#in a world stained pink with blood /why are those red/

[aparticularbandit]

the idea of junko making the blood pink in the games to get past the censors.

like, sure, end of the world and all that, but the censors are still active and running.

...even with junko hijacking the waves.

[gothicminxx]

WC: 2.3K

Satosugu x Gn reader!

CW: Mention of blood, mention of death, description of a corpse, slight angst w/ comfort, use of pet names (baby, pretty, angel), poly relationship Satosugu x reader.

Song suggestion for beginning:

Summary: Your two boyfriends comforting you after a nightmare, all around pure fluff

The sky burned hues of angry red and a deadly orange, the smell of death prominent in the air that it made you clasp a hand over your mouth. It stung your lungs and made your eyes tear at the harshness of the stench. The trekk back to safety felt far, like the destination itself was unattainable or perhaps it didn’t exist. The feeling of your legs burning and your muscles aching made the journey that much more unbearable.

Everywhere you looked there were corpses of people you didn’t recognize followed by thick grey clouds of smoke. Your body felt sticky with your blood, tears, and sweat— everything hurt, a pain so agonizing it made you want to shrivel up and die. When did things turn out this way? It seemed as though memories of blue skies and the warmth of the sun were long gone. Instead it was replaced with the ugliest shade of red and reeking scent of death.

You took sharp inhales of breath that pierced your lungs, you felt this time around you were truly going to die alone. It was silent in the city besides the crackling of fires in the distance, as if you were the last person standing.

That was until you saw him. The tuffs of pink hair and tattoo markings along his flesh as he sat high and mighty on his throne. A malicious smirk lay proudly on his lips as if he had conquered the world and cleansed the Earth of those he deemed unworthy of life. The king of all curses, Sukuna Ryomen, looked back at you with fiery red eyes. Your lips trembled as if you had finally found your demise, but it seemed like a blessing rather than a punishment.

The piles of corpses that lay beneath his throne; two stuck out the most. The first being long raven hair with a disheveled bun, thick crusts of dried blood in the strands, the lifeless face of Suguru Geto stared back at you. Next to him was pearly white hair that was stained with red, rosy lips dripping with crimson liquid. Cerulean eyes had now turned pale and utterly unrecognizable, the great Satoru Gojo was dead.

Falling to your knees as their corpses lay mangled before you, shattered you in the worst way. A crippling scream left your lungs that it felt as though your throat had ripped in two. Fat tears fell from your eyes and stung the open cuts on your face, during your moment of mourning you could hear Sukuna’s mocking laughter. Satisfied at the agony you felt as the two most important people in your life now lay dead.

You hugged yourself tightly as you continued to scream loudly, not remotely concerned about the rippling pain in your throat. Why couldn’t have you been strong enough to protect them? Why weren’t you fast enough?

Why? Why? Why?

“Name?”

The angry red sky and Sukuna’s face diminished from your view as you jolted up in bed. Sweat dripped from your forehead as hair stuck to the wet flesh, your oversized shirt clung to your body. Eyes darted around the room, moonlight streamed in through a sliver of the curtain. It was dark, making it almost impossible to focus besides the loud beating in your chest that felt as though you were on the verge of a heart attack.

“Name?” There it was, that deep voice coaxed with sleep and concern that made you snap out of it, your wide eyes turning to your left. Suguru stared at his lover, placing his hand on your thigh and squeezing tightly. The sounds of your screams and frantic moving in bed had jolted the raven haired man from his slumber.

Clutching your chest as your lips quivered, “Su-Suguru?” You croaked out as a small sob emitted past your lips.

That was enough to shatter his heart in two, hearing your voice so small and broken made him want to cry. Suguru was quick to wrap you tightly in his arms, kissing the top of your head. He tried his best to not wake Satoru next to him, of course his efforts would be in vain. Especially when it comes to you. The six eyes could sleep through a bomb but when it came to you it’s as if his body knew.

Satoru rubbed sleep from his eyes to adjust to the dark room, hearing soft sobs as he turned his attention towards Suguru. His heart sank immediately as he witnessed his lover hold you tightly, you, his whole world, clutching desperately onto Suguru’s shirt like your life depended on it.

“What’s wrong?” Satoru asked as he immediately shot up, quick to be close to Suguru’s side as his giant hand cupped the back of your head. The two men shared panicked looks as they held onto you tightly, listening to every sob that left your lips.

You couldn’t muster a word if you tried, the only thing you could manage were their names in wails. It hurt like hell to see you in such a state and the best they could do was squeeze you in reassurance. The two strongest sorcerers were utterly weak when it came to you, that even a mere scratch on your pretty skin made them anxious. It simply couldn’t be helped— they loved you too much.

Suguru shrugged as he looked at Saturo, a deep frown etched on his lips. The worry was evident on his face the more he felt you shake in his arms, “‘s okay, we’re here baby, we’re right here.” Suguru whispered, nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head.

Satoru laid his head on Suguru’s shoulder as he ran his fingers through your hair, trying his best to soothe you with his touch. Sometimes he wished there was a technique to get rid of the suffering within your heart, to take away the pain you felt or whatever made you cry. If he was the strongest, why couldn’t a technique like that exist? It didn’t seem fair to him.

As moments passed and their soothing touches never faltered, your sobs began to quiet down allowing you to find your voice, “I saw your dead bodies…” You croaked out, a small whimper escaping your lips, “Sukuna, h-he, I-“ You couldn’t even finish your sentence, shaking your head as another sob threatened its way out of your lungs.

The two men shared knowing looks, since being faced with the king of curses just shy of two months ago, it was something deeply engraved in their minds. The lives of innocents lost and nearly dying themselves, it often haunted their dreams. You as of lately hadn’t been able to sleep much, you could still hear the screams of the humans, the smell of death around you. It was a stench unlike any other, not even the smell of a curse could match that.

A day where Satoru felt as though he had lost everything, Suguru laying in the asphalt covered in blood and barely gasping a breath of air. You barely clinging onto the oxygen the trees provided, chest barely heaving up and down— slowly dying. It was an event that altered your brains and made sleep hell.

Recently Satoru had found a way to evade the dreams, sending himself into a spiral of a sugar high that made him crash intensely. While Suguru drowned himself in sleepy time tea because it made him dream of anything but that. But you rarely manage the nightmares anymore, rarely sleeping, or finding the excuse to nap during the day with your lovers on the couch.

“Oh angel, we’re here. We’ll never leave you, I promise.” Satoru pressed his nose in your hair, inhaling the soft aroma that belonged to you. His voice held an edge to it, one where he himself was reassuring his mind that he’d protect you and Suguru with his life. That he guaranteed.

Suguru pressed a kiss to your temple, gently lifting you from his chest and placing you in Satoru’s lap, “I’ll go make some tea.” He murmured, standing from the huge bed and heading toward the kitchen. He’d do anything to comfort you, to make you warm and whole once more. It was also an excuse to let his tears fall from his eyes, Suguru didn’t want to cry in front of you, no, he needed to be strong when you needed him. He couldn’t help it, the way your lips trembled and your tears streaked down your face, it hurt his heart to see you so afraid of losing them. He understood that fear too well, facing Sukuna and his limits being tested— feeling so useless once he used up the last bit of cursed energy that he couldn’t protect you or Saturo broke him mentally.

You laid your head against Satoru’s chest, fisting his shirt tightly in your hands, and you were wrinkling the fabric. But he didn’t care, holding you tightly against him that you could hear the gentle thumping of his heart. He cupped your cheek, thumb gently caressing your cheekbone. Satoru gently rocked your bodies to and fro, trying his best to soothe his lover— as your cries died down and all that remained of your tears were the salty stains they left behind, he knew he was doing good. “Hey there, pretty baby.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Hi.” You managed, voice hoarse from how dry your sobs made your throat, “‘Toru please don’t ever go.”

A pang could be felt in the six eyes chest at your soft and defeated voice, he loved you so much it hurt. “Never, I’m the strongest… remember?” Satoru winked down at you, chuckling in hopes to lighten the mood— to hide the fear he felt of one day failing to protect you, but that’s not possible; he hopes.

But somehow you manage a weak smile and nod, he was Satoru Gojo, your dumb and cocky boyfriend that always protected you from the bad guys, how could you not trust him? When it came down to it, even during the battle with Sukuna, you had put your trust in both Satoru and Suguru. The two men made a vow amongst each other and with you, that they would do anything and everything to protect those they loved. Neither had failed yet in keeping that promise it was near and dear to their hearts.

Satoru gazed ahead to the sheer cream colored curtains that swayed in the breeze, the moonlight made its way inside a small crack— bright and welcoming as it gently caressed your cheek. A small twinkle evident in your eyes as you looked up at him with sheer admiration, it made his heart swell. Taking your hand in his he intertwined your fingers together, bringing the back to his lips to press a kiss there, nuzzling his cheek against it.

He wasn’t the type that liked to admit just how much he worried about you and Suguru. That when either of you cried or felt a negative emotion that his heart would feel tight and the air unbearable to breathe. He’d do anything to keep those beautiful smiles on your faces, anything to rid the evil of the world just for you and Suguru. “I love you, name. Nothing in this world will ever take us away from you.” And he meant every word.

The six eyed sorcerer leaned down, tilting your chin up to meet him in the middle, and you swore you inhaled a deep breath at the sight of cerulean eyes glittering in the moonlight. His soft lips came in contact with yours washing away the fears and worries— images of his dead corpse fading into nothingness. He tasted like cherry chapstick and vanilla cake as he swiped his tongue in your mouth. An earlier dessert he had after dinner to focus on “grading assignments”, but it truly was just a greedy indulgence.

The kiss was passionate and slow, Satoru wanting you to feel every emotion he felt in just one kiss, to truly remind you that you had his heart forever. You pulled away, placing your forehead against his, “I love you too.”

A small hum came from the doorway, Suguru stood with a tray of ceramic cups filled with sleepy time tea. He hoped that it would subside the night terrors for you as it did him, a smile of adoration etched itself on his lips as he saw his two lovers nestled up together. He walked inside your guys’ bedroom and placed the tray on the nightstand. You sat up straight and moved over to Suguru’s lap the moment he sat down in bed. Burying your face in the crook of his neck and inhaling the light smell of jasmine and cedar wood. Suguru immediately wrapped his arms around you and let out a sigh of content, “Feeling better?” He asked.

“Mhmm, sorry for worrying you.” You murmured.

“Don’t apologize angel, I'm just glad you feel better.” Suguru whispered.

The raven haired man handed you the ceramic mug, watching as you blew on the hot liquid to take a drink. He took the opportunity to move your hair from your face, and mentally thanked Satoru for comforting you. The white haired man smiled fondly, scooting into your side to sandwich you in between them.

As honey danced on your tongue from the warm beverage, you couldn’t help but steal a kiss from Suguru’s lips as a thank you for the tea. His hand cupping the back of your head to deepen it, lapping his soft tongue with yours, “I want a kiss too.” Satoru whined, giggling as the two of you pulled away and peppered his face with kisses.

Your night terror became a distant memory, the fear you felt for the king of curses now seemed so minuscule as you pressed against Satoru’s chest and wrapped in Suguru’s arms. Your two strong sorcerer’s that would do anything to keep you safe. Their warm embrace lulling you to a comforting dreamless sleep.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Lights Out {1}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Reality just keeps crashing down around you with the repercussions of your pregnancy. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, angst WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out One || Two

“Max? Max, where are we going?” Max looked away as he walked by your side, his hand never leaving yours. “Max, no, no…”

The sounds of the ward forced pressure to crush down on your chest and made it hard to breathe. One room cracked open as a nurse left with white gloves stained red, and the wails of pain leaked into the hall. The heaviness in your head lifted enough to crane your neck to see the walls decorated with teddies with pink and blue bows and posters on breastfeeding. 

The cries of newborns came and went with the rooms that you passed and your brother looked at you with pity in his eyes. 

“I shouldn't be here,” you whispered as your gurney was pivoted into a private room and the orderly left. A tense silence filled the room while you waited for the doctors to come. “I shouldn't be here, Max.”

“You’re having a baby, zusje.”

Panic spiked and you looked down at your body in confusion and fear, your voice screeching, “Now?”

“No!” he rushed to answer before his tone softened and he took a seat beside you. “Not right now.  Look, we should wait until Charles and Lando get here.”

“No, no, I need to get out of here. This is a mistake.” You were quicker this time and tore the IV line from your hands before anyone could stop you. Getting out of the room was another problem, you felt like bambi on ice and could barely keep your weak legs straight as you stumbled to the exit. 

“Get back on the fucking bed,” Max growled as he blocked the door. “You may not believe it, but it’s not just you that you’re risking because you’re being stubborn.”

Your hand reached for the soft skin of your abdomen before you forced it to your side again in a fist. “Do they know? Is that why they aren’t here?” 

“What are you talking about? Can you just get in the bed!”

“No, Jos left after mum got pregnant. Daniil and Kelly broke up after having P,” your voice broke as you dropped your head and sweat dripped down your neck. “Babies change things, is that why they left me?”

“Oh, zusje, no.” Max closed the space and pulled you into his arms. “They haven’t left you, I told you they are on their way. Charles was by your side the whole time and they wanted to come in the helicopter but they couldn’t. Don’t you remember?”

You shook your head against his chest, unable to see that the door had opened behind him. 

“Those two love you, and they aren’t leaving you.” Max looked over his shoulder and stepped away so Lando and Charles could calm you down in a way only they had the power to do.

“You must be crazy to think we would ever leave you, baby.” He took your hand and paled at the sight of the blood seeping from where the IV was. 

“What have you done, amour?” Charles sighed and shook his head. “Get her back in the bed, she’s still too warm. I’ll go find a doctor.”

“Sorry, she freaked out at the news.”

“We should have been here with her,” he said wistfully as he watched Lando carefully lay you back on the cooling pad and wrap the chilled blankets around you. 

“You should have worn a fucking condom.” Knowing his temperament was unstable, Max nodded his head to the bed and excused himself. “You stay here, I’ll find the doctor.”

For the second time in less than 12 months you were staring at a contract that was null and void. It was hard not to resent the little bean growing inside of you at the turn of events but it wasn’t her fault that you had a moment of stupidity when you were drunk. No one publicly knew the full extent of your condition outside of the handful of people who had signed NDA’s. You still didn’t quite understand it. Obviously, you did, but some part of your brain still refused to accept it. 

You hadn’t been able to say anything after the doctors told you everything that had come to light while you were unconscious. You had just curled up on the temperature controlled bed and fallen into a state of disassociation. It had taken almost two days for your body to regulate its own temperature again and you were almost ready to be cleared to be discharged. 

You had undergone test after test to make sure the baby was healthy and a small knot in your stomach unclenched when they said everything came back as normal. You picked up the picture of the sonogram again, searching the image for a connection that would make it real. But all you saw were ten fingers, ten toes and a big head. Charles joked Lando was definitely the father. Max kicked a chair and walked out.

“Shouldn’t I feel…something?” you asked quietly, your voice hoarse from the lack of use. 

Lando shared a look with Charles before climbing onto the bed behind you and curling his body around the shape of yours. He kissed your shoulder and his fingers brushed your shirt up so he could rest his hand over your abdomen. 

“There’s not even a bump,” you whispered. 

“I know you’re scared, baby, but it’s going to be okay,” Lando promised. “Charles and I will be by your side the entire time.”

You tucked the picture back under your pillow and closed your eyes. The toll the race took on you was still draining your energy quickly between the many naps you had taken. “I want to go home.”

“I’ll go find Max,” Charles said, knowing no matter how angry he might be he wasn’t going to abandon you.

You didn’t open your eyes as you shook your head. “No, not Monaco. I want to go home.”

The warmth being you disappeared as Lando rose from the bed and pulled out his phone. “I’ll call your mum.”

“I’ll book the flights.”

“And I’ll go to sleep.”

Your replacement had been confirmed before you even reached Doha Airport. It felt like the universe was kicking you while you were already down but someone had to be ready to drive in Austin, and Fernando certainly had the experience. Plus, he couldn’t get pregnant and fuck up the team’s plans for the season. 

Lawrence had tried to fire Kristian for not including pregnancy tests with the rest of your regime, but since he was employed directly by you the most the bastard could do was ban him from the Aston Martin hospitality areas. Kristian had apologised and sent flowers to the hospital, feeling guilty for not realising what was going on and for pushing you so hard. At least now you knew why no amount of training was helping you lose weight, it was only going to get worse in the coming months. 

“They’re all looking at me,” you huffed as you buried your hands in the hoodie you stole off Lando. “They know.” You had only just stepped out of the car at the terminal and you could feel the eyes in you. 

“No they don’t. No one knows, mon amour, and no one will until you’re ready.”

“Fuck, reporters are here,” Lando growled, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and tucking you into his side protectively as the security detail surrounded all three of you. “You don’t have to stop or say anything, baby, just keep your head down.”

Questions were shouted through the wall of black suits that blocked you, their accusations and taunts trying to goad you into talking to them. You were accustomed to the barrage but your exhaustion and the somewhat turbulent emotional state had your teeth gritted.

“Mr Stroll, the senior, has stated Alonso’s return will be positive for the team and he is expecting a much stronger finish to the season with a man in the seat. What are your thoughts on that?”

“Mr Stroll has been wanting a man to drive for him all season, I am glad he’s finally found one. Maybe he can replace Lance next and have it as a two man team.”

“Ma chérie,” Charles warned quietly.

“As for my thoughts, well Fernando can have them and my prayers when he realises what a shit box the car has become. I wish him all the best.”

You hadn’t realised you had pulled out of Lando’s embrace and were heading towards the reporters who were swarming with all the wild enthusiasm of a shark smelling blood. Suddenly the space between the security guards was blocked and it was Charles who curled an arm around your waist, guiding you towards the special entrance to the departure lounge. 

“Take a breath,” he murmured in your ear.

The rush of blood made it almost impossible to hear him and you realised how worked up you had gotten over the question. They made you want to rip your hair out. All that repeated in your head was the final question that had been shouted while you were led away. Twice you had your contracts voided, two teams, which meant you were the common denominator. Were you the problem in the sport or women in general?

“Congratulations. You just ruined any chances of another female getting to the same level. I always said women are too messy for this sport, too emotional.” You hated that you could still hear Jos snickering in your head and Charles wiped your cheek, his fingers coming away wet.

“It’s not fair,” you choked as you buried your face in his chest. “All I wanted to do was race, ever since I was a kid, Charles. I don’t know who I am without it.” 

“I know it isn’t fair, amour, and I’m sorry,” he said softly as he wiped your tears away. “But this isn’t the end, you can still come back. You are a World Champion, that doesn’t change because you had a baby.”

You laughed before sobering up. “Oh wait, you’re serious…”

“Of course I am, and I know you. Stubborn, strong, stubborn,” he smirked. “You thrive on doing what people say you can’t do, on what you think you can’t do. It’s why I fell in love with you, the day you beat me for the Monaco Kart Cup.”

You did love to prove people wrong, so maybe there was a chance - however small - for a return in the future. Whether someone would be willing to take a risk giving you a seat again would be a problem for another day, or year.

“I’m surprised you noticed me,” you admitted as you started to relax again in the empty hall that bypassed the busier areas of the airport. “I didn’t think you could see anything through that Beiber hair you had going on.”

“I saw enough to know you held my heart, and my trophy.”

Lando draped his arm over Charles’ shoulders and pinched his cheek. “Who knew you were such a romantic?”

“Everyone,” you smirked at Lando, “because he’s french.”

You laughed as Charles gasped as wriggled out from between you, pacing ahead on his own. “You know I am Monegasque.”

“You are?” Lando played dumb, scratching his head at the regular joke. “When were you going to tell us?”

A frustrated groan echoed down the hall and you giggled along with Lando before catching up.

“Someone should probably explain that to Arthur, he still thinks he’s french.”

Click here for the next part.

[sehtoast]

Wash Away His Sins (Homelander x Reader Smut)

18+ | 1.1k Shower sex, oral sex, mostly lovey with a light dusting of angst. gender neutral reader. | Fic Directory

He realizes it's the light in your eyes that consumes him the most.

The way you dance around him, unknowingly elegant in even your clumsiest moments. You flow through this world like calligraphy given a body.

The way you smile when he comes home. The way your hands find his bloodied cheeks, uncaring if his cruelty stains you.

The way you kiss him. The glint in your eye as you pull away.

"Let's get you cleaned up," you tell him.

And he nods. Lets you, bubbling sunshine that you are, dirty yourself in the viscera of his victims. All just to help him feel better.

There’s been blood on your hands before. But not like him. Not because you lost control. You were a true hero, and he was just…

Himself.

Whatever that may mean…

And yet, you still called him a hero. Reminded him of all the good he’s done– all that he’s capable of. Every time he comes home like this, he worries you’ll hate him. Cast him out, shun him for the unspeakable acts he’s committed with his own two hands.

But you don’t.

You lead him to safety. You wash him, pamper him. Comfort him.

Just like you do now.

Once upon a time, he was afraid to let you see all of him. Shamed by his lack. There was no perfect figure underneath. Those muscles weren’t real– weren’t him.

But you’d soothed those fears so long ago, well before falling into an unnamed relationship that simply couldn’t be less than that of two souls deeply, deeply in love. Where he was cruel, you were kind. The sheer power of your love, your kindness, rivaled the force of his bitterness with ease. In that duel, you always won. Always calmed him, brought him away from the brink.

Hell, you even relax the voice of his alter ego, whose goading was the very reason he was painted red.

He imagines the two of you were born from two stars, perfectly compatible, at opposite ends of the universe. And still, you found each other.

He shuts his eyes as you unzip the suit. The cold of your palm contrasts the near torturous heat contained in that suit. You are like a balm, soothing the fires both inside and out.

You strip him with care, stopping only to start the shower– but not too hot.

You know what they’d done to him in the labs, and you never made him feel irrational for avoiding reminders. He appreciates you endlessly, even if the words may never truly fall from his lips. Caught in his throat every time.

Caught now as you strip and lead him under the stream.

His hands are clean without his gloves, but he still hesitates to touch you. To anchor his hands at your hips while your fingers push through his hair, thick from product and crusted blood. The water runs pink down his back, down your arms, but you don’t grimace.

You don’t look at him differently. Except for when you do.

But that comes after.

After you work suds through his hair. After you lather his body, hands and fingertips dancing over him as though you meant to worship him. Left hand sliding back, fingers dipping down the curve of his rear. Right hand smoothing soap through the curls on his chest, his stomach, hips…

You don’t miss a single spot.

He imagines this is what it’s like to be a deity. To have someone stand before you and revere you.

Love you.

But, as much as he would claim otherwise, he is no deity. No god.

That title falls to you, instead. You are divine, in every sense of the word. You are the warmth of the sun, the beauty of the moon, the power of storms. You are sweetness under the press of his lips, the slide of his tongue. Soft as silk, yet as unbreakable as tungsten.

Your powers afford you the ability to survive him. It is the greatest gift Compound V could’ve ever given him.

It’s why he doesn’t hesitate to grip your waist harder when you finally find him half hard and yearning, pumping slowly. You finish cleaning him first, shower head in your hand to rinse him. Kisses pressed over the expanse of his chest, water sprayed teasingly between his legs.

He bites you when you grasp him again. He’d nuzzled against your shoulder and simply couldn’t help it. Your gasp makes him shiver.

The hand at his cock strokes, and he exhales tightly. His body feels weightless, but not like when he flies. He feels as though he could drift into space, in perfect bliss. Relaxed, comfortable, peaceful.

That is your true power– more than simply what Compound V gave you.

You quell an unfathomable swell of violence that hides within him. You bring light. You bring calm.

You bring love.

Love.

”I love you,” he rasps against your skin, hips pushing to fuck your fist. Your lips find his neck, and you nip and suckle and he yearns for a world in which you can mark him. Claim him just as he does to you. A wavering moan escapes his lips, and he’s close. He has half a mind to hike your leg up and take you, but you fall to your knees before he can finish the thought.

He has to lean against the wall when your lips wrap around him. The sight of you on your knees, worshiping him, his cock disappearing inch by inch into your mouth leaves him panting heavy breaths that steam into the air.

Your name falls from his lips when he nudges the back of your throat, and you just keep taking him. More and more, a hand at his balls, the other splayed over his abdomen.

His eyes roll back, but not before the heat in them sizzles and evaporates the water droplets surrounding them. His hips rock forward, and he’s so close. It would be so easy to grip your head and fuck you with all of his might. You could, after all, withstand him.

But you’re so tender with how you handle him. He wants to return it. Wants to touch and act with love.

So he lets you have full control. A hand petting through your hair as your tongue laves over him. A pinched expression as you send him higher and higher, until he’s teetering on the brink of release and oh, how he needs it. Needs you.

Your name is on his lips when he accepts it and comes. When that hand mindlessly pulls your head closer and he spurts down your throat, groaning loudly as he thrusts shallow.

When he slips free, it is to fall to his knees. To embrace you, to kiss the taste of himself from your lips– lick it from your mouth.

”I love you.”

You say it back, of course. Between kisses, between giggles. His eyes are soft, and the smile that tugs at his kiss bitten lips is more beautiful than any sunrise the cosmos could ever paint.

The water will run cold by the time he returns your love tenfold.

[faetima]

𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞 . .

. . maybe you weren't as lucky as you thought you were?

// tws ; blood !! slight swearing ; gn reader ; modern & high school au, hanahaki au 

a/n: decided to write about aventurine despite the poll i'm sorry 😞 anyways lucky girl syndrome by illit is SO GOOD

you had always considered yourself lucky; whether that pertained to getting great deals, having great luck in board games, or just guessing test answers correctly. you had almost never had bad luck, and all your friends and family knew.

you were referred to as their own personal four-leaf clover, bringing good luck wherever you went.

so why did your luck suddenly falter and fail you? why did your good luck suddenly turn bad?

those were the thoughts that plagued your mind as you, hunched over a trash can, hurled up bitter pink peonies.

how could a flower that symbolized such good fortune and prosperity sprout from such a horrible condition?

coughs wracked your feeble body as more of the bubblegum colored flowers flopped into the trash can, clumped together with mucus and scarlet blood.

you gasped for air, finally able to breathe for the most part. small petals elegantly floated down and sat on top of the mucus coated flowers, sprinkled with the slightest hint of blood.

shakily you backed away, arms wrapped around your knees, of which were brought up to your head.

you buried your face in your arms, sobbing.

why did this have to happen to you? so many people in the world, yet you had to be the one spewing up damned peonies just because of a stupid unrequited love.

you wished you had never been put in the same class as aventurine, that you had never heard his laugh, never seen his stupidly pretty purple eyes or his blonde hair, never heard his voice, never laid your fucking eyes on him.

you were too scared to get the surgery--what if it failed? if your luck was failing you now, what if it backfired when you were getting the surgery too?

if you were going to die either way, you wanted to at least remembered the person while you did.

--

you changed your mind--that idea was fucking stupid.

you should've gotten the surgery when you could've, but now it was too little too late.

why did you even want to remember him? he didn't even know your damn name. he didn't even know you existed.

if only you weren't so scared to talk to him (or anyone else for that manner).

maybe if you weren't such a coward you could've been besides him right now or walking with him or watching as he gambled his luck away or talking with him or--

another cough tore you away from your thoughts. you heaved out yet another mucus covered peony. it flopped onto the ground ungracefully, staining your newly polished floors an ugly red from the blood on it.

the sickly sweet smell floral smell of peonies filled the room, making you nauseous and dizzy.

you definitely weren't as lucky as you thought you were.

--

weak coughs wracked your fragile body.

it was hard to breathe.

you felt as if the room was spinning around you, barley able to form a single thought as your oxygen was being cut off.

you laid there on your bed, suffocating slowly on rosy pink peonies.

maybe two lucky people just aren't meant to be together.

[muzansfangs]

Guilty pleasure.

Starring: Muzan x f!reader; Nakime (mentioned), Kagaya Ubuyashiki (mentioned), Shinobu (mentioned), Kanae (mentioned) Enmu, Yoriichi Tsugikuni.

Warnings: nsfw, murder, traumatic events from a child perspective, death, violence, gore, loss of parents, implied adoption, implied stalking, oral sex (reader receiving).

Plot: Talking with his seventh in command, Muzan reminisced about his past, about you and how you had always been his greatest weakness. While a particular Slayer is searching for you, Muzan bent his knee to you and showed you a side of him you, deep down, hoped to see. He cared about you a little more than he allowed you to know, apparently, and you once again feel lost into this crazy whirlwind of contrasting emotions.

PART 1| PART 2| PART 3| PART 4| PART 5| PART 6| PART 7

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

MEMORIES.

"What do we know about her?" Muzan asked, lighting up a cigarette as he stared at the photograph of the purple-eyed slayer who had dared to put your life in danger. She was no different from the other ones they had taken down throughout the years: a prick destined to fall by his hand, a girl whose name was going to be forgotten by the world, once she had exhaled her last breath. Who was she again? A slayer.

Who were The Slayers?

The Slayers, right, a pack of mangy dogs without a life purpose who spent their time trying to get his head, young people wasting their youth to serve that man. Every single time The Moons captured one of the swordsmen, they all said the same thing: "Muzan Kibutsuji is a monster, he deserves to die".

He was not offended. He pitied them, instead. How could they be so blind to see that Ubuyashiki Kagaya, and his father before him, asked them to stain their hands in blood, to commit the same crimes he, the devil himself, the infamous Muzan Kibutsuji, had been accused of? The thing was they surely fought for opposite ideals, but when the sun set, they were the same.

Why? Because two people pointing a gun, pulling the trigger, washing the blood of their victim away from their faces, were always going to be murderers. It did not matter why they did it, or how they dealt with their conscience, they were killers.

Now, looking at that girl, he wanted nothing more than tearing her apart limb from limb, for she had had the audacity of putting your life in danger. You, the girl he was going to marry, the one who had touched some strings of his heart no one had ever found, the good omen in his life. There was only one thing he was absolutely certain about: he would have always protect you.

Even if it meant dying for you.

"Her name is Shinobu Kocho, Master. – the seventh in command cooed – Her code name is Belladonna. Apparently, she is best known for poisoning her victims" he singsonged, drawing another photograph from his folder and sliding it down Muzan's desk.

The raven-haired man narrowed his eyes at the girl portrayed in it. She seemed a few years older than the other Slayer, but she had some physical traits in common with her. Were they perhaps related in some way? He had a feeling he had seen her face before. Those twinkling, kind, pink eyes felt familiar.

"She is the reason why Balladonna attacked Douma and Miss. L/N yesterday—" the Moon continued, only to be cut off by Muzan.

His plum red eyes blazed in a sinister glint, until they almost seemed to have darkened for his evident irritation "Mrs. Kibutsuji, Enmu" he deadpanned, watching the way his subordinate prostrated himself in front of him, his dark bob swinging around his heart-shaped visage.

"I beg your pardon, Master! – Enmu pleaded him, his turquoise eyes transfixed on the polished black derby shoes of the raven-haired man in front of him – I did not mean to offend you and your lovely fiancé" he apologetically cried out, not daring to flick his gaze up to face his cantankerous boss. He knew how cruel Muzan could be, he knew he would have not stopped when blood spilled, or a bone broke. They were nothing more than toys for him. Oncr they were broken, he threw them away without hesitation.

Muzan scoffed, reaching his hand out to put off the cigarette on the silver ashtray "Spit it out then. You are wasting my time, Enmu Tamio. – he stated, grasping the photo and turning it towards the terrified boy – Who is this other girl?".

The seventh in command gulped down forcefully, eyes landing on the the girl's smiling face in the photo, as he nodded his head absent-mindedly "Her name was Kanae Kocho. She was Belladonna's older sister. Douma kidnapped, tortured and killed her in hope she would have revealed her colleagues's identities. She did not say anything, except that her sister would have come for our heads sooner or later. – he explained, a tear rolling down his right cheek – I was there too. I recorded everything".

It was only then, when Enmu mentioned the fact that she had been killed by Douma, that he remembered her. Peony, she was Peony. He had specifically given the order to murder her, after they had reported the news of her being a Slayer and wandering around a certain area of the city: your neighborhood. Her shifts dangerously coincided with your homecomings from the restaurant where you worked.

He could not let you two interact. Not after he had found you again after all those years. You were his greatest weakness, his remorse. His humanity. The idea of having killed you too that night, under the pouring rain, had tormented him for years. He would have never forgotten your big doe eyes filled with tears. You had not changed. The terrorized look you had whenever you were scared was the same you had shot in his direction in the middle of the night, when you screamed out your father's name as his dead body slumped down on the muddy ground.

Your eyes had haunted him for years.

When he saw you all those years later, jogging down the sidewalk, he knew you were not just a random girl. He did not imagine it was you, though. The kid whose life he had crashed the night he officially succeded his father and swore to take the lead of the Country. He had to see you again, he had to know who you were, you had to be his to protect and keep by side forever.

When Douma had showed him the first picture of you he had taken, he immediately focused on your eyes. It was you then. It was the kid he had to kill. It was Y/N L/N.

It was Y/N Ubuyashiki, the sin staining Kagaya's name.

And it was yesterday, when you stared at him in horror, fearing for your life, that he understood that he could not keep the eye-contact with you. He could not keep up with you, he could not see you staring at him as if he was a monster, like you had said that night. Therefore, he had blindfolded you.

If only you knew how deeply he cared about you. He cursed the fate day and night for having made him fall for you, his enemy's daughter. He was going mad. You were a black diamond, enticing him with your attitude and beauty.

You, how dare you to make him fall for you with every minute you spent together?

Muzan scowled, his plum red eyes darting on the display of his phone on his desk. You had apparently texted him a few minutes ago, but he was too busy reminiscing about the past to hear the sound of the nitification.

"Leave" he flatly said, grabbing his phone and turning his back at the knelt man in front of him to make him plainly clear that his presence was no longer required.

Enmu flinched at the sound of his voice and hastily stood up, bolting for the door with his heart thrumming into his chest. A coward, that was how Muzan saw him. A talented hypnotist, indeed, but a rabbit running into his burrow as soon as danger flinged around the room.

Once he was alone, Muzan sat on his armchair and unlocked his screen to read your message. He expected you to thank him for the bank transfer, or asking him more about the plans for the night. What he did not expect was a picture of Nakime, staring blankly at the camera, and your comments below.

YOU: Hi, Muzzie! Care to explain what the fuck she's doing here? :)

YOU: Also, thanks for the gifts and the money but, honestly, I'd really appreciate it if you gave me some privacy back. If I am not mistaken, the fourth clause of the contract specifically grants a car for me to use. Where is it?

Muzan smirked. You were really as smart as he thought you were. But he loved playing with you to test your nerves.

MUZAN: Earn it, love.

You did not take a long time to reply and he found himself smiling at the display once again, eager to read what you had to say.

YOU: How? Do I have to kill for you? Whose head do you crave to use as a footrest?

He would have never ever let you be a monster. You were an angel, a pure soul. He killed in your name, but he would have never ever asked of you to take someone's life for him. You were his pride and joy. Therefore, before going back to work on his pc, he typed a simple reply.

MUZAN: That's romantic, love. But I'm fine. Just get on all four tonight, it will suffice.

♚

Cheeks beet red, nails digging onto the palms of your hands, you stared at your reflection in the mirror. There was no way in the world you were going to wear that thing for him. You liked some good lingerie, but that was definitely too much. You felt naked, the silky black choker around your neck was making you feel like a courtesan. The suspenders, the lace thong and the bra were doing numbers on you.

What did he have in store for you? After all, he had promised you that you would have talked about his bodyguards, about him and about The Slayers.

If he thought you were just going to moan his name all night long, he was wrong. Grabbing your phone, you called him. You were not going to wear these slutty undergarments to pamper his ego. Reaching one hand behind your back to unclasp the bra, you kept your phone pressed to yout ear with the other and patiently waited for Muzan to pick up the phone.

"I guess you've found my gift, haven't you?" his hoarse voice finally pierced your ears after the third ring, earning a sight from you.

"Yes, I have, and I'm not going to wear this shit. I don't care if it's a 'Victoria's secret' limited collection. I still have my dignity" you complied, struggling to get the with the item off of you. As long as you hated it, you perfectly knew that it was expensive and you did not want to ruin it out of irritation.

You heard Muzan humming "It's not something supposed to stay on for a long time, love. – he reasoned, as you finally discarded the bra back onto the box huffing and puffing – What are you doing, anyway?" he curiously asked, making you roll your eyes at his comment.

"Nothing inappropriate, don't worry. I'm just going to take a shower" you replied, settling the phone on the bed and selecting the loudspeaker as you proceeded in slipping your fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear to drag them down your thighs.

However, the call ended with a click but Muzan's voice sounded too close to you "I'm just in time, then" he cooed from the threshold, making an high-pitched scream leave your lips, arms reaching up to cover your exposed chest from his vicious eyes immediately. Zero privacy, as per usual.

You blushed and took a few steps back, your eyes daggers on the man stripping off of his jacket "Hands down, Y/N. It's nothing I haven't seen before" he promptly remarked, turning towards the door and locking it.

"You're a pervert" you spat, averting your eyes from him.

Muzan quirked his eyebrow up, loosening the knot of his tie and throwing it on the floor carelessly, his fingers then working on the buttons of his shirt "I haven't showed you all my kinks yet, love. Don't be so rude. I'm much worse than that" he jested, irking you.

You exhaled through your nostrils and stormed to the bathroom, in hope to lock the door and leave him behind, but Muzan had understood your poor strategy and, before you could reach your destination, he had his hands around your waist. You yelped, your naked back pressed against his firm abs sent shivers down your spine, but the way the way his hands cupped your breasts, replacing your shaking ones, was something else.

"Can we try to get along? – he whispered in your ear, planting a kiss below your jaw – I don't like it, when you're mad at me" he hotly said, resting his chin on the top of your shoulder.

"If you stopped being a jerk, I would stop being a brat" you retorted, trying to resist his charm.

"What do I have to do to make you like me?" Muzan asked, a smug smirk gracing his lips as he rested his hands down your hips and spun you around to face him. Now, staring deep into his eyes, it was hard saying no. It was hard denying him what he was asking of you.

You batted your eyes close for a second, your fingertips grazing the outline of his abs "Show me that you like me too" you said breathless, almost regretting it. Why did you ask him such a thing? He oughted you no devotion, or romantic commitment after all.

You did not expect him to take you seriously. You did not expect him to grasp your chin and capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss again. Yet, when his tongue slipped into your mouth and he softly helped you to lay down on the bed behind you, there was something that made you feel like he was truly trying to convince you of something, of proving his intentions and feelings.

When his lips parted from yours, his hand slipping down underneath your panties, he locked his eyes with yours "Has anyone ever gone down on you?" he asked in a whisper, making your breath hitch in your throat.

No. The answer was no, naturally. You had gone down on someone a few times, but no one had ever done it for you. Not even your ex, Sanemi.

"N-No" you murmured, turning your face to the side in embarrassment.

Muzan cupped your cheek in his hand, his thumb stroking the area above your cheekbone lovingly "May I have the honor to be your first once again?" he asked you, watching the way your eyes widened slightly and how you nodded your head at him. He had asked for your consent. Not that you never had given him it, but it was hot, it was intimate.

"You don't have to, you know?" you told him, watching how he worked on the suspenders and dragged every last piece of item you were wearing down your legs.

Muzan's hands ran up and down your thighs, parting them gently, as he laid his body flatly on the mattress. His hot breath fanned your heat and you bit your lower lip in anticipation, as he placed a soft kiss on your clitoris.

"I want to" he simply said, before he ran his tongue down your slit.

You jolted, sparks of electricity pervading your body as he started lapping up at your arousal with swirls of his expert tongue. How many times had he done it? Probably, too many to count. Yet, you were aloof from knowing that you were the only woman he was enjoying going down to, the only one he had offered his skills to without feeling any kind of pressure.

Why? Because it was you and you were different for him.

His pace was torturously slow, his mouth wrapped around your bundle of nerves, sucking on it, flicking his tongue around it, made whimpers and soft moans fall from your lips as your hands gripped the bedsheets at your sides tightly.

Arching your back, you glanced down at him. Muzan met your gaze, his red eyes pinning you on the spot as he gave you a look of your juices running down his chin, glistening under the artificial light of the chandelier. You blushed and he grinned, grasping your legs and settling them over his shoulders.

"You taste heavenly" he purred against your pussy, before sticking his tongue deep into your clenching hole.

You squirmed, hands flying up to your face to shield yourself from his attentive eyes. You felt ashamed for fhe lewd faces you were making. Did you really miss that much? Or was it just Mr. Kibutsuji talent?

"Muzan—" you whined, tears peeking at the angle of your eyes as your partner's grip on your hips intensified. You felt the a familiar pressure coiling into your lower abdomen and the idea of releasing on Muzan's tongue made you both thrilled and bashful. What if he did not like it? What if he did not want you to cum?

But, actually, the way he stimulated every right spot of your clitoris, the way he held your body close to his face, was a clear sign that he aspired to. He groaned against your entrance, your legs squeezing his head as you ended up climaxing on his sinful tongue.

He lapped away your essence and you trembled under the overstimulation, your chest raising and falling erratically as you stared at the ceiling in haze. What had just happened? Why did he let you enjoy yourself that much? Why did he satisfy your fantasies, if you should have been the one doing it?

You lifted yourself up on your elbows, glancing up at the dark-haired man unbuckling his belt at the end of the bed. The prominent tent in his pants looked uncomfortable and you blushed, crawling towards him with the most grateful and kind expression on your face that made his heart skip a beat in his chest. You could not look that cute and beautiful at the same time.

"T-Thank you... – you whispered, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear – Can I help you take care of..." you trailed off, darting your eyes away from the bulge in his boxers, threatening to nudge at your nose. You had not realised how close to it you were, until you had flicked your gaze up to meet his intense gaze.

Muzan chuckled, his calloused hand ruffling your hair jokingly "You don't have to thank me. – he said, his eyes darkening all of a sudden – But you can follow me into the shower. I feel like if I fucked you right now the way I had planned, you would seriously need me to carry you around for a week" he hoarsely commented, making your heart drop into your stomach.

What was wrong with him?

♚

In the meanwhile, maroon eyes studied your empty house. It seemed like you had not been home for a few days. Everything was perfectly tidy, but the majority of your clothes were gone from the drawers, from your wardrobe. Your books were no where to be seen and the fridge was empty.

The tall man sighed, entering your bedroom in search for any clue of where you had gone. Little did he know where you were, but when Kagaya had called him last night to ask for his help again, he had refused to believe it.

You, the sweet and innocent girl he had rescued that night, were now siding with a monster? How did he convince you to follow him? How could you possibly love him?

Yet, when he spotted a white shirt with a reddish stain on its sleeve, he grasped it. Inhaling the dull track of scent still impregnating the fabric, he cussed. Reality finally dawned to him at the smell of the wine ruining the snow-white shirt. It was a Chianti. He knew exactly who loved sipping glasses of Chianti.

Muzan Kibutsuji had taken you away and Yoriichi Tsugikuni was going to bring you back home.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hi there! I am honored to finally introduce the knight in the shiny armor: Yoriichi Tsugikuni. Now, Muzan and oral sex are something else for me. Y/N is a lucky pal, although her past is … ehm, a little crazy, you know? And there’s so much more to know about it muhahah. I love angsty shit, don’t I?

Anyway, let me know what you think about the chapter and thank you so much for reading this fan fiction 😭❤️

Tag list: @tired-writer04 @hjjks @kakuchosbff @yazzzmints @bookandstar @z3r0art @cherrymanhuas @kazuhasslvt @selenenyx0124 @infinitedilf @yunixkill @shigarakithings @i-loveyou013

[enuniu]

katsuki hates everything (except he does not)

| one

Katsuki hates red. 

He hates the way it burned against his skin, the way it dragged its color and painted him pretty shades of pink and magenta and everything in between; he hates the way it tasted against the tip of his tongue, his buds begging for more of that sickly sweet flavor. 

Out of all the colors on the color wheel, his mind hesitated and hovered over a strip of stained blood and painted nails—of cheap hair dye and tattered clothing and anything that remotely let the damn pigmentation bleed into itself.

Katsuki hates red—

He hates how much he loves it.

| two

Katsuki hates crocs.

Who the fuck wears crocs these days?

Katsuki will never understand the ideal shoe would be having holes across the expanse of it and enjoying the curved, sturdy platform that wouldn’t do no good in a hazy game of soccer or a walk around the park underneath the blazing sun.

They were the embodiment of impulsive decisions and shark teeth and crimson eyes and the smell of axe body spray; they were nothing but the habit of scratching the nape of a neck or averting eyes every time they were directly looked at—they were pretty and beautiful and manly and all things good—

And maybe Katsuki hated it. He didn’t like the way those piercing grins and pushy hands accompanied with a pair of bright red crocs that were so distracting that he himself couldn’t look away without the utter disgust of a frown forming on his mouth. 

Those shoes needed to be burned to a crisp; no love needed by wearing them every chance they got.

But—

They were his and if he loved them and cherished them like a goddamn trophy wife then possibly, Katsuki did too.

| three

Katsuki hates being a tutor.

Katsuki wanted to rip these damn calculations up and explode them into a dust of ashes, hoping to wash away his traveling thoughts of pencil sketches and doodles that littered the borders of the white stationary. 

He had no patience to teach such intricate and complicated equations to someone who won’t even bother to pay attention to his hard-headed lectures. 

Once in awhile Katsuki felt the urge to roll up pages of homework and bang them along stupid red spikes that shot high up and never faltered after every hit. But no sound of resistance came out, no whine of complaints, no smoothing over the points at the top of a head; there was nothing but the outburst of giggles and counters of insults that were directed Katsuki’s way. 

If Katsuki wasn’t in middle school anymore, he would’ve blasted them through the thin walls of their dorm rooms, hoping to leave a human shaped hole after.

But he wasn’t and he wouldn’t admit to himself, but—

Katsuki quite liked the way that laugh echoed against the shells over his ears and the way it sent unexpected shivers up his arms and had his stomach twisted uncomfortably, but in a good way.

Because even if those funny comments didn’t know how to work a single problem in their textbook—he didn’t not like it.

No—Katsuki didn’t mind.

| four

Katsuki hates when he’s not smiling anymore. 

His smile falters. 

His enthusiastic, blinding, beautiful smile—hesitates.

Katsuki has never been so livid in his entire life. He can’t remember exactly why he’s angry or why the sudden feeling of igniting bombs in the palms of his hand was his go-to course of action because, because, because —  

The boy full of cheerful grins and pumped up fists was no longer smiling and Katsuki will be damned if he lets it continue. He no longer held the world in his hands and his red eyes no longer glazed with the small excitement of a child and he no longer spoke those soft words reserved only for Katsuki. 

So, Katsuki brought anything that could comfort him. He brought a heavy amount of sugary snacks, discs of shitty movies, and the worn out sweatshirt of Crimson Riot that he may or may have not stolen from his closet some time ago. 

And when he sees them huddled into Katsuki’s folded arms, he finally smiles.

He smiles small and low, but it’s genuine and it’s there and Katsuki hopes to never fail at bringing it up again.

Because Katsuki hates when he isn’t showing those sharp teeth he likes so much.

| five 

“Bakugou,”

Katsuki grunts.

The other takes it as his cue to continue. “Do you like me?”

Katsuki has to take a full double turn at the question—because what the fuck was that. He tried to form any sentence that could possibly respond to that absurd and stupid inquiry, but seeing those eyes drop low at his silence has him reeling back to reality and forgetting anything else he was thinking about. 

“What kind of fucking question is that?”

Silence.

Katsuki thinks and he thinks and he thinks—

“What do you think Shitty Hair,”

He opens his mouth,

“Yes?”

Katsuki snorts at the confusion. But, he couldn’t leave him in the dark. Not anymore. He spent too long fantasizing about pink cheeks and sharp edges of skin; thought way too hard at the idea that maybe those chapped lips that were constantly tugged and pulled from pointed teeth were actually soft and sweet. 

Maybe he tasted like orange soda he bought at the convenience store he so rightfully argued was the best beverage out there or maybe he tasted like late night snacks of graham crackers he hid underneath the cabinets from the rest of their classmates (stingy, might he add).

Whatever it was—he did. He really did.

So, Katsuki took one more glance at him , a glance of everything red, of everything matching with those damn crocs he liked, of his inability to figure out how exactly a math equation should be solved, of sad tears on sad evenings and—

“Yes,”

Katsuki breathed one last time.

“I do like you,”

One more sigh—

“Eijirou.”

[bokettochild]

According to my sister, rabbits feel safer when they can’t see.

Just something I thought I’d share :3

Well I WAS just going to coo and give some sort of answer, but this is a rabbit thing and I have a weakness and had some free time sooo......

How about a very barely relevant fic based around a story I heard as a kid and barely remember + this particular idea?

Full fic under the cut

The Selkie King

  There are many times it's easy to forget how young his fellow heroes are.  

  As a soldier, the Hero of Warriors has seen boys and men alike on the field, fighting, dying. He's held many a hand in final moments, his own still stained with blood more than not as final words and regrets are spilled to him by grizzled veterans and terrified teens.  

  Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that one of his brothers qualifies under both of those titles.  

  He tries not to see the other heroes like he does his soldiers. Tries to remember them as people and not pawns. It’s hard, after so many years tipping back whiskey to forget the humanity of those he’s had to slay, trying to retrain his mind to seeing others coldly, to remove emotion from his dealings with those who fight beside or against him on the field.  

  It hurts, getting attached.  

  He’d made the mistake countless times. Some, he regrets, others, like Mask and Tune, he’d never think twice about.  

  Still, even with his brothers, even with no regrets given for having let himself care about them; cry for them and treasure them, it’s easy to forget certain realities. It’s easy to forget, when he sees them with weapons in hand and blood dripping from crown to toes, that half of them are merely children themselves, and those who aren’t were hardly even adults when fate stole their lives from them and burdened them instead with the lives of all of Hyrule.  

  It’s easy to forget that Sky is hardly old enough to be served in a bar, that Twilight is still stumbling through the early years of his twenties. It’s easy to forget that Four and Hyrule are innocent to many of the greatest evils of the adult world, or that Wind- pirate or no- is still only just starting to go through the joys of puberty. It’s easy to forget that even for all of his scarring, Wild is still just barely learning how the world even works, in many ways still a child in his mind even if his memories, what few there are, are those of a man and a soldier.  

  Time, it’s harder. Time, he still remembers holding in his arms, rocking the kid to sleep because the motion helped, because the promise that he was still small enough to be held to begin with was a precious assurance the poor boy needed to feel secure enough to close his eyes. He’s wiped tears and wrapped injuries and tucked the now older hero in so many times that the child in his mind in many cases has blocked his vision of the man his son has now become.  

  And then there’s the vet.  

  Legend isn’t like the other heroes. He’s distant, reserved. There’s almost nothing they know about him save that he carries an arsenal fit for a whole battalion and knows more magic than the lot of them could ever hope to see performed.  

  He knows the veteran hero as a powerhouse and a threat.  

  He holds the vet at a distance, just as Legend does with them. Out of all of their group, the pink haired hero is the one with the least to share and the most to say. He's quick to redirect, to refocus, to tease and quip and jest, and despite all, he’s still capable of holding them away from himself with a wariness that makes the captain wary in return.  

  He’d like to claim that that is why it takes so long for him to realise. He’d like to claim that he'd been distracted by all the red flags, too much to see the similarities. No one would blame him if he’d claimed that his concerns were what prevented him from seeing the truth, but Warriors won’t lie to himself; he just didn’t look close enough.  

  It’s a night at an inn that opens his eyes. Twilight, Time and Wild usually room together. In a group of nine, it makes sense to get more than one room, and to keep it fair, they have three in each when they can. More often than not, he pays. Unlike his brothers, the captain has a steady salary, and the princess is personally financing his investigation into this increase in monster attacks, so while Legend may claim he’s broke, he does have a hand in the royal purse to use at his discretion. Providing beds for his brothers when they can find them is no issue. Tonight, that means that the wolf trio has their own room. Wind had insisted on having Four and Hyrule room with him, claiming they rarely got a chance to be alone and “without adults” and honestly, Warriors gets it. He trusts the sailor, and he understands the need for space. Granted, rooming with Legend of all people isn’t his first choice, but at least Sky will be there as well, and at least the Chosen Hero is someone they both can get along with, even if neither of them truly have much fondness for each other.  

  Honestly though, he’s not all too picky about where he lays his head. It’s been a long day, and he’s soaked to the bone, as are they all by the heavy rainfall currently going on. Time says it’s normal for spring in his world. Warriors doesn’t care. There’s mud all up and down his boots, his clothes are clinging to him and Nayru knows the combination of chain mail and rain isn’t pleasant for any of them.  

  At the least though, Legend’s been quiet today, so maybe there won’t be any hang ups. Hopefully. All Warriors really wants right now is a bed and a change of clothes. Well, he’d like more, but realistically speaking, he’d settle for just a bed and something dry to wear, neither of which are much of a hassle. Getting out of his wet things is a bit of a struggle, and chain mail wasn’t exactly designed for one to be taking off and putting on alone, but Sky is a blessing to Hyrule in general, and the man lends him a hand that Warriors willingly returns while Legend does whatever he does in the background.  

  He’s just tugging on a new shirt, dry, clean, and only minimally stained with blood, when the first flash of thunder rolls over the inn.  

  Sky flinches. “I hoped that wouldn’t happen.”  

  “Unavoidable I’m afraid,” he consoles, clapping his brother’s shoulder firmly. “No worries though. It’s distant.”  

  Another roll sounds over them.  

  “It’s moving though,” he muses, the first bolt of lightning flashing across the window and sending strange shadows dancing over the dimly lit room that has only a simple fireplace for both warmth and light. And Hylia knows it gives precious little of either. Ah well, the beds are soft. “Travelling towards us, I think.”  

  “Wonderful,” Sky drawls, shucking his tunic and then going about peeling off the first of his undershirts. “Just what I wanted.”  

  He chuckles, meeting Sky’s rueful smile before moving to settle on his bed. He’s not tired yet. Well, bone tired actually, but his mind isn’t ready for sleep and he’s rather inclined to fill out his daily report and maybe enjoy some poetry before actually getting some sleep.  

  He has the chance for neither. Another clap of thunder sounds and only seconds later there's a bolt of lightning that paints everything, from the bed to the walls to the floor to the ceiling, to their crumpled clothes on the floor, in cold white light.  

  Legend starts.  

  The vet’s been a wreck all day, predicting the storm by the ache in his joints alone and watching everything like a hawk. He's been tight lipped too, more so than usual, and not even his characteristic quips and barbs made an appearance as they wandered down soaked paths and sloshed through mud and mire in order to make it to the closest town before nightfall. Warriors hadn’t thought much of it besides that maybe the vet might just be in a lot of pain, but now he’s given a chance to think differently.  

  Now, Legend starts like a cat whose tail has just been pulled, and, in a motion that honestly surprises the war captain, the vet’s first action is to cover his eyes.  

  “Vet?” It’s Sky who asks it, but they’re both staring. Trained warriors watch every sudden motion, but that one had been... strangely out of character. “You okay?”  

  There isn’t an answer, but when the next rumble sounds, he knows he sees the vet tremble.  

  It’s.... startling.  

  Not the storm, Hylia knows he’s seen his share of those over the years. A storm like this isn’t even the worst he’s seen, but the vet... cowering- honestly there’s no other word to be used- it's... it’s odd.  

  “Legend?”  

  A shuddering breath is his answer, the soles of gnarled hands being pressed ever closer to tightly shut eyes, and suddenly the captain is stuck by the fact that Legend looks very, very young.  

  The vet is small, they all know this. He's the third shortest in the group, with only a literal child and someone with confirmed stunted growth ranking below him. They don’t have an age, but he’s always assumed, based off of skill and sarcasm, that Legend must be at least in his twenties, if not a bit older. When standing beside Sky, he seems older, beside Time, he’s just as seasoned and strong. Here on a bed in an inn, with lightning and thunder joining the cacophony of rain outside though, he looks like a kid, eyes hidden in his hands and breathing ragged.  Warriors can’t name what it is, but he looks like Mask.   

  “Ledge, hey, you alright?” Sky stares at him for the softened voice, well used to an exchange of heated barbs and insults, but the captain hardly takes note as he crosses from the bed that he’d fully intended to stretch out on to the one the vet sits on, curled up tight and trembling. “Vet, hey,” he’s gentle when he brushes fingertips over slight shoulders, and it’s shaking to realise how small the vet feels when he’s actually touching him.  

  The title says it all, paints an image of an adult with years under his belt, but the Hero of Warriors tends to forget that many of their number start young, and experience may be one thing, but it’s no promise of age.  

  “Hey there,” his voice is dropping soft and low without his consent, but he can’t help it when Legend flinches back at the mere brush of his fingers, and when he settles himself on the bed beside and the vet shifts away, he knows the change of tone is for the best.  

  Sometimes, people who distance themselves aren’t plotting and scheming. Sometimes, people who shy away from transparency are hiding, protecting themselves in the only way they know how. That's how Mask had been, hiding behind masks both physical and metaphorical, sharp tongue and acerbic wit defences against loss and heartbreak.  

  He’s struck, sitting there, that perhaps the same could be said for others in their number.  

  “Legend,” he tries again, and then there’s another flash and roll, right overhead this time, and the vet freezes.  

  “Oh,” Sky breathes, his own lightning scars still on full display as he pauses midway through changing, his own eyes wide as he watches the hero who’s gone from distant and inscrutable to small and childlike in what seems to be the blink of the eye- or, if one wanted to be more direct; a single clap of thunder.  

  It’s instinct that has his body moving before his mind has quite caught up to what he’s doing with the brother who he knows the least, hands catching slight wrists and dragging away, holding even as breath hitches and shoulders tremble. They cease though when he settles his own hand, so much bigger in comparison, over tightly shut eyes. He can feel the flutter of lashes against his palm, surprise evident as the other pauses, seems to miss entirely the next clap in favour of registering the new situation. Warriors takes the stillness as an invitation, settling closer, hand holding its place, pressed gently but close against freckled skin, blocking out light to the best of his ability.  

  “Okay, that helps, yeah? Okay, I’m moving closer now, alright?” And he does. Legend says and does nothing but sit there, but he feels the twitching under his hand and watches ears swivel towards him as he moves closer, leg brushing thigh as he moves as close as he considers safe, hand still held still and solid as his own ears track ragged breaths.   

  He's acting on impulse alone. Mentally, he’s questioning what the dickens has gotten into himself.  

  Legend stiffens further at the close proximity, but pressing a bit firmer, hand held closer, seems, somehow, to make that stop.  

  “There we go. You good, mate?”  

  A light shudder.  

  “Legend?” Sky murmurs, tugging his shirt on the rest of the way and starting closer towards them. The vet’s response is immediate, ears flicking towards him and head turning to face him, but Warriors, for some reason he can’t even begin to name- but which he thinks might be affiliated with Mask- prevents it. His hand tightens its hold again, the second settling on the other hero’s arm, just above the wrist but not confining, firm but not tight.  

  “Breathe.”  

  The order is obeyed.  

  “Sky is coming towards you right now,” because he’s now beginning to recognize the panic for what it is, and while apparently having his eyes covered helps, Legend still seems keen on being aware of those around him at all times. He’s still tightly wound though, so Warriors turns his attention on Sky as he continues to speak. “He’s going to sit across from us on the other bed, okay? He’s right here.”  

  Assure where people are, assuage uncertainties about actions, positions and behaviours, and provide some source of grounding. Or at least he’s pretty sure that’s what that therapist Zelda hired had recommended, before he’d stormed out and refused to come back anyway.  

  “I’m right over here,” Sky reaffirms, and it’s amazing to watch how the vet’s posture eases at the sound of the other man’s voice as Sky settles close, but not close enough to touch.  

  Legend’s breath rattles through the room again.  

  “Do you not like the storm?” It’s the size, he thinks, it must be the size. He knows that Legend’s a capable fighter and warrior, but the size and the shaking and the sheer childishness of the vet’s motion; covering his eyes against the storm, has a part of him that he’d tried locking away peeking back out and gentling his voice and hands.  

  A shudder is his answer.  

  “I’m lifting my hand now,” he says, just a moment before the motion is done. Legend’s breathing hitches, but when it’s the hand on his wrist that lifts, it starts again, although still shallow.   

  Huh.  

  “Now,” he continues, reaching blindly towards Sky, who watches him with confusion until he continues speaking “I’m going to have Sky hand me my scarf.”   

  It’s out of reach, on the bed he was planning on lying down on before, but Sky hands it over readily. It's still wet, but it’s honestly his trump card to help younger, shaken up heroes and while he’s never tried it with Legend, it’s worth a shot. The vet’s got to be younger than he assumed, and if the scarf works on Wild, there’s a chance that however old the other is, it could still work on him too.   

  “Can I bring it over here?” He asks.  

  Twisted fingers twitch, raising a bit, reaching out blindly. Legend makes no move to shake off his hand however, so Warriors doesn’t lift it. For some reason, he gets the impression that the lack of sight is somehow actually comforting.  

  “Okay,” he shifts a bit, hand holding over twitching lids but moving just enough for him to shift position, “I’m pulling it towards us, and I’m going to set it over your shoulders, okay?”  

  It’s telling that Legend doesn’t complain about him breaking down every motion and explaining it as he does it. Telling in a way he really doesn’t like. Just as telling though is the way the weight of the fabric, damp as it still might be, has the younger hero relaxing some, and on impulse the captain adds to the weight by settling an arm around thinner shoulders.  

  Legend all but sinks into him.  

  Oh crap. Yeah. It’s happening.  

  He feels like shit honestly. He totally missed a kid in his group, and he’s been treating them like an adult this whole time. It was a mistake with Mask, trying to respect his insistence that he was an adult and should be treated like one, but it’s more of one with Legend.  

  He can only imagine, based off of listening to the kids, what it’s like being a hero at a young age. His first adventure saw him nearly a teenager, and despite a demon at the end of the tracks, there had been fun and games and a trusted companion by his side the whole while. Not everyone has that. Legend is purported to have completed- at the least- six adventures, and he can only imagine what the laundry list of traumas associated must look like. Settling such a weight on young shoulders is a sure recipe for distrust and distancing.  

  Suddenly, the vet’s reservation around them makes a whole lot more sense.  

  And hurts more, because he should have noticed.   

  Thunder makes itself heard again, and while Legend doesn’t shift much, he still feels the other press just the slightest bit closer, head ducking and hand raising to pull his hand along after. There’s no need though, he’s already following along, arm wrapping just a bit tighter around slight shoulders even as he hums lowly. “Hey, shhh, I gotcha.”  

  “We’re here for you, Ledge,” Sky murmurs, voice rich and smooth and heavy, like caramel or honey. “Wars has you and I’m right here in front of you.”  

  Another shudder is followed by the slightest of nods; small, so as not to displace his hand.  

  “It’s a big storm,” the captain muses, shifting and finding himself strangely pleased when the teen beside him lets himself be shifted with him. “My sisters hated this sort of thing when we were small.”  

  He can feel Sky’s eyes, and Legend’s too in a more literal way; long lashes tickling the pads of his palm as dark eyes must flicker open. There’s no attempt made though to displace his hand, and until there is, he elects to leave it. Still, he can feel the unspoken question from them both, and he answers it without much undo delay.  

  “I have six sisters. Five younger and then my twin. You’ve seen her actually, but we didn’t get the chance to talk.”  

  “Six?” Sky repeats, blinking slowly.  

  The captain shrugs. “What can I say? My parents had quite the torrid love affair.”  

  The desired result of that statement (although true) is achieved, and while Sky only levels him with a look, Legend, like Mask and Tune before him, shudders, squeaking out some semblance of nervous and flustered laughter at the words.  

  Oh yeah, if stuff like that had the vet flushing red hot under his hand, it’s only further proof that the younger is, in fact, a baby.  

  “Yeah,” he continues, settling into the bed as best he can and rather wishing his back was to the wall or a headboard or something, “all of us have ‘L’ names too. Link and Linkle, Leah, Laura, Lyrica and Lillian- they're also twins- and lastly little Lila.”  

 “Your dad and mum have ‘L’ names too?” There’s not the usual bite to the jest, voice shaken and almost timid, but it’s a relief all the same, and proof he’s doing some good here.   

 He chuckles, looking down to the face settled almost against his chest, his hand covering dark eyes and blocking any sight of expression or thought that may have slipped through the cracks. “Yes, actually. Luke and Lynn Taylor.”  

  Any answer or reaction is lost as thunder rumbles through once more, and the vet under his hands cowers back at the sound.  

  Impulse once more takes the reigns. “Sound like the Selkie King really isn’t having it tonight.”  

  “The what?” It’s Sky that asks, but long ears twitch beside him and the face that was almost buried in his chest now raises again, his hand still over dark eyes even as lashes flutter open a second time, soft and whispering across his nerves like fairy wings, but in no ways hiding the clear curiosity of the younger.  

  It works every time.  

  “The Selkie King,” he says again, and then, “I’ll tell you the tale, but only if you let me actually settle here, I’m too old for hunching over like this, it’ll give me a widow’s hump.”  

  Sky scoffs. “You’re like twenty-two.”  

  He’s off by a few years but the captain doesn’t correct him.  

  Legend’s surprisingly pliable and let’s himself be tugged into the corner of the bed, walls on either side and blankets pulled up, both for warmth and for weight, although the captain says nothing of either, and with the younger pulled against his side, much as he’s done for sisters and sons countess times before, he explains.  

  “The Selkie King,” and goddesses, he’s got to fight at his accent at those words, half tempted to let it on through to add further to the sound of the story, which always sounds so much better in the tongue of the fae or those whose voices carry the remnants of their kind, “was a great powerful creature who lived in the seas to the East. The Selkie are a people who are neither man nor beast, or so they say, but both. A man who, with the donning of a coat of fur, will change into a seal to roam the seas at their deepest, most happy by the water and with eyes darker than night skies.” In retrospect, if he believed in selkies anymore, he thinks they’d have eyes like the vet’s; endless, dark, and always touched with some sort of emptiness or sorrow.  

  “Woah.”  

  He smiles as Sky’s awe, but more so at the settling of a smaller body against his own as long ears prick up but soft cheeks settle against his chest. His fingers slip just the slightest to accommodate, but he leaves his hand pressed where it blocks the next flash of lightning, and though the vet shivers at the next roll of thunder, he doesn’t start away.  

  Something inside wonders whether this clinginess is born of fear or loneliness, and he wonders, for only as long as he dares be silent, when’s the last time someone offered the veteran any form of friendly contact.  

  “Storms-” he continues, once he’s certain he can’t be silent any longer “-they say are caused because the sea and the wind stole from the Selkie King.” he drops his voice, low and almost whispered, like when he’d told the same story to wide-eyed little sisters before tucking them in with kisses and laughter and warm smiles that are long since forgotten. “The Selkie King is the most powerful of the Selkies. He’s said to be strong enough to fight the wind itself, and the seas must bow under his command. With a power like that however, it’s hard. Being strong is a lonely life,” and one his brothers will know well, and the heavy sigh that sounds from beside him is proof of that. “As such, he lived solitary for many years, watching man and his kind and walking among them, but finding none to be his queen and companion, until-” and here his sisters would squirm under the covers, big blue eyes sparkling up at him as they begged ‘till what, Link?’ but his brothers don’t do so. Sky cocks his head, a manner he’s certain is learned from Twilight, and Legend’s face turns up to him again, eyes still hidden, but neither speaks.   

 It makes sense, he supposes. They are Links after all  

 “Until” he continues “one day he came to an island he’d never seen, and met there a maiden with a voice to make any selkie rejoice, and eyes like the seas themselves, the sort the king could only find himself lost in. She had a soul like a bird, and a wish for the beyond, and unlike others who stared and saw the uncanny way of the selkie, she saw to the soul of the Selkie King, and it was in her heart that he found solace from the loneliness of the world.”  

 Sky’s eyes are misty, that distant smile in them that means he’s thinking of his own Zelda, and Warriors almost, like so many times before, lets himself change to story.  

 He doesn’t. The point is to give an answer to the roar of the sky and the fury of the lightning. It’s all fairy stories made to make the remnants of Demise’s fury less a terror to small minds, but there’s no age limit for fairy stories, as he well knows.  Still, few end in a truly happy manner.  

 “Life is cruel though,” and how cruel. He’s not told this story in some time but it’s now beginning to make his own heart twist up in memory of how deeply he’d felt similar things to what the Selkie King would as he continued. “As time passed and their love grew, the seas and the storms began to brew. They wished to rebel against the Selkie King who had tamed them, to make war with him, and though he had no wish to leave his maiden, he was called from the island beaches and her side to fight the sea once more, and the storms with it.   

 “The oceans rose in those days, the sky dark, much like tonight. All that could be heard or seen was the fury of the sea and the wind as the Selkie King sought to bridle them. He fought them, I know not how long, but when at last they were calmed, the Selkie King turned to return to his island and his maiden, only to find both sunk beneath the waves that had risen in his fight.”  

 There’s a shudder beneath his hands, and dampness touches his palm as long lashes once more stir against skin. It’s sad, he’ll grant. He’s not sure if Legend’s young enough to be crying at fairy stories, but he won’t judge. Heroes grow up too fast, and by his knowledge, they haven’t the time to let their minds and hearts age as they ought. He’s not about to judge a few tears at a sad story.  

 “The Selkie King searched and searched,” he continues, “but the sea had already taken away, in final vengeance, what he loved. They say,” and thunder rolls right as he speaks, “that the thunder is his shouts to the sky and sea for their cruelty, and the lightning is his magic, light surging across land and sea to light his search to find what was lost to him.”  

 “What about the girl?” Sky asks, looking startled himself at the turn of the tale, “what happened to her?”  

 His only answer is a wry smile. His sisters would ask the same thing the first time he’d shared the story his grandfather had told him growing up, but the answer is always the same: “she was lost to the sea, as though never there.”  

 He’s not expecting the sob, or the hand that clutches in his shirt as shoulders tremble and tears dampen the hand still held over eyes not unlike those of a selkie. At first, he thinks it’s just the panic catching up and hysterics taking over, but after the first few sobs are over and they just get stronger, the captain realises there might be more to it than that.  

 “Legend?”  

 There's no answer, only inconsolable tears that seem to flow without end, even as he lifts his hand for the first time in a while to try and wipe them away. The younger hero’s face finds its way to the front of his shirt near immediately after, and he’s left trying to hold his brother, clueless as to what he’s said or done to incite the new rainfall that drenches the one clean shirt he’d had.  

 “Vet?” Sky is starting up from the bed, but he doesn’t touch, likely aware that doing so unprompted and without warning isn’t a good idea right now. Warriors though, closer, is free to wrap his arms around trembling shoulders and meet sapphire eyes, questions unspoken flying between them as confusion clouds the air where agonised sobs and tears do not.  

 In the end, he elects to leave it be, soothing gently and running one hand up and down a spine he can count every bone of, hushing softly all the while until the tears finally run out and Legend is limp against him.  

 “I'm sorry,” he says at last, not sure what exactly he’d done wrong. “That one usually helps my sisters feel better about-”  

 “He wasn’t a selkie.”  

 The captain pauses. “What?”  

 “He wasn’t a selkie,” comes the soft words again. “He was mer.”  

 “It’s just a story, vet, he wasn’t-”  

 “They were real.” And it’s so desperately spoken that it stops all other assurance in his throat as a hand tightens in the front of his shirt. “Her name was Marin. She wanted to fly, she wanted to see the world. I promised I’d take her, I wanted to show her everything.” There’s something so broken about the vet’s voice, and when he looks down the eyes of the younger are still closed, but there’s clear agony on the face of his brother. “I didn’t want to destroy her; I never wanted it to fade.”  

 He has no context, no clue, but some part of himself, the part that remembers holding another young hero like this and listening to agonies and losses, knows that something said in the story, some part, has brought a memory or loss back afresh, and his attempts to sooth have only reopened wounds.  

 Warriors wraps his brother tightly in his arms, draping blue fabric over tighter shut eyes. “I’m sorry.”  

 “I didn’t know it wasn’t real until it was over,” the younger hiccups, “I- I wanted to live there forever. It was so... it was so peaceful!”  

 Somehow, that single word, and the agony behind it, stabs through a heart blocked behind stone walls and chain mail.  

 Why should a wish for peace sound so desperate from the lips of a child? What right have gods to burden someone so small with sufferings that would lead their greatest desire to be for something so devastatingly evasive?  

 It’s cruel. It’s familiar in its cruelty, and all that the captain hero can do is hold tighter still and murmur soft comforts that are as empty as the praises lauded on shoulders such as their own. “I know, Link, I know. It’s not fair.”  

 “I fought him three times,” and it’s naught but a whisper, “is it so wrong to want to be allowed to stop?”  

 He’s going to find Hylia and murder her.  

 Once is enough. Once is too much for a kid. Thrice? And twice as many adventures? Oh, no, no-no-no, he’s going to be having words with the Golden Gals when he gets to see them, even if that means fighting his way to the Goddess’ Realm himself. He’s sure he could convince the deity to help him under the right circumstances.  

 Aloud though, his answer is softer. “No. It’s not wrong. They’re wrong to ask so much of you,” words he’s whispered countless times to the hero who is now their leader. Looking at Time, he knows that peace has been achieved. The ranch, the wife, the beautiful home and satisfied smile, the longing look in his eyes after the days have been long since last they’ve visited; it all points to a life now granted chances to be lived and lived well. He only wishes the same could be meted out to all who’ve suffered as they have. “You deserve better,” he assures. “And for what it’s worth, I understand. Not everything of course,” and he’d never meant to tell, “but I get it. Losing someone, it’s hard.”  

 “I loved her.”  

 “I know.”  

 What sort of love, it doesn’t matter now. Be it puppy love or that of a far more intense sort, love is still love and when lost it can shatter. No wonder dark eyes hold longing deeper than the sea and desolation like the coldest of desert nights.  

 Sky stares but doesn’t speak or move.  

 Legend though, shifts, and dark eyes lift to him for a moment before being shut again as another flash disturbs the room. Without thinking, he raises a hand to cover the younger’s face, tears still fresh against calloused skin. Despite all this, the question in desolate eyes is still spoken aloud. “Who was yours?”  

 And his heart nearly stops, lodged in his throat, but he breathes and guides a pink haired head to settle against his collar, cheek resting in downy soft hair to hide further his face from both. “My wife and son.”  

 One trembling hand settles over his own, awkward in placement but intent clear. “I’m sorry.”  

 His smile is real, although pained, as he wraps his brother tighter, pressing, without thought, a kiss to a crown. “It wasn't your fault.” It was his own, his pride and his folly and his failure that had left him with his son ripped away and his wife turning her back. There’s none to blame but himself and fate’s cruel hand.  

 Despite this, there seems to be a word on the tongue of the younger, indeed, on Sky’s own too, but he cuts both off. “How about a lighter story?” he’s deflecting, he knows, but tonight is not about his losses and mistakes, and suddenly he’s gone from wanting nothing more than dry clothes and a warm bed to being content to hold one smaller and offer what meagre comforts and distractions he can while covering sorrow-ridden eyes and avoiding sapphire stares that bore with sadness for both himself and their little brother.  

 Legend hiccups. “Seriously?”  

 “I’m an excellent storyteller,” he returns, smile real but pained despite himself as he looks down at a face blocked by his own hand, “I’m a father and an older brother after all, I have no business being anything less than skillful with bedtime stories.”  

 “I’m too old for bedtime stories.”  

 He’d beg to differ. Someone still small enough to be held as he holds his brother is still of an age for bedtime stories, and he resolves to find the best he can to share. Not one about heroes though, or about lost love or Selkie Kings. Instead, he tells the story of the Goddess’ Rabbit and the stars it set in the sky. Instead, he holds a brother who he only now knows to see as anything more than another of Hylia’s soldiers, and he treasures the whisper of a chance to redeem some of what was stolen by fate.  

 Maybe it feels like redemption for himself too. Just a little bit.  

[matteosilly]

SL GEM + SCOTT POV SPOILERS

I can never be normal about the ends of these series. If you think this is cringe go away 😊 [NOT A SHIP]

"Scott? Where are you?" Gem calls out to her last ally left, dread and desperation seep into her voice. Impulse had just died, she'd been too late. She couldn't be late again. "Where is everyone..." She mutters, eyes scanning over the battle torn terrain. A speck of telltale light blue peaks through the savannah trees, the faint sound of shouting and arrows following him as he runs in her direction.

The relief fades immediately as the bloody image of one of her best friends inches closer. "Scott!?" She shouts, rushing towards him and past the secret keeper.

"Gem you need to kill me!" He says, rushing towards her. He repeats himself over and over as if it's the only logical choice left.

"No- Why do I need to kill you?!" She says, helping him walk over to the secret keeper. His blood stains her hands a dark red. He sits down on a patch of moss, still breathing heavily. The air feels still here, like the secret keeper is granting them one last moment together. She can't kill him, he's her last Scott, her last friend left alive.

"I'm on two and a half hearts, if they kill me and get the ten-" Panicked tears prick in his eyes. Several patches of his hair have been stained an ugly greyish blue with his own blood. There are arrows sticking out of angry red wounds. Gemini hates the color red right now. Hates how it's taken over every valuable thing in this life. "I don't think I can do it. I think- I think you're gonna need to do it." Scott heaves. His gaze settles on her seriously, he knows exactly how she'd feel in this situation. He's had to kill his own allies before. He hates it, but it's better than the alternative.

"Scott-" Gemini says, on the verge of tears. This was not how this was supposed to end.

"Wait, before you do— here, take these." He says, pulling things out of his bag. An end crystal, his entire stash of ender pearls, the rest of his food, zombie eggs, and his power four bow. All of this stuff that he should be using to fight lays at her feet. She wants to refuse it. She wants to force him to fight, but at this point, that'd be crueler than death.

"Go on, gem, go. You got this." He says, nudging the sword clutched in her right hand. Tears pour down her cheeks like the raging river surrounding their home, she wishes for a moment that this was all one horrible nightmare. One terrifying dream. She wants to wake up back in those pink walls of her base with her two closest friends.

She settles for a pathetic "Thank you, Scott." as she tucks the items into her bag, save for the bow, which she replaces her near broken one with.

Gemini lifts her sword, if she has to kill him, she wants to make it quick. Her blade slices through his skin and bone, snuffing out the last candles of hope. Lightning strikes down in front of her. She gains ten hearts, but hers breaks as her best friend's body lies, cooling rapidly and lifeless. She cuts a layer of moss off of the secret keeper and covers his body in it. It's an unmarked grave, sure, but it's the most she has time for. He deserves this much. Fire tipped arrows rain down around her. An unmarked grave is better than no grave, and that's quite a lot more than what most people have after the last few days. She hopes he's at peace, or at least cheering her on from the other side.

The world around her seems to gray out around the edges. Her will to fight has been snuffed out. Three players remain. "Hey secret keeper..." She mumbles as she scrambles to the top of it for leverage. She starts raining down arrow fire at her enemy with Scott's bow. Every arrow should be his. The damage she deals is in his stead. It should've been her. Her heart's not in it anymore. Gemini takes a deep breath, before

"You wanna fight? Let's fight." She says, under her breath to no one in particular. Maybe it's to her opponents, maybe it's to the secret keeper. This game of dodgeball isn't going anywhere, she slides off the back of the secret keeper, landing in a roll.

"I don't think I can fight Pearl..." She says to herself. Shes already killed one ally, or now, ex-ally. "I think pearl wins this." Because if anyone has to win, maybe the person she'd fought alongside at one point could win for the both of them. She'd never liked Scar much anyway.

"Gem... Don't make me do this, Gem." Pearl says from atop a foothill.

"I don't know!" Pearl shouts back, desperation clinging to her voice. An arrow strikes Gemini through the side. She doesn't cry out. She ender-pearls away from her ex-ally as more arrows wizz by. She takes in a breath right as she's dumped into ice cold water surrounding the disheveled heart foundation. Her blood mixes with the water, yet the feeling of blood on her skin never leaves.

"I'm not making you do anything!" Gem shouts exasperatedly. "Pearl, what are you doing?!" She dodges under an arrow, sliding behind a tree.

She exits the water, just to see Scar rounding the pass. "Hi, Gem!" He says, all too sweetly. She slashes at him with her sword instead of returning the gesture. Pearl follows up close behind him, as she and scar exchange sword swipes.

"Two versus one? You guys are so gross!" Gemini snarks. She slashes and stabs at Scar, who dips away so Pearl can land another strike. Maybe she can wear Scar down at least. Secure the victory for someone else. Scar swings at her again and again as Pearl watches on, cheering her ally along.

"D'ya wanna sword this out with me Gem, or with Scar?" Pearl says, grazing Gemini across the face.

Gemini's blood splatters on the soft grass staining what was once green, red. She hates red.

A peaceful smile graces her face. She thinks she can hear Impulse and Scott somewhere, cheering her on.

Images of her old life flash before her eyes. Pink walls, easy laughter, the joy of existence, those first days of peace. She wants that again.

Lightning strikes.

[talesfromeorzea]

Memories

FFxivWrite 2024 Day 6 Prompt Halcyon

*warning injury and death descriptions below cut*

As the cherry petals drifted down in the warm spring morning Ruru couldn't help but let her mind drift back to when she had been so much younger. It had been another Little Ladies Day when she had been roughly twelve summers.

She had been walking the streets of the Ruby Road exchange when a young Miqo'te kit scarecly seven summers came up to her and bowed low shyly asking, "Miss may I be your Seneshal for today?"

Ruru blinked in surprise and asked, "Why me?"

The little Miqo's face turned bright pink and he squeaked, "Cause…..your really pretty and seem nice and I just wanna be there for a lady today but all the others have seneshals already and…

She gave him a sweet smile and said, "I would welcome the company then my dear Seneshal shall we?" and with that she reached her hand out to him.

He beamed at her then took her hand on his arm and began walking with her during the festivities waiting on any preceved need she might have.

Each year after that he had sought her out and repeated the ritual. It wasn't until many years later she had learned that the Miqo'te's name was U'taln and the reason he was usually alone on Little Ladies Day was because the majority of his sisters and mother had died in a sickness that had swept through the U tribe in the forgotten springs. She had also learned how shy his was and that she was as far as anyone knew his only friend. After learning that she began to spend as much time with him as she could and he slowly grew to be more than a simple friend.

As she walked her mind played through all of those happy times both during the festivals and others. All of the wonder and excitement they had shared when they began as adventurers. The simple times around a campfire or in a tavern discussing where they were off to next. The nights curled together in either their bedrolls or inn rooms. Ruru halted as she walked as her mind unbidden then brought her to the end of those sweet days.

"Theres not that many Ru we have them lets go," he said rushing forward

"Wait Tal, we don't know that for certain….Tal!" she screamed as the first few arrows embeded into his body and then the hidden bandits charged forth intent on ending him.

Then her vision went red as she waded through the group hacking and slashing at everyone who came near. Rivuels of blood streaming down her armor as she slaughtered all of those who were attacking. Once her vision cleared there was a pile of bodies around her and silence that was broken by a gurgling breath. Whirling she dropped her blade and cradled Taln's head in her lap blood staining the corners of his mouth as he wheezed, "Sorry luv���.I…thought that we could."

"Hush, I got ye," she said swiftly and began rummaging in her belt pouch searching desperately for a certain soul stone that she didn't use often but knew was there.

"I'm sorry Ru.." he wheezed again and then gave a gurgling cough

Finally her hand closed around it and immediately the aether swirled around her and gone was her sword, shield and armor instead were the red and white robes and a healers cane. The world suddenly around her also seemed to come alive more as her arcane senses heard the elementals all around.

Swiftly she called upon the life giving energies they gave the world and began channeling them into healing magics. But as hers spells hit him she knew, deep down she knew it wasn't enough but she had to try. She couldn't lose him. Tears pouring from her sky blue eyes she burned every bit of mana reserve she had trying to heal him of the wounds each moment knowing it wasn't going to save him. As his gurgling breaths finally stopped she let out a scream of anguish and still poured so much aether into each attempt but it was for naught.

"Ma'dam are you alright? Do you need help?" a kind voice mercifly cut into those painful memories and Ruru shook her head and saw an elderly Hyur looking at her concerned

"Aye, was lost in memories miss pay me no mind. Ye should go and find a Seneshal fer the festivities." she responded doing her best to give a warm smile.

"My dear Seneshal has gone to get us some drinks, what of you ma'dam have you a Seneshal to look after you this fine day?" the elder woman asked

Ruru gave another tight smile and said, "No, not any longer but its alright. I'll be fine please enjoy the festival and don't bother worryin bout me please."

The old woman gave her a reluctant nod and Ruru quickly moved on through the streets toward the Quicksand. She had quite enough of the Festival today. She'd check with Momodi and see if there was any work to be had far from the city if it was possible.

Work will keep me from dreamin bout the past. Its gone, its over no sense in re livin it over and over. she told herself though she knew full well she never wanted to forget those good times for they were what mattered.

[slasheddreams]

CHAPTER ZERO // THE EMERALD MASQUERADE [ broken glass // blood rain ] - The Emerald Masquerade - MURDER MYSTERIES [ broken glass // blood rain ]

This is the original, unaltered story for the Emerald Masquerade. The contents of this story is not for the faint of heart. Read the context warning list very carefully. You've been warned.

content warning for: [ themes of gambling, smoking, and drinking, themes of sexual abuse and assault, themes of violence and exploitation against minors, themes of loss and death, implications of self-harm and disordered eating habits, themes of murder/death, and more. ]

[ read moderator ame's note about the emerald masquerade here please ]

… we live in a world filled with so much blood and regret, and it’s too late to turn back now.

Blood dripped from the edge of the bottle, his crimson blood mixing with the fine, crimson wine. His chest squeezed, his chest ached, and his chest burned. Mangled white hair, stained red with wine, a slumped body on the ground. Unmoving.

Why wasn’t he moving?

Why wasn’t he moving?

                                                            ---

Chloe paused a moment, her fingers gently clasped around the small, golden entrance ticket. The Emerald Gemstone Casino, the world’s largest gambling casino venue, home of the elite and the powerful, a symbol of wealth and power. The golden edges of the casino glowed like heaven in starlight, Chloe thought. What a beautiful White Night it was, the perfect night for the Emerald Casino’s “Emerald Masquerade Ball”.

Tucking a strand of her light brown hair behind her ear, she couldn’t help but marvel at it. The golden fountains, the glistening porcelain tiles, the lovely greenery… everything about this casino screamed grace and elegance.

Gently, she tucked her hand behind her head, a soft hand laying against the golden ornaments in her hair. Pinned to a teal headband, completed with a brown bow and white pearl beads, it was something simple yet, one of a kind. Hand sewn by Chloe herself.

Her gloved hand gently smoothed down the creases in her vest, clearing her throat nervously as she nodded. Rehearsing a greeting in her head, drafting potential responses to potential questions, preparing for the ultimate social death… awkwardness. Oh, how she loathed social contact. She spoke too much, too quickly, always having too much to say but never enough substance to say it with. In short, she was a yapper and she knew it.

A young, attractive blonde man stood by the side of the reception desk, with the most mesmerizing set of purple eyes. A light blush on his cheeks, the most gorgeous set of eyelashes (Chloe wondered what mascara he wore.), and a smile that would melt the ice in even the coldest of hearts.

“Welcome to the Emerald Casino, dear guests. I’ll be your guide for tonight’s masquerade, may I see your tickets?”

The guest in front of Chloe, a young woman in a rather gorgeous pink sweater dress and the loveliest, caramel-colored hair, dug through a small, heart-shaped bag resting on her hip. Chloe watched as she pulled out a small, golden ticket from the bag with an infectious grace. White gloves passed off the ticket to the blonde-haired desk attendant, who responded with a light chuckle. 

Chloe paused, her eyes falling on the beautiful woman’s long hair. A caramel blonde at the top, fading into a rich coffee brown at the bottom, pulled back into an utterly gorgeous French braid. (It was so long, she wondered how long it took the woman to grow it. Was it dyed? Extensions? She was so, so curious.) And the love-struck pink of the woman’s dress? Paired with the comforting material of a knitted sweater, combining fashion with comfort? As an aspiring fashion designer, she respected the creative force behind it. And the eggshell fluffy boa and those pink stockings? Chloe debated asking the lady about the designer, but she didn’t want to come off as a creep.

Shifting on her heels, she peeked over the woman’s shoulder. She was the next in line… and glancing at the reflection in her phone, she was the last to arrive. She wasn’t late… but everyone else invited seemed to have come rather early. (And she thought being fifteen minutes before the start of the party was excessively early.)

Nervous, Chloe took a step up, rubbing the golden ticket between her fingers. She was far, far from home. A little countryside girl in the grand city. She always thought the protagonists from the south, freaking out over the big city was always a little cheesy if she was being honest… but no. The big city was mortifying. She understood it now.

“… you must be Chloe Medena. You’re the last person left on my waiting list.” Holding out his hand, the blonde man smiled warmly. A little too warmly, Chloe felt like a witch melting from its warmth.

“Uhm… y-yeah! That’s me! Ehehe…”

God, you’re so awkward, Chloe. Who laughs like that? Someone who’s lying, that’s who! She wanted to hit herself for being so dumb, but that might only make her look more suspicious for no apparent reason.

“… is this your first time to our fine establishment?”

Raising a brow slightly, the man chuckled, covering his mouth with his white glove. Chloe was sure she looked positively baffled. A rich man’s laughingstock, surely. She couldn’t even manage to say anything, not with a single yapping bone in her body, only manage a small nod. Like an utter fool. Ough, I’m so embarrassed. They’re gonna submit me onto America’s funniest home videos, I’m sure of it!! nooOOOO-

“I see I see…” Gently, he took the tickets from her hands with a soft smile. “I’ve been there too, once a really long time ago. The atmosphere is a step above, and you wonder if you really belong here.”

Placing the ticket down, the blonde man held out his hand towards Chloe, his soft smile feeling like sunlight after a cold night of rain. Something about it felt so soft and homely… she reached out hesitantly, her gloved hand hovering just above the man’s gloved hand. Taking initiative, he reached up, gently clasping his fingers around hers. Then, lifting it to his lips, he planted a firm but light kiss against the back of her hand with a chuckle.

“But you were invited here tonight for a reason, darling. So, I implore you to have a little more faith in yourself.”

She was going to pass out. Okay, no she wasn’t. She was just being dramatic. (I think?) Was her face getting flushed? She must have looked as embarrassed as she felt, surely. The casino certainly has a smooth talker on their hands… haha…

“The ballroom is down the hallway there, through the third door on your left and a right turn around the hallway. Did you catch all that?”

Nodding eagerly, Chloe responded in silence. A little too eager to escape her embarrassment, she stumbled off towards the hallway. Covering her face with her hands, she groaned silently.

“God… why do you have to be so awkward, Chloe? Stupid, stupid, stupid…”

Shaking her head furiously, she attempted to pound the embarrassment out of her head. Of course, not literally. Her therapist always told her that hitting herself wouldn’t solve her problems, and that she didn’t need to “punish” herself to “make up” for her mistakes. These were only words, however. It was up to Chloe to practice it, and to bring meaning of her own. She balled her hands up in frustration, trembling as she resisted the urge to hit herself. A devilish temptation and an easy solution to her self-made problems, she thought. But it wouldn’t really fix anything… would it?

Taking deep breaths, Chloe’s trembling fists slowly unclenched, and then, fully relaxed, laying flat against the deep brown fabric of her dress pants. A weak sigh escaped her lips, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. She was such an embarrassment. She should just go home.

"Grandpa..."

A loving last gift from a man who loved her so dearly. She wasn’t his granddaughter by blood, but she was his granddaughter by choice. He loved her like she was always one of his own, and she loved him equally in turn. He always supported her dream of being a fashion designer, even when she didn’t believe it would ever be viable. She always felt like she was letting him down.

Even now.

“… are you lost?”

A deep voice snapped Chloe out of a memory ditch, a weak sniffle escaping her throat. She felt pathetic. Standing up straight, she lifted her hand, messily trying to wipe the tears from her eyes before they could have the chance to further embarrass her and fall.

“Are you crying?”

Nevermind then. Kill me now, she thought. Her vision blurred slightly, and her eyes ached ever so gently, however, she couldn’t help but hone in on the man’s striking features. His pale skin, adorned with a soft pink blush, that deep, curly purple hair, and those striking, cold red and yellow eyes… sniffling again, Chloe tried to speak, to respond to the odd man. However, her words choked in her throat, a gargled "noOo..." coming out instead. She couldn’t stop the tears from rolling, the hiccups from emerging, the sobs from starting… she felt so pathetic.

The man sighed, a cold "tsk" emerging from the depths of his throat. (It reminded her of her father when she announced for passion for fashion.) Then, reaching into the breast pocket of his dust green suit, he pulled out a small dust purple handkerchief, placing one hand on his knee as he bent down.

“There’s no need to be crying over something so trivial. Everyone gets a little lost sometimes. There’s no embarrassment in it.”

Gently patting the tears dry with his handkerchief, the man shook his head solemnly. Sniffling, Chloe’s fingers gripped onto the edges of her vest, crinkling the once pristine fabric.

“Okay…”

“There. No more tears. You’re going to be okay.”

She felt like a little kid again. She felt so useless. But… the guidance felt nice. A little bit. His hand gently brushed up against her brown bangs, pushing them to the side softly as he wiped the remainder of her tears. Then, reaching for his coat, he reached his hand inside, rummaging around. Why was he doing…?

“… huh?”

Cocking his head to the side slightly, he grumbled as he rummaged around on the inside of the coat, before pulling out a small, travel-sized blush pallet from… nowhere. Did he have an inner coat pocket…?

“Here. Your tears ruined your makeup. You’d at least be able to do minor touch-ups with this.”

“… oh!”

Gasping, she carefully took the travel blush from the man’s hands, popping it open and glancing into the small mirror. Her eyes were slightly red and puffy… not too noticeable, she thought. Her mascara was okay (thank god for waterproof mascara, she believed), but her blush… tear streaks were not a style she wanted to rock.

Gently pulling out of the travel blush applicators, Chloe’s brows furrowed. Finding the closest match would be hard… but she could do it. Grandpa’s love and this stranger’s kindness couldn’t just be ignored… 

“Wait!” Looking up suddenly, Chloe’s eyes fell on the man in front of her, her brows furrowing in frustration at her own rudeness. She was so caught up in her own nonsense that she completely neglected the first rule of etiquette.

“I’m so sorry!! I never asked what your name was, kind sir!”

“… Hyde Williams. You can just call me Hyde though.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister Hyde! My name is Chloe.”

Holding out a shaky hand, Chloe attempted a friendly smile. Keyword… attempted. If he rejected her… she might unravel and fall apart all over again. Nervously watching as the man shook his head, her hand trembled even more. Please please please please, please. She never craved the validation of a random stranger so badly before.

Reaching his hand out, he gave Chloe a quick but firm handshake. His hand felt rather warm in her gloved hand… she wondered if the entirety of him was just as warm.

“Your makeup, Chloe.”

“… oh yeah! Let me get on that… heheh… heh…”

You have got to stop laughing like that, Chloe.

…

Gently tapping her fingers against her cheek, she observed her face in the small mirror of the pocket palette. You could barely tell she had been crying. Closing the palette gently, Chloe looked up at the purple-haired man, who found himself a comfortable spot against the wall to lean on as the disheveled girl picked up the broken pieces of her dignity. Hyde Williams… it was a name unfamiliar to her, as was everything else in the casino.

He seemed kind enough, though. She wondered if it would be awkward to ask a man who she had met under… rather mortifying terms if he could be her friend. Despite his younger-looking appearance, he carried himself with the wiseness of a saint… or a monk.

"... thank you for your help, Mister Hyde."

"You can just call me Hyde."

Taking a step forward, she held out her hands with a smile, the small pocket palette resting in the center of her palms. Sighing gently, the man took the palette from her expectant hands. Cocking his head to the side as he opened his coat pocket, slipping the pocket palette inside his pocket. Then, holding out his hand to Chloe, he nodded. Hesitantly, she stepped closer, wrapping her arm in his own. 

"I'll take you to the main ballroom. The masquerade ball is going to start soon, you shouldn't miss the opening to the dance."

...

A man stood on the large, grandiose stage, laced with gemstones and gold. Dressed in a soft red suit top and pristine pearl pants, the man chatted with the emerald-suited man from the entrance. All smiles. Chloe's neck craned slightly as she looked around. The room was huge, much bigger than she ever imagined. 

Her hands fidgeted slightly as she looked around the room. There was a bar on one side, a tall pink-haired man and a shorter, blonde-haired girl chatted on the other side of the bar, the girl holding a bar glass with a confused expression. If Chloe had to garner a guess, bartender and... maybe a bartender in training. Her eyes shifted, to two giant casino tables with two distinctive people standing by their sides, thick black hair curling against their shoulders. Dealers... Chloe found it all so interesting.

Being such a regal and classy place... it felt surreal to her, something only possible in your dreams. Reaching out slightly, her fingers entwined along the satin green fabric sleeves of Hyde's suit. His red eyes fell on the young girl standing beside him. Sighing slightly, his eyes shifted to the side.

"Ahem…” The man on the stage cleared his throat and like a king in the castle court, everyone turned their head to face the tall, elegant red-suited man. “Thank you everyone for coming to the annual Emerald Gemstone Casino Masquerade night. Tonight is a special night for everyone here, is it not? Filled with regulars…”

During the pause, the blonde attendant waved to the people in the crowd, and Chloe couldn’t help but look at the people waving back. A fair-skinned, pink-haired woman in a short, love-colored dress… something about Hyde’s side glance gave her an odd feeling… animosity, but she wasn’t sure why. A blonde-haired woman with longer, choppy hair in the back and a lilac blue suit also waved back with a smile, elbowing a young, brown-haired man sitting beside her. A dusted blue-haired male sitting at the bar glanced up, nodding slightly as he raised a hand in salute. His yellow eyes were almost captivating to Chloe, something so unique and so… decisive and striking.

“Filled with new guests…”

This time, the man in the red suit clapped his hands gently, waving to additional folks in the crowd. A blonde-haired woman wearing a boa, wearing a fancy red dress waved hesitantly back. It looked like satin, Chloe believed. The caramel woman with the heart-shaped pocket bag also waved with hesitance. A scruffy-looking man, sitting next to the woman in the pink dress that her new companion seemingly showed for earlier raised a glass in… was it salute? The countryside was never this uptight about etiquette… it made her shudder.

“New staff working the masquerade… and lively they are.”

As if on cue, the girl at the bar counter waved towards the men on stage, the pink haired man belting out a hardly laugh in response. The girl seemed nice… Chloe enjoyed her energy. She should visit the bar later on tonight. (Maybe she could buy Mister Hyde a drink or snack as a thank you gift for helping her earlier?)

“This masquerade ball is made up of different, unique faces, all here tonight. It’s very exciting, the chance for once-in-a-lifetime memories to be made. Saae, would you mind doing the honors?” Chuckling, the man in the red placed his hands on the golden microphone, scooping it into black-gloved hands. Then, handing it off to his attendant, the blonde-haired man smiled. Tucking a piece of his blonde hair behind his ear, the man cleared his throat briefly before bringing the microphone to his lips.

“Welcome to the Emerald Gemstone Casino’s yearly event, the Emerald Masquerade, dear guests! This is your host for the evening, Frederick Kronos, and I am your co-host, Saae Avente.”

His voice sounded like what you’d imagine a thick but velvety honey would taste like. Rich and choked full of a sweet, distinctive flavor, the kind that coats your lips and leaves a deep impression on your mind for days to come. That thought was… actually extremely weird, she thought as she reflected on it. 

“Slots, drinks, games, and more… this golden hour is your opportunity, and we’re here to bring your wildest fantasies into a reality. But, the two of us could not do it alone.”

Watching as the emerald attendant, named Saae Avente, stepped off of the stage, Chloe couldn’t help but fully note Saae’s attire. The tall white sharp heels he strutted around the casino grounds in, with a degree of balance that made Chloe just the slightest bit jealous (for she was positive if she wore the same exact heels, she would fall and bruise much more than her already sullied pride.) The split paneling on his suit in general was something Chloe had never seen before, it intrigued her so dearly. (She wondered how it was achieved, such suits didn’t exist in the fashion world in its current era. Did he make them himself, tearing through the seams of different fabrics and stitching them into the current fashion he wore? She would have to ask him later. It was possibly the prettiest thing she had seen in a while.) But the thing that caught her eye the most was the peacock feather-themed trail, something hidden from behind the counter he had stood behind since she arrived. They floated behind him with an airy elegance, and Chloe almost wondered if they were really there. 

“If you’re looking to play games tonight-” Saae placed his free gloved hand lightly against the casino round tables, leaning over as he chuckled. “-then our two most trusted dealers will be here to make your wildest dreams come true. To my right is Lady Roxanne Tiye , our jack of diamonds and new dealer for the evening, and to my left is our betting round dealer for our masquerade events, Lee Wittlestein. Don’t be afraid to come pester them for a game, they won’t bite.”

As if it were on cue, the two dealers lifted up their heads, waving into the small crowd of onlookers. One of them, Roxanne (as Saae had introduced her as), was a bored looking lady, Chloe noted. With thick, long black hair and a visible yellow eye, Roxanne looked… she didn’t want to say displeased nor discontent, but she noticed that Roxanne didn’t seem as thrilled as some of the others. Chloe’s gaze shifted slightly to the figure standing to Saae’s left side. Standing tall and composed, they exuded an aura of calmness, as if this were just an average friday evening for them. Similar to Roxanne, Lee’s hair was long and black in color, worn in a high ponytail, a red eye poking out of beneath messy bangs. Chloe couldn’t gain a solid read of Lee’s gender, even with the aid of the black vest and frilled white and red shirt they wore. She would have to ask them about their pronouns later on. (Their style reminded Chloe of a vampire… or something a little more specific… the words “betting round” echoed in her head. Betting round… betting… nope. Whatever thought she had, she lost it. Oh well.)

“Uhh… we’re happy to be your dealers tonight?” A white hand reached over, tilting the outstretched microphone to the left. “We’re both delighted to make your acquaintances this evening, and hope to see you guys at one of our tables later in the evenings for a friendly game. Saae.” (... their voice only left Chloe more confused. I’ll just narrate with they/them in mind, I literally cannot tell.) Taking back the microphone with a snicker, he shifted slightly as he stood up tall. Then, making his way over to the bar, Saae hummed.

“And, if drinks are the thing you need-” Leaning over the bar counter briefly, he sat on the empty bar stool, wrapping an arm around the blue-haired man with striking yellow eyes. “-Well, some of our guests have already found their way to the bar, it seems~” Another velvety chuckle, and Chloe swore the blue-haired man waved his hand dismissively. (She also swore said man was smiling.)

“Our bartenders for the night are more than happy to mix you the perfect drinks. Isn’t that right, Elliott?” The tall pink-haired man, named Elliott, chuckled as he crossed his arms, puffing his chest with an enthusiastic nod. “You know we make the best drinks this side of town, Saae.” Saae chuckled softly, and then leaning over the microphone, he smiled. “Do you have any drink suggestions for our new patrons, CJ?”

Turning around, the blonde-haired girl gasped slightly, then, walking over, she leaned close to the microphone with a smile. She hadn’t even spoken, but her energy was contagious. “Well, I know Elliott makes a mean strawberry mojito drink, and he always slices the fresh strawberries to per-fection! If you want something iconic but tasty, that’s what I would go with!” Leaning into the mic, Elliott pitched in. “And, while you’re here, why not pick up one of CJ’s iconic amaretto tiramisu cakes to eat with your drink? Soft, fluffy and a delicious snack to enjoy through the night.” “Hey… well, I can make a mean drink and a mean dessert myself, I suppose.” “Of course you can, your menu items are my favorites.”

They had such good energy together… the banter was cute and endearing, and the food sounded absolutely delightful.

“You’ve heard it firsthand, my dear guests. So, make sure to visit our two bartenders later on for a sweet drink… or a sweet treat.” Spinning in the chair, he jumped onto his feet, landing with such precision that she couldn’t help but believe he practiced such a stunt. (If it were her, her ankles would have certainly been a goner.)

“So, everyone…” He took a slow walk around the room, placing a hand on the pink-haired woman’s shoulder, earning a giggle from her. “Welcome to the Emerald Gemstone Casino.” His fingers lightly ran along the shoulders of the brown haired woman timidly sipping on a lime margarita, his fingers trailing along the underside of the blue haired man’s wing shaped earrings, a small fist bump with the young bartender (Was her name CJ?) breaking the oddly intimate(? Chloe wasn’t sure if that was the right word for that.) sensation. “Slots, drinks, games…”

He ran his hands around the casino tables, lightly squeezing the shoulders of the two dealers sat nearby, a gentle hand on the shoulders of the blonde-haired woman and the brown-haired man already planning a game with the smug-looking scruffy man and a grey-haired man, fiddling with a pair of golden plated die.

“This golden hour is your opportunity to live your lives a step above.”  His fingers gently brushed against the locks of the hair of the woman with the heart-shaped purse as he passed by, his touch lingering lightly against the fuzz of the dusted pink fur of the blonde woman’s boa.  “I invite you all to come and have a dance underneath our emerald-encrusted lights. Have a dance, play games, have drinks with companions, and ultimately…”

He came to a stop in front of Chloe and Hyde, his hand held up, hovering lightly against Hyde’s lips. Chloe glanced up at Hyde briefly, a look present on his face that she couldn’t decipher, yet, extremely evident with discomfort. Her eyes shifted on Saae, an equally indecipherable look present on his face. Secrets locked behind a teasing smile.  “... I hope these next few hours will be as blinding as your wildest dreams.” His eyes shifted slightly, his hand lowering as his eyes met Chloe’s. Leaning down slightly, he moved the microphone away from him, a solemn yet… joyful expression on his face.

“Your grandfather would be very proud of you, Chloe. I hope you enjoy the ball and find that inspiration you’re so desperately looking for.”

Nervously, her eyes fell on the clock.

It was 9:00 PM.

                                                            ---

“That was the perfect introduction to start off the Emerald Masquerade event yet, Saae.”

Placing a hand on Saae’s back gently, Frederick smiled softly. Laughing heartily, Saae gently tapped his wine bottle against the wine bottle Frederick held. Relaxing in the back, as they always do after a masquerade introduction.

“I think having CJ and Roxanne on the team this year did wonders for the public morale to be honest. CJ and Elliott bring a contagious yet light and fun atmosphere, while Roxanne gives Lee the breaks and assistance they need. Even if Rox isn’t the best on the morale, she plays with the love of the game… most of the time.”

Lifting the wine bottle, Saae took a swing of the wine inside, a soft crimson liquid dripping off his lips. Chuckling, Frederick held his wine glass in his hands lightly, white curled hair shifting in and out of his vision.

“We’ve also managed to sell more of those… special packages this masquerade. We’ve made an additional 1500 dollars this year.”

Saae’s face dropped, his eyes frozen on the wine bottle. He could see the back of Frederick’s curly, combed-back white hair in the reflection on the glass, an eerie apathy in his demeanor. He was tired of special packages.

“W… What?”

His words came out breathless, a slight tremble seemingly left unnoticed by the man in the room. His hands trembled slightly as he lowered the bottle, sweat dripping down his face. He felt so clammy.

“... Two of our new guests bought your package deals, the 500-dollar ones, as well as our regular deal buyer. Did Elliott not tell you?”

“No. No, he didn’t fucking tell me. Maybe he did. I wasn’t fucking listening because you know I hate-” Putting up a hand, he cut Saae off. How dare you. “I know. Headquarters denied your request, you’re such a major source of income for the casino it would be catastrophic if we lost it. I’m sorry my hands were tied here.”

His chest ached slightly, a tightness in his chest preventing air from entering his lungs. His hand ached from how tightly he held onto the wine bottle, like it was the only lifeline tethering him to a cold dull reality. 

“You’re sorry? You’re SORRY? Frederick, you do realize they touched me even-” “Even when you asked them to stop, I know. And they didn’t stop. They took advantage of you. I know. You’ve told me these stories time and time again, Saae.”

Placing his glass down, Frederick paused nervously. Clasping his hands together, he moved towards Saae slowly. His open hand twitched, his fingers pulling at his skin. A small groan escaped his lips, annoyance dripping from his lips like blood in a river.

“Do you even care? I mean, augh… this isn’t even about me at this point, Frederick. I mean, what if it was someone else-” Pinching his fingers against the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezing shut shakily. His hands trembled slightly, his chest ached, the shadows of hands reaching out materializing in his mind. “Frederick, please. Just hear me out for once-”  “I don’t have the power to make it stop, Saae. You know that. I can try to put an end to that system, but in the end, I’m just as replaceable as everyone else in this casino-”

His vision blurred, the red and white of Frederick mixing, blurring into nothingness. He felt like a little boy all over again. There was a man, born from the darkest fragments of his frazzled mind, a smug smile on his face. Closing on him like a predator on prey. He felt a slight pressure on his chest, the feeling of ghost-like fingerprints against his chest.

“It’s just so hopeless, day after day after day, and you just don’t fucking CARE-” "Saae."

A slight squeezing, a pressure on his wrists. Saae remembered that night well, it was something that always replayed it on the worst of nights. He remembered crying, pleading with the odd man to stop. His neck ached, the ghostly imprint of teeth burning up against his collar. His fingers scratched absentmindedly against the flaring skin.

“Do you know what it’s like to feel like a piece of meat on a hook, Frederick? To be something less than human.” "Saae... please."

The bottle shifted in his hand. The alcohol in his system, (although not much)  perhaps it had clouded his judgment in an emotional high. His emotions burned a hole in his chest, a blinding aching in his brain. 

“He took advantage of you, I get it-” “NO YOU DON’T! You don’t understand! You’ll never understand it! Fuck, I don’t want you to understand it!”

… His body felt so far away, like something foreign. Watching a movie from an outside perspective, almost. He didn’t remember moving so much. He didn’t remember flipping the bottle in his hand, still filled to the brim with rich crimson wine, so much so it was rather heavy in his hand. His chest ached, his breaths came out as weak wheezes. His eyes blurred, refusing to focus on anything. He blinked slowly. The bottle felt so light now, he wasn’t sure why.

“... I just…”

Black eyes shifted, falling on the blurred bottle. His breath quickened, yet his chest still felt so tight. Lifting it slightly, there was only broken, jagged glass connected to the handle of the bottle. The rest of the glass was missing. The fine crimson wine was gone. 

“... I just wanted you to listen to me so it wouldn’t happen again...”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he raised a clammy hand in response, wiping the tears from his eyes. A few tears slowly dipped down his face, staining the makeup he wore. He stared at the ground, a blur of colors shaking, and slowly shaping into a scene he only recalled seeing in his nightmares.

Blood dripped from the edge of the bottle, his crimson blood mixing with the fine, crimson wine. His chest squeezed, his chest ached, and his chest burned. Mangled white hair, stained red with wine, a slumped body on the ground. Unmoving.

... I don’t get it.

Frederick wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing. He lay still in a puddle of blood and wine. Saae bent down, trembling hands reaching out.

I always dreamed of harming my abusers. 

His hands felt oddly cold. He was always known for being really warm and friendly. Warm and caring, that was who Frederick was. He wasn’t perfect though. 

I wanted to hurt them the same way they hurt me. 

Saae’s fingers brushed through his hair, a mess of wine-stained white curls. His eyes watered slightly. Pulse… pulse… where was he supposed to check for that again…? His mind, racing with thoughts moments ago, was left eerily blank.

I thought it would help me cope. 

His fingers felt so shaky and clammy. He didn’t think he could get a recent reading of Frederick’s pulse, even if he could remember where to check for it at. It wasn’t his fault headquarters was such a demanding piece of shit.

I thought it would help me feel better.

They didn’t care about him. They only cared about profit. As long as people paid good money to touch him, kiss him, get him drunk, to “love” him, to have their way… it didn’t matter. In their eyes, he was nothing more than numbers. A toy to line their pockets.

But it doesn’t. 

And somehow, it was his fault when the words “no” would go unnoticed, when it was convenient. Frederick didn’t ignore his cries for help… he just couldn’t make a choice when it really mattered to Saae. And now he’ll never make another choice, ever again. His eyes fell on the clock.

I just feel regret.

It was 11:20 PM.

                                                         ---

Sitting down at an empty section of the bar, Chloe placed her hands on her lap lightly. Something about Hyde’s expression… bothered her. Even after the masquerade events started up and most of the awkwardness died down, she couldn’t help but wonder…

“Are you alright?”

“Huh?”

Chloe fiddled with her hands nervously, looking up at Hyde. Her brows furrowed in frustration. Her eyes focused on the uneaten tiramisu and the strawberry mojito drink lying on the table. Well, it wasn’t uneaten per se… she had seen him take a bite. And then, he excused himself from the bar for a while, coming back a little paler.

“Are you okay? You seem sad.”

“...”

Shifting in his seat, he leaned on his hands, a complex expression on his face.

“You remind me of my kids is all.”

“You have kids? I’m sorry, how old are you-” Gasping slightly, Chloe slammed her hands over her mouth. That was so rude, Chloe! “- I am SO sorry I didn’t mean it like that you just look so young and-”

Sighing softly, Hyde picked up the fork weakly. Staring blankly at the tiramisu, his brows furrowed in frustration.

“I’m 37 years old. I turn 38 in a week, though. My youngest, Emily, is 10 years old, she overthinks everything just like you do.”

Lowering her hands slightly, her eyes sparkling slightly. A kid, huh…? Reaching out, he gently pushed her messy brown bangs to the side. A weak smile on his face. She felt a little bad for asking.

“But, she’s a really sweet kid. Always brought me food when she thought I needed to eat-” He pointed at the mostly uneaten tiramisu she had ordered for him. “Or asking me if I’m okay.” … was she really that similar to a 10-year-old-

“Oh.”

Rubbing her head in embarrassment, Chloe pouted. However, the pouting only seemed to make Hyde laugh more. A hearty yet genuine smile… Chloe would let it slide. (She says, as if she had any plans of “taking care of it.” to begin with.) Leaning against her hands, her feet swung back and forth on her stool.

“Thank you for the worry, but, really. I’m fine. By the way, how old are you? Since you asked me earlier.”

“Oh! I’m 23 years old!” Placing a finger on her chin, she nodded slowly. “You said your birthday was next week. What day is it?” Curious, she tilted her head, clasping her hands together with stars in her eyes.

“... it’s June 23rd.”

Shifting on his arms, he poked aimlessly at the tiramisu with a frown. Lifting his fork, he mumbled to himself, words left unheard. Then, pushing the edge of the container with the edge of his fork towards Chloe, Hyde shook his head.

“I’m… not hungry. You can have it.”

… Chloe felt herself sigh. She wasn’t sure why. Hesitantly, she took the tiramisu in her hands. What did they say was in it again…? She forgot. Not that she wasn’t listening, of course. In fact, Chloe felt she was listening… a little too much.

“Pfft… look at him, pussy footing around good food. It wouldn’t kill him to put on a few more pounds.” “I don’t know, Marianne. I saw him in the bathroom earlier, gross sounds, I’m telling you, the poor smuck looked paler than a starving girl on a Sunday morning.” “Oh, I bet he couldn’t even eat the shitty wine and crackers they give out on Sunday mornings.” “Oh, he’s probably too sensitive to handle it. I bet a burger would send his ass into the 5th dimension.”

Chloe felt a little sick. Her eyes shifted slightly, glancing over at Hyde. He had his hands clasped over his mouth, looking paler than ever. He looked like he was trying not to cry. Chloe felt more sick.

“Can your arteries handle the grease, Dynasty? With all the junk you spew from your hole, I’m surprised you haven’t choked on the sheer audacity yet.”

... huh?

“I bet a burger would send you into cardiac arrest, and your mommy can’t pay your way out of that one. Mind your business, jackass.”

Looking up fully, Chloe turned. A tall woman walked past the gossiping duo without much more than a ounce of attention. In fact, the woman barely looked back. Her heels clicked against the floor as she made her way towards the bar. 

Yelping slightly as the woman suddenly reached out, Chloe swayed slightly. Running her hand around Chloe’s shoulder, she came to a stop suddenly, lilac eyes boring into her soul. Glupping nervously, she tugged at her collar nervously. Did she fuck up by eavesdropping? Oh, she might have fucked up. Mama also told her that it was bad etiquette to eavesdrop on things that didn’t concern you but-

“Your foul mouth is going to get you into trouble one of these days, Hermione.”

“Words have consequences. You know that lesson the best. Who’s the kid?”

Tapping Chloe on the nose lightly, Chloe squeaked. Ignoring the strange looks from the woman and Hyde, she reached from her sparkling water to divert from the embarrassment she felt. Talk about drowning in a cringe-filled sea, I mean, really-? Squeaking? What are you! A squirrel??? Damnit Chloe!

“... she’s not a kid-?” “You’re almost 40 years old, Hyde.” “You’re almost 40 years old, Hyde.”

… well, she wasn’t a kid. She was 23 years old! But… compared to Hyde (who was turning 38 in a week), she was still rather young… and 15 years did make a large difference. (At least, all those scientific studies in brain and lifetime development lead her to believe so. However, she was no scientist.) They certainly were in different life chapters. But, she was no kid! … I think.

“My name is Chloe! Chloe Medena!” 

Clapping her hands together in joy didn’t quite help her argument, did it? In fact, Hyde almost seemed appalled by the motion. “Really?” seemed to be written all over his face. However, for her efforts, the odd woman returned the gesture with… a headpat. Wow… she really DID feel like a kid all over again. (But, in a good way this time.)

“My name is Hermione Wesker. You can just call me Hermione, though.”

Hermione, despite her sharp tongue and intimidating aura, wasn’t all too bad, Chloe decided. Mama always said never to judge a book by its cover, no matter if it was worn down or encrusted in jewelry and glamour. It was the inside that always mattered. Mama was right about that, but, it was hard not to judge a book by its cover when she felt the book would try to bite her head off if she looked at it wrong.

“So, you guys met in a widower support group…?”

This book just so happened to have Chloe captivated.

“It brings back memories. Some good, some bad… most of them are painful, though. I lost my husband of six years when I met Hyde, but…”

Hyde’s hands laid on the table softly, a gentle expression on his face. His eyes stared down at the wooden grooves on the table, a soft frown on his face. Just like that, he looked like he was going to cry all over again. Chloe couldn’t help but scoot closer, reaching her own hand out. Gently, placing it on top of his own, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

“... I lost my wife to a battle with cancer three years ago. We were together for fifteen years and married for twelve years.” “Oh… I’m so sorry Hyde…”

Lowering his head more, he laughed weakly. Gently lowering his head against the wood of the table, a weak sob escaping his throat. The pain of loss… never fully goes away, does it? The idea scared Chloe a little. She wondered if she’d ever fully heal from Grandpa’s passing, or if she’d be sad over it forever. She wanted to hug him. (She wondered if it would be overstepping.)

She glanced over at the clock. It was 12:10 AM. She didn’t even realize how time flew by. Her eyes shifted again, falling on her drink. She bit her lip. What an… awkward moment to have to use the bathroom. She looked back at Hermione, eyes wide in panic as she swung her legs anxiously.

“... drank too much at the bar, kid?”

She nodded eagerly, a slight pout on her face. I’m sorry! I didn’t see my night going like this, I’m not trying to escape this situation, I sWEAR. Please believe me :(

There was a chuckle as Hermione stood up, placing one hand on Hyde’s shoulder as she leaned over. Getting a glimpse at his face as she lifted it up just enough to free her hands… it made Chloe sad. Sorrow weighed heavy on his features, and even half asleep, pain stained his features, the loss of life etched on his weary body like a curse.

“Thank you…”  She felt like she had to mouth it, but she didn’t want her thanks to go unheard.

Getting up, Chloe clamped her hands together nervously. Suddenly, one shining, glaring issue presented itself… where WAS the bathroom? She didn’t remember if the attendant (Saae? Sae? Say????) mentioned it… her eyes darted from side to side as she walked up the bar nervously. The young bartender (CJ) skipped over, holding a pair of metal cups in her hands with a smile.

“Hi Chloe! What can I get you this time?”

“Uhm, actually… I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of the restroom?”

Why did she sound like a young Victorian girl? You’re in the twenty-first century, Chloe, not the seventeen hundreds. What’s next? Asking “Mister Potter” for just a singular crumb to eat? You don’t even know a “Mister Potter”, Chloe!

“Of course, it’s-! Wait, actually, I don’t know where the closest bathroom is.”

“... oh!”

Turning to her right, CJ reached up, tapping Elliott on the shoulder with a wide-eyed stare.

“El. Where are the bathrooms at?”

“Huh? They’re upstairs, why? Did you need to take a break and go?”

Pointing at Chloe (who squeaked in embarrassment. again.), CJ laughed nervously.

“Well, Chloe has to go, but now that you said something… I kind of do too.”

Pausing a moment, Elliott nodded. Holding up a finger, he turned and walked down the bar, moving over to where Saae had been sitting. She watched as he leaned over, whispering to him. There was a nod, as then, Elliott made a motion to CJ, who walked over to the edge of the bar. Opening the gate, Saae walked into the bar, while the two bartenders walked out. Oh, swapping places.

“Come on Chloe! I’ll lead the way.”

Following Elliott and CJ up the stairs, Chloe glanced over at the clock. 

It was 12:15 AM.

Walking up the stairs, she fiddled with her hands, glancing around. Stopping at the top, she glanced over at the event coordinator silently. He had been standing there, leaning against the golden railing, his phone up against his ear. She didn’t remember when he came back to the party, but he had been up here the entire time… she found it odd. Everyone else was enjoying the masquerade, even the co-host, Saae. Yet…

He hadn’t moved an inch.

Glancing at the man as she walked, she could feel her mind wandering again. As she followed Elliott and CJ down the hallway, she wondered, what was he-

Click!

With a slight stumble, Chloe tripped over… something, bumping into CJ. Yelping, CJ stumbled in turn, both of the girls ending up dizzy on the floor. Groaning, Chloe squinted her eyes. She had tripped over… something. But, she couldn’t see what that something was.

BANG!

The sound of a loud gunshot tore through the air suddenly, a sound equally jarring and menacing against Chloe’s ears. Her hands trembled as they shot up to cover her ears, her eyes squeezing shut in panic. There was a muffled thud! that followed, and shortly after… screaming. Lot of it.

“Huh-?!”

Watching- well, not really watching, her eyes were still closed shut from terror- listening to CJ stand up, Chloe yelped as she felt CJ’s hands on her shoulders (well, she assumed it was CJ?), pulling her up off of the ground, and into the bathroom behind them. Her heart raced, and she swore she could hear her heartbeat in her fingertips. Cracking her eyes open hesitantly, the bright lighting of the bathroom flooded her vision, stinging her eyes slightly. The sudden shift brought tears to her eyes.

“... it was only one shot?”

Chloe wasn’t positive in herself, after all, so much of her energy was spent in an attempt to make sure she didn’t shatter underneath the fear she was feeling. However, looking back, CJ nodded in agreement. One shot. It sounded like it came from the second floor, the floor they’re on right now… yet Chloe never hear anyone running.

How odd.

Hestiantly, Chloe popped her head, peering into the hallway. Nothing unusual… I think. Gunshots aside, Chloe really couldn’t wait any longer.

…

Linked arm in arm with CJ, a grizzly sight greeted the girls’ eyes. At the bottom of the ballroom floor underneath where the railing he had been standing on since the ball started was the mangled corpse of Frederick Kronos. Grimacing, she covered her mouth. She had just left the bathroom… yet she felt like she was going to be sick.

“Oh goodness me!”

Running over to Chloe, Hermione grabbed the girl by the shoulders, frantically checking her over before letting out a worried sigh. After letting go of her, she crossed her arms with a shake of her head.

“Way to go and leave at the worst time… Are you two okay?”

Reaching out, her fingers briefly ran over CJ as well, a glint of concern in her eyes. CJ nodded hesitantly, however… Chloe’s eyes began to wander. The entire masquerade party was in shambles.

Her eyes shifted to the body of Frederick. It wasn’t that long ago when… they all saw him alive. She felt like she was going to be sick. 

Bending down next to the corpse, a ponytail of long black hair obscured most of her view of the body. Never had Chloe been so thankful for a bad angle before. Red gloves moved around the body, pulling the coat open to reveal a single gunshot wound, directly positioned in his heart. Chloe couldn’t see much else, but she imagined his blood blossomed in the white silk fabric, like a stain. A disease.

She looked at the gaming tables. Roxanne seemed to try and calm the players of the game. Judging from the blonde woman’s reaction, it wasn’t working. The man with the angel wing earrings was also over there. He looked like he was talking to the man with the brown hair.

Her eyes shifted to the bar, which was all but empty… of course, to no surprise, she thought. The bartenders weren’t there, Hermione was over here, those bad mouthing bar guests were observing the body with Lee. The only two people that weren’t elsewhere was…

He sat calmly by Hyde’s side, Chloe thought. A hand on his back, hunched over, whispering to him. Perhaps calming him. Although, she noticed he didn’t seem too conscious at the moment. His mannerisms… he looked confused.

Her eyes trailed back to the body. His lifeless eyes looked at Chloe, a haunting last image. His lips were pale, they were almost blue in color. Like the life was sucked out of him. She squeezed her eyes shut, clinging onto Hermione like her own life depended on it. Maybe it did.

“Is boss…”

CJ’s voice cracked, and Chloe could hear the terror in her voice. An eerie silence followed, she could hear the sounds of CJ trying to hold back tears. 

“Come on… you two should sit down… a lot has happened…”

Hermione held onto the two girls, slowly moving them away from the body. Chloe didn’t know where they were going. She was too scared to open her eyes. She wasnted to say something.

But all she chould choke out were weak cries of terror.

…

“Are you ladies okay?”

Chloe sniffled as she sat down at the bar, trying furiously to wipe away her tears. It only proved to be futile in the end. She wished she were stronger in times of tragedy.

CJ looked roughly just as deshevled as Chloe herself, and she felt a tad bit guilty for being glad she wasn’t the only hot mess there. It was okay to be a hot mess though… there was a literal corpse in the room with them. They remembered Frederick, smiling so brightly just hours prior.

All that was left of him was a cold, clammy corpse.

“It’s okay… My name is Nuxi. I’m a retired police officer, I’ll just be asking you two a few questions about what happened while you were gone, okay?”

She nodded in silence. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to speak. She wasn’t guilty, she didn’t kill him. But, everyone always said that silence speaks volumes. Maybe she was worried if she spoke, she’d only start sobbing all over again. CJ seemed to feel the same.

The angel earring’d man pulled up an empty bar stool, sitting across from the two girls. Opening up his coat pocket, he retrieved a small pen and notepad. Then, looking at Chloe, he sighed.

“If you don’t think you can talk, don’t try and force yourself to. You both can simply nod yes or no to my questions, okay?”

They nodded silently. Sniffles occasionally broke the silence.

“Alright… around 12:15 AM, you two alongside bartender Elliott went upstairs, correct?”

Chloe nodded slowly, rubbing her eyes tiredly. 

“We were going to the bathroom… but when I- I got up there, I tripped over something and-” She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, her hands trembling. “I fell. I fell and I knocked over CJ. I was looking for whatever it was I tripped over and-” “That’s when we heard it. The gunshot.”

Nuxi was quiet, yet, he seemed attentive, noting down each part of their story. Even as they struggled to get the words out. Even as terror gripped their voices. 

“So we- we hid out in the girls' bathroom… and eventually, we came down and that’s when we-” A sob cut CJ off, burying her face in her hands as she sobbed weakly. She sobbed, and she sobbed… and she sobbed. That was when they came across that grizzly sight. That corpse.

Why did this happen?

Nodding slowly, he placed his hand on his chin slowly, his brows furrowed in contemplation. Chloe could tell, something about the story bothered him. She wasn’t sure what. She was too scared to ask.

“Did either of you happen to catch what time it was when you heard the gunshot go off?”

Pausing slowly, Chloe scratched her chin. The time…? She wasn’t sure, she didn’t remember seeing a clock while upstairs. Or, well, she wasn’t looking for one, at least. She shook her head no. CJ answered the same. Nodding slowly, Nuxi wrote… something down in his notebook.

“You said you tripped over something, Chloe?”

“Uhm… yeah. But, I couldn’t see what it was. And, then the gunshot went off and, I got so scared I couldn’t move. CJ dragged me into the bathroom, assuming the person with the gun was upstairs with us. But, we never heard anyone run from upstairs, since we were really close to the stairs.”

Nodding again, Nuxi mumbled something to himself quietly, his brows furrowed again. Then, closing his notebook, he looked up with a soft expression. 

“Thank you, you two. I have to go question Elliott… have either of you seen him?”

Shaking her head no, Chloe frowned. So caught up, she didn’t see where he went. By the time she had come back to reality, she only saw CJ. She had no idea where Elliott had gone to. 

CJ paused, rubbing her head in confusion. Her brows furrowed, her tongue sticking out as if she were searching the depths of her memories for something.

“If I had to guess, El went to… probably the employee break room that’s nearby the bathrooms. He kept yawning so… maybe he went to get a cup of coffee while we were in the bathroom?”

The break room… interesting. Chloe noted it in her head. Coffee… coffee sounded nice right about now. She was never too big on alcohol anyway.

“Right. Thank you, CJ.”

Nodding slowly, Nuxi placed a hand on his chin. Then, turning away Chloe and CJ, he leaned over. His voice lowered to something, barely above a whisper. Hunching over, he mumbled something she couldn’t catch. Chloe tilted her head slightly. 

Shifting in her chair, her brows furrowed. Her eyes fell on the corpse in the middle of the room. Her eyes watered slightly, she couldn’t help it. Her hands shook slightly as she buried her head in her hands. She was so scared, she couldn’t help it. 

Her brows furrowed. She remembered his words when the ball started, they echoed in her head. They were so nice and comforting in the moment, but now… they’re nothing but ironic last words. (Or well, not maybe his last words but… the last words Chloe ever heard.)

“Thank you everyone for coming to the annual Emerald Gemstone Casino Masquerade night. Tonight is a special night for everyone here, is it not? Filled with regular, new guests, and new staff working the masquerade (and lively they are.) This masquerade ball is made up of different, unique faces, all here tonight. It’s very exciting, the chance for once-in-a-lifetime memories to be made.”

Memories… memories certainly were made, Chloe thought. However, memories that weren’t… all too pleasant. Not all memories were good, not all memories were pleasant. Closing her eyes softly, she sighed. Covering her face, she couldn’t help but want to cry. She felt so overwhelmed. She wondered if it was over, or if this was just the beginning of a long, long line of tragedy.

...

Welcome to the Emerald Gemstone Casino Masquerade. Slots, drinks and games, this golden hour is your opportunity. 

Come and dance under emerald skies, let these last hours of your life be as blinding as your wildest dreams.

... she wanted to go home.

[ CHAPTER ZERO COMPLETE. CHAPTER ONE COMING SOON? ] [ 1/?? DEATH FILES UNLOCKED ]

[aparticularbandit]

The Emperor's New World

Summary: When the feeling's gone, and you can't go on,

It's *******

When the morning cries, and you don't know why,

It's hard to bear--

For DR WLWeek 2024: Prompt Five: The Tragedy.

Also for @yabashiri, who prompted Enonami for something else but is getting this one, too. :)

Fic Rating: M because this is the Tragedy and there's some gruesome imagery.

AO3

The great Tragedy of the world is how easily it falls apart.

The stitching is imperfect, the fabrics mismatched, the pieces laid incorrectly together.  Its sleeves are two different lengths, the seat of its pants is missing, its beanie has a hole at the top so large that it might as well be an old school monk’s haircut.  The collar is too small for anyone to poke their head through, the buttons don’t match its holes, the zipper is stuck.  Junko doesn’t even need to take scissors to it; she could rip the flimsy thing apart with her bare hands.  She doesn’t need a stitch ripper either when the seams are so loosely done that she can unthread them with her fingernails.  Admittedly, her fingernails have been molded into a sharp point – into bear claws – which makes all of that easier, but that’s not the point.

The point is that the world at large needs a better tailor, and who better to try her hands at it than the Ultimate Fashionista herself?

Even if all she does is tear the current fit to shreds.

Look, sometimes you have to rip the old shit off before you put the emperor in his new clothes, got it?

(Build the suit and leave it for them to find later.  She’ll be dead before they put it on.  Doesn’t mean it’s not still her design.)

~

Junko sits on a rooftop far from Hope’s Peak Academy and lets her legs dangle over the edge.

Across from her, a cathedral burns.

Fire swirls, illuminating the sharp shattered glass from within and sending a kaleidoscope of colors along the street, along each person fighting, attacking, defending, murdering.  It’s an odd spot of beauty among everything else, those sharp pinks and blues and golds, even if it clashes horribly with the blood red sky overhead.

No matter what Junko does, she can’t escape that color.  She was born drenched in it, reflecting it in her eyes, as though it is the only thing she could ever be.  Her destiny: blood, blood, and more blood.  She tastes it rusty on her lips.

Disgusting.

Across the street, a girl grabs a shard of stained glass from the concrete and wields it like a knife.

Beautiful.

Poetry in motion.

Of course, this does not save her.  Who brings a knife to a gun fight?  She throws it like a star, and the sparkling pink glare hits Junko’s eyes.  When she can see again, the girl has already fallen to the ground, the light gone from her eyes.  It sucks – to miss that moment.  Maybe she wouldn’t have been able to see it from this far away anyway, but she would have liked to see the despair overwhelming that girl the way it overwhelmed her once, so long ago.

Maybe it’ll taste better to her.

Junko hears her shoes shuffling across the rooftop towards her before she even sees her, and she doesn’t ask how she found her here.  She could find her anywhere.  Will find her anywhere.  Junko looks up as she sits next to her.  “It’s been a while.”

“It hasn’t been that long, I think.”

Chiaki doesn’t look up from the gaming device in her hands as she kicks her heels against the brick wall beneath her.  She never looks up at Junko anymore; she always has her Game Girl with her, and she’s always looking at it.

Junko scoots over to her, just brushing against her arm, and leans over her shoulder.  Familiar.  Warm.  “Did I do it?” she asks, glancing at the game on her screen.  “Did I make it right?”

The story Junko tells – The Emperor’s New World – unravels on Chiaki’s screen.  Doom and gloom and a villain wrapped in a fantastic, iconic look.  Not that anyone knows what the true villain looks like, not yet.  (And even then, they won’t.  Junko makes herself a villain because it’s easier to fight one that has a physical form than it is to fight theories and philosophies and ideas.)

Right now, the only thing anyone knows is the bear – half black and half white with that singular blazing red eye torn into his skull and half a smile, like he’s always excited and always ready to rip someone’s throat out.  (Yours, if you aren’t careful.)  He looks just as cool as a character framed in 8-bit as he does in real life, although Junko’s sure he’s not nearly as cuddly in the game as the version Kaz and Gundham created for her.  The video game version doesn’t have real fur, after all.

(The plushies won’t either, but no one really cares about that.  It’s all marketing.)

“Will it have a good ending?”

Junko doesn’t say anything.  She goes through every possible scenario again and again and again, and she doesn’t say anything.  It will have a fitting ending, one handcrafted specifically for this story.  One that fits like a second skin.

In the silence, Chiaki continues.  “It’s okay if there’s a lot of suffering, I think.”

“It’s okay if people die?”

Because people are dying.  So many people are dying.  And it’s Junko’s fault.

It doesn’t matter that she knows they would have died anyway, that more people would have died if she didn’t act; it doesn’t matter, because they’re dying now and it’s still her fault, and it hurts.

Of course, the way she is now, that pain and despair only fuels her, only brings her joy.

(It still hurts.)

“I died, Ryo-chan.”  Chiaki still doesn’t look up.  The silence between them fills with screams and thunder and above all of that the background music of Chiaki’s game, the beeps and boops of each button she clicks (and the clacking of them, too).  The cathedral in front of them quivers, and another stained glass window explodes outward, its shards staining the ground.  Finally, into the silence, she asks, “Did you give it a happy ending?”

Ryoko nods, solemn.  “The happiest ending I could, Chicharin.  The happiest ending I could.”

“Then that’s okay, I think.”  Chiaki glances over to her; eyes the shade of Junko’s hair meet hers and frown.  “Hey, hey,” she says, reaching up and brushing her fingers along Junko’s cheek, bringing their tips away wet.  “What’s wrong?”

“You know,” Ryoko says, with a shake of her head.  “Why are you asking when you already know?”

Chiaki smiles and leans up just enough to kiss her cheek.  “You’ll see me soon.” When she fades into nothing, Ryoko thinks she can imagine what the press of Chiaki’s lips on her skin might have felt like.  Unfortunately, she’ll never know.  Then she stretches her lips into Junko’s horrible, terrific grin and beams down on the world below her, propping her hands on her hips as the cathedral glass stains blood pink.

[oiladgivememoney99]

MD-5 Cruelty Squad: Depression Nap

Violence.

It was all the woman, her hair a shining blue. Somehow genetic these days was raised in.

Violence.

The water that turns the wheels of history, it keeps the world running, and makes it move forward.

Violence.

The thing her father performed whenever work mistreated him, or whenever he got gum on the bottom of his shoe, or whenever he felt like it.

Violence.

It was funny, the only thing her father ever told her that she found any stock in was this “If you live in Violence, you’ll die in it,”

Tari put it to the test, and it was true! He lived in violence, mother lived in violence and both of them were ended in it, ended by the paragon of violence. She didn’t know about body reconstruction; it didn’t apply to him anyway. The super poors don’t get the gift of eternal life, eternal sustenance of the Lord’s teet, an existence without their divine link to him.

Tari had no real opinion on that.

---

Wake up early, set a ten year plan, invest, CEO Mindset. That was the message drilled into Tari’s head as she woke up from a particularly bad depression nap. She trudged out of bed, and looked on a nearby table.

NOTICE OF TERMINATION

TARI C. NESSA

While your service as part of TASCorp™’s enforcement squad has been greatly appreciated. Budget cuts have required that we let you and several members of your division go.

As of Article 192 of the Constitution, and Article 26 of Cancer City official law, we are in no way required to offer you any form of severance package, nor any financial support.

Please understand that this is in no way personal, we would’ve loved to have you continue your great service within the TASCorp™ family.

We wish you best of luck in your further endeavours.

TASCorp™ “You’re everything, We’re everything,”

Bastards, corpo bastards kicked her out cause of “budget cuts”. She still couldn’t believe it after a week.

She looked around her dingy apartment, one of the lights flickering cause Tari hadn’t elected to put in the effort to fix it… also cause she couldn’t afford it right now cause of those corposhits firing her.

Tari sighed, sitting on the couch, and turning on the TV. Hands firmly stuck in the pocket of the still somewhat bloodstained pants she was wearing.

Boring nothing show, boring nothing show. God being unemployed really mad every single piece of mindless entertainment seem completely boring, huh?

She flipped through the channels, looking for something that could distract her from her desire to go full No Russian on a TASCorp building (It’s not like they’d stay dead anyway)-

“Hey, do you wanna be part of a deathsquad?” A Blonde woman with half shaven hair clad in a tanktop stained in what looked like a mix of blood and dark pink biofuel.

Tari’s eyes quirked. She was already one of those but someone had fired her.

“I know you do, but are you tired of Poorhead Megacorps taking all the fun out of contract killing? TASCorp, for example,” The woman asked, excitement clear in her soulless, yet pretty blue eyes. “Do you want a local, family owned company of contract killers suited to your incredibly specific needs?”

Tari nodded, even though the woman couldn’t see or hear her.

“Well why don’t you come on down to 32 Carcinogen Street, and apply to Cancer City’s very own MD-5 Cruelty Squad!” The woman waved her hands, excitement completely and utterly abundant in her high pitched voice. “We have no qualms, no morals and no one we won’t target!”

Tari was utterly captivated, she could do what she was made to do with no restrictions, no suit breathing down her neck.

“But don’t take it from me, take it from the Butcher of Melbourne himself, Masa Shimamoto!”

Tari’s eyes widened, silently fangirling as the man walked onto screen. Red eyes, messy black hair, metallic arm implant with the TASCorp logo scratched off. It was the real deal!

Tari had idolised the man, one of the most prolific hitmen, someone who worked in the top of TASCorp’s deathsquads! Someone any Hitperson that took themselves even a little seriously strived to be.

“Yes, it’s the real me,” Masa chuckled. “After my resignation from TASCorp, I needed a new way to keep doing what I loved most. That’s why I started my own deathsquad. Here at MD-5, we care about the individuals we work under,”

A man with dark skin and braids appeared, aiming a sniper rifle from the top of a tower with a smile on his face.

“We value the individual opinion of each and every person under our family,” Masa continued to speak. “Unlike those bastards at TASCorp. MD-5 Cruelty Squad, we’re murderers who care,”

Tari was already out the door.

---

Sofia sat boredly at the front desk of the… raggedy ass building she was working at. Masa couldn’t even afford a decent building for his brand spanking new Deathsquad. She thought about how they only had like 15 employees, grumbling in her head as the-

DING DONG

“Welcome to Cruelty Squad, who do you want dead?” The blonde woman asked, grinning widely at the idea of a new job.

Tari gently placed her resume on the desk.

“Oh shit, that ad actually worked?” Sofia’s eyes widened in joy as she began to read the blue haired woman’s resume. “Oh damn, this is an impressive record,”

Tari nodded, leaning on the table; completely still.

The blonde woman continued to read and read. “Eh, fuck it… I’ll give you a tour and let you in,” She chuckled. “You’ll wanna log on the MyWork app to see your hours n’ jobs,”

Tari nodded as the woman left the desk, and began to walk from the lobby into a hallway behind it.

“By the way, I’m Sofia Porter. Used to work for TASCorp, they fucked the lot of us over too,” Sofia slapped Tari on the back, the blue haired woman having zero reaction.

Sofia paused for a moment as she lead Tari past small amounts of people wielding cheap guns.

“Wow… you don’t speak at all, huh?”

“Sometimes,” Sofia stumbled, nearly tripping, and fracturing her skull as the recruit spoke.

“Unexpected,” Sofia chuckled a little. “I like that; what’s your name Ms. Mute by choice?”

“Tari,”

Sofia smiled, Tari looked briefly at the woman’s eyes; she noticed the distinct lack of a soul. The only real drawback of cheaper body reconstruction programs, losing your very Divine Light; only a mild inconvenience to most anyway.

Sofia led Tari to a small room at the end of the hallway, three other people were situated inside: The black guy with dreads from the ad, Tari could now see his modified metallic legs alongside the beanie and hideous anime themed shirt he was wearing. Masa Shimamoto himself, and finally a new woman; similar facial structure to Sofia, but with long purple hair, brown yet equally soulless eyes, and a metallic arm with a medical logo carefully carved into it. The three people looked between Tari and Sofia for a moment.

“Sofia, why is there a random woman in the meeting room?” Masa sighed, moving forward slightly to stand in front of the two women.

“Yeah, I love you n’ all, but I’d prefer you keep your flings away from our… y’know secret meetings… that are meant to be company secrets,” Purple-y (Not the best but it’d have to do for now) chuckled.

“Yeah, man what the-”

“Hey! She’s not just some random woman, nor a random fling” Sofia blushed a little as she raised her hands rapidly, interrupting the black man as he began to speak. “Tari over here is a masterclass hitwoman who’s been personally fucked over by TASCorp,”

“Dicks, she seems chill… more sane than you at least,” Black dude chuckled causing Sofia to pout.

“You want Masa to hire her, huh?” Lucinia smiled smugly.

Sofia nodded energetically, enough to cause severe, severe whiplash. “And best of all, she still has a soul! You’ve gotta be like… a super bro to work for 5 years and not die once!”

Masa looked deep in thought, looking between Tari and the members of his team. “I suppose, we could trial you as an unpaid intern first off,” He straightened her tie.

“Laaaaame,” Sofia pouted. “But better than not getting the job at all,”

“Yes,” Masa smirked briefly before returning to his neutral face. “Lamar, introduce her to the company,”

Black weeb dude, who was Lamar now apparently walked over to Tari. “That’s Sofia, head of advertising, and explosive slash mechanical expert.” He pointed to Sofia, who gladly waved in response.

“That’s Lucinia, Medic and head of Human Resources. If anybody touches or talks to you in a way that makes you uncomfortable just tell her,”

“Glad to have another body to work with,” Lucinia snickered, covering her hand with her mouth.

“That’s Masa, CEO, squad lead… Butcher of Melbourne,”

“I still get around, huh?” Masa shrugged, Tari’s face quirked in a smile for a millisecond as he confirmed. “Don’t ask for an autograph,”

“And I’m Lamar, marksman, only other person with their soul still here and uh…” Lamar paused for a minute then sighed. “Chief Diversity Officer,”

Tari quirked an eyebrow as she leaned on the wall behind her. Sofia snorted while Lucinia smirked slightly.

Lamar sighed again. “Y’all are assholes… what’s your name?”

The blue haired recruit paused for a moment, she opened her mouth to-

“Tari! It’s Tari!” Sofia confirmed. “She’s like… selectively mute sometimes,”

Tari closed her mouth and nodded.

“Interestin’ enough, follow me Tari,” Lamar said as he walked out of the room, Tari followed closely behind.

“You’re gonna love it here!” Sofia smiled.

“You won’t go hungry,” Lucinia snickered, Masa stayed silent as Tari was lead around the building.

This would be an interesting work environment.

[c00l3stb0y3v3r]

I only have saiki k brain rot when it comes up on my timeline or something, I'm just slowly going away from saiki k but ehh, still kinda in it.

Sorry for any typos, this was rushed.

Anyways here

*cracks knuckles*

Lesgo

Saiki knew things would happen, usually with his mind reading or precognition. It's helped him change situations or even the world ending. His precognition will notify him something bad will happen, and of course, he'll change it. It's usually due to the fact it affects him in some way. His mind reading on the other hand was helped him with situations, mainly when he wants to get away from someone.

Although this? This was something that precognition or even his telepathy could never see coming.

His mind was heavy with fog, remembering sections of the day, although when those sections were unclear. All he could remember is what was in front of him, what was staring at him.

It showed no emotion, body still as stone. It's eyes covered with yellow lenses, with almost white clothing. Shirt, pants, socks were all white with red stains. It's socks the most covered in stains like it walked on the what ever liquid was spilled.

He didn't want to know what liquid it was but, he knew. He very well knew.

The only thing he heard was his heart, thumping harshly with his uneasy breathing. His body wouldn't stop shaking, his mind was blank yet racing. He hated how he felt, the way his blood rushed cold when looking at it. He hated how it looked him.

It only stared, stared with cold, unblinking eyes. It's breathing steady and almost uncomfortable.

"Why are you here?"

What?

It spoke? It speaks??

Why does it speak? Why is it speaking to him? Has he done something wrong? What–

"Why are you here?"

It spoke.

"I don't know."

What the fuck? That's all he could say? 'I don't know'? He knew very well how he got there, he just..can't remember.

"You don't, know?" It's speaks again, the voice of it makes his hand turn into fists. His mind kept trying to deny the voice yet kept arguing with, 'it's my voice! It's copying my voice'.

"I know you may not like me but, come to terms with the fact it's our voice, okay?"

No– it's his voice, it's isn't – ours – it's his! Not, not some wannabe person—

"I assure you, I'm not some 'wannabe person'. I'm Saiki Kusuo"

No– it's not. It's not Saiki Kusuo, he is. He's Saiki Kusuo, not some murder.

"I did what I had too do–"

"No, you could've had stopped yourself, don't we have control?"

"He doesn't think so"

"Well, he's an idiot who doesn't know us."

"But hes—"

"He may be our brother but he doesn't know the actual us like mom does."

"Moms dead."

..

What?

"What do you moms dead?"

It doesn't speak, yet it's eyes show a flicker of emotion. Guilt.

"What happened?"

"..I couldn't stop it–"

"You couldn't stop it-? What do you mean by that?! We have the power, we have the knowledge to save her, why didn't we—?!"

"Because I had too!" It yelled out, eyes now wide, a step closer. It's hands now fists, eyes brimmed with tears.

"He– He said I had too. It was the only way to save her–" it looked down, pink hair covering its face in shame.

The only sounds there was their breathing, it's hiccups and his still uneasy breathing.

"Save her, from who?" Saiki asks, looking at the other him. And, his other self looks up, tears falling down his face, filled with guilt and regret.

"From me."

au where Saiki has to fight a much worse version of him but a different kind of worse than light novel Saiki

[thebeginnersguide-mkg]

Body Drop #3

It was plain to see, right before your eyes.

[Fatal Mysteries of the Universe]

Victim: Mechanized Independent Learning and Observation [M.I.L.O]

Time of Death: 9:30 PM

Time of Discovery: 10:00 PM

Location: Infinity Pool

Cause of Death: Short Circuiting

[Fatal Mysteries of the Universe]

Victim: Klara Dietrich

Time of Death: 9:30 PM

Time of Discovery: 10:00 PM

Location: Infinity Pool

Cause of Death: Electrocution

♫♫ When you all at first met Milo, it was easy to mistake them as younger than they were. Eager for mischief, and even more eager to please; the true nature of the boy was hardly obvious upon a glance. The eccentric plushie doctor was always someone who appeared so filled with a burning joy for life; with the desire to experience all the vast multiverse had to offer.

And they did, with the group's help. Even as many grew in their suspicions that your pink friend was more than they seemed, they never neglected the company of their peers. Though the youngest in many regards, Milo's unending curiosity propelled him forward.

A robot with emotions. To many it was an oxymoron, but one that Milo embodied fully.

That didn’t come without its downfalls, however. Even Milo’s optimism wasn't endless or infallible. Several times they fell, showing cracks in their cheerful mask to wells of anxiety or self-doubt. There were plenty of things he struggled to understand by his own admission, and in turn he sought the comfort of your company to put those pieces back together. Which, many of you gladly gave.

In truth, Milo was someone who longed for acceptance in a world unwilling to provide it. It was with all of you that they had finally found that comfort.

But in this moment, there was no comfort. No joy or laughter here under the endlessly reflective, uncaring sky that now swallowed two of your friends in its indifference.

The android lays limp in a puddle of his own blood, the spark that once glimmered in those eyes extinguished.

–

There must be people who dare to pierce the darkness with her light for the morning to come, and that job never seems to end in the eyes of Klara Dietrich. Ugly memories linger in the form of stained blood in the air, years-old hurts that refuse to go. She'd give almost everything to be able to forget, but perhaps she deserves the misery of remembering, pushing everyone around her away to prevent being harmed. Born to a reaper, death is nearby, danger and threat follow the job--the loss is just as severe--why let it affect you?

She wasn't the type to talk about love. Friendship. She feels betrayed, not knowing what it is. Of dread. She hasn't known it long enough to understand its dangers, but being born to someone who loves less than her, why let another thing guilt you? It's simply unavoidable.

Though she's in over her head with a heart ablaze for vengeance for those she doesn't even know the names of, when he got what he deserved, who is she but to sit idle in that wake of red, drowning?

Picking up the pieces, attempting to mend what's broken- there's only so much you can do, no matter how angry you are with yourself. Even when worlds collide, it doesn't change who you are or what you want, as you try to keep others out of your own red wake, which you know follows you.

However, there is now a blue wake. And after chasing that break of dawn for so long, that rage has subsided. Only to trip… and fall. Body Drop By Charlie Write-Ups by June and Lila

[monocaelia]

tending to their wounds

they cannot evade death. but with you around, they're invincible.

feat. albedo, childe, diluc, kaeya, kazuha, xiao

genre : headcanons, fluff, angst [for xiao and kazuha], hurt/comfort

warnings : blood and injury. death mention. minor cursing.

❀ albedo

it's to no one's surprise that albedo isn't human, meaning he doesn't have the same bodily functions as the others in mondstadt do. his body cannot bleed nor can he feel much pain. that's not to say he can't at all, but a simple prick from a piece of shattered flask can't really do the young alchemist any harm.

flasks breaking or nicking himself while conducting his own research never really phased the alchemist. despite the warnings his assistant gave him about laboratory safety, he didn't need to heed them if the injuries didn't apply to him, did he?

it's safe to say that the chief alchemist is... perplexed to say the least at seeing you worry over him. he wasn't expecting you to come rushing through his laboratory door when you heard the sound of falling glass and nearly climbed over all of his equipment to come to his aid.

"really, you shouldn't have to worry," his gentle voice reassures you, but his attempts to calm you down are futile. instead, albedo is met with your furrowed brows in concentration and your fingers brushing against his as you inspect his invisible wounds.

"yeah well, maybe if you were more careful in your laboratory i wouldn't be here worrying over you, would i?" albedo sighs at your response and decides to let you do as you please to his 'injuries.'

the alchemist's teal eyes follow your movements as you reach for the bandages in the first aid kit and begin to wrap them around his finger tips. he doesn't miss the way your tongue pokes out from between your lips as you concentrate on the task in front of you.

despite not needing to worry much about him, albedo finds it endearing that you care so much about his wellbeing. how much you care about him, how often you check up on him and make sure he never overworks himself. you truly are a caring individual, a ray of warm sunshine in his life.

you meet albedo's gaze when your name leaves his lips, eyes filled with curiosity at what he could possibly want.

"thank you for tending to me." he thanks you with tender smile on his face, his spare hand gently ruffling your hair. the flustered expression on your face is hard to miss, especially when you quickly duck your head down and away from the alchemist.

you stutter out that 'this is nothing!' and continue on wrapping albedo's faux injuries. though, the alchemist finds the way your hands shake as they brush against his skin adorable.

❀ childe

childe is a war criminal, in case you missed it. it's not uncommon to find the young man fighting an entire hoard of enemies by himself. the thrill of battle never seems to be enough for him, as he constantly seeks anything that could satiate his need for exhilaration.

finding scars or fresh injuries on the harbinger is the usual for you, regardless of whether or not they're shallow wounds or deep gashes that gush blood and stain your poor floor. not that childe minds anyways, he sees his battle scars as medals of the many fights he has won and wears them with pride.

but, despite being one of the fatui harbingers and an absolute beast on the battlefield, that doesn't stop you from worrying about his wellbeing.

your brows furrow in concern at the sight of childe in front of you; body worn from using his foul legacy form one too many times in succession and injuries sustained from his earlier fight. he shouldn't have protected you, really you could have protected yourself. and yet...

"you're going to ruin yourself if you keep going into your other form all the time, you know." childe laughs weakly at your lecturing; that's all he can do right now anyways. you catch your lip in between your teeth as you rub a cooling ointment on the harbinger's body. "this isn't funny. you can't just die. then no one would be the eleventh harbinger and you-"

"i would leave you alone?" childe smiles when you send him a glare. his rough hand finds yours, squeezing it lightly in reassurance. there's not a chance in the world that he would succumb to death just yet. childe is still young, and there are many others that he hasn't had the pleasure of fighting against.

and he sure as abyss can’t pass away without saying how he truly feels about you.

you grumble to the snezhnayan that you could've handled it all alone, that you didn't need him to go all berserk on the ruin guards that had surrounded you earlier. instead, childe laughs and places a weak hand on your forearm. "i know, but that was the perfect time to show you just how well i can fight. maybe then, you'll finally accept my feelings."

a white lie, really. even though childe knows that you could've handled it yourself, he acted on instinct back then. the thought of you being harmed in any way sends a chill down the harbinger's spine. he wouldn't forgive himself if he reacted a second too late and you ended up hurt as a consequence.

what's the point of harboring the power of the abyss if he couldn't protect the ones he loved.

you roll your eyes at his answer, choosing to quietly resume cleaning up childe's wounds in hopes that he doesn't say anything more embarrassing. as your fingers brush against the snezhnayan's freckled skin, you don't miss the way he leans towards your touch and the happy hum rumbling from his chest.

❀ diluc

the darknight hero is not one to lose his battles, let alone allow any of his enemies lay a finger on him. trained by the knights and his own father, diluc's fighting style is difficult to intercept and finding a weak spot in his defense is futile. even if his sword is too slow, his fists will be glad to meet those that oppose him.

that isn't to say he doesn't get hurt every now and then. you've caught him with bandages wrapped around his hand, blood soaked gauze around his torso. as long as the job was done, diluc didn't mind the wounds he received in battle.

he isn't used to others tending to his wounds, as nobody really knows he's the darknight hero and protects mondstadt in the middle of the night. so when you catch him in the act of cleaning his wounds and offer to help, he kind of freezes up.

diluc wants to decline your offer, sure that he could finish this up by himself. and besides, he doesn't want to burden you with his consequences so late at night. but he knows you would keep bugging him and complain later that he didn't "love you" or whatever dramatic act you'd be committing in the near future.

it's hard to look at you when you're so close to the red haired vigilante. granted, diluc has always been pretty close with you, seeing as the two of you grew up together and shared most of your memories with one another (and kaeya).

but being physically close to you... is another story. your fingers lightly touching his skin, your face so close to his as you inspect other wounds on his body, your hands roaming the expanse of his chest to remove his shirt in case it hid any other injuries you could have missed.

diluc's hands twitch when you inch even closer to him. if he wanted to, it would take one swift movement to have his lips on yours. one swift movement to hold you in his arms and feel the way your skin melts into his.

but the vigilante has self-control and would rather die than make you uncomfortable.

diluc releases a shaky breath when you finally move away from his body, though it's only a brief moment of respite since you immediately move back into your previous position after grabbing more bandages. absolutely perfect for the poor vigilante.

he clears his throat when your hands slide down his arms to reassure the pressure is enough to keep his wounds from reopening and bleeding out. it is then that you realize what you've been doing to the poor red haired man and how close you've been to him and his body.

"oh? what could you possibly be thinking about, mr. ragnvindr?" you tease, raising an eyebrow and sending diluc a playful smile. you fail to suppress your laughter when he scrunches up his face and turns his face away from you, his ears burning a wonderful shade of bright pink.

"i think it's time for you to leave." shocked, you try and apologize and get him to let you stay a little bit more. the night is still young, and he still has more injuries to be looked at! but diluc pays you no mind.

not like he'd have the heart to actually kick you out of his room anyways.

❀ kaeya

the captain of the calvary isn't one to fight, always looking for people to do his dirty work so he doesn't have to. why bother exerting more energy than you already have when you can make others do it for you? it's more fun that way, anyways.

that doesn't mean kaeya is incapable of fighting. if needed to, the blue haired captain would gladly point his sword at the enemy to keep them at bay or spar a fellow knight. scratches and shallow scrapes are what you mostly see from him.

you aren't expecting to be called into the knights of favonius headquarters and be greeted by the calvary captain battered up and bruised in the infirmary.

"you're squeezing me too hard," kaeya comments nonchalantly, as if he isn't bleeding to death on the bed right now. "you'll cut off circulation in my arm if you keep doing that." you shoot him a glare, but the blue haired captain only laughs at you. you tighten the bandage on his arm.

you refuse to get tangled up in anymore of kaeya's antics. it's all his fault you've aged ten years because of him and his stupid actions and refusing to ask for help despite the mission being bigger than anyone could handle. alone at least. it's not like you don't trust him, but a little extra help isn't bad to have.

your frown deepens when your eyes flit up to stare at the blood soaked shirt covering kaeya's chest. you order him to take it off so you can inspect his injury, which was a mistake on your part.

"oh? shouldn't you ask me on a date first before being this forward?" kaeya's laughter rings around the infirmary seeing your deadpan expression at his joke. maybe you should just leave, just leave this stupid man to bleed to death on this infirmary bed. maybe then you would finally be at peace.

"well. maybe i would have asked you on a date if you weren't so stupid to take this dumb mission alone. you could have died, asshole." kaeya only hums in response, which pisses you off even more. it's like he didn't have a care in the world.

in the midst of your grumblings and cleaning of kaeya's wounds, you miss the tender look he gives you; warm and gentle. the captain finds it nice to have someone care for someone like him after so long.

it wasn’t his fault he wanted to do this alone. well, it was, but it’s hard for kaeya to rely on others and be vulnerable to those around him despite how long he’s known them. his walls are built high, refusing to let anybody in in case he accidentally hurts them in the future.

he wonders if you'd miss him if he disappeared one day, but the way your brows furrow in concern at seeing how bad the gash in his chest confirms his answer.

kaeya’s endearing, warm smile is replaced with the usual smug smirk when you look up to meet his gaze. one day, he hopes he’ll be able to let his walls down around you.

"you know, you're really cute when you worry over me. maybe i should get injured more often." the look of shock at kaeya's comment is evident on your flustered face and it takes everything in him to not laugh and open up his wounds again.

❀ kazuha

kazuha isn't one to easily get injured, well at least seriously injured. he was raised by a prestigious family, trained in the arts of the kaedehara clan. with the help of his prior knowledge of fighting and his keen senses, it's hard to one-up the young man to the point of injury.

that isn't to say he has never sustained any injuries. there have been one too many times that the inazuman traveller has shown up at your door with a couple of scrapes and an apologetic smile on his face.

so, it's a surprise when you find kazuha at your doorstep severely injured and clutching something in his burned hand.

it's quiet between the two of you as your eyes scan kazuha's body for any more injuries and your hands quickly move to tend to his right hand. the skin is burnt, bleeding, and his fingers shake from the injuries it sustained.

you whisper an apology to the inazuman when you gently clean the wounded skin with a warm cloth. he doesn't flinch, dazed eyes still staring off in front of you. it makes you wonder what kazuha went through to be injured this badly. though, seeing as the only serious injury was his right hand, you assumed it wasn't from a fight.

"kazuha... what happened to you?" your words are gentle, afraid your voice would scare the inazuman traveller in front of you. kazuha doesn't respond and instead tightens the grip he has on your hand that's bandaging him. his hand is shaking, and you don't realize he's crying until you feel the wet teardrops on your skin.

ruby eyes glazed with tears meet your own when your eyes flick up to confirm that he was indeed crying.

"tomo..." the crack in his voice shatters your heart and you find yourself pulling kazuha into your arms. his own circle around you and his hands grip onto the back of your shirt as he buries his face into your shoulder.

kazuha's body shakes as he sobs at the loss of his friend. he must have held it in until he got to the safety of your home. you were always his safe haven; coming over so you could tend his light wounds and provide a roof over his head if he was passing by your village.

and yet all you can do now is hold him until the storm inside his heart passes by.

❀ xiao

being in pain or having many injuries litter the expanse of his skin isn't unusual for xiao. he's an adeptus whose sole purpose is to serve rex lapis and protect the citizens of liyue, even if it meant throwing his life away.

even then, sustaining larger, more painful wounds didn't make the adeptus bat an eye. despite how horrible it sounds, xiao is used to it all and takes each hit and laceration that comes his way without blinking an eye.

when karmic debt constantly takes a toll against your health and death is the only solution to reaching true peace, it's hard to care about the state of your own wellbeing.

so imagine xiao's surprise when he shows up at the wangshu inn battered and bruised from dealing with a hoard of monsters and seeing you standing in the yaksha's usual spot, waiting for him with a frown etched into your face.

nimble fingers work deftly against xiao's body, quickly cleaning up the lacerations on the adeptus' chest and the scrapes that cover his arms. xiao releases a hiss from the sting of the medicine and you apologize under your breath.

"i knew you would end up like this." your words come out harsher than you intend to. the adeptus doesn't respond. as long as he was the only casualty to come out of this, as long as the innocent lives of liyuens were protected, as long as you were safe behind the walls of the wangshuu inn, it didn't matter how badly his body was injured.

"i just... i just wished you weren't so careless, xiao." the way your voice breaks doesn't go unheard by the yaksha. his eyes snap forward, but your head is tilted down as your shaky fingers worked their way around xiao's torso. "you're always fighting as if no one cared if you died or disappeared one day."

xiao doesn't get it. he doesn't understand why you care about him so much. a being fated to suffer until his dying days are over, one cursed with karmic debt and forced to carry the burdens of the innocent lives he took in his past.

no one should care about him. a monster with blood on his hands.

but here you are, shedding tears for an adeptus who didn't deserve it. the sole yaksha who is fated to succumb to the sweet embrace of death at any given moment.

and yet, despite knowing he doesn't deserve your gentle touch brushing over his wounds, the young adeptus lifts your face with a gloved finger and brushes away the tears that flow down your cheeks. he longs to continue holding you, to feel your skin against his. you're his temporary solace from the karmic debt that hangs over his heart.

an apology slips past xiao's lips, and you cry harder, calling him 'stupid' for almost dying out there. you bury yourself in his chest and he hugs you, afraid that if he let go, you would be nothing but a dream.