling across the deck just in time to avoid a nasty swipe along your back. And oh no. The thing crawling up over the railing was worse than any lavender would-be ship thief. The black tipped claws and flared fins were telling enough, but the sharp-toothed grin was somehow more so. It tilted its unnaturally lovely head at you and spoke politely—clearly and very, painfully, slowly.
“What’s—this—perhaps—” you were able to vaguely make out. Maybe. The dark and your panic were both a terrible hindrance to putting shapes to sound. His lips curled into something wicked before parting far more smoothly than the younger man’s had. Singing. It was singing, not screaming. Hauntingly green eyes glowed bright and you felt the tunk tunk tunk beneath your feet of the rest of the crew starting to move around beneath you. Around you.
Then there were more of them—crawling up over the railings, trilling into the night air. All far too lovely and far too sharp to be anything but predators. The moonlight illuminated their fangs and scales in a ghostly white glow. There were shivers running along your spine, but otherwise nothing but silence echoed through your head. Small mercies. You watched several of your fellow crewmates rush out of the cabins only to double over with their hands clasped over their ears. Others stuttered and tumbled forward towards the railings as if they were being dragged along like puppets on a string. You cursed and ducked between them—looping your rope around their legs as you went and tugging them to their knees like a line of falling dominoes.
You let your hapless comrades collapse to the deck and curled the last throws of rope around your fists. You were decent enough with a knife when it came to dueling an unmoving, completely unaware foe—like a barnacle or some rusted over door hinges. But real people? Sirens?Fucking literal blade-tipped-merfolk straight out of every sailor’s nightmare? No thank you. So the teeny blade stayed sheathed at your hip and you dove into the fray to find something rope-wrangle-able.
At the other end of the bow, you watched Purple Boy straighten from a crouch. There were new, silvery blue scales crawling up his neck and forearms. He was still tottering around on legs that he clearly wasn’t all too used to, and you watched as the little guppy started to make a furious beeline for Captain Rosehearts. Which—no. Absolutely not. You were never one of those pirates who was like ‘oh, Captain, my Captain~’ but Riddle was good. He was tough, and taciturn, and could throw a tantrum that could bring down an entire harbor. But he’d written out all of his ridiculous six hundred rules by hand so that you could have them. And the teeny furrow in his brow as he staunchly taught himself hand sign after hand sign so that he could yell at you in earnest was so endearing that you’d protect that little firecracker for as long as you breathed.
So you went after Lavender Head, and then of course Lavender Head turned and tried to shout at you all over again. When that continued to not work at all, the Siren began to backpedal in earnest. He turned his head and squawked at whoever was around to listen, but in the chaos of the attack there didn’t seem to be many of his pod free to lend him a hand.
You descended on the little snake, rope at the ready and perfectly happy to make sushi out of the fucker, when something big overshadowed the both of you. Another Siren crested over the side of the ship, larger and clearly more impressive than the rest of its kin. Which matched your stupidly terrible luck just fine. Ah, yes, Mister Big Bad. Please. Go for the deckhand rather than the literal trained mercenaries less than ten feet away. Brilliant. The Siren bared its fangs like some great, terrible, beast and tore into the paneling with its curved claws as it attempted to drag you down to your watery grave. You cursed, and kicked, and yelped in a panic when the thing managed to get one of those cold, pale hands around your ankle.
Despite the fact that all of it surely happened in less than a few seconds, your descent seemed to progress in steps. First, the Siren tugged you over the side. Second, you smartly flipped the loops of your rope up to try and lasso yourself a handhold. Thirdly, you outright missed the ship and instead tangled the spools of thin rope all around your Murderer To Be. Said Murderer’s eyes widened in shock as your unintentional trap wrapped the both of you up like a mess of bugs in a spider web. And finally, the pair of you crashed towards the churning ocean in a knotted-up heap and slowly sank beneath the waves.
.
.
You rubbed the grit and salt from your eyes and sat up with a groan. Where were you? Not too far out at sea, hopefully. Washing up ashore had been nothing short of a miracle, and you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth if it meant you got to avoid becoming chum for another day. The sand beneath your fingers was soft and white, and it slipped beneath your palm like water. You moved to push yourself to your feet and froze—a blur of amethyst swiping out and knocking you back onto your ass with a splash.
You spluttered and spat, and had just barely managed to flip yourself over like a turtle who’d been upended on its back when you caught sight of the absolute last creature in the world that you’d ever wanted to see again.
The big Siren had washed up nearby.
Because of course it had.
The creature narrowed his eyes at you and immediately set about lashing his rope-twisted tail against the sand like a rattlesnake. He bared his pointed teeth in a hiss and you were dowsed in a barrage of saltwater ammunition.
“Stop! Stop!” you begged, spitting out wayward chunks of seaweed, and shells, and gods knew what else. “I get it! I won’t come near you, jeesh! I wasn’t planning on it to begin with!”
The Siren curled his lips unpleasantly, putting that wonderful row of dagger-like pearly whites on display. He spat something completely indiscernible—the line of his mouth so harsh and flat that you couldn’t have even begun to pick up the shape of things if you tried—and you scooted as far back as you could without toppling yourself over again.
He dug his clawed hands into the sand and said something else, just as clipped and tight. You assumed it was an accusation. You were very used to recognizing the glare that accompanied those. When you didn’t respond, his brow tugged down low and he snapped something else—this time jabbing those pointed, black, nails in your direction. Ah, so definitely a complaint then.
You cocked your head at him out of habit and that griping turned into a snarl so ferocious that you could feel it racing up your skin like static. Which was definitely pretty trippy.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you told him honestly. Which just made the spiked fins flatten all along the side of his head and another wave of those zippy sneers dance up your arms. “Literally,” you tried. “I—”
The Siren opened his mouth and that sparky static from earlier amplified into something near painful. It was strong, and prickly, and left the imprints of invisible shackles all along your already aching joints. You could feel his voice carrying on the breeze—brushing against your cheeks and playing with hair. Thin, icy, fingers digging their way into your brain and yanking. But there was something missing from all that ethereal hypnotism. Something pleasant and sweet to complete the circle of temptation. A voice, you’d guess. There had to be a call after all, or else it hardly mattered how deep and all encompassing the need was to answer.  
When you didn’t immediately, like, fall to your knees in subjugation or drown yourself in the inch and a half of tepid water pooling at your hips, the Siren’s eyes dimmed with something that almost looked like hesitance. His brow pinched tight and he parted his red lips wider. A seagull dropped from the sky. Three different crabs crawled out of the sand to bow down.
“I can’t hear you!” you tried again, loud enough to have your teeth aching. His mouth went wider, and an entire ass tuna beached itself to flop pathetically near your ankles. “It’s not a challenge!” you wailed. “My ears literally, actually, do not work, you fucking overgrown anchovy!”
The static disappeared all at once, and the Siren’s lips slipped into a small, surprised sort of ‘o.’ He blinked his too-long lashes at you and stared you down like you were some sort of escaped alchemical experiment.
“There,” you huffed. “Finally.” And then went quiet and a bit concerned. Because apparent Song Immunity or otherwise, the thing was still hugely impressive and scary looking. His claws definitely wouldn’t have any problem picking the leftover bits of you out of his teeth, and you knew well enough that if he dragged you into the depths with that powerful tail of his, there would be no resurfacing.
The Siren too was using this time to glare at you like you were somehow a threat to be taken seriously. Which was half flattering, half pretty funny.
“Well…” you said after a long moment. “I should get going, I suppose.”
You made your way to your feet in the mucky sandbar and started heading off to see where you’d been stranded. You could feel the Siren’s heavy gaze on you the whole while, and decided he was probably trying to figure out if you’d taste better paired with seaweed or a nice jellyfish spread.
.
.
The pair of you had been stranded on a small, crescent, islet that couldn’t even rightly call itself an island. You were able to walk from its curling east to west coasts in just under fifteen minutes, and that was at a meandering pace where you stopped to peer into all kinds of little grottos and rocky formations. There was some vegetation at the heart of it—short palm trees and tufts of grassy knolls—and thankfully a few deep divots that had collected some still rainwater, but otherwise it was entirely boring and stupid. Not even any weird tortoises or anything meandering about to make friends with.
By the time you circled back around to your original stranding point, you had fully expected the Siren to have flipped you the metaphorical bird and fucked off back into the ocean, never to be seen again. Instead, he was still stretched out in the shallows of the bay, carefully fanning his long tail out in the seafoam and picking through the mess of it with his pointy claws.
He reminded you of a beta fish—with wide, flowing, fins that looked far more like silk than skin or scales. The tips were a deep, plum purple that gently faded from near black to violet and finally a vivid sort of lilac at their junction. The bulk of his tail looked like it could be made from literal gemstones with the way it shimmered in the morning light (gems that had perhaps been a bit dinged and/or literally torn out in chunks from where he may or may not have been smashed into the rocky shore curtesy of your terrible hogtie, but who’s to say).
There were jagged cuts lining the right half of his pale torso. They oozed a strange sort of silver ichor that was probably some kind of mystical merman blood, but you absolutely refused to get close enough to try and find out. The fins framing his pelvis were tangled and thin looking, and the sweeping ones that trailed all the way down to the tip of his tail were battered and torn. Clearly pulled to bits by your handy, dandy lasso skills. Which… was still tied up at the base of them. Huh. You’d assumed he’d be able to slice through all that knotwork without issue. But maybe…
You approached the Siren cautiously. You caught the exact moment he must have realized you’d returned because the fins along the sides of his head flattened like the ears on a pissy cat and he turned on you with a very dramatic snarl that probably sounded all sorts of menacing.
“Hello,” you greeted, and the merman spat something that you assumed was probably a very polite ‘fuck right off.’
You nodded because, well, fair enough. And then pointed to his injured fins and the waterlogged ropes still twisted up around the heart of them.
“I can get that off if you promise not to eat me.”
He shouted something no doubt very indignant and then was back to hissing at you. Which definitely didn’t sound like an agreement not to immediately murder you on the spot.
“Alright,” you shrugged. “Your loss, I suppose.”
Well, your loss, really. Keeping a wounded Siren around was just asking for trouble. Their pods were viciously protective for one thing, and that wasn’t even taking into account the poachers and rivals who’d be more than keen to come sniffing after the fresh trail of blood in the water. Maybe you could find a big stick or something and just, I don’t know, push him back into the ocean and be done with it.
The thought must have shown on your face, because suddenly he was smacking his tail against the sandbar and spitting something that you very much assumed was a demand along the lines of ‘you are going to take accountability for this.’
Which absolutely no way in Hell. He’d kidnapped you sort of, so that made you his problem, thank you very much.
You felt your stomach gurgle, and it must have been pretty loud going off the stink eye he sent your way. You turned your nose up at him and went about collecting the various critters that had been washed ashore in his tenor’s tantrum.
“Thanks for the food!” you chirped petulantly as you worked on scaling the tuna with the knife from your belt—making long, pointed, eye contact as you did so.
The Siren sneered at you and went back to grooming the shredded ends of his fins.
The rest of the afternoon became a sort of pissing contest between the two of you to see who could earn the title of Bitchiest Beach Bitch. You thought you were definitely winning with the whole ‘eating something that could have been his long-lost cousin’ thing, but then he went and swamped the entirety of the small fire you built (and all of said ‘cousin’ being cooked over it) with one sweep of his tail, so now you were at the very least tied. You set up a nice little shaded hutch out of driftwood and ferns to escape the sun, he called down seagulls to shit all over it and pick it to pieces. He tried to roll around to reach some of the tighter fibers tangled in his pectoral fins, and you chucked rocks at him until he reared on you with a scream that had all the hairs on your arms standing on end. Y’know. Perfectly mature things like that.
That night you curled up beside a tall, jagged rock just at the outskirt of the bay—determined to get some shut eye but to also keep within range of your newest pest in case he decided to try and pull something sneaky. But every time you’d just about settled in to sleep, the shallow tide would lap against your toes in harsh shush shush shushes that had you furrowing you brow until you finally had enough and sat up to see what all the hubbub was about.
The Siren was tossing around in the shallows like a fish in a net—throwing his long body against the bindings and flailing like his life depended on it. And as much as he’d definitely deserved to get caught up in your unintentional hogtie, watching something as large and no doubt powerful as he was wriggling around like a worm on a hook was… Well. Something soured a bit in your gut as you watched him give one, final, great buck against his bindings before collapsing back into the shallows in a circle of seafoam. He panted against the surface of the water, the tips of his pale hair dripping down in a curtain around his haggard face, and you could see a fine tremor running along his shoulder blades.
You turned back to your rock and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes, fighting the absolute batshit insane urge to feel bad for a monster who had literally tried to drag you to your death less than twenty-four hours ago.
The water was calm and still for the rest of the night.
.
.
The next morning, you picked up a few of the crabs who had crawled up to shore and went about getting them clean and fit for eating. You glanced at the Siren, who was busy preening over his janky fins and fussing over his hair. It was entirely unfair that you probably looked like a half-drowned rat, and yet this creature that wasn’t even meant to exist on the surface was somehow managing to put himself together well enough to rival the courtesans you’d seen meandering around some of the wealthier coastal towns.
You stared at the crabs. There were three of them. It wasn’t really sharing if it was meant to be a bribe to keep him from eating you whole. Or at least, that’s what you reassured yourself as you cautiously tiptoed back to the water’s edge.
The Siren swiveled on you with a snap of something that looked sort of like a ‘What?!’ and you held up one of the gutted crabs in offering.
“I don’t know if you all eat fish or whatever, but…” You waved the limp crab awkwardly.
The Siren rolled its purple eyes and said something fast and sharp that you couldn’t really parse. Something, something, not, something, something, are crust—Something, something, are you that stupid? (you recognized the impressions of those words well enough to mouth them even in your sleep).
“Look, do you want it or not?” you interrupted, and he bristled—all those delicate, violet, fins flaring up like a porcupine’s spikes.
The Siren crossed his arms stiffly and pointedly turned in the other direction with a mutter of something you had no hopes of catching.
“Whatever,” you snapped and went to bite into your meal. Only to immediately forget that these pointy little fuckers still had their shells on them. You reeled back with a yelp as you stabbed a million, tiny, carapace-shaped holes in your tongue.
The fucking Siren had the gall to turn back around so that you could see him laughing at you.
.
.
That night he was back to flipping around in the shallows like a miniature hurricane.
You counted out the waves sloshing against your heels, telling yourself you’d intervene in his self-destructive tsunami once it hit one hundred. And then it became two, then three. You shifted hesitantly to peek over the rock’s edge and watched him curl into himself like some terribly wounded creature before shaking himself out of the fog of pain that had clearly settling over his nerves, and then continued with his nonsense.
You hurled a big, pink seashell at his head and he whipped on you like a rabid dog, practically foaming at the mouth and raring for a fight. When he lunged forward with the waves—seething with hatred, and blame, and nearly crashing onto his already shredded front in the process, something angry in your snapped.
“Look, fish face! You were the one who attacked me! You!” you demanded, stomping perhaps a bit closer than would be rational. “So stop acting like I’m some scheming shithead who was planning to trap you like this from the start!”
The Siren roared something back and slapped his tail in the surf. Static zipped along your cheeks and you grit your teeth. He glared at you bitterly and then began to repeat one word over and over—slow and angry.
‘Eeeeehhh-Pppe-llllll’ said his lips. Strong and harsh with the shape of it.
And then he was back to spewing all kinds of rapid-fire vitriol that you wouldn’t have bothered to keep track of even if you could. Something in his expression shifted almost quicker than you could notice and he lifted his massive tail out of the water. He smacked the fins in your direction and pointedly jabbed a clawed finger at the creases of them—where delicate, silky, tendrils met strong, gem toned, muscle. Where the purple was light and clean. A pale, shiny, lavender. Almost just like—
“That kid?” you frowned. “You attacked me because of Purple Head?!”
He sneered again and pointedly sent a splash of seawater into your face.
“You—” you grit your teeth. “He was still attacking us first! He was going after my friend!” you snapped, kicking your own wave back. For all the good it would do. “You don’t get to act all noble and protective, and like any of that makes any difference when you all were going to eat us!”
The Siren’s face twisted up like you’d force fed him soured milk, and he looped back around with a dramatic fwoosh of water to dive into the shallows. It was maybe two or three feet deep at best, and he was barely submerged. Not to mention how utterly ridiculous it looked to see a creature that was no doubt usually the peak of grace and athleticism reduced to flopping belly first into the waves with his proverbial legs tied up behind him. But you recognized a door slamming in your face when you saw it, no matter the species. Fine. Let him be a petty bastard. He could rot away in the sandbar for all you cared.
.
.
The next day you woke up with goosebumps crawling up and down your limbs.
There were all sorts of gulls crash-landed in the sand around you and more sad, little, sea creatures gasping on the beach than you dared to count. You shoved a particularly chubby octopus back into a tidepool as you passed and wondered just what sort of nonsense your co-strandee was getting up to now.
The Siren was circling the bay with his head held high above the low waves—lips parted and clearly caterwauling like a dying porpoise. The surface of the water trembled with whatever was making its way out of his mouth, and he looped and looped around the shores. It reminded you of the time you’d seen a whale calf separated from its pod. It had gotten trapped in a shallow inlet when the tides had changed, and your ship had been anchored just off the same coast. You’d watched it circle and circle, lifting its heavy snout to snort sharp jets of water into the air. Deuce had passed you a scribbled note when you’d asked him what it sounded like.
‘It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’
There was a moment where the Siren paused in his paces and tilted his head. The fins there flared out to the side, like he was listening for something. But after a long moment the spines drooped back against his damp hair and he went back to his singing an aria to no one.
‘It’s looking for its family,‘ Riddle had signed to you when you’d asked him why the calf didn’t simply leave once the tides had turned in its favor. ‘This is where they last saw it, so this is where it will stay.’
“Maybe they forgot about him already,” you mused petulantly, turning back towards the center of the islet to try and scavenge up something to eat from all the poor creatures who had collapsed beneath your nemesis’s wailing.  
The bitter thought wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it ought to be.
.
.
That night, the waters were still.
You squinted suspiciously at the merman curled in the shallows of the bay. He’d pulled himself half-out of the water, resting his more human looking bulk in the soft sand as gentle waves lapped at his tail. He slept on his front with his arms crossed beneath his pointed chin—his unbound fins sticking up behind him in a way that deliriously reminded you of bedhead. You watched him carefully for nearly an hour, searching for any tightness in his muscles or change in his breathing that might indicate he was faking it. But as the evening stretched on and he never lurched awake to try and gauge your eyes out, you assumed he might actually be properly resting.
He'd been swimming in circles all day—the aborted, stuttering, beats of his bound tail looking painful even by your non-tail-having standards. Eventually the tremors along the ocean had grown stuttered and strange, like perhaps his voice was giving out on him. And once that had happened, he’d curled up exactly where he was now. And hadn’t moved since.
You stared at the Siren hesitantly. He was certainly in enough of a state that you could probably pull off that whole ‘shoving him into the depths with a stick’ thing. He’d probably just let you do it—sink to the bottom in a mess of shredded fins and tangled twine and never rise again.
You gnawed at your lip, feeling something unpleasantly hot and sticky twist up your stomach.
The knife glinted between your fingers and you thought of crying whales and of the crew that you already missed so much that it felt like a gnawing chasm had opened in your chest.
You huffed out a miserable sigh and lamented for not the first time in your life that you really were just so fucking stupid sometimes. And then you were cautiously making your way down towards the waterline and the sleeping Siren sprawled out in the sand. Slowly—so very, very slowly—you tiptoed towards the mer and tried to get a quick glance at what amounted to the worst of the damage.
The rope had been thin and long, and the more he’d struggled, the more he’d dug the twine into his fins. You reached forward at half speed and slipped the blade into one of the too-tight creases beneath the bindings. You winced a bit in sympathy at the raw, pink skin beneath. No wonder he hadn’t been able to just rip the fibers away. He’d probably just ended up tugging them over and over against the oozing wounds beneath.
The first strand broke beneath your fingers with something that almost felt like a pop. Like seams ripping on a shirt. You glanced quickly at the sleeping Siren to confirm he was still lost to the world and not gearing up to bite your fingers off at the knuckle, and then continued making your way through the worst of it. It reminded you a bit of the time Ace had accidentally snared a sea turtle in one of his fishing nets and the lot of you had spent the better part of an hour slowly working the thing free of the seemingly endless tangles. You delicately worked the tightest edges away from the harsh indentations they’d left against his scales and peeled back the muckier bits with enough gentleness to avoid mangling anymore of his already battered fins.
The last of the rope finally came away with a satisfying, wet weight and you let it fall to the sand beside you with a pleased nod. Now you could let Mister Merman swim away in the morning with no unpleasantly gross sense of moral obligation weighing down your consciousness. Maybe he’d even be thankful enough to look at you with something other than a venomous glare for once. Certainly nothing like the one leveled at you right now. And—
Oh.
You didn’t even have time to properly gasp before you were being flipped and pinned into the wet sand. The Siren loomed over you, digging his black claws into your shoulder until you could feel the first pricks of blood breaking the surface. He snarled in your face, the curtain of his pale blonde hair shadowing his eyes in something so dark it was nearly black. The brilliant purple cast off his glowing irises were like little spots of stars in an otherwise empty night sky.
He leaned forward, teeth bared, and then some sort of tight expression flickered over his face. He paused, brow tugging together steep and angry. He hunched down once more, fangs at the ready, and then ducked back out. He shook his head, like he was trying to clear fog from his brain, and then he was snapping his canines at you all over again.
The Siren reared back with a booming snarl that sent ripples through the soft tide lapping at your ankles. He turned with one, final, icy glower and dove back into the shallows, disappearing beneath the surface in a flash of amethyst scales. He flicked his tail sharply as he went, and one of the tattered fins snapped against your nose with enough of a crack to make you yelp.
You sat up in disbelief, rubbing at your aching skin and watching in outright consternation as the great predator of the oceans swam tight laps beneath the warm waters of your little lagoon—fins occasionally cresting over the surface to smack pointed fistfuls of water into your gaping face.
Deliriously, one of The Rose Queen’s hundreds of nonsensical rules bounced about your head. Happy to fill the otherwise entirely empty space behind your eyes.
‘Never save a Sea Serpent on a Sunday,’ Riddle had demanded, hands at his hips. ‘No Serpents, or Sea Horses, or Sirens to speak of.’
‘Man,’ you thought wildly, brain high on adrenaline and static as you watched one of the aforementioned Sirens swan about like he hadn’t probably just been a half second away from gnawing on your literal bones. ‘If I get out of this alive, Captain’s definitely gonna collar me this time.’
.
.
.
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stormandforge · 7 months ago
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And just like that, Forge has a name.
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I almost choked when I heard it. I use captions, so I could see I hadn't imagined it, and I was in absolute shock. I repeated "DANIEL?" in disbelief about 10 times, my hand on my mouth and my eyes wide. I looked at my husband to confirm I wasn't going insane. Then I stared into space for the rest of the episode.
X-Men '97 using Forge's real name was the last thing I expected. And the way they did it, too, so casually, in conversation. I'D BEEN WAITING FOR THIS FOR 30 YEARS.
You might think it's a small thing, but before X-Men '97 episode 10, so before yesterday, Forge didn't have a real name. He was introduced in 1984. Let that sink in: that's 40 years without a single Marvel writer bothering to give him a name.
The fans, myself included, came up with headcanon to justify the decision and sometimes made up names for him in fanfic (Jonathan Silvercloud being the most famous one - no it's not an alt reality name, it comes from fic), but no Marvel writer took the time to explain or rectify.
This was frankly insulting of them, especially when you consider Forge's constant presence in the comics, and the ridiculous number of names some other characters have. Also, and perhaps most importantly, Chris Claremont had already planned a name for him:
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All Marvel needed to do was use this name to make it canon. Or perhaps ask Claremont if they could use it. (And if they didn't want to speak to Claremont, they could still just...make up another name. You know, that thing writers do all the time.) But no, even after the name was announced on Twitter, it still was never used, on panel or elsewhere.
Enter a simple piece of dialogue in X-Men '97, and boom, Forge has a name. It wasn't that difficult, was it? Such a small move, but it shook me like a bomb. It's a historic moment for the character, and for the people who love him as much as I do. It's like he was finally given an identity, and with it the basic dignity he deserves.
I had imagined all sorts of scenarios in which his name would be revealed - all quite dramatic or emotional. But I guess the best way to retcon something that doesn't make sense is to pretend it never happened. So revealing his long-withheld name in conversation, natural like, is absolutely perfect. I love that Forge doesn't even react, because, you know, it's just his name, no big deal.
(I'm a bit sad that Ororo wasn't the first one to call him by his first name, but hey, you can't have it all.)
As far as I'm concerned, the name is canon now. '97 isn't the comics, but it's still Marvel, and that's good enough for me. I've waited long enough. And if the first name Claremont wrote is canon, then so is the last.
Which means: Forge has a full name. *SQUEEEEEEE*
I don't know who made the decision to use Forge's name or why, but I want to thank them. They righted a major wrong.
Now catch up, Marvel Comics. Everyone deserves a name. Even the monkey wrench repairman with non-flashy powers.
Everyone, meet Daniel Lone Eagle.
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disneyprincemuke · 1 year ago
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the great war * mv1
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a look into the fight that led to the painstaking breakup
pairings: max verstappen x reader
warnings: a lot of cursing, toxic max, toxic you, mentions of cheating
notes: this is part of midnights!! i've had this fight mapped out in my head for so long that i KNEW i had to include it... take a shot every single time i write “three” or use “what” in dialogue (spoiler alert: you’ll get wasted!!!)
fun fact: i wrote the first half of that night i came home from the club
(series masterlist)
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you twirl a piece of your hair on your finger, eyes stuck to the screen hanging above you. the headphones sit on your ears comfortably as you bite down on your lip.
in front of you is max’s car being dragged back into the garage by his engineers.
knocked out in p2 for the first time this season, on a track he’s never had much luck with in his career — you can kind of understand why he’d be annoyed. especially when their partner team has made it further than him.
normally, it would have been okay. but this is max’s season as he claims it.
you nod to yourself, and gently take off the headphones. you turn towards the door that leads to the paddocks. there are a few interview panels that max has to go through with the unexpected result.
with all that transpired, max wouldn’t be in the best mood. you’re just trying to make sure that it doesn’t get to his head and doesn’t project it to your conversations later.
your presence in the garage is no longer necessary since max would not bother passing by.
you’re stopped by lily in the paddocks, making some small talk about the restaurant her and alex tried when they arrived a few days ago. you share a laugh about not really knowing how to approach singaporean dishes.
but you agree to try out some local food for breakfast with max if you have the time. immediately, you briskly walk back to max’s driver’s room to make him some coffee.
the jetlag you both get arriving in singapore is never easy, no matter how many times you come back. the visit is always too short to make adjusting your body clock easy.
surprisingly, it doesn’t take him long to make it back.
you can’t decipher what made the process so quick: did he kimi raikkonen his way through it, or have the journalists finally learned their lesson when max has had a bad time on the track?
the frustration on max is obvious. he doesn’t greet you when he comes in, just locks the door behind him and makes a sharp turn for the table to his left.
you were seated on the couch to the right.
you wait to see if max would acknowledge your presence, or at least give some attention to the coffee in the mug on the table. but seconds pass as max organises his items, shoving articles of clothing and fan gifts into his bag without a word.
without even turning to drink the coffee that slowly cools from its hot temperatures.
“i made you coffee,” you mutter, finally standing from your comfortable spot on the couch. you walk towards him and stop in the centre of the room when he sharply turns his head to the mug. “just how you like it.”
“oh, thank you.” he can barely make out a firm sentence, his tone faltering and hands shaking as he reaches out for the mug. “i hadn’t noticed, darling. i’m sorry.”
you nod, whispering a reassuring phrase. something about you understand how he feels. “i’m sorry about qualifying.”
instead of a verbal response, like you’d prefer, he simply shrugs. he turns around to finally face you, hands carefully gripping the hot mug as he blows into it.
you smile slightly and shove your hands into your back pockets. “you know, if you’ve got nothing past 11, i was thinking we go to this place lily told me about. she went with alex a few days ago; i heard the local dishes they serve is really good.”
he shakes his head. “i’m really tired. not tonight, darling, i’m sorry.”
for the first time since he left his race car that night, he finally lifts his blue eyes from his blank stare at the ground to look at you. “maybe we can go on monday before we fly off to japan?”
you jaw hangs low, nodding slowly as you retract back to the couch behind you.
max notes this and finally pushes himself off the table he’s leaning on. “let’s order some food to the hotel after this? they’ve got good options for delivery.”
“sure,” you nod slowly.
you move your gaze away from him, now mimicking the blank stare he had on the ground.
you haven’t been seeing eye to eye lately, even having fought right before flying to singapore. it was about something you can’t even remember now; for all you know, it could’ve been something about the toilet seat being left up.
which, now that you think of it, is what you fought about.
“(y/n).” the mention of your name makes you lift your head up, tilting it to the side to urge him to continue. “you made my coffee with two sugars?”
“what?” your eyebrows furrow very slightly. max has always been particular with the way he drinks his coffee. so you’re very sure that you mixed three sugars in instead of two, a mistake you made earlier in your relationship. “of course, i made it with three. that’s how you like your coffee.”
you watch him take another sip, tongue running over his lips as he deciphers the drink in his mouth. he doesn’t say anything else, but he does put the mug down on the table.
you narrow your eyes into a glare. how different can black coffee be in singapore that the three sugars you put inside make such a difference?
a difference big enough for him to mistake it for two sugars?
you sink into the couch, following max’s every move in the small room. seriously, how different can the coffee be here? and why is it such a big deal that it tastes a little odd?
why couldn’t he have just secretly put in another packet of sugar when you weren’t looking like he used to? does he now enjoy the luxury of pointing out your mistakes because of how long you’ve been together?
“what,” max halts halfway across the room and turns to you, “the fuck are you staring at?”
“i don’t know, the ghost in the corner of the room,” your words drip with sarcasm, noticing the way this changes max’s expression. “obviously you.”
“what is it now?” he sighs impatiently, hands resting on his hips as he leans his weight on one leg.
“what the fuck do you mean?”
“you’re giving me that stupid glare again. when you’re annoyed, you glare at me like that,” he points at you knowingly, “so please. enlighten me as to how i’ve managed that tonight.”
you raise your eyebrow. your heart starts to pound in your chest as you tilt your head in disbelief. “why are you talking like i don’t have a reason to be annoyed at you right now?”
he hums as his eyebrow raises. “you're the one who made my coffee wrong.”
“i made it how you like it.”
“this is not three sugars, (y/n).”
“but it is. i made it, max.”
“i’m sure you did. but this doesn’t taste like three.”
“okay. whatever. i made it with three, though.”
“you know what? fuck you. this isn’t three sugars — i don’t know why you keep trying to defend yourself.”
“and why’d you have to point it out? will it kill you to literally just reach a little to your right in the drawers to add sugar in?” you push yourself off the couch now, hands on your hips as you stare at him. “it’s really not that serious, max.”
he scoffs. “i’ve had a long day, (y/n). seriously, all you had to make was one cup of coffee. it shouldn’t be that hard.”
your eyes widen at his words. you take a daunting step forward and fold your arms over your chest. “i didn’t have to make you that cup of coffee — it was out of courtesy. the least you could have done was say thank you.”
his stare softens, shoulders slumping ever so slightly. as if realisation had dawned on him, “thank you.” he pauses to sigh and the cold demeanour makes its comeback. “for nothing because you didn’t even make it right.”
“what the fuck is wrong with you, max? you’re so fucking dense, you can’t even say thank you anymore?”
“and what for? you’ve become unattentive, (y/n)! you’ve gotten lazy with our relationship!”
“lazy would have been just staying home instead of flying out here with you when i have a big presentation this week! i made the effort to come out here and support you.”
“i told you that you didn’t have to come if it’s too much! you insisted!”
“because i’m your girlfriend! i want to be there for you and make time. but if you don’t appreciate that, then fine. i won’t do it again.”
“that’s not even what i fucking said. come on.”
“but it is what you said. if having me around is more trouble than it’s worth, this will be the last race i’ll be at.”
“this isn’t even about you making time to be here? it’s about how you made my coffee wrong!”
“make your own coffee, then! or maybe you’d prefer if kelly did it for you?”
max closes his mouth as he finds the reply at the tip of his tongue sucked out. he looks at you in disbelief, hands now on his hips as he chews on the inside of his cheek. “what?” he shouts.
it’s been nothing less of a toxic cycle. you fight, you say things you don’t mean, you hurt each other, you cry, and then you make up.
but there’s a feeling you can’t shrug off in your stomach as you exchange strings of frustrated screams in his tiny driver’s room. neither of you notice the figure walking by the window before it briefly turns away when your screams come into range.
not even the fact that there is a group of your friends waiting outside at the rendezvous point in the paddocks, awaiting your arrival to invite you both for dinner.
they’ve just started making their way out after a distraught liam simply shrugs when they ask about your attendance at the gathering. the young driver simply shrugs and tells them that he doubts both of you will make it out tonight.
then they all just turn and make their way out to explore the city.
now, you're across the massage table in max's driver's room. the mention of kelly and your issue with the woman's association with your boyfriend sparked up a bigger fight.
you're no longer fighting about the coffee: now it's about who can hit who the hardest and come out triumphant from this fight.
it's now you versus max.
you lean forward propped up by your palms flat on the table as he stands at the other side waiting impatiently.
"what about that time you went to that party when i was away for a race? i told you not to go, (y/n)! you disappeared on me for hours!" max spits at you, hands thrown in the air as he gets into the fight.
"yeah, cause god forbid i have a life while you're out doing your own thing," you laugh dryly with an eye roll. "can't deal with the fact that my world doesn't revolve around you anymore, max?"
"totally not the point of my argument. you disappeared on me while you were out drunk - think of what could've happened to you. i was so worried."
"worried for my well-being or worried that i was out cheating on you?"
the room falls to silence, max dropping his hands to his side. you purse your lips together as you stare at him, your arms now folded over your chest. "what's wrong, max? hit too close to home?"
"and so what if i thought you were out cheating? it's valid if my girlfriend disappears on me on a night out."
you roll your eyes and wave off his concern. "so you admit - you thought i cheated on you that night. is this why you're always like this? the looming question in your head if i was, in fact, unloyal that night?"
he sighs, shaking his head. he turns away from you as he rubs his forehead in frustration. "what is the point of us having this conversation? this is not what we're fighting about at first."
"look at me and tell me you don't trust me anymore." your voice is tired, now multitudes softer than a few seconds ago. "what is the point of us now that this is what we've come to?"
a small part of you realise that this was the feeling you couldn't shake off when this fight had started. it's the inevitable thought of breaking up that would ease everything between you. after all of this fighting, all these misunderstandings and miscommunication, there's only one way to make it all go away.
your eyes sting as tears fill your eyes. you watch as max drops himself on the couch, leaning into the armrest as he rests his hand in his hands. you trudge over to where he is, head hanging low as you feel a sob shake your chest.
you shake your head and look down, avoiding his eyes as he turns to you when you slowly bring yourself down to the couch. "i can't do this anymore, max."
he doesn't answer immediately. you hear a shakey sigh pass his lips, melting into his couch more. "i'm tired."
your breath hitches with a sob. your head starts to feel light as you cry harder. you still don't look at him. "i think we need to break up."
minutes pass without a response from max. he doesn't even move an inch, his loud breaths and your muffled sobs are the only sounds that surround you.
you don't even notice all the scrambling outside from the team, packing up from their meeting to go back to the hotel.
you lift your head and turn to max. he's angled away from you, his fingers picking at his bottom lip with his tear-filled eyes. his breathing is steady as he stares at the blank dark blue walls.
you remind yourself: no answer is an answer.
so you do what you think is a favour to both of you. you get up and grab your purse from the ground, walking towards the door. the most painful part isn't all that he said to you that night, it's the fact that he just let you walk out without another utter of a word.
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taglist: @merchelsea @leclercdream @labelledejourr @laneyspaulding19 @lpab @graciewrote @hollie911 @thatsojasminesworld @mycenterfold @princessria127 @ironmaiden1313 @dl-yum @crlsummer @brekkers-whore @minkyungseokie @honethatty12 @barelytolerabled @vellicora
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psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago
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ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒
ㅤㅤmike schmidt x f!reader
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genre: smut, minors dni, pwp
word count: 1.8k
summary: mike is in some dire need of control in his life, and you're prepared to give that to him.
warnings: soft bondage, unprotected piv, oral (mike receiving), dirty talk, good girl, mike thoroughly enjoying you begging, creampie
a/n: i've been thinking about this man's tie for way too long, i had to do something about it. i also blame @cupofjoel for fully dragging me down this new hyperfixation. You can thank her for reminding me that Mike has a squeaky bed 💜
**divider made by @saradika xx
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You sit patiently on top of Mike’s squeaky bed. It’s a gray morning. Clouds hover thick above the city, soft rain droplets hitting the window panels. You look out, observe each and every drop that trickles down. You miss him. It’s been a rough month, his new job at Freddy Fazbear’s really hammering the fact that Mike’s not well. His guilt and grief heightening with every passing night. Which was why you offered that Abby should stay with your roommate, at least for one night, and Abby adored staying at your place. You had even bought her a brand new sketchbook and a new set of crayons. 
Finally, the door creaks and without even meaning to you jump. The sky is darker than ever now, the rain getting heavier by the minute. Your eyes shift to the entrance of the bedroom, only to see a tired Mike staring back at you. 
“Hey,” he greets you, voice hoarse from lack of sleep. “Sorry, I’m late.” 
“Long night?”
“Yeah.” 
He shuts the door behind him and makes his way to you while loosening his tie. Your eyes linger over his hands, his neck. Mike swallows thickly, and your mouth dries at the sight of his Adam’s apple moving. You part your legs and he drops to his knees between them, he cradles your face so soft that your heart stutters a bit. His thumb draws lazy circles over your skin before he brings you to his lips, tongue slipping into your mouth and tasting you. “Missed you,” he gasps, following the confession with another kiss. 
Mike drags his lips down to your neck, sucking the sensitive skin, a breathy moan escapes your lips. “Missed you too,” you answer. Your fingers move down the fabric of his tie, you twist your wrists, circling the smooth and cold material around your skin. “Use me,” you whisper into his mouth. “Show me how much you missed me.” 
When you’re as desperate for control as Mike is, it’s hard to resist such a request. 
He tugs at the tie, it slips away smoothly from underneath his collar and finds its place around your wrists. Not too tight and not too loose. He makes a hurried knot, the type that you know he’ll be struggling to loosen when all of this is over. 
Mike stands and takes a step back, his forefinger hooked around the tie, he pulls you along with him. Your breath catches as you fall to your knees. His cock strains against the fabric of his pants and all you can do is stare. Arousal builds between your legs, your thighs helplessly moving against each other for some kind of relief. Lips parted, Mike pulls down your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb and then follows the outline of it. 
“So pretty,” he says. “Are you going to be good for me?”
“Yes.” 
His lips press together with a curt nod. You can see the muscles in his jaw tensing, the veins in his neck more visible compared to how they usually are. With one hand he unzips himself, your heart beats rapidly as the same hand slips underneath the waistband. His pants slip down a bit, exposing more skin. Pulling out his cock, he strokes himself only inches away from your face. Precome gathers at the tip. The head a beautiful shade of red. You try to remember when was the last time you got to enjoy each other this way and you can’t. 
Mike lifts your arms by the tie, “Open your mouth.” And you do. You stick out your tongue as he slips into your wanting mouth. He thrusts shallowly in and out, teasing you, using you just like you asked. Your eyes flutter, his cock going deeper down your throat, his head falls back. 
Your fingers twitch and you desperately want to touch yourself. Your underwear dampens with slick, your nipples rising with attention. Mike buries himself into you with fervor, hips snapping into the heat of your mouth. You finally close your lips around him, sucking him hard as the bulbous head of his cock makes you gag around him. 
“Fuck—” He holds himself deep inside, your nose buried in the curls, your nostrils flare as you try to breathe. Your body shudders. Come and saliva drips from the corner of your lips, a mess that goes down the column of your neck. “Feels so good baby. . . look at me.”
You do but barely. Your eyes tear up as you meet his heavy gaze. The brown of his eyes looks almost black. His brows knit together and he pulls out, only to shove every bit of himself inside, he moans with his eyes still fixed on yours and you choke. “Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck fuck fuck. Why do you always have to feel so good?”
Suddenly your mouth is left empty and you gasp for air. Your arms fall limply on to your lap. Mike hastily kicks off his boxers and pants, his cock wet and glistening. 
“Get on the bed,” he orders. “On your side. I want to see you when I fuck you.” 
Very clumsily, you get to your feet and move to the bed. The springs squeak at the added weight, the sound nearly buried by the noise of the rain but not quite. Mike rips of his shirt and your stomach bottoms out. His hands squeeze your ass before he tugs off your sweatpants and panties. You gasp at the sudden cool air. Body both cold and aflame. His cock presses against the base of your spine while he gets behind you. His hand nudges between your thighs, lifting one leg over his waist. He feels how wet you are. Feels how badly you want him. With two fingers he plays with your puffy clit, lazily stroking the sensitive nub until a fresh gush of wetness coats him. 
“That’s it. . .” he coos, warm breath fanning your ear. “Such a good, obedient girl.” 
Squeezing your eyes shut, you whimper. Your hips roll back, blood rushing to your ears, a hum fills them. You need him so badly that it hurts. Too long. It’s been too long. 
“Mike. . . please. . .” 
“Please,” he mimics you, amused. “God I love the sound of you begging. And actually listening,” he kisses the space right behind your ear. It tickles. “Just one more time, what do you want? Ask very nicely.” 
“Please fuck me. Please.” 
He makes a sound of approval, you feel the press of his forehead against the back of your neck without a word, he fills you to the brim. You’re so wet that he slides in with ease. Your back arches, your jaw grows slack. Pleasure washing over you and licking the base of your neck. His cock throbs balls deep inside of you. 
“Mike,” you whimper. “God, Mike—” 
He takes hold of your chin and forcefully twists you enough to meet his gaze. His one hand slides up your shirt and grabs your breast as he crashes your lips together. His tongue moves eagerly, hips rocking into you. The bed creaks with his every thrust. But you’re too far gone to care about the neighbors. He fucks you until all the air exits your lungs and you part away from his lips, he keeps your head turned to him, watching your eyes become glazed as he hammers into your deeper—harder. 
“Touch yourself,” he says into your mouth. “Make a mess, baby.” 
Another moan drops from your lips when his cock hits you just right, your body quivers and you can barely register what he’s saying. He pinches one of your pebbled nipples and your cunt tightens around him. His pacing slowing down into a leisure roll of hips. 
“If you don’t listen I’m going to stop,” he says, a threat made with the softest of voices. “You don’t want me to stop now do you?” 
“N—No. . .” 
“Then touch yourself.” 
Sniffling, you move your tied hands between your legs. You start to draw tight circles around yourself, your body clenches and your eyes flutter closed. Feels so good. Your cunt flutters around him and his lips touch your cheek, a choked groan made into your skin. 
Mike resumes the pacing of his thrusts. The springs of the bed protesting loudly at the force of his hips. His hand trails down to your stomach and squeezes the soft flesh, the drag of his cock along with the sloppy fingering of your clit makes your head spin. Wet squelches echeo in the room. You’re so close—So damn close—
You cry out, his name dropping from you lips over and over like a chant. You cunt clamps down around him, gushing as he fucks you through it. Your hands ball into fists, your body pushing against his thrusts. He shoves his tongue between your lips and ruts into you, he whimpers. You feel the swell of his cock, his muscles growing taut. 
“Gonna—gonna come—” He hisses through grit teeth, his hips jerk once, twice and by the third time he’s spilling inside, teeth sinking into your neck as he moans loudly. The sounds he makes accompanied by the squeaking bed. 
Your eyes roll to the back of your skull. Your entire body loose and pliant to his touch. Your breath hitches. Your pussy still squeezing and fluttering around him as he continues to come. He peppers your skin with soft kisses, licking the salt of your skin. 
Mike pulls out with a groan and flips you to your back, he unties your hands, “God, you gotta stop me coming inside,” he huffs, albeit a bit unheartedly. He spreads your legs, watching your glistening cunt overflowing with come. With a heady faze, he pushes it back inside. “You do look good like this, can’t deny that.” 
“Happy that you’re enjoying the view,” you smile. “Now, come here.” 
You spread your arms and he lays on top of you, nuzzling your neck. You hold him tight as his hands lazily caress your hip. “Do you feel better?” 
“I do,” his eyelids grow heavier and heavier, the long night finally catching up to him. Rain still hits the windows, lulling you both into sleep. “We should take a shower,” he mumbles.
“In a bit,” you say, playing with the messy strands of his hair. “I’ll wake you, just rest a bit for me alright?” 
“Yeah. . . okay.” 
It doesn’t take him long to start snowing softly into your skin. Very slowly, you manage to pull a blanket over you both, his come sticky between your legs. Lighting strikes, the room filling with a sudden burst of light. The following roar of thunder doesn’t bother you. 
Seconds later you also fall into the sweet embrace of sleep. The promise to wake him soon forgotten as the two of you find solace in each other’s arms. 
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gumnut-logic · 7 months ago
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J Protocol
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The Protocols
This one is a long time coming and I've been staring at it for hours, so have no idea if it is good enough and it hasn't been read through by anyone but me, so I'm going in blind.
This is for @onereyofstarlight who has waited long enough ::hugs::
I hope you enjoy it.
-o-o-o-
John liked to be alone.
It allowed him to rest, to think, and to be himself. There were no demands on how he needed to act, what he was wearing or what he felt like saying.
Alone he could serenade the stars, karaoke dance to his ABBA collection, read without anyone commenting on what he was reading, and, hell, leave the bathroom door open if he wanted to. Being alone had its advantages.
But it also had its disadvantages.
Today had been an unpleasant one.
The fish brother in the back of his head cried foul and described it in much more colourful terms, in several different languages - did Gordon actually know how to speak Greek? All of the above would have had Grandma threatening to clean his mouth out with soap, but really, John couldn’t help but agree with the description.
Even the thought of his little brother had him smiling just a little as Thunderbird Five slowly grew larger.
He had been out in his exosuit, something he usually enjoyed when a rescue was close by. This had involved a couple of idiots in orbit who had done something very, very stupid.
And it cost them everything.
John had been fast, but space was faster and it took their lives.
Scott had been on comms at the time. His eldest brother had all the kind words amongst the command decisions, but a mission failure was still a failure and after the long shift before it, John was just tired and sad.
Returning home to Five was a relief, but there was part of him, a very small part of him, who missed the loud of home.
He liked being alone.
But he loved his family.
And today sucked all the ass.
Gordon, watch your language.
Talkin’ to yourself, bro.
Solitude also tended to promote conversations with himself.
“John, which airlock will you be using?”
But then, was he truly alone?
“The rear ‘lock, Eos. The suit needs some repairs and a good clean.”
“Should I alert Virgil?”
“No, I can manage.” But that would be an excuse to see his big brother. Virgil wasn’t a fan of space, but he would drop by at any hint of John needing help.
A glance in the direction of Tracy Island, in midnight darkness just like the whole half a planet beneath him.
John sighed as he slowed, firing reverse thrusters to kill off his velocity, to a smooth pacing of Five. Splattering himself across her solar panels would certainly be an undesirable end to an already shitty day.
Eos had the airlock open and waiting, enabling John to slip in quietly. Five crept around him with her protection. Being out in space was a raw experience. Beautiful, but raw. His ‘bird provided a sense of security with cahelium between him and the harsh environment.
The airlock sealed and the air pressure welled up, familiar in its reassuring caress. The inner door slipped open and he pushed off gently into the module he had left in such a hurry several hours earlier.
He ran through the disassembly routine for his exosuit, robotic arms pulling it gently from his body. For some reason he found himself leaning into that metallic touch.
Damn, maybe he had been away from Tracy Island for too long.
He would have to schedule some leave.
But he had that experiment running…and Auckland University were waiting for his write up on his comet. He could do the writing on Tracy Island - would his brothers give him the space?
The pun was ignored.
His brothers tried. He knew they tried. They respected his wishes as much as they could. Didn’t understand them, but respected them. They knew social interaction took energy he felt better spent elsewhere. They knew that what worked for them didn’t necessarily work for him.
They tried.
Hard.
But he also knew they missed him.
And he loved them for it.
Returning to Earth added him to their lives in three dimensions and they often wanted to take advantage of that. Hell, he wanted to take advantage.
But there was transition time from space to Earth, and all the stuff he had up here, and…
God, he was tired.
The mechanics finished up, leaving him floating free in the centre of the module.
He let himself drift just a little.
“John?”
Eos didn’t ask if he was okay, but the question was there anyway.
He sighed. “Stash the exosuit, I’ll do the repairs tomorrow.”
“Yes, John.” How did she put so much emotional inflection into those two words?
He refused to sigh again, simply reaching out to touch the wall and nudge himself towards the airlock leading into the central hub of Five.
The room lit up as he entered, the familiar map of the planet below spreading out across the spherical walls. The rescue indicators were clear for once in his life and he was quite happy to pass by the map and head for the gravity ring, aiming for his bathroom and the chance to clean off the sweat under his uniform.
“Hey.”
The sudden appearance of a body blocking his path confused his exhausted brain and he was slow to connect the dots of green, blue and heavy lifting brother.
“Whoa, Johnny, take a breath.”
A hand steadied him where his reaction had sent him spinning just a little.
“Virgil? What? Eos, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Virgil asked me not to. You said I should listen to Virgil, so I did.”
John deflated, and sighed in exasperation. “Virgil, why? You scared the shit out of me.”
That earned him a raised eyebrow.
Okay, so plain, old boring swear words weren’t usually his thing, but he was tired.
That eyebrow twitched in his direction.
Oh.
“Just dropping in for a home visit. That last situation was a rough one.”
“I’m fine, Virgil.” He pushed past his brother. “Just need some sleep.”
“Uh-huh.”
John rolled his eyes as he pushed himself out into the ring, his feet lightly landing in the low gravity environment. He strode across cahelium reinforced glass. “If you’re going to order me back to Tracy Island, I rather you didn’t.”
Virgil was obviously following him, the soft squeak of his specialised boots on the glass a not unfamiliar sound. “Haven’t even thought about it. Just wanted to drop by and see how you were going.”
“At two in the morning.”
“I’m a night owl.” He could feel his brother’s smile bounce off the back of his head.
John grunted as he reached the doors to his rooms. He turned to his brother standing behind him. “I’m going to get cleaned up. Back shortly.”
“Scott says debrief in the morning, but I would like to check you over before bed.”
“Really?” It was whiney and childish, and he earned that extra eyebrow arch, but damnit, he was tired.
“Really.” And there was just that touch of steel in Virgil’s voice. Not quite the same as Scott’s commander tone, but just as final. “Don’t make me come in there after you.”
“Fine.” He threw open the door and wished he could slam it behind him with all the petulance he felt right now.
Virgil didn’t answer, nor did he follow him.
It only took a moment or two for the guilt to sink in and John was faced with the fact that Virgil was worried about him. He climbed up into orbit, into space which he didn’t enjoy, to check on his little brother, only to encounter …John.
He let his head drop against the glass of his bedroom wall. Because of the lower gravity, his forehead did not hit with any of the thump he needed it to.
A sigh. He would apologise, but first he needed to get clean.
-o-o-o-
It was a bit longer than he had expected when he finally emerged from his rooms, but he felt just a little bit more human for the clean and new spacesuit.
Time also helped. His head had been caught up in rescue gone bad. Those few extra minutes helped him step back and breathe.
Virgil wasn’t outside his door, which, considering he’d likely left him with the impression he might have to hogtie John to get the readings he needed, was a surprise.
“Eos, where is Virgil?”
“In the infirmary. John, do you like pineapple?”
He frowned, heading in the direction of the small room set aside for medical needs on the gravity ring. “Yes, why?”
“Even if it is on pizza?”
“Uh, no. Pineapple should never be put on pizza.” He frowned as he slipped into the infirmary. “Have you been talking to Gordon?”
“Yes, and he is most emphatic that pizza should include pineapple in its toppings.”
“Gordon has issues.”
Virgil snorted. “That he does.” His brother looked up as John entered. Apparently, he was doing a medical supply inventory.
He had removed his baldric and harness, and was standing in his overalls-styled uniform without his usual green. It wasn’t right.
As if sensing John’s affronted senses, Virgil frowned. “You okay?”
John shrugged and sat down quietly, and obediently, on the small bed. “You need the green.”
Virgil looked down at himself, wrinkling his nose. “I do feel kind of naked.”
“So why did you take it off?”
“Didn’t need it. Need the suit for safety, but didn’t want to clink every time I moved.” He pulled the medscanner out of it protective sleeve on the bulkhead.
John held up a hand. “Sorry about before. I-“
Virgil put a hand on his arm. “Nothing. Been there, it’s not fun. Understandable.” And that was the end of that.
Virgil gently pushed John’s arm down to his side and began waving the scanner over John’s body.
Ten seconds later he turned off the scanner. “You’re good. Could do with some food, drink and sleep, but everything else is fine. You don’t even have any bruises.” A gentle smile. “You’re good, John.”
“Thank you.” There was a double meaning there, good in health and a compliment on a good job done. “And thank you for coming all the way up here. I could have saved you the trip.” He did know how to use the medscanner, after all.
“There is more to your health than what that scanner can tell me.” Virgil eyed him as he put the device away. “Besides, I like to see my all my brothers from time to time.”
“The time, Virgil. You should be in bed.”
Then as if to throw John completely out of whatever universe he was currently in, Alan bounded through the door. “Virg, it’s working. All ready to go.” His littlest brother looked up. “Oh, hey, John.” And he darted out as fast as he had entered.
“What?” The word burst out of his mouth. “How-?” He glared at Virgil. “What’s going on?”
But Virgil just straightened and smiled. “J Protocol.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” Virgil strode past him and pushed open the door. “Come with.”
John found his mouth open and had to shut it. “Virgil-“
“Nope.” His brother waved an arm towards the door. “C’mon.”
Instinctively, John knew that if he didn’t move, Virgil would start on more drastic transport options. After all, John had seen his heavy lifting brother throw Scott over his shoulder in exasperation.
Virgil always got his way eventually.
John let his shoulders drop and walked through the door.
This time he felt like stomping instead of slamming, but the same emotion was behind both.
“Virgil, I’m fine.”
His brother nudged him forward as he shut the door behind them. “Good. Keep it that way.”
“But-“
A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders. “John, you need this.”
“I-“
But his brother herded him through the airlock into the central hub of Thunderbird Five.
The sphere was full of brothers.
And pizza boxes.
Scott was sitting cross-legged like some kind of suspended Buddha, poking at his phone. Gordon was upside down chattering non-stop to Alan who was the right way up - there was no ‘up’ in space, but there definitely was an ‘up’ on Thunderbird Five, despite the lack of gravity in her central hub - and conversing with an ease that spoke of extensive space experience.
An irrational sense of pride of his littlest brother swelled John’s heart.
All at once the three brothers realised John was in the room.
“Johnny! Welcome to the party!”
Alan flipped midair in an obvious over-the-top move to land right next to John. “Hey, John, way until you see what we’ve done.”
John frowned. “What have you done?” They better not have messed with his ‘bird.
But Scott had unfolded and was narrowing in on John with a frown. He didn’t say anything, just glanced a question at Virgil who gave him a nod.
His two eldest brothers were irritating when they did that, especially when the non-verbal conversation was obviously about him.
Scott reached out and gently clasped John’s arm. “Good job out there today.”
Yesterday, technically. “What are you all doing up here?”
“Pizza party!” Gordon’s eyes were glowing with glee.
“At 2.30 in the morning?”
Scott shrugged. “Sometimes pizza is just needed.” And there was something in his big brother’s eyes.
Goddamnit, he was fine.
But then Scott gently pulled him into a hug. It wasn’t tight, just a wrap of his arms around John, his head resting, just touching John’s shoulder.
The room was oddly silent.
And John found himself leaning into the hug. His brother’s caring touch etching into his skin, drawing him in deeper, feeding a need he hadn’t realised he had.
His head fell quietly onto Scott’s shoulder. The moment it touched, his brother’s grip tightened just a fraction before loosening again…so, so gentle.
Oh god.
But then Scott was equally as gently pulling away, blue eyes eyeing him as if unsure how he would react. Perhaps gauging his next move.
A big hand landed on his back and its partner wrapped around Scott’s shoulder. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.” Virgil nudged himself between them, aiming for the huge pile of floating boxes.
The moment snapped and the world started moving again. Gordon and Alan joined Virgil with the boxes, happily discussing toppings…which ultimately led to the ongoing war between yes-pineapple and no-pineapple on pizza.
Gordon was never going to win that one, outvoted four to one, but he was a determined fish and kept up the battle at every chance.
It was a familiar sound of home.
Blue eyes were still staring at him. Saying so much unsaid.
“Hey, Johnny, me and Virg set up something cool for you.” Alan was bouncing as much as he could in a zero-g environment.
It forced John to look away from Scott. “What have you done?”
“Virgil said he wanted to set you free, but keep you safe, so we did this.” Alan poked at his wrist control.
And the hub walls disappeared.
What?
All his brothers, the stack of pizza, the random slice of pepperoni that chose that moment to drift through his eyeline - all of it, and them, was floating above the night side of Earth with nothing around them.
Thunderbird Five was gone.
His breath caught in his throat. “How?”
Virgil was smiling as he gazed at the view, pizza slice in hand. “A few more sensors on her hull, improved communication with the holoprojectors, and a little bit of programming by Alan, and you have your own space-themed holodeck.”
He stared at the lights of Auckland and Sydney. “You built me a holodeck?”
“Isn’t it cool?!” Alan was definitely bouncing.
John nodded. “Yeah, it’s cool.”
“This is the default view. It draws directly from Five’s exterior sensors. What you see here is what you’d see if we were outside. But I did add a few of my favourites for you and tweaked the input from your telescopes.”
Alan poked at his wrist control and Earth vanished.
It was replaced with a view of the Andromeda Galaxy. They were staring down at a sea of swirling stars surrounded by the deepest darkness.
“It’s not interactive, though. The processing power required for this resolution is huge and Five does have a much larger program it needs to keep safe.” He looked up for a moment, but when there was no response, Alan warily turned his attention back to John. “If you want to add more views, we’ll need to up Five’s storage. We should probably do that anyway. Never hurts to have more storage.”
“Says the video game addict.” Gordon snorted.
“Hey, your holos of fish take up more room than my games.”
“Are you kidding? Zombie death 16 pushed me onto external storage.”
“That was an accident.”
“How?”
“I may have put it on the house servers twice.”
“What? Did you delete it?”
“Of course I did.”
“Guys?” Virgil’s voice was ever so tolerant.
Gordon and Alan glanced at John. “Sorry.” It was a chorus of the both of them.
No, this was fine. It really was.
Andromeda glowed beneath them.
His family was…being his family.
And there was pizza.
He let himself float and closed his eyes.
The smell of toasted cheese and tomato sauce, peppers, that unique pizza smell.
His brothers talking quietly - Gordon and Alan still at it, but desperately trying to be quiet about it. John would look at digital storage options both for Tracy Island and Thunderbird Five tomorrow.
At the moment…
A soft touch to his shoulder and Virgil was offering him a slice of cheeseburger pizza, his favourite.
Scott had gone back to being aTracy Industries Buddha…until Virgil coasted past, snatched his phone out of his hand, and smoothly replaced it with a slice of pepperoni and cheese.
Scott’s protest was muffled by Virgil’s glare.
John bit into his pizza slice surrounded by his family and an amazing projection of his second favourite galaxy.
Yes, he liked to be alone.
But he also loved his family.
And they loved him enough to follow him.
-o-o-o-
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vixen-tech · 6 months ago
Note
if you want to -- maybe AUTO with a botanist reader? i just think it'd be so interesting how it would play out !! u dont have to, so only do it if u want to!!
🩹 anon
To be Loved, To Maybe be Changed (Auto x Botanist!Reader)
Oh that certainly is a concept!! It's a great one for Auto to, this put an entire storyline in my head that I think justifies breaking out the oneshot format rather than headcanons. Which works out great because I think out of all the Ai's I've written for, he would need the most 'set up' from how not-sentient he's protrayed in Wall-E. Anyways grab a snack floks this is a long one
It had been many generations since the Axium returned home to earth. Humans, robots, and the all important plant finding themselves back on soil, populating the deserted planet once more.
Things have changed since then. The human body began readapting to earth's gravity, the majority of buildings around the landing site have been fixed up and inhabited, and most importantly: the city is covered in plants. Grasses sprout between broken walkways, invy weaves its way up repurposed skyscrapers, gardens spill out of every available alleyway, a gaint tree stands where that first plant took root all those centuries ago. Each year it seems the sky gets a little more blue.
The ever diversifying flora had captivated you ever since you first had the words to describe it. As soon as you had a say so, you began studying it. Dispite the flourishing growth, any sort of plant husbandry was still something of a lost art. You lived off of the ancient manuals and beginners guides that eventually made their way out of the Axium's archives.
Yet even those could only do so much for you when most of the crops that had evolved from that first seedling had taken forms a far cry from their original pre space-age forefathers. It became your life's mission to learn how to best take care of these new cultivars and of course, spread the knowledge (and hopefully passion) for botany that you had gained throughout your life.
That was what fueled your visits to the Axium. Still parked at the foot of that monumental tree, it had been transformed into something of a community center. With most of its facilities still running and new services offered everyday. You often came to drop off your experimental findings, teach classes, and check to see if other botanists had done the same. Why you began exploring the depths of the halls that one fateful day, you still don't know.
The spaceship was massive, clearly a crowning jewel of its time. To this day many rooms remained unused and largely blocked off. The bustle and warmth of public spaces giving way to dust and insect nests as you roam through areas no longer needed. Bathrooms too far from the people to warrant upkeep, storage rooms that were once filled with replacement parts for the robots that now walked side by side with humans. And at the end of your journey, the captain's quarters.
The door was practically sealed shut with age, and the room behind it was hardly any better. The air attacked you with a cloud of dust once you finally managed to shove open the door, and no matter how much you rubbed your eyes there still appeared to be an almost foggy looking quality to the room.
That's when you found Auto.
He was still dangling from the ceiling above a control panel you doubt still worked. You had seen and befriended many robots before, they were just as common as humans in the city nowadays with remarkably little tension between them. Recognizing that the innert steering wheel in front of you was once one, your heart ached. You were no mechanic, but surely you had to at least try to get him up and running again. What can you say, you were always a bit of a bleeding heart.
After carefully detaching him from the ceiling you carried what was essentially an inanimate hunk of metal all the way back home with you. People stared, sure, but they kept any questions or judgments to themselves as you made your way home.
Your residence was rustic, to say the least. A fairly rundown shack renovated into a makeshift greenhouse. Produce and flowering plants alike overflowed from their neat rows of pots on benches. Some were for you, more were to sell, all were part of research in one way or another.
You loved walking through your own little botanical garden to get to your living quarters. The moment you pass through the front doors you're always hit with a wave of earthy freshness. The smell of petrichor and pollen greeted you (and your new... friend?) just as it always did. Never once failing to make you feel at home.
Your living quarters themselves were similarly homey. Not drastically bigger than a hotel room, it's a modest living area with a kitchen tucked in the corner and two doors along the wall. One leading to a compact bathroom, the other your bedroom. Some may call it cramped, but to you it's cozy. You spent most of your time in the greenhouse anyway.
That might have been the only day you mourned your lack of space. As if he were a friend you had to drag home after a night of drinking, you placed Auto on the couch. Promising to yourself that you'd do your best to fix him up. You'd probably have to give him some wheels to, since you ripped him from the ship. Well, your life could always use some more excitement.
--------------------
Your knowledge of machinery had definitely improved over the past few weeks. On all accounts you were extraordinarily lucky that he was in such good shape. Age had rendered most of his circuits unusable, but isolation kept them from becoming unrecognizable. Night after night you would come home with a new part and with surgical delicacy, swap it out for its damaged counterpart.
You had heard stories from the time of the Axium. You knew of the 'evil autopilot program that tried to trap humanity in space'. You knew that you were probably trying to fix said evil autopilot program. It may have been the weeks of one sided bonding, but you didn't buy it. Surely at worst he was just following orders. And who knows, maybe with some free will he might be able to turn over a new leaf.
--------------------
"What happened?" His voice was striking, deep and inhumanly regular in a way that was still seen a trademark of artificial speech. He was upright on the wheeled body you attached him to, the red eye (camera?) at the center of his face seemed to scan you up and down before doing the same to the room around him.
The cocktail of pride and anxiety had yet to leave your chest. You attempted to explain, "Well I fixed you-"
"Before that." He interrupted. Slowly wheeling himself to the living room window, still unsure of the new addition you had made to his body. "Where are we?" He added.
You should have been prepared for that one. "We're on earth, in my house." You watched with apprehension as he stared out the window. The steering wheel that made his outer body clicked back and forth as if he were swaying in thought.
"Earth is habitable." His voice lacked strong inflection, you were unsure if he was asking you a question or stating the fact to himself.
"It has been for a long time." You said as gently as you possibly could. "You were... on that ship for centuries, a lot has changed since then."
If he was listening to you, he made no effort to show it. Instead continuing to look outside as if he were zoning out in thought. "There are plants", he observed.
The view out that window wasn't remarkable by any means. Just some grass and a few odd trees before the city's skyscrapers blocked your line of sight. But the mere mention of plants was always enough to get you excited. "Oh if you're interested in plants you should see this." Gesturing for him to follow you as you opened the door to your greenhouse.
He paused for a moment before trailing behind you.
--------------------
Auto made for a strange guest. With no astro-cruise to run he spent a considerable amount of time staring at you while you worked. It was only as you were measuring the pH of your plants' soil that you began narrating your work to him. It started as a way for you to simply diffuse the tension and explain why you were so invested in the vegetation.
He made for a good wall to rant to. You didn't have many close friends and certainly none as into botany as you, most other botanists spent as much time with their garden as you do. But thankfully, no matter how much you asked if you were being annoying, he would repeat that "The information is important, please continue." All while focused on whatever orchid you made the subject of your newest lecture. You did make it clear that he was free to leave at any time.
He never did.
--------------------
Your first trip to the Axium since Auto's reactivation was an awkward one, at least on your part. When you announced that you needed to go to drop off your latest batch of research he requested to could come with, one of the first things he asked of you since waking up.
Perhaps you shouldn't have been surprised, Auto had barely took a step outside your home. Relying instead on you and whatever books or documentaries you had to fill him in on what the world had become. Who were you to deny him some fresh air?
Although you had grown much more comfortable around him you were still anxious to hear what he thought of everything. And as always his judgment came in the form of definite reports. It was all "Humanity is stable." Or "Plant life is flourishing." If he had any semblance of opinion, he didn't tell you about it.
He didn't behave much differently on the Axium, continuing to trail you like a lost duckling and thoroughly scan the surroundings. It wasn't until you met up with a fellow herbalist that he spoke a word.
They asked you about a specific project you were working on, a new crossbreed of a medicinal herb of particular interest to them. However, as it wasn't the purpose of your trip you didn't have any of its records on you. You were about to apologize and tell them so until Auto informed them, "The crossbreed has shown accelerated growth but a greater sensitivity to sunlight." The herbalist thanked both of you and walked off.
Even though you shouldn't have been shocked to learn that he was actually storing the information you spat at him, it was still nice to know that he cared to some degree.
"Thank you, Auto."
"You're welcome."
--------------------
The days have gone on much the same since then. You had never sought out an adventurous life. Often you go out the greenhouse in the morning and find Auto observing the various moths and flies that had evolved as pollinators alongside the new flora. "Morning Auto!" You would cheerfully greet.
You never fully understood why he stayed, but it didn't matter to you at this point. He was here and he made no effort to go. You had more than enough room in your life for him anyway.
"Good morning."
And so another day starts.
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