#like anger mixed with shame mixed with a very strange relief mixed with a lots of hating myself and being exhausted

[corpsegold]

Typing that out has had me panicking and freaking out sweating for the past few hours. I've been miming to myself and rehearsing talking to the woman about it and the only way I can describe how overwhelming and intense this feels is that it's like when I came out to my mum. What the fuck does THAT say

[tokoyamisstuff]

Scandal Ch. 5 - Loki x Reader

Summary: Loki returns to claim what is his - willing to kill everyone in his way.

Warnings: Angst.

Words: ~1800

I Story Masterlist I General Masterlist I

Taglist: @catlover092402152, @hi-there-x, @haloangel391, @misssilencewritewell, @babayaga67, @accioremuslupinn, @mochimommy2002, @just-someone-who-likes-to-write, @damalseer, @bethanystan, @loser-alert, @star017, @nina1800, @queenariesofnarnia, @n1fangirlsblog, @vengefulsokovian, @lunamoonbby, @freyagallileaevans, @emmojoy, @literate-lamb, @aninnai​, @justsomerandompersonintheworld​

A/N: Sweet little Feedback Anon, I took your suggestion. You know which one I mean if you see it. (:

Btw guys I have like 60+ Drafts I need to finish so pls be patient with me.

Word sure spreads fast among the folk of Asgard, about Odin’s shame and your innocence.

Since his lies had weakened the favor among his subjects, the Allfather was desperate to clean his name and reputation, ultimatively inviting you to come back.

But you declined, stating that this wasn’t your homeland anymore ever since they betrayed you to fullfill their selfish ambitions.

However, Asgard’s hypocrisy wasn’t the only reason you chose to stay on Midgard - you just knew that it would break your heart every day you’d spend on a place with so many memories connected to your deceased husband.

Earthlings, the people of S.H.I.E.L.D and especially Thor’s friends Jane and Erik Selvic had basically become like family to you. Even though they could never fill the void Loki had left in your heart, things being like this was more than you could wish for.

“Lady Y/N!” a familiar voice greeted you, yet his worried tone startled you. Thor was already standing in your room, practically kicking in your door as he was visibly upset.

Immediately, you put Liam into his crib and rushed to his side. “What’s the matter?!”

A strange mix of horror and excitement was stretched across his face, making your heart sink to your stomach.

Actually, you didn’t want to involve yourself with the Asgardians any further. All you ever wanted was for your child to be healthy and happy, no matter where this was possible.

But Thor was still your cherished brother-in-law, as well as a wonderful uncle, never ceasing to provide for you and Liam, even when everyone else had forsaken you.

Yet what he was about to tell you let your blood run cold: 

“Loki is back.”

Immediately, all the walls you had built up over those past months were crumbling as you collapsed to the floor, crying out of anger and relief.

“H-How? How is this even possible?! He’s dead! Loki died!”

“Pull yourself together, Lady Y/N!” Thor has always been a rather touchy-feely kind of person, in opposite to his raw and bulky appearance.

But right now, he wouldn’t dare to hug or console you, like he’d usually do. Instead, he was offering you a hand to help you get back up - which you wouldn’t be able to take just yet. “There’s no use in overthinking this! We need to hurry!”

“What do you even want me to do?” you wondered, because if your husband was really alive, you’d doubt him wanting to see you. “He’s changed...killed a lot of people before he disappeared. And still, I don’t wanna fight him. How can I be of any help at all?!?”

“We know he’s probably after you and the child” the God of Thunder stated coldly. “So you need to be transferred to a safe location.”

What can be more safe than a base of S.H.I.E.L.D? If only you knew he had already demolished a whole, giant outpost of them with ease...

“I’ll explain everything to you on the way.” “Let me quickly get the baby.”

“What, did you forget the name of your nephew already?” you chuckled awkwardly, but seeming to have struck a nerve.

Thor was only slowly approaching the crib in which your lovely baby was resting, staring at it with awe while his trembling hand caressed Liam’s cheek.

“Incredible...” he whispered mainly to himself,  as if this wasn’t the thousandth time he would lay eyes upon him. “He’s just like I remember him.”

Something was off.

Of course Thor had a spare key to your flat, but you had never heared him unlock it - he had just kind of appeared in the middle of the room. Could as well be that you had been to invested with something, or buried in thought to notice him, and yet...

“Wait” you stated, making him flinch away from the child and turn around. “My knees are still weak. Help me up first.”

With heavy steps, Thor would force himself away from the crib and towards you again, lending you another hand and easily pulling you up - just for you to point a sharp dagger to his throat.

“Lady Y/N, when did you summo-”

“Shut up!” you hissed, and the god held his hands into the air to assure his goodwill. "Drop the disguse. Now!”

The man let out an amused huff, a taint of green covering his body to revert it back to normal - revealing your husband.

His hair had become longer, and dark rings showed how devastating those past months went by for him. Yet still, he was unmistakingly your husband.

Yet a faint, mad spark in his eyes was what worried you the most.

Now he was holding a knife as well, both circling around the crib with a knife at each other’s throat, as if to dance with each other.

“So it’s really you, Loki?”

“The one and only” he declared, chest swelling with pride at his performance and completely ignoring your hostile undertone. “I missed you painfully, my sweetling.”

He looked to the side where your son was still sleeping soundly, regret clearly visible on his face. “Wha- what name did you give our child?”

“Liam it is.”

The smallest of smiles tugged on his lips, swallowing harshly to surpress the sobs wanting to break free. “Beautiful name. Very well chosen.”

Pain was stretching across your features, desperately trying for the dam of emotions to not break. The dagger in your hand vanished, rather choosing to reluctantly caress his cheek - to make sure this was really him, and not one of his illusions.

And it was really him, leaning into your touch with a content purr. “Yes, my love, just like tha-”

A loud noise drang to his ear, effectively cutting him off. He needed a second to understand that it was in fact you slapping him what caused the interruption.

“Dear, wait, I-” Another hit, this time it was your knee digging into his groin, making him gasp in pain.

With his current power, it would be a piece of cake to block you - yet he knew that after everything that had happened to you, and everything he had done...

...it was what he deserved. So he would allow you to let off some steam.

Yet much to his surprise, you were done already - now grabbing desperately on his cloak and pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

He immediately reciprocated, dropping his weapon as well to embrace you fully, lips mingling with each other over and over again.

Oh, how long had both of you craved for each other?

“Sorry” you panted as your lips finally parted, “Just needed to get that off my chest.”

“Do not apologize, my love” Loki declared, chin resting atop of your head, still no intention to let go off of you. “I deserve far worse than that.”

You looked up to him, the kiss having made something surface in his eyes: So solemn, and incredibly fragile, it made your heart ache.

“Wha- what happened to you? Where have you been all this time?”

Loki’s face contorted at the question, as if the thoughts in his mind were physically painful. But his mind was clouded, unable to make his proper memory resurfacing. “Places far beyond your imagination, dear. And I have learned many things.”

“I-I thought I had lost you...” you ultimatively began to sob, face dug into his chest.

“No” the god whispered softly, his gaze still unwavering. “You always have me. I promise.”

“What now?” you sniveled as he gently pet your head, just as back in good old times. “Where do we go?”

“What do you mean?” Loki’s features creased into a slight frown, “We stay here. There’s no need to leave or flee.”

“Bu-” you hesistantly took a few steps back, to take in his full reaction. “But you’re a wanted criminal, Loki! On Asgard as well as Midgard!”

His manner became more defensive again, glee radiating off of him. “Oh, my sweet, innocent Y/N...still the idealist, I see.”

“And you are still insufferable” you scoffed back, crossing your arms. “What do you mean?”

Actually, you dreaded the answer.

The man seemed to be thinking about many things at once, eyes narrowing before he finally took a hold of your hand, squeezing it ever so slightly when he saw that you were still wearing his ring - even after everything that had happened.

“Y/N, my love, those deaths were a necessary evil.” He tried to peck a quick kiss on your hand, but you pulled away at those words. “The only crime I feel guilty for is having left the love of my life. But don’t you worry, I’ll make up for it.”

He summoned a staff, glowing in the same blue as the tesseract - and much to your terror, his eyes started to adapt to them as well.

“I will create my own kingdom, Y/N! Here on Midgard, with you as my queen! This is what you deserve, my love! You and our child will have everything you desire and more!”

“This is madness, Loki!” It wasn’t the first time he had heared that.

People always treated him wrongly, afterwards wondering why he was trying to create felicity on his own. “Is it?” he croaked, “Is it madness for a person born to rule two kingdoms to create a home he never had?”

His plan did not merit awe or any such feelings he hoped you to have - the only person in the world he thought would understand him.

“Loki, what your parents have done to you is inexcusable, yet-”

“They’re not my parents!” he screamed enraged, eyes then widened in shock that he had raised his voice at you. “My apologies, I...”

“They have kept the truth from you so that you’d never feel different. You know you’re their son, and the Asgardians are your family. You must know that!”

“You speak like mother” he spat, and still Frigga’s words he could not shake off as easily as Odin’s. “There is no going back to that place, and Jotunheim I never had a connection with. You most likely heared that I tried to kill Laufey, yes?”

Nodding in silence, you nervously bit your lip. “Please...” Wrapping your arms around him and placing one ear at his sternum, you could clearly hear how his heart was fighting a war, struggling to decide.

“You can still stop whatever you were gonna do. We can start anew somewhere, lead a peaceful life with Liam. I don’t need wealth or power, and you clearly know any of this wouldn’t give you the satisfaction you’re searching for!”

“As always, you’re right” he grumbled deeply, already regretting what he was about to do. “But it’s not that easy, my naive little dove.”

“No~” With his hand on the back of your neck, he infused a powerful magic inside your body, slowly shutting down your nervous system completely. As careful as possible, he cradled you in his arms and slowly led you to the floor, then proceeding to take his heir.

“The only thing I need for myself is our little family - and I will avenge you by murdering anyone that did you wrong, or tries to separate us again.”

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦  ღ  ◦∘  Harrison Osterfield - Quarantine  ∘◦  ღ  ◦∘

A/N - I wrote this during the first lockdown that Britain were in. ow we’re in the third, and almost a year later, I’m uploading this onto my Tumblr from my Wattpad. And yes, before everyone says it, I am fully aware that the Holland’s and Haz were isolating in two different houses and haven’t been living together for months, but this makes it more amusing, and as I say, it was written a while ago. I do not know Harrison, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction and entirely my own. 

Warnings - cursing, smut, detailed sex, cockwarming, oral, kinky names, mentions of sleeping around... you know the drill by now.

Summary - Quarantine with a bunch of sex deprived twenty-odd year old boys isn’t your idea of fun, especially not when the only one you want refuses to pay even the slightest bit of attention. Taking measures into your own hands is only simple until you get caught.

YOU AREN’T SURE HOW, but in some strange twist of fate, you’ve ended up in self isolation with the Holland’s. But it doesn’t end there, no, not just the Holland’s, but Harrison and Tuwaine too.

You have a bed in the attic, the other side of Harrison’s room, but you’re hardly sleeping in it. Seeing as you’re the only girl among an entire collection of (ahem, horny) and barely adult boys, you were most certainly on their beckon call. You didn’t mind being called to Sam, Harry’s, even Tom’s rooms late at night; you simply wished that you'd be asked to sleep with the one you actually wanted. Harrison.

You and he had been friends as long as you could remember, neighbours from age 4 and friends ever since. Even through uni when you studied a double major and you had zero free time, he was still constant in your life. You’d met Tom and the boys, the twins being closer to your age, and gotten on with them all as well. It just so happened that you ended up on a job with Mr Holland, and that’s what brought all of you closer together with you being in their house often to work on this project it also just so happened that you’d been hanging around with them all when lockdown was announced, leaving you to be in trouble if you drove halfway across London to your own home, so they invited you to stay and had any and all necessary items mailed to you by your roommate. You were only trusted to stay with Harrison after your history together and nothing ever having come of you two, though Mrs Holland did not trust the other boys enough with you and therefore did a bed check every night and every morning to make sure you were alone, though it was always a deceitful check on everyone’s behalf. 

You didn’t thank Tom, Sam or Harry post-sex since you’d always have to return to your own cold bed, next to a sleeping Harrison, a sleeping Harrison who wouldn’t dare use you as a booty call like the other three did. It was safe to say that Harrison also had no idea of your truancies since he slept like a light and no one would discuss your actions at the dinner table to save your dignity, and their own necks.

Tonight though, you have other plans. Harrison has some papers to look through and will therefore be sitting at his desk, procrastinating before his computer for hours, only to be left to flick through the contract at an utterly ungodly hour, and he’d proceed to sleep tomorrow, all throughout the day. You were going to help him relax: maybe a massage, a cuddle, a blunt. Or you’d sit on his lap, watch to see whether he’d tense or relax beneath your bare legs, or whether he’d pick up on whose shirt you were to wear. That was the only tell: you’d steal a shirt from each brother to wear as a mark the next day, but you’d simply claim they were more comfortable than your own tight fitting button downs and crop tops. Harrison hadn’t noticed, not yet though as far as you knew, but each brother wore a slight smirk every day that you wore their shirt.

It hurt that Harrison wouldn’t be able to tell with his usual obliviousness, but you’d shower before seeing to him tonight, and wear one of his shirts so that when he got it back it might smell like you, a scent he claimed to enjoy.

As soon as dinner finishes, you leap away from the three boys all vying for your attention.

“I have work to do, and a shower to have. Plus, I’m tired.” You respond to all three on your journey up the stairs, hearing Harrison groan very loudly from the attic, followed by his head hitting the keyboard of his laptop. You smile sadly to yourself, a mix of nervous anticipation and excitement expelling from your body while the water lashes at your skin, soothing any pain or fear you may be feeling. You increase the heat, allowing the steam to fill your pores as you lean your head forwards to keep your hair dry, held in a messy bun.

You imagine his touch all over your bare body, his finger tracing your jaw, but a knock on the door and a yell to hurry up snaps you from your trance, making you turn off the water and wrap a soft towel (that you know to be Harrison’s) around yourself. You scowl at Harry on your way out, in response to which he sticks his tongue out childishly. 

You end up mostly dry after taking a longer than usual walk up the steps to the attic, lingering on each one until the balls of your feet become sore. You peek your head around the door, only to see Harrison in a hoodie and boxers, a grimace on his lips while attacking his keyboard with a ferocity that you’ve scarcely seen. His anger causes you to furrow your brows, silently wishing that you succeed in calming him instead of making him feel worse. 

You slip into a pair of panties and grab your favourite of his shirts off one of the hangers. You pull out your phone under a guise if he spots you, absentmindedly scrolling through your feed while eyeing Harrison. He slows his typing and begins clicking his mouse at the screen slowly, intently reading the reams of white on his laptop. 

It’s time, you tell yourself, standing up from the bed and walking behind him. You place your hands on his shoulders, splaying your fingers and digging your thumbs in. Harrison’s body goes lax, his hands falling from the laptop to the desk, laying his hands flat on the wood. He lets out a groan and rolls his head back, falling right onto the pillow of your chest. You continue to rub his shoulders, enjoying the way he’s slowly relaxing under your therapeutic touch, that is until he swats you away with a small, sad smile. You sigh, having none of it, and crawl your hands down to the hem of his hoodie.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his tone dripping with boredom. “I have this contract to read, you know I do.”

“Exactly.” You reply after thinking for a moment. You want to say the right thing, you want this to go seamlessly, so every word has to be perfect, not to mention every action.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t battle against your bid to remove his hoodie, and obligingly lifts his arms up over his head so that you can pull his jumper off. You toss it to the side and hear something fall to the floor, but that’s somehow the least of your concerns. You reward Harrison with a kiss to the soft, unblemished skin of his neck - but it won’t stay that way, not for much longer. 

You thread your fingers into his beautiful brown locks and tug a little, just to let him know that you mean business. His lips part as though intending to let out a groan of some kind, but it doesn’t come, so with disappointment you continue to play with his hair the way you love to. He doesn’t stop you, so that’s something, right?

When he hasn’t given you attention for too long, albeit about five minutes, you walk around in front of him. His eyes are forced to retrain from his screen to where your breasts show in his top. Apparently, going braless in one of his tops has its perks, not talking about your nipples.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs. He pushes his chair out and gestures for you to drape yourself over his legs and lap, which you do more than willingly while wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging at the wonderfully soft curls at the nape.

“I know this isn’t ideal, you need to do proper work and be having contact with your girls, but I’ll get you out soon, I know the boys are a lot.”

You simply hum in acknowledgement, adjusting your seat on his bare legs. Skin on skin, electrifying in every sense of the word. 

“That is why you’re doing this, right?” He asks, nervously almost, and you instantly feel as though you’re molesting him, until he wraps his strong arms around your back. You could moan at the contact, his muscles tensing all around you, the feel of Harrison and his smell radiating around you, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

You move your hands to his shoulders and begin to massage again, just from the front this time, a feeble attempt to procrastinate against your goal. Harrison’s gone back to reading his screen, so while he’s still gathering what he’s reading, it’s your only shot.

You twist on his lap until you’re completely straddling him, your forehead pressed to his. The beautiful blue-green of his eyes sends you into a trance, melting your insides. You can swear that you see him nod a little, so you begin to move your hips. You grind and swirl on his lap, undulating your hips in a perfect figure of eight when you feel him harden beneath you.

With your ministrations paused momentarily, you take a sharp intake of breath and say, “This was never about attention because I’ve been stuck with the boys, this is because I want you.”

Harrison’s face instantly melts into an expression of relief, a goofy smile on his (what you hope to be) soft lips.

“I thought you didn’t want me because you were sleeping with the others,” he says, and you shake your head, tears of relief and happiness almost spilling from your eyes. You feel warm and fuzzy despite the guilt, shame and anger bubbling from your truancies with the Holland boys. 

“You knew then?”

“How couldn’t I?” He remarks, “you’re all they talk about when there’s no adults and no Paddy in the room. What they did to you, how many times they made you cry out their names, the marks they tried to leave on you until your own dominant side came out. Every conversation I had to excuse myself out of mainly respect from you, because what they said upset me but I just couldn’t say so, but then I just came up here and imagined what you’d be doing to me.” Your heart hitches in your throat, butterflies filling your stomach and travelling into your every limb, making your skin tingle. Your stomach rises in goosebumps, as does the skin of your thighs, and you notice that it’s because Harrison has his hands underneath your (his) shirt, and he’s skimming over your waist and legs, holding you and savouring the feel of your skin beneath him. He kisses your neck, once, twice, and it’s gone.

He turns back to his computer and continues his work, looking over your shoulder and letting his eyes train every tiny black line of script on his screen. Your neediness is at an all time high, one hand resting absently on your hip, just above your bum while his other hand clicks at his keyboard and mouse like it’s second nature. The speed of his fingers makes you even needier, craving for him to be inside you already, so you climb onto his bare thigh and trap it between your own. 

You dig your hips down into his leg, grinding and aching for friction, and you already know that you’re dripping onto his skin. The fine hair on his thighs gives a delicious amount of friction - not too much but not too little. As you go further, your mouth parts a little more, allowing you to let out a strangled whimper. Your thigh brushes Harrison’s cock through his boxers, and you feel his hand grip your waist tighter, almost painfully.

Your pussy starts throbbing, aching for more of him, while your hands rake his back, leaving scratch marks in their wake. Your head falls to the crook of Harrison’s neck as you approach your high, moving your hips more fervently and letting out moans is anticipation. You wonder if Harrison is even able to pay attention to his contract anymore with what you’re doing to him, but that thought is set to rest when you’re right on the edge, but both of his hands grip your hips and move you off his thigh, the skin glistening with your essence. 

For a minute, you think he’ll be angry, make you clean it up, but instead he just kisses you. His lips catch yours more desperately than you could’ve dreamt, immediately biting down on your lower lip, trapped inside his mouth. You let out the loudest moan you could in the moment, but Harrison finds it heavenly, delving his tongue into your mouth to deepen the kiss while his hands grip your ass. He pulls away, looking at you with those puppy eyes that he knows you can’t resist. 

“Sit on my cock? Just ‘til I finish this section, then I’ll take you as hard as you want.” 

You look sceptical, and Harrison can tell, you know because he kissed you again and moves his hands from your bum to wrap his arms around your whole body and keep you close to him. His lips pressed against your own is enough convincing, so you move your panties aside and accommodate while Harrison takes his boxers off.

When he does, you’re surprised at how big he is, bigger than any of the lads you’ve been with before. Long and substantial, you want to drool just looking at his dick standing proud against his stomach. Nervously, you slide down on him. His girth stretches your every wall and his tip hits new spots until finally you’re balls deep. He groans and exhales, eyes closed while trying to gather his bearings. 

“Fuck.” He says. “Your cunt bottomed out on my cock, keeping me warm and hard, you’re an angel.”

His words drive you crazy, making you moan and involuntarily clench around him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You wrap yourself around him like a koala bear, craving to have as much skin to skin contact as is possible. Your head lays on his chest to stay out of his way, and he seems thankful to be able to see the screen but also feel you. 

You stay seated on Harrison for no more than ten minutes as he taps away at his keyboard and scrolls through the pages. Occasionally he moves, stimulating you enough for you to gasp or tighten around him, and in those instances he kisses behind your ear. 

You listen to his heart, slowing or increasing its speed depending on your movements. The steady heave of his chest moving with his breathing is strangely calming, making you feel closer to him, more stimulated and comforted, something like love.

Suddenly, his laptop slams shut and he thrusts up into you. You yelp a little and snap your head up, nose nudging with his and your lips grazing. 

“You’ve been driving me crazy, and you’ve done it on purpose. Were you sleeping with the others to get my attention? Am I better than them already? Bigger?” You whimper, his words building a fire inside you. “You don’t have to answer, love, I can already tell by your body.”

You cling to him even tighter than before as he clears everything off his desk, breaking a pencil pot while he’s at it, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“You choose a desk to fuck me on when we have two beds up here, both of which will make a lot less noise?” 

He looks downcast and releases a giggle. “Yeah, didn’t think of that.”

“It’s fine,” you say, cupping his jaw and caressing his stubbled cheek, “you can fuck me harder on this and let the boys know who I belong to tonight.”

He places you down beneath him on the desk, still hard inside you, but instead of attacking you again in a ferocious kiss, he looks down at you and marvels in your beauty just for a moment, his scrutiny surprisingly doesn’t phase you, it only makes you feel treasured, so as your eyes follow the movements of his rippling muscles, he smiles faintly and kisses you softly. 

“Fuck me Haz,” you whisper, those simple words being all the motivation needed, because he pulls out, leaving you whining at the emptiness of only his twitching tip inside your core, but within seconds he pushes all the way back in. 

He feels heavenly, your eyes rolling back into your head and a surprised moan leaving your lips. He smiles down at you before pulling out and thrusting back inside you, setting a steady pace. Every move feels like paradise, every jolt of his hips swindling shockwaves of pleasure through your craving body, having been desperate for him for a good while.

He feels heavenly inside you, his tip grazing that special spot inside you. “Harrison!” You cry, as quietly as you can. He leans down and pulls the neck of your (his) shirt down so that he can get access to your breast, immediately latching his lips onto your nipple, biting at it viciously while pressing his hands onto your spread thighs. You feel yourself approaching an edge, a timed coil curling inside your stomach as his ministrations continue. 

He’s so much better than the others - not that they weren’t good, they have a basic idea of what to do with you and how to use you, and they’re decently sized, but they can’t make you feel the way Harrison can. 

“I’m close...” you whisper between incoherent murmurs. He’s not too noisy, which may or may not be a blessing paired with the slamming and squeaking of the desk beneath your bodies, it’s mostly just breathy grunts and occasional curses.

“Me too, beautiful.” He dances his forefinger up your thigh and rubs circles around your wetness, allowing you to let go.

The coil within springs open, and you feel your body fall loose, vision blurring with stars in your eyes and core clenching around Harrison - it feels like heaven. Feeling this, he climaxes soon after you and to save from screaming, kisses you in a messy fight of teeth and tongues, half muffling the pornographic moans that would otherwise be bound to spill.

Harrison falls down onto you, chest heaving and breathless, but nonetheless he still places open mouthed kisses to your neck.

“I’ll wait for you to get your breath, shall I?” You tease while running your finger up and down his spine. He chuckles and climbs fully on top of you, cuddling you into his chest. “Well, now I can see why you don’t have a girlfriend yet. Can’t even go for one round without ending up flustered. Lucky that I’ll have you no matter.”

He hums into you, holding you and savouring the silence filled with only your breathing and a few sounds from downstairs, but soon the wood becomes too uncomfortable.

Harrison slips an arm beneath you and carries you across the room to his unmade bed, as opposed to your neatly tucked in one with your entire collection of clothes and makeup on top of the sheets, but his bed is probably comfier since he’s always in it. 

“Round two?”

Your heart rate increases, a burning blush rising to the tips of your ears as well as a shy smile snaking its way across your lips, still swollen from Harrison’s attack, not to mention the swollen parts of your skin where he paid a little more attention, leaving marks and memories for days to come.

“I’d like to see you try.” You tease, keeping your cool resolve despite feeling anxious straddling him, his eyes flitting between your chest, eyes and lips, unsure of what to do or how to use his mouth, a definite rarity for someone like him.

He seems desperate, putting his hands on your hips and thirstily jolting his hips upwards - if you’d been a few inches further down, he would’ve been straight back inside you, and maybe that’s what he was hoping for.

“Any hole’s a goal, isn’t that what Tom says?” 

He loves it when you tease him, that much you’re learnt over the years. Every girl he’s been with you’ve found a way to tease him about it, anything he says, anything he does, and he loves it since it usually ends in a play fight and him surrendering control of the tv remote to you. This time however, it ends in something far different.

He tugs the shirt up further and pulls you roughly so that your calves are either side of his neck, your once again dripping core hovering above his face and awaiting tongue. 

“Only if it’s yours.” He says, his breath sending shockwaves through your body straight from your core.

His tongue deftly finds its way through your folds and inside your tensing cavern, and it feels heavenly. His nose nudges at your clit while his tongue laps up all around you, his lips working in tandem while his tongue dances inside you. The moans leaving your mouth are otherworldly noises that you’ve never quite made before, maybe because you’ve never sat on anyone’s face, never mind someone as experienced as Harrison, something that you’re now learning is far from a bad thing. 

“Harrison!” You cry when he delves a little deeper. His eyes remain between your own and the way your boobs bounce inside his shirt while you squirm on top of him. Every noise the pair of you make masks the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs to the attic, and muffle the sound of knocking on the door.

Harrison’s mouth continues its assault on your needy heat, your one hand weaving into his hair while the other massages your breast through your shirt, bringing stimulation to your nipple and bringing your climax closer and closer...

“Haz, we get that you hate work but you really don’t have to make so much noise- OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

You freeze, your recently shut eyes shooting open and darting over to the door, ajar with Tom standing just over the threshold, staring right at the two of you with a face of horror and disgust. Harrison however, bites down on your sensitive nub in his state of shock, and your second orgasm washes over you in such a state of unexpected euphoria that you lose all your bearings. 

You cry out Harrison’s name like a prayer, chanting it while he cleans you up, and it’s not for a solid minute after your climax ends that you realise Tom is still in the room with you, rendered speechless, mouth agape and dumbfounded. 

When you clock what’s happening, you grasp Harrison’s duvet and yank it up to cover you both while you climb off Harrison’s face, his lips still glistening with your cum. He seems lost for words, too, blanching more and more with every passing second. He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. No one moves, except for Harrison’s cock twitching under the duvet.

“It’s not what it looks like...” you say, your words getting lost in the thick tension of the room, like a rubber band pulled so tightly that it could snap at any given moment.

“Really? Because it looks like Harrison was just eating you out!”

You can’t fault Tom's logic, it is exactly what it looks like, so you just blush and pull the duvet up to your chin while wishing for a black hole to swallow you up. 

You can’t help but notice how beautiful Harrison looks though, plump lips and that wonderful glint in his eyes, messy hair and no top. 

“Ok, so it’s exactly what it looks like, surprise?” You can’t figure out what to say to him in the current situation, but instantly feel relaxed when Harrison begins to rub his palm up and down your thigh beneath the duvet .

“What- oh, this is why you called?” Sam now makes an appearance, folding his arms and standing next to a resolute Tom. You can’t decipher if he’s angry, amused or something else. “Our plan worked!” He suddenly shouts, and within seconds, Harry arrives beside the pair, a smirk on his lips.

“Really? So shagging Y/N and talking about it in front of me was all a ploy to get us together? And if so, why does Mr Fancy Pants here look so angry?” Harrison asks, and you can feel him willing his boner to wilt while in the presence of the brothers.

“Yes!” Comes paddy’s voice from the doorway, swiftly standing in front of Tom. 

You smirk, but Harrison scowls, unable to accommodate this situation within his mind.

“He’s probably shocked because he walked in on you two... you know. But yeah, it was all a plan, sorry by the way.” Harry says, you just wave it off but Harrison’s grip on your leg tightens.

“Don’t be angry, it worked didn’t it?” Sam chimes in, patting Paddy on the back before making his way out.

Tom has to have the last word, you can see it on the settling lines on his forehead, so you brace yourself closer to Haz. “And don’t I bloody know that it worked!”

Maybe the drama was worth it for the laugh out of Tom’s reaction, though Harrison would argue with you there.

[madaras-housewife]

A bridge between love and duty

This took me a long ass time to write and holy I’m glad I’m finally done with it. I enjoyed writing it and I also hated it, but I’ve sure learnt a lot from it. Nonetheless, I’m infinitely happy about giving Hashi the love he deserves.

This one shot is a part of a server collab organised by the lovely @bakubabes-hatake. 

pairing: Hashirama Senju x female reader

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” 

prompt: Hanahaki disease

length: 5.7k words

tw: none

Red camellia: “You are a flame in my heart”  

The muffled sound was the first thing she heard in the darkness of her slumber. As her consciousness steadily gathered, she took a deep breath and realised what it was. Her heavy eyelids peeled open, but they quickly closed back.  A warm bed; a mask covering her mouth and nose. 

The woman groaned and rose up to sit straight. Her chest was slightly aching, but it was not as bad as usual. A gentle beam of sunshine tried to peek through the blinders. How long had she been out? It was then that she started reminiscing about the failure of her life with a resigned sigh. But what stirred in her heart was not fear, nor anger. A strange melodious tune of relief coursed through her body. It was over. 

Nevertheless, her thought process was interrupted by the door creaking open. 

A woman in a white coat walked in and looked her up and down with hawk-like eyes. She seemed better than the state she was in at her arrival. The medic formally introduced herself and asked the patient the routine questions, before using her medical ninjutsu on her. 

_____ did not mean to ask who brought her to the hospital, but she felt the need to inquire about other matters.

“How long have I been asleep?”

The nurse did not spare her another look. “For about 5 hours. Hashirama-sama wasn’t here for too long after leaving you in our care.”. 

“Ah, I see.”. A nearly awkward silence ensued between the two, but the medical worker seemed to have read her mind. 

“He was here until you became stable.”. Those words visibly relieved the patient, to which she reprimanded, “Your condition is grave, you know. You should have gone to the doctor a long time ago. Chance is that you will have permanent scars.”

_____’s shoulder stiffened, but those words seemed to go through her. Despite the accuracy of her statement, she did not want to feel scolded by a stranger, albeit a medical professional. 

The woman in white pursed her lips. “Hashirama-sama should be back soon. I will send word that you have awakened. Until then, you should get some more rest.”

With a nod, the nurse was dismissed and _____ was left alone in her room. She could now relish in the mess that she made, recollecting her mistakes from the very beginning. 

Following the end of the Warring States era, the shinobi world found that the easiest way to forge peace between the clans was through arranged marriages. So for _____, being chosen as a bride for the Senju clan was an opportunity for her own brethren to gain respect and recognition in the newly founded Konohagakure. 

A few moons after the official inauguration of the Leaf, the clan elders deemed it urgent to hold an internal conference. Most of the distinguished families showed up, so it was deemed necessary for her to be there, too. In their characteristically tedious manner, they spoke of traditions that needed to be upheld, as well as something related to their reputation and prestige, a subject that no one was particularly interested in.

 However, the discussion slowly built towards the matter of Hashirama’s marital status and how he was to marry a kunoichi from a different clan as soon as possible, as the elders thought it sensible for the leader of the village to have successors. 

A stale atmosphere of monotony clung to the room, except for the chair where _____ sat. She tried imitating the mannerism and facial expressions of the other members to no avail. The tension surrounding her became almost palpable, but the scowl lingering on Hashirama’s face gave her hope of him denying the proposition.

“I will consider it.” 

Regardless of all her years of training, she couldn’t control the furious wriggling of her digits on the table, something which did not go unnoticed by the participants. Their impassive, yet judgemental eyes burnt countless little dents through her with enough ease to make her feel like nothing more than a decaying puppet which had long outlived its usefulness. The shame was suffocating, unbearable, virulent and yet the only thing her decrepit body could perceive was the subtle stifling of her chest. 

Hashirama shot her a curious glare before his attention returned to the elders, who seemed to be more full of crap than they usually were. She retracted her hands under the table with a servile frown. 

She was grateful that her husband, Hitoshi, wasn’t there. 

Would he think of her any less than he already did? His attempts at hiding it were half-hearted at best. The contempt he held towards her was the second thing that haunted her the most. Yes, the eyes never lie. 

It would have been inconsiderate of her to blame Hitoshi for his indifference. Not only had he accepted it, but he also allowed her the undeserved decency of not addressing the farcical, yet frequent, circumstance of forced wedlock. Maybe that, too, was a form of consideration and love for her, but the notion was baseless, a conjecture, which, unfortunately, could not make her heart sway in his direction, regardless of its verity. 

Once the clan meeting was over, _____ was the first one to leave her seat. She did not have the strength to even look them in the eye, so instead, she turned on her heels and flung the door open.  

“What’s wrong, ______?”, Hashirama asked. He wanted to reach out to touch her shoulder, but stopped himself mid-way. The somber aura clinging to her made him. Taking a closer look, he could almost feel the scent of illness, one he had been familiar with his entire life.

 In all fairness, he had his suspicions. Being the head of his clan, he was privy to certain information and, judging by the manner in which Hitoshi spoke of his marriage, he was sure that it had something to do with that.

When she turned around, he made out her sickly pale complexion, which was poorly coated in make-up. She was spent. 

She found herself twisting the ring on her hand. It was ordinary for diplomats to lie for the sake of appearances, but to her, deceit had become the strongest weapon. Whatever sense of self she had left, she wished to use to the best of her ability. 

“Everything is alright, Hashirama-sama. I just happen to be a bit overworked.”, she affirmed, “Nothing that a good night’s rest can’t fix.”. Even a small grin found its way on her dry lips. 

When he was nothing but honest, all she could offer him was emotional chicanery, bland lies and formal words. After all, it was the thing she was best at, wasn’t it? She tried focusing on something, anything else that would diverge her mind from guilt, but she couldn’t look away. Instead, she stared right back at him with a stilted glare.

Her assertiveness almost persuaded him, if it hadn’t been for the folded hands on her lap; fingers squeezed together, trembling, wincing, as if it was the last day on that wretched world.

“You don’t seem well. Would you like me to take a look? I’m sure I could help.”

“I said, I’m fine. There’s nothing to be worried about.”. Her words came out harsher than she intended, but bold enough to startle him. And as such,  her duplicity endured, once again. Every word seemed to embed a metal needle under her skin, until her entire body itched violently. The sensation was so familiar to her, she realised her medication had run out. “Now, I must go back to my husband.”, turning around, she silently apologized for the dismissal.

That was the last time. The sting of tears overtook her unexpectedly. She squeezed her eyes shut and bore a growing lump in her throat in the way she taught herself. It wouldn’t be long now.

Hashirama frowned and debated letting her go. It was clear that she did not want to open up to him. And why would she? She had no reason to impart her private grievances, no matter how much he would have liked to think otherwise. 

Still, fate seemed to have other plans. She felt its brute force as she clutched her stomach in pain, and, unwillingly, she let it all out. The mask had slipped off. Crimson petals leaked from her mouth and he was by her side, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back, in less than a moment’s notice. He immediately activated his medical ninjutsu, but the coughing wouldn’t stop. It went on and on, until her hands were stained, until her own tears mixed in with the fruit of her disease, until she realised her failure. In her hazy, broken state, she couldn’t make out why she was crying, when, almost effortlessly, she purged her own chest the same way earlier that day. Was it the product of her illness or that of her sorrow? 

The answer wouldn’t amount to anything. 

When her ailment finally decided to give her a temporary reprieve, she stood straight, quickly wiping off the tears and the stains of blood on her loose dress, but it was too late. The mask had already shattered. 

She hadn’t even noticed that his hand was gleaming green on her back. As relief coursed through her body, scant breaths became regular. Her shoulders slumped when the warmth of his body enveloped her. Hashirama’s powerful chakra aroused tingles on her skin, making her reminisce that night they first met. A tint of pink brightened her complexion and she allowed herself to relish in the moment, without paying attention to him.

Hashirama was speechless and did not know what to make of the situation. Allowing her to ease up, he inspected her up close: the dried tears, the rosy cheeks and the darkened puffiness under her eyes. But then, he suddenly remembered it, too. That night, which he unsuccessfully tried to forget, was always following him, nearly haunting him.

***

The two met at her wedding reception. She hadn't been formally introduced to him at the time, so she approached him. Hashirama humbly presented himself, speaking with such frank familiarity that it made her feel awkward, at first. Given how the disingenuous and monotone courtesies of the ceremony bore her, she subconsciously lingered closely to him. 

Being physically close allowed her to feel his chakra prickling her body like a warm touch. It awakened a stream of goosebumps on her skin and _____ guessed that he was forced to keep it at bay due to its intensity. One couldn’t live in the Warring States period without hearing stories of Senju Hashirama’s legendary might on the battlefield. 

Throughout the night, they held each other's company whenever they could. The conversations flowed naturally as the time went by and at one point, both of them were so inebriated they couldn’t even tell what they were talking about anymore. Hardly anything was distinguishable besides the loud giggles and hiccups and the aroma of heat that surrounded them. 

Their eyes intertwined in a silent dance, again and again. His were almond shaped, she remarked, a mellifluous whiskey brown that never failed to mirror his gentleness. When contemplating her questions, he turned his head away, squeezed his eyes shut and knitted his thin brows together with a finger cocked under his chin. That was when she could ogle innocently at his features. The man’s tan skin was visibly flushed and yet, flawless. The shinobi world was not a merciful one, considering how most warriors had noticeable marks on their bodies, worn with pride. They symbolized endurance and experience in warfare, like an insignia gained through hardship and struggle. In contrast to that, Hashirama’s face bore no scars, no blemishes, no wrinkles that weighed on it and, despite barely knowing him, _____ could safely tell that the head of the Senju clan was not a man of appearances. He was undefeated in battle, after all, to the extent that not even his responsibilities seemed to burden him. 

Whenever a gust of wind pervaded the backyard, the woman couldn’t help but admire his hair; a soft raven mane that cascaded on his broad shoulders and his back. Shinobi were rarely interested in looks, so they often kept their hair short or tied, even more so when it could be a hindrance in battle. But, once again, Hashirama distinguished himself. His hair reached mid-back and seemed to flow freely in the wind, like him. He was not bound by the grudges that had been passed down to him and he was not afraid to challenge the world’s beliefs, that much she realised. No, he was a man of his own, unlike everyone else at the wedding reception, unlike her. _____ acknowledged that she herself was confined to the laws and traditions of the shinobi world; it became apparent upon meeting the head of the Senju clan. He truly was an eccentric, but a charming one at that. 

He was so alluring, she compulsively moved closer to him, until their shoulders brushed against each other, as he mindlessly accepted it. Her touch was so brief it could have been called a mistake, if it wasn't for the girlish bat of her eyelashes and for the delicate, faint chuckles which suggested otherwise. When their eyes made contact again, the atmosphere shifted into something else. Neither of them said a word, but she was almost sure that time had gone still. Her breath hitched when Hashirama subconsciously trailed his eyes over her body with a gaze so intense, she felt her knees melting. They eagerly took in the modest cut of her dress, with the moonlight highlighting her collarbone. In that moment, he was certain that her body had been sculpted by the gods. The jewelries seemed to adorn it and he wanted nothing more than to see it all, right there, where the sensual beam of light accentuated her beauty just barely enough for him to realise what it was that he yearned for.

The man took a step closer and unwillingly heard the sound of her gulping down, but she didn’t budge. Instead, her feet stubbornly planted themselves into the ground as the crackling sparks in her eyes turned into a fire so incessant and heated, he felt it on his flushed skin, all the way to the tip of his fingers and toes. He knew then that she yearned too. 

And so, the next moment had her eager lips pressed against his own, as a tingle of impatience ran down her spine. He returned the passion tenfold as his arms draped around her frame and pulled her in. An intense, almost violent hunger coursed through his veins, their tongues intertwining as he claimed her mouth. By the time she realised how weakened her legs had become, he was already supporting her, pushing her body against his own. 

A surging tide of warmth pulsated in her chest as all thought ceased, intoxicated by the taste of his lips and the alcoholic breath invading her nose. She tugged on his hair so addictively that he groaned in her mouth, the vibrations descending to her stomach, where tension started coiling up. The way their teeth clashed and their bodies drowned together sent wild tremors to her nerves, kindling in her emotions she had never known she was capable of feeling.  His earthy scent aroused her to no end and, as if time had stopped right there, both Hashirama and _____ forgot to breathe, forgot that there was anyone else in the world but them, forgot about the fact that anyone could walk by and witness how they melted into each other, needing to become one. 

With a last lick of her lips, he slowly pulled away, drunk on her and the sake she consumed earlier that night. Their ragged breaths almost deafened the crowd in their vicinity, all of whom were unaware of what had just transpired. Even so, it slightly pulled Hashirama out of their bubble of passion. He blinked once, twice, and then his eyelids started fluttering in disbelief.

His eyes unwillingly darted over to the Senju clan badge on her shoulder, which made him completely stop in his tracks. Almost instantly, and, yet, reluctantly, Hashirama put physical distance between him and the flustered bride, his gaze not daring to meet her hypnotised eyes. At first, she was confused, but it hit her as well. What the hell was she doing? The brunet bowed his head with a short whisper of an apology, followed by a formal statement of good wishes, before she was left all alone.

The rest of the evening had been just as awkward. Out of respect for her and her new husband, he decided to stay, with the condition of completely avoiding her. Hashirama even found solace  in the nearest bottle of sake, which he wished would also quell his thoughts about her. _____ followed in his example and allowed herself to succumb to a few more drinks, before she could not even remember the rest of the night. 

***

At any rate, it didn’t take much for Hashirama to put two and two together. The reception, her illness and her suddenly relaxed state. He needed no more than a direct confirmation from her. 

“What is this?”

She expected that question. Nonetheless, the ever present sting of shame, whose face she knew too well, did not seem to crawl under her skin. Instead, she felt something she had only experienced once before, upon the consummation of her marriage to Hitoshi. She welcomed it. 

“I love you, Hashirama.”

The man’s face turned bright red. He seemed to have lost all sense of dignity when his lips parted and his eyes widened. She placed a shaky hand on his shoulder and gave it a warm squeeze.  

Following that night, they frequently engaged in short conversations at clan meetings. As per Hashirama’s typical attitude, he tried to mend their inhibitions, wishing that it would be as easy as it was back then, but his eyes always hid behind a wall of hesitance, and, although it could not stop her from craving, it made her realise that it would probably never come down. At that moment, however, something was different. 

An amused chuckle echoed through the hallway. “The last time I’ve seen you this flustered was when I kissed you. Perhaps I should have brought a bottle of sake. That face of yours could definitely use a cup or two.”

The strain in her voice made him snap back to reality. He took a step back, figuring out her vain tactic. Would he judge her? Perhaps not outwardly.

“How long have you been hiding this for? How much longer until…?”

“I thought they would go away, these feelings of mine. He knows, too, but we don’t talk about it. ”, she chose to look at her feet as she spoke those words. Even for a second, she wanted to avoid the burning, pressuring sensation on her back.  _____ subconsciously fiddled with her fingers, almost as if she was trying to scratch away at the humiliation like a piece of paper. 

She had a place to call home. Shouldn’t she have been happy? She had the firm earth under her feet, the pride of her clan on her back, a name to carry, shouldn’t she have been happy? She had a dutiful husband, shouldn’t she have been happy? And the warm food in front of her nose, the calm rains and sunshine blessing her, the smiles and laughter of children, so then how? How was she still not happy when she had peace? 

It was not enough.

His own eyes drifted to her hands. Playing with her own fingers was a tick he had grown to learn about her. Hashirama would watch her peculiar habit during their meetings. After having seen it so many times, he understood its meaning and knew how frequent it was. What merit was there in a life without happiness? 

He frowned and wondered if there was anything he could do. But just as quickly as that thought came, a wave of emotions crashed into Hashirama’s consciousness. It was his fault that she was in this state. The man’s expression then deepened, but she quickly sensed and rebutted his contrition: 

“This is my cross to bear, Hashirama. It’s the only thing I can do for my clan, the only way I can honor their name. So, please… I can handle this myself.” she said half-heartedly. And there it was, that dull pain in her chest, again. Was that what she really wanted? 

Despite her comforting words, his lips slightly curled downwards. The brunet saw it as nothing more than cordial rejection, so he judged it to be the perfect opportunity to draw her in. Reaching out his hands, he grabbed her smaller ones, squeezing them reassuringly, with a gentleness he didn’t think he was capable of. 

His gesture was unexpected, but not rejected. She squeezed back, barely. The hesitance in her grip only fueled his fire. 

“This village… This place we have built is supposed to put an end to meaningless pain, ______. My entire life I have seen only suffering and loss and I want… no, will to put an end to it. I promise I will find a way to make things work out, if you choose to abandon your marriage. ”. The determination in his eyes was almost intimidating. He himself sincerely despised the prospect of an arranged, albeit necessary, marriage. 

Those tender, reassuring words made her heart skip a beat with a fondness so profound she could revel in for the rest of her life, but as much as she wanted to believe his commitment, the woman deemed it to be nothing more than wishful thinking. 

Perhaps, that was why she found herself thinking about him time and again. And for months on end, she was unable to make anything of it. Even though she knew that her wedlock was but a small compromise for the greater good, ______ felt less and less complacency as time went on. The fulfillment of her noble duty no longer comforted her at night, when she felt frigid and abandoned. Instead, she found warmth coiling in her gut whenever Hashirama crossed her mind. To her, he was a paradox; a way to escape her own condition when she could no longer bear it and, yet, its cause. It became difficult to endure, the more complicated her disease became. She could almost feel the numerous camellias blooming in her chest, a sickening sensation that her rudimentary medication could barely alleviate anymore. 

This is my punishment, she confessed to herself time and time again. When the leaflets coiled up in her trachea and choked her, the woman could almost feel an intangible force wrapping its hand around her throat. Regurgitating the putrid and picturesque corollary to her emotional infidelity, ______ found herself imagining what could have been if she hadn’t been chosen as a marital pawn, but instead of offering her some type of temporary, albeit imaginary, release, it only made her clench her fists and her weakened shoulders shudder. And by the time her guts were briefly drained of bloody flowers, all that was left was a disgusting portrait of feebleness, lamentation and illness, a symbol of her true self; not a kunoichi, not a member of the Senju clan and certainly not a wife. At times of bitter realisation, such as those ones, she thought to herself that maybe, blaming him would be easier; that maybe, putting it all on him would ease her guilt a little and even diminish her feelings for him, but Hashirama didn’t deserve that. He did not deserve to be the target of her selfishness. 

“I would lose status in front of both of our clans, I would be rejected by my own clansmen, abandoned by my husband. And for what...? Stop speaking of such a pipe dream. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Hashirama.  ”, the weight of her words sent a pang of conscience in her chest, where she felt it squeeze her lungs in a punitive manner. She could not tell whether her dubiety or her Hanahaki were taking their course on her body.

No matter how hard she tried to deny it, she wanted it; a way out. She felt guilty even for thinking about it. She did not deserve any more than she already had, anything better than she was cursed with, that seemingly worthless duty of hers, like a puppet on a loose string.

Her vision gradually darkening, she didn’t notice the man’s bottom lip jutting out. Instead, his sunken eyes made her realise that her harsh words definitely struck a nerve. She tried taking a deep breath, which would have resounded with regret, but all that came out was a short gasp before her chest tightened. With balled fists, she tried her best to ignore it by pressing on and apologizing, before being delayed.

“Don’t speak that way, I know-”, the plea was interrupted by the woman’s head unnaturally bowing forward, her body trying to follow. It was so abnormal that it made him instinctively grab her shoulders. She was shaking, he noticed.

The room began to spin as consciousness gracefully slipped from her grasp. She allowed the darkness to embrace her as her frail body suddenly limped, but was caught before it could touch the ground. Hashirama’s arm pushed her closer to his chest while his other hand gently pressed itself against her dry, ashen cheek. Those eyelids dropped heavily and unhesitatingly. It was as if she had already given up.

He kneeled and activated his glowing chakra to quickly inspect her state. Eyes wide and heart nearly bursting out of his ribcage, Hashirama knew he couldn’t waste any time. The thought of it being too late for her crossed his mind and it made him run faster than he thought he was able to. Please make it in time...!

Later that day, Hashirama found himself sitting on the highest point in Konohagakure. The freshly carved stone face of himself still felt unfamiliar, yet he found a strange sense of tranquility and peace in that spot. He could gaze at the entire settlement and it was there that he indulged in the sweet gift of solidarity. Even a man such as Hashirama enjoyed it sometimes. It helped him clear his mind and contemplate, when his office became too crowded and uncomfortable to fulfill that purpose. 

Every now and then, he could even feel his friend’s presence next to him, one which he dearly missed. He was painfully aware that he could not stop Madara from leaving. Hashirama could not prevent, nor mend, his mistrust with the village. Madara renounced his place as a shinobi of Konoha with a sinister promise of his return. But it would not be a peaceful one, Hashirama knew. He needed to be prepared to protect the people the way he knew best.

Protect, huh? his mind drifted off to ______. He reminded himself of her arranged marriage and her honorable sacrifice. The flowers gushing out of her throat, right in front of him, and the way she desperately clung to him for air, for a reprieve. He would not forget the way her ailing body caved into him and how loose her clothes were that day. Never quite understanding why they almost limped on her body, he was aghast when he felt her bones poking through her skin. 

Now that he considered it, she looked a little different every time he saw her at their conferences. The woman’s garments heavily contrasted the proud wear of the Senju. Instead of vibrant and estimable, her clothes were prosaic, almost dusty. Even so, the clan crest always decorated her figure, displaying her high status. It almost served as a ridicule, for she became nothing more than a meaningless symbol of welfare. Something festered in him each time he saw her and yet, he didn’t realise how she was slowly withering away. A memory of her in her wedding gown flashed before his eyes; the way her eyes twinkled and her hair danced in the wind; those plump, enticing lips of hers. She was exquisite. How could he not notice it? 

The aftermath of the events that took place at her wedding reception never quite left the atmosphere. It went unmentioned. It would not have done neither of them any good to bring it up. What would they even say? Would they confess to their sins? Lament over the moment of their forbidden passion? 

  If it was exoneration that she sought, she wouldn’t solicit it from the one she ferociously kissed, but from her family, her clan and her husband.

 She was always in the back of his mind, on the good days and the worse ones. Though humiliated about it, the memory of their passionate moment made his cheeks flush. He touched her that night ー a married woman ー and despite the circumstances, he did not regret it. 

 The man understood her responsibility, her drive to do what is best for her village and its citizens. Is that all there really is to life? Liability? Duty?, the Senju pondered.

 Hashirama was a person who could not tolerate the prospect of peopleー human beingsー being used as pawns. It made him stiff with anger. After all, his childhood revolved around his utility on the battlefield. To the Senju clan leadersー his own father, nonethelessー, the 4 siblings, as well as many others, were nothing more than numbers; peons, to be used for mindless warfare that had lost its meaning long before they were born and before their father’s fathers own births. 

Who would he be if he abandoned someone when they needed him, again? 

It would be an insult to his people and his loved ones to let someone walk away, again. Even when so many people looked up to him, he felt ashamed. He could not even remember all his mistakes, all his sins, all the deaths he was responsible for. So Hashirama decided that he would not fail another time. He was aware of the repercussions he would face not only from both clans, but possibly from _____, too. Except, it could never sting as badly as the grim image of death knocking at her door as she squandered whatever was left of her life for a scrap of dignity and pride.

 Her reminiscing was perturbed, once again, by the sound of the wooden door being flung open.But this time, she readily turned her eyes to the other side of the room, where they met his. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Certainly better than before. I’m sorry for… you know, fainting on you.”, a small, ashamed chuckle was let out, which he imitated. However, his eyes softened to such a degree that she felt her entire face suffuse with red in front of them. 

He strode towards her bed, where he sat and took a moment to study her. “That’s good news. I’m relieved.”

 One of her hands snuck over the blanket and lightly squeezed Hashirama’s. She was hoping that the peaceful silence would last longer. Muttering a few words of appreciation, she wished nothing more than for things to stay that way.

His eyes were fixated on her hand, but he did not return the gesture. “I don’t think you should thank me yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“After I left you here, I had a… conversation with your husband and the elders.”. His tone was almost meek, but there were no hints of regret coating it. “It’s over.”

 The small gasp that followed did not surprise him in the slightest. Despite the sound being distorted by her mask, it bore just as much distress as he had anticipated. He had mentally prepared himself for every possibility.

Her mind raced aimlessly. Although her hand did not move, her eyes turned away, deciding to focus on the weather outside, behind the open window. In the aftermath of  her failure, she realised that there was no other way for it to end, but with shunning and disgrace. Although she would never admit it, she knew it from the moment she chose to kiss him.  

 Nevertheless, the world kept spinning, the sun kept shining, and, for the first time in a while, she felt its warmth and comfort, a blessing she had denied herself for so long. It was really over. Her dessicated lips curled into a smile. 

“I knew I should have asked you first, but I-”

“Thank you, Hashirama. It’s alright now.”

The moment their orbs connected to each other, she felt the hot tears welling up, reflecting a thousand emotions and he silently listened to them, accepting them. It was then that his marred hand reached back to hers and gently intertwined his fingers with her own.  Hopefully, the fidgeting would stop. But they knew it would not be as simple as that.

_____ brought her fingers up to her face, removing the somewhat bothersome mask. She bent forward towards Hashirama and placed a tender peck on his cheek. Even the burden on her chest seemed to slowly dissipate.

Hashirama’s hair smelled earthy, she remarked, the same as back then. Inhaling his scent, she relished when his free hand slightly pulled her closer and he rubbed her back.

 Her crime weighed heavy. She was aware she would be cast out for leaving her husband, for failing her clan, for owning herself. 

What was done was done. The new-found sense of freedom made her heart play a tranquil, bittersweet tune, an unfaltering rhythm that finally set her eyes on the horizon, one which she would definitely chase this time, no matter what came next. 

Maybe, if she let go of what she was, she would become more like him. Bolder, more unprejudiced, more independent. 

If one’s brave, they listen to the heart. If one’s a coward, they obey their head. But for cowards, there is no paradise.

[acid-hydrangea]

Three Years in Heaven

A few small glimpses at the winding, unending days of a certain boy.

(Includes post-story spoilers for both TWEWY games in their entireties, as this takes place between both periods.)

(AO3 Crosspost)

Night 1

It's dark.

So dark, he can hardly see his own hand in front of him.

He feels something.

Not by touch, no.

Someone silent

Yet that presence, their aura

It's so familiar,

It speaks one thousand words,

Nondescript, vague and cluttered,

Looping, repeating, silently, yet loudly,

Except for a few that ring out,

"How was your first Day back in the Underground, Neku?"

"... Josh?!"

Neku’s first cry, it's full of relief, shock, words caught in his throat finally let out of the cage in his throat,

"Josh... You..."

His voice rises, he clenches his fist, he's finally back on his two feet,

"Where the hell am I?! Why am I back in the UG again?! Did you..."

Neku crumbles, just a bit, hand over his chest, where his non-beating heart is,

"For the third time..."

"Did I kill you? Well, isn't that the question of the decade."

Neku yells once more, wishing for nothing more than to be heard, and for once, to have his questions answered,

"Don't fucking screw with me! Just give me an answer...!"

He seriously feels like he's at his last straw. Joshua's unconcerned nonchalance was going to be the death of him.

"... What a way to thank your savior." Joshua pouts. "That twisted Reaper had excruciating plans for you, you know."

"... Huh? That Reaper... Coco? What about her?"

"She killed you, sought to drag you to the Underground once more, to..."

Joshua held his arms out, gesturing to the absolute nothingness that surrounded them,

"Save the lost city of Shinjuku."

Neku doesn't even have time to process the fact that Coco killed him. It's not information he wanted to digest, right now.

"This is... Shinjuku? What the hell happened??"

"An Inversion." Joshua states, rather matter-of-factly.

Neku stutters, thoroughly confused. "A what, now...?"

"It's when the RG and UG collapse into each other, and cease to function entirely." Joshua sighs, twirling his hair curl between his fingers. "Much like if you were being choked. Your throat closes up, and you'd stop breathing. If prolonged, you could pass out, or die. It's like that, Neku."

Neku instinctively backed away, holding his hands over his neck, as if fearing Joshua would try to demonstrate.

It didn't help that Joshua was wearing the smallest of twisted smirks during the latter half of his explanation.

Perhaps Joshua just enjoys morbid discussions. That's none of Neku's business.

Joshua rolls his eyes, as if put off by how scared Neku is.

"... You should feel grateful I saved you, for the record. The job I have in store for you is a lot less painful."

Neku was still on the defensive. "...Oh, yeah? And what would that be?"

"To discover the very reason why an Inversion took place here."

"...You wanna tell me more, Private Dick Extraordinaire?"

"If I had more to say, I would have told you."

"I don't buy it."

"Well, isn't that a shame... Because you can't leave until you've figured it out."

If Neku addresses that, he knows he won't get meaningful answers. He doesn't even know if Joshua will stick around for long. He chooses his words carefully...

"I've seen what's left of Shinjuku. There's nothing here. How do you expect me to find any--"

"Make it work, Neku. We haven't got all day. How about you try to listen more closely?"

And just like that, the second Day begins.

Neku decides it's another day of endless wandering, once more, trying to listen to the absolute silence that he now knows is Shinjuku, Post-Inversion.

Night 7

It's been a whole week. 7 Days.

Joshua has yet to make another appearance, ever since that first Night.

Very little has changed, but Neku's grown a bit smarter. Learned a little more. Opening his mind to Shinjuku, bit by bit.

As his eyes close and the current Day ends, he has a familiar feeling he knows who to expect.

Joshua slowly claps, "I must say, you've really outdone yourself, Neku."

"Put a sock in it..." Neku crosses his arms. "I've barely picked up on anything."

"Care to share your discoveries with your beloved Partner?"

"What, you can't look around yourself?"

"I cannot so freely come and go from Shibuya like you, Neku." The look in Joshua's eyes turns a bit serious. "Even I have my harrowing responsibilities."

"... Is something happening in Shibuya?"

"Nothing for you to worry yourself over."

"Is something happening in Shibuya, or not?!" Neku steps towards him, three seconds away from grabbing the collar of his shirt, "Just because I'm not there doesn't mean I can't worry." There's a mix of anger and concern in Neku's tired eyes.

"How about an exchange of information, then?" Joshua twirls his pointed finger at Neku, pushing him out of his personal bubble. "Starting with that briefing you keep putting off."

"... Fine." Neku rubs the back of his head. "Like I said, it's barely anything... But I don't think the people of Shinjuku knew it was coming. It was like it surprised them all at once."

Joshua tilts his head. "... And?"

"That's it. I told you it wasn't much..." Neku reiterates, sincerely hoping Joshua doesn’t ask him for something he doesn’t have.

"No, I think..." Joshua rubs his chin, pondering. "That's enough, for now."

"Tell me about Shibuya, then. What's happening?"

"A handful of Shinjuku Reapers are taking refuge there. Our current Game Master has decided to allow them that mercy."

"... You seem bothered by the fact."

"My, my, you're getting much better at reading people, too." Joshua shoots him his trademark grin. "I have my suspicions that they partook in enacting their own city's downfall."

"Huh...?" Neku's bewilderment was apparent on his face. "Why would they want to tear down their own city?"

"Like I said, it's just a thought. How could it be that they are the only survivors, after all?"

Neku, too, began pondering this... Not that he really knew, though. This is Joshua he's talking to. Those Shinjuku Reapers could be totally innocent, and Neku wouldn't know,

“You’re the Composer, aren’t you? Why not kick them out if they pose a threat?” Despite his own thoughts, Neku figured Joshua would’ve taken more precaution--

“It’d be dangerous to let them out of my sight if they are responsible.”

Frankly, Neku had no argument against that. Joshua was right. Even so...

Neku's voice goes a bit quiet. "... Maybe something else caused the Inversion, though..."

"Hm, you think so?" Joshua snaps his fingers. "Go on, uncover more proof to back that theory up, then."

Neku's eyes shot open to the same, dreary sights as always.

It's sudden, but the eighth Day has begun.

Night 8

Neku had a very rare, very special, very horrific encounter against Noise.

He wasn't exactly prepared for a fight, but...

He had a few Pins on hand, luckily, it was enough to take it out.

He was surprised his psyches work as well as they do, given he's on his own. That's the least of his concerns right now, though.

Larger than most, it took all the longer to take down. Its attacks were also far more brutal, leaving every cut burning. After the Noise was felled, Neku felt revitalized,

but no, none of those were the concerning parts to be dealt with.

It almost felt like it was an amalgamation of human Soul and Noise matter that he was fighting.

Their thoughts were loud, so, so loud, forming words, sentences, phrases.

The cries, shouts, and whimpers it exuded all sounded incredibly human.

"No, don't hurt me! I mean no harm!"

"Go away! Get away from me!"

"What did I ever do to you...?"

"What... Where am I... What's happening?!"

"It hurts, it hurts!! Mama!!!"

"What are you doing to him?!"

Yet, they wouldn't stop.

They kept trying to hurt him.

Neku wasn't about to lay his life down, but...

He felt damn close to it.

The revitalizing energy that enveloped him after their defeat, it felt bittersweet.

He falls to his knees, collapsed, exhausted.

There are thoughts lingering, from all that it used to be. They sit there, as if waiting,

But Neku can't muster the will to do anything, right now.

His eyes shut on their own, refusing to perceive himself, or anything around him.

Neku wanted nothing more than to disappear, just like them.

The eighth Day is over.

Joshua looks forward, at the wisps of what once was a catastrophic bundle of Noise,

"Quite the curious entity that was, mm?"

Neku has no words. Nothing to say, to think, to... be.

The vacant, scared expression on his face... Joshua found it interesting, to say the least.

"...You okay, Neku?" Joshua tilts his head, as a few sparks of concern come through his usually sardonic demeanor.

Neku can barely get the words out, but he tries, "No... I'm not, actually." He's on the cusp of tears.

His voice could barely be heard by normal ears, but it's fine, because Joshua can hear him.

He always can.

"... Those thoughts aren't going anywhere," Joshua's tone has turned considerably sympathetic, far more gentle, possibly even genuine, "Let's just wait for a bit."

Joshua sits beside him, now.

Gently placing his hand on Neku's, he can feel it shaking, as it's clenched tight.

Neku feels the strange silence is comforting, simply because Joshua is here.

Neku, deep down, wanted nothing more than the company of someone else.

Especially right now.

Even if it was Joshua’s...

No, not ‘even’... He found comfort in Joshua’s knowing tone, and even in his kind gestures...

No matter how foreign it all was to Neku.

He didn’t feel like questioning it, right now. Joshua was the only other person here, the only one he could talk to.

Neku doesn’t want to take that for granted.

Neku tries to speak, once more, as tears blur his eyes, which he dared to open once more, too weak to look ahead, he stares at the ground below him,

at Joshua's hand, still tenderly holding his own.

"...Josh... Did I...", Neku gulps, trying to release the words tangled in his throat, "Kill those people...?"

"No, you didn't. They were already gone. You gave them mercy, if anything," Joshua brushes his thumb over Neku's hand, speaking calmly. "They can pass on peacefully, now."

"... You mean it...?"

"I do. They even left us their thoughts, it's something that can help us."

"... It can help us...?"

"Of course, Neku," Joshua gently brushes his shoulder against his, "Try to look forward, try to look at them."

As hesitant as he is, he trusts Joshua.

Joshua would take a chance like this to screw with him,

but he figured Joshua still has things for him to do.

And Neku knows he himself can't leave until he's done what he has to.

Whatever ulterior purpose Joshua has, refusing to listen to him would make things drag on.

He wasn't in the mood to deal with Joshua's ire.

... And who knows? Maybe Joshua actually was concerned.

Only if because Joshua wasn't his assailant, this time.

Neku looks forward.

There's naught but glowing wisps, a condensation of people's thoughts lingering in the air.

It almost seemed as though they were waiting.

"Try to read them, Neku." Joshua prompts him. "Read their thoughts, just like you've done before."

Joshua gently lifts his hand from Neku's, from which Neku tries to muster the energy to lift his arm... To try to understand the words waiting for him.

Neku feels weak, he hisses silently from a cut on his arm. It wasn't only because of the battle, no, but he hadn't noticed how tired he'd grown over the past week.

It's not like he was loitering around. He was trying his damndest to figure more information out, and find a way out of Shinjuku.

That last battle really cemented his exhaustion in--

Taking notice, Joshua helps, gently lifting Neku's arm up properly. He takes care to not worsen his injuries,

"There, just like that. Go on, Neku."

And so, Neku does.

Realigning himself with the thoughts before him...

He focuses...

He hears them.

"The pain, it's... Gone..."

"... It's okay now, right?"

"What was I doing before this...? Hmm..."

"That man, wearing a butterfly..."

"He looked vengeful, didn't he?"

"Mama, was there something wrong with him?"

Some of them pay Neku no head, some soon extend a silent thanks his way.

They don't speak to him, but he feels it, just before they all fade away.

A vague sense of gratitude.

Joshua lets go of Neku's arm, and Neku stands back on his own two feet, as does Joshua.

"I'd say that was worth it, no?" Joshua's snide tone returns.

Neku kicks at the ground, "... That battle sucked ass."

"You won though, didn't you?" Joshua winks.

Neku crosses his arms, "So what if I did..." Suddenly, Neku wonders, and his wounded arm falls to his side, being clutched by the other.

That battle... Still did a number on him, physically. It was difficult on all ends.

A concerned expression forms on Neku's face, "...Hey, I won't have to do that again, will I?"

"I can't say. You should prepare yourself for the worst, anyways." There's something different about the way he says that, Neku can't recognize Joshua's tone, but he rolls with it.

Neku is silent, his eyes pointed in Joshua's direction. He has better questions to ask.

"... Why are you here, anyways?"

"Why? Because I'm your Partner, Neku."

"Not what I meant. You're Shibuya's Composer. I didn't think you could do anything outside those boundaries."

Joshua chuckles, hand to hip, "You clearly underestimate my capabilities."

Neku rolls his eyes, "You were the one who said you can't come here yourself. Did you find some loophole?"

Joshua continues, this rare generous mood of his leading him to continue entertaining Neku with answers. "Oh, Neku... Neku, Neku, Neku... You are my loophole."

Neku realizes just how messed up his role as a messenger has become. He tried not to think about it before, because what could he do about it? Regardless, it still bothers him.

Neku sighs, "... You don't plan on letting me take a break, do you?"

Then, Joshua says something, that frankly, Neku didn't expect at all,

"Not my jurisdiction, that's all on you, Neku."

Neku's head is now fully turned towards Joshua, only to be met with his eyes staring back at him.

Neku tilts his head, curious, yet suspicious, "Is it, now?"

Joshua states, rather matter of factly, "You have a lot to learn before you can further deepen your understanding of what happened here."

Joshua grins with his eyes, yet his mischievous demeanor returns.

"By all means, take your time, Partner."

Neku opens his eyes.

It is now Day 9.

He's decided his fate is indeed in his own hands, and no one else's.

Neku spends the day trying to find peace of mind.

Night 21

“You don’t look too hot, Partner. Miss me that much?” Joshua asks.

Neku is silent, a strained expression on his face, eyes shut tight. Unresponsive.

It was like Neku barely heard him.

Joshua groans, wanting some kind of response from Neku. "If I didn't know better, I'd have assumed you went back on all of your changes, as a person. Are you back to hating everyone, Neku?"

Neither Neku nor Joshua look very well for wear, it’s been about two weeks since they last met. They've both been busy.

Neku’s sitting, hands pressed hard to his headphones, as if trying to listen to them like they’re broken conch shells.

Joshua sighs. “... Did you even realize the Day’s ended, Neku?”

Neku opens one eye, sulks, “I’m... Trying to find something...”, before shutting it, again.

Joshua tilts his head, “Would you mind enlightening me on what that is?”

Neku’s voice is quieter than usual, “... Their thoughts became muffled.” as if not wanting to speak over the City’s whispers.

“Hm... Isn’t that quite the predicament.”

Joshua sits in front of Neku, studying his face.

Looking from multiple angles, he notices Neku’s eyebags, seeing that sleep deprivation has set in, despite the mandated time that Days are supposed to end.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but Neku seemed a bit thinner, too. His arms, legs...

He’s definitely run into more Noise battles in the past two weeks, as well. Likely caught off guard for a good handful of them.

Wounds Neku poorly tried to hide and mend were incredibly obvious. A single healing Pin that needs time to reboot can only do so much.

Joshua has a lot on his mind, right now. A lot of priorities.

The Neku before him reminded him strongly of that.

“Maybe I can help. Take your hands off of those precious headphones of yours, Neku.”

Hesitant, yet stuck with no other answers, Neku complies.

“Guess it’s worth a shot, whatever you... Hey, wait--!”

Joshua swiftly robs Neku of his Headphones.

“There. Try it, now.” Joshua grins slightly, patting Neku’s headphones, as if reassuring him of their safety in his hands.

Grumbling, Neku thinks, ‘There’s no way it’s that easy...’

He tries to focus his mind once more, hands hovering over his ears, where his headphones used to be.

... He begins to hear things he once couldn’t.

His strained expression ebbs away slowly.

Joshua looks on, a silent giggle passes his lips.

Watching Neku’s expression relax, as he listens clearly to new thoughts floating in the air...

It made Joshua feel a fleeting sense of happiness, as he too felt rather worn-out.

Lowering his hands, opening his eyes, the exhaustion in his eyes faded out, even if just a little.

Neku whispers, quietly, “... Thanks, Josh.”

“Really, you were helpless without me, Neku...” Joshua jests, yet there's a hint of melancholy to his words, “You’re welcome, though.”

Joshua gives Neku his headphones back, placing them around his neck, then helps him back up on his feet.

“Try using that sixth sense of yours more, Neku.” Joshua's eyes fall to the side, “‘I’ve been quite busy lately.”

“Right... How’s Shibuya been?”, Neku asks... A slew of concerns rise up on his mind’s list of priorities.

Joshua crosses his arms, “Depends. Do you have anything new to report?”

Neku tries to think carefully about how to say this... He sighs, and decides to just be honest.

'... No. Not yet...”

Directing his eyes back to Neku, Joshua gives him a hard stare, for a few moments...

Joshua decides he’s had enough, for now, “... Since you seem to be having a hard time, I’ll forgive you this time, Partner.”

Neku releases a breath he held in anticipation, “Oh, cry me a river, why don’t you...”, He figured Joshua would stop being cooperative eventually, he’s just surprised it hasn’t happened yet.

Twirling his hair curl around his finger, Joshua continues, “In any case, the Shinjuku Reapers have basically taken over Shibuya’s Reaper Games,"Joshua tuts, rubbing the hair between his fingers casually, "The previous Game Master was unable to stop them.”

... Neku tries to not think about how that probably wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t off the previous Conductor.

Well, the Shibuya he knows and so dearly loves would be no more, but still... Part of his mind thinks, ‘at least there would have been one’...

Judging by Joshua mentioning only the Game Master... Did he even hire another Conductor, yet...?

... Neku didn’t feel like risking getting on Joshua’s bad side. Not to the extent that asking would bring about, anyways.

After a long pause, Neku replies. “... You say that like it’s not a huge deal.”

He knows better than to worry himself sick over things he can't control. If Joshua doesn't seem worried, chances are it's fine.

Joshua runs his hand through his hair, other hand in pocket, “Hah. Hard to say, really. If I’m being honest?” There's a slightly vicious look in Joshua’s eyes. “I’m kind of excited to see where they take it.”

... Neku takes it back. He forgot Joshua fakes his emotions for a living.

Neku crosses his arms, “Sounds like you’re lying through your teeth, Josh.”

Joshua realizes that he’s not the best at keeping up his facade when he himself is exhausted.

That, or Neku’s just gotten to know him that well. Joshua's little tics, stims, fidgets...

He kind of hates it, but he also kind of loves it. That wasn’t Neku’s business, though.

Joshua replies, brushing the hair out of his eyes, “It’s fine,” he rolls his eyes. “They’re not doing anything blasphemous, in any case.”

The silence is thoroughly awkward, between the two. It’s a wonder that the next Day hasn’t begun yet.

Joshua is just waiting, while Neku has other things on his mind...

Neku sighs, “... I get that you’re basically a God, and everything, but are you taking care of yourself?”

Joshua gives him an irritated look, “What, worried I can’t handle a bit of pressure from the opposition? You wound me, Neku.”

“Geez, is it wrong to be worried about my Partner?” Neku mumbles, rubbing the back of his head, “You just look... Tired.”

The more he cared, the more Joshua took offense to it, “You’re practically bleeding at every cut. You really have no place to be speaking to me like that.”

“Sorry, I haven’t exactly had time to rest,” Neku scoffs.

“That makes the both of us, then.”

“Guess it does.”

The two stare at each other for some time, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed.

...

Neku sighs, letting go of the tension in his shoulders,

“Josh, I think we’re both tired as hell of all of this.”

Joshua tilts his head, unconvinced, “Your point being?”

“We need a long-term game plan.”

“You think I don’t have my own?”

“If you do have one, feel free to let me in on it.” Neku stands his ground. ”Just telling me to relay information to you isn’t exactly what I’d call a good plan.”

Day ???

"Well, well, if it isn't my splendiferous wonderful old friend, Nekkykins!"

"Hey, Coco."

Neku was given a brief explanation on what was going to happen, some time ago. He would return to Shibuya with the assistance of the Harrier Reaper Coco Atarashi, which included assisting her with something else, afterwards.

‘... And you’re telling me I have to wait a whole month before she gets here?’

‘That’s the deal, Partner. Don’t worry, it’ll all pay off in the end.... You trust me, don’t you?’

Said assistance would likely lead to more information about the Shinjuku Inversion being uncovered, as she has close ties with someone who was investigating, as well... That person in particular was in need of help.

"Since I’m here to pick you up, we should get going soon! Althooough... I also have something else for you!"

... Neku knew better than to let personal feelings get in the way, at this point, but he couldn’t help but feel somewhat bothered... Even so.

It's too much trouble to hold a grudge against someone for taking your life.

Even if it was isolating, horrifying, and downright made him feel like he didn't exist... For three, long, years...

It was fine. It ended up being for the greater good--

Coco cheered, “Here are some fresh new clothes for you!"

Neku’s response was delayed, as he’s deep in thought. "Huh...? Thanks, I guess."

"C'mon, c'mon, try it on, at least!" Coco prompts him, putting them in his hands. "Those old clothes must be so dingy and tight, by now!!"

"Alright, I get it... Give me a second."

It doesn't take too long for Neku to change, once he's found a place to do so.

Somehow, his old clothes never did shrink, if any part of his wardrobe did stay the same size through the years, it would probably be his old headphones and music player.

He was no longer in possession of either, though.

... The new clothes were pretty comfortable. Fits his style, too.

Coco claps her hands, "You look suuuper cute! Plaid really suits you, y'know!"

"Uh... Thanks.” Neku rubs the back of his head, somewhat bashfully. “Can we get to Shibuya, then?"

"Yes, yes! Buuut, before that... We should arrange for a place to meet up after you get there. It'll be alot easier to explain things!"

“I’ll be helping your friend out, right? Then she can tell us more about the Inversion that took place here.”

Coco nods. “Super-duper Splendiferous! You already know what you need to do!”

"Works for me. How about we meet up at Cat Street... Wildkat work for you?"

"Oh, you mean where it used to be?” Coco takes Neku by the arm. “Sure thing! Let's gooo!"

Not being given the time to process the implications of 'where it used to be', the two are already off to the races.

Things seem... Different, as Coco's dragging him along. He's not sure, but... Somehow, the inverted city of Shinjuku didn't seem as small or cramped, as the two approach it's border.

He didn’t even know there was a border, but if he guessed anyone would know about it, it would be a Reaper of Coco’s caliber... And not someone like himself.

While they're running at a brisk pace, Coco realizes something, and slows her pace. Letting go of Neku's wrist, she turns to him. Guilt apparent in her puppy-eyes, she bows before him,

"By the way... I'm ever so sorry for what I did three years ago!! I'm a whole new person now, I promise you!!!"

Neku can't shake the feeling that he can't trust or forgive Coco, no matter how close she thinks she is with him, and even if he's determined to help her friend.

It doesn't mean he can't try, at least. Neku gave the guy who killed him twice multiple chances to make it up to him, why wouldn't he do the same here?

... And for one thing, she actually apologized.

"... It's alright. That reminds me, though..."

"Oh? Do tell."

... It was fine to ask, wasn’t it? There was still one thing he was dying to know, for as long as he’s been dead.

"Why did you kill me, anyways, Coco?"

There's a vacant expression resting on his face, as he asks.

Any frustrations, tears, any sense of despair for his own death... It left him a long time ago.

He had the feeling death meant very, very little to Coco. Surely, it was just a small question to her.

"Ahh, about that... The truth is..."

Coco fiddled her thumbs, guilt written all over her face,

"IwantedyouandMisterMini-MotototeamupandsaveShinjukutogetherbutthenitwastoolate..!!!"

Coco takes a deep breath, having confessed in one fell swoop.

... It took Neku a second to process that.

Well. It was what it was.

"It's alright. Let by-gones be by-gones, and all that, I was just--"

Suddenly, a headache crashes through Neku's head,

"G-gh..." He clutches his head, staggering.

Coco exclaims, "Are you alright, Nekkykins?!"

It's another Vision. A Future Vision.

“Beat, are you okay?!”

“Don’t stop-- Keep goin’! I’mma stay here and keep him at bay.”

That's... It's Beat's voice.

“P-p-preposterous!”

“I can’t give y’all a speed boost right now... So I gotta slow him down instead. Ya feel?”

Something’s hurting him, someone’s hurting Beat--

“What’re ya waitin’ for? Go!”

“And leave you behind?!”

“I’m tryna buy y’all some time here, yo!”

“And what happens when you run out of time?!”

“We’ll see.”

What is he doing... What is Beat doing?!

“No, we won’t!”

“There’s no way we’re letting you face him all by yourself! You’re gonna get erased!”

Who?! Who are they facing--

... Erasure...?

“What-- you don’t think I can handle ‘im?”

“No, I don’t!!”

“Defeat is inevitable.”

“Y’all cold, yo!”

“And you’re hurt, Worms-For-Brains!!”

"Either we all escape together... Or we all fight together!"

Beat, you have to listen, BEAT--

"Look-- I’mma need you to chill for a sec. We all stay and fight, we all get erased."

“... B... Beat...? What are you doing...?”

Coco’s saying something, but Neku can’t hear her. He can’t hear anything except for--

"Ain’t nobody gonna be left to save Shibuya... I’ll catch up with you later, but for now, y’all gotta go.”

Is he... Is Beat planning to sacrifice himself...?

“Sorry, pal... Can’t let ya through.”

“Beat!!!”

That younger boy called out in fear, clutching a Pin desperately, a weakened Beat is holding back a rampaging Leo Cantus, there's no chance he’ll last long--

Before Neku even realized it, every second that Future Vision amped up, his legs were running for the Barrier of Shinjuku,

The vision ebbs away, but everything in it is burned into his mind,

‘He looks so different--'

any exhaustion Neku might have had was completely gone,

'He looks how I used to look, even with his own headphones--'

replaced with the urgent need to save one of his closest friends.

'He's throwing his life away to protect the others, the other Players in the visions I've been getting for the past three weeks--'

Neku's thoughts are burning inside his head, as the Vision keeps replaying in his head, he feels like he's about to combust,

‘Hang in there, Beat, hang in there!’

He doesn't even realize he's completely left Coco behind, but

There are tears streaming down Neku’s face,

his breathing's turned erratic,

his non-beating heart is beating, loudly in his chest,

Neku needs to get back to Shibuya,

Neku needs to save Beat,

Right now,

Before it's too late.

Before it's too late...

BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE--

[wordsablaze]

Into The Unknown

Yennefer has never been particularly fond of djinns but she doesn't entirely hate them until they cause trouble for Jaskier a second time... day fifteen of whumptober.

A/N: last whumpskier fic, getting halfway is enough for this year !! today’s pairing: yennefer/jaskier | prompts used: possession / magical healing

-

Djinns are far more trouble than they’re worth.

Rinde had been a good example but Yennefer doesn’t truly accept it as a concrete truth until she comes across another one that also causes a small disaster. Or rather, until Jaskier comes across another one.

She hadn’t actually meant to run into him but she’s not complaining when she hears him start playing a song he’d written about her because, well, it’d simply be rude to ignore that gesture of good faith. Not that they need anything as flimsy as good faith to keep them together.

“You look absolutely ravishing, my dear,” Jaskier drawls as he settles beside her.

She smirks. “I know. Shame I can’t return the compliment.”

And for once, she almost means that. He seems to have taken a leaf out of Geralt’s book and dressed himself entirely in black and white, a bright shirt nestled in between dark breeches and an even darker doublet that matches his pointed boots.

Any other time, she might have just been teasing because she won’t lie when she says he can pull the look off just as well as their mutual friend, but there’s something wrong with his outfit, something that has her on edge.

“Have you taken some sort of potion?” She asks, wondering why he seems to be radiating chaos.

He just winks. “Something like that. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” And with that, he slips away, slotting himself into a conversation a few tables away.

Yennefer stares after him for a moment, shocked. That’s not the way their reunions usually go and she most certainly will not stand for being left behind. Briskly, she follows, grabs Jaskier’s arm, and pulls him outside with a glare. “Are you drunk? Or have you perhaps lost those stupid marbles you keep yapping about?”

Jaskier lazily grins at her. “None of the above, Yennefer of Vengerberg. I’m simply enjoying the options that have been made available to me.”

A horrible feeling settles in her gut; he never calls her by her full name unless they’re trying to bamboozle someone into doing something for them and he always vows that she is his best option. “What have you done recently that involves chaos?” she demands.

He chuckles. “You haven’t sensed it yet? My, he might have been wrong about your power after all…”

“He?” Yennefer echoes.

Jaskier points at his own forehead before raising an eyebrow. As she watches, he blinks and his eyes darken from familiar blue to brown, to black, to all but a pair of empty voids.

She gasps but before she can do anything, he winks and smoke fills the air around her. By the time she stops coughing enough to curse, he’s gone. Both him and whatever it is using him as a puppet.

A quick round of questioning inside the tavern tells her Jaskier has spent the last week entertaining a vast range of people in a vast range of ways and she almost winces when she finds out because she knows the stupid bard will feel awful and apologise far too much when he’s back to normal.

It’s not particularly hard to follow the trail of chaos but it is painful when she remembers that Jaskier’s strange morals are going to give him an extremely hard time over the broken hearts, small fires, impossible promises, and handful of slaughtered animals that he’s left in his wake.

She finds him at the edge of town, running his tongue along a dagger.

“Who are you and what are you doing with him?” Yennefer demands immediately, waving her hand and sending the dagger flying into a nearby tree before Jaskier loses his tongue.

Jaskier smiles at her but it’s all wrong, cold and crooked instead of his usual warm expressions. It doesn’t help that his eyes are still awfully empty. “Ever so direct, I appreciate that. And he does too, he’s truly quite devoted to you…”

A strange mix of anger and affection rushes through her blood at the words but she doesn’t dwell on it, raising an eyebrow as chaos crackles along her arms. “Get out of him before I make you.”

“We both know that’s going to be rather agonising,” he says, but then his eyes glint. “Unless of course, you don’t. Haven’t you figured out what I am yet?”

She hadn’t, but she catches sight of Jaskier’s hands again - of the blackened fingertips and tendrils of what look like smoke running along his fingers, past his wrists and up his arms -  and it’s abruptly all too obvious.

“Of course I have. I’d recognise the work of djinns anywhere,” she hisses.

Jaskier smiles, pulling another dagger out of nowhere and twirling it in his hands, something that would be beautiful if he were in control of himself. “Then you know that forcing me to leave would be interfering with a wish and might lead to… well, consequences.”

“I don’t care what he said, this can’t be what he meant,” Yennefer scoffs.

That awful smirk returns as he holds the new dagger against his own neck, her magic doing nothing to cast it aside this time. “Oh, it wasn’t him. Just an interested party.”

She’s going to murder whoever it was when she finds them.

She doesn’t particularly want to force the djinn out of him because he’s right - she doesn’t know what could happen if things turn sour- but she can’t let this go since she has no idea what the wish was and how badly it’s going to hurt Jaskier if she lets it play out.

“We’ve done a lot of singing recently but I think I’ve had enough of his voice, haven’t you?” Jaskier asks, his expression full of innocence as he presses the blade into his skin without even flinching.

“No!” she yells, freezing the djinn’s intentions by stopping Jaskier’s hand, cursing when she’s met with more resistance than she’d expected.

“One of us is going to kill him!” Jaskier shouts, but his voice is deep, layered, not his own.

“Over my dead body!” Yennefer snarls back, tugging on Jaskier’s presence and pushing against the djinn, letting herself scream as she fights it, forcing herself to keep going even as Jaskier’s screams join her own.

She doesn’t stop until she sees his eyes fade from nothings into the blue she’s grown rather fond of over the years, until she feels smoke dissolve around them as the dagger clatters to the floor. Unfortunately, Jaskier also slumps to the floor.

Pushing aside her own desire to do the same, she hurriedly kneels beside him, cursing again when she sees his newly-acquired necklace of blood. His eyes meet hers, wide and terrified as he coughs up red, spluttering on the liquid that spills over his lips.

“Oh no you don’t,��� Yennefer hisses, placing her hands around his neck.

He panics initially, his hands weakly scrabbling against hers, but the shock in his expression melts into sheer relief as she starts willing his skin to heal. She can tell it hurts because his hands tighten around her wrists and a soft, broken whimper escapes him but, like before, she simply keeps going.

It takes longer than she’d like for her to undo the djinn’s damage but when she’s sure he’s not going to bleed out or lose his voice, she pulls her hands away, wasting a little more magic getting rid of the blood on her hands because for reasons she doesn’t care to decipher, she hates the very sight of it.

Jaskier groans when his neck finally finishes weaving itself together and Yennefer has one of her rare moments of regret because although the bard will never complain about her magically healing him, she knows it can sometimes hurt to undo an injury just as much as it did to acquire it.

“I’m so sorry,” Jaskier rasps eventually, and Yennefer’s almost surprised to see he’s crying.

She slips her hand into his, gently squeezing. “You don’t need to be, not for this.”

“But I-”

“Don’t argue with me,” Yennefer interrupts, but not unkindly. She doesn’t have enough strength to sound bitter anyway.

Jaskier sighs before letting his head fall back on the floor as he lifts his free hand to his neck, a small sob slipping past his still-stained lips. For all the emotions he cycles through, he doesn’t cry often, and Yennefer despises it when he does because it hurts her too. Gods, she really hates all these feelings sometimes.

She shifts, pulling his head into her lap and brushing his tears away with her thumb. “It’s okay, Jaskier, it wasn’t your wish.” It wasn’t your fault.

He squeezes her hand, curling into her with a jagged sigh. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice nothing like it usually is but still beautiful purely because he still has it, because the djinn’s master had failed to take it away from him, from them.

They’ll deal with the rest of the chaos later because neither of them want to move and good company can often be a surprisingly skilled healer.

-

so yeah, it’s been fun but life is busy and i’m gonna end this lil series here !! i have a lot of WIPs to work on anyway :p

-

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier

[sherrybaby14]

Forever

Prompt:  Stucky x reader A/B/O and dark! A/B/O

Summary:  You ran away from your Alphas and they find you.  (I’m a sucker for the runaway trope as well).  

Words:  2500 (I make my drabbles too long!)

Warnings:  A/B/O dynamics,  dub-con, SMUT!

Did you leave the stove on?  No, of course not.  You couldn’t remember the last thing you ate that wasn’t a microwave meal.  Maybe you left a window open.  The last time you opened a window was in October, when a random hot day hit.  All winter you were constantly checking the locks.

A neighbor must have stopped by.  Why?  You glanced to your left and your right.  Both houses had their lights on.  You couldn’t even remember their names.

They were too busy cooking meth or yelling at each other in the yard to pay attention to your dilapidated state of affairs.  

Two months in this place.  It was time to move again.  Find another shithole to live in.  That was all, just nerves of settling in too long.  

Your neck ached.  You tried to stretch it as you held your key out and walked up to your house.  There was a high school football game tonight and the diner was packed.  You’d lifted too many heavy trays.  

Once you got inside you would take off the waitress uniform and head straight for the tub.  Extra salts.  That would relax you.  

You let your mind wander about new places to move.  The slum landlord wouldn’t miss you.  He obviously didn’t care about your neighbors broken beer bottles all over your lawn.

Maybe a new place would be better.  You started to fantasize about what that could mean as you unlocked the door.    

Crunch.  You heard it as soon as you walked inside.  Your hand went to the switch and you flipped on the light.  

Steve was right in front of you.  A pill bottle in his hand as he crushed the remainder under his boot.  RUN! Instincts took over and you took a step back and turned, slamming into a hard body.  

You bounced back, but didn’t hit the floor as strong arms reached out and grabbed you, holding you up.  

Without looking you up knew it was Bucky, his hands digging into your arms harder than necessary.  The ache in your neck started throbbing and you realized it wasn’t from the tray, it was your fading claims coming back to life with your Alphas so near.  

Bucky leaned his head into your neck and inhaled.  The action brought a calm to your tiring bond and you almost wanted to sink into him, apologize and have them take you home.  

No.  Biology wasn’t fair.  This wasn’t you, this was the Omega needs.  You tried to shove him away, knowing it was a pointless gesture.  Bucky let out a growl and lifted his head.  

There was nothing but anger in hid blue eyes as he narrowed them down on you.  

“You’ve been very naughty Doll.”  Bucky opened his mouth and your blood pressure spiked.  

“No!  Don’t!”  You tried to push away, but his teeth landed in the exact same spot as his old claim and he wasted no time sinking them into your flesh.  

“Ahhh!”  You tried to twist away as the pain spiked followed by a strange sense of relief.  

The bond had a mind of its own and was happy to be renewed.  You let out a sob though.  Almost a year, it barely bothered you anymore, but breaking away from them had been a painful detox and you didn’t think you could start at square one any longer.  

Bucky lifted his head.  There was blood on his lips and teeth as he licked them.  You brought your hand to his mark and felt the wetness.  He let go and you tumbled backward, but again you smacked into a hard body.  

Steve wasted no time finding his own mark and renewing the bond.  You whimpered this time as your body went in a different direction from your mind.  

Your heart was fluttering with excitement at the reunion.  There was a dampness growing between your legs too.  All of the un-attended to heats over your time apart wanting answers and fulfillment.  

It hadn’t taken over yet though.  You were still capable of having a thought not controlled by your nature.  

“Get the car.”  Steve turned you around and flung you over his shoulder.  

Your head hung upside down as he went and grabbed a bag on the thread bare couch.  The gravity didn’t help your tears as they rolled down your forehead instead of cheeks.  

“Why?”  You whispered.  “They were fading.”  

In fact, you almost stopped worrying about this moment happening.  They could’ve claimed another Omega by now and continued on without you.  

“Because you’re ours.”  Steve’s voice was emotionless as he flipped off the light and walked outside.  

You pinched your eyes shut and pretended this wasn’t happening.  But that only allowed you to pay attention to the physical response.  Your claims were throbbing, but not with pain.  You could feel their saliva mixing with your blood, igniting a fire that had gone dormant.  

It was spreading all over your body, like a drug or a virus and soon you were going to be a complaint, whimpering mess for them.  Your Alphas were aware of that fact too.  Aware wasn’t the right word, welcomed it fit better.  

“I hate you.”  The lights from the car flashed ahead of you.  

Steve let out a growl.  THWACK!  He smacked your ass, hard.  You cried out, not expecting that response.  

Instead of stopping at the back door Steve went to the trunk.  Your heart flared and you tried to claw off of him.  

“Relax.”  Steve gripped you harder.  “Thought you deserve it.”  

He dropped the black bag in the trunk and slammed it shut.  

“Thank you.”  You cringed at your response.  

“That’s better Doll.”  Steve opened the back door and tossed you on the seat.  He rounded to the passengers side and got in.  

“You didn’t buckle her in?”  Bucky looked at Steve.  

It was like nothing had changed.  You still weren’t even there to them.  Your hand went to the handle.  

“Child locks.”  Steve buckled his own safety belt.  “Don’t bother trying.  Buckle up.”  

The Omega inside you purred at the instruction, listen to your Alpha, he’ll keep you safe.  But it made you sob.  Still you did as you were told, silently hoping the car did crash and you had another chance at escape.  

“It hurts.”  You clung to the sheets as you thrashed on the bed.  “I have to go back.  Please, I want to go back.”

“Shhhh.” A wet cloth was pressed to your forehead.  “It will pass in a day or two. You’re in the worst of it now.”  

Your handler looked down at you and gave a sympathetic smile.  You’d trusted her, trusted the network, but this was not what they told you would happen.  You tried to lash out at her, but your wrists and ankles were bound to the bed and the older Omega was too far to bite.  

“LET ME GO!”  You screamed and arched your back in agony.  

It was like the bond was a spirit inside of you raging at the separation.  Punishing you for being away from your Alphas this long.  

“I’ve been there before Y/N.”  She looked unfazed. “It will get better and you’ll be free.”  

She stood up and left the room as another wave of pain made hit your gut.  

The cramp from your memory became real in the backseat of the car and your pressed your thighs together.  

“How much longer to the room?”  Steve shifted in front of you.

“I can smell her too.”  Bucky hit the gas harder.  “I’m going as fast as I can.”  

They wanted you.  They were going to have you.  It made more juices pool at your core.  You pinches your eyes and shook your head, not wanting your biology to take over, but your reserve was already slipping.  

“Why?”  You asked the question again.  “You could’ve let me go, found another.”  

You reached forward and grabbed the back of Steve’s seat to brace yourself as another cramp formed.  The bond was spreading, they were taking over your body all over again.  Putting you right back in the place you never wanted, never chose, never belonged.  

“Because you’re ours.”  Bucky gave the same answer Steve had.  

The response did nothing to quell your fears.  They called you Doll, because that’s all you were to them.  But you should have been replaceable.  The only reason they hunted you down was to satisfy some Alpha ego trip.  

The car turned into a parking lot of a flea bag motel.  This was not their style, but there was hardly a Hilton in this middle-Of-nowhere town.  Bucky barely slowed down when he pulled into the parking space.  

Your body was turning into an inferno, you could literally feel it spreading up your face.  As soon as it reached your brain you were a goner.  How long until you came down?  A day?  Probably more like a week.  

Bucky killed the engine and both Alphas jumped out of the car.  Steve opened your door and unbuckled your belt.  He lifted you out of the car and carried you while Bucky pulled out the keys.  

“You’ve been very naughty.”  Steve glared at you.  “Don’t think all is forgiven.  But you need this right now.”  

“I don’t want it.”  You started to shake, like your soul was trying to tell you to shut up. “I don’t want…”

“But you need us.”  Steve interrupted with a warning. “Do you know we felt you?  What you were doing to yourself?  We thought you were kidnapped.”  

You looked away, feeling shame.  How could you leave them?  You were slipping.  These feelings thoughts, they weren’t yours.  They were your nature trying to take over after being denied so much the last year.  You took in a breath, as if you were slipping underwater and needed one final gulp of air.  

The warmth of your body became all encompassing and you wiggled against Steve.  He was your protector, he was your leader, he was your Alpha.  

“I’m sorry.”  You reached up and touched his cheek.  “Alpha, please.”  

Steve seemed to relax and looked at your with approval.   Bucky opened the door to the room and Steve walked you inside.  

“Undress.”  He set you on the bed.  

Bucky was already taking off his shirt as he kicked the door closed.  Memories of how sculpted the man was didn’t do him justice.  

“NOW Omega.”  Steve’s voice jarred you.  

Your hands went to the button of your waitress uniform and you started undoing them, the clothing feeling scratchy against your hot skin.  

“Working?  Living in a place like that?  Alone?”  Bucky glared at you.  “Taking suppressants?”  

“I’m sorry.”  You started to tear up.  “Please, forgive me.”  

“Buck, she’s in heat.  Now’s not the time for a lecture.”  Steve came behind you and yanked off the dress. “We’ll deal with the punishments when she comes down.”  

You let your head lull back against Steve, so grateful he took the dress off of you.  You looked up at him and puckered your lips, wanting to give him a kiss, but his jaw hardened and he shook his head making you whimper.  

You didn’t deserve kisses.  Bucky grabbed the rest of your uniform, drawing your attention back to him as he pulled the rest off, buttons flying everywhere.  

The action made you lift your hips and Bucky did away with your panties at the same time Steve unclasped your bra.  You moaned, the cool air on your skin welcoming.  

Bucky dropped to his knees and kissed up your thighs.  Steve grabbed your hips and lifted you up.  When he lowered you his cock was at your entrance.  Your eyes rolled back into your head as he split you, the empty feeling in your soul finally being answered.  

“I missed you.” Steve dropped his head and started sucking at his claim.  

The small affection mixed with the feel of his renewed bond made you purr.   Bucky let out a growl and you looked down at him.  He arrived at your center right when Steve stretched you to your fullest.  

His eyes were on you while his tongue found your clit.  He flicked it twice before sucking it into your mouth.  You twitched and squealed.  

Steve started flexing underneath you, making you slightly bob up and down his shaft while Bucky moved his head with your body, pulsing against your most sensitive bud.  

You never understood how they were capable of moving like this.  Bucky’s tongue swirled and Steve’s hands slid up your hips to your stomach and breasts.  He started kneading and pinching, all the while giving deep pushes inside your pussy.  

It was too much and too little all at the same time.  You needed more, more of them.  But you’d been so bad.  You didn’t deserve them.  

It should be you on all fours, with Steve railing into you while Bucky’s cock rammed into your throat.  It should be brutal, they should use you however they liked for what you’d put them through.  But here you were, the center of their world.  

“We’ll do that position too Doll.”  Steve’s voice carried a smile.  

It warmed your core.

“Am I speaking out loud?”  Your head fell back against Steve.  

“Tell us how this feels.”  Steve pinched down on your nipples making you jerk and moan.  “Tell us Omega.”  

“Like I don’t deserve you.”  You ran your hands through Bucky’s hair.  

He responded by pressing his tongue harder against your clit and humming.  

“Ehh!”  You formed fists against his locks, needing something to grab on to.  

“Keep going.”  Steve flexed harder, filling you almost to the point of pain.  

“Like I’ll be good.  I’ll be good for you, if you let me.”  You wanted to please them, needed to please them.  “Like I’m your Omega.  Always.”  

The admission brought a pulse to your bond and you were rewarded with a growing coil in your stomach.  

“Like I should have never left.  Like my place is with you.  Like I should listen to everything you say.  Like I belong to you.”  The coil tightened.  

Bucky growled in approval, sending another vibration to your clit.  Steve started flexing faster, giving the friction you needed.  

“Forever.”  You moved your hips at little as you could.  

Then you felt Steve’s teeth sink deeper into his claim.  It brought a pain, but the sensation was enough you fell over the edge, screaming and panting.  

You saw stars as your toes curled.  The heat flushed away, replaced with a cooling sensation.  Sweat broke out over your entire body.  

“Fuck you taste better than I remembered.”  Bucky’s mouth left your clit.  

You moaned at his absence, but Steve dropped one of his hands and pressed down in Bucky’s tongue’s place.  Then he lifted you up in the air and spun around.  

Bucky climbed on the bed and you found yourself on all fours.  You opened your mouth and relaxed your jaw as his cock pressed passed your lips.  Steve rubbed circles on your pearl while he started ramming in from behind.  

This was perfect.  This was where you belonged.  

“Forever.”  

[kanene-yaaay]

Vulnerable

Author’s note: 

Thank you all very much for all the support, reblogs, heart and kinds words that you give to me. I can’t call this a christmas gift, but I really hope that you like it and this small oneshot is able to light up your day! ‘w’)s2

Just like all the random ideias this came when I was doing chorus, because, of cooooourse my brain wouldn’t give me a plot when I’m free and with time to write. xDDD

Just a bunch of fluff with all the Light Sides atke caring of Virgil. I love to write these scenarios. sorrey words. No angst today. xP

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* Lee!Virgil and Ler!Logan. However, tickling isn’t the main plot this time. xP

* Hmmm… This is a fluff fanfic with liking for tickling. If you don’t like this kind of stuff, please look for another blog, there are plenty of lovelys and fantastic arts in this site!! ‘u’).

* Something around 4000 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Fanfics em português brasileiro (Portuguese Version) ! Thank you so much for reading, my lollipops! Have a wooooonderful day regardless it’s festive or not! Take care of yourself and of your family, friends... Everyone who is dear for you!  Byeioo!~

                   [~*~]

Vulnerable.

 This was a bittersweet word. Maybe a little too much bittersweet. It was that set of letters that provoked a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. That kind of set that if he asked to Logan to define it, would receive a very different answer from the one that he really felt to be the real one.

 Weak.

 He remembers his first days living with the others on the Light Side: spending a lot of time in his room, crackled his fingers with worrying frequency every time he got out from his place and ended up interacting with someone; was always fearful and, when this fear became almost impossible to maintain or hides and someone addressed him a word, the purple lover showed his personality abruptly, with rough and sharp words. The feelings beating, counting the seconds to see how much time it would last until they expelled him from there, because one thing was extremely certain:

 “ – I-I can’t understand. – His voice came out in a mix of tiredness and anger, sparkling almost as hard as his sharp, frustrated look. – Why do all of you still doing this? Why are keeping me here? Why don’t you kick me out? Why pretend that I never did anything wrong?? – His voice stuck in his throat before he could release the main question, that one which made his heart hurt for keep it for so long.

 ‘Why do you treat me like family?’

 - You are an essential part for Thomas’ welfare. – The voice from the logic aspect echoed in the room occupied only by the two sides. In truth, initially it was only for Virgil to be there. However, Logan just settled down a few inches away from the first one, a book in hands and deaf ears for the growl that came from the mouth of the anxious aspect. – Your vigilant and awareness about the reality’s state helps him to keep his two feet on the ground. Something that I am grateful.

 And then he elevates his glare, taking by surprise the pair of brown eyes, which quickly deviated his attention to the wall, before hearing the phrase that let out from the other lips, in a definitely softer tune.

 - None of us is perfect. We never were.

 Virgil felt his body relaxes with relief. Absolutely against his desire.

  He was not like any of them.

 It took a few days for these first reactions to fade little by little. The urge to flee decreased and the frequency he went out increased. He stopped to throw out sharp and rough words to speak less often. He would let himself fall in the steps of the stair and stayed there watching his phone and listening music. Much because it was his favorite hobby, and part because as this he could easily observed (and mot of time unnoticed) the Light Sides interacting.

  “- Hey, easy there. – Warm, loving hands gently held his own, and Virgil controlled his first instinct to retreat and flight, quickly recognizing Patton’s voice and gestures. Was it weird that in such short time he already could recognize each of them? By their voice’s timbre, way to walk, the position they had around him… Would it be weird if some day they knew that he already was aware about of all this? – You will end hurting yourself, son. – As the one who wears glasses spoke, he untangled Virgil’s fingers, since the purple lover was crackling them in five different ways since the beginning of the movie, when he was called to join the Family Movie Night.

 The paternal side has a special skill to utter more than words said, and Virgil felt his ears burn with the blush that hit his face when he realized how deep, delicate and affectionate that phrase was.

 - I am not your son. – Complained in a mix of grumbled and growl that only could be researched and pronounced with a lot of training. Patton laughed and intertwined one of their hands, the other one being free to ruffle the hair strands of the anxious side, who falsely angry puffed, breaking free from the touch.

 - Sure you’re not, Hamilson! – Roman smiled brightly, extremely happy and proud for the reference utilized by the heart’s representation. Logan seemed be the only one who really was paying attention on the movie, and soon Virgil joined him.

 Partly because the plot was really interesting and part because he wanted to ignore the sense of comfort emanating from his hand, which would be totally separated from Patton’s one if it wasn’t for the two little fingers that still tangled. Again, absolutely against his desire.

  And, with the pass (a little more) of time (his own time) he changed from the stairs to the couch and started to do the chores by the morning and not just at dawn, when the others were away or asleep. He also began to smile more from Patton’s dad jokes and the little fights between a Logan without coffee and a sleep-drunk Roman, who didn’t stopped to summon the most eccentrics possible (and impossible) things in the kitchen.

 Virgil began to feel equally comfortable listening to his songs even when he forgot/lost/gave up to find his headphones, and, as a thank you, didn’t complained about the 150 stories and/or performances Roman created based in each one of the lyrics. Even if those didn’t have much of that bitter taste from angst that makes the whole climax even more interesting, in his opinion.

 Just as he felt free to lean against the back of Logan’s armchair, reading over his shoulders when realized that the one who wears tie enjoyed some book about astronomy, since the theories about of how the Universe and everything with it emerged, were too precious to leave the shame kept him from reading.

 The sporadic jumpscares from the logical side as he became suddenly aware about the other’s presence were equally appreciated.

 And, in the end, Virgil relaxed and lowered his guard enough to take a nap when Patton sat at besides him on the couch, either to try ‘just one more!’ of the thousands of handworks that he so much loved, or just to lay down his legs after a particularly hard day on the kitchen. Sometimes he would woke up when the paternal side softly pulled him to rest his head in his shoulder or lap (depending on how much both were sprawled out in the furniture), running his fingers through his purple hair from time to time. Sometimes humming something while working or sometimes let himself lean on Virgil for a small nap, too.

  “Thomas yawed and it might seem, to anyone who watched from the outside, that he covered the other’s mouth, due how suddenly his voice stopped to excitedly fulfill the air.

 - You are tired. – It wasn’t a question. Virgil could not detect the very tone of voice that stuffed his sentence. – You should go to sleep.

 The bed where both were resting shifted a little as the human turned to see the hours before undoing the action until he could stare the purple lover aspect.

 - It’s still early. Logan said that I should stay away from the cellphone for half an hour before bed.

 No answer.

 - Come on… - Thomas replied, his supplicant voice mingled with that puppy eyes that should have been considered a cheating so scandalous until the point to have laws to forbidden them. Virgil began to feel his barriers falling. Damn it. – You know you’re the only one who has enough persistence to keep me from picking up my phone and start to watch animals being cute.

 The one on the hoodie growled.

 - Logan also told me that the yawning is a sign that the body is attempting to stay awake, which means that your theories are so interesting that I am really trying hard to hear any and every bit o-

 - Okay, okay!! – He prevented the other from completing his phrase, covering his mouth and rolling his eyes to the laughter that hit its moments later. – Just, stop with this… sentimental stuff. Urg. – And then withdrew his hand, both turning to face the ceiling of the room, seeing more than could actually explain. – So, where were I? Oh, yes. And that is why, if the aliens remained in the area 51 and it really was in Earth, the time travel…

 …

 And for some time they slept, but, as always, Virgil found himself slightly waking up when he felt the other’s arms wrap him in a firm and affection mixture that had probably taken training and time to research; and, even more surprisingly, the side on hoodie didn’t felt himself pushing him away or sinking to his own room, and yes relaxing and sighing comfortably. Soon allowing his eyes to close and both fall back into the Dream World.

 It took a little longer to feel that he really could lower his guards. Talked more, without fear of being inconvenient, wander by the entire Mental Palace like a lost soul (he was really proud of the amount of jumpscares he manage to get from the family), sporadically visited the others sides  to chat (but only when he was sure that they were in their room and in rare moments, just as he wished it were visits to his own room); and, finally, starting to realize, step by step, memory by memory, fight to fight, discussion to discussion and intern joke to intern joke which Patton’s card, the debates with Logan, the pranks with Roman and the conversation with Thomas mean.

 Which meant being in a famILY.

 Which meant being able to be vulnerable, to be himself, to allow himself to be attacked at any time, by acts or words, just for the simple and liberating fact that none of them would do so, and vice versa. Perhaps happened to exists some bruises, however never really wanting to.

 “- You never showed me your room before. – Virgil uttered, part afraid to bring this subject up, but the other part, the most insistent, being too much curious to let the doubt arrested himself. His feet played, submerged in the water of the small river that crossed this part of the room belonging to the creative side.

- Maybe because you never seemed like a nature lover…? – The prince answered with a touch of doubt, as he wasn’t very sure about his own statement. In the end he shrugged, which was a little weird, since he was floating and keeping himself in the same place between the river flows by an only vine tangled in his wrist.

 - Fair. So, you’re the type that is carried away by the appearances, huh?

 - What!?? – With the fright, Roman almost lost his balance, trying to sit up before remembering that he was in the middle of water and not on a solid surface. For a moment everything became a mess of water being splashed to any and every possible direction, something that would worries the purple side, if it didn’t took more than a few seconds to the creativity side stabilize himself again, staring him as he has been slapped in the face.  – Pardon me?? I am the romantic side! Nothing to me is more important than the soul, the essence, the heart! ~

Virgil was almost sure that it was some flirt in this sentence, which wouldn’t be such a surprise, since it was almost countless all the times Roman flirted with every side who simply happened to pass for him.  The battle between him and Deceit remained as a historical mark in the Mind Palace.

 - Mh hm. – Virgil replied, the sarcasm flying from his tongue with an incredible facility, something that the member of royalty was plenty used to. – Just a sec that I’m gonna be right back after fake that I believe in you.

 - Take the chance and give me my cellphone to call and cancel that intimacy that you think you have with me. – The sharp look released by the one using eyelashes matched with his royal teasing smile. It took a while, as everything else in life, but both finally had researched a point where they knew the limits to play and teasing. Not everything was always clear as water (Ok. Maybe he needs to decrease his time with Patton.) however, one day the two would get there.

 Roman began to suspect when, instead to answer with acid words; the purple lover really got his phone and started to type something. He swam closer to the margin.

 - Hey, Roman. What does “Aqui esta mi numero” mean?

- … Heres my number. – Virgil gave what would have been one last click on the screen of his device, and then, from the prince’s pocket, a sound exploded echoing through all the room.

 - SO CALL ME BABY!!! HEY, I JUST MET YOU, AND IT’S CRAZY!

 The representation of creativity probably would jump something around five feet from the ground if he wasn’t in the river. With clumsy hands and several incoherent half-curses, even more inaudible amid the song and Virgil’s laugh, he took some great time before finally refuse the call, stopping 90% the sound, since the one on hoodie stilled laughing.

 - Ha! Jokes on you, Stormcloud! I do adore ‘Call Me Baby’!

 The purple lover pretended to wipe a tear from his eye, before staring at him with a smirk shining in his face.

 - So, why all the fuzz to hush i- WOW! HEY! – The currents protests was due the vines wrapped his sides, seconds before drop him the water. The prince knew about the other’s swimming skills, so, his only concern was just laughing at his mate.

 - ROMAN! – He emerged, a dangerous look glooming and leading a shiver rand down Roman’s spine and a nervous smile spread over his face. All his expression has an only message: - Run.

 Survive Advice: If the aspect of Fight and Flight tells you to run, you run. Even if you’re in the water.”

  It was about this same time he began to have these dreams, that sweet dreams, which, when you woke up, don’t feel a heavy feeling in the chest but a peace. Those dreams which he would wake up happy, refreshed, ready to open his eyes and feel joy for liking his reality. That kind of dream that was important enough to remember. Most of this kind of dreams involved the three light sides, along with Thomas.

 Due this, there was no way he would leave his room is if he was sleepy. Remus had once confirmed to him that he really did speak in he sleep, and Virgil didn’t wanted to risk the others obtained this knowledge in the most cliche and weird way possible.

 Which would be soooo much easier if Thomas wasn’t going back to the habit of sleeping at F I V E   AM in the days he considered himself on a break.

 Nevertheless, sure, nothing in his existence was easy, was it?

 So, the second the purple lover opened his heavy eyes, he was aware of four thing in the exactly same time:

 1º - He wasn’t in his room.

 2º - A blanket covered him.

 3º - His mouth was dry.

 4º - He had no idea about what time it was.

 Trying to remove the remnants from the nap rubbing his eyes, the representation of anxiety went into the kitchen, soon coming back with a glass of water and sat on the couch, thinking how pleasant his dream had been and that he should soon write down all the details to not forget the butterflies in tummy, which still persisted until now.

 - You talk in your sleep. – It was not a question. It was a statement. Virgil almost dropped his phone, his body paralyzing for a second, the memories running fast and clear through his brain. Soft touches, smiles, that unbearable and yet so good sensation in his skin…

 Laughter.

 His face automatically burned as if he was making a tomato cosplay. With little struggling a look, part relaxed and part nervous, took over his expression.

 - Is that so? Did I said something? – Took a sip of water. It wasn’t cold enough to soothe the heat that still covered his cheeks and not hot enough to dispel the cold in his belly.

 - Affirmative. – Logan adjusted his glasses; putting the bookmarker before close the book and delicacy sets its aside in the coffee table. – Interesting, indeed; and enlightening.

 Curse the day that the one who wears tie began to love mystery books and now liked to talk in codes. Who does he think he is? Yoda?? Virgil almost frowned for irritation, but wouldn’t let himself be carried away by the other’s, who carefully observed Virgil calmly lay in the couch with his phone (turned off, that’s true) in hands, game.

 - I wouldn’t define a dream like that. – Retaliated with a grin. – They aren’t the best example of logic, you know?

 - I do not believe it is more about the dream itself, and yes, what it represents. – It wasn’t his impression, Logan did approached some inches. Virgil’s muscles tensed. – Many times, due being from the human’s subconscious, the dreams can capture things that usually the own conscious mind don’t even realize. Unnoticed memories, ancient facts that seemed been forgotten… - Little break. The representation of Fight and Flight felt the blush increased. He knew. He knew, he knew he knewheknewheknewheknew!! And even worse, he knew that Virgil knew. The purple lover felt a smile starting to struggle to open in his mouth. – Unvoiced wishes.

 The aspect on hoodie jumped from the couch in a millisecond, his mind clouded by the nervousness and euphoria, which started to took over his being just for the unspoken words. Logan knew about his dream. His secret desire that, even being relaxed and adapted and feeling loved around them, he wasn’t told to anyone yet.

 Tickling.

 The aspect of ‘Fight or Flight’ does not trip, Virgil was sure, however, the quickly approaching ground questioned his belief and, when his body collapsed on it and he turned to prevent Logan, realized too late that the said already has sat on his legs, an atypical smile in his face.

 - Don’t. You. Dare. – Half smiling, half defensive. The one on hoodie attempted unsuccessfully to break free, until when those words came out from the other’s lips:

 - Only if you are comfortable with that.

 Maybe it was for the certainty with which this sentence was said, or the affection it represented, or the worry that showed, or even the dream he had before and the chase that made each one of his ticklish spots euphorically tingle with just the thought of fingers wriggling on them.

 Maybe it was even for the sincerity and calm in his glare, as if he had said nothing much. Virgil opened his mouth for some seconds, but no sound came out. His eyes met with the hand on his ribs, the sensation to feeling they still being more unbearable than imagining them moving. His entire face blushed, which he tried to hide on his shoulders.

 - Whatever.

 An amused puff was the only answer from the logic side before his fingers scratched Virgil’s neck, leading the purple lover released a light squeal and pulled his face out of the hiding place, trying to protect the attacked spot. The tickles stopped, which made him open his, almost frustrated, eyes just to find Logan simply wriggling his fingers meticulously in the air, right above his skin, going from a spot to another while spread amount of electrics shivers through his nerves

 - I wonder where I should start the experiment… Should I go up and down? Focus in just one spot? Maybe one per time should be the ideal, since you seem be too ticklish in everywhere… - Virgil began to squirm, stopping in the last second with as a frustrated grumble pushed from his mouth. Knowing the representation of the knowledge and curiosity, these wonders were true. However, the smirk growing in his expression make him doubt about that.

 After sometime, Virgil opened his mouth, ready to ask for him do something (anything!), which showed to be a bad choice, since in that very minute the fingers met his ribs and a quick giggle let out his mouth, didn’t finding any barrier to stop it. The struggle from the purple lover (and, as it seems, tickle lover, too) to escape becoming a little stronger.

 - Nahahahahaha!! Lohohohgan!! – The fingers were making circular motions in the upper ribs. First giving attention to just one, then two, then three then... This before his mind get completely messed and he felt the tem fingers hiking his ribs. – NAHAHAHAHA – Uuuuup. – Wahahahahahahahait! – Dooooown. – NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT– Up it goes. – TheheheheheHEHEHEheheHEHEHEheHEHE!! – And now he went up and down and in random patters, focusing in just one side before presenting the same treatment to the other. Virgil hugged himself as tightly as he could, seeking prevent his arms to stop the feeling.

 - This sounds like a good place. – The logical aspect continued, his calm and stable voice being betrayed by his playfully (and a little bit crazy, it’s important to mention) painted grin. His hands stopped, moving away from Virgil and giving him time to take some sips of air and struggle to not melt in giggles that escaped from his lips. Logan held one of his hands, delicately pushing it up. – Nevertheless I ask to myself how it going to be with this so well hidden spot.

 - Lohohohohohgan! Nohoho! W-wahahahahahahait! – His face was bright by how huge was his smile, almost as luminously as the sparkle in his glare. The one who (always)  wears tie (and sometimes a unicorn onesie) slightly ned his head, his free hand entering under the hoodie and giving small light squeezes in each one ribs where he slowly walked by, generating a series of laugh intercalated by squeaks and quick jumps. He tried to free his wrist from the other’s hold.

 - Yes, Virgil? Is there something that you want to tell? – The purple side, who had the blush spread to his neck, just shook his head, without being able (or not wanting to) pronounce anything. His nose winkled and his eyes were lightly shouted down, maybe having the conciseness that the dark made him even more sensitive. ~

 Logan began to trace with an only finger irregular patterns in his armpits, happily watching him curl up a little and put even more effort to lower his arm.

 -Plehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehahahahahahase!!

 - Do you want me to speed up? Alright.

 And then all the five tickler fingers attacked all at once. Scratching, poking, wriggling, drumming and exploring every little piece of researchable skin to tickle from the other.

 - LohohohoGAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHAHAhahahahahahahaHAHAhaha!!! – Now, the laughter danced more freely and in a higher flow. Logan keep the tickles for a few more minutes, switching between armpits and upper ribs. Since not know the next step seemed essential to get more shrieks and high-pitched laugh.

 The logic side retreated, letting the representation of ‘Fight or Flight’ finally lower his arm and curl up, the laugh coming back to little sporadic giggles. When he opened his eyes again, Virgil faced a long dark-blue feather millimeters away from his bellybutton. His glare met Logan’s, noticing how equally his expression was with that crazy scientists, and wondering, for that brief moment, how his own expression looked like.

 “Like a light.” Logan would answer if he had the ability to read the other’s mind. “Because it looks like capable to light the darkest night.”

 “And…”

 - NononononO!

 He wriggled the feather into Virgil’s navel, who practically jumped with the sensation that hit without any warning his body.

 “He certainly would be a warning to a thunder, or even the coming storm.”

 All his nerves and instincts were laughing. Virgil was absolutely sure about that while his mind became a messy cloudy of laugh and happy tears accumulating in his eye’s corner. His smile went ear to ear and it was really impressive that Logan haven’t been hurled by the strength which he squirmed. The laugh reverberated in his chest and filled him with enjoy.

  “An adorable storm, indeed.”

 He stopped, because the loud sound could attract the others and the most rational side doubted this was something that the one on hoodie would like to. Give him some more to breath.

 - My gohohohohohohohohohosh… - He still squirming slightly, wiping some small fallen tears. – Yohohohou arehehehehe ruthlehehehehehess, right?  

 - I believe that I was quite carried away by the experiment. – He lifted up the feather, unaware about the electric shivers running Virgil’s spine just by this movement. – I suppose that you enjoy light tickles as well, am I right? Would the neck be a good spot for this?

 Virgil didn’t answered for a few moments, ultimately agreeing with a quick nod, and feeling the other rise from his, now numbs, legs. Logan readjusted himself by his side, letting the feather softly dance on his neck, tracing his jaw, which trembled for the small chuckles that escaped from the said, until this spot behind his ear, which made him release gaps of laughter.

 In the end, Logan got up, going towards the coffee table to recall his book, before coming back together with the glass of water in hands, quickly handing over to the purple side, who still couldn’t erase the euphoric wobbly smile from his face. Seconds of comfort silent permeated between both. Virgil fight against which its representation before breaking it.

 - Thank you.

 Logan blinked, a bit surprised, before nodding, putting the feather in his pocket and letting a small smile took over his mouth.

 - I’m glad for we share this… bounding moment. It was quite pleasant.

 - Seriously?

 - Sure.

 - Well it was… pleasant for me, too.

 Quick smiles. Happy glares.

 - Don’t ever talk about this with anyone! Not even about the dream! – Sibilated.

  - I’m afraid to not know what you’re talking about. – And the one who wears tie left the room, his amusing sentence still floating in the air. Virgil couldn’t help but smile one more time, absolutely against his desire, sure.

 Vulnerable.

 Now he understood the sense that this word could assume when surrounded by the right people.

 Trust.

[fox-guardian]

Okay so about the post where they miss Jekyll and you clarified that Jekyll isn't gone-gone, just is currently Hyde, but then mentioned that they know any sip of hj7 could be the last... might.. mightn't we.. get some a n g s t... of The Last Sip and when the gents all realized it's The Last Sip?

((Slight blood and what I think still counts as body horror warning.))

Lanyon and Utterson waited patiently in the former’s laboratory, which he had fashioned over the years into a nice little area perfect for taking care of one specific little problem. A knocking on the window announced said problem’s arrival. 

Lanyon stood up with a huff and opened the window.

“‘Ello,” said Hyde, peeking in, “Sorry to have kept you all waiting, I got… held up a bit at the pub.“ 

"You need not explain, Edward,” replied Utterson, “Your bruised cheek and swollen lip say everything.”

Hyde chuckled as he climbed inside. As per the routine, Hyde would go out every other night to let himself go, and then return to the safety of Lanyon’s lab to change back. He freshened himself up and changed into Jekyll’s clothes, which still smelled of his cologne, and Lanyon handed him a vial of that glowing green formula, the same specific recipe that had been so reliable for several months now.

That formula had always worked well. Very few side effects, the transformations were less painful and random transformations were less frequent, and he always changed back just fine. He swished it around in his hand, watching the little bubbles sparkle. Then, sitting down in a chair for comfort and minimal chance of injury, he took it all down in one gulp. He set the glass aside, and waited.

And waited. 

And …waited.

“That’s… taking a bit long, isn’t it?” asked Utterson, attempting but failing to hide his concern.

“What did you eat?” asked Lanyon, “What you ate could’ve affected the… effects.” He was less articulate than he usually was when it came to medicine, likely due to just a little panicking.

“Nothing I haven’t had before. I hardly ate anything – hardly drank anything!” Hyde was the worst at hiding his fear. He was never good at keeping his feelings inside.

“Now, now,” started Utterson, “I’m sure it’s just taking a bit longer than usual and will… surely start working very soon.”

And so they waited a bit more. Lanyon shifted where he stood, Utterson drummed his fingers on his lap, and Hyde bounced his leg. 

“Wait,” he said, “I think I feel something…" 

Utterson sighed in relief. Lanyon, being a scientist, began questioning him "W-What is it? What do you feel?”

“Uhhh…” Hyde skimmed his mind for the right word, sweeping his hand for emphasis, “I-I feel… something…”

“SPIT IT OUT, MAN!!” shouted Lanyon.

“GIVE ME A SECOND!!” Hyde shouted back.

They waited with baited breath, they’d never been excited to see a transformation before. Utterson sat on the edge of his seat, Lanyon leaned towards Hyde, all were waiting and hoping, but terrified that no payoff would come.

Hyde held up a finger, he shifted a bit… and loudly burped out a puff of green fumes.

Lanyon grimaced at him, “That wasn’t funny, Edward.”

Hyde threw up his arms and glared at him, “I’m not trying to be funny! I’d never joke about this!” He stood up and went for another pre-portioned vial of formula, “I just need a little more, I think-”

“Is that safe?” Utterson cut in, standing up.

“Probably not,” answered Lanyon, lifting the vials out of Hyde’s limited reach, “especially not so soon. We have to wait for something to happen.”

“For what?!” Hyde yelled, jumping up to reach the vials.

“Something more than a burp!” he snapped back, pushing him away.

Utterson sat back down, trying to compose himself. It was fine, everything was fine. Just a small hiccup, he can have a different vial soon, everything will be fine. He’ll change back into Jekyll and… Oh what he wouldn’t give to see Jekyll again. It hadn’t even been a day, but when your dearest friend literally doesn’t exist for a few hours, it makes you miss them a little more than you would normally. He looked at Hyde, still hopping up to grab a vial from Lanyon. He was wearing Jekyll’s clothes, the white didn’t really suit him, or maybe it was the way it all hung from his frame. It was so wrong, so very deeply wrong. This may be the closest to Jekyll he may ever be again.

Utterson tried to push that thought from his mind, but the longer he looked at Hyde, still unchanging, still Hyde, still not Jekyll… it made him feel sick. 

Hyde stopped jumping, he let out a soft gasp, “I think…”

Lanyon started to interrupt him, “If this is another burp I will-”

Hyde doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach. Utterson and Lanyon felt only a little bit shameful for being excited about that. Hyde fell over, his veins bulging and turning black as his mouth began filling with green foam – all of this being perfectly normal, nothing strange yet. Blood started leaking from his eyes, nose, ears, mouth – also perfectly normal, nothing to worry about. He coughed, groaned, shook and moaned, his hair started to stick to his now sweat-soaked skin… and then it stopped. The black in his veins faded and the sickening purple returned to his skin. He held out his hairy, clawed hand for a handkerchief, and Lanyon handed him one. He wiped his face and… nothing… nothing had changed at all. There was no bone crunching, no blacking out, no gargling, no actual transforming. It hadn’t worked.

“What…” Utterson stared at him in shock.

“No, no, no,” Lanyon said, his booming voice tense, “you’re supposed to be tall, and old, and less weird looking-”

“Hey!” Hyde snapped, glaring up at him.

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS RIGHT NOW, YOUNG MAN!!”

“WELL, MAYBE IF YOU COULD MIX THE FORMULA PROPERLY THIS WOULDN’T BE HAPPENING!!”

“Let’s not go bLAMING EACH OTHER, NOW” Utterson cut in, startling the others with his sudden yelling. He took a deep breath, “My apologies… Edward, if it would make you feel better, why don’t you mix a fresh vial, hm? To make sure you don’t miss anything.”

Lanyon scoffed, “I am perfectly capable of mixing chemicals, Utterso-”

“This is not aBOUT YOU, HASTIE!!” He shouted back, far angrier than the others had seen him in years.

Lanyon looked down in shame.

“… I’m sorry, Lanyon…” Utterson said, “I’m just… a bit distressed at the moment.”

…Hyde took his supplies and started mixing a new batch for himself. He poured himself a proper potion with precision, and drank it down.

They waited.

And waited.

And it happened again. They didn’t have to wait as long, but the result was the same as before. No transformation, just a lot of pain. No limbs stretching out, no organs rearranging, no hair falling out, no Jekyll. 

Hyde lay on the floor in his own sweat, staring up at the ceiling, chest heaving as he recovered from his non-transformation. “Why isn’t this working…?” He asked, but it didn’t seem to be directed at anyone in particular.

Utterson’s blue eyes grew wide and misty as they darted around the room trying to find something to fix this, but he saw nothing that he could make sense of. Lanyon surveyed the materials on his tables but could only think of trying again, though that could prove deadly if done too many times. Hyde finally sat up, joining them in looking for something, a solution, an instant fix, a sign from god, anything at all… but none could find anything they hadn’t tried before. 

Hyde began stumbling about the room, picking up glass after glass, box after box, turning them around and pushing them aside. He had gone around the room almost three times before the others noticed his eyes had starting welling up. 

“There has to be… has to be something… please… this can’t be… can’t be true… must be something here…” he whimpered. They had never heard him sound so helpless before. For a moment, the gravelliness was gone and he almost sounded like Jekyll again. 

When that thought struck Utterson he let out a sob and buried his face in his hands. He could see nothing but his eyelids but he could hear Hyde growing more frantic, pushing things off of tables and punching walls only to recoil in a fit of frustration and anger. In some sad way, it reminded him of Jekyll, and that only made Utterson cry harder. He remembered when Jekyll started deteriorating while working on his formula, maybe if he’d done more to help this wouldn’t have happened. He thought about those times Jekyll would disappear for days on end and wondered if he should’ve checked on him then, if maybe that would’ve done something. He remembered when Jekyll would change part of himself suddenly after behaving oddly in the days prior, perhaps that was a sign of darker days to come. He thought back to how strange he had been in his youth, how wild he’d be, how free he always seemed, he wished he could’ve brought those feelings back to his dear friend. He remembered in perfect detail the day they met, perhaps if Jekyll had never greeted him so kindly and smiled so sweetly… perhaps it would’ve spared Utterson all this pain.

Lanyon sunk down to the floor, his face pale and eyes staring deeply into nothing. He thought about the past few years, how Jekyll had almost killed him after revealing himself to be Edward Hyde, and how Utterson had brought them together again. He thought about the awful experiments he performed, the successes, the failures, the hugs, the hatred, everything that had gone right and everything that had gone wrong. He thought of his university days, of how he met Jekyll in the first place. He thought of how strange he had been back then, but how brilliant. He thought of the games they’d play, of the secrets they’d share, the bear hugs, the handshakes, the jokes, the gossip, everything that would never again be possible. Not after this, never again.

They wondered if death would’ve been easier to deal with, but knowing that Jekyll was still there somehow, trapped inside the body of this twisted, murderous version of himself, completely erased from physical existence, never to be laid peacefully to rest…

Utterson slid out of his chair and fell into a sobbing heap. Lanyon’s face ran with tears as he let out an enormous scream. Hyde stumbled over the mess he’d made and fell, wailing and crying out in desperation and terror. 

“Please!!” He cried out, choking on his tears, “I want to be Jekyll again!!” He fell over, sobbing until he was too exhausted to move.

“I want to be Henry again…”

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

my life story continued..

In the winter of 1999, our hot water heater broke, and we had to heat water in a bucket on the wood stove. Which was also our only means of heat, so we all got bunk beds – except him and we all slept around the wood stove in our bunk beds. When my mother left, she also took every one of the antique toys I played with growing up and cherished, and also all my antique golden books that are worth hundreds, my specialty 80's toys, my goosebumps collection and she had my uncle Rusty who owns a successful second-hand store in Kellogg Idaho, pawn them for her so she could take the money and spend it on meth. So from then on until I was about fourteen, I didn't have many things. I ended up just keeping every piece of homework I got back from the teachers, and I collected rocks at the creek. Those were my things. My friends would come in my room sometimes, and they would be absolutely baffled because unlike them, I didn't have things. I just had boring rocks and sticks on my shelves. My father bought me a learners guitar that Christmas, but I made the mistake of taking it to my mother's house where her boyfriend went and traded it for something and I never saw it again.

So when I wasn't at my mom's horrible place, I was freezing to death at home, or suffering from anxiety death in school. This kind of pressure was probably good for me, but I will never know because I've only done it once and do not care to do it again.

Mrs. Brammer, my 4th grade teacher, probably getting the let-in from my 3rd grade teacher, that I was an exceptionally 'stupid' child decided that I was a slow learner. So in fourth grade, they got me started on reading Dr. Seuss books. It was kind of made known to me that I would never evolve past children's books. It didn't help that my nose was constantly bleeding out of nowhere or that my hair was super frizzy. Sometimes in class I would push my eyes as hard as I could till I saw really great colors. I would do this for most of classes sometimes, just to avoid having to be where I was, or be who I was.

My reading score was atrociously low, I will admit that. I am not sure why that was. Years later when I went to college for a brief time, they skipped me past English I to English II because I when they gave me my aptitude test I tested perfectly. Anyway, I am in a sense not sorry I appeared so unintelligent, because I ended up reading all the Shel Silverstein books, and I read The Lorax, which is such a progressive book, it probably taught me more than three years in class at my dumb elementary did.

That winter I had the misfortune of permanently fucking up my knee pretty good. I didn't break it or anything,  but I had a real crash with my bike that fall. Then when it just started to heal, I fell down a flight of stairs, which reopened the scab and made it even worse and infected. And just when I thought I was done with the misfortune, I ended up slipping as I walked down the hill to go home after school, and I fell knee first into hard cement that was graciously sprinkled with monstrous hard little pieces of spiky basalt, and there was a strange burning tickling sensation like no other, and when that knee finally healed, the skin looked pretty awful and to this day it's kind of shimmery.

Because I talked to myself a lot, I guess someone reported me to the counselor. So for a short period of time I saw a counselor named Mrs. Friedburger? Something like that. Doesn't seem right but that's what I remember her name being. She came from Arkansas for some reason, just to be a counselor in this tiny little elementary school in north Idaho for some reason that I will never know the reason for, and she had a very thick accent. She was actually a really nice lady. But sometimes she would ask me these amazingly frustrating questions that nobody could answer, especially a 4th grader. She would ask me how I felt, and I would tell her. And then she would ask me what I felt underneath that. And I didn't know what on earth she meant. I was not aware that there were two or more feelings going on at the same time. I tried to explain to her that I didn't have any other feelings, but she persisted till I gave her what she wanted to hear. But then she would ask me for another feeling underneath that, which, if the second one had any grain of truth to it, the third feeling was a complete and total fabrication. I was not sure what she wanted.

She ended up assembling me, and two other girls in my age group, a girl named Nicole, who would end up having a reputation as being a pretty loose girl who was always drunk – even in school and now lives in a camper in a North Dakota oil field, and a girl named Casey, who always seemed frightened and always dated druggy rednecks who treated her rudely even though she seemed very nice herself, though a bit dull. She now is a waitress, and if for some silly reason you ever want to go visit the small pointless town of Kendrick Idaho, you can surely be guaranteed to be served by her if you so fancy.

Mrs. Friedburger called this group The Children Of Divorce. We played this board game based on divorce. Which was like bingo and candy land mixed together kind of. Then we would go around the room and we were forced to answer questions and open up about our feelings about our parents divorcing. Listening to these other girls talk, I really got the sense that, as bad as my life was, I felt like I had something else within myself I could turn to. These girls were very much like sponges. They just openly figured they would do exactly what their mothers did. They had no opinions, and their lives actually seemed rougher than mine. Both of them had rotten stepfathers for instance. They had to worry about these stepfathers in a way that I didn't have to worry at home. And I didn't even have it good at home.

I got the feeling that this wasn't really helping me at all. It probably wasn't. I got frustrated too, because Mrs. Friedburger really wanted to believe that the source of my instability and eccentricity was due to the sorrows of my parents divorce. I tried to explain to her that I just didn't like going to my mother's house, but my parent's separation was a huge relief. She just didn't buy it. In her mind, I think she really believed that all children react the same way, which they do not.

My father wasn't all that great to me though after awhile. Still didn't compare to what these girls had to go home to, but it wasn't good either. My father is incredibly talkative. He often times will talk to someone for three straight hours. Many people have said it is somewhat abrasive. He doesn't really like listening. He gets this openly annoyed look on his face if you pipe in at all. So, him going through a divorce and whathaveyou, he had a lot to say about my mother and about life in general, and I was there to hear the whole thing, but I never learned how to have an actual real conversation from him. He would talk to me until I was exhausted. I was happy to be getting so much of my father's focus, but there was a large element of this that simply wasn't fair. I had no voice, and he was making up in his mind who he thought I was. I don't think my dad can help this, but if something isn't all about something he can be doing, he really doesn't seem to genuinely understand it. I mean, he's a smart guy, and curious.

He listens to people more now that he is older, and he reads a lot and I think in his way tries very hard to understand other people. But he fails in many regards. He really just doesn't get anyone he has ever known, never had a single friend who stuck, girlfriend, and he rarely talks to his family, and this is partially because he's a total sucker. And partially because he talks and talks to people and doesn't really empathize with them. He means well most of the time. He's capable of empathy, but this empathy has to be spelled out so clearly in the sky, being broadcast from speakers repetitively, that it made him a very difficult parent for someone like me to have. He also has something kind of off about his memory. Every single day, he will kind of repeat what he said yesterday, or even a few hours ago. Growing up with it, I got used to it. But when I got older, I realized there was something kind of weird going on.

Anyway, once a month too, he flies into a rage and has to take it out on someone aggressively and with complete hatred. It's something you can mostly always count on.  And that someone was generally always me. He would randomly be very cruel to me. I became extremely mistrustful of him. Because he would be very nice to me, and very focused, and then he would yell at me, call me stupid, demand things from me, scare me, shame me. And when he had me to the point where I was crying and could barely breath and didn't know up from down, he would get in my face and mock me till I felt like I was nothing. This must have made him feel better. For the life of me, I don't know what he did this for, but it had to have served some kind of purpose. After crying myself to sleep, my face stung from the salt of tears, I would go to school, be treated like nothing by my friends and teachers, go to my mother's for the weekend, be treated like nothing, and then by the next week, my father, my one and only friend would have mysteriously lost his anger and be very chipper and want to talk to me. And I think my younger siblings would watch these fights happen, and they in a way would grow to look down at me at times, internalizing the concept that I was somehow a polarizing human being. Because they were very little and did not understand what I had done wrong, but they knew it was bad.

I remember one time he repeated to me over and over that I was stupid just like my mother. And I was ugly. I was having some troubles with spelling. Which is funny because my father can't spell

apple' and I actually nearly won the spelling bee twice. He ended up throwing the spelling book at me and told me he couldn't stand looking at me anymore.

Everything is moving towards it's end, and to a new beginning, kind of. At school, I just could not keep following ten feet behind Samantha and Sarah Mae as they pretended to be Spice Girls on the playground anymore. I wrote a letter telling Samantha that I didn't want to be friends with them anymore and that neither one of them cared about me. Of course this became GIRLFIGHT! And Sarah and Samantha would gossip and look over at me. I was told that I didn't do enough to hang out with them, and I was actually the one that was isolating myself  by being such a weirdo, returned in a letter under more fourth grade girl terms. Then Catherine, who I had never liked, but who was also being left out by them decided to jump on my bandwagon and separate from them as well. She then decided that I would be her new best friend.

I was sitting by myself under the shade in the corner of the playground, when Catherine started throwing rocks at me. This was always the kind of thing that I didn't like about her. She demanded that she would not stop until I became her best friend. So, I meekly agreed to be her best friend eventually. Which I hated saying. I didn't want to be her friend, but it was kind of hard for me to feel comfortable sitting in the lunch room by myself, so I took her up on terms of convenience. She then told the school counselor, Mrs. Friedburger, who was happy to see I had made a new friend and we were both sent to the counselor's room to tell her what good friends we were. But it felt like I was getting married with someone I could barely stand. I wanted her to go away, but she wouldn't.

Then, in the midst of this whole thing, Mrs. Brammer randomly assigned everyone in the class with a planet, and we had to be randomly teamed up with another student. And low and behold, they teamed me up with precious Sarah-Mae. We had never really formally hung out. She was always either hanging out with Catherine, or Samantha even though we were in the same group. It was pretty awkward to be teamed up with her while I was hashing it out with Samantha, and having an involuntary marriage to Catherine. I was great at not doing homework, but I wasn't so good at throwing other people under the bus if I could help it.

Then, that same week, my father met Sarah-Mae's mom at the store, Carol. Carol had been my dad's first serious girlfriend. He dated her when he was in the rock band for three years. Then he cheated on her, twice. And it broke her heart, and then she moved to Hawaii and New York City and Seattle where she had really interesting jobs, and she got a few degrees in college that she had trouble ever applying, and eventually she had Sarah-Mae, but then Sarah-Mae's dad went crazy, and they moved to Kendrick, which was where of course I lived. Sarah and I had actually met once before, in Zany Graze when we were three years old. I have no memory of it. But she had randomly came over and sat next to me, which was unlike her since she was a shy child.

So my father found out I had this project, and as he saw Carol as someone he could talk and talk and talk and talk at, he decided to bring me over so she and I could work on it. There was no way for me to avoid her, much as I wanted to. We were destined to be friends.

It turned out that Sarah-Mae and I had a lot in common. We were both really invested in drawing. We liked the same shows. I thought Sarah's room was really neat. She had a fish tank in her room. Her mother had built her a giant dollhouse for her barbies. She had a dog named Bear Dog and a cat named Precious, who hissed at me when she saw me in the house. Carol made us popcorn, and she listened to the radio. I thought she was definitely a cool mom. Their home was cluttered, but in a neat orderly way. Like, the fridge was covered in magnets and there was a lot of antique things and plants about, but everything was where it should be just the same. Sarah had a lot of knick knacks. She liked to skateboard, and play super Nintendo.

I will admit, we didn't hit it off as well as Rachelle and I did. Rachelle and I had been almost too good of friends. We just sort of became the same person after awhile. We were inseparable and we tended to cause damage and chaos everywhere we went. She had the same inner wildness as me,  only Rachelle could actually show it, where as I have always been a secretly wild person who has trouble finding outlets. Sarah and my friendship has always been different because even while we are close and very similar, there is always a distance and a strong sense that she is she and I am me.  It's not a bad thing, it actually kind of fosters an appreciation you might not be able to have if you were to not have boundaries, but it makes for a completely different kind of friendship. There were rules with Sarah-Mae that you had to kind of go by. Which made me feel awkward because I didn't have any rules at all. She was a much more existential friend than Rachelle had been.

She didn't have rules to be mean most of the time, it was just part of her nature. She had stomach issues so she could not eat certain things or she would become horribly nauseated. She had to carry around crackers all the time in case she would get sick. This was I think something that burdened her life so much it actually became part of her personality. Till well into junior high, she rarely ever went to her friend's house, with a few exceptions. We all had to visit her. Part of it early on was that she was so attached to her mother that she felt bad if she stayed the night somewhere else. This always baffled me. I was always looking for an excuse to get away from those lunatics at home. But even so, after her mom wasn't the reason anymore, that's just kind of how she is most of the time. You have to kind of work around her a bit. It's something you get used to. She has to gauge everything cautiously before she jumps. And I have occasionally had to push her out of her comfort zone I think.

Her room had to stay in a certain order. When you stayed the night, you had to make sure your feet were clean, I have always felt weird if I overate in front of Sarah too, even though I am sure she doesn't actually care – especially now. In a way, for me at least, I always kind of wanted to make her a Rachelle. There is something a little bit lonely at times about being Sarah's friend. But we really just love each other a lot. Sarah was actually a very nice person at home. She was always a fantastic listener. She didn't have the same taste in destruction that I did. So I learned to kind of suppress my inner anguish and delightful need for chaos at least a little bit, though she seemed to appreciate, at least in theory that I was that way. I wouldn't say that Sarah isn't that way herself. It's just different somehow. She is a very pleasant gentle person who harmonizes with people, and studies them in a way that is very pleasant to be around. There is a level of thought to things she does that most people put no thought into whatsoever. I think that being around her probably offset a lot of traits I would have otherwise picked up from my family that I would have been a lot worse off for having.

So after learning that doing the Venus project wasn't so bad after all, we just started hanging out everyday we could. It became almost a daily routine. We would get off after school, go to her house, share a bag of popcorn, watch Pokemon, and then we would both draw alien girls together. We bonded over this. Sarah for the first few years lied and said that somehow she had come up with alien girls first, though she later admitted to me that this wasn't true. She just was envious of them and wanted to draw them without feeling like she was copying me.

This made my life a lot better overall. Catherine was not too happy about it. There was this big fight over who get's to have 'The Renee' in the playground. Sarah grabbed one of my arms and Catherine grabbed the other. I remember both of them were tugging on me. I felt pretty annoyed. I had told Catherine to go away. She was crying, and saying I broke my promise. And she's right, I did. I had forged a friendship with Sarah-Mae, which made me an in-disposable member of 'the group' again. Catherine was kind of mean. I know she was just a little girl who's family was messed up. And she's grown up to be a pretty nice person from what I can tell. She avoids most of her family. She's married to this guy who I actually work with. They are both kind of dullards by my standards. But they seem to really love each other and they have some kids. So I am glad that Catherine went on to have a somewhat good life.

By the end of the school year, I still had a lot of issues. But I was sort of adjusting to Rachelle not being around anymore.  

Then I had another really horrible worst day of my life – at least to me back then. We were going to have picture day at school, and my father, in a rare moment of empathetic realization thought that perhaps I might like something to wear for picture day that year.. He talked to Carol – who had already grown weary of him (and probably still didn't like him from the times he cheated on her when they were young), and she was going to take Sarah-Mae down to the really atrociously horrible clothing store that was in Kendrick. Basically, it was a store that had overpriced 80's clothes in it, before it was realized in the 2010's that 80's was actually fucking awesome and we had forgotten. So Sarah and I went together to this dumb store, where years ago my sister Maria had the cops called for shoplifting.

Sarah and I both struggled to find something acceptable for school, but we eventually both wanted the same shirt. I was a lot heavier than Sarah. The shirt fit me, but not spectacularly well. It fit Sarah very well. I remember going into their changing area, which was basically part of the room, and for some reason I will never understand, Carol started talking about how much prettier and more petite her own daughter was than me with the snotty woman in the store. I had up to that point, not really compared myself to Sarah in that way. But it became obvious to me that in that moment when most people saw us hanging out in town, they probably just saw a cute skinny girl hanging out with a fat scraggly girl who's clothes didn't fit.

It really was too much. Me now – I would have said something snarky and made everyone uncomfortable. Or I just might not care. I have an extremely exquisite sense of aesthetic. I also don't value life in this way. But to have an adult ultimately talking about how fat I was, was really hard for me to take. To be fair, I think the store lady was the one who really was emphasizing my weight per say, but Carol was using it as a launching pad to talk about how lovely her daughter was compared to other girls. I was too afraid to come out of the dressing room at that point because my entire body was shaking and I was weeping silently. Eventually I found the strength and held it in and came out. Sarah looked extremely guilty. I don't think she really liked what they were saying about me, but didn't know what to say. She was trying to pretend it didn't happen. She certainly wasn't going to go against her mother. Carol then superseded my decision to get the shirt that I wanted, and instead I ended up buying nothing and I felt totally horrible. Sarah got the shirt, and she wore it for picture day. Looking back at the pictures, I wasn't all that fat at all. It was just that Sarah was still 70 lbs. I was probably 105 lbs. And I was pudgy. I was at that stage where you have to stop shopping in the kids section, but I didn't know it yet. And actually, that shirt sucked. The shirt I ended up having to wear was way cooler.

I held my breakdown in somehow for the rest of the evening, even though it felt like a golf ball was jammed in my throat. When my father picked me up after work later that evening, even though it's a bad idea to cry in front of him, I did so anyway. I lost control and started wailing. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I think the outburst shocked him to at first have sympathy. He tried to comfort me. But then I think the notion that other adults saw me as less started making him feel insecure as well. Like, in his dumb little head it was like I had lost him an award. I could not stop crying. Eventually after twenty minutes of this at home. He began screaming at me. He told me I was fat and ugly and that everything Carol said about me was true. I wasn’t like other girls. I was an ugly freak. He told me to shut up. He told me to shut up a lot growing up.

I cried until three in the morning or so.  Before finally mercifully passing out from exhaustion.

In case you want to read the first parts of my personal tale here are the links to the first, second, third and fourth parts.

PART 4

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/160729982054/being-10-in-1999

PART 3

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/160399693214/about-me-the-third-part-i-did-it-after-all

PART 2

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/160333575899/life-story-part-2

PART 1

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/160186590059/about-me-life-story-part-1

[lunar-root]

“I don’t know how I expected a rape victim to act, but I didn’t expect her to be so funny. Or to be punk, in this kinda sexy bleached blonde but kind of too lazy to really care sort of way. Or to be so up front.

“I may be a lesbian because of what happened to me, I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter at this point.”

I guess, maybe in some way, I didn’t expect her to be so over it. Part of me, unconsciously, believed people who had been raped were irrecoverably broken, and she wasn’t. I had an ex boyfriend who said he thought rapists should be subjected to capital punishment, which I suppose is a more extreme articulation of that unconscious belief. Once a woman has been raped, she has been destroyed.

People aren’t destroyed through being raped though. They suffer immensely, but they are just as much themselves after the rape as before.

Another rape victim I dated was a butch woman who had just adopted a kitten that completely befuddled her. When I went back to her apartment, the kitten was everywhere attacking everything.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’ve historically been more of a dog person.”

She was pretty open about her anger towards men, and her sexual orientation was difficult to quantify because her attractions included “any gender that’s not cis male.” Can’t say I blamed her. But, despite her anger, she was completely and fully her. Even if she drank too much, and even if she hated men, her fundamental essence was untouched.

How I think of women who have been raped contrasts greatly with how I think of men who have experienced non sexual violence. One of my male friends was standing outside a club when he was hit from behind. He fell down, and two guys came up and kicked the shit out of him before running away.

I think that event changed him in some ways. We used to do jiu jitsu together, but he had a particular drive that I think was borne of that experience. He’s very good, I think he teaches it now. Yet, when men get beat up, I don’t ever entertain the impression that some part of them may have been destroyed. (I actually think there may be an opposite problem, namely men not getting emotional support because we don’t take their trauma seriously. I’ll have to write about that later.) If a man’s behavior changes after an attack, we don’t use this as evidence to support an unconscious belief that he is broken. If you told someone that a man had learned jiu jitsu after being attacked, I think the vibe would be “well, that’s pretty reasonable.” If a bisexual woman decided to date only women after being raped, the vibe would be “oh, she’s broken.”

This belief in the “brokenness” of those have experienced sexual trauma is highly damaging. None of us want to be broken. I don’t want to be broken. And, at least for me personally, this belief in the uniquely destructive power of sexual trauma prevented me from honestly confronting some of my more difficult sexual experiences.

A few years ago, I was out getting drunk with a bunch of male friends, and one of them offered to let me crash at his place. He was someone I trusted, someone I’d been friends with for years. When we got back to his place, suddenly he was all over me, and he’d managed to get his fingers into my vagina before I was able to physically restrain him. I remember confusion, and then shock at realizing his fingers were inside of me. And, I remember how he wilted when I stopped him. He shrank with shame, and I felt so guilty. I spent the night, but I couldn’t sleep, and slipped out at 6am after giving him a kiss on the head.

Then, I brushed it off. I had years of therapy after that, and never brought it up because I didn’t think it was significant. Yet, there were a few differences. I didn’t like being touched anymore. I stopped dating men, and then stopped dating anyone. I lost all sexual desire, and have been single now for about a year and a half.

I also started meditating. “Crying” has been a big part of my meditation practice. Just, nameless, faceless crying with no discernible reason. I sat a meditation retreat for 7 days, and the first 5 days were spent crying. I was completely exhausted, and in discussions with my teacher I basically said “I can’t keep doing this” and she basically said “keep trying.” Then, sometime around the fifth day, I stopped crying. I had expected some sort of catharsis, or release, or knowledge or something, but it wasn’t like that. I just stopped. And, after that I felt better. Not totally better, not like, I don’t still cry sometimes. It was just like — this nameless sadness that seemed to have no bottom ran out, and where it had been there was nothing.

Shortly after my retreat, I was reading a Savage Love where a woman talked about a male friend of hers trying to finger her when he was drunk. Dan Savage told her she’d been the victim of sexual assault or attempted sexual assault. And, when I read that, I was like “how can she have been sexually assaulted? That’s exactly like what happened to me, but I wasn’t…” So, I looked up sexual assault. Apparently if someone touches your vagina against your will, that’s sexual assault.

I pondered over that. I read about what happened emotionally to people who had been sexually assaulted, and a lot of it fit with my experience. The blocking it out. The justifying. The guilt, the aversion to touch, and hyposexual desire. They were all common responses from people who had been sexually assaulted. And, when I read about that, I felt relief. These mysterious things that I had been feeling had a source. I also think that I was so lucky to have gone on those dates with those women, because I already had a deep understanding that people who have experienced sexual violence aren’t any less awesome or less complete than those who haven’t experienced it. Without that understanding, I think admitting to yourself that you have experienced sexual violence is harder, because you also have to think of yourself as “broken.”

I continued to wonder about why I had been so dismissive about how painful I found that experience, and at the heart of it was “it was just a more extreme version of how I always feel with men.” I came out as bisexual when I was around 12 years old (or “was outed” I should say) and ever since then, I have faced a lot of unwanted sexual attention. People accused me of just being bisexual “for attention” despite my own lack of agency around coming out, and despite the fact that they were the ones giving me all the attention. Boys asked me to kiss other girls, and initially I complied. I was 12. I didn’t know better. When I got to high school, I was regularly asked for threesomes before ever losing my virginity. Boys would sometimes grope my breasts, or put their hands up my skirt, or make loud public comments about my body.

Eventually, I learned to fight back. I remember one time, after being called flat chested, shouting back at the guy “we can’t all have tits as big as yours!” and watching him flush deeply. Additionally, I was on the wrestling team with a bunch of guys who respected me for my wholehearted commitment to the sport, and I think that helped. Having a bunch of big, jock friends made people less inclined to fuck with me. Still, between the ages of about 12–14, I had been bombarded with so much sexual harassment that I had normalized the feeling of it. I knew I didn’t like it, but it didn’t feel strange. It felt familiar.

In retrospect, I think I may have had an especially bad run because I am a bisexual woman. Bisexual women experience a disproportionately high amount of sexual violence compared to straight and lesbian women, and that innately makes sense to me. I was repeatedly singled out for sexual attention because I was bisexual and, as the only out bisexual woman in the grade, I was a single target for the many boys who were fascinated by female bisexuality.

Anyway, I had already normalized the sensation of sexually directed harassment before I was even a teenager. It’s very particular sensation, but hard to describe —for me, it’s almost like nausea mixed with sadness and shock. I cried the first few times I felt it, but it soon became so common that I started numbing myself to it. By the time I was in high school, I was already fairly numb.

So, when I started dating men for real, I was already primed to not complain when I felt this feeling. Sometimes, however, it was so bad it broke through my numbness. When I young, one of my early boyfriends pressured me for sex. We were lying in bed, and he kept asking over and over again. I can’t remember if I explicitly said yes, or if at some point I just stopped saying no, but he ended up mounting my un-responsive corpse and pounding me until he came.

“How was it?” he asked me.

“It hurt,” I said. Then, he became really sad.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he kept saying over and over. I said nothing, and just lay there, but resolved never to say yes when I didn’t want sex again. It was a horrible feeling, probably one of the most horrible things I’d ever felt at the time. I think something in me closed that day, and I could never be really open with him again.

The thing was, despite whatever lie he told me or told himself, he knew I didn’t want to have sex with him. He knew I didn’t usually lie there like a dead fish. He could tell when I was wincing in pain. When I told him I had been in pain afterwards, he showed no surprise. I had only articulated what he already knew but was pretending he didn’t. Yet, for a man to seek his own sexual gratification from my body while knowing, but not caring, that it was causing me pain seemed so normal by that point that it didn’t seem like a big deal. There’s a word for what happened to me that day (sexual coercion) which was useful for me to discover.

But, what was more useful was actually another Dan Savage letter (I totally ❤ you, Dan!) It was a letter from a guy blaming his girlfriend from backing out of an orgy after she had said she was ok, but was giving clear signs that she wasn’t.

Your girlfriend wasn’t okay that night, CIC, and you knew it. She was telling you what you wanted to hear, CIC, and you knew it. You should’ve called the whole thing off, CIC, and you know it.

The idea that, if someone knew I didn’t want to do something sexual that they shouldn’t do it, was completely alien to me, and yet made total sense. Would I continue with an activity if my partner clearly didn’t want me to?…”

[docholligay]

A Crack of the Heart Crystal

@rhiorhino YOU WERE MY SPARKLEE...and I’ve had this in my drafts since before my trip whoops, so I hope it serves, I used your “Haruka fucks up in an early days mission” There were many things Michiru Kaioh quite enjoyed about her new partner. Partner, no, that perhaps seemed a bit intimate, considering the fact that they had been forced together by fate. Comrade...that seemed either a bit Communist or a bit jovial, and she couldn’t decide which she liked the least. Colleague. Yes, that seemed to fit the best, at the present moment, whether the relative distance of it pleased her or not. Her colleague had a number of very positive attributes, some of which, Michiru was pleased to say, she had noticed long before she’d realized Haruka Tenoh was Sailor Uranus.

Her raw athleticism, her keen sense of physicality, her kinesthetic grace--these things benefitted them in the field, and also, strangely, seemed to lower Michiru’s requirements for the heating bill, though this particular benefit she thought best kept to herself.

But for all of Haruka’s gifts, both practical and aesthetic, there were certain things that worried her.

For one, Haruka had a hero complex. Michiru recognized that this would not be seen by most as a negative for someone, who was, in fact, a superhero, if they could be called that. But Michiru saw things differently. Courage and impetuousness and commitment to duty were all very well in the storybooks,  but in the context of an intergalactic war, she simply saw it leading toward an even earlier grave.

Discretion is the better part of valor, she had told her once, after Haruka had charged unthinking toward an enemy, the shot from its arm digging deeply into her shoulder.

Haruka had simply shrugged, and mumbled something about how she knew that.

“You don’t understand a word, I don’t believe.” She had snapped it dismissively, and leaned forward. “I mean to say it’s more heroic to avoid danger than to run straight into it like some...foolish cowboy. Do you understand that?” Haruka’s brow had knitted in embarrassment, her shoulders riding up. In later years, Michiru would look on this moment of condescension with great shame, wondering how she ever ended up with Haruka lying beside her, but in this moment, all she felt was irritation.

Haruka pulled away from her ministrations, the edge of the bandage flopping with the movement of it.

Two inches, maybe? From her heart. We can die, Haruka, if we are injured too gravely, too quickly. Do you know that? Do you know that I have no wish to see you, pale and quiet, on the ground?

However, heeding her own advice, she thought it better not to ask Haruka what she did and did not know.

The tension of that moment had passed, replaced by new and constant tensions between them, and in several months it had developed into an uneasy partnership, bound together by the twin ropes around their necks, placed there long before birth, waiting together for the drop.

__

She’d been in the bathroom half an hour, which even she had to admit seemed excessive. She was meeting Michiru at a cafe downtown in...too soon. To discuss business. Official business. Official SENSHI business.

Her hair seemed unwilling to lay down and accept the meeting in either a business or an official capacity, however, and it this only added to her frustration. She tried, always, to give off some air of respectability when she met with Michiru, particularly after seeing the circles she ran in, and the girls who courted her.

She assessed herself in the mirror. Her jacket was clean and she had mended it reasonably well, and the vest, she thought, did not match, but it did go, and both looked like something she might have seen in a discarded GQ, and covered the thinness of her shirt. She tugged at the edge of it. It isn’t too much, with jeans, is it? No, there was a shoot that had something llike this, pretty sure. Maybe not. No. Yes? I mean yeah.

Her hair sprung up again, and she sighed heavily as she headed to the cafe.

For all of her concerns over her looks, Michiru did not seem to notice one way or the other, and Haruka felt an immediate disappointment and relief, looking at her elegance and beauty, a silver bracelet hanging from her delicate wrist, smelling softly of roses and jasmine.

“Haruka, I believe I’ve found our next target.” It was a difficult guess, always, but then again, Michiru had a way of relishing in the times that life was difficult, for, at the very least, they confirmed her suspicions about the larger world.

Haruka leaned forward over the picture of the girl and bit the inside of her cheek. Oh god, not her. Whoever they took the Talismans from would die. But many would live. You must sacrifice them for the greater good, Haruka. You must sacrifice yourself.

She was a sweet-looking girl, grinning brightly over her many cooking awards. Her name was Emi, and she had gone to school with Haruka before this whole talisman mess. She gave Haruka leftovers after school, a lot. Begged her to take them, said her family would never eat them. She did that for other people, too, and pretended like she didn’t spend her free period cooking for it.

She was kind. It made sense she would hold a pure heart.

“You’re sure?” Haruka mounted as a weak defense.

“Of little in life am I absolutely certain, but it seems a fair assessment.” She took a sip of her tea, and looked over at Haruka. “Is there any particular reason she seems a poor choice? Some scandal of which I am unaware?”

“No.” Haruka shook her head and touched the edge of the photograph. “Not at all.”

Michiru looked over at her kindly, a sudden sadness seizing her as she studied Haruka’s woebegone gaze.

__

If occasionally, life gives us gifts, today’s gift was that, as the pure heart was pulled from Emi’s body, it seemed clear to Haruka that it wasn’t a talisman.

She would have conceded the point that she wasn’t entirely sure what the talismans were supposed to look like, and Michiru had not seen fit to share that information, but she was fairly certain that it would at least look different, and Emi’s pure heart looked the same as all the others.

She threw a swing at the daimon, but it was quick, and dodged nimbly around her, catching her in the side. Michiru came around the back of it, her small fist drilled in behind its ear, and she took Haruka by the hand, leading her to the side for a moment’s breath.

“It isn’t a talisman, Uranus, we may as well leave the daimon to it.” She brushed a piece of imaginary dirt off her skirt and began to walk away, her earlier kindness forgotten amidst the realization of how tough this particular foe could be.

Haruka shook her head firmly, a tin foil covered dish appearing in her mind. “No.”

Michiru looked at her, annoyed to be directly disobeyed. “I beg your pardon? You are aware, I hope, that we are a finite resource.”

Haruka did not meet her gaze. “I can’t let Emi die. She’s nice.”

“This is madness.” She threw her hands in the air. “I will not back you.”

But she was ignored, denied even the dignity of a response, and Haruka headed back into the fray, silently wondering why the daimon couldn’t just return the heart crystal, and then Haruka would detransform and take Emi home, and no one would be the wiser. If it wasn’t a talisman, all of this was unnecessary.

She reflected on these things as she whirled around the daimon, but quickly realized why Michiru had been so reluctant to fight it--it was swifter and more agile than others they had fought, and as quick as Haruka was, she struggled to match the creature.

There was also the question of the spears it carried, which added an exciting tone of doom to the affair.

She was caught out, and she had overplayed her hand, and she was exceedingly aware of all of these things, and yet she could not compel herself to stop, could not join Michiru and forget about Emi lying there. She knew the world depended on their lives. She knew that someone would have to be sacrificed, and oh, how she wished she were strong enough to have it be someone who had showed her kindness. Michiru had that strength. She did not. She was nothing next to Michiru, in every sense.

The spear was coming.

Haruka closed her eyes, and prepared for the sharp blade into her ribcage.

Instead, there was a strong shove from the side, and Michiru snatched the spear out of the air, whirling it and stabbing it deep into the chest of the daimon. She did it with the elegance and grace with which she strolled down the sidewalk, and Haruka was not sure she had ever seen her fight with such ferocity. It was as terrifying as it was dramatic, and if Haruka knew as much about art then as she would come to know, she might have compared it to Judith slaying Holofernes, remembering how it felt to stand in that room with the huge painting and bask in its terrible beautiful violence.

Haruka tenderly scooped Emi’s pure heart up from the ground and placed it into her chest, ignoring the pain, just pleased to see her stir, even slightly.

Michiru turned to Haruka, her face dark.

“I hope you’re pleased.”

__

In later years, the seesaw of justice and discretion settled, and Michiru and Haruka read each other well enough that the arguments on matters of military strategy were rare. In those times, after a battle, they would gently bandage each other’s wounds, drink tea or hot cocoa, and wrap up together, gently adjusted into the most comfortable position for them both. It was warm and intimate and it almost made the battles themselves worthwhile, for Michiru.

But that time was still years off, and all Michiru felt right now was the sour mix of relief and anger in her mouth. She set her purse down on the table in the entrance, just hard enough that the chrome feet of her Hermes back cracked against the cool tile of the small table.

“I apologize the girl was your friend, but her life is only one, Haruka. We are the only ones who can stop what is going to happen. We two. If you throw that away for some--”

Haruka had limped in weakly behind Michiru, but the accusation found her with a renewed vigor, breaking through the exhaustion and fear into pure bellicose frustration.

“I KNOW YOU THINK I’M STUPID!”

Michiru whirled around and stared her in the eye. “I think you are foolhardy and impetuous and that you believe these things pass for gallantry, but they most certainly do not.”

“JUST SAY WHAT YOU MEAN FOR FUCK’S SAKE”

“I AM AFRAID YOU WILL DIE, HARUKA.” Her voice cracked, just the smallest, most fragile twitch, like the miniscule line in the glaze of an old pot, barely visible to the naked eye.

But there it was, laid just a little bare.

Haruka recoiled as if she’d been bitten, taking a step backwards, her eyebrows knit in confusion. Her mind flickered to the hopeless, terrible thoughts she had dreamed, that MIchiru could ever look on her with anything other than passing tolerance, that she might ever know what it was to really touch MIchiru, in the soft way that cherry blossoms caressed her cheek as they fell to the ground, unconscious of the gift they had been given.

And for a moment, just one lost moment, she thought she saw that hope reflected in Michiru’s eyes.

But of course, Michiru’s eyes were an unending sea, and she saw only herself, as Michiru shook her head.

Haruka cleared her throat. “The mission’d be harder with one.”

Michiru looked up and gave a soft huff.

“Yes. The mission.”