#kafka i'm hoping to get better ones on

[hydrachea]

Two down, one to go ⚔️🌂🎮

[cheekblush]

spent the whole day in bed on my phone someone please assassinate me

[witchy-scribblings]

hibino kafka? more like hubbyno kafka (mdni)

❀ kafka who loves kissing you more than anything, and will have his lips on you at any possible time. this clown here loves to press the wettest smooch on your cheek just as much as he loves kissing you softly while you rock to the sound of the news in the background.

❀ kafka who's always texting you. his name will constantly be popping up on your phone, be it to wish you a good day at work, to complain about some inconvenience at his job, or to remind you that he loves you for the seventh time that morning.

❀ kafka who had always been okay with his bachelor apartment looking like a wreck, but since he started dating you no dishes pile up in the sink, the trash is taken out, and the cleaning is kept up with.

❀ kafka who immediately started getting extra toothbrushes, towels and other supplies the moment your relationship started looking serious, in hopes that it would incite you to come over more often.

❀ kafka who thanks his lucky stars every time he gets to wake up next to you because holy shit how did a loser like him pull a beauty like you? (it's fine we love losers 'round here)

❀ kafka who can never get enough of slow mornings with you. he often has you staying over at his place, and his bathroom is too small to let you brush your teeth side by side, so he gets the next best thing: you straddling his hips while you sit on the counter, peacefully getting ready for the day.

❀ kafka who gets a little insecure sometimes, especially before becoming an officer. he doesn't need constant reassurance, but there are days when he can't help staring at the mirror a little longer, a little harsher.

❀ kafka who falls harder still when you assure him that his dad body is extremely sexy, and that you love that he's so big and warm he's literally perfect to cuddle with.

❀ kafka who feels so much better when he sees how happy wearing his huge baggy clothes makes you. he has had to give up too many hoodies to count at this point, not that he's complaining.

❀ on that note, kafka who loves it when you're wearing one of his oversized shirts and nothing else - well, except perhaps a pair or wooly thigh-high socks during the colder months. After all, the central heating in his apartment is pretty bad, so you have to work with what you have.

❀ kafka who presses down on your covered hamstrings to keep you folded nearly in half while his fat cock plunges in and out of your soaking wet pussy; he's obsessed with the unrestricted sight of the filthy mess he's making out of your swollen cunt.

❀ kafka who sometimes absently wonders if you would be okay with him shapeshifting to fuck you better. he knows that kaiju no. 8 looks scary as shit and that he still has a hard time controlling the extra strength, but some twisted part of him wants to see how much further he could push you (little does he know his fans are monsterfuckers)

❀ kafka who ultimately is a pretty vanilla lover who just lives for those moments late at night when he has you sitting back against his soft chest with your legs spread embarrassingly wide while his thick fingers play you like a goddamn fiddle.

❀ kafka who, yes, is 100% a giver in every aspect of your relationship. but boy does he turn into a whore whenever you pay some well-deserved attention to him. he'll take anything you're willing to offer, but worship his body and his cock with your hands and tongue and he's done for.

❀ kafka who is not shy per se, but he gets really horny really fast if you start dirty talking to him. it might take a little bit of confidence for him to reciprocate, but once he warms up he's pulling out all the "yes, baby, want your mouth on me so bad", or the "i'm not gonna stop until you make a fucking mess on my sheets, got it?"

❀ kafka who used to dread laundry day, but will now happily change his sheets everyday if it means he got to fuck you good the night before.

brother i’m so down bad for this himbo he’s making me have unholy thoughts on finals week

[beiibeiii]

i can't be your love, cause i'm afraid i'll ruin your life

i feel like kafka would be slightly self-conscious about herself when she feels like she loves someone. i just wanna pepper her with kisses and tell her that i love her waaaa

• kafka disappeared without an trace one day. she left both her home planet and you behind for the stellaron hunters. she doesn't think she deserves or deems herself worthy enough for someone like you. she swears to herself that she will learn from her experiences as an stellaron hunter and become a better person for you.

• once a week, shes hidden away in the shadows of the cold night, on an rooftop to check on you. she sees you weeping quietly through your apartment window. she comes out the shadows slightly to get an better look at you. when she sees you, she can't help but let out a sigh.. your body under the covers, staring out the window with teary eyes. your clutching onto the soft plushie she won you at the arcade before she left. her eyebrows furrow slightly as she feels her heart sink. she smiles bittersweetly at the fond memory. she secretly hopes you notice her, you just were so beautiful to her..

• kafka holds back everything in her body telling her to smash that stupid window open and wrap her arms around you again. she'd whisper sweet words into your ears, apologising for her sudden departure that day. she would tell you how precious you are to her.. and how much she missed you. she would hold you tight, in her warm embrace as she presses your head against her shoulder, soaking up the pain she caused you these past months. she hums soft melodies quietly until you fell asleep peacefully..

•the thought brings a warm feeling to kafka and a smile to her face.

• but kafka can only imagine. her phone vibrates again, breaking her out of her little dilemma. her light smile thinning into an line again.

Silver wolf

kafka, the next mission is starting

where are you?

come on!

• she stares at the messages on her phone and back at your apartment window. only a small frown is upon her face. she sees you still silently crying yourself to sleep. she hates seeing you like this but she hates herself more for making you like this. 'its for the better', she constantly reminds herself.

• she steals one more glance at your window again and whispers to herself. 'i won't be long my dear..'

• she disappears again, opening her umbrella as she feels the soft start to raindrops fall. she blends in with the public opening their umbrellas too.

• the frown doesn't leave her face just yet. she promises she'll be home for you soon. just not yet. she still has herself to work on. you don't know it yet, but just a little longer and her presence will soon be known to you. she'll come running home for you, her love. <3

[pryllee]

7 minutes in heaven, or 7 hours.

Blade x AFAB! Reader

Dubcon, stomach bulge, kinda degradation/praise kink, slight mean blade with a sprinkle of softheartedness, cunnilungus/fingering, riding, jealous reader, kinda jealous blade ”ugly body” rejections whatever mentioned in start, hickeys/marking, tit sucking, bit of possessiveness in both so the feeling can be mutual, small breeding kink mention

A/N: I get pretty awkward and cringey while trying to write fuck parts so I hope anyone who reads this finds this good. And maybe I'll make HCs with him taking care of a child next time... If anyone wants that. 🥲

—

As depressed you already were, it already sucked even more with each rejection that slapped you at the face. You slammed the can of alcohol onto the table as Blade just watched leaning his head onto the wall.

"Ugh these fuckin' asses..." You held onto your head annoyed as hell,

"You know, we should be heading back now." He scanned you, before looking away again to try avoid your ’fiery fists’

You complained, slamming a fist onto the table almost making it break. "Oh c'mon don't make it worse than it already is! These idiots have the nerve to call my body unattractive, they might've just had atleast one more kiss before they died, no? Not like they were any better..." Silently whispering the last part.

Your brows furrowed noticing him staring off into the distance, probably at someone. You tried to find the direction he was looking in, and found a pretty girl almost your height, but her curves really showed through that waitress uniform.

A small ’oh’ of disappointment almost escaped your lips, making your eye twitch. "Maybe your right. Lets go." You grabbed the can with half of alcohol left.

Your walking almost felt like you were stomping leaving Blade barely confused, more like unfazed as he found this normal.

—

You noticed the place felt a little lonely, you didn't hear much till you advanced inside further and noticed some of the stellaron hunters and probably new recruits due to some unfamiliar faces along with Kafka on the side and Silverwolf. "Hi, [ Y/N ]. Nice to see you've brought Blade along with you." Kafka smiled as Silverwolf blew gum up, tapping away on her gaming console.

"Whats going on? They playin' spin the bottle?" You pointed drunkly with drool almost oozing out of your mouth. "Hmm...—seven minutes in heaven or whatever." She waved her hand as her back leaned against a pillar.

What is with these people leaning against shit? Just how disinterested really are they?

"Lemme participate." You spoke as you squeezed in a spot in the circle pushing some people aside joining the weird circle formation that felt like a cult. "What about you, Bladie? Won't you join her too?"

"Not interested. I don't really care about those type of feelings." He was about to walk away in the way both of you came, till Kafka offered him something.

"Hmm, I'm sure Silverwolf can secure you some time with her?" Pointing at her as he noticed a little wheel thing that controlled the bottle. "Unless you want her to give herself up to someone else, that is."

He clenched a fist tightly, loosening it quickly as he just also squeezed in a spot opposite of where you are.

He watched the previous can you held be thrown away assuming you already finished it or didn't and just hated the taste now. As the bottle kept spinning for some time, you wondered when it would land on you and choose a decent looking dude. Till it finally did. But then landed on Blade.

Your expression of happiness quickly went away realizing who else it landed on, would he even want to do spicy with you? If anything he'd probably rather do it with that stupid girl he stared at earlier. Maybe I should kill her. Whoops, thoughts got a little offtrack there.

The person on your right was nudging your shoulder to follow Blade in, as you quickly took a glance at Kafka feeling like something was up. And you were right cause something really was up. You followed him in, as he locked the door behind you both.

"So what do we do? Play cards? Or should we find that girls number?" You scoffed in annoyance wondering how the fuck you both even got paired up. Not like he'd find you anything more than friends.

-

You once planned to confess to him but as you were looking for him, you overheard some parts of a ’private’ conversation.

"Bladie, what do you prefer in a girl?" Kafka smiled, asking him. He just looked away as he looked in your direction, it felt like he saw you, but then it felt like he didn't as it really was just an open corridor thing.

"I don't know. I don't care about such things... But probably someone good with a sword and is stronger than me." He mumbled the last part, seemingly unsure of his words infront of Kafka as she'd probably do some weird shit.

"Oh? I thought you liked girls like [ Y/N ]?" She pried. "No... We're just co-workers, shes too bold for me too." He sighed, speaking in a low tone.

Just co-workers? Ha, is he fucking insane? Not even friends... But literal co-workers? You walked away holding onto your broken heart with tears bubbling up a little but you just wiped them away deciding to push your feelings away.

"Hmm... Poor [ Y/N ], seems pretty upset that she thought she was already rejected without the chance to even ask directly..." Kafka whispered in a low tone, glancing in the same direction he looked in previously.

"...Excuse me?" He asked, yet only got a headshake and ’nothing.’ in response. Did ’Elio’ also foresee this? How come Blade wouldn't get to know though? Well I guess he wouldn't need to since it's not related to the Astral Express or Stelle.

—

"Girls number? Who exactly are you talking about?" He asked, making the atmosphere even more awkward. "Oh please, don't act like I didn't see how you stared down that girl with ’beautiful’ curves in that stupid bar." You scoffed, crossing your arms.

"Is this seven minutes in heaven, or seven minutes in hell listening to you complain? And I didn't stare her down. I was just looking at her because ’curves’ were related in the stupid topic. You're the one who just stomped away like a furious little kid." His words hit you hard into the face, "And we aren't dating, I don't see how you're so pissed off about it."

You were practically seething in anger as you just turned around to go through the rooms backdoor to go outside. "And where are you going?" You felt him grip onto your waist, which sent shivers up your spine. "None of your business." You tried to push his hands off yet his grip only tightened even more.

"Blade..– Let go." Your breathing slowly became more and more hitched as the gap between you closed. Suddenly the lights went out and you heard Kafka announce something that made everyone walk away.

"Have fun, you two." Kafka whispered to herself, although she knew you couldn't hear.

"Hm? What happened, Kafka?" Silverwolf confusingly followed her from behind.

His chest pressed against your back, feeling his breathe becoming heavier as his hand slid down to your inner thigh, making you try to squirm out of his grasp almost instantly. "Blade stop—nnh.."

A soft low moan was made out as he caressed your clothed sex, you held onto the door infront of you, "Do you want me, [ Y/N ]?" He whispered into your ear. As short silence filled the room, he spun you around, lifting you up with his arms with your back pressing against the now locked door. "Answer me, you whore."

His eyes bored into yours. Your eyes darted everywhere trying to find a way to escape or somewhere decent to look at. "Whats with the act? How come you're so shy now?" He teased, chuckling, leaning into your lips. His tongue mixing with yours as you held onto him for Aeons sake, digging your nails into his back.

He pulled away with a string of saliva connecting from both of your lips, before leaning back down biting down on your tops button spitting each one out. "Do you really need to destroy my top? I could've just undo it by myself."

This felt like a dream come true, yet you also wished you would just wake up from it, it feels so wrong yet so right.

"Hmm... Can't have a pretty girl like you falling onto the ground now can we?" He held you with one arm now, with the other needily pushing the remains of your dignity away to reveal your chest. Yet another obstacle arised due to your bra. "Shouldn't we...—stop here? I'm sure it's already been seven minutes.." He shook his head, just pushing your bra down.

"Mmh, how cute, you're the one who wanted this for so long yet you're the one who also wants this to stop already." He bit down on your nipple, suckling on it like he tried to milk you,

"Maybe I should breed you with kids so I can suck alot of milk out of you, you'd probably like that, wouldn't you?" You moaned softly from time to time, covering your mouth with one hand as the other travelled up his hair,

"Mmngh... I— maybe...nnnh" you whimpered. His mouth was suckling one with one hand cupping the other and flicking at your now hard nipples leaving hickeys. You sobbed out his name softly, "I assume thats a yes? Can't believe how turned on you are when I'm only playing with your tits."

The previous hand that was cupping your boob slid down your pants, pushing it down along with your panty,

"Be a dear and say my name, maybe I'll help with that wetness down there then." His gloved finger ran down your slit, making you shudder,

"blade..." You mumbled

"Can't hear ya."

"Ugh... blade," You looked away embarrassed, your nails again digging into his back.

"Hmm?"

"Oh for Aeons sake, Blade please just fuck me!" You cried out in annoyance, the embarrassment was more than enough.

"Good girl." He lifted you over to a table, laying you on it with you facing him, "Wasn't so hard now was it?" He took his gloves off, pulling your pants off exposing your legs and cunt.

The tension got heavier with the bare cold hitting against your chest and lower half. He aligned two fingers with your hole, slowly pushing it in. "Be gentle—please..." You looked away,

"Mhm... And why should I?" He cooed "Could this be your first time?" You slightly nodded, as he just looked back at your hole, pushing his fingers in deeper forcing a moan out of you; "Ughh..—Blade! Nnh!" You cried, arching your back miserably, it hurt like a bitch yet slowly felt good.

He can't believe he almost gave your virginity up to someone else other than him, the fact you could've been moaning out someone elses name really is annoying.

His fingers thrusted in and out at a painfully slow pace, your walls tightened vigorously and it was so easy for him to access with how wet and slick your pussy already was for him. The pace got faster, with his fingers slightly becoming curled with each passing thrust adding another finger in.

"Fuck! Blade—nngh.. shit..." You cussed out clawing at the table feeling a knot in your tummy loosening, you came all over his fingers making a mess on the table. "Look at what a fucking mess you made, what a slut getting off with my fingers alone." He shoved his fingers down your mouth, onto your tongue,

"Lick it." You moaned softly to try and tease him, along with some sucking. "Ha, maybe I shouldn't have let you cum that easily." He flicked your clit making you yelp a little loudly.

The bulge in his pants was starting to become unbearable, but atleast it's time to actually have some intercourse. He undid his belt, slipping his pants off pulling you closer to him, sitting infront.

You became a tad bolder, holding onto his thigh and with the other hand you held onto his arm. "Sit still, pretty girl." he reprimanded,

He finally slipped his boxers down grabbing onto your ass lifting you up pressing your now dry saliva-ridden tits against his chest slightly with him holding his length, "Uhhm... Are you sure it's going inside of me?" You stared nervously at his length "Yes, and I'll make it fit if you're so worried about that." He spat on his hands, rubbing around it.

"Don't girls usually do that by sucking it?" You ask perplexed, "Mmh... They do, but I'm sure the both of us can't wait to start this fuckfest."

He chuckled again lowly, burrowing his head into the crook of your collarbone kissing it leaving a hickey as he blindly shoved it inside of your hole making your back arch, and tremble. His mouth travelled down again to your nipple, suckling on it and drawing circles around it with his tongue. He stuck his hand in place on your stomach feeling the bulge disappear and appear each thrust he does.

"Fuck—" low moans rolled off your tongue, "... Feels so good, Blade.." He sloppily thrusted inside, trying to find your g-spot, finally noticing you tighten arching your backing vigorously at one of the thrusts, thrusting again making you moan loudly.

"Shh. Do you want someone to hear us?" He shoved a finger in your mouth, spitting onto your tongue making you swallow it. "Such a whore, swallowing my spit so easily." He leaned in for another kiss, mixing saliva together once again sloppily thrusting rolling his tongue around with yours.

His thrusts got faster 'n deeper yet somehow still managed to hit your G-spot everytime, you threw your legs around him, and arms around his neck smashing your lips against him. "Fuck—I'm so close [ Y/N ]... He mumbled lowly with one of his hands travelling down to rub your clit furiously.

You creamed around his cock, liquids dripping down your thighs and his shaft furiously feeling yourself coming closer to your climax. You burrowed your head into his neck, messing his collar up and leaving small hickeys as you bit at him.

"Really what a whore, I can't believe you could've been like this with someone else." His words made you scoff slightly, "Neither can I." Grunts could be heard under his breathe and your moans getting louder and bolder till both of you came at the same time, white liquid filled your womb yet you still felt his length barely softening,

You tightened around him hard you could feel his cock pulsing inside of you, "Mmh.. Not done yet." He whispered, blowing into your ear having reality settle into your very veins.

"Don't tell me you still have stamina..." You said in a tired tone. "I do, infact I still do have enough till morning." He laughed leaving another hickey on your collarbone, biting on it feeling proud of all the markings hes made on you.

—

Light shined through the blinds, quite literally almost blinding you till you realized you have no idea where the fuck you are. You were in some weird house, in someones bed. You got up and noticed you were naked, hurriedly finding clothes to wear.

Till you noticed the closet was full of mens wear, yet you just grabbed whatever looked comfortable and strided out of that room... Which was probably Blades room. You noticed a mirror right when you stepped out, and saw hickeys everywhere on your collarbone and neck. "So it really wasn't a dream..."

"What wasn't a dream?" You saw him appear from the side holding a cup of coffee in different clothes for the first time. "Also you're wearing my clothes. They seem too big for you." He remarked, "Well obviously, I have no idea where the hell you threw my clothes off too and the tops buttons were torn off by you."

"Calm down you two, we don't wanna stir up trouble in this house, otherwise we'll be found out and chased out. Also stop with the love quarreling." Silverwolf sighed also in different clothes. "Okay why is everyone in different clothes for the first time? Am I going insane?" You rubbed your eyes.

"Now we may wear the same outfit for a long time but we definitely wear something else at night to sleep comfortably, thank you." She replied in an ’isn't it obvious?’ tone. Blade just leaned on the wall sipping the cup of coffee.

Silverwolf then seemed to remember something, hurriedly tip toeing over to you, "How was it?" She whispered in your ear. "What? How was what? I don't know what you're talking about." You flushed red running away to find the bathroom.

"The bathrooms the other way." He yelled loudly in an unfazed tone. "I KNEW THAT!!!" You screamed dashing the other way.

"Oh dear Blade... What exactly did you do to her?" "Nothing. Don't go thinking weird stuff about me now." He took another sip of his coffee before following in your tracks to also go to the ’bathroom.’

——

[mono-dot-jpeg]

child! reader w/blade, yanqing, natasha, & gepard

summary; thoughts being thunk about cute scenarios with child! reader

genre/extra tags; fluff, blade is probably ooc, don't give blade a child, yanqing being a big brother, yanqing and reader gang up on jingyuan, natasha my beloved, gepard big brother arc, but gepard is an awkward big brother, whoops my hand slipped now there's angst (natasha's part), blade wants to punt a kid (/hj)

[gender neutral! reader] [child 7-9! reader] [platonic]

[warnings; implied for reader to be heavily sick often (natasha)]

a/n; *smacks my head* this baby holds loads of child!reader ideas, thanks to their family being the way their family is. good ol' trauma. you didn't pick any characters in particular other than just non-express crew characters. hope you enjoy

it's a fucking miracle that you're even standing next to this man. kafka just had to give you to him. luckily, blade is less violent than he looks. and luckily for you, you hold no fear.

"you look ugly like that." you point at him, your tiny finger inching a little too close to his eye. "why do you look like that?" kafka stifles a laugh as she watches from afar.

"i can't believe i want to punt a child." he mutters. "i don't know, why do you look like that?" he retaliates.

"look like what? ms. kafka says i'm cute!" your hand goes limp to rest on your lap.

"you are anything but cute, you devil spawn."

you gasped, "ms. kafka! blade is being mean!" you get up to run to the woman, who is laughing silently. "he called me a devil spawn... whatever that means!"

"it means you're tiny. and stupid." blade says, watching as you hide behind kafka's leg.

"no, you're stupid!" you stick your tongue out at him.

"you little sh-"

"curse jar!"

"yannie!" you cheered loudly.

"y/n!" he cheers back. you run to him as he picks you up. "do you want to walk around today?" you nodded. "let's go get some allowance from the general first!"

"jing!" you and yanqing arrive at the general's office.

"if it isn't our little cloud knight." jingyuan watches as the young blonde puts you down to go run at him. "i could only wonder what you are doing here with yanqing."

"i wan' to explore with yanqing!" you climb up jingyuan's legs as he watches with a fond gaze.

"is that so?"

you nodded, "but me 'n yan need help." jingyuan looks at you confused before turning to look at yanqing.

"we need some money, general..." jingyuan raises an eyebrow, glancing at you who shows him puppy eyes. and then yanqing tries to play off his ask with an innocent grin.

jingyuan can't help but sigh, "for a lieutenant and a little cloud knight, you two sure are sly." he smiles gently.

"you think we can annoy serval?" an impish grin starts to grow on your face.

"we really shouldn't do that." gepard chides you. you groan.

"but i'm so bored! she's got cool ga- gad-gets."

"gadgets."

"yeah! i wanna see them! i wanna watch serval work!"

"she's probably busy, y/n." you huffed as you struggled in gepard's arms, "stop it!"

"what can we do then?" you pouted. "what do you wanna do?"

awkward silence...

"my idea is better! let's go see big sis!" you tug on his clothes as if it would anything to make him move faster.

"how about we make something for serval? wouldn't that be fun?"

"hm? making something like a gad-gets?"

"gadget. yeah, maybe something like that. or we can draw something for her, and she can put it up somewhere."

"yeah, let's do that!" you cheered, walking alongside gepard and putting your hand in his.

it's no doubt that your parents would leave you in the care of the nicer-est nurse in town (your words, not hers). even if you were a not so amazing state, you can't help but still be happy.

"i think you're a superhero, ms. natasha. i wanna make a story about you!" you've always been a creative soul, it was one of the few things you can do with being bedridden for days on end. writing was a favorite. but you really liked making comics.

"i'm just doing my job, dear. i think you should make a story about yourself." natasha speaks with fondness as she distracts you from getting a shot. "you're just as strong as a hero." her voice is bittersweet but you don't notice it.

"how about i make a story about us? we can be the best-est heroes in the world!" you beamed at your own genius suggestion. "i can be your sidekick!"

"i would love to see that story someday." she smiles. "i know it will be amazing as always." she places a band aid where your shot was taken. her thumb brushes over it once, then again. "i'll even put it up by your bed. framed and everything."

she just hopes you live to see another day.

[iceclew]

Part 2 is out as well, have a look! c:

Well GUESS who's got some days off of work, and is about to waste them solemly with drawing fandom -> THIS GURL HERE IS, WOOH!! (๑♡⌓♡๑)

Haaah...yes, me and the words again.. This is way to much dialogue for a comic isn't it? I hope it helps that I put down the whole text in the description as well (see below)..

Ah, yess the old "we ran into each other sometime somewhere before, but we cannot remember of course" (honestly, I just wanted to draw the two of them to interact as kids so badly, I just had to make something up for it)

Since Soshiro would have sort of a dialect, I tried to "englishify" that with slang..? (Slang I am not familiar with, because I am not a native english speaker, and just know about it because of the internet. Sorry if this is causing confusion somewhere) And when Kafka is speaking rather different than he does, I imagine it would sound funny to a 8 y/o... in case you've been wondering his comment..

Also I don't know if ppl would go on vacation, I literally just made everything up, analyzing a universe's law is so not my speciality... (*ﾟｰﾟ)ゞ

*transcript below*

*getting out of a shelter right after a Kaiju attack*

Soshiro: 'Scuse me, have ya seen ma brotha? He's like this tall! Kafka: Uh... sorry dude, I haven't S: Can you like ... look for him? (since you'r taller and stuff...) K: Sure. So what does he look like? S: Like my brotha... K: Uh.... ok.. S: Hehe, ya sound funny! K: You think? Yeah, I'm not from around here. I'm on vacation right now. S: REALLY?! People come on vacation? HERE? Like for real?? WHY? XD K (thinking): what an annoying brat, better find his bro soon...

---

K: So, are we just looking for your brother? Your mom and dad are not around? *looking for anybody slightly resembling* S: NAH, they kill'd the Kaiju, they won't be home anytime before ev'ning. K: So they're Defence Force officers then? S: Tkch, as if! My dad's a platoon leader! K: Really? That's cool! I want to get into the Defence Force too in a few years! :) S: HAH! YOU? You look like a whimp! There's more to a D.F. Officer, than being tall, you gotta have what it TAKES!!

---

K: Oh, let me guess. And you think YOU have that? S: YEAH? Well.. MOST OF IT!! I'm not allowed holding a gun yet... But just you wait! I'mma BEAT those Kaiju's BUTTS for sure!!

---

K: Relax, I believe you, don't worry! Look at ya, a feisty one like you can become Captain in no time! S: Ah! D: K: Keep going, so we get to spare in Tokyo one day! Let's see who's the better fighter when we're grown-ups, okay? S: ... YEAH! I'mma beat ya ass, tall guy!!

[marchiekana]

I think your requests are open ? I rarely ever ask anything so I have no idea on how it works. My request though is about an s/o with an above average body heat, a literal heater with Tingyun Kafka and if possible Serval. Have a nice day pal.

Ahhhh that would be soo cute!! But here you go, I hope you like it!

Your warmth.

Kafka x reader

Tingyun x reader

Serval x reader

Stelle x reader

Added Stelle cuz she my skrunkly- wunkly-dumpster diving, trash eating, little gremlin racoon♡

✨ fluff, slightly suggestive, established relationships, kisses mwah mwah

Requests are open

---------------------------------------------------

Kafka

Kafka is in LOVE. Why wouldn't she be? You're basically her very own little personal heater❤️.

After a mission or a rough day she'd be right by your side, hugging you like her life depends on it. And who are you to refuse?(you better not.)

Kafka is definitely a clingy women. So every chance she gets she's either holding your hands or clinging on to you. She lets herself relax as she basks in your warmth. A light and happy feeling coursing through her as she does so.

And this women is SHAMELESS. She'll be touching you all the time. Be it your hands or your thighs or anywhere in that matter. She just needs to have her hands on you. Your so warm and nice and warm and fuzzy and warm. She just loves you too much😔

So much for a so called criminal huh🙁

Tingyun

The weather on the Xianzhou was always perfect. But that didn't stop her. Oh not at all.

She'd probably like lying her head on your tummy or your chest as she goes on spilling all the tea about her colleagues or her friends.(I'm in delulu era)

She usually loves sleeping on your chest cus she can hear your heartbeat and that's so sweet.

Tingyun too, is a clingy women me thinks. She hugs you whenever she wants, wherever she wants. (You better hug her back)She doesn't care about the looks the people give you both. You just feel so warm that she can't resist.

Oh and how she'd miss your warmth when she's out on business trips, she'd definitely call you daily to tell you how much she misses you and also to complain about her customers.

Serval

Winters in Belobog were cold even though there were several heaters placed everywhere. But Serval's got nothing to worry cause you're there! Good for her.

She'd wake up to your adorable face with a smile every morning. And as you stir awake she'd hug you and wish you good morning with the biggest smile on her face.

She holds your hand at every opportunity she gets and making her let go is a whole task for real. Even when she's kissing you for what seems like hours, she never stops cupping your cheeks. She enjoys how flustered you become and how your face is warmer than usual now. Thanks to her little smooches.

And on cold nights she's basically using you as a blanket. (Mode change, human blanket form!!.) You don't mind tho.( You better not)

(i can't decide if she's a girlboss or a girl failure.)

Stelle

I like to believe that Stelle has either a really cold body or a hot one(heh, get it? Cus-)due to the stelleron inside her. So let's just think she has a colder body rn

You are now Stelle's energy source. No questions asked and no negotiations. (Why would you even?)

After every mission, she's dragging you back to your room or hers to cuddle with you the whole day, your warmth giving her comfort and in her words, healing her.

On cold nights on the express, when she's feeling down she's relieved that you're always there by her side. Your warmth comforting her, literally.

You'd have to scold her and push her away sometimes when she tries to hug you after doing her daily routine of trashcan hunting tho. (i wouldn't really care if it's her tho. I'm down BAD) please don't hurt her feelings ,😔 she just bit silly.

Also. This girls gonna be latching on to you like a parasite all the time. There is not a moment she leaves you alone. But you're fine with that.(you better be.)

She'd also have her hands all over you all the time. There is never a time when she's not fumbling with your hair or your hands, sometimes trying to put her hands on yout chest(she would give a lame excuse like "oh i just wanted feel your heartbeat " Like.... girl?)she completely ignored your protests and acts innocent. She just likes how warm you are. It's like you we're meant for her ♡

(like mother like daughter)

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I'm in my delulu era again.

Women.

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© marchiekana do not repost, copy, translate or plagiarize my work.

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[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Kafka Thinking You And Hoshina Are An Item

Kafka Hibino X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Suggestive themes, teasing, mentions of wounds

Word Count: 2.3k

Requested by @burneracsposts

(A/N:) I've been so excited about writing this and it seemed like everything was getting in the way to keep me from writing. But it's a special day today and I think it's a perfect day to finally get this posted. Because it's Kafka's birthday and season 2 of Kaiju No. 8 was confirmed today for 2025! So I want to thank you again for your request and I hope it's everything you wanted and worth the wait! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

It wasn't a secret around the Third Division base that you and Hoshina were close. Rumors were constantly spreading that you were both an item and it was to the point that you both just let them talk. There was only so much denial you could do, until you got burned out. It didn't really bother either of you so you took the rumors in stride but remained good friends and nothing more.

Reno could tell Kafka was pouting as he stared at you and Hoshina's backs. You were laughing at something Hoshina had said and you shoved him. Normally no one would be so comfortable around the Vice-Captain, but you were the exception. While Kafka was friendly with everyone there was something different when it came to you. He hadn't met you until he joined the Defense Force and while he had been friends with Mina since they were children he felt a zing with you that Mina had never given him. But he couldn't bring himself to pursue you, especially hearing that you and Hoshina were an item. Kafka knew rumors were discussed between soldiers but there could be no denying the way Hoshina and you acted around each other that you both were anything less than a couple. Kafka's pout deepened when Hoshina patted your shoulder and broke off towards Mina's office.

"You good sir," Reno asked.

Kafka straightened up, "Yeah I'm good."

"Okay," Reno replied not fully convinced.

Later on Kafka met you in the hall on his way to the baths. The base was starting to simmer down for the evening. All the training and duties done for the day. Not paying attention to his surroundings, Kafka slammed into someone sending them tumbling backwards. He looked up quickly, seeing you falling to the ground. Without a second to delay his hand shot out grasping you around the wrist and righting you before you could hit the ground. Your hair still wet from the baths and dressed in fresh comfy clothes he could tell that you were going back to the women's wing of the base for bed.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I wasn't paying attention."

You laughed thankful that Kafka saved you from a bruised tailbone, "That's okay I wasn't paying attention either apparently. Are you okay?"

"Shouldn't I be the one to ask you that," he grinned.

"I guess so but I'm fine. I bumped into you pretty hard."

Kafka waved away your concern, "I've been training. I'm like a brick wall now."

He flexed making you laugh again. It was then that Kafka noticed he still held your wrist. He released it immediately and blushed darkly. He hoped Hoshina wouldn't be offended that he had basically held your hand.

"Kafka?"

The concern in your voice had Kafka shaking the thoughts from his head. Giving you a wobbly and nervous smile he started inching towards the baths.

"Have a good night (Y/n) I hope you have good dreams."

"Thank you," you mumbled. "You too."

If Kafka didn't know better you seemed sad and your shoulders sagged in defeat. He chalked it up to his imagination but the vision plagued him as he soaked in the hot water.

Weeks later and Kafka couldn't erase the thoughts from you in his mind. He felt like it was unhealthy but he didn't want to hurt your feelings. He liked you too much and he was scared of Hoshina. What would the Vice-Captain think if he realized that he was the cause of your sadness? Kafka shivered, tugging at the uniform collar that suddenly felt like it was choking him. He had been feeling on edge too much and he couldn't shake it. That's why Kafka found himself on his way to the Vice-Captain's office to ask for extra training. His martial arts could use some tightening up and his skill with the bamboo blades was just embarrassing. If he wanted to get stronger so he could stand beside Mina he had to give it his all. Kafka knocked on the closed door and Hoshina's muffled voice granted him access. Kafka opened the door and the sight before him made him stumble.

Moments before....

You stood beside Hoshina discussing the new moves he was thinking about trying out. Being childhood friends with Hoshina had it's perks as you were one of the only people he would share such intimate details with. You had trained at his family's dojo right alongside the dark haired Vice-Captain. You even had been better with the blade than him, but once you were trying out for the Defense Force, you realized how skilled you were with firearms. Hoshina being inept with guns trained harder with the blade and easily surpassed you. You did keep training with him so you could use both in battle but the difference between the levels of skills was extraordinary. You wouldn't be deterred though and kept giving the Vice-Captain a run for his money.

"Do you think it'll work," Hoshina asked you.

You shrugged glancing once more at the computer screen, "In theory. It really just depends on you though. Think you're up to the task?"

Hoshina's grin was short of feral, "Absolutely."

"You don't know when to quit do you," you laughed.

"Not really."

"Hoshina?"

"Hmm?"

"Is something wrong with your eye," not many people could tell when he was uncomfortable but it was a different story with you. Being raised with him gave you special Soshiro Hoshina reading powers.

"How could you tell? I thought I was hiding it pretty well," Hoshina crossed his arms.

"You're squinting more that usual," you shoved him.

"Fine," he growled. "Yes I feel like I got something in it during training today and I haven't had time to get it looked at. Would you mind?"

"If you'll give me your portion of pudding tonight," you smirked.

"You win just help me already!"

"Okay okay!"

Now....

Kafka caught himself about to run back out at the sight before him. You leaned over Hoshina, a hand cupping his cheek. He'd had some embarrassing moments in his life and several during his time in the Defense Force but walking in on an intimate moment between you and the Vice-Captain was the worst he endured. His heart shattered and he could feel that heavy anxiety deepening.

"Hibino," Hoshina asked as he leaned back away from you.

"Sorry for intruding," Kafka gulped, trying to calm his breathing. "I was just going to ask if you'd be up for some extra training."

"Sure. Let me and (Y/n) finish up here and I'll meet you in the training room. Ask the other cadets if they'd like to join in as well."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir," Kafka saluted and retreated as fast as possible.

Though he tried his best to hide it you could tell that your closeness with Soshiro was bothering the older man. And his reaction broke your heart. Hoshina swiveled back around.

"I think we just kicked the class clown when he's down," he sighed. "Are you okay?"

"I will be. I just wish he wasn't so awkward around me," you felt several emotions swirling inside.

"Do you like Kafka?"

You stiffened, fighting the urge to blush but losing the battle. All you could do was nod.

"I think he likes you too," Hoshina patted your arm. "But I have the feeling Kafka believes the rumors that we are dating."

"You think so?"

"I know so. He's a genius when it comes to kaiju organs but reading people he's terrible."

"What should I do?"

"I know just the thing," Hoshina chuckled. "Leave it to me. I'll be your wingman."

"Now I'm scared."

"Good!"

"Soshiro!"

When Hoshina said he was going to be your wingman he took it very seriously. During training he made sure to pair you and Kafka up. When the Third Division went out to eat together Hoshina put you two sitting together. Kafka always stiffened up and felt completely clueless. There was no way he misread the situation the other day in Hoshina's office. He wouldn't complain about the extra time with you, but he had a bad feeling it was going to blow up in his face sooner than later. Hoshina could tell that you were getting frustrated and you thought your feelings were obvious, you were losing hope.

"I don't think I can keep doing this," your hair was a mess from you running your fingers through it.

"I'm running out of ideas too, short of locking you both in the broom closet," Hoshina rubbed his temples.

All you could do was lay your head against the desk, unwilling to look back up. Hoshina comforted you the best he could, when the high pitched sirens cut through the base. Another kaiju had emerged and duty called.

Kafka ducked another yoju as he raced across the battlefield. Buildings destroyed and rubble piled in his way. He had lost sight of the majority of the Third Division members, but he knew a lot of them were clearing the path for Mina to take down the honju. He was trying to make himself as useful as he could be until he heard a cry shoot across the battlefield. He knew that voice and it froze the blood in his veins. He shouted your name, forgetting everything but you he raced in your direction. He found you quickly his pistol aimed at the injured yoju that hovered over you. Your leg laid at an awkward angle and he knew that it was broken. You had no chance of getting away and he wouldn't let you leave him without a fight. He released a couple shot rapidly, but his suit didn't have enough power. It just stung the kaiju's hide but he now had it's attention on him instead of you.

"Come and get me," he taunted.

"Kafka," you cried. You knew he was basically powerless and you didn't want to lose him so horrendously without telling him how you really felt about him.

Kafka ignored you taking off into a run with the yoju hot on his heels. If he could get far enough away he could transform and take care of the kaiju before he could get back to your side. He'd protect you at all costs, even if he had to reveal his secret. Your life was more important to him than his own. Finally he deemed it safe before he transformed quickly and easily finished off the wounded kaiju. Transforming back he made it back to your side quickly.

You panted as the pain from your broken leg radiated up. You gritted your teeth trying to scoot back so you could lean against some rubble. If this was where it was going to end you wouldn't go down without a fight. Luckily your rifle wasn't far and you were able to place it on your lap. You heard footsteps and you really hoped it was Kafka as you just knew that seeing him run off was going to be the last you saw of him ever. You could have cried in relief when you spotted him, darting around piles of rubble.

"You idiot," you sobbed. "I thought you were going to be killed!"

"I'm fine," he replied. "Your leg."

"Broken. It hurts but I'll live," you gritted your teeth as he prodded it gently.

"I saw you down and my heart stopped," Kafka wheezed as the memory replayed in his mind. "I don't think I could live with myself if I lost you and never told you."

"Kafka?"

"I know you and Hoshina are dating but I really like you! I have for awhile and I'm sorry. I should have kept these feelings to myself but it hurts."

"Kafka," you grabbed his chin bringing his gaze back to you. "Hoshina and I aren't dating! Those are rumors that we can't seem to squash. We're childhood friends. I grew up with him and trained at his family dojo. He's like a brother to me. I like you a lot too you big dummy."

"You," Kafka gulped. "You do?"

"Ugh yes so please for the love of my sanity shut up and kiss me already!"

Kafka nodded a little nervous as he kissed you sweetly but quickly. You both were still in the middle of the battle so he wanted to stay aware of his surroundings. He pulled away carefully sitting down by your side and taking your hand intertwining his fingers with you.

"Finally," Hoshina's voice cut through the moment. "I thought you two were going to drive me into an early grave. Especially Hibino! How dense can you be?"

"Sir," Kafka asked.

"Start reading people a little better or you'll be the death of us all," he huffed. "And as for you (Y/n) stop getting injured so much. I have medics inbound we'll get you fixed up in no time."

"Thank you Vice-Captain," Kafka saluted but stayed by your side.

"Good work you two. Enjoy a few quiet moments before the medics get here."

"Thank you Soshiro," you called back.

The dark haired man just waved as he walked away, feeling accomplished in himself. Kafka looked back towards you and his heart skipped a beat. He felt like a dream had finally come true and he wanted to hang onto it tightly as he held on tight to your hand. He only had a little time but he made sure not even one second went to waste as he found forever on that quiet battlefield.

[impactedfates]

I really love your blade and pregnant wife fic! Can I request their lives after the reader joins him on Stellaron Hunters?

A/N: I'M BACK, NO MORE WRITERS BLOCK. And hiii, thank you, I'm glad you liked it :)) And of course!! Here's some mini scenarios and HCs of what happened after the reader joined the Stellaron Hunters

Warnings: None (I hope, correct me if I'm wrong)

Extra: AFAB! Reader (GN terms/pronouns used aside from wife and mother) // OOC Blade most likely // Not proofread, as always correct me if I did smt wrong // PT 1 of the Blade x Pregnant Wife Fic here here.

SilverWolf definitely used you as a way to get Blade to do whatever she wants. If she wants to play a game with him and he says no? All she needs to do is mention you once and suddenly his hands all better and he can play.

He very much cuddles with you in bed (if you don't mind) Just note that if he has his arms around you, then it'll be difficult for you to leave.

When your kid is finally born, he's not exactly the best father but not the worst either. He knows his...demeaner can be scary to others, and he usually doesn't care. But if he scares his kid? I can see him sulking as you try to comfort your child and tell him the "scary old man" is in fact his father.

He asked Elio for some time off to help the kid settle in, as well, Being born in pretty much a criminal family isn't the best.

The child definitely sees Kafka and SilverWolf as their aunties and Sam as their uncle.

For some reason, I'd find it funny that when Elio was showing his more human form (he has one right-?) the child called him Grandpa. Didn't matter how young he looked.

Blade will protect you and his kid with his life, he instructs the two of you to stay put as he does his missions. He hasn't seen you in forever and he's not risking loosing you.

Maybe after the kid is born and has grown up a bit to be able to look after themselves and you're capable, he might be okay with you joining in on his missions.

Jing Yuan is disappointed you joined the Stellaron Hunters but not surprised when he found out. He either found out due to Cloud Knights who put two and two together/saw you with Blade OR you and Blade met him during a mission on the Loufu.

Okay but think of this, y'know how the Stellaron Hunters can bascially make a hologram of themselves onto the express? Imagine Blade trying to intimidate the express then his child just appears like-

Blade: "And I'll ensure my blade pierces through your-" Child: *Random child hologram appears* "Dada!!" Blade: *His demeanor changes as the mini hologram of his child appears, he looks at the child* "You're meant to be asleep...here let me take you to bed or else your mother will be mad"

*Cue The Astral Express Family Confusion*

He refuses to admit he has a weakness to you and his child. Like no he is not making you breakfast in bed just because and no he did not just steal a shop full of toys for his kid.

Blade lets you and your kid style is hair and if he's feeling up to it, he might let you put silly make up on. Imagine him going into a Stellaron Hunter meeting and his hair is braided into pigtails and he has pink sparkly make up on.

He cares about his small family...a lot...so if he sees you or his kid with the slightest cut he'll be quick to patch it up and if you ask nicely enough. Maybe kiss it better. (He won't admit he was worried though, just lecture you to be careful)

You're the only one who can see his more soft and caring side, especially alone. If you're with him with others, people will definitely notice how he treats you better then them.

You probably have scary dog privileges, he doesn't trust anyone to not hurt you so he'll come with you everywhere. And if you insist to go alone? He'll ask someone else to go with you so he can ensure your safety. (He's just doesn't wanna loose you again)

His child is home-schooled, even though he is scary and can probably convince someone to teach him at a school, he has a feeling they'd get bullied and/or no one will come near them if they knew he was the father.

All the Stellaron Hunters help teach them, and they even teach them additional things...

Blade: Kafka. Stop teaching them how to shoot a gun Kafka: Come now Bladie, they should know how to protect themselves. Blade: THEY'RE 4.

Your kids eyes are the same colour as yours and their hair the same as Blade...well his old hair anyways.

He's a good husband still, perhaps a bit more violent...never to you and your kid though of course. Just cold to others ESEPCAILLY if they're taking bad about you or his kid.

One of the reasons he acts this way towards youse is because he wants to make up for the amount of time lost when he was gone. So making you happy and ensuring you're still okay and healthy is his top priority. If you or your kid thinks he's getting too much than tell him and he'll agree to stop. He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable either. He just want you and your kid to be safe and happy.

Will be working on the other 2 current requests I have as soon as I can, apologies for the small break :>

This is most definitely not my best work but I hope you like it regardless (┳◡┳)

[kii-nami]

GILDED DREAMS | SUNDAY

You do not protest the clear display of authority over the most minuscule of details. Maybe you don’t even care for things like that, maybe you even take pity on him for that fact. Whatever it is in the end, Sunday doesn’t know. Neither does he ask. Birds are born to foolishly oppose the safety of captivity, but some will walk into the cage willingly. For they believe it to be temporary. Sunday’s gloves are stained with your divine blood. Your name will be written in the holy scriptures by his own hand soon enough.

cw: 8.7k words; part two of three; previous part; fem!mc; nameless!mc; i'm not a hsr lore scholar; sunday get behind me i have a glock and nothing to lose except you;

Scars do not itch yet the longing for a fleeting taste of pain remains the same.

Kafka is a mysterious woman yet the one Sunday wishes not to figure out. She is better off as an unidentifiable object of speculation, even if she wishes to insert herself in his drifting existence with a persistence that could rival yours, yet the one Sunday could never appreciate. She is prodding and meddling, her presence is a noose and most days Sunday is too detached to even try to entertain the woman with her bothersome advances. Even if Elio has a plan – whatever it might be – that will grant Sunday what he wishes for by the end of his journey, no contract is enough for him to stoop so low as to play a jester.

And if Elio has a plan – a script, Firefly reminds carefully – that plan is sure far worse than any gilded dreams Sunday used to hold so dear. For if that plan includes being stranded on a spaceship in the middle of the vastness of nothing, Sunday cannot think of that script as sound. The ship is far too small for the three of them, Firefly’s anxious foot tapping on the metal floorboards just adds to the claustrophobic sensation that keeps creeping up his spine and ruffling the feathers of his newly mended wings.

It's been almost six months since that day, yet Sunday still keeps them tightly pressed against his back despite the better judgment that sounds awfully like Robin. They will never truly be his again until he figures himself out. And for that he needs to see you again. To pray to high heavens for your paths to cross once more just like you did the day he last saw you. Only Sunday knows not how to pray to anyone but Ena, he knows not how to begin living a life free of martyrdom, he knows not how to stop the mindless drifting amongst the shattered dreams and finally anchor himself in reality.

It's morbidly ironic, how with only spiders crawling amongst the scattered feathers, Sunday still dreams of ribbons that form the stairway to heaven.

“Kafka!” Firefly exclaims, a little breathless. The tapping stops and Sunday now has nothing to focus on to stop himself from disassociating.

The woman lifts her gaze from the screen of her phone, unbothered and unreadable, “Yes, my dear?”

Finger pointing at the blinking red dot on the navigation panel, Firefly seems hopeful for the first time since the engine of the spacecraft shut down with no warning, “There’s a ship nearby.”

Kafka’s reply is drowning in the drumming of Sunday’s heartbeat. Whatever she says is not and never will be important. It’s his journey towards freedom and the gilded birdcage of his dreams is crawling with venomous spiders and moths that disguise themselves as fireflies. He wishes not to make friends with the insects but to get rid of them, so he can finally break the golden bars and reach the paradise he yearns for. The red dot keeps blinking. Uncharacteristically for him, Sunday hides his hands in the pockets of his coat. He would rather not soil the wings made of saint’s touch with the sin he is yet to wash away.

“Are you with us, Angel Wings?” Kafka taps Sunday on the shoulder, the angry involuntary twitch of his wings gives away his disdain even if his expression remains neutrally apathetic. She laughs, it’s the screeching of nails against the coffin of his sanity. Or whatever is left of it. “We’re ready to make the jump for that ship. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”

Sunday is not convinced; Kafka is prone to little white lies that benefit only her and that is not the way he wishes to live the life that could have been. Unfortunately, there is no way to leave unless it’s drifting forwards on the waves of time. Wherever this road leads to Sunday will have to figure it out as he goes. He can only hope that salvation awaits him on the shoreline.

Scars do not itch yet the phantom scent of a foreign god remains divine in the lungs of a sinner.

The movement is sudden; it disorients him and blinds him just as much as it takes away his hearing. For a split-second Sunday exists neither in reality nor in a dreamscape; simply stuck in between martyrdom and apostasy, he is rejected by the vastness of this universe, and it is the closest he comes to tasting freedom since the day he was born. Then his senses return to him just as suddenly as they abandoned him, and whatever suffering Elio scripted for Sunday to endure, it all may be worth it in the end.

“We mustn’t argue.” A little panicked and breathless, Sunday hears you before he sees you. Drowning in the starlight of the open space, the halo of your divinity shines twice as bright as it did under the sky of Penacony. You cannot imprison holiness in a cage of sin, and only after tasting both freedom and shackles can one realize that.

You’re too busy with pacifying the red-haired woman – Himeko, if his memory is yet to fail him – to notice Sunday hiding behind the shadows of Kafka and Firefly. Himeko is very uncharacteristically upfront about her disdain for Kafka’s unpleasant presence, and as much as he wishes to express his agreement, Sunday is sure his opinion would never be appreciated by the likes of your so-called family.

“I’m going to shove that ship up her–” Himeko’s sharp gaze is digging rusted nails into Kafka’s mortal body, crucifying her with just words alone.

Your palm pressed against Himeko’s red lips silences all blasphemy and prevents immediate bloodshed. “Miss Himeko, please!”

You tug her backwards. Kafka laughs, her amusement hidden by the purple fabric of her gloves. Whether she finds Himeko’s emotional distress funny or it’s your futile efforts to subdue her rage that Kafka finds entertaining remains unclear, neither does Sunday wish to figure it out.

“No, let her continue.” There’s a change to Kafka’s tone, a subtle shift to the way she pronounces her vowels that an ordinary person wouldn’t have noticed. Yet Sunday has spent months with nothing but the buzz of the flies caught in Kafka’s spiderweb, and despite his better judgment and the constant detachment of his soul from his mortal body, he notices. She was his only constant companion, the one he had to guard himself from; Sunday would have been a fool to not study her to protect himself. “It’s awfully entertaining to watch such a composed woman lose her cool.”

You shake your head, disappointed yet not surprised even in the slightest, merely chastising the older woman for her immature behavior, “Please do not instigate.”

Kafka swipes the scolding under the rug, dismissing your words as if they were never said in the first place. Simply pets your head, two gentle ruffles of your hair, and then leans closer to Himeko’s face. “I see you missed me dearly, Himeko.”

“Die in a ditch.” Himeko spits, stepping aside and almost shoving Kafka to the side in the most graceful of manners one can muster without seeming excessively aggressive. Then she embraces Firefly as if she was her own daughter. It startles both Sunday and Firefly herself, yet the barrage of questions from Himeko doesn’t let the girl settle into her embarrassment. “Hello, my dear. How have you been? You–”

Murata Himeko has little to no composure when it comes to Kafka’s antics, and it almost makes Sunday feel invested. It is almost enough to anchor him in the raging waters of the endless sea, yet it is still not enough, and he is still guided by the glow of the lighthouse at the faraway shoreline. If he addresses you directly, will you respond or would you dismiss him the way Himeko does Kafka, now that he’s bound to the Slave of Fate with a little ink and a lot of blood? Or would you disregard the chasm separating the two of you and reach for a fleeting friendly touch?

Have you prayed for your paths to cross again or have you forgotten your own words now that he is not your heavenly burden to carry? Sunday would never find out unless he acts on his selfish desires, and selfishness cannot exist in a dream he is still so reluctant to let go.

Kafka clears her throat. It’s a warning for Sunday to return from the gloom of his thoughts, yet the stars illuminate your hair with the shade of blood you spilled to escape the Dreamscape. Sunday is here yet he is never present enough to not get lost in the glow of your nimbus. The ribbons sway with every twitch of your fingers.

“Oh, and who is…” Himeko’s breath gets caught in her throat just as his hazy vision meets her eyes. “That?”

Her pleased expression sours in the blink of an eye, the curve of her lips forming a frown of disgust. She fixes herself just as fast, yet it is enough for everyone to realize where she stands when it comes to him. The winds pick up speed and the raging waves carry Sunday farther away from his destination. Maybe he is not destined to reach the shores of paradise in the first place, simply born to die as a sinner masquerading as a martyr. Maybe he has not found a place where he can finally drop an anchor for a brief gulp of relief. Whatever the case, Sunday does not care.

He does not exist on the same plane mortals do. He is unreachable, untouchable, unknown. Godhood slipped through his fingers like sand, and now he has nothing to offer to the world other than his own suffering. Strike him through his palms and he will not waver. Strike him through his feet and he will remain standing. Strike him to the chest and he will come alive to die once more. Take him apart like a decaying canvas and he will remain scattered thread, floating in the angry winds with no place to settle.

Heavy lungs and drumming heart, breathing seems like an impossible task under the incriminating stare of a woman who knows not of him beyond the vessel of Ena’s order. His lungs expand, no air fills the emptiness. The contract means nothing if he takes his final breath before reaching the shore.

Flashing lights and a pool of glittering blood that soaks the pristine whiteness of silk, something burns him in a way that reminds him of who he truly is. And when Sunday can finally take a proper breath, you look up at him with the expectant gaze, a fragile shield protecting him from the impending doom inflicted by his own two hands.

“Mister Sunday.” Your voice is scorching, your smile is blinding. Sunday wishes to die in the warm sands of your divine presence, buried under the weight of heavenly light. “It seems my prayers reached the heavens.” One glove. Then the next. Your skin is as smooth as the day his lips tasted it for the first time, the sweetness of heaven soiled by the salt of blood and the bitterness of tears. “It is very nice to see you again.”

If you are lying for his sake, Sunday would never know. If you are being sincere, it would bring him to his knees in a desperate attempt to atone for the sin of creating false idols. Yet he knows who you are, he knows your routine and your habits; your only selfless wish and the fears you hide by the foreign tongue he cannot comprehend. Something burns in his throat. Maybe it’s tears, maybe he has finally reached his end and is choking on the sinful blood of his decaying body. He is leaning into your sunlight all the same.

“He kidnapped you.” The accusation is not unfounded.

You dismiss it like it is, “I wouldn’t call it kidnapping.” A little wave of your left hand, the palm of your right is still gently trembling in the grasp of Sunday’s selfish fingers. “More like a vacation.”

You aren’t taken seriously. It seems to be a recurring thing, from how effortlessly your faux indifference is taken at face value. Sunday wants to speak; to play the shield you so bravely act as to protect his rotting flesh, yet all his voice is lost, and he is yet to find perch on the branches of the forbidden tree. The knowledge is all out in the open for his disposal, yet the wounded raven is yet to accept it as the truth of this world, soaring above the green leaves, shamefully nibbling on the fruit that will inevitably take him straight to hell.

Himeko stares you down, you don’t have the guts to stare back at the woman whom you owe your life to. Simply shakily stand your fragile ground, a cracked glass screen separating life and death. Himeko does not condemn you; it is Sunday she does not trust, and he cannot blame her for doing so. Yet some selfishly irksome part of him deems her reaction as unreasonable. She is not privy to your intricate bond; she knows not of suffering that binds you together, of the tears wasted and the ink spilled; she has no right to judge what she cannot understand. And puny humans like Murata Himeko cannot comprehend the extent of your relationship; every second of your suffering, every minute of his guilt, each of your thoughts unshared, each of his dreams unreachable.

Kafka’s laughter is poison, the succulent flesh of the fruit pushed inside his mouth against his will. Your nails dig into his palm, the blood does not spill yet the fear drips from Sunday’s palms as everyone is trying to find balance while the ground under their feet shakes, ready to split in two.

Sunday’s holds onto you like a life vest, the anchor dropped in the middle of the raging sea storm, the only lifeline that connects him to the reality of this miserable existence. Kafka chokes on her giggles as she almost trips over her own feet, the knockback of the sudden stop sending her toppling over. Himeko catches Firefly by the collar of her dress, pressing the girl close to her chest. The lights flicker in and out, yellow to blue, until red flashing lights overtake the hallway. Then everything shuts down.

It’s a painfully long second of silence with nothing but the heat of your body pressed tightly against his. And when the blood washes off the walls, it’s the glow of the open door and the disheveled pink haired girl and her trailblazing companion bursting though the yellow haze of artificial lights.

“What was that?!” The question is not meant to get an answer, and despite knowing it deep down, the girl with an odd name asks it all the same. “Dan Heng said the engine died.”

Irrationality is the heart of human nature; it is the thing that moves humanity forward and it is also what drags them down. Sunday cannot understand it, yet he is not completely against the notion. He, too, is only human, and your hand in his goes against any rational thinking of a devout believer.

“Himeko, what in the world is happening?” Annoyed and hissy voice, ruffled hair and a white robe barely held together by a little silk belt. The pink haired Foxian that snarled and bared her teeth at Sunday any chance she could back on Penacony, now looks like a displeased cat, lost in the unfamiliar environment. The impatient tapping of her foot, the flat heel of her fuzzy slipper softly knocking on the glossy floors.

Himeko says nothing. Just turns away, lips pressed tightly together. A glance she sends your way sends shivers down his spine, involuntary twitch of his wings sensing danger Sunday cannot combat with just the strength of his body alone. This time you look at her, the haunted darkness of your pupils keeps expanding and swallowing the light of the blushing sunsets Sunday is so enamored with.

“I don’t know.” Himeko finally states. Despite the finality of her words, it is clear as day that the woman knows very well. And with how she avoids your gaze now that she spoke, it is obvious you know even more. Nobody brings it up, even Kafka blinks in a solemn understanding that sometimes scripts don’t play in their favor. Satisfied with her play being accepted, Himeko continues with the second act, “But please put some clothes on, Shuhua.”

Shuhua huffs, a suspicious side eye thrown into your general direction. You seem to pay her no mind, too preoccupied with staring outside the window. Receiving no reaction, the Foxian turns on her heels and leaves the hallway with no hurry behind her steps. Himeko mumbles something under her breath and follows after Shuhua, arms folded over her chest and palpable tension to her every move.

As if sensing some invisible danger, Kafka steps away from the entrance and beckons Firefly to do the same. Slowly but surely, akin to two cautious animals, they hide themselves behind the corner of the hallway. It’s an oxymoron, truly, yet Sunday has no other way to describe the careful way in which Kafka – with all her predator glory – navigates the space. Precise and calculated, she wastes no time in exiting the hallway. Be it to torment Himeko some more or run away from whatever chill that is eating away at Sunday’s wings. Whatever the case, it’s just you, him and the young pink haired woman left standing in the dying light of faraway stars.

“Please step away from the window.” It’s a clear warning and Sunday heeds it, for all drifting souls follow the flow of the stream. March is way too anchored in her life to recognize the tremor of your voice for what it is.

You’re chewing on your bottom lip, unblinking gaze lost in the vastness of the open space. The alien pink hues swallow the darkness of cosmos and the glow of stars, dyeing the dim room with something sinister. March tugs on your sleeve, you don’t turn to look her way. The pinks turn into purples, the black holes of your eyes grow until only the void remains. The prayer falls from your lips like teardrops; some words muffled, some forever lost in the air to never reach his ears.

Faint footsteps are not the ones Sunday recognizes but he recalls seeing the young man, Dan Heng, on Penacony the day everything fell apart. He’s frowning, the tight line of his mouth trying to hide his distress. March seems relieved to see him, finger pointing at you with a quick shake of her head.

Dan Heng doesn’t read between the lines, simply waves his hand, “We caught another distress signal. Himeko ordered to regroup.”

March eagerly takes it as a chance to escape the suffocating tension, although she seems to be too hesitant to leave your side. One of the ribbons of your dress wrapped around her finger, she tugs on your clothing once more, yet you don’t move from your spot. Dan Heng seems annoyed by the delay, enough so he sends a dirty look Sunday’s way as a compensation for his wasted time.

“[Name], did you hear me?” Dan Heng takes one step closer. The purples turn into reds. March can’t find a spot to rest her eyes on, gaze darting from you to Dan Heng. The reds turn into pinks, then back into purples. The young man rests his hand on your shoulder. Purples darken into black. “We need to–”

“Move.” You snap, arms pushing March away from the glass just in time before the fog rejects the laws of this world, slipping through the thick layer of glass.

 The shrill volume of your voice is deafening but it’s not enough to scare away whatever it is that is floating in that fog. It latches into Dan Heng’s clothing, enveloping his fingers. The rapidly melting skin is falling down on the shiny floors like blackened ashes, piece by piece, layer by layer, until there is nothing but bone. And even then, the rot is not satisfied.

Dan Heng staggers backwards until his back hits the wall, mouth agape and eyes wide, shaky legs barely supporting his body. You quickly follow, trying to stabilize him, yet the best you can do is to help him slide down the wall slowly. His left arm is frantically trying to rip the rapidly deteriorating edges of his coat off yet to no avail, the fog swallows anything it touches far quicker than a human can move.

March calls out to you two, quickly crossing the little distance between you and sagging to her knees next to Dan Heng, trying to reach out to help him but you slap her hand away. “Don’t touch him!” You yell, so out of character for the calm and serene attitude Sunday is used to. Then you swallow, mouth seemingly dry, and when you speak next, it’s even softer and lighter than your usual tone, “Please step away, March. Don’t let the fog get near you.”

 Wide eyed, March is staring at you like she sees you for the first time in her life. Gods are gracious yet they are fair; Sunday knows better than anyone just how fair they can be. Yet this fairness from you must be something she had never seen before. Even Sunday himself, in that short time that he spent with your presence illuminating the nights of his loneliness, has not witnessed this side of you. Your refusal was gentle yet adamant, your dismissal was careful yet assured. Your harshness was nonexistent, for you were rejecting it like you do with everything in this life. Yet here you are, embracing it to save the life of the one you care about. It seems Sunday forgot he is not the only one lost in the river, praying to finally reach the lighthouse.

 “You never take me seriously.” You mutter dejectedly, eyes watery and fingers trembling.

“I’m sorry.” Dan Heng’s voice is almost gone, raspy and hoarse, heavy breathing never easing even when the fog starts thinning out under the glow of pinks and purples.

The ribbons of your dress float in the air; the ashes rise from the floor, twisting and turning into bleeding pieces of torn flesh and broken bone as his arm reconstructs itself slowly.  It’s unnatural, foreign to even witness, yet alone feel but Sunday knows the ache of mended bones. He knows the pain will never leave and will follow Dan Heng till his deathbed, a reminder of his wrongdoings. The sin of disobedience is hard to wash off, be it a prayer or holy water. Maybe the blood of a saint spilt on the foreign flesh can cure those phantom pains, yet no saint martyr would ever bleed for sinners like them.

The ode of resurrection is short-lived, yet the horrors the onlookers witnessed will remain there even when they close their eyes and fall into deep slumber. It will chase them like prey until it devours them alive. Sunday is used to a little misery, his dreams used to be his only salvation till they shattered like a birdcage caught in a hurricane; yet he is not sure how those who live to dream would deal with nightmares.

“What in hell is happening?” Shuhua’s blown amber eyes lost all the warmth of mild fire as she watches the final pieces of flesh reject their decay.

Too many people in this hallway for it to be safe. From Dan Heng to the two companions that came with her, to the black fog creeping near the window. Shuhua’s tail is wagging angrily from side to side. One of the men next to her – the infuriating Stoneheart, bless his audacity – seems to be as annoyed as she is. Although a bit more cautious and way less adventurous as he follows the woman when she steps closer to the black cloud, gloved palm all but ready to tug Shuhua back in case things go south.

As much as Sunday dislikes Aventurine, there is little point in his suffering now that it does not benefit the preservation of Ena’s eternal dream. Neither that nor your grief for the loss of a friend would bring Sunday any satisfaction. If anything, it would just force him further into the deep waters and the last thing he wants is to drown in despair before truly tasting freedom.

So he bows his head and rejects his ego, trying to be that very better brother that could stop all galaxies and freeze time just to let his sister descend the heavenly ladder. Even if the feat is not comparable and Sunday is a simple mortal who cannot perform miracles just yet, he can be a better man who would do good by others for you so at the end he could do so for himself.

The chill of the fog is caressing his back even from the distance Sunday assured is there. The irritation on Shuhua’s face when her investigation gets cut short could rival Sunday’s own disenchantment with the life he was forced into. Yet even if despised, Sunday stands for what he believes is right.

“I strongly advise you to not go near that fog.” It’s the first time in a long while that he addresses someone else. Prayers have been left behind in search of belief in himself and the conversations with Kafka are all one sided. There is no need to speak when Sunday has nothing to say, and it seems even if he does now, the audience is not willing to listen.

“I strongly advise you to stay the hell away from me, birdbrain.” Shuhua is prone to snarling and threats, yet it is very hard to take her seriously when even someone as fragile in body as Sunday himself could probably pick her up by the collar of her coat just to look at her face at eye level. He wishes not to pick any unnecessary fights, yet Shuhua seems to want to pick them all, “I will tear you apart.”

You sigh, it’s so heavy as if the weight of the universe rests on your delicate shoulders. “Please stop.”

Nobody truly listens. True to your previous words, no one takes you seriously. Your wishes have no substance, and your opinion is as translucent as air that they breathe in just to exhale the next moment. There is a brief, fleeting moment in which Sunday entertains the idea of the eternal dream once more. The ideal paradise in which people listen to you all the time and not just when it’s beneficial to them, yet he pushes it aside as soon as it blossoms in his mind with blood red petals. No wishes ever come true in gilded dreams and the only way to change reality is to take action here and now. There is very little Sunday can change, however, so the only thing he can do is stand his ground.

You walk past them right into the haze of the fog, Shuhua and Aventurine casting you a passing glance of confusion. Dan Heng, for as sickly pale as he is right now, is trying hurriedly to get up with March’s help. There must be something on Sunday’s face that gives away his doubt of the safety of your actions, as you smile wearily, “It’s alright. It can do me no harm.”

Sunday’s mind does not doubt the gospel, yet his heart is his worst enemy. Despite his worries, the dark cloud lightens in color: from black to purple, then to pink, and finally it thins out enough for only to pale mist to remain floating at the edges of the glass. The silence that falls is heavier than any burden a martyr could carry. Himeko joins you by the window, respectful distance from the pinkish whisps. She seems to be contemplating something, yet the options she has must be limited and choosing between two evils is never easy. Aventurine is peeking outside where the fog is still sick and dark, obscuring the starlight. Even the cyborg – one of the galaxy rangers that Sunday does not the name of – is searching for something behind the other side of the glass.

“I warned you to take another route.” You say finally. Shuhua is distressed, it’s barely noticeable, yet the twitch of her ears gives it all away. Himeko folds her arms over her chest, troubled expression reflecting on the surface of the glass. It’s evident nobody except you and her understands what you mean by that, yet for once you aren’t trying to include everyone in the conversation. It’s between you and the woman who seems to know way more about you than Sunday prides himself on knowing. “We got too close, and we got caught by the pollution.”

“Where the fudge are we anyway?” The cyborg taps the window, metal fingers thudding unpleasantly on the glass. This shirthole–”

“Mister Boothill.” You chastise lightly. “Language.”

“S’rry, birdie.” He chuckles awkwardly, slight embarrassment to his tone. “Where are we again?”

“My home planet.” Your words are the bloodstained nails, dropped by the executioner. The blood drips off them in thick droplets of divine nectar and falls to the floor, coating the room with the saccharine scent of the paradise lost.

“Huh?” There’s something peculiarly tense about the way Aventurine looks at you behind those glasses of his, yet Boothill’s astonishment saves you a lot of questions that you most likely do not wish to answer. “Ya fudgin’ breathe poison or somethin’?” You laugh, shaking your head lightheartedly at what could have been an oddly disrespectful question if not presented in such a standoffish way.

 “Not anymore.” You confirm, “The–” then your breath gets caught in your throat and your smile falls, replaced by a very familiar longing that Sunday grew accustomed to. Yet today is Thursday and on Thursdays you watch the stars. The regret and the tears are all saved for when the clock strikes midnight on the seventh day, and you get on your knees in a prayer hidden behind a foreign tongue. “Never mind. It’s a long, boring story that will put you all to sleep.”

“[Name]–” Himeko wants to say something; she clearly made up her mind and whatever decision she came up to burdens her way more than not listening to you when she had the chance.

Yet you, as per the path you are chained to, refuse to listen to whatever she has to say, “We do need to look into that distress signal.”

“Not unless we want to get turned into ashes.” Aventurine pipes in, a little teasing behind his otherwise serious tone, “I am not ready to get dusted just yet. No offense, [Name].”

Your smile is strained. It’s unnatural and forced yet Sunday is unsure whether others realize it, “I would never take offense in your finding the desire to live.” A well-meaning comment that is aimed to hit exactly where it hurts the most. Or maybe Sunday simply is too far deep in the waters of sin, so he projects his most evil onto the saints who deserve it not. Aventurine, however, does not contemplate your intentions, simply turns away from you as if burnt as it often happens when playing with fire. “Miss Himeko, if you may?”

Himeko nods wordlessly. You hide from the view with Boothill leaving right after when the awkwardness gets a bit too much for him. Sunday has half a mind to follow you but stops before he does something very much foolish. He needs to learn to pick his battles and regulate his wishes to control everything. For the very notion of control has always been his biggest enemy.

He who has no reign over his life desires to control everything, yet what he is supposed to do now that he has nothing to rule over? To control yourself is to control your own life, yet how does he find freedom when some of the choices he makes are still very much guided by someone else’s wishes masquerading as his own? Abandoning dreams meant abandoning order, yet somehow it still dictates his life all the same.

The lighthouse has never been farther away.

None of these people are tolerant of him, least of all fond of him, and without your presence this hallway once more turns into a cage. Maybe Kafka wasn’t as awful of a companion as he initially thought and her spiderweb acted as feather-like anchor to keep his mind from floating too far away from the shore. Maybe he is terrified of what could happen now that he has been stripped of power completely, matters not that the influence he used to have was all make believe.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, chicken boy.” Shuhua laughs, twitching ears and sharp teeth on display as a warning. “Nobody here likes you, but we aren’t going to kill you. Unless you accidentally fall into that fog and die.” She misinterprets Sunday’s silence, yet he is not sure whether she is truly capable of cold-blooded murder or simply playing it up for the sake of dispelling some tension.

The Stoneheart quirks his brow skeptically, “Do you really want a sob fest?”

For someone like Aventurine, everything in this life is all but a transaction. An eye for an eye. A favor received; a favor returned. It’s not about either of them but it’s about both of you. The idea of pushing Sunday into the man-devouring fog seems to be quite pleasant for him even if he is almost stopping the Foxian from murder just because Sunday stopped her from almost dying.

Scoffing, Shuhua points her finger at Sunday as if he’s not even there, “She’ll get over it and find another boytoy to fawn over in approximately five business days.”

The notion of you crying over his death is terrifyingly unsettling. There is no realm, be it the rivers of reality long past of the gilded cage of a dream yet to be, in which Sunday wishes for you to weep for him ever again. Neither does he wish to die before you. Or after you, for that matter. Yet dying together with your last breath caught by his lips seems like a beautiful way to end his existence.

But Shuhua, despite her never-ending hostility, is right and he doesn’t think a god would waste her last moments on the fleeting warmth of a dying sinner. Death is far too cruel to allow him to go peacefully. And so, Sunday locks any foolish thoughts behind the golden bars of a dream once more.

That is the only place where heresy belongs to.

The fog darkens, not even a sliver of starlight remains. In this darkness Sunday has trouble keeping himself afloat. The thorns drag him down to the bottom even if the hollow bones of his wings do not itch any longer.

To dream is to survive. To live is to suffer. To dream is to suffer. To live is to survive. No matter how one twists the words, the outcome is the same. Torment is unavoidable, misery is unescapable. Be it in a cage made of gold or in a life soaked in freedom, everyone suffers equally. Sunday is yet to accept that as a given, yet this anguish is probably the only thing you embrace with your torn heart. Maybe one of these days the stream will carry him to his destination, and he finally finds what he’s looking for.

Maybe for the first time in his life Sunday needs to take control of himself and not others.

 “You should come inside.”  A gentle hand on his shoulder. A tall woman – another galaxy ranger – smiles at him with a little something very tired to the curve of her lips. “They’re about to make the jump.”

Sunday stops himself from wondering what all those people are doing here. Their ship got stranded so the rest must have suffered the same fate. Everything happens for a reason, and Sunday has little to no desire to doubt anything right now. Not when that doubt could force the thorns up his body until he is crowned in them like a dying man crucified.

And so he nods, following after Acheron, “They started the engine?”

“No,” She shakes her head, the door in front of her opens automatically. “We’re breeching the atmosphere the old-fashioned way.”

Sunday has no clear idea what that entails, but the implications don’t seem very promising. Some sort of a mascot is running around the room, ushering everyone to get seated. Kafka is smiling, scooting ever so slightly closer to Himeko despite the other trying to get away from her. Firefly is rambling, March and the pesky Nameless to her right engaging her in a rather animated conversation. Boothill, Shuhua, and Aventurine seem to get along rather splendidly, considering their conflicting personalities.

The veiled Memokeeper pats the empty spot next to her in a silent invitation; Sunday knows it isn’t meant for him, so he takes a seat in the farthest corner of the couch and lets Acheron depart with no words exchanged. You are nowhere in sight. Sunday thinks that once again nobody takes you seriously even if they should. Dan Heng and an elderly man who Sunday hasn’t met before seem to be the only one to be at least a little bit troubled by the current predicament, vigilantly watching the door in case it opens.

It does not. Instead, the lights flicker rapidly, the ground shaking beneath his feet. Being sat is not enough.

Everything comes crashing down, and no seatbelts could save them from the heat of the fall through the corroding fog and the atmosphere unwelcoming to the outsiders. Someone more poetic would have called this the fall of god’s most beloved angel, Sunday knows that it is nothing more than a punishment for the sins one could never atone. Everything seems to be on fire, scorching and hostile. Sparks of light ignite outside the trembling glass windows. In the darkness of this nightmare, fate in the shape of glowing ribbons is kind enough to catch him right before Sunday slips off the couch.

The fall stops so abruptly that the train jumps upwards. The pinks and purples shimmer with the peculiar radiance, lighting up the shadows and ensuring a safe descend into the deepest circles where only the most heinous sinners could survive. That is not a place someone like you could be born in, yet it seems just right for Istanai the Repudiation.

“Is everyone okay?” Your voice is hoarse, and you look a bit worse for wear. Sweat running down your temple, you shiver. Someone says something, it gets lost in the raging waters of doubt. “I cleansed the engine as much as I could but it’s enough to make one jump far away from the fog.”

“Please be careful.” Himeko mumbles, the train shakes for the final time.

You smile, “Aren’t I always?” That smile is nothing more than a kiss to the cheek and 30 pieces of silver, yet somehow Sunday is sure that it is them who would end up weeping at the cross.

Perhaps even Himeko herself knows she is sending the lamb to the slaughter. With regrets and misty eyes, she presses her lips to your forehead. It’s a fleeting touch with nothing left of it by the time it ends, and you turn around first, leaving without even a goodbye. Stelle darts from her seat, ready to join in on another dangerous adventure, Dan Heng and March following suit until Himeko stops them, whispering something that makes March gasp audibly. Half astonished, half disappointed, she returns to her spot on the couch and drops down with a huff. If Sunday is sure of something, it’s that the lonely path you are bound to cannot offer you any constant companionship.

Kafka is watching him with that infuriating something behind the clouded haze of her eyes. Sunday hates letting her win; he despises being caught in the spiderweb of her schemes and convoluted plots written by a lunatic far worse than he, himself, is. Spending his whole life being conditioned to believe he is the one in control of the cage, Sunday has been chained to the golden bars of a tomb where they buried his freedom. Yet he is not a charmony dove in desperate need of someone looking after him, his clipped wings have long been mended and the disillusionment in a dream that cannot be is ringing in his ears in Robin’s trembling voice.

What would she do if she were in his shoes, Sunday wonders, although there is no real need to contemplate it at all. For someone like his sister – another victim of a mind far too cruel for this world – there is only one path in this life. You move towards freedom, even if it means getting caught up in the crossfire.

Kafka’s giggles die with as the distance grows. Sunday is lucky to catch you before you exit the train, yet he isn’t sure there is any more luck in his life left for you to change your mind.

Sunday isn’t fast enough to even voice his concerns before you shut him down, “I just need to check with the port security, and I will be back. One foot out, one foot in.”

“Then I shall accompany you.” How can one preserve a life without controlling it? How to change your mind when even the most drastic of measures will prove futile? If Sunday gets down on his knees and beg like a sinner would do before the heavenly lord, would you accept him then? Would telling the truth save him now that he has nothing more to his person than the wings that belong to you and the halo that he is willing to discard for your sake?

“As much as I would enjoy to go on adventure with you, Mister Sunday, I am afraid this is something I must do alone.” There’s an air of finality to your words. As if you gave up all your agency to fate and willingly chose to walk the road to your crucifixion with the shoulders carrying the weapon which inevitably will be used against you. Yet Sunday doesn’t want you to. If there is a way to share this burden, his hands are willing. If there is a way to unfasten the noose around your neck or to wipe the blood of your palms, he is ready to stain himself until everything is red. “Besides… Who will save me if I put you in danger with my own two hands?”

As usual, you make little to no sense. How can Sunday save you if he isn’t by your side? “Aeon or not, you mustn’t–”

Your palm against his cheek is warm. Thumb gliding over his skin, smearing crimson till nothing is left of his anguish. Only heartache remains; the realization that he cannot do anything but give up and let you walk outside the gilded cage of safety into the world which would never be kind to you even if you spill all your tears for it. He could not stop Robin and had to pay the price, and now with you Sunday will have to do the same. Control is never enough when you lack the power to reinforce it, the dreams are fleeting and fragile like the glass castles amongst the clouds. All Sunday can do is to believe that he will get there in time to gather your holy blood before the ground accepts it as a part of itself.

“To live is to survive.” He whispers, hopeless and sorrowful.

“To dream is to suffer.” You agree. A ruffle of your dress, the ribbons sway as you rise. Betrayal means nothing when the warmth of your lips against his cheek eradicates all vices and purifies all evil. “May the heavens be kind enough for the suffering to cease.”

The door silently closes. Sunday returns to the train cart. The shimmer of the ribbons is still glowing all around the room. The atmosphere is a bit too charged, Dan Heng and Himeko glaring at each other with various degrees of animosity. Kafka is grinning, although there is something tense to her smile that Sunday had no desire to investigate. Elio admitted he could not predict your future, so whatever script she has is probably nothing but a nonsensical piece of fiction written by a crazed lunatic.

“You know nothing.” Himeko snaps. It must not be a regular occurrence, as it earns her a couple of odd glances. “If she doesn’t contact us in five system hours, [Name] told us to leave her here.”

Sunday expected as much yet this being said out loud weights way heavier on his soul than he anticipated. Dan Heng, familiar with the aftermath of touching death firsthand, seems to share the sentiment, “You can’t do that! Himeko, what–”

“This is not my place to decide, and this is not your place to judge.” The woman cuts his sentence short, not at all content with your decision yet unable to refuse your final wish. “It’s [Name]’s choice. Her fate has found her. You should know that better than anyone, Dan Heng.”

This silences the young man way faster than Sunday anticipated. Dan Heng, oddly dejected and somewhat pained, ignores Himeko’s orders and returns to the couch. March’s comforting hand does little to soothe whatever turmoil he is going through and Himeko doesn’t hurry to apologize for hurting him. Kafka hums, a little perplexing noise, as she pets Himeko’s shoulder lightly. The red-haired woman has little strength now to refuse the spider’s advances now, face hidden in the palms of her hands.

Pompom quietly warns everyone to buckle up and the jump is way smoother this time around, yet nobody seems to be happy about the comfort. The quiet conversations and Firefly’s soft, somewhat awkward laughter fills in the void of passing hours. Scars do not itch yet old habits are hard to break, and Sunday is once again being dragged down to the bottom with the thorns of his deadly sin. One more hour, the glow of the ribbons dies along with the fog. Soon there would be nothing but darkness and the glitter of starlight illuminating the edges of the planet clouded in death.

“You seem awfully worried for someone you quite literally held hostage.” Shuhua’s voice is a fairway noise of the waves crashing against the pier. Sunday doesn’t mean to ignore her, yet he has no desire to engage her either. Pointless bickering has no merit unless both parties have something to prove. And Sunday has nothing to stand for right now. She is somewhat correct, and he is completely lost.

“Not as fun to bother now that you have nothing to hide.” Aventurine is the green glint of the precious stones scattered around the seabed. Laying amongst all those colorful rocks, Sunday lets them dig painfully into the base of his wings, till blood seeps through the open wounds. “Lame.”

“Cut him some slack, you two.” Black Swan says, a little teasing to her hushed voice, “He’s in the process of actively yearning.” Sunday wishes they would stop talking about him as if he isn’t present, yet he is not allowed to condemn them for sinning when his deeds are as unforgiving as they come.

 “Not like he knows anything about love beyond controlling the object of his obsession.” If a Memokeeper can get into Sunday’s head to pick his troubled feelings apart and put them together into some semblance of cohesion, the Stoneheart doubts the notion of Sunday having any emotions at all. It’s infuriating, yet it helps in a way. The waters may be deep, and the waves may be harsh, yet fury knows no hell like a lover scorned.

“I advise you to not speculate about my feelings.” The chill of his tone is familiar. “You might find out the true extent of their depth.”

For a second Sunday is back on Penacony, caged and buried, following orders and grasping for an ounce of control over his own actions through desperately trying to liberate those who could be saved. Would any of them try to save him? Robin would. Robin did. Now she’s somewhere out of reach, in the lighthouse Sunday can see yet can never find a way to. You would. You did. And now you are back to the dream shattered, unattainable and doomed.

Sunday has little to call his, yet his heart is worth fighting for.

Aventurine lifts his glasses, the grin on his lips is the one you would only find in hell, “Hit a nerve?” The tension increases, yet Sunday is not above playing dirty. They should know as much already. All is fair when you protect what you believe in, for the road to hell is paved with intentions most pure.

“Fifty thousand credits say you to shoot the chicken if he squares up.” Shuhua whispers, yet her voice is loud enough for everyone to hear.

Boothill clicks his tongue, “Make it a hundred, foxy. I ain’t lifting a forkin’ finger for some chump change.”

“Now now, let’s not fight.” Black Swan claps her hands to dispel some of that tension and it works. Somewhat. Sunday’s wings are still twitching under his coat, posture rigid and breathing shallow. Aventurine himself is way on guard for someone who is not ready to fight for his life, yet he is the one to throw in the towel. “We might need our knights to rescue the damsel in distress.”

“Talking about distress.” Acheron inserts herself into the situation with a surprising ease, surely not in the mood to mediate any immature conflicts yet very much willing to remind of the reason they’re all here in the first place. “It’s been four hours, Himeko.”

“I know.” Himeko nods, her expression as hazy as the fog outside this room.

Kafka huffs, amused and ready to stir the conversation where she wants it to go, “When I left you the kids, I thought you would keep them safe, Himeko. Look at you now…”

Himeko, for all her detachment now that she’s haunted by her own choices, seems to be finally ready to physically fight Kafka this time around. Her anger is short lived. And everything after that is nonexistent. It all ends here where it all began.

“Guys.” March gasps, palms pressed against the glass window. “No, guys, look.”

Stelle joins her by the window, but the others ignore her excitement as they did ten times prior to this. Yet judging by how the curve of Stelle’s lips drops suddenly, this time around they should have paid attention.

The blinding light is promised to lead all mortals to salvation of Paradise. With the scorching warmth of hell’s fire on his face, Sunday is sure that he is never destined to find the shores of redemption. The train is shaking with the aftershocks of the end of the world as they knew it. His fate is sealed with an explosion and the debris drifting into the open space, colliding with each other in a promise to never meet again.

In the eyes of Murata Himeko, Sunday can recognize the guilt which is dripping from his heavy lashes every time he brings himself down on his knees in a prayer. To live is to survive. To dream is to suffer. Paradise of eternal happiness cannot exist, for it is nothing but a pipedream of a man gone mad.

For once in the short time that he knew her, Kafka is silent. Sunday takes that silence with him into the darkness that envelopes all creation.

The curtain falls, yet as the lights go out the gilded dreams live on.

Scars do not itch yet the memory of a dream yet to be dreamt is the only proof of your existence.

[mechazushi]

So, this isn't so much an "Incorrect Quotes"...

So much as an "I have a vision, but I'm not an artist so I have to settle for writing it out and hope someone understands what I'm picturing."

For starters, ya'll know about the artist trend of putting your OC's or favorite characters in a specific dress...

ya know... this one⬇

Yeah, just...ALL of Division Three. And I mean all + Narumi. Here how it sounds in my head. (Its more of a comic? It's just mostly dialogue than anything and they're just standing in a line talking to each other.) {And keep in mind....THEY ARE ALL WEARING THE DRESS AS THEY SAY THIS. ITS 90% OF THE JOKE}

Mina: When I said I was nervous about my first promotional modeling gig for Vogue, That didn't mean it was an open invitation to come out here and.... "Support me".

Kafka: Come on. This can't be any more embarrassing than that time you caught me in the sexy lingerie I was wearing for my high school prank.

Hoshina: *In air, eyes glowing woke spartan style, mid assassin strike aimed at Kafka with a training sword, ALSO IN THE DRESS* pics or it didn't happen-

Reno: Look. We're here, we showed up in the dress, can we leave now? I'm getting cold in places I don't want to be cold.

Iharu: Aww, come on! You look dashing! Few more pics! *Somehow managed to convince the photographer to take the shot of them*

Haruichi: The fact that you're filling this out better than me is disturbing.

Aoi:*Trying not to let his blush show* Are the lights getting to you because you're talking bullshit.

Minase: Oh my God! KIKORU!!!! You look amazing!!!

Kikoru:*embarrassed* Minassseee.... I-I'm with Reno. Can we change into our work jumpers now?

Hakua: Hey, can I take this one home? Makin' me feel hella confident right now. *Starts a gun show in front of a mirror.*

Narumi: *In front of the same mirror Hakua is in, serving cunt and taking selfies* Honestly, ya'll should just put me on the cover instead of Mina cuz' I'm pulling this off way better than her in the moment.

I also like to imagine that instead of Mina on the cover... It's Kafka in Kaiju form in the dress. The glowing abs would absolutely be visible as well....

[rei-ismyname]

Magneto Cyclops Exodus Was Right

That's right, the craziest of the crazy. French Crusader from the 12th century turned Omega Mutant hero of Krakoa. The Black Knight's boyfriend and the guy who rebuilt Xavier's brain. The guy who looked at Catholicism and said 'nah, you're all wrong. Here's the real religion and I'm Pope.' Bennett Du Paris - Exodus.

This celibate sex God. He was right... about at least one thing, though it was a very important thing. Join me for a journey into the work of a prophet - a tale of a baby, a pink guy, and a big bird.

Eating a potato raw in his midriff with Kafka. It's true, he is definitely intense.

Exodus benefited immensely from the First Krakoan Age, getting a seat on the Quiet Council and all sins forgiven. Since being awakened by Magneto after centuries asleep, Exodus followed his beliefs that boil down to Mutant Supremacy + Catholicism put in a blender and mixed with whatever extremism the writer needed at the time. He was rudderless Pre-Krakoa, both in universe and out. He didn't make a lot of sense and was used as a pseudo religious fundamentalist powerhouse/troublemaker. His character and belief system on mutants' personal Eden with battles to build solidarity and support from a community for the first time in 900 years fit perfectly.

He started to grow, chill out a little bit, had his beliefs challenged and shared. He became Apostle to the Messiah, teacher to children, puncher of dragons. He was EXTRA (that's getting its own post) and, for the purposes of this post, he started to adapt scripture. Pope stuff. We don't get to read the New New Testament according to Exodus, but several things about his theology were made crystal clear.

1. God was still God, but mutants were the chosen few.

2. The Nazarene Mutant (Jesus) was a Messiah, but not the Messiah. Hope Summers is.

3. The Holy Spirit is The Phoenix. They are one and the same.

Got all that? In X-Men Forever, the Kurt/Raven/Destiny family subplot is playing out and comes to light during a 'council meeting.'

Hope is happy for Kurt learning about his parentage and she mentions in passing that she doesn't know who her bio dad was. Exodus, true to form, declared that the Holy Spirit (The Phoenix) 'quickened the womb of...' AKA immaculate conception. Hope has little patience for this, also true to form (plus by this point she knows she is going to die soon.) They're all in the White Hot Room, you see, mutant heaven kinda and Mother Righteous killed Jean/The Phoenix. They need to bring it back to beat this nasty AI God, Enigma. It's got a lot of steps so I'll simplify it.

1. Feed Hope to The Phoenix while shooting it.

2. Jean/Phoenix/Jeanix go kill the mean AI God.

The rest of the X-Men/Mutants bounce back to Earth to kill fascists and the girls get to work. The Gun is Legion and the 'she' being referred to is The Phoenix, who's scared. They need it to stay still for the ritual to work.

The AI God learns of these plans and, making use of his access to all of time and space, visits Hope's mother before she's pregnant in his sleazy ass human form. If he's her Dad then he'd be able to influence her and stop all this Phoenix business, or better, absorb it into his greedy, nasty self. He tells her (truthfully) that she'll die soon after giving birth by fire and it will not be pleasant. In the present, Jean notices Hope starting to change (picture Back to the Future when Marty is disappearing but also not) and realises what's going on.

Jean comes in with the truth and Enigma shoots himself in the foot because he's forgotten how to be anything but a selfish dick. Louise (Hope's bio mother) says BAD VIBES and he *tortures her.* She still says fuck off cos she's cool AF.

Louise doesn't even blink and signs up to do the right thing, though she doesn't want to fuck Jeanix. As soon as she consents, Jeanix touches her forehead and it's done! Back to normal reality for her. Boom, Hope is no longer all weird and completes the ritual...

... sadly dying. Pour one out, but know that she did this willingly. Died for our sins would be pushing it, she's better than Jesus - Hope died for our lives and happiness, and to kill a shitty God.

So with all that mumbo jumbo and time travel stuff, two new pieces of information are confirmed.

1. Hope is the goddamn Messiah. ❤️❤️

2. Her previously unknown father turned out to be The Phoenix AKA the motherfucking Holy Spirit.

Let's check back with Exodus and his thoughts on the matter...

EXODUS WAS RIGHT Y'ALL.

As established, Louise was neither DTF nor pregnant. Jeanix laid hands and quickened her womb. All dictionaries agree - quickening is entirely fetus-related. The Holy Spirit created a whole ass baby and it was our Messiah, Hope. Move over, Nazarene Mutant. Move over St Peter. Hope and Exodus are here. Joyously, Cable is still her father. He just gets to be her step-sister/half-brother too. Most importantly, Exodus was right. I'm pretty sure he knows, too. (Send an ask if you want proof.) Aren't comics great?

[twistedkans]

Yours - Part Three

→ A Glorious Masquerade Malleus x Reader x Rollo commission for my bestie

Warnings: mild Rollo-typical psuedoreligious content Characters: Yuu (Reader), Rollo Flamme, Malleus Draconia Word Count: 1.9k

Part One | Part Two

(Also available on Ao3)

༻ Yours ༺

“Now I'm even losing my name - it was getting shorter and shorter all the time and is now: yours” ― Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

────────────────────────────────────────────

The bottom level of the bell tower looked more akin to the inside of a child’s treehouse than that which housed such a valuable artifact. Walls of old wooden planks that had seen better days, a pile of cleaning supplies thrown into the corner of the “room,” and miscellaneous items scattered about on the floor made it hard to believe this was property of Noble Bell College.

The ceiling above you creaked softly, then a figure emerged from the stairs.

You were taken aback by the heartwarming smile on Rollo’s face. It was as if he couldn’t contain his emotions, but what had him in such uncharacteristically high spirits?

“I assume you had no trouble along the way here?” His voice was soft, fluffy like a cloud, and happy enough to be contagious if it weren’t Rollo acting in such a way.

You shook your head. “No, but I think I accidentally took the long way…” With a quiet chuckle to ease your nerves, you turned your attention back to the walls. “This place looks like it could collapse.” Rollo hummed to himself and chose to humor you for just a moment. “I suppose it could look such a way to an outsider, but the Bell of Solace, and this tower, have stood centuries with naught to protect it, and it continues to stand as our symbol of hope.”

And for the first time, you felt the urge to smile at the man before you. His eyes didn’t hold that malicious fire or anger or disgusting pity towards you. He did not reach for his handkerchief, and his smile reached his eyes, now as bright as a young child’s curious gaze.

He looked…happy?

“Centuries? I guess that’s why it looks so old.”

Rollo cleared his throat, but that smile did not fade from his expression. “Yes, quite so.”

It couldn’t be said how it began, but you and Rollo engaged in casual conversation, everything from the bell tower’s history to that of Noble Bell College and even to the world you knew before coming to Twisted Wonderland. Although you weren’t too interested in drawn out history, especially when it was quite boring, you were interested in listening to Rollo’s joyful rambling. He reminded you of a few of your own friends who clung to all-too specific things and wouldn’t shut up about them. And, whether you would admit it or not, it was a trait the two of you shared, at least to some extent.

And to Rollo, nothing could be more interesting than anything you had to say. He would listen with bated breath to any anecdote you wished to give him, storing each little detail in the deepest part of his mind so that he may never lose these pieces of yourself you willingly offered to him.

His heart did not bleed, his feet did not graze the fires of hell, and his mind was no longer consumed by an endless darkness.

His beating heart threatened to burst from his chest, throwing him into a momentary state of panic.

What was this?

Whatever was he supposed to do with whatever this was?

You rambled on with yet another story, unaware of his distress. “–then Ace pointed his magic pen at Deuce, and Deuce ended up summoning a cauldron that nearly crushed me.” You laughed under your breath, remembering the moment with a fond smile. “He couldn’t stop apologizing after that, Ace too, even though he insisted it was all Deuce’s fault. You’d be surprised how many times I’ve nearly been hit with an awry spell from one of those two.”

Rollo’s heart was stunned. It turned to stone in an instant, no longer able to beat. His chest was a cavity of ice so cold he could not have a single warm feeling within it. Darkness stormed in his mind, taking apart and putting back together everything you said, twisting your innocent words to fit his sinister narrative.

Just like the knife that twisted in his heart, shredding it to pieces.

He shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t be there.

It was easy enough to step away from you, to excuse himself from your presence, and to remember why he was doing any of this in the first place.

He failed to go through with his plan, but that wouldn’t stop him from doing what he needed to do to keep you safe from the cruel, magic-charged world.

────────────────────────────────────────────

The sky had darkened to a deep blue by the time you left the bell tower. The air was cool, and yet, there was a certain warmth lingering at your fingertips, nipping at your skin like a crackling fire. There was no fire though, or any noise at all. In fact, it was almost too quiet, and that terrible feeling in your gut refused to die down no matter how many times you told yourself everything was fine. The beating of your frantic heart in your chest did not quicken from your flustered state, but rather, the intense panic and dire peril you felt was approaching.

You ran the rest of the way to the ballroom, unable to shake the feeling that something was chasing you.

────────────────────────────────────────────

”I should thank you, Flamme.”

”I beg your pardon? Surely it is I who should be grateful to you for gracing me with your presence, Draconia.”

A standoff. Rollo sat at one end of the table, closest to the fire, while Malleus sat at the opposite end. Each held a metallic cup, one silver, one gold, yet who held which cup could not be discerned. Neither could Rollo’s mutterings, of which he did many as he covered his mouth with his handkerchief.

Malleus chuckled, though it no longer held a single ounce of friendliness. “And there it is again, this gratitude you spoke of before. Must you refuse to divulge the meaning of it? Or its purpose, perhaps, for you must be aware that I have little use for your gratitude, Student Council President of Noble Bell College or not.”

The response he received was a glare he made sure Malleus saw. “I loathe you.”

”As do I,” Malleus hummed. His sharp nails, gloveless, tapped against the wooden table and he took an idle sip from his glass. “Tell me, Flamme, what have I ever given you? Besides my presence, as you so humbly pointed out.”

Fire seethed through Rollo’s skin and weaved its way to his heart, but he could only laugh in the face of agony. “It is nothing of note, truly.”

Malleus, whose heart ached and burned with passion, longing, and anger, only offered a nod in response. “If you say so.” He raised his glass up and towards Rollo. “Shall we clink our cups together in honor of this marvelous evening?”

”We shall.” Rollo, who felt he had little choice in the matter, raised his own glass and let its rim tap against Malleus’, silver against gold, and they both took a sip.

”Cheers to this glorious masquerade.”

────────────────────────────────────────────

In all of your time running—how long had you been running for now?—you didn’t feel any closer to your destination. The halls feigned infinitude, but you were sure such a thing could not be possible. The gilded walls and thick stained glass murals that offered you no peek to the outside were beginning to give you a headache. Your feet were sore and your heart was racing and your damn hands were–

Something blocked your path. Something cold, something large, something–

”Malleus?” You looked up at those familiar, comforting emerald eyes, yet they only looked behind you.

”Yuu.” The voice that reached your ears wasn’t his.

You tried to turn around, but Malleus’ hands firmly held you in place, not even allowing you to tilt your head. Warmth did not reach your skin, only a frigid cold that seeped into your lungs and your heart. A question crossed your mind, one you had never thought of in all the time you’ve spent with Malleus

Am I safe?

”I admire how brazen someone of your status is willing to act, Flamme.”

Rollo approached the two, your only indicator being his footsteps as they intentionally clicked against the floor. You could feel a scowl burning into the back of his head, and as such, you were caught by surprise when the man’s voice was gentle, just the same as your conversation in the bell tower. “You are mistaken as I am no such thing.” A hand was placed on your shoulder, filled with a heat that nearly burned you, but it was quickly pried away by Malleus’ own hand. “I am nothing short of a man of piety and righteousness.”

Malleus didn’t miss a beat. “And who is your god, Flamme?” When he didn’t give a quick enough response, Malleus pressed on, hands subconsciously tightening around your small figure. “Who do you pray to? Who do you beg for repentance to? Who do you give gratitude to for each and every thing in life, for I know I am no such god to you? Who are you really grateful for, Flamme?”

A blanket of silence muffled your thoughts and deprived you of your words. Rollo’s unspoken answer weighed heavy in the air, yet you could not quite grasp it, not until his breath ran down your neck and his fiery hot hand reached around to stroke your jaw.

”Yuu, my angel, my god Yuu.” Rollo’s voice barely reached a whisper as the words forced their way into your mind. His lips touched your ear, an action Malleus seemed to allow. It was as if Rollo was nothing more than a starved child being offered the smallest of scraps for him to eat up with desperation for Malleus’ sheer entertainment.

It was the rawest form of depravity in his eyes.

A foot brushed your leg and tapped against Rollo’s, signaling for him to step back, though you were sure you weren’t meant to feel that. Just as a starved child would, Rollo clung to you for moments more before being properly kicked in the shin. It was only then that he let go willingly, but the embers remained against your skin, drawing his hands and lips against your body, unable to be forgotten.

”Do what you must, Flamme, so that I may thoroughly defeat you.”

Malleus finally loosened your grip, and you nearly ripped away from Malleus as you turned, coming face-to-face with eyes a shade of green-blue that were filled with more emotion than even your own. His cheeks were dusted pink, and you were sure yours were, too.

”Rollo…” You spoke his name with a wavering voice, filled with uncertainty.

He offered you a smile in return and a quick bow of the head. “Thank you, Yuu, for letting me be yours.” In one sweeping step he turned and began to walk away. “I shall look forward to the finale of this glorious masquerade, Malleus Draconia.”

It wasn’t until after Rollo left, when you and Malleus were alone once more, that he chose to speak. A single finger reached up to stroke the spot between your collarbone for just a moment before resting against your cheek. His hands were no longer cold.

”Are you alright?”

Your response was a dull nod. “Yeah…”

”Are you sure?”

You nodded again, this time with more effort. “Yes, Malleus, I’m alright.”

He leaned down, his breath tickling your neck as he whispered into your ear. “I love the sound of my name spilling from your lips.”

Your reddened cheeks only deepened in color. You turned so you could properly look at him. “And I believe I would love the sound of my name from you, too, Malleus. I didn’t give it to you for nothing.”

”Alright…” He tilted his head and captured your lips in a chaste kiss. “I’m yours, forever and always, Yuu.”

And that was the final part! Hope you guys enjoyed <33 - 🪄

Tag List: @girl-nahh-two

[mono-dot-jpeg]

child support - kafka & himeko

summary; you miss your parents but it's okay, you got new ones now.

genre/extra tags; fluff, found family, himeko & kafka give me divorced couple energy but in a good way, possibly ooc kafhime, almost mute! reader, kafka pays the child support, comfort vibes only, slight angst ig????

[gender neutral reader] [platonic] [7-8 yrs old! reader]

[warnings; implied child abandonment, describing hypothermia symptoms (in the first-ish half)]

word count; 1.1k

a/n; you know it took me a solid few moments and a google search to figure what kafhime was bc i forgot that shipping exists for a moment. i don't really engage in shipping especially when i know that some people,,, transfer over to games from the same company they like and those people can be... weird or in my face about shipping. but who am i to judge. also kaf and hime can be interpreted as just two rude besties or just platonic (/hj) this fic is more long winded than i expected. idk, it was a little bit difficult to figure out. but hope you enjoy!

cold. everything was so cold.

how have you even managed for so long? you thought you were a goner. the people who first found you almost thought you were a goner with how despondent you were stuck in the old rickety house you once lived in. you were so tired, so gone in your mind, you couldn't feel anything. you were lucky to live, that's what you heard from the doctors.

why did fate leave you like this?

"hello dear. are you feeling any better?" a gentle motherly voice rings in the warm room. the room was a bit warmer than the rest, maybe it was just for your sake or this was just a normal thing. you weren't sure. you lived out in belobog after all. a palace of ice and a hundred winters. but it's not like you remember much of what even got you out in the dangerous cold in the first place.

you feel a hand press against your forehead. "colder than winter itself. poor kid." the same voice speaks again. "perhaps she can help me out for this." the hand moves away from you, making a weak cry leave your lips. "sorry. sorry. i guess it isn't warm enough for you in here." she apologized. "perhaps pompom can find some more fluffy blankets."

you twist and turn as her open thought chatter starts to wake you up more. you turn to rest on your side and find an unfamiliar woman as you're in an unfamiliar room. you choke up in fear as you struggle to get up and keep yourself far away from her.

"dear, you're barely even recovered! don't move too quickly!" it's too late for her words and you can't even get that far away. your tiny body is heavy and you only manage to move not even 2 inches away. the red head doesn't make any move to startle you. "i know you must be scared. i'm here to help you." she lowers herself to face eye level with you. "do you remember anything?"

you don't say a word and stare.

"we don't have to talk about it. you don't need to say anything. just nod or shake your head, does that sound okay?" she smiles gently, hoping to appear as not as scary to you.

you hesitantly nod.

"thank you for answering. you must still be feeling cold, right?"

nod.

she grabbed a nearby blanket, "is it okay if i drape this over you? won't touch you or anything." she glances at you, making sure you either nod or shake your head.

you slowly nod, remembering how cold you are.

she doesn't make any fast movements, noting your flinchy behavior. she wraps the blanket around your shoulders gently but you still flinch when it touches you.

"now what's this about a little child?" you flinch at a new voice. another feminine voice that you find a bit more melodic than the warm tones of the other. then another lady enters. you inch towards the farthest corner of the bed.

"kafka, you're going to scare them."

"aw, don't be so mean." she pretends to sound hurt but her voice is teasing. "where did you find the kid?"

"in belobog. outside of the city. well, trailblazer, march and dan heng found them. they were stuck in the freezing snow." kafka's face grimaces at the thought of seeing you stuck in the snow helpless without anyone able to find you. "but anyways, you should head out, lest the others know about you being here so suddenly."

"i paid for the items you're giving to the little star, at least let me stay for a little while longer." himeko sighs before realizing.

"i forgot to introduce myself-" the red head looks over at you who is covered in blanket, attempting to hide yourself. "see, you did scare them!" she muttered to the other. "i'm sorry about her, dear. my name is himeko. this is kafka."

"sorry for scaring you, little one. i tend to do that." kafka hummed. "well, that aside, miss himeko over here and i, we want to take care of you. but we can't be doing that when you're stuck in your little cocoon." she gently chuckled. you slowly get out of the blankets, head peeking out to look up at the lady. "well, that's a start. have you eaten yet?" she asked.

you don't say anything but your belly grumbles.

"i know what would take care of that." himeko smiled. you hear the knocks at the door but no figure enters but you hear shuffling. "pompom got some food for you, himeko!" and you find yourself face to face with a cute living rabbit in a conductor's outfit. himeko gets up opening the door and grabbing the plate of food.

"thank you pompom." himeko hummed as she closes the door. kafka soon moves to sit by the bed. you still stay head peeked with the blankets as you stare at the plate of food and then himeko. himeko walked over. "this is for you, dear. you can stay on the bed if you want. me and kafka will be right back." the redhead places a hand on kafka's shoulder, slowly pushing her as they both leave into what you assume is a bathroom. once they do, you can hear them talking but you're too focused on eating to care about the conversation.

you finish eating and you're feeling much better than before but it doesn't stop you from keeping away from himeko and kafka. it makes them a little sad but they're so patient as they converse with you as if nothing's wrong.

you don't really answer or say anything really. you just nod or shake your head depending on what they ask you. and they seem satisfied with that.

"can you give us your name? unless you're still uncomfortable."

you tell them your name weakly.

"what a lovely name. now. i'm sorry that we have to get a little heavy but, have you always been living out of the city in your home?"

you give a small nod.

"what about your parents?" himeko speaks softly and carefully. she watches as your eyes water and you shake your head. "oh, sorry, sorry. let it out." she moves to sit by you in the bed. kafka sighs.

"of course we couldn't have known about that but would you like to stay with me and himeko? i know himeko wouldn't want to leave you in a state like this."

you think for a moment, well.. there's nowhere else to really go. you nodded. and you watch as two gentle smiles grow. you feel a bit calmer and you can feel some reassurance that you have a chance to continue your life.

[discoknack]

Skully's Punishment Part 2

Part 1 here

As always I got the idea from @sonicasura

Also spoilers for episode 10-11.

Hoshina crooned at the Yoju, stopwatch in hand, "Good~ good, keep breathing just like that."

Skully's breathing was measured and deliberate, but their small form would occasionally shudder with a suppressed sob.

"Keep those arms out, knees bent. Tuck that tail more, no cheating! Almost there... Five. Four. Three..."

Hoshina almost couldn't hear himself over Skully's sudden outburst - they roared and screamed, mouth wide open and fists tightening. But they held their position, even with their limbs shaking. Very good. When he reached zero with an "all done!" Skully finally collapsed, sprawling onto their belly.

Then Skully took a deep breath, chest expanding, and began to weep, whimpering softly like a deflating balloon.

Hoshina swept them off the floor, holding Skully up by their underarms and grinning. "Ya done good, Rookie! I'm proud of you! Think you'll listen to me next time~?"

Skully was almost limp in his hands. But then they began to wiggle, straightening and grabbing Hoshina's arms for support, whimpering with each effort. They looked him in the eyes with tears streaming down their face and nose. Hoshina was kinda hoping they'd reply with a defeated 'yeah' or an 'uh huh' at least, but instead the Yoju babbled at him for a good ten seconds or so. Their words slurred together and they stopped and started several times, interrupted by sobs. Their kaiju vocal cords weren't doing them any favors, either. There were only a few words Hoshina could make out: Papa... gigantic scary... hurt... something...

He got the gist of it anyhow.

"Well, aren't you a sweetie!" he said, bringing Skully closer and wrapping his arms around them. "Just like your mumma."

Hoshina rubbed the spines on Skully's back. Skully settled in immediately, rumbling and chirping.

"But I'm not just your Papa; I'm also your Vice-Captain. I have a duty to my soldiers, ya know." That didn't fully sound right. "I have a duty to my children, especially." That sounded weird still. But it was probably the best description. "So. You hafta listen to me double-time~" Hoshina nuzzled Skully's neck, provoking happy chirps.

Hoshina sighed. "Justtt like your mama..."

Of course Kafka's kid would be just like him. Incredibly loyal. Admirable, but he sets a bad example. That's what I get for bringing on a rookie just 'cuz I liked him, huh? "Don't get too attached to your comrades," I told him. "Anything can happen."

Kafka! You had better come back. You owe me that much!

Hoshina was glad he had sent Okonogi away and was alone with the Yoju. So no one else could see his face.

-

"Hibino Kafka." Captain Ashiro said, idly thumbing the barrel of her gun. The smaller one, that is - not the cannon, thank god.

Kafka had stopped stressing a few moments ago, no longer sensing his whelp's cries and figuring that, with how they tapered off, it was fine. But now he was on edge again. Did she notice him sigh? "Y-yes, Captain?"

"The little one..." Mina shifted her weight, seeming uncertain. Kafka couldn't place why. "It's yours, isn't it?"

Well, there was no sense in lying.

"Yeah."

"Are you...?" Mina asked, "Do you...? Did-?" Then some color came into her cheeks and she turned away. "Sorry. Inappropriate questions."

Kafka took a moment to understand...

"Ehhh?! You got me all wrong! There's no way I'd be fooling around with- eee! sorry sorry..." He shrank back down into his seat at the sight of all the guns trained on him.

After some moments had passed, and the gunmen slowly relaxed, Mina made an odd sound, and looked like she was about to throw up. Her whole body was tense.

She did it again, grabbing at her neck and making little "ahem"s. She had to close her eyes or else they'd bulge out of her skull.

"Mi-!"

"Captain are you alright?!" Kafka had been interrupted by one of the soldiers.

Mina's forehead creased and she covered her mouth, but she couldn't stop the giggle from finally escaping. She managed to quiet down quickly, but even still, her shoulders shook. Finally, she took a breath and then did it again, tears springing to her eyes.

On the third breath she had it handled, getting a proper hold of her gun. She slowly exhaled, sobering up, almost to the point of a slight frown. Blinking away the tears, unsmiling, she said, "yes."