#release of the self; the self as formed by the father—‘he turned my own face against me’

[breathofgod]

[aixeko]

──────<3 YOUR LORDSHIP ༺♱༻

WEEK 1 | SINNERS SAVAGERY / ERISETOBER

| Synopsis |  When the tempestuous waves crash against the shore and the sky turns a foreboding grey, human shells cower in fear as the mighty lord of the seas, Leviathan, awakens from the darkest pit of the deep, seeking for a human companion to aid her lonely voyage. 

| Synopsis | Yelan as Leviathan x Mortal!Reader

| Setting | MONSTER AU / Historical Era

| Scenario | [ ONESHOT ]  EVENTUAL SMUT Porn with plot. Long introduction. Arranged marriage. Emotionally abusive parents. Kidnapping. Yelan saved Reader. Hemipenes [ Double cocks ] Monsterfuck, kinda, but Yelan is in her human form. Size kink. Tail kink… Is that a thing? Consent is hot. Soft-Dom!Yelan and Virgin-Sub!Reader. No gendered pronouns used only female anatomy. Went with the flow while writing so uh yeah. NO BETA WE DIE LIKE MEN.

► RADIO CHANNEL [ Author note ]

⚝ Used to hate Yelan a lot since I don't fw her haircut but after writing this she ain’t that bad tbh. Maybe mischaracterized, I stopped playing the archon quest and genshin in general since Sumeru release. ⚝ Including biblical references and quotes in an eventual smutshot is crazy work Ik.  ⚝ Not a native speaker, just a professional dyslexic yapper + VERY RUSHED WRITING ESPECIALLY AT THE END.

[ Word count: 5205 ] | Art credit: kgynh on Twitter

Love's true essence eludes reality when forced upon by one's own guardian.

Can humanity's most sought-after reward retain its meaning amid the sea of obligations?

The shortest and simplest answer is a definite no to the victim and an utter negation to the assailant.

It seemed as though time had slipped away, as if it were only yesterday that you were a child, running barefoot along the shoreline, embracing the sea like your own kind.

Now you're freshly twenty, walking barefoot with jewelry decorating every inch of your figure and outfitted in an expensive ivory wedding dress funded by a husband whom you have never spoken to nor seen with your own eyes.

Once an innocent, carefree child turned into a young virgin delicacy for the rest of the world to corrupt, offered by your most trusted protectors, you could never again call your parents.

It's for the future of everyone here, my dearest eldest child; you are the only one capable of bestowing glory on our village, so shine, my dear, and bring forth a new era for this accursed world.

No more would your beloved, caring mother tell tales of fairy tales, replacing them with those orations each night you succumbed to uneasy slumbers, like a reminder of the miserable future that would descend upon you.

Straighten your posture, child, drop the sorrow and curve those lips, child, stop consuming so much cuisine, child; His Highness the prince wouldn't want an indolent pig as his lifelong partner.

No more would your kind father carry you through mountains and forests to show you the falsehood of paradise your child self formerly gleamed at; now he who had turned into an unfeeling man would deport you across the thunderous waves to your new life with your unknown lover.

Seated on the boat and obscured by your veil, you could only stare mindlessly at the bouquet in your hands, all the while the entirety of your community swarmed the harbor in a declaration of celebration for your safe expedition and soon-to-be prosperous life.

Children who were like you and knew nothing better than to trust their protectors admired you and wished for a future like yours, not knowing about the torture you had and would have to face. Adults who saw you grow only wish for you to one day return to this lowly village for a blessing from people who they view as higher life and, to some extent, as God-beloved children. At last, your guardians who know the cruel truth don't bat an eye at your suffering and only wish to rid themselves of you and ask forgiveness when you soon flourish in the castle life.

You realize now that all those times of 'joyous' occasions and 'love' were not anything more than a ploy, a gamble, a hefty investment that your supposed parents made the very day you were born into this world.

Do not forget about the hardship you have faced and the community that has helped you awaiting here for your anticipated return; rejoice in luxury, and proffer our kindness with your blessing, my sweet child!

Your mother's distant voice screams out in a mixture of woefulness and elation, a grand final act in her show to manipulate your already shell-shocked heart into forgiving and forgetting.

Can one's own soul mend in the face of a fierce storm?

When the world seems to continue living on while yours has stopped, a shadow of its former self, a living corpse in a world of angel-disguised devils.

Have there been no solutions to resolve this impending doom, or have the solutions always been impending doom?

A presumed hour has passed since you began your journey through the ocean; silence was all the sound you seemed to hear, with the occasional "hmph" or sigh from the man who gave life to you.

"Are you going to soak and stare mindlessly in misery for the remaining period of time? You are a smart child; I'm sure you understand that it will be long until the next sunrise before we're standing on land again."

A part of you wishes to answer, to once in your life unleash the raging sorrow he and the woman he married have anchored you to, but like always, you find your tongue tied to an invisible knot, unable to fight back due to the cowardly mannerism you've learned to adapt to.

"Resentment and anger are not traits desired by heaven, child; one day you will come to realize that the things we have done are for the sake of your own good. Had we not done so, you would be living with a poor man and left to be a rotten peasant, unable to blossom into your true potential."

Your grip on the bouquet tightens, such blaring words spoken to be only lies to ease the guilt; if his putative wisdom has a scent, it would be of the foulest smell one could inhale.

Sensing the tension in the atmosphere, for once the man chose not to escalate the situation further in fear of tragedy, especially being in the middle of practically nowhere in the vast sea.

People spoke of God as a heroic savior of the world, yet had never once in their lifetimes seen this magnificent being above humans and animals, mortal and immortal, life and death.

How can he, who is worshiped by the world as the one true salvation, allow his creations to suffer so greatly?

For the first time in a long time, you turn your gaze away from the flowers, not out of boredom, not out of impatience, but out of helplessness, out of your daydream for the life you longed for and lost in consequence of humankind's greed.

You lift your veil to reveal just enough to see with one hand while still withholding your grip on the flowers. Your first sight of the world is the ocean, a natural phenomenon you've adored for as long as you could walk; if you were asked to explain why you are so heavily interested in it, you would reply with a simple "Who wouldn't?" But if they were to ask you on a deeper level, you would respond that because you feel like nothing understands you more than it does, it's not a human, it's not a being, but because of such quality, it's why you're so fond of it.

The world is cruel, so very cruel, and so to have something as tranquil and peaceful as this enormous paradise is something to be adored with the utmost devotion.

Those of his believers who pour countless nights and days into seeking his divine revelation deserve more than silent destruction.

If God truly does exist, surely he'd answer his faithful servant's pleas for grace rather than having them suffer such a cold fate.

Before your so-called father could stop you, your hand meets the cool yet oddly soothing warmth of the water, a rare upward curve forming in the corner of your lip as a singular tear falls down and becomes one with Earth's own heaven.

If God does exist, if the legend and the myth are tales of truth, then please, please set your gaze on me; please save me from this miserable life, your lordship.

The winds begin to howl, and the sky darkens to a foreboding gray; far away from you, tempestuous waves crash violently against the coast. A single lightning strike ominously appears in the distance of the gray sky, sending chills down your spine at the signal of an impending storm.

The boat rocks violently, and you struggle to maintain stability, clutching tightly onto the edge of the boat while your father tries to manage the situation somehow, but it proves easily inefficient as a mere mortal is nothing against Mother Nature.

Your veil nearly flew off your head, and in a moment of panic, you let go of the flowers in your hand for the very first time in the interest of keeping the veil from flying away.

The boat rolls dangerously as the waves increase in abnormal strength; you struggle to hold on, and your father's screams are nearly drowned out by the cacophony of intense wind and waves if it weren't for the distinct pitch between nature and human fear.

With much grappling, you look upward to where your father's sight is set upon, and your face turns pale, hearts pounding in absolute fear from the sight of a creature only described in fairy tales and biblical books as the supreme sovereign of the seas. Unlike consuming content from secondary sources of its fearsome status, its appearance is much more petrifying in real life; from its awakening, ripples of dread are sent through the entire atmosphere, as if the very ocean itself is a body of its powerful might.

The sea serpent colossus's size covers the sky in its mass alone, and all you can do is watch in powerlessness, but as the initial fear disappears, you can't help but feel a surge of admiration for the majestic creature that has risen from the depths to grace you with its presence.

In essence, Leviathan is not just a creature of myth but can be portrayed as a powerful embodiment of the ocean’s mysteries, evoking awe and fear in equal measure; yet at this moment, Leviathan is not a myth or an embodiment anymore.

You slowly stand up, wanting to reach out for the monster in spite of your puny existence compared to it; perhaps this feeling is a manifestation of your love for the ocean. Maybe you were wrong this whole time, that this entire time the boundless mysterious abyss was, in fact, a being of greater worth than a mere mortal can comprehend. Could it be that the reason why you felt so heavily connected to the ocean was due to the fact that such a creature lay dormant in it? Could it be the case that this whole time someone has been accompanying you in your most vulnerable and lonely moments?

You stand up on your bare feet, both hands outstretched high above like a priest offering their devotion to God; you gaze up toward Leviathan, and your heart nearly bursts as you see you have gained its full attention.

"Your lordship." You whisper so silently that even your confused, fear-struck father, who is sitting beside you, cannot hear, but those words are not meant for mortal ears after all.

The last thing you feel is a coldness so soothing it could be a camouflage for fire as it engulfs you before darkness consumes you into a comforting slumber, one you've been deprived of since as early as your formative years.

It is when one has been confined for so long in the presumably eternal abyss that the light seems to shine so luminously.

Your eyes flutter open, rising to consciousness; a deep breath escapes your lips as you try to recall what has occurred, only for you to be sidetracked by where you are.

In contrast to the rough feeling of the wooden boat, you now lie comfortably in an astonishingly expensive, spacious bed made for what can only be assumed to be a titan or of the utmost royalty.

You look down at yourself and realize you're not fitted in a white ivory dress anymore but rather in extravagant, exquisite, and elaborate bridal attire belonging to a culture you're not all too familiar with.

Spotting a large mirror not too far away, you rise to your feet and examine yourself, and to your complete and utter shock, the dress was of a quality you could only have dreamed of; in comparison to the dress, the room that you thought was too lavish is lowly.

The attire is of a stunning ultramarine and silver color, with intricate embroidered patterns of what looks to resemble a sea serpent and floral motifs covering the entire garment. It's voluminous, creating a flowy silhouette and a sense of grandeur, and to add to its flowiness is your veil, which is elevated by a silver headpiece as detailed as the entire apparel.

In the corner of your eye, you spot fully bloomed lotuses with their countless petals decorating the dark blue marble floor.

Must it be that the one who brought me here intends to put on a show and allow me to follow those flowers to their awaiting destination? You thought, quite skeptical of this mysterious stranger's intentions, but seeing the pleasantries you have been showered with, you opted not to draw the wrong judgment quite yet.

You pull down your veil, which, unlike its appearance, is quite translucent on the inside—a heavily desired distinction from your previous opaque one.

At a slow pace, you follow the lotus, leaving the room for an even more unfamiliar environment; outside the bedroom is a long hallway decorated with various ornamentations that are illuminated by bioluminescent organisms you've only heard tales about.

Continuing to follow the lotuses, you admire the serene atmosphere, despite knowing nothing about anything and everything; the place seems to give a familiar feeling you've only felt toward the vast expanse of water.

You turn down countless corridors and admire different décor before you come to a stop at a grand, sturdy arch entrance; carved in it is what looks to be the depiction of Leviathan, the almighty sea serpent you have come to witness and live to tell the tale of. As well as what looks to be a mortal woman behind it, albeit a very unlikely assumption with her obscure body featuring characteristics impossible to be found on a human.

A slow inhalation and exhalation release through your nose and out of your mouth before your hands push the door open.

"Does the scenery satiate your taste, or is there any adjustment you desire to make?" A deep, rich, feminine voice booms.

You're a bit taken aback by the sound of another living being, and especially a female one at that. If it weren't for her voice, you would have mistaken the woman for a male at first sight given her chosen outfit. Similar to you, she is seemingly clothed in bridal attire with half of her chest uncovered by fabric or hair. Long, flowing garments in place of pants share colors and detailing exactly like yours with minor adjustments; a silky robe is wrapped around her like a sash, and the rest of her features are concealed by the canopy veil hanging from the roof of the castle.

She's seated on top of a throne as grand as the room is, and by the windows that are engraved in the wall, you realize that you have been underwater this whole time. Which explains the unusual source of lighting and unique embellishment never seen in this era.

A gulp ran down your dry throat, and your immediate thought was to go on your knees and bow, but you were stopped by her commanding voice.

"You are not to behave by the rules your kind has set, because here you are of the highest life that the mortal soul can achieve. Come closer; I'm sure you are curious to see what I appear as, little one."

It takes a while for any sort of response or action to manifest, but soon enough, one did.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, this may be an intrusive question, but may I know what you are addressed by? In particular, your title or name, perhaps if you are to grant me both."

The mysterious being seems to be quite surprised but amused; you see the shadow of her head resting on her fisted hand as she answers your question with much delight.

"You are much more intriguing than meets the eye; it is no illusion that you are a unique character indeed; you should take pride in the fact of such a deed so highly as to be offered as a bride to a prince, given your status as a lower life." A chuckle was released, followed by a dreamy sigh. "Of course, I am no different; never have I risen to the mortal realm and met such a gem; you must be of this planet's favorite creation to be so blessed."

At the mention of 'favorite' and 'blessed,' you are quick to protest, an act you yourself are surprised by, taking into account your history.

"You are mistaken, your liege; I am by no means favored, and least of all blessed."

"Hm, I see," she paused. "To answer your question, you must already know me by my true form. The one whom you called 'your lordship,' the formidable sea serpent, as you mortals describe me, and by my given name, Leviathan."

At the revelation, you are much amazed; Levithan had been a name you often associated with a male creature, given its appearance, but you do recall that in one particular book, you can't place your finger on the name of, which has described Levithan as a female monster that dwells in the deepest part of the watery abyss.

"Awed, I see? You're quite an amusing little one, but I do request that you do not refer to me by that name, as it does not fit my taste. I particularly like the name Yelan, and I do hope you agree with it."

Without thinking, you begin making your way to the Lord, eager to see the one who has saved you from a miserable life, the one to rid you of a horrible life with a man who could dispose of you anytime he sought.

"I am merely an underling in a position compared to your lordship."

You were only a fair step away from seeing the godly being yourself before being swept off your feet by a massive, rugged tail. You yelped, eyes closing in fright, only to feel yourself pressed up against foreign, frosty flesh that was quite comforting in spite of its temperature.

"Repeated words are a time waster, and I'm sure I do not need to remind you again that you are not to behave by the rules your mortal friends or foes have established in that pretty little head of yours."

"I... I'm sorry, Your Highness; please do not punish me," you whimpered aloud, frightful even with the hospitality and kindness accentuating Yelan's words.

"Punish you? I am a feared monster indeed, but I am not without a soul; harming you would be a war set against grace itself."

Her rough hand carefully and tenderly touches your chin like the softest of materials, tilting it up patiently to face her.

"Open your eyes, my heaven."

Your heart fluttered at the nickname, and without any second consideration, you did as you were commanded. A single beat skipped within the close proximity of Her Highness; from a distance, she may have seemed the average human size, but being this close to her, on her lap specifically, you're awed by her enormous stature.

"Your Majesty...I-you're... huge."

Her pale skin is adorned with scales that are inherent to her true form, light jade-hued eyes bore into you like a gourmet to be savored rather than devoured, and dark blue hair with asymmetrical bangs that are lighter at the tips seems to tie it all together to make a manifestation of the perfect combination between a mythical creature and a mortal female.

Another chuckle, this time a little longer, emits from her, and you swear your pupil seems to take on the appearance of a heart at the paradisiacal sight blossoming before you.

"Oh, how I adore mortal words; it has been a long time since I have had the company of another."

Her tail slithers its way to your waist and pulls you in closer—an act in anticipation of unforeseen events, but one that you suspect will happen sooner than expected.

"But my lord... how can I, a mere human, be able to accompany you?"

"Are you suggesting I am not capable of taking care of you? If there are things you require, then a single word to me and your wish shall be granted. If you believe it's impossible, then I will rival against the heavens for it to become a reality."

"No, no, my lord, you are much more than one can imagine, but I fear I am not capable of surviving in such an environment, as I have observed; we are underwater, and I do not have the ability to breathe under such conditions, nor do I have any power."

When His Lordship arrived, it was one where many prayed countless times for it and never got to witness it in their lifetimes.

To be able to be in possession of such dutiful hands is to be seen beyond the flesh and into the deepest part of one's soul.

That day I learned that God truly does exist on this wasted planet and that God is not a man of the beyond but a woman with a nurturing soul.

"I see, you should have mentioned it earlier," her gaze evidently grew dim. "I have a method of transferring my power to you, gaining you access to my pool of destruction, albeit the technique is rather an intimate act, and by performing this, you would be marked as wholly mine, and your soul will be bound to me for as long as you have the will to exist."

Much to your shame, an immediate "yes" escaped from your lips, which left Yelan a bit taken aback by the response; nevertheless, it's one that doesn't go unappreciated by her.

"My sweet mortal, as much as I am flattered by your agreement, I suggest reconsidering all the restrictions you may have to face, and most importantly, that you are not to return to your realm without my supervision for fear that your breed may label you as part of witchcraft or satanic magic."

You shake your head; you may long for your past life when the moon is at its fullest, where the most breathtaking night sky reveals itself as the world rests, but you would never dare return to the misery forced upon you ever again.

"Your lordship, I am sold off to a man whom I have never longed for, like I have longed for a companion each moment my body embraces the sea; never have I heard his voice the same way the waves whisper a delightful siren song to my ears, nor have I grown to love every perfect imperfection of the stranger as I have to your land."

Yelan's ears turn a deep blue hue at the helix—a phenomenon you haven't a clue about the means of its cause, but you take her cheeky grin as a blissful reaction.

"And you are certain of your choice; there is no return from then on."

"I have not thought of anything but a future with you, my lord."

Yelan's features lit up with much ecstasy, and her smile exceedingly widened as she cupped your entire head with one palm, bringing you ever closer with each ring of an echoing bell.

"Then may you allow me to have a kiss?"

"Yes, my sovereign."

Thus, the tragic tale of a young mortal sold to a foreign land ends as a tale of a beauty blessed by the heavens, and a monster feared by the lords begins.

Yelan hovers above you, naked from the top half of her body, her face flustered with uneven breath reflecting yours. What was a passionate exchange of blissful lips meeting quickly stirred up the deprived sea serpent, and now you're a complete mess spread out on top of another bountiful bed for her eyes to feast on.

You're breathless, as the woman who treated you with much care is barely able to restrain herself from almost attaching her lips to yours. Your head throbs from the intensity, but you can't help admitting that this is all so new and exciting; after all, you haven't given up your virginity yet or even touched yourself.

Like a mind reader, Yelan asked, "You haven't done this before, have you? How pure; I'm almost intimidated to corrupt such innocence. If it is all too much, yell out 'lotus'; I do not want your first time to be unsatisfactory."

"Hgh... Understood, my lord."

"Yelan. I am no more or less now that I am to mate with you; we are of equal ranking. If you must, you can still refer to me as please, but I will admit the truth that I do want to hear my name out of your delectable enunciation."

"Okay—Yelan."

Yelan's instinct to the callout of her name is to kiss you again, never satiated by how addictive mortal flesh can be. You gasp into the drastically different monument of the kiss, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as she plunges you further into the generous bedding.

You tried returning her touch with eager vigor but found your hands accidentally pressed against the middle of your crotch due to your unfamiliarity with a half-beast, half-mortal form. You're flustered as an involuntary moan leaves you at the feeling of her monstrous size while Yelan is quick to use the opportunity to slither her long tongue inside, which has your body inducing visual stimuli.

You choke even more when you feel her grab your attire and rip it apart with her claws; you whine at the act, quite saddened as you have grown quite attached to the outfit, and as a result, Yelan mumbled a quiet "sorry" in between hungry kisses.

"Yelan... needs—more, ah, fast—faster!"

You come to regret your words a tad bit when you feel her lengthy tail slither its bulk around your thigh and an inch away from your womanhood.

"Comfortable or-"

"Please."

She doesn't question your neediness, nor does she require any more words for her to thrust some of the length inside, careful not to harm you as she deems you not suitable for many insertions yet.

You cry out her name at the intrusion, gripping her back and scarring it at that, but it doesn't matter as she moves from your lips to mark your body while getting rid of the distraction covering your frame.

Time is an unchangeable aspect of the universe, but in this moment of elation, it seems to go on for an eternity while flashing faster than one can comprehend the flicker of lightning. You're a whimpering mess as Yelan plants her imprint onto you. How long has it been, how long have you been doing it, and how long are you able to go on—these are all questions you don't know the answers to, and one that is least of your concerns at the feelings of how staggering her erotic touches are.

Satisfied enough to finish her final touches on your neck and collarbone, she moves to your chest, pressing airy kisses to each nipple before setting her lukewarm mouth to suck on one while rubbing the other.

"Mmm... mn, ah.. your highness, Yelan. So-so..g..” Your words run dry at the overstimulated sensations running their course.

“No need to say anything; just focus your pretty little mind on making those delectable sounds, and let me take care of the rest.”

"Shhh, no need to say anything; focus your pretty little mind on feeling my devotion to you and making those delectable sounds. Let me take care of you."

Out of the blue, Yelan pulled her tail out of you, causing you to let out a whiny whimper at the loss of contact, but not long after it would be replaced by a hitched breath.

You have never seen a penis before, only heard of its description and what its function to society is, but nobody has ever told you that they're almost as large as the size of your head, and two of them at that.

"Haha, don't look so excited now; it's truly a tempting invitation to my constrained self-control. My tail already has difficulty trying to enter you; to think you can fit these two little beasts of mine is beyond impossible."

You pull your lips into a dainty pout with a tilt of your head. 

“Is there no other way to pleasure one another, my liege?”

“You're so curious and such an obedient little one too; I truly struck gold when I found you.” Yelan kissed your cheek and slowly intertwined your hand, guiding it to wrap around the base of her shaft.

"For other means of pleasure, I can, of course, change the size of them, but it wouldn't be entertaining, now would it?" She teased, causing your clitoris to ache for her again. "I'm merely playing the fool, as I have stated; harming you is like a war against heaven. I'm sure this would be amusing to you; just move your hand up and down like this." Yelan demonstrated the movement on her large genitalia, and you perked up as you saw her ears turn a darker color, an indication you picked up as a sign of fluster.

"I'm curious, Your Highness; does a mortal man have two reproductive parts as well?"

You use both hands to give both of her members equal attention, and you are rewarded for this by a raspy moan as well as an even greater hardening of the twin beast.

"In rare cases, perhaps, but I am no mortal, and especially not a man."

Yelan, grab your hands and pin them above your head, leaving you helpless and useless with only your sight available to witness her shrinking her tools down to a size compatible with your body.

"And no mortal is capable of giving you the satisfaction you are entitled to, nor can any arise and satiate this overwhelming lust like you are in a position to."

She inserts both beasts in each of your holes, causing you to cry out her name in slight pain with overarching ecstasy. Her tails wrap around you, and she ushers her lips down to your neck, kissing and thrusting simultaneously to bring you to your well-deserved orgasm.

You feel a soothing coldness enveloping you like the ocean's hug, your back arching off the ground as your head throws back, seeing the deepest part of the beautiful watery abyss.

The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?

"The Lord is who I shall cherish evermore as my beloved soulmate." You said it out loud, opting not to write it in the last line of your autobiography.

"Exquisitely written and articulated, my dearest bride."

Yelan kissed your cheek when you turned to her after you finally stopped writing, having silently watched you and touched the floral mark of her symbol tattooed on your womb, now turning your attention solely to her.

"Your ways with words never change, do they, your lordship?"

"It has become second nature to me, hailing from the deepest part of my once indestructible soul, whose only weakness is one single mortal."

In her was life, and that life was the light of all humankind.

[lillian-gallows]

Kinktober Day 20: Cockwarming with Charon

Pairing: Charon X Fem!Reader Word count: 1338 Warnings: Cockwarming, Soft Charon, P in V but not sex, Very light clit stimulation, This one is more about intimacy through comfort than spice, Reader is kinda autistic coded in this one (imo), Lots of internal monologue, Reader is explicitly the Lone Wanderer, Kinda Dom/Sub undertones.

Kinktober 2024 Master(sub)list.

Minors DNI

Charon had seen it coming from the moment you woke up that morning.

You were antsy, like you had an itch under your skin that you just couldn’t scratch, and not in the normal horny way either.

It was like your whole body needed something but couldn’t find it.

He’d heard of that feeling before in other people. The inability for your nervous system to self-regulate fully. You were one of those people.

He’d seen it happen to you plenty, especially after all you’d gone through with your father, Project Purity, and The Brotherhood and Enclave on top of just the day-to-day survival of the Wastes.

So, when you both got home, you turned to him with hesitant eyes and asked with a small voice. “Char?” He knew exactly where this was going.

“Hm?” Had been his gentle response, letting you get your request out at your own pace while knowing he was listening.

He’d quickly learned that you needed a verbal response most of the time, just looking at you made you feel like you were bothering him, so he at least hummed so you knew he was present in the conversation.

“Can we do the thing?” Your gaze had drifted down to your fidgeting fingers as they twisted around each other, your shoulder scrunched up to your ears with trapped tension.

You hated saying the word, it made you feel like you were asking him to fuck you when that wasn’t the goal, so you resorted to calling it ‘the thing’ and he let you leave it at that, no reason to push something that didn’t need changing.

Especially when you used all the descriptive terms for everything else without issue.

He’d been the one to introduce the concept of cock warming to you, but you were the one that made it into the comforting act that it’s become in your relationship.

Charon was more than happy with that. Any reason to be as close to you as possible was more than great to him. Sexual gratification be damned.

“Yeah, we can do the thing.” He answered before wrapping his arms around you, pressing his scarred lips to your hairline.

You were already melting into him.

“Go change into one of my shirts, then come to the couch.” He ordered before giving your head another kiss and releasing you from his hold.

You nodded and went up the metal stairs that led to your shared bedroom.

Before the two of you had become intimate, he’d aided you this way by just cuddling, the press of his body against yours was enough to help your body regulate and release tension.

After, however, you came to prefer this. “It just makes me feel better…” Had been your explanation, face flushed in embarrassment.

He loved that you needed him, wanted him, so much. It was unlike anyone else who had ever been in his life this long, those who only ever wanted him for violence.

But not you.

You took comfort in him and allowed him to do the same in you.

When your form had disappeared from his view he moved over to the couch and took off everything but his undershirt. If you wanted more skin-to-skin it could be taken off later, for now this was good enough.

Up in your bedroom you stood before the filing cabinet that served as a dresser, eyeing the small pile of black shirts that Charon alternated between.

They all were too clean, having been freshly washed the previous week, and none of them had enough of his comforting musk.

Then your eyes landed on the pile of worn ones that sat in the basket by the door, your makeshift laundry hamper.

Taking up the one at the top of the pile, long sleeved and massive compared to you. It was the one he’d worn the day before, when you’d been lounging around the house. Perfect.

Changing was a sloppy affair, so utterly uninterested in any real decorum when your skin felt like pins and needles and your brain was buzzing in the worst way.

You left your vault suit on the floor in a heap, your boots trapped under it all, and your bra and panties kicked away like they’d offended you, before slipping into the shirt.

It hung on your frame like a short nightgown, barely covering your bits and pieces from prying eyes.

When you descended the stairs, you found Charon waiting on the couch, he was already half hard and his hand was slowly working himself, getting ready for you.

A wave of arousal bloomed in your belly at the sight, a small flipping feeling that made your pussy clench slightly, but that was it.

He turned his head when he heard you and reached out his hand. “C’mere, Sweetheart.” He coaxed softly.

Taking his hand was automatic, he hadn’t finished speaking before you made contact and rounded the couch.

He helped you settle on his lap facing him, straddling him with slightly shaky legs. His chest ached at how wound up you had gotten before you could do anything about it.

It made him wish he could just keep you in the house where he could protect you from these feelings, but he knew you were too adventurous and independent for that, and he wouldn’t dare dim that shine.

“I have to get you wet, or it’ll hurt. Okay?” He said softly, knowing the last thing on your mind was sex, but he was just too damn big to go in dry.

You knew this would be the case, it always was, and you didn’t mind the momentary discomfort if it meant that everything would be okay soon.

“Okay.” You said with a nod, voice quiet and a little heavy.

His hands had settled on your hips under the shirt, feeling your soft skin against his, and at your words one shifted down so his thumb could start to make little circles on your clit.

Your eyelids fluttered at the touch, another little wave of arousal forming, but this time maintaining at a low simmer as he works your body.

Charon watches as the flush forms on your skin, your breaths coming just a little faster.

This only goes for as long as it takes for you to get wet and pliant, which isn’t long as you’ve always been sensitive.

Once he deemed it safe, he removed his thumb and brought his hand up to cradle your cheek. “Ready?” He asked and received a nod in response.

He’d been half hard when you returned to the living room, but in the process of touching you, he’d grown to full mast pressed between your warm bodies.

Your legs were a little shakier as he helped you rise and line up before sinking down with a quiet sigh of relief, tension releasing immediately.

“That’s it…Nice and slow…” He cooed as you sank down on him, his own breathing growing heavy at the stimulation.

Once you were fully seated on him, he pulled you to his chest, resting his chin on your head and relaxing into the couch cushions, one hand resting on your lower back while the other wrapped around you, fingers running lightly through your hair as you let out a deep breath, going boneless.

The twitching energy in your body, that unpleasant buzzing, ebbed slowly as you rested against Charon’s firm body, warm and solid again you. His steady heartbeat in your ear where it laid against his chest.

Your hands dipped under his arms to wrap around his waist, slipping under his shirt to rest against his skin.

“Do you want it off?” He whispered to you.

“Mm-mm…” You declined with the slightest of shakes of your head. “This is perfect…” The words came out as a slurred mumble, already starting to drift in a sea of comfort.

Neither of you knows how long you’ll be like this, but Charon is content to stay there for however long you need.

“…Love you…”

“I love you too.”

[yandere-yearnings]

On top of my last ask I also have a question geared to your sillies

We all know both Sunny and Dice have a serious jealousy problem but I was wondering why exactly that's the case? Like did anything happen in their past to make them respond so aggressively when the threat of potentially losing reader arises?

If you're planning to go into this further in their main stories then you can ignore this ask ofc :)

-Gnawing on your latest posts, 🦢

i do intend to delve into their backstories and why they are the way they are later on down the line in their main stories, but bc i'm being a bit slow with releasing new chapters, i figured it'd be nice to just explain it. also, i'm glad you enjoyed my latest posts swan nonnie🥺 gonna try and answer more asks soon so hopefully that means more content too🥰

major spoilers for sun's and dice's backstories under the cut!

warnings for mentions of cheating, alcoholism, child abuse and neglect❗❗

so, originally sun and dice had a fairly normal life, if not a really happy one — they were in what would be considered a standard family, with a mother and father who seemed to love each other loads and dote on their children. in actuality, their parents' marriage was going stale and their mother ended up having an affair with another woman, soon eloping with her and abandoning them.

that in itself was a point of trauma for both of them, sun especially, bc he was older and had spent more time with her. neither of them really understood how someone could say they loved them one day, only to have left them all alone within 24 hours, not even a note or message to explain.

then, they were forced to take the repercussions of their mother's actions in the form of verbal and physical abuse from their father, who had steadily become an alcoholic. all of the household income was used to fuel his addiction and own living expenses, and sun and dice were neglected for a long time before their aunt came to take them away.

somewhere, they kinda expected their father to at least fight for them, but when he gave them up so quickly — not wanting to see their faces anymore bc they looked so much like her, the feeling of abandonment they had been experiencing prior finally reached a point where it started to define them.

they had a lot bottled up from then; feeling wronged, feeling like they had so much left to say, questioning why. a lot of anger and bitterness and desperation to just feel wanted again fueled them into becoming who they did. sun would fight a lot as a teen, bc he felt constantly frustrated and it was easy to push him over the edge. dice was really passive, and he'd let himself get picked on bc he didn't feel like he was worth enough to speak up against it.

their respective darlings meet them at a time where they've just begun to establish a sense of self-importance, and it's bc they're clinging to that little confidence they finally have, that they're both adamant nothing takes it away from them ever again. sun doesn't ever want to be tossed aside like his mother had done to him all those years ago, and dice doesn't want betrayal to turn him into the monster his father had become.

for those reasons, they'll do whatever it takes to make sure they don't lose you. whenever they see you with someone else, they can just imagine you building a relationship with that person and leaving them behind to suffer in the end. just the thought has every bad memory flooding back. it makes them murderous.

for what felt like forever, all they had was each other and the resigned understanding between them. now they have their darlings, that desire to be seen again has reignited, and they rely to a dangerous extent on the promise that love could make up for all the pain they didn't deserve.

[joels6string]

More Than My Father's Son

Joel Miller x f!OC

Chapter 13 - Right My Wrongs

Summary: Joel's trust issues are in full force as his typically stoic self-control begins to crack.

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.9k

Content: NSFW, high levels of violence normal to the TLOU world, angst, fluff, miscommunication trope (it’s Joel Miller…), slow burn, Joel’s traumatic childhood, getting together, smut, canon divergence after SLC, fix it fic

“So this was just outta the goodness of your heart then?” It wasn’t so much a question from Joel, but a hurled insinuation that something sinister was at work.

Chapter 12 || Series Masterlist

“Joel?”

Glass shattered. The old grandfather clock in the corner chimed as the longer hand ticked into place at the top of the hour, the seven bells clanging out for what felt like an eternity. Your hair was tied tightly back into a long ponytail, a sweater that certainly didn’t belong to you hanging off your shoulder in the way that you liked, and pink speckled cheeks glowed in the orange light of the roaring fire on the hearth. Two wide green eyes were fixated on him, the lips he’d tried to memorize the feeling of slightly parted in shock, and when he began to drag his feet to close the distance between you, he stopped halfway. 

Maybe you’d stayed here for a reason. 

This was your way of letting him off easy. Or letting yourself walk the path of least resistance. He’d been down that road once before. He was easy to leave, he knew that already. Maybe he was destined for it. His final landing place. Alone. 

He hadn’t noticed the way his hand was slightly raised in your direction, reaching out for you in sheer unconscious desperation. The thudding of his heart against his ribs was almost nauseating, a rock forming in his throat as he averted his gaze to his boots, noting how filthy and water damaged they were as the dampness of his socks grew colder. He should have looked for a new pair at the swap shop, these had been past the point of no return for weeks. 

The final bang rang out as you collided against his chest, your arms wrapping around his middle as you pulled yourself into him, face buried in the blue fabric of the scarf that used to be yours. He’d never given it back. The gasping intake of breath before you let a shrill wail terrified him, your body collapsing as he secured you in his hold. 

“Wait…” he exhaled, noticing the room was now empty as his focus finally diverted off of you, your soaked eyes staring at him as you reluctantly pulled away. 

Your expression turned from confusion and rejection to comfort as he quickly ripped off his jacket and scarf, pulling you back in tighter now without the barrier of his winter gear. He could feel your heat now, the worn flannel of his shirt quickly dampened by the uncontrolled sobs you were still letting free, your body wracking and shaking in his refuge. You’d never cried like this. In fact, he’d barely ever seen you cry at all save a rogue tear rolling down a stoic face.

“I gotcha,” he cooed, face pressed into your hair, the strands catching on his beard as you nuzzled into his neck even closer. 

“Joel,” you whimpered, it was so quiet and meek it made his face burn as he pushed back his own flood of emotions.

Soft, fiery strands threaded between his fingers as he cradled your head, relief flooding through him from his fingertips as the knot in his chest finally released. The way you gripped him should have choked the life out of him, but it had the opposite effect. Feeling returned to his limbs, the constant ache he’d felt for months eased, and his forehead relaxed the tension it’d been holding onto in an attempt to stay grounded. It was like finding land after floating in the sea for weeks, and Tommy’s words rang out once again in his head, “Tell me the ground doesn’t feel more solid beneath those boots when she’s around.” It did. And he could feel it now more than ever. 

“I missed you,” you cried into his throat, and that finally had his face twisting and throat constricting. 

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had said that to him. Not ever. He cursed under his breath as one escaped tear rolled down his cheek and landed in your hair, his arms somehow pulling you closer. 

“Yeah, me too,” he murmured in response, his lungs able to expand past the point they’d been constricted to, “And Ellie.”

“Is she okay?” 

Soaked, swollen eyes stared up at him as you pulled away just enough to read his face. A dismissive ‘yeah’ lingered on the tip of his tongue at the sight of your distress, the red blotches on your cheeks and the tears caught in your lashes enough to send him to his knees. 

“I think it’s best we get you home,” he confessed, and although it wasn’t a straight answer, it was one you deciphered immediately, collapsing back against his chest.

His thoughts had constantly traveled to Ellie when they weren’t focused on you, there had been no reprieve even when his mind wandered. Leaving her was the last thing he wanted to do, especially knowing with you gone he was all she had left, but at least now he’d return with the outcome he never saw coming. She’d have you both back.

“C‘mere,” he pleaded in a gravely exhale, his hands cupping your jaw and gently lifting your head to see your face again, “I thought you were dead.”

The words tumbled out awkwardly, desperately, his forehead pressing to yours close enough that whatever air he was taking in came from you. He felt your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt at his sides and when you leaned up to nuzzle the tip of your nose to his, his eyes finally pinched shut. Your breath was fanning out against his lips chapped from weeks in the winter cold, your hair tickling against his forehead, and he took in every sensation begging his tired mind to memorize it this time. 

“Then why are you here?” you whispered, readjusting your grip and grazing along his waist.

“To bring you home.”

“Dead?”

All he could was nod. He’d needed closure. There was no way rest could have ever been found with you discarded out in the wilderness as if there wasn’t someone out there that needed you, that found solace in your presence in a room and nothing more, someone whose life you’d breathed new purpose into. He couldn’t have that. 

“Don’t do that to me again,” he sighed, a smile sneaking onto your face as he used your own words against you now, “Run off.”

“No more running.”

When you slid back into his arms and buried your face in the patches of his beard that crept down onto his throat overgrown from weeks of neglect, he knew it meant more than running in search of a fight. You were crying again, softer this time, your tears still hot as they rolled down the collar of his shirt. It was the aftershocks, the soft summer rain after a blustering thunderstorm, and when your lips softly pressed to skin long untouched, he knew you were his to protect now. 

“You need to eat,” you said after a final sniffle, pulling away and wiping your tears with the back of your hand before stroking along his jaw, “You lost weight.”

As your thumb brushed over the dip in his cheek reminiscent of your time on the road, he leaned instinctually into your touch, seeking it out as you slowly let your hand fall away. You didn’t leave him lingering for long, grabbing his hand in yours with a small smile and pulling him into the kitchen full of waiting eyes, Tommy the first to give a knowing grin. 

“Just in time,” Lee exclaimed, ladling soup into five bowls that were handed out before she was shooing everyone to the kitchen table.

“So,” Joel began as every spoon but his own began to clink against ceramic, “I appreciate all this, but…”

Despite confirmation of your well-being, he couldn’t let the questions stay unanswered. 

“Why is she still here?” he pressed, Tommy sitting up straighter as he recognized the drop in Joel’s tone as a warning. 

“We don’t have a map, Joel,” you answered quickly, just as honed into his anger’s cues as Tommy, “And it’s winter.”

“I found her not far from where I found you,” Corbin began to explain calmly, “Thought she was dead, but when I got closer I could hear wheezing. So, I brought her back here. Burning up with a fever, lungs filled with water and fluid. It was a bad case. I had some penicillin left from a few years back. Treated her and she somehow pulled through. Must’ve had something to fight for.”

“We lost our son to pneumonia a few years ago,” Lee tacked on, covering her husband’s hand with her own on the table, “It was nice to be able to help.”

“So this was just outta the goodness of your heart then?” It wasn’t so much a question from Joel, but a hurled insinuation that something sinister was at work. 

“You’ll have to excuse my brother,” Tommy interjected, “He’s had a rough go.”

“It’s okay,” Corbin assured, his tone just as even and soft, “Can’t be too careful in this world. Especially with something you care about. Isn’t that right?”

Wood scraping against wood had both yours and Tommy’s eyes knowingly closing, Joel’s heavy steps stalking out before you heard the door close behind him. His sour mood was surprising; while you understand his need for answers, his response to the truth wasn’t what you’d expected. 

“I’m sorry about him,” Tommy sighed, his chin dropping to his chest in shame, “He’s…”

“Oh it’s no trouble,” Corbin continued, “He’s overwhelmed, shocked. I understand.”

“He should be thankful, relieved—“

“Well, relief is sometimes overwhelming, isn’t it?”

Tommy and Corbin continued their conversation as you exited, slipping your boots on and finding Joel standing in the dark, the white snow around him reflecting and setting him aglow in the moonlight. You’d dreamed of him for months, just like this, washed in light trickling down from the heavens in the early hours of the morning when the world was quiet, when it was yours. He’d been happy there, swaddled more by your body than the blankets, his mouth swollen and kiss drunk, his face that always held so much tension finally relaxed. But those were only dreams, and the pain of reality had once again returned. 

“Joel,” you called as you approached, his head immediately turning to the sound of your voice, “Come back in—“

When his lips crashed down onto yours, bruising and cold, you could feel the words he couldn’t say. The months of panic, the way he’d questioned his will, his reasons, and how he feared the last hour had been entirely in his head, it was all mirrored in the way you desperately matched his motions. Your hands cupped the sides of his jaw, his beard softer than you remembered on your palms, your tongues dancing as whines and groans broke through the winter night’s silence. You begged for a sign it was safe to open your eyes, some guarantee that this was real. For now, it wasn’t worth the risk.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’,” he finally spoke, keeping his nose pressed hard enough against your cheek it bent at the tip.

“Me neither,” you sighed, “Is that Bill?”

The horse’s familiar face flashed through the barn window, Joel finally allowing the corner of his mouth to lift into a small smile as you peered up at him with wide eyes. All he did was nod as you took off in a run up the shoveled path and ripped the doors wide open, your fingers tangling into his mane as you pressed your nose to his. You hadn’t even been sure he’d made it back, though you knew at least Eugene would give it his best shot. 

“Hey buddy,” you whispered, a snort of his nose in response enough to have you in tears again.

Joel’s hand was rubbing along your back seconds later, his other patting Bill’s thick neck affectionately, “He’s a good boy. Pulled me outta a few bad places.”

“Hey, you two!” Tommy called from the front door, “Need to talk to you!”

In his agitated state, all Joel could muster in response was a low growl kept trapped deep in his chest. He looked utterly exhausted, his shoulders slumped and eyes sunken in. The dark circles you hadn’t seen since the road had returned, his cheeks just as hollow and his lips pale and dry. He looked every bit the haggard that you knew he felt. There was no way his body didn’t ache, tension contracting tired muscles even in his sleep and his head was throbbing, you could tell by the way his brow knit together in the center and his eyes squinted ever so slightly. He needed to eat and sleep after washing off weeks of panicked travel. 

“C’mon,” you urged, “we’ll see what he wants and then go lay down. I have a couch…”

Another tight squeeze was in your future reminiscent of the night in the patrol lodge, but even if you had the space you didn’t think you’d need it. Not tonight. 

“Look,” Tommy began when you and Joel stopped in front of him, “I know you two got other things you’re worried about. But we need to bring these people to Jackson. They helped us, we help them. They ain’t gonna make it much longer out here, Corbin’s hands shake so bad he can barely lift a damn spoon.”

“I already offered and they said no,” you argued, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to stay warm, “Well, theoretically.”

“Well, it ain’t theoretical anymore. Talk ‘em into it. My conscience can’t take the thought of them dyin’ out here alone.”

“We are leaving tomorrow,” Joel tacked on in a firm and menacing tone, “No exceptions.”

“Millie, will you talk to ‘em? Please?”

“Tommy—”

“Yes,” you cut Joel off before he could fire off whatever resistance was brewing, “I’ll talk to them.”

While you understood the younger Miller’s sentiment and urgency, you felt Joel’s agitation more. All you wanted was refuge. The memory of sleeping pressed to his chest and wrapped in his unwavering hold has been the only way you’d found enough peace to rest throughout the last two months, the guilt and remorse of wasting the final days you’d had with him always heavy in your stomach. Your plan had always been to leave when the final frost had hit and you had a sense of where to head, but making it back to Jackson had never been the outcome you expected. It was the die-trying part that had given you some sort of solace. But here he was, weary from weeks of travel for a mission he’d considered doomed from the start and you were being pulled away.

You found your hosts in their kitchen cleaning up as they did every single evening. Lee was humming as she passed the clean dishes to Corbin who set them in their places, and as you went to speak you realized exactly what you were about to ask of them. This was their home. This is where they’d lived their lives well before the outbreak turned everything to ruin. They still had this, with a few modifications. Was there anything worth losing that? You wouldn’t know. 

“I know Tommy talked to you,” you began, your fingers wringing against your stomach, “but it is safer in Jackson. There’s food and electricity. You could bake again…and live. No patrols or infected, there’s dances and bingo. I don’t know what it’s like to have a home to leave behind obviously, but we’d take care of you.”

When only sympathetic gazes responded, you nodded, heading back outside to find Joel and Tommy in a heated argument. Every nerve in your body was frayed, you were hanging on by a thread, the thought of getting between the two of them with Joel as keyed up as he was just wasn’t in your cards. Defeated, you pulled yourself up the stairs to the room you’d called yours, a small pile of clothes folded neatly in the corner and a couch with a blanket the same as it was this morning. The clothes belonged to Corbin and Lee’s daughter, the room being used as storage after both of their kids’ departures in the years leading up to the outbreak. 

The old springs of the couch creaked as you collapsed, your head falling into your hands. The spaces between your fingers were soaked within minutes, your body shaking again as you tried to keep quiet to avoid breaking down completely again, the only thing you could hear was your labored breathing whooshing against your palms. 

“Hey,” a gruff voice heavy with concern broke through as rough, calloused palms gripped your wrists and hands, “Hey, look at me.”

You shook your head, he’d seen this blubbering mess enough for the day. At this point it was embarrassing. 

“Honey…” he sighed, pulling you into his arms and you were entirely unable to fight it. 

His neck was still cool from being outside with no coat, the chill a relief to your anger-heated cheeks. The weight of his head resting on yours kept you locked in place beneath his chin, your fingers curling into the flannel covering his chest as you finally let that trapped sob escape. 

“Why’re you cryin’?” he cooed into your hair, his hand slowly rubbing up and down your back making you feel both ease and more despair. 

“Because I haven’t fucking cried in twenty years!” you snapped into his throat, voice hoarse, your lips grazing over his skin.

The floodgates had been opened. Before this—before him—they’d been steel-reinforced, impenetrable, but here as the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest helped calm you, the river ran freely. It was effortless the way he gripped the backs of your thighs and lifted you as he stood, taking your spot on the couch as he settled you into his lap, your body able to fully relax against him. Tension you’d been holding melted away, you were limp in his arms, and you knew he could feel it—the difference and all the weight it carried. The little ball you were curled into used to be saved for the toughest nights beneath whatever sham of a blanket you could find—alone—a safe space within yourself. There was no room for vulnerability, not anywhere in this world. Except for here. 

“I need you,” you mumbled, the truth setting something free inside of you.

His fingertips pressed harder into the skin of your side and you could hear his shuddering exhale and the way his throat caught in response.

“I’m here,” he assured, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

“I need you tomorrow, too.”

With that admission you lifted your head, honeyed hazel staring at you filled with wonder and fear alike. It held an understanding that he knew what those words meant; it wasn’t only tomorrow, but the next day, and the next, and the one after that. 

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he whispered, his fingers brushing the soaked strands of hair glued to your face, your face grimacing as if you were gearing up to protest, “Now, you shot me and I’m here anyway. So, either I mean it or I’m just plain stupid.”

“Joel…” you groaned, not needing the reminder of what you’d done.

“You’re gonna have to laugh about that at some point, darlin’. It’s the only time my aim’s been better than yours. And I’m holdin’ it over your head.”

A small chuckle broke free much to your dismay, the smile on your face pressing against his lips as you grabbed the sides of his chin between your thumb and fingers. 

“There ya go,” he laughed as you pulled away, the kiss quick and easy, the urgency that it may be the last washing away, “I need to clean up before that fire goes out. How do you keep warm up here?”

“Little wood stove,” you said, gesturing to the corner of the room he hadn't had a chance to inspect yet, “I’ll get it going.”

Creaking stairs gave him away to Tommy settling in on the couch, “Left you some water in the pot. It’s probably still warm enough to use.”

“Appreciate it,” Joel replied, catching the thin, ratty towel his brother tossed his way, stripping down and wiping weeks of sweat and dirt off his skin in the small bathroom before swapping his clothes to the last clean set in his pack.

Tommy’s light snores were echoing through the living room by the time Joel emerged, and he took off his boots in an attempt to make his ascent back to you quiet enough to let his brother rest. When he reached the top of the stairs his heart skipped a beat as a shrouded figure caught his peripheral.

“Sorry about the scare,” Corbin apologized, his voice distant as he stared at something on the hallway wall in front of him, “She’s already fast asleep. I threw some logs on the fire.”

“I…I can’t ever thank you properly—” Joel began, the sentiment fumbling on his cynical tongue.

“You don’t have to. How old are you? 50?”

“Uh… 53.”

“So you remember the world before all this.”

“Yeah.”

“You had a life.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“How hard was it to walk from?”

He didn’t walk away from it. It was ripped away in cold blood. The image so permanently seared behind his eyes flashed; the blood, her purple shirt, those blue eyes he’d watched flutter closed as he rocked her to sleep for so many years going dull…

“Why do you ask?” he deflected, his eyes flicking towards the door you were hidden behind.

“I’ve lived here for forty years…” Corbin began, “My kids grew up here. That one there,” he pointed to a photo in an old frame right in front of his eyes, “That’s Pete. Pneumonia got him, his lungs were always a mess, couldn’t save him in time. And then Annie,” he slid his gnarled finger over to a young girl no older than Sarah was, “We dropped her off at college in San Francisco in August 2013. Never saw her again. These are the only walls they ever knew. And I wonder if they’re the only walls I ever want to see.”

“I understand.”

“I thought you might,” Corbin chuckled, giving Joel a knowing glance, “Tell me, Joel, is there a copy of The Song of Music in Jackson?”

“Yes sir, I think there is.”

“Well, I’d very much like to see that again.”

You were fast asleep when he crept back into the room, your face barely lit in the dim glow creeping through the window of the stove. The dusting of freckles on your face, the scar he’d watched heal from a bloody gash jagged and pink across your cheeks and nose, a stray section of warm, red hair tinged with white and gray laying across your lashes and brow, your choice of his coat to cover your body with instead of the blanket inches away, it all made him smile. His fingers brushed your eyes clear, tucking the rogue strands behind your ear before leaning down to press his lips to your temple before dragging the old blanket over the top of you.

As much as he wanted to curl up beneath you, beside you, anywhere he could feel your heat, he didn’t want to disturb you. Your day had been long enough, so the floor would do for what he hoped would be one last time. 

Chapter 14

Art by @natendo-art 🩵🩵🩵

[givemeanaccountalready]

One last post before I turn for the night. You know how projection is one hell of a drug? And that Kotoko doesn’t like Mikoto at all while Mikoto keeps trying to befriend her? Maybe it’s because Kotoko sees the worst of herself in Mikoto and rejecting him is how she rejects that part of herself, while Mikoto sees the most pitiable parts of himself in her (like her self-imposed isolation and high standards) and is trying to give her the treatment he wished others had given him?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m still firmly in the camp of “Mikoto killed somebody and John covered for him well enough that denying it ever happened wasn’t that hard,” but you guys ever hear that one saying: that the water that boiled the egg, softens the potato? Some people face adversity and when they see others face that same sort of adversity, they say, “I managed just fine on my own/I pulled myself up by my bootstraps so why won’t you?” Others face adversity and when they see others face it as well, their instinct is “I wish I had had help so I’m going to try and help.”

Now, let me be clear, I am not using childhood trauma to excuse what Kotoko did. But I’m extremely curious as to what you have to do to a kid to make them grow up to become what Kotoko is. Same with Mikoto. It’s less of an “I want an easy excuse to justify it,” and more of a “I want context to better understand what led up to this.”

From what I remember reading about the articles shown in Harrow, the pedophile she killed had a rich daddy who was implied to have swept it under the rug and got him released. For completely understandable reasons, Kotoko is pissed. Not only does he not show any remorse, but he is a repeat offender who will continue to hurt other young girls. I could understand why the cops decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and wash their hands of the whole debacle by agreeing with Kotoko and the girl’s story that it was all justifiable within self-defense. The problem Kotoko then faced was that the pedophile had a rich father who could and did pay for an independent review. And then upon hearing that the injuries his son faced before he died exceeded what one could claim self-defense, went on to publish the hell out of the story to get Kotoko punished. In Harrow, when we see her storm the warehouse, there are frames showing a partial overhead view of a woman lying on the ground, a partial view of a man with a hammer who looks very similar to the pedophile, and a clear view of a young girl bound and gagged in a dark room. Did something similar happen in Kotoko’s past and that’s why she’s so stuck in her views on strength, pain, and penance?

Same with Mikoto. DID is a rare condition that usually forms in response to extreme childhood trauma. Mikoto could be one of the unlucky few that developed it past the normal point, but it’s more likely that something happened to him when he was young. Maybe whatever happened was the reason why his parents divorced and not because his father worked all the time. Mikoto clings to his view that if he follows the rules, works hard, and checks off the boxes to the “respectability” checklist that he will be fine. Almost as much as Kotoko clings to her worldviews. It sounds like gossip-mongering I know, but I want to know to try and understand how what happened had happened the way it did and if it could have been prevented.

[outspokens]

Devin Bahar was spotted in the fashion district adorning louis vuitton ankle boots, with some airpod pros on. They’re most likely listening to Hold Me Down by Halsey. You may know them as @d.bahar or as that Bella Hadid lookalike. Their twenty-sixth birthday just passed. While living in the upper east side, they’ve gained a bit of a reputation. They’re known to be a workaholic but on the other hand ambitiuous. Wonder if they’ll be the next person to hit the headlines. ( ic cis-female / she/her + ooc katie / 24 / she/her )

Hello all! My name is Katie, 24, EST and I’m super excited for this to be back and for me to attempt to introduce you to my bby Devin! I’m gonna’ jump off with some statistics and quick facts and links at the bottom. If you’d like to plot, definitely feel free to throw a message my way either through Tumblr or Discord! discord: katie#7666

*aesthetics — the feeling of swinging on a swing, yoga in the morning, polaroids, blue jeans, driving with the windows down, soft smiles, record players, honey, warm coffee, radiating sunlight, black sweaters, an open window at night, over-sized hoodies barely hiding lace lingerie, self healing, the sound of waves on a beach, neat handwriting, calm music as you fall asleep, expensive perfume, eternally stressed, messy ponytails, bare feet in the sand, half opened jewelry boxes, the smell of rain in the air, silk sheets, red wine.

BASICS

full name: devin isabella bahar. nickname(s): dev, isabella ( by her mother ). date of birth: October 9, 1996. zodiac sign: libra. gender: cis-female. pronouns: she/her/hers. sexuality: pansexual / panromantic. occupation: fashion designer, top-model, and part-time photographer. reflection collective: shortened to ‘reflection’, reflection collective is devin’s brand that she releases all of her own designs under. known as: a renowned model, successful fashion designer, businesswoman, philanthropist, and a well-known but very part-time photographer. social media: d.bahar on all platforms.

FAMILY

mother: isabella emila bahar. relationship: their relationship can be described as almost non-existent and certainly toxic, though most that have seen them interact would describe it as any other loving mother-daughter relationship. if you knew the true story behind the workings of the bahar household and how the eldest woman of the house was, you’d swear both women should have gone into acting; they would have won dozens of oscars. however, if you’re close enough with devin to be let in enough or you have had any form of conversation with her that involves family, you would know that she holds no love for her mother. it sounds harsh in the simplest of forms if there’s no story or tone given to it, but the stories in the back of her mind are enough to justify how closed-off her heart is to the woman she could only describe as materialistic and vindictive. not only is their relationship strained due to the memories of her childhood and her mother’s materialistic nature, but her mother has made it quite clear that her goal is to try and marry her daughter off for as much money as possible. her eyes have always been on a far bigger and shinier prize, no matter how good her life already is and no matter how miserable it might make her daughter.

father: damian jeof bahar. relationship: she had gone practically begging on her knees for some form of a relationship with her father years after he took off with no explanation. the brunette has never been one to turn away from knowledge and she learned at a young age how important it was to have a father-figure there for you as you grew up. it was even more important when you had the type of mother she did, which is what caused her to reach out once she was older, hopeful to gain some form of relationship with the male even if it was starting to feel too late. however, what she hadn’t expected was for verbal rejection. he had practically slammed the door in her face, rejected her and made sure to let her know that he wanted nothing to do with her. it had ripped her apart far more than she was willing to admit to herself or anyone else, yet she still considers the relationship with her father far healthier than the relationship she has with her mother. even though she isn’t sure if the cut in contact is due to her mother or if it was simply because she didn’t live up to his expectations, didn’t deserve his love. either way, she has attempted to move on from the harsh rejection, even if she still has a hole in her heart over it.

siblings: none.

APPEARANCE, VOICE, & MANNERISMS

face-claim: bella hadid. hair: dark brown, described as brunette, tends to look almost black. dyes her hair once in a while. eye color: blue. ( you can get a good look at her eyes here and here. ) height: 5'9". body type: slim, curvy. skin color: tan. scent: generally, gives off a hint of vanilla and lavender. general wardrobe description: can usually be found wearing a comfortable pair of skinny jeans, a looser sized shirt, sometimes along with a sweatshirt of some type. other times, it’s difficult to guess her style due to being dressed by other designers to show off their new clothing. usually gravitates towards dark clothing. it’s hard to really pin-point her style. one day, she’s dressed in all black with pigtails, the next day, she’s wearing bright colors with curly hair. ( inspo, inspo, inspo ). dominant hand: right hand. disorders: suffers from unipolar depression and anxiety. tattoos: a dainty rose on her left elbow ( image reference ) and tiny wings on her right ankle ( image reference, image reference ), ‘i love you’ in arabic on her left shoulder ( image reference ), ‘my love’ in arabic on her right shoulder ( image reference ),tends to keep her ink small and limited due to modeling. piercings: both ears have four piercings, both nipples, had a septum at one point but doesn’t wear it anymore. habits: chewing the ends of pens, swearing, snacking between meals, skipping meals, hair twirling, eye rolling, gesturing while talking, tucking hair behind ears, doodling, peeling off bottle labels, running hands through hair, rubbing temples. ( sometimes / might do / does not always apply; muttering under their breath, talking to themselves, picking at skin, whistling, humming to themselves, procrastinating, pacing ).

PERSONALITY

label(s): the workaholic, the mom friend. positive character traits: affectionate, adventurous, charming, confident, determined, loyal, charismatic, warmhearted, thoughtful, sympathetic, reliable, passionate, optimistic, loving, imaginative, helpful, hard-working, honest, generous, enthusiastic, creative, ambitious. negative character traits: blunt, perfectionist, sarcastic, stubborn, withdrawn, workaholic, self-destructive, argumentative. fears: failure, dying alone. lucky number: 3. sociability: extroverted, though can become quite introverted when her mental health acts up.

FAVORITES

drink: alcoholic; red wine, but won’t turn down any kind of wine. non-alcoholic; hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon on top. flowers: lilies. time of day: she loves the night, specifically anytime she can look at the stars. weather: sunny days but she also loves the rain. color(s): deep purple, rose red. animal(s): dogs, dolphins.

TEST RESULTS

mbti: ( this test ); the protagonist; enfj-t. ( read more here )

protagonists are natural-born leaders, full of passion and charisma. forming around two percent of the population, they are oftentimes our politicians, our coaches and our teachers, reaching out and inspiring others to achieve and to do good in the world. with a natural confidence that begets influence, protagonists take a great deal of pride and joy in guiding others to work together to improve themselves and their community.

enneagram: ( this test );

type one; 98% match; type 1 can be thought of as the perfectionist. ones place a lot of emphasis on following the rules and doing things correctly.

type seven; 94% match; type 7 is described as the enthusiast. sevens want to have as much fun and adventure as possible and are easily bored.

type two; 92% match; type 2 can be described as the giver. twos want to be liked and find ways that they can be helpful to others so that they can be loved and belong.

temperament: ( this test ); results tied — sanguine and phlegmatic;

the sanguine temperament is fundamentally spontaneous and pleasure-seeking; sanguine people are sociable and charismatic. they tend to enjoy social gatherings, making new friends and tend to be boisterous. they are usually quite creative and often daydream. however, some alone time is crucial for those of this temperament. sanguine can also mean sensitive, compassionate and thoughtful. sanguine personalities tend to be forgetful and sometimes a little sarcastic. they are very much people persons. they are talkative and not shy.

the phlegmatic temperament is fundamentally relaxed and quiet, warmly attentive. phlegmatics tend to be content with themselves and are kind. they are accepting and affectionate. they may be receptive and shy and often prefer stability to uncertainty and change. they are consistent, relaxed, calm, rational, curious, and observant, qualities that make them good administrators. they can also be passive-aggressive.

hogwarts house: ( this test ): hufflepuff;

hufflepuff students are typically fair-minded, loyal, honest, and hard-working.

gryffindor: 78% hufflepuff: 100% ravenclaw: 92% slytherin: 81%

seven deadly sins: ( this test ):

greed: very low gluttony: medium wrath: very low sloth: very low envy: very low lust: low pride: medium

seven heavenly virtues: ( this test ): charity;

you got charity. this means you're very generous and giving, rather than greedy. you prefer to help others and share your wealth, rather than keep it all to yourself. it's people like you that restore others' faith in humanity.

element: ( this test ): earth;

as an earth person you are reliable, honest and good-natured.

anger type: ( this test ): balanced;

you have your temper in good check. people may even think you don't have a dark side.

love style: ( this test ): agape;

you are a caring, kind, and selfless partner. unsurprisingly, your love style is the most rare. you are willing to sacrifice your world for your partner, except it doesn't really feel like sacrifice to you. for you, nothing feels better than giving to the one you love.

love type: ( this test ): the idealist ( infp );

in love, you crave a long term, harmonious relationship. you want a life partner and soulmate.

for you, closeness doesn't come quickly - it takes time for you to open up. you need to build trust first. overall, you are supportive, nurturing, and expressive. you want to be that rock for the person you're with.

however, you tend to be shy and protective of your personal space. you absolutely need to have your 'me' time too.

best matches: enfj and esfj

self-knowledge: ( this test );

ambition;  you have a strong sense of potential and an intense drive to accomplish difficult things. the core of this is your ability to hold together the big goals and the daily efforts. where other people’s hopes collapse when they encounter the tedium of the journey, you keep coming back. oddly, it is actually your ability to endure feeling unheroic that counts. you know the power of working away solidly on what’s in front of you.

authority; you are good at making decisions; you have a clear sense of what needs to be done and what others should be doing. played out inside yourself, this tendency drives you to value willpower and self-control. but acting on your desire to dissuade, restrain or guide is often appreciated by others – who might secretly like a clear direction, and some firmness.

orderliness; you love it when everything is neat and tidy: when there is a proper way of doing things, and you can tick things off the to-do list and know where everything is. and you run into things that can’t be ordered (a child, a partner, a colleague at work) which drives you slightly nuts. but your desire for order is a good one when it is focussed where it is needed and when you’re okay with a bit of mess.

cattell’s 16 factor test: ( this test ):

click here and click here.

archetypes quiz: ( this test ):

46% caregiver: friendly, sincere, and compassionate, the caregiver finds their reward in helping others. no one could ask for a better best friend.

37% advocate: the advocate is the one everyone wants on their side. in the name of justice, they are not afraid to challenge authority or speak up for others.

17% creative: the creative appreciates all beautiful things, in art and daily life. the creative act is essential to who they are.

what shape does your pain take: ( this test ): sea;

you're drowning. a sea of emotions, responsibilities, people, things, everything. you just can't handle it all, you need to escape, but you can't. even talking to someone and being told it's okay, compliments, nice things people say, it all adds up to drown you further. guilt, for feeling this way when everyone's being nice and you're not enough.

what color is your muse: ( this test ): #00bfff — deepskyblue

your dominant hues are cyan and blue. you like people and enjoy making friends. you're conservative and like to make sure things make sense before you step into them, especially in relationships. you are curious but respected for your opinions by people who you sometimes wouldn't even suspect.

your saturation level is very high - you are all about getting things done. the world may think you work too hard but you have a lot to show for it, and it keeps you going. you shouldn't be afraid to lead people, because if you're doing it, it'll be done right.

your outlook on life is very bright. you are sunny and optimistic about life and others find it very encouraging, but remember to tone it down if you sense irritation.

where does your soul belong: ( this test )

Inside an antique watercolour box.

You probably possess the same soul with a raphaelite muse. You crave for understanding and romantic souls. You are full of light but you are too afraid to hang into your hopes and your light because you’ve been through too much pain; you just want to protect your soul by surrounding your soul with a barbed wire of cynicism. Your soul need not a place for rest, but a place for nesting, build your hopes with beauty and love again with these unstirrable old paints.

dark core personality test: ( this test )

EGOISM  7% —— “Excessive concern with one’s own pleasure or advantage at the expense of community well-being.” (Weigel et al. 1999)

MACHIAVELLIANISM  7% —— “Manipulativeness, callous affect, and a strategic, calculating orientation.” (Jones & Paulhus 2014) MORAL

MORAL DISENGAGEMENT  10% —— “A generalized cognitive orientation that differentiates one’s thinking towards unethical behavior.” (Moore et al. 2012)

NARCISSISM  20% —— “An all-consuming drive towards ego-reinforcement and an egotistical interest in, or admiration of, one’s self.” (Jones & Paulhus 2014; Smith 2017)

ENTITLEMENT  10% —— “A stable and pervasive sense that one deserves and is entitled to more than others.” (Campbell et al. 2004)

PSYCHOPATHY  10% —— “Deficits in affect and self-control (i.e. callousness and impulsivity), as well as a lack of remorse, antisocial behavior, and volatility.” (Jones & Paulhus 2014; Smith 2017)

SADISM 0% —— “A tendency to humiliate others via cruel or demeaning behavior, or the propensity to intentionally inflict physical, sexual, or psychological pain on others in order to assert power or for pleasure and enjoyment.” (O’Meara et al. 2011)

SELF-INTEREST  10% —— “The unprincipled pursuit of gains in socially valued domains, such as material goods, social status, recognition, achievement, and success.” (Gerbasi & Prentice 2013)

SPITEFULNESS  7% —— “A tendency to engage in behavior that would harm others but would also entail harm to oneself.” (Marcus et al. 2014)

TOTAL DARK CORE  9% —— “Total Dark Core: Your total Dark Core factor. Higher scores indicate a darker personality.   This makes you 37.89% Lighter than the average person.

why are you unlovable: ( this test ); you’re a ghost.

You have fallen from everything you've loved, they still love you, but you are so unrecognizable these days they don't even know what to do. Let the sun warm you again, it's not all bad.

your plant personality: ( this test )

GINGER: Spirited. A feisty and fiery companion, quick with an opinion, a laugh or an idea. Warm, friendly and inviting, you never allow an awkward moment to pass. In fact, even cold and distant people warm up to you more quickly than others. Negative experiences or too much indulgence, however, can send you into a bit of a tailspin, and when hurt you may become quite cold and distant. Ginger people do best when their natural warmth and affection is flowing freely, giving them easy access to their love of life.

NETTLE: Truly a nurturing and supportive friend, you’re the kind of person that just isn’t for everyone. But those who take the time are rewarded with your gentle disposition, and the kind of friendship that does a person good no matter the difficulty they’re facing. When out of balance, you can become more prickly than supportive or nurturing, though — a sign that you need to shower yourself with the same kind of nurturing you so freely give to others.

PASSIONFLOWER: Deeply concerned about others and the world around you, you have a developed sense of what’s right and just. You’re a bit of an idealist and strive to see your vision of perfection realized in the world. On occasion you get out of balance, and you may feel a deep sense of unease and be prone to worry — especially at night, tossing and turning over all that is wrong or that needs fixing.

tea type: ( this test ): echinacea tea;

You are a protector, a visionary who strives to make the world a better place for those around you. Not only are you fundamentally kind and caring, but you have the drive to turn your big heart into big action. Sometimes your altruistic and humanitarian attitude makes those closest to you feel unimportant, so take the time to remind them how you love them *specifically*. And don’t forget to take time for yourself, either. You’ll burn yourself out if you make taking care of others your full-time job.

how do you best like to be loved: ( this test ); stay with me while the storm is strong;

We all need someone sometimes, and you often don't feel like you are worth someone remaining. you are, though. I know that you crave for someone to be there and rest their hand against your back during the bad times. For a loving voice to lull you to sleep with a cadence of compassion and a desire to remain. You just want someone to remain. Through and past the bad parts when you know it is difficult. You want to fall asleep to their voice and wake up to them still there in the morning. You want them to know the way that you take your tea and keep a box of your favorite flavor in their pantry in case you have a bad night and need to come over. You want to trust someone enough to give them a key to your house. And you deserve it, love. You deserve for someone to linger. You deserve to place your trust in another and know that they'll help you brush your hair if you're just too tired. You deserve for someone to remain.

what kind of sexual deviant are you: ( this test )

click here for the full results and info.

EXTRA LINKS

about page

connections page

wanted connections blog (bc I’m terrible with coming up with connection ideas)

innerworkings tag for some extra musings

[oxyvisualanalysis-fa23]

Psychoanalysis

Luke West

Disclosure - Magnets ft. Lorde

Magnets was a song released in 2015 by the band Disclosure, featuring Lorde. Disclosure is a duo of two British brothers who are known for making electronic music. Lorde provided vocals for the song. The video features three leads, a husband, played by Iddo Goldberg, his wife, played by someone not even IMDb could find, and the woman that Goldberg cheats with, who is played by Lorde.

The song plays into the imagination of the wife by imagining that Goldberg is cheating on her with Lorde, whose actual existence is slightly blurred because of the scene at 1:25. This scene makes it seem like Lorde is a figment of the wife’s imagination because she disappears in the scene after and the wife and Goldberg share a seemingly normal moment together. The video takes a dark turn when Lorde has Goldberg tied up in a chair and kicks him into a pool. She then sets the pool on fire as Goldberg meets a gruesome death. This implies that Lorde was in fact, real, and it makes the audience wonder when she became real, and when the affair had started. At 2:07 the wife reveals that she has a black eye as she and Goldberg both look at each other, looking tired and unaffectionate. This scene shows that Goldberg is physically abusing her as well.

The video relates to The Mirror Stage with lyrics and video. Goldberg’s character looks to have an affair with a younger, more attractive woman because he doesn’t think he’s getting out of the relationship what he thinks he should be getting. The recurring lyrics “Pretty girls don't know the things that I know; Walk my way, I'll share the things that she won't” are also a representation of the ego of Lorde’s character, in how she sees herself. Those lyrics can also be a representation of lack of self esteem from the wife, and anxiety that Goldberg would see what she sees in the mirror, and leave her for someone like Lorde. 

“Indeed, for the imagos - whose veiled faces it is our privilege to see in outline in our daily experience and in the penumbra of symbolic efficacity - the mirror-image would seem to be the threshold of the visible world, if we go by the mirror disposition that the imago of one's own body presents in hallucinations or dreams, whether it concerns its individual features, or even its infirmities, or its object-projections; or if we observe the role of the mirror apparatus in the appearances of the double, in which psychical realities, however heterogeneous, are manifested.” (Lacan, The Mirror Stage as Formative of the Function of the I as Revealed in Psychoanalytic Experience, p 443)

Themes from The Uncanny are also prevalent in this video. The wife’s worries about her husband cheating on her becoming a reality is a very interesting case because in the logic of Freud, her actions trying to prevent that from happening could’ve made it more likely to happen. On the other hand, it is possible that the husband subconsciously wanted to cheat on her in the first place, and it would explain him physically abusing her and “justifying” the infidelity: in his eyes, the relationship isn’t working. They aren’t happy together, so he should find someone who does make him happy. This could also make the twist of killing him at the end more enjoyable for the audience so they can think “he had it coming.”

“When we proceed to review the things, persons, impressions, events and situations which are able to arouse in us a feeling of the uncanny in a particularly forcible and definite form, the first requirement is obviously to select a suitable example to start on.” (Freud, The Uncanny, p 421)

Synchronicity II - The Police

Synchronicity II was released in 1983 by The Police as part of the album Synchronicity. The lyrics speak of a dystopian suburban family, focusing on the depressed father. The video itself features each of the three members, bassist and lead singer Sting, guitarist Andy Summers, and drummer Stuart Copeland in a post-apocalyptic set of trash and dressed in baggy trashy clothing. Summers and Copeland are both imitating playing trashy versions of their instruments to the song while sitting on mountains of guitar and drum parts respectively. Sting is moving around and singing along to the song. Each verse of the song follows a part of the day that the father has. Starting with a morning family meal, the mother and father are both on the brink of insanity, yet bottle it up because they’re supposed to enjoy the cookie-cutter lifestyle. 

“Daddy only stares into the distance

There's only so much more that he can take”

The second verse follows the father as he mindlessly goes to a job and boss that he hates. He walks over a picket line, disregarding the strikes and struggles of his fellow workers and just thinking about himself. This verse really paints a picture of his lack of awareness for other people, or how they feel around him.

“He walks unhindered through the picket lines today

He doesn't think to wonder why”

The third and final verse follows his drive home where he faces rush hour, joining many others who are just as depressed as this man. The father finally unenthusiastically reaches his house, knowing that he won’t find solace in his own home with his family. The lyrics about lemmings refers to their tendency to jump off cliffs in packs just because the one before them did it as well. This once again emphasizes the lack of uniqueness the father and his other fellow suburbanites have from each other.

“Packed like lemmings into shiny metal boxes

Contestants in a suicidal race”

The chorus is very cryptic and has been theorized to have multiple meanings, such as the looming threat of climate change, or the father’s internal struggles being bottled up. Either way, the threat seems very distant, yet ominous, and is portrayed in the music video (and music itself) as such. At the end of the video we finally get to see the cottage on the shore, but it’s blurry and under poor lighting.

Discussion questions:

How does society play a role in the deterioration of women’s self esteem, and how may that affect the wife in the music video?

How does ego come into play when discussing infidelity?

Do you think that suspecting or worrying that a certain event may happen could make that event more likely to happen?

(Side note) At the time of this video being filmed, Lorde was 18 years old and Iddo Goldberg was around 40. Thoughts?

[the-jade-goblin]

Born of Fire and Fury - a WIP snippet

This is a draft from my WIP that I couldn’t get out of my head all night and I had to write it down and put it somewhere.

“It’s cold.” Raena brought her arms around her own frame, tiny sparks of flames spitting forth from her fingertips to warm her pale skin. A quiet chuckle made her look up with a frown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Fenrir shook his head, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Just – a princess of fire and fury – cold. It’s amusing.”

“Perhaps I am cold because I stand in the presence of a prince of ice and stone.” Raena countered, smugness stretching lazily over her lips.

“In that case, perhaps I should go?” a tease. “I could not risk our future queen’s health.”

“Don’t you dare.” Raena shot a hand out, gripping the crushed velvet of Fenrir’s tunic to keep in place, despite him making no movements to move away from her. “Do not move even a single inch.”

Her fist softened, hand running up the material of the dark tunic to find the skin at the precipice of the tunic’s collar. Goosebumps formed under her fingertips. She brought him closer, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin.

“I have been thinking of you...” Fenrir admitted. “Truth be told, I’ve been able to think of little else.”

“And might you share these thoughts with me?” her lovely face was closer now, inching ever forward towards his. “It seems only right, since I am the subject of your thoughts.”

“Princess…”

Her hand crept higher, nails skirting the short hairs at the back of his neck. His flesh prickled in the wake of her fingertips. A sharp intake breath at the feel of her nails delicately scratching the sensitive skin behind his ear.

“Command me to go,” his voice was wretched, a forced croak from an impossibly dry throat. “Command it, and I shall obey.”

“And if I commanded you to stay?” her brow arched – a challenge. He had grown familiar with the particular fire in her eyes when they played their little game. But this time, he was sure to lose. “If I commanded you to get on your knees before me?”

Her fingers tangled in his hair and gripped tight, holding him hostage in her grip. He released a shaky breath. He could break free, if he truly wished to. But they both knew he had no desire to do so. He was at her mercy, her beck and call, as he had always been. Since the day they first met he was hers – he had belonged to her since the first moment.

“Princess –”

“Raena.” She interrupted. “You know my name – use it. Say my name Fenrir.”

“Raena…” he breathed the word like a prayer, his breath a mist in the cold air. When had they gotten so close? Had her lips always been a whisper away from his? A single movement would connect them, just one tilt of his chin and her lips would be on his. “We cannot.”

Her bright eyes darkened.

“You are promised to my brother.”

The fist in his hair tightened, causing momentary pain, before it slipped away entirely. She turned her body away from him, leaving him cold in her absence. She scowled over the battlements, hands curling over the chipped stone.

“I am promised to myself. I am no man’s belonging. Not yours, and certainly not his.”

“You are betrothed to my brother. And a Stormborne always puts duty before self. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”

She fixed him in her piercing gaze, the storm swirling in the depths of her iris dark and furious.

“I am sick of duty.” She spat. “I am sick of having my decisions made for me. I am tired of my life being lived for me. All my life I have put my duty before me – everything I have ever done has been for my duty! My duty to my house, my duty to my kingdom, my people, my father. What about my duty to myself? What about me? When do I get to make one decision for my wishes, for my desires?!”

She ripped the golden amulet from her neck, staring down at the embellished dragon glinting in the moonlight.

“Am I not allowed to be selfish for once in my life?!”

She hurled the amulet over the battlements, and they watched it fall into the inky blackness below. A distant splash as it landed in the river.

Fenrir gazed at her hands – gripping so tight her knuckles were a brilliant white, her nails digging into the ancient stone so hard blood was beginning to drop from her nailbeds, staining the stone. Droplets of water splashed onto her skin, and it was then that Fenrir realized they were tears.

His eyes found her face, twisted in despair, and his heart clenched painfully. He had never once seen Raena cry.

He came to stand closer to her once more, enveloping her hand in his, holding her fingers gently. His proximity seemed to calm her, the princess letting out a breath and relaxing her grip against the stone.

“I am, and will always be, yours.” He spoke. “In both body and spirit. That will never change, no matter the future before us.”

“It is not enough.” Her voice seemed too quiet now, deafening in its frailness.

“No.” he agreed heavily. “It won’t be. I can only be your knight – but he will be your king.”

“I do not want a king!” Raena ripped her hand out from under his, and suddenly both her hands were on his face, her brilliant eyes shining with tears and leaving him transfixed. “I want my prince…”

She brushed aside his hair, tucking the long strands behind his ears and keeping her hands firm. He could not move if he wanted to. A few stray tears spilled from her eyes, and Fenrir automatically reached up to brush them away.

“Please do not cry, my heart.” He lamented. “My love, don’t cry.”

It seemed his words broke the dam, and then she was in his arms, sobbing heartfelt tears into his chest. Wordlessly, he held her. Secure in his arms, she wept. She wept for all the years she had been denied this, for every curse brought forth against her name, for every present and future she was forced to live that wasn’t her own. And Fenrir said nothing – there was nothing that could be said. He let her cry and scream and pound her fists against him in her righteous and desperate fury. He stroked her tangled fiery hair in a never-ending cycle, and together they rode out the storm.

“Stay by my side.” She whispered. Her voice was husky now, exhaustion settling in, but it was no less beautiful to Fenrir. “Don’t leave me. Stay with me tonight.”

He let out a long breath, tucking his head against the crown of her head. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“I could never deny you anything.” He said honestly.

She shifted against him, raising her head to look at him. Once again, her hands found their way into his hair, her nails pressing against his scalp in a way that made him shiver.

“Truly? Not anything?” she questioned.

“Anything.”

She smiled then, a soft, secretive smile. As if they were the only two souls left on earth. “And if I asked for your lips, would you give them?”

He returned her smile. “I would.”

“Kiss me then, Fenrir.”

And it was heaven on earth when their lips finally touched. All this time of waiting, of longing, of wanting, to bring them to the pinnacle of their desire, their control broken and forgotten by the wayside. Fenrir knew, that come what may, he could never regret this. He could never regret a single moment with Raena.  

[oh-shtars]

WHAT.

Lol, I did NOT expect to see an analysis essay on this post. And that’s not a bad thing! It makes me so happy you enjoy engaging with my work so far!! You’re too much Saph- 😭😭💖💖

And I can relate to you with loving character details so I don’t blame you at all. But let me write out my own response here: ⬇️

1.) Sueño’s form is one that he made up himself when he was a young free star in the sky. Back when he admired the humans living below them. Waaaaay before reality crashed him down. Literally.

Actually, the black on his cape is really just because it matches the dark evening sky and the white gradient is to make it look like the white tail of an actual shooting star when he flies in high speed. But yeah, I guess you can say he has a connection to the royals in a way. ;)

2.) Sueño’s green bands are a strong extra precaution by the royals just in case he does escape his cage. So that the star won’t be able to leave Rosas or travel far so they can recapture him again. Poor guy… Yeah, it’s meant to stand out and look off from his colour scheme because it’s not a part of him. (Also, because it’s a small reference to the Genie’s yellow armbands in Aladdin imprisoning him inside the lamp.)

3.) Asha’s outfit change is meant to symbolise her breaking free from the royal couple’s influence and becoming more “cozier” and comfortable of her own self. From the blue and white servant clothes to her more culturally-influenced dress.

Fun fact: Purple is also colour of hope!

Asha’s servant clothes are meant to blend more into just a regular ordinary fit. After all, she does believe she’s no one special. She’s a wall-flower who’s shut out the world for so long after the tragedy of her father that she doesn’t know her place in it anymore.

(OMG YESS! YOU FOUND OUT THAT HER BANDANNA IS MEANT TO HIDE HER FACE. And it being gone in the second-half is character development!! YESSS ✨✨)

4.) Amaya and Magnifico’s outfits are white and blue because they are Rosas’ main colours. But I also like to think that the blue is also the same colour as the wish essence that people release when they make a wish. And Magnifico is keeping them in his castle and using them for his own benefit secretly. It’s why there’s blue on his and Amaya’s clothing. Plus, the white is meant to show how they are “pure-intentioned.’

But the black is a whole new touch from the generations of kings and queens before them, symbolising a ‘rotting’ secret underneath that no one else knows. And yeah, it makes them stand out from their mostly white castle, which I think is pretty neat.

5.) Amaya and Magnifico’s outfits complement each other since they are, after all, a strong power duo. But they are also pretty dependent on the other and while they do have “distinctly” seperate personalities and are their own person, they really only have each other.

After all, the universe both rejected each of their respective chances of reaching their dreams, right? And after finding that comfort of similarity, Amaya and Mag are both protective and inseparable. It’s why Magnifico promised his wife he will mold the world into their own paradise once they’ve gathered enough wishes for Rosas’ special 100th anniversary :))

6.) Oooh~ I like the way you’re thinking on that gold symbolism there Saph :33

YES! You caught on again!

Amaya and Mag have gold jewellery that they can show off to people but can easily take off on private. Meanwhile, Asha having gold/amber eyes and Sueño having blonde hair can never be taken off, symbolising how they both have HEARTS OF GOOOLD- 😭😭

(Also, even if Sueño turns human, Yeah, most of his hair is honey-brown, but there’s a streak of hair that remains golden-blonde. It’s a neat thing that shows how he never really loses his history and never stopped fulfilling his purpose as a star. “We are all stars” right? 😉 But also because I remembered Anna and Rapunzel had the same streaks and it would make a small neat reference too.)

7.) I did mention before that Asha + Amaya and Sueño + Magnifico are parallels of the other. :))

And I’m so glad you noticed the pins too for Sueño and Mag’s cape. Dang, didn’t think anyone would spot it out.

Sueño’s is a little more closer to the middle because his intentions are sincere and he does care from deep within. Meanwhile, Mag’s is something else. Did you know our hearts are located slightly to the left of our chest? Mag’s pin (that is engraved with Rosas’ emblem) is placed more on the right. Almost as if the kingdom’s well-being is not so close to his heart :))

Last and Bonus fact!!:

8.) Magnifico’s dominant side is his left. He’s left-handed. Notice that his staff is always held there? Plus, he wears his wedding ring on that side too. And on the left of his head, he has a braid that Amaya did for him, which he keeps on. (Other than that, nothing else will ruin his perfectly great hair.)

But in the right hand, the less-dominant side. Mag usually pulls or summons a wish bubble with that hand. Or even when he addresses Asha, it’s also usually his right. It’s a minor detail and it’s not always going to be consistent since Mag does this unconsciously, but I thought it’d be a nice and a fun thing to put in.

…….

Other than what I mentioned, some of the details at the end like Sueño and Mag’s line of direction have me like:

But hey! I love looking at things from a different perspective and I like Saph’s interpretation of it. It makes sense too. Sueño looking upwards and moving forward despite what’s he’s been through, while Mag is looking downwards and is stuck in the past. The past where all his rage and darkness stems from. Cheers to you Saph!! 💖

Also, the tips of Magnifico’s cape looking like a spider’s web and catching everyone in his trap? I LOVE LOVE LOVE THAT BTW. ✨✨

But that’s not the reason why I made it that way. I still do approve of that interpretation though. But let’s just say that the king’s cape is going to be foreshadowing something very ‘classic-villain’ in the story’s final battle~ ;)

Heeeey look! It’s the madman himself! :DD

OMG FINALLY!! We got all 4 of the RFTS! Main cast! ✨✨

[monocaelia]

tending to their wounds

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

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

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

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

❀ albedo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❀ childe

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❀ diluc

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i think it's time for you to leave." shocked, you try and apologize and get him to let you stay a little bit more. the night is still young, and he still has more injuries to be looked at! but diluc pays you no mind.

not like he'd have the heart to actually kick you out of his room anyways.

❀ kaeya

the captain of the calvary isn't one to fight, always looking for people to do his dirty work so he doesn't have to. why bother exerting more energy than you already have when you can make others do it for you? it's more fun that way, anyways.

that doesn't mean kaeya is incapable of fighting. if needed to, the blue haired captain would gladly point his sword at the enemy to keep them at bay or spar a fellow knight. scratches and shallow scrapes are what you mostly see from him.

you aren't expecting to be called into the knights of favonius headquarters and be greeted by the calvary captain battered up and bruised in the infirmary.

"you're squeezing me too hard," kaeya comments nonchalantly, as if he isn't bleeding to death on the bed right now. "you'll cut off circulation in my arm if you keep doing that." you shoot him a glare, but the blue haired captain only laughs at you. you tighten the bandage on his arm.

you refuse to get tangled up in anymore of kaeya's antics. it's all his fault you've aged ten years because of him and his stupid actions and refusing to ask for help despite the mission being bigger than anyone could handle. alone at least. it's not like you don't trust him, but a little extra help isn't bad to have.

your frown deepens when your eyes flit up to stare at the blood soaked shirt covering kaeya's chest. you order him to take it off so you can inspect his injury, which was a mistake on your part.

"oh? shouldn't you ask me on a date first before being this forward?" kaeya's laughter rings around the infirmary seeing your deadpan expression at his joke. maybe you should just leave, just leave this stupid man to bleed to death on this infirmary bed. maybe then you would finally be at peace.

"well. maybe i would have asked you on a date if you weren't so stupid to take this dumb mission alone. you could have died, asshole." kaeya only hums in response, which pisses you off even more. it's like he didn't have a care in the world.

in the midst of your grumblings and cleaning of kaeya's wounds, you miss the tender look he gives you; warm and gentle. the captain finds it nice to have someone care for someone like him after so long.

it wasn’t his fault he wanted to do this alone. well, it was, but it’s hard for kaeya to rely on others and be vulnerable to those around him despite how long he’s known them. his walls are built high, refusing to let anybody in in case he accidentally hurts them in the future.

he wonders if you'd miss him if he disappeared one day, but the way your brows furrow in concern at seeing how bad the gash in his chest confirms his answer.

kaeya’s endearing, warm smile is replaced with the usual smug smirk when you look up to meet his gaze. one day, he hopes he’ll be able to let his walls down around you.

"you know, you're really cute when you worry over me. maybe i should get injured more often." the look of shock at kaeya's comment is evident on your flustered face and it takes everything in him to not laugh and open up his wounds again.

❀ kazuha

kazuha isn't one to easily get injured, well at least seriously injured. he was raised by a prestigious family, trained in the arts of the kaedehara clan. with the help of his prior knowledge of fighting and his keen senses, it's hard to one-up the young man to the point of injury.

that isn't to say he has never sustained any injuries. there have been one too many times that the inazuman traveller has shown up at your door with a couple of scrapes and an apologetic smile on his face.

so, it's a surprise when you find kazuha at your doorstep severely injured and clutching something in his burned hand.

it's quiet between the two of you as your eyes scan kazuha's body for any more injuries and your hands quickly move to tend to his right hand. the skin is burnt, bleeding, and his fingers shake from the injuries it sustained.

you whisper an apology to the inazuman when you gently clean the wounded skin with a warm cloth. he doesn't flinch, dazed eyes still staring off in front of you. it makes you wonder what kazuha went through to be injured this badly. though, seeing as the only serious injury was his right hand, you assumed it wasn't from a fight.

"kazuha... what happened to you?" your words are gentle, afraid your voice would scare the inazuman traveller in front of you. kazuha doesn't respond and instead tightens the grip he has on your hand that's bandaging him. his hand is shaking, and you don't realize he's crying until you feel the wet teardrops on your skin.

ruby eyes glazed with tears meet your own when your eyes flick up to confirm that he was indeed crying.

"tomo..." the crack in his voice shatters your heart and you find yourself pulling kazuha into your arms. his own circle around you and his hands grip onto the back of your shirt as he buries his face into your shoulder.

kazuha's body shakes as he sobs at the loss of his friend. he must have held it in until he got to the safety of your home. you were always his safe haven; coming over so you could tend his light wounds and provide a roof over his head if he was passing by your village.

and yet all you can do now is hold him until the storm inside his heart passes by.

❀ xiao

being in pain or having many injuries litter the expanse of his skin isn't unusual for xiao. he's an adeptus whose sole purpose is to serve rex lapis and protect the citizens of liyue, even if it meant throwing his life away.

even then, sustaining larger, more painful wounds didn't make the adeptus bat an eye. despite how horrible it sounds, xiao is used to it all and takes each hit and laceration that comes his way without blinking an eye.

when karmic debt constantly takes a toll against your health and death is the only solution to reaching true peace, it's hard to care about the state of your own wellbeing.

so imagine xiao's surprise when he shows up at the wangshu inn battered and bruised from dealing with a hoard of monsters and seeing you standing in the yaksha's usual spot, waiting for him with a frown etched into your face.

nimble fingers work deftly against xiao's body, quickly cleaning up the lacerations on the adeptus' chest and the scrapes that cover his arms. xiao releases a hiss from the sting of the medicine and you apologize under your breath.

"i knew you would end up like this." your words come out harsher than you intend to. the adeptus doesn't respond. as long as he was the only casualty to come out of this, as long as the innocent lives of liyuens were protected, as long as you were safe behind the walls of the wangshuu inn, it didn't matter how badly his body was injured.

"i just... i just wished you weren't so careless, xiao." the way your voice breaks doesn't go unheard by the yaksha. his eyes snap forward, but your head is tilted down as your shaky fingers worked their way around xiao's torso. "you're always fighting as if no one cared if you died or disappeared one day."

xiao doesn't get it. he doesn't understand why you care about him so much. a being fated to suffer until his dying days are over, one cursed with karmic debt and forced to carry the burdens of the innocent lives he took in his past.

no one should care about him. a monster with blood on his hands.

but here you are, shedding tears for an adeptus who didn't deserve it. the sole yaksha who is fated to succumb to the sweet embrace of death at any given moment.

and yet, despite knowing he doesn't deserve your gentle touch brushing over his wounds, the young adeptus lifts your face with a gloved finger and brushes away the tears that flow down your cheeks. he longs to continue holding you, to feel your skin against his. you're his temporary solace from the karmic debt that hangs over his heart.

an apology slips past xiao's lips, and you cry harder, calling him 'stupid' for almost dying out there. you bury yourself in his chest and he hugs you, afraid that if he let go, you would be nothing but a dream.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 4, Chapter 56″

Masterlist HERE. NSFW. Some smut.

"Whispering in his ear My magic potion for love Telling him I'm sincere And that there's nothing too good for us

But I want to be free, free, free And I just got to be me, yeah, me, me

Teasing hands on his mind Give our night such mystery Happiness all the time Oh and how that night pleases me"

Denise Williams – "Free"

Disa held the abstract Erik wrote for her to study before his return. Joba rested between them on her couch as she read over his plans for the transition team and her place on it. Their daughter had been teary-eyed for half an hour after he explained his plans to leave for Mount Bashenga. Joba switched gears when he promised to see her twice a week on vid chat, even though he couldn't speak to her. She touched her father's forehead and sensed that his trip was a good thing and not something done because the grown-ups were upset again.

Erik sipped wine with Disa, and she noticed his jittery body. He wanted to go to the temple, but he was nervous about leaving everyone behind. She reached over Joba's sleeping form and stroked Erik's locs.

"Hey, this isn't like you're leaving to fight anyone. You're doing this for yourself," she said.

He leaned forward and cradled his face.

"I know," he said.

His voice didn't sound like he believed it.

"You're not carrying the weight of anything on you now. There's nothing to prepare for or take. Wakanda is yours. This sabbatical is just for you. You said so yourself that the past is just a faded pain that you've finally released. Don't worry about anything but yourself for once."

"Being selfish cost me a lot," he said, gazing into her eyes.

Disa sipped her drink and looked away from him.

"This is the good kind of selfish. Self-care. Spiritual healing," she said.

"Marisol will come join me in my last week. The priests say that this sabbatical will align all of my roots."

"Marisol is good for you. She knows your connection to Ogum and can balance you out. Have you spoken to Yani about her part in this?" Disa said, holding out the abstract.

Erik sat back.

"She's doing her thing. Working. Seeing someone."

"Pictures on social media don't always mean the truth."

"Remy's been itching for her. First time I met him he had his nose wide open."

"He was a nice guy when he worked for us."

"They're always nice guys when they want something."

Disa put the abstract on her coffee table and lifted Joba.

"I'll put her to bed," Erik said.

He lifted his daughter and carried her to her bedroom on the other side of the suite. Disa glanced around. Her home was too large for two people. She was happy that Marisol lived with them to share all the space they had. No matter how much shuffling around of furniture Disa did, it was difficult to make her home cozy the way it had been when she had a half suite.

"The little rocket has landed safely under the covers," Erik said after returning.

He sat down next to her again and finished his wine. She checked her kimoyo. It was late.

"I have to be up early in the office. Phase Two plans are back on track, so I'll be having meetings with the general contractor and security team tomorrow," she said.

Disa stood and brushed back her hair.

"You need some rest too," she added.

"Sit down."

Erik's voice was gentle, but commanding just the same. She dropped back to her spot, and he turned his body toward her.

"The mourning period, the repast… these past few days adjusting to having my parents back on the same soil as me… it gave me plenty of time to look at myself and all the things I've pushed up against. By the time I was eleven, my entire life has been only one trajectory. Revenge. I remember sitting in the back of a police car after I found my father's body, waiting for Grandpop to get me. Rage took over everything. Getting revenge was the only thing on my mind. Justice was in there too, but the core of my growing up has always been rooted in my own needs to avenge my Mom and Baba."

"This is a conversation we can have when you get back. Your mind needs to stay clear—"

"My mind is clearer than it's ever been. Not only is it clear, but it's busted wide open. You know I have loved you before I even knew you, Disa. Even when you pushed me aside like I was a joke, I sweated you like my Baba did my mother when he knew what he wanted out of life. I did you wrong by letting you take the brunt of my mess with Yani. You stepped aside and pretended you were okay with not having me, and I know that was a lie. I knew it when you said it, and I hear it in your voice when you talk to me. It's in your eyes right now. You ain't got to be the bigger person because you think that's what I need."

"I believe that our time came and went and that happens—"

"Not with us. We been through too much shit to pretend our past relationship was like any other. I can't imagine you being with anyone else but me, and I know in my spirit that you feel the same way, too. I wish you would be honest with everyone around you. You left me the first time to protect your soul, and it worked while I was gone. But I'm back, and you want to claim me again. Being mindful of Yani's feelings is not your responsibility. I know you sincerely like her, but deep down… I wish you would kick up a fuss for what you want."

Disa shook her head as Erik lifted her chin.

"You want what you want too, and I see it in you. When our family was all here together… I could feel you, Disa. You put on a brave front for everyone around you, acting like you're cool with how we are now. It's a lie," Erik said.

Disa burst into tears and covered her hand over her mouth so Joba wouldn't hear. Erik stared at his hands.

"I've been having a recurring dream for the last three nights in a row. I'm a little kid again back in Oakland. My Nana Jean is in her kitchen cooking. The first night I was by her side helping her fry shrimp in her big kettle pot. We don't talk much… I dipped shrimp in her homemade batter and she fried it up, humming and telling me she was proud of me. The next night I was there again, and she was making her famous chicken enchiladas. She rolls up the meat and cheese and shows me how to make the sauce that goes over it. Last night we were cooking together again, but this time, we were in your kitchen back in Cambridge. I wasn't a little kid anymore. Nana made some red rice and fried some okra with onions, and she knew where everything was that she needed in your kitchen. She moved around like she'd always been there, cooking with me. Telling me she was proud of me and missed me. All the time she's talking and I can hear your feet coming up the stairs, I can hear your suitcase dragging on the floor, and then… you're calling my name asking what we're having for dinner…"

Erik twisted his fingers together, and a few tears fell to the floor. One fell on his arm and rolled down to his wrist.

"I woke up and I could smell the last traces of Nana's food and your perfume… I heard your voice, Disa. You sounded so happy. I was happy being back there again. I woke up just as you reached the kitchen. You never made it inside before I woke up and I cried about that. Sat there in my big ass bed with my Nana's humming fading in my ear… crying and lying to myself, too."

He stood and paced the floor, his agitated arms swinging at his sides as he clenched his fists, wrestling with his emotions.

"I am a man who loves two women equally, yet differently. There are things in Yani that I need that only she can give me, just like there are things I need from you that only you can provide. I've been an excellent father, provider, and protector. I cheer on both of your dreams, and I am proud of every accomplishment you have both made in your careers. I love you both for who you are naturally. Yani left me because I refused to choose, and you let me go because you didn't want me to do something that would break my heart. You wanted to suffer so I wouldn't have to. That's not fair to you, Disa. You've been hiding and I let that shit slide because I was too chickenshit to stand on my own and stay standing on what I want the most. Two women. You bring out the best in me, Disa, and so does she. Many people don't believe you can love two different people and build a relationship that works. I do. My greatest grandmother did it, and she ran the nation, too."

Erik sat back down deeper on the couch.

"It would kill me not to have Yani, and it would kill me not to have you. I'm just going to own up to my truth that I want the world and two of the biggest baddies in it. I want it all, Disa. Yani's got some growing up to do that has nothing to do with me, and I have to let her be during this time so she can become the woman she needs to be, even if it means leaving me forever. She's an amazing mother, midwife, and soon-to-be obstetrician. Her mind and vision for women's health are unmatched. And you…"

Erik slid his hand across the couch and clasped Disa's hand.

"You Disa… the perfect mother for Joba. Your mind and vision for sustainable housing and living with climate changes and the politics of all that… who can match you with that bar for bar? They say that Samson's strength was in his hair, but my strength? These two pillars I fell in love with and never stopped loving, no matter where I was. That is a blessing to me and not a burden to overcome. Don't cry, Disa…"

He pulled her into the crook of his arm.

"I have done everything I can to get to this place in life. I love what I love and I can't change it. I've said it before, but now… after having my parents back…"

Disa kissed him to hush him up. He kissed her, then pulled her shoulder back to look at her.

"I will not be the same when I return. I'm not even the same man now. Understand that. The moment I sit back on that throne, the earth will split in two. You are a part of that, so I need you to stop making yourself small around here to keep the peace. It's not your style, and I don't like it."

Disa grinned so hard her gums showed and he kissed away her tears. She exhaled and gave herself permission to enjoy him pressed against her chest. He rocked her in his arms.

"When I come back, I want the three of us to sit down together and talk. Air all of our feelings out and see what we can be or not be for good this time."

"Yani won't be happy—"

"Stop doing that. You've been putting her feelings first out of habit. This is not just about her, it's about all of us. Our children too. Your feelings are valid and important, and I only want you thinking about what you would need from me to make anything work on your end."

"She'll leave you for good."

"She's already gone. All I can do is remain open to her. This is different for all of us… well, two of us," he snickered with his last few words.

Disa pinched his arm.

"You and my mother move the same way," he said.

"How is that?"

"Oh yeah, my Uncle Bakari 'fessed up to some things my mother was doing back in her day."

Disa put a hand to her mouth.

"My mother was ahead of her time," he joked.

His laughing eyes became serious.

"We all have to talk this out in order to give our children their best life by being honest with one another," he said. "I've been walking around afraid of losing both of you and it's time to face off, even if it means not having anyone. All three of us have the right to have a vision of how we see love showing up for us. I know right now we're on separate paths tryna make things work by ourselves, but we've never talked with one another openly outside of scheduling my time with the kids. Putting it all on the table may make it less scary. I thought I could deny my feelings and just make myself into what Yani wanted because I love her so much. Approaching her like that would put a strain on her, which isn't fair if I'm not honest. It took my Nana coming to me in my sleep to remind me to be true to my heart. Yani may never understand or accept it, and other people may think I'm wrong for feeling the way I do. I'd rather live alone than live a lie."

He tapped her nose with a loving touch.

"No half-steppin' from you, Ma," he said.

"I'm afraid for you."

"Afraid of what?"

"That you won't get the happiness you want. Even though you have moved mountains, I've always known that you yearn to be happy. Free from the hand you were dealt."

Erik leaned forward and tapped his finger on the folder holding his abstract.

"No matter what happens, I have three beautiful children. I'm happy with that now and it can sustain me in the future if need be. I wanted to get that off my chest. At least I was able to do that with you before going away," he said, glancing at his kimoyo.

Erik typed a text that she was sure went to Yani. From what she heard from Marisol, Yani spent her time keeping busy and was hard to catch up with. If she was spending time with Remy, it gave her a nice outlet from all the stress of the mourning period and finishing her residency. Hell, Disa would've dabbled in a little Remy time herself if he were older and had pursued her.

Erik checked his kimoyo again.

"Trying to reach her?" Disa asked.

"Yeah. I wanted to talk to her about all of this first, but she hasn't responded to any of my texts. She had a long shift yesterday. I didn't want to say all of this on her voice mail, plus I have some other things to tell her before I go, but looks like that won't happen. Grandpop brought Sydette and Riki to me earlier so I could be with them."

"Don't feel bad. She hasn't hung with Twyla or Marisol, so that residency must be kicking her butt," Disa said.

"I'm gonna head out. I'll check in with you before I bounce," Erik said.

He stood up and pulled Disa to her feet. Her thoughts were a mix of anticipation and relief. She didn't have to wear the mask she had affixed to her face for months. Erik saw right through her ruse of pretending to be over him and ready to start a new chapter. She had protected her heart, but she longed to have him back. It would be a different type of union because she was a different woman with other priorities in her life. Raising Joba into a healthy functional adult was number one in her book. Her career came next. Erik gave her an opportunity to influence eco-housing on a global scale, and that was a generational responsibility. A relationship was a cherry on her sundae. Sharing him with Yani did not change the depth or quality of his love for her, nor her love for him. Her needs simply shifted the order of importance. Raising a child was the equivalent of raising a nation. Raising an heir was an added responsibility. Looking at him through that lens, Disa thought little would change from how they were working together to raise Joba, communicating about his transition team goals, and their usual friendly banter about regular everyday shit. What would change was the intimacy between them and how they would talk about that with Yani.

Disa expected Yani to flip out again, but at least this time, they would all have to talk it out and understand one another fully as adults seeking a resolution. Erik would not back down from several deep conversations. He wouldn't rush them into any decisions either, she was sure of that. Too much was on his plate already ascending the throne. She knew he would lay his heart out and accept each of their final decisions before moving on.

He freed Disa.

She folded her hands on the back of his neck and held him the way she always wanted to hold him again. Disa was a part of his life and always would be. No matter what configuration they became in the future, he wouldn't allow her to throw in the towel on them. His love was wider, deeper, and long-lasting enough for all of them. She believed he could love more than one equally. It wasn't about having more than one woman just to have extra pussy to play in. He found something in two people that nourished him. Disa had that experience before and knew it was real. All that mattered was that he wanted her to be authentic in her feelings for him. Stop hiding. Demand his time for her, too.

Free.

She licked the seam of his lips and kissed him the way she did when she first realized that she had fallen for him. Erik sat back and let her control what she wanted. He parted his lips just enough to let her tongue explore him again. She started crying, and her body shook with suppressed longing. He stroked her lower back and rested his forehead on hers.

"Don't be afraid to love me," he whispered.

His words shattered her fear, and she hugged on him for life before leading him back to her bedroom. He took hesitant steps into the large room with the round bed covered in a thick red satin blanket. Erik looked around the room as she pulled off her top and unfastened her loose slacks. His gaze was drunk with arousal, and he allowed her to unbutton the clasps on his green tunic. He slipped off his linen trousers, and she stared at his penis. She remembered every inch and pressed her face against it to smell his scent. She licked his balls, and his body stiffened. His dick twitched and plumped. He plucked at her nipples through her bra, then pulled down the thick straps. He groaned when he saw her breasts for the first time in years. His hands cascaded along the fullness until he palmed the soft flesh with eager squeezes. Erik pushed her back onto the bed, shoving her legs wide so he could stare at her pussy. Lifting onto her elbows, Disa watched him lick and kiss a wet trail up her folds until he sucked on her clit, bringing it to its full plumpness with his lips. He sniffed the sparse thatch of dark pubic hairs on her mound, then dragged his lips into a deep kiss with urgent sucking on engorged nerves. Keyed up for weeks from being around him constantly as he mourned his parents, her release into his mouth came quickly before she was ready.

"Dammit!" she huffed into the blanket.

Erik laughed so hard that it made her giggle against the cool satin cover.

"Finally. Some payback after all these years," he teased.

She popped him on his forehead and shimmied toward the curved headboard covered with plush pillows. He crawled next to her and forced his tongue inside her mouth, making her taste the premature orgasm she wet his lips with. His slow thrusts into her mouth had her ready to cum all over his lips again. Her pussy throbbed with aftershocks of the sudden thrill. She held his arm while twisting her neck to match his kisses until Joba walked in on them. Erik lunged for the edge of the blanket and threw it over their lower nudity. Disa lifted herself slightly.

"Hey, what's going on, Sunshine?" Disa asked.

"I'm thirsty," Joba said.

Their daughter stood at the end of the bed, watching them. She rubbed her eyes and peered at Erik.

"I can get you some juice. Go on to the kitchen. I'm right behind you," Erik said.

Joba slowly walked out of the bedroom and Erik buried his face in Disa's shoulder, hiding a laugh. He crept off the bed and threw his clothes back on. Disa sat up, and Erik's gaze took in her breasts.

"I'll hook her up and jet," he said.

"Alright," Disa said.

"If I can get some stuff done in time, I'll try to see Joba early in the morning before school."

He slipped away quietly, and she rested against her pillows. Listening to Erik chat with Joba as he tended to her, Disa closed her eyes. Her sight became blurry trying to hold on to the heat of his body as it etched itself back onto her skin. Pressing her face into the pillow, Disa buried her dishonesty with herself for good. She would stake her claim, no matter how things turned out when he returned from Mount Bashenga.

The next morning, Erik called like he said he would, and she was glad to speak to him. He looked ready for the world. She tapped her desk comm tab and told her receptionist to bring in the contractor and security team. Disa rolled up the literal puffy sleeves on her dress and sauntered over to the completed model of the Phase Two project she helmed. Two men and two women stepped inside her inner office and she turned on the digital blueprints above the model.

"Time to get to work," she told her building team.

Glancing out of the office window, she spotted the Royal Scorpion Fighter streaking over Birnin Zana.

"Allah hamdullah," she muttered under her breath.

The king was on his way.

Yani gazed at everyone in the throne room as Elder Efetobo stepped forward with T'Challa to hand her the official proclamation designating her as a Princess descended from Queen Mary Thomas. The heavy paper with the royal coat of arms and signatures of the royal court felt heavy in her hands. Sydette's name was on the proclamation, too. Her mouth fell open when she saw Twyla's name written in heavy script. Erik made her cousin Caribbean royalty with them.

"I don't understand," Yani said.

T'Challa grinned.

"N'Jadaka presented the court with a petition to change your status based on your lineage, which is in alignment with our ancient laws. No other country would recognize you as royalty with their standards and history, but we in Wakanda deem you as such from now on. Your connection to our royal house already affords you a title, but he wanted you to have something on your family's merit."

She glanced around the room again.

"Where is he?" Yani asked.

"He left for Mount Bashenga," T'Challa said.

She pressed her lips together, then lowered her head to him.

"Thank you," she said.

Yani didn't wait for them to explain anything further and rushed out of the throne room past Mpilo. She tapped her kimoyo, turning it off mute, and a barrage of color-coded pings popped up. There were over seven messages from Erik. Her need for peace and quiet after conducting her first surgical procedure had overshadowed her opportunity to hear from him directly that he had sought more for her.

She took the private elevator to the Talon Port and glimpsed the Scorpion Fighter flying above the palace. Erik's kimoyo was turned off.

"You always do this," she yelled up to the sky, waving her hand at his aircraft knowing she was only a speck on the earth from that distance.

She smiled and held the proclamation and his letter to her chest. No matter what was happening in his life, Erik always looked after her. Her kimoyo lit up, and she jumped at the chance to speak to Erik.

The image that floated above her wrist wasn't Erik's.

"Lady Galiber, I am so sorry to disturb your work today."

Riki's teacher stared at her with big owl eyes of concern.

"What's going on?"

"We are having a hard time with Prince Riki right now. We are doing our morning exercises and the Royal Scorpion Fighter just flew overhead, and we all saw it and the prince became upset. Could you please speak with him?"

"I will connect with his kimoyo now," Yani said.

She switched floating screens and Riki's wet, blotchy, red-brown face softened her heart.

"What's goin' on Dumplin?"

"I saw Baba fly away and I wahn him back!"

"But we told you he had to go up to the mountain and you said you were okay about it."

"Mi change my mind!"

"He'll be back soon. Did you wave at the Scorpion Fighter?"

Riki's lips trembled, and he nodded his head.

"I try to call Baba, but him won't answer," Riki whined.

"He can't use his kimoyo while he goes up there. He'll call you in three days. You said you were going to be a big boy for him."

"I am."

"It's okay to be sad about him being gone. He loves you and wants you to enjoy school and have fun while he's away. Can you do that for us?"

Riki nodded and wiped his eyes. His chest stopped heaving and his breath became even again.

"Look what Baba gave mi, love. He make Mama a princess!" Yani said, holding up the proclamation for Riki to admire to get his mind off of sad things.

"When you come home, I'll have Jabuli make you some fat cakes and we can write Baba a letter and color a picture that we can send him," she said.

"Okay."

"Feel better."

"I miss him already."

"I know. Seeing the Scorpion Fighter fly so far away made you upset. Go finish doing your exercises and I'll see you later, Dumplin. Love you."

"I love you back, Mama."

Yani gave him a big kiss over her kimoyo and kept her beads on. Sydette had been quiet going to school, and she wondered if her daughter or Joba were having a hard time, too. She wandered through the East Palace and appreciated the luxury and opulence that she had left behind. The villa was beautiful, but the heartbeat of the palace had a palpable excitement to it she missed. As she strolled past a few palace staff members, they bowed to her. Normally they gave a slight head nod to her as a Lady of the court. Word must've been spread around already that she was in a different league from now on. She made eye contact with the staff and dawdled along in her fancy clothes. Her long skirt had a short train to it that dragged along the floor with shells on the end of it that made a pleasant scraping sound.

Yani paused under the painting of Erik. Gazing up at his immense image, she studied how different he looked in the painting compared to the last time she saw him in person when she recited the legend of Queen Mary for everyone. No, not different. More like evolving into something bigger than the portrait. He carried the magnificence of the painting within him, and Yani began to see how his life was going to shift dramatically. T'Challa already appeared to defer to his cousin in preparation for the transfer of power.

Even Erik's eyes looked more alive that night. He regarded every member of his family as if he were cataloging every minutia of detail about them. His attentiveness toward her didn't hide from Yani his equally attentive interactions with Disa. There were times Erik approached Disa with a bit of conversation and she would speak with him and their laughter echoed with their American kin. Yani wanted to join in and see what was so humorous that had everyone around them cackling. Disa was always funny, and Yani missed the inside jokes they had about everyone in the palace, even their own kids. A few times Disa caught Yani staring at her when Erik was near her and she would give a friendly head nod and ask if Yani needed help with anything before moving away from him and finding someone else to talk to.

Yani sighed as she marveled at Erik's portrait.

He would never stop loving Disa.

The recognition of that rested in the pit of her stomach, and she didn't judge any of the emotions or feelings that stirred up there. She stood in the heart of it and let the sensations that came along wash over her. There was no anger toward Disa anymore. There was no hate. Not even jealousy anymore. Only a simmering sadness that made Yani step outside of herself for once.

Erik and Disa had a full life at another time. They would always remain close friends no matter how much that worried Yani.

But what was there to worry about?

Yani had left Erik on her own. He was free to see whomever he wanted. If he wanted to go back to Disa, he could. If he wanted another woman to start a fresh new life with, he would have no problem finding a beautiful, willing partner. A native Wakandan would probably be his best bet to appease the country.

Her stomach tightened.

She didn't have the intestinal fortitude to even consider some other woman coming into the mix. She'd rather have him go back to Disa. The one thing she shared with her was a phenomenal history, and Yani respected the hell out of her accomplishments. From day one, Disa embraced Yani as a fellow traveler in the crazy world of Erik Killmonger. She stood up for her when Ramonda showed her ass those first few traumatic months. Disa asked for equal treatment and care for all of them in Wakanda. Not once did she seek anything that she didn't want for Yani too.

A rush of air expelled with an intense huff from Yani's mouth. Disa had been her one and only staunch friend in Wakanda outside of Twyla. She shared her fears and her sadness at Erik's death, and she loved the hell out of Sydette and Riki. Yani walked away from Erik's painting feeling remorseful for how judgmental and mean she had been toward Disa right before she vacated the palace. She had listened to Disa's hurt over her loss of love so long ago, but Yani had never really sat with that pain compared to her own until recently.

She stopped in front of the royal portrait of the two of them with their children. They had looked so united back then. Ready to face the challenges ahead together as mothers, keeping a strong pact that their children came first in everything and would be raised together with love and laughter. God, they had laughed so much together. Always sitting up in their nightgowns late at night and telling raunchy stories about all the men in their lives while eating sweets and painting their nails, hoping the children didn't wake up and interrupt big girl time. Yani knew Disa hid some things back when it came to Erik. She'd recently learned from Marisol in a drunken slumber party at her villa that Disa lost a child. Had been stabbed because of Erik. Suffered an illness dealing with him being gone so much that it tore up her health and broke her soul open.

Yani stared at Disa's twinkling eyes in the painting. Behind that cultivated façade of having it all together, Erik's love had been traumatizing for her, too. Underneath Disa's beautiful gown, there was a scar left on her belly somewhere that she would carry for the rest of her life, just like the scar on Yani's head.

Disa had been the older sister Yani always wanted. Being the oldest girl in her family, Yani never had the love and support from her parents that allowed her to make mistakes without judgment. From the time she was seven and could hold babies without dropping them, they thrust Yani into being the oldest sibling caretaker, babysitter, cook, and house cleaner for her immediate family. Thrown out of her home young while pregnant and having to grow up fast under her Aunt Leona's roof, she never had a woman who was an older peer that could just listen to her without judgment. Twyla and Aunt Leona came close, but sometimes they let their familial conservative opinions override Yani's need for compassion as she struggled with becoming an exemplary mother and a young woman while missing out on a real childhood. All she knew how to be was a worker for others at such a young age. Disa spoke to her with kindness and wisdom beyond her years, which gave Yani confidence and encouragement, especially with school and furthering her education past medical school. Disa had complained of growing up with nothing but boys and wished she had a sister, or at least a bounty of female cousins. She took it upon herself to latch onto Yani with the affection of having that type of connection despite the messed-up predicament they were in, giving Yani space to grieve, be angry, and vacillate between the two emotions at any time because of her discomfort at processing the discovery of another woman in Erik's life soon after St. Thomas. No matter how Yani showed up to Disa with her wounded pride and broken heart, that woman stood with her through it all.

"You were my friend… are my friend," Yani said to the painting. "Even when mi hated you, you never say one unkind thing 'bout mi."

Lashing out at Disa had felt cathartic for a few days after their confrontation at the palace pool. Yani took pleasure in putting her foot down. However, back at the villa, Disa's angry, truthful accusation filtered through to Yani's scorn. Later, as the mourning period stretched into a crash-course history lesson of where Erik Stevens truly came from, the brunt of her misplaced anger toward Disa came into stark relief.

Erik Stevens made choices. Then Killmonger made choices. And then the slumbering Prince N'Jadaka woke up and made a choice that put them all in disarray. The man honestly didn't think he was ever coming back. He broke off their connection to safeguard Yani's future from harm. He gave her what she needed to have a life for herself and Sydette while also freeing her to live the way she wanted without falling back on some new wasteman because of poverty and the lack of choices most women had to survive in the world without resources and support. The man loved her, but he knew the reality in store for him and gambled on the side of practical considerations. She fought the idea of him leaving her for her best interests for so long that it had become an albatross around her neck. Yani had been caught up in the euphoric perfection of love that she thought it was enough to hold them together. Killmonger knew better because he had first-hand experience of life and love being torn asunder fast by external forces. Disa experienced the same thing and opted out on her own because the writing was on the wall.

He was going to die.

Yani slammed her hand over her mouth and held back the crumbling sounds of her mournful understanding. Killmonger had been hers because of the diaphanous webbing of simple fate. If Disa's first pregnancy had gone to term, there would've been a child in the world back in the foreign where he may have skipped coming to St. Thomas altogether. Disa simply standing in her truth and choosing her mental, physical, and spiritual health over constant uncertainty allowed Yani to have the life she led now. One woman turning her back on a man she deeply loved transformed Yani's future. That same woman extended friendship and sisterly love all because she had been where Yani stood and wanted to help her move beyond it, too.

"Princess Yani, do you need some help?"

Mpilo approached her, and Yani swiped at her eyelids and looked at him.

"I'm fine, Mpilo. Thank you for asking."

"Congratulations on your new title. It is fitting and I like how it sounds," he said.

He regarded her face with concern. Yani shifted her stance and glanced at the painting of her and Disa one more time before engaging Mpilo again.

"Will you be leaving the office soon?" she asked.

"Oh, no! Prince N'Jadaka has changed my job title too! He extended my stay in the palace."

"I would like to visit his office. Would you mind escorting me there?"

He jumped at the chance.

"This way Princess Yani!"

Yani had dismissed the palace guards from trailing her. The palace was secure, and she liked the freedom of walking with Mpilo. They reached the bridge to the West Palace, and she took a moment to admire the view and gazed at Mount Bashenga. Mpilo stared at the mountain with her and shuddered.

"What?" Yani asked.

"Oh, I was just thinking that Prince N'Jadaka is a brave man. The Temple of Bast is a formidable place. Most Wakandans will never step foot there."

"Why not?"

"They go by ancient ways up there. There are rites of passage that take place where some people never return because it is too much."

"You mean people have died up there?"

"Oh yes. Some have gone insane or just come back… different. I am sorry, I did not mean to scare you. Death rarely happens anymore because no regular citizen dares step foot on holy ground. Prince N'Jadaka is a powerful man, so I know he will be fine. It is not a place for weak minds, and he has never shown weakness in anything. Sometimes I look at that mountain and I get nervous, but I like that it watches over us. The old Gods live there," he said.

Yani departed the bridge with Erik on her mind. The West Palace was a flurry of activity. There seemed to be more people moving about than she remembered before she left the city. Staff moved aside as she sauntered through, and the bows and downcast eyes followed her all the way to Erik's floor.

Whoa.

The entire area was under transformation. Construction workers and building inspectors flitted about, and Yani had to follow Mpilo through a narrow, protective walkway to reach Erik's office.

"The prince's floor is expanding with his office space for when he takes the throne. Bigger staff too… we're moving things around with all the additions," Mpilo said.

He tapped in a code for Erik's original space and they walked in on several workers moving in protected boxed files and stacking them in Tlotlsiso's reception area. Tlotliso scurried around with a thin, clear comm tab and checked every file box brought in. Yani's arrival stopped the workflow, and everyone bowed to her before continuing their tasks.

"Be careful," Tlotliso said as they maneuvered around stacks that were over six feet tall.

Mpilo guided Yani into Erik's inner office. She walked around it, admiring its extravagance.

"If you will excuse me, Princess Yani. I need to help out there," Mpilo said.

"How was he before he left?" Yani asked.

Mpilo paused at the door.

"Determined," he said with a smile.

He left her alone, and Yani stared at the painting of Queen Shuriya. Yani tried to pose like her, lifting her head with a haughty air, throwing her shoulders back, one hand on her hip, and stepping forward with her left leg.

She padded over to a large stack of sealed metal boxes arranged on a floating pallet. Piles of sealed folders and political reports sat on his neat desk. Yani sat down in his office chair and took in the room. Erik's scent permeated the air. He wore a cologne that his father used to have created in Wakanda, and the aroma of masculine strength aroused her senses. She noticed a newly framed photo of his parents near his embedded desk comm tab. It was the original photo of N'Jobu and Califia used for their sarcophagus. There was so much work on his desk and more coming for him. She tapped her kimoyo and swiped past files, searching for the digital copy of the abstract she had at her villa.

For years, Yani thought Erik was a simple soldier turned mercenary. The military life was for poor people, and her impression of Killmonger back then was a smart man who forged a path to seek his fortunes in the underworld of crime through his past military connections. He was the bad man on the hill working for the ultimate bad guy, Klaue.

The truth, given to her by T'Challa and Disa, made her head spin. Naval Academy. M.I.T. Tony Stark. Black Ops. Killmonger was a genius who used the navy to track Klaue and use his dead body to gain access to a futuristic kingdom. Yani opened up her copy of the abstract and read his words again. The eloquent writing didn't match the brutality she had witnessed back home. The command of language, the nuance inserted throughout his ideas for childbirth and health… he had actively listened to Yani's thoughts and concerns when she was beginning her journey into medicine. So much of the text fleshed out her novice concepts into actionable items that could happen in the Caribbean and throughout the diaspora. His experience of almost losing Sweet Pea with her was embedded in the report, and Yani shivered at the memory. Erik wanted her in charge of rolling out a plan to stop Black maternal death. He trusted her mind and experience and listed the resources he was willing to give to make sure she was well-funded and supported. She already had plans to contact her former mentor, a Black woman doctor back in St. Thomas.

The hidden layers of him astounded Yani. He had been an iceberg floating in her island world, never allowing her to see below the surface the immense wealth, intelligence, and power he held in his hand. She knew the inner parts of him he showed her willingly. The soft core that relished quiet times, cooking, making love, playing with babies, luxuriating in the presence of elders, praying, and spoiling her. The outer core had been prickly forbidden fruit. Only Disa had tasted that part of him, and Yani felt lucky to bypass so much of the past trauma Killmonger carried.

St. Thomas protected her from the harsh fullness of him and cocooned them in a fog of dreamy wish fulfillment. Their love had been real. There were no false notes to it. There were red flags about where he came from and what he intended to do with Klaue's crew, but that was a given considering they were all bad guys. Killmonger had slipped up and part of his mask fell away, revealing the sweet humanity that was underneath that coarse exterior. That was what she fell in love with. That was the real him. Not knowing he was some Black Einstein with a graduate degree and phenomenal family background didn't change her perspective. Their love wasn't just a steamy fantasy. He hadn't just felt sorry for her and tossed her riches after he left. Killmonger cared about her as his woman. Stood up for her. Slammed anyone who came at her sideways. They stepped into their love, knowing it was doomed.

Now he was back.

Glancing around the lavish office, she conceded that the prince was destined for more than domestic drama. Yani, Disa, their children, and the rest of the royal family were minor planets in the cosmos that was Erik Killmonger Stevens. Compared to the grandiose plans lying before her, feeling sorry for herself and Disa's situation was nothing in the scheme of future history that was about to be shaken to the bone.

Yani glanced at Queen Shuriya's portrait again.

Erik had her eyes. Her stance. Her vision to reshape the world to do her bidding. Yani never felt prouder to have her son than at that moment. Riki was linked to two families filled with powerful people. They embraced her daughter as their own and elevated Sydette to her brother's level as a royal.

Erik would transform the world, and Yani had a front-row seat to guide his hand in it because he wanted her there beside him.

"Princess Yani."

Tlotliso came into the office with a humble bow and a fancy tea set on a clear tray.

"I brought you some tea and flat biscuits," Tlotliso said.

"Thank you," Yani said.

Tlotliso brought the tray and sat it on the only open space on the desk. She poured a red tea, Erik's favorite, and set it next to the breakfast treats.

"Will you be staying here long? I can order up a mid-morning snack for you."

Yani lifted the teacup and blew lightly over the liquid. She peered at the woman with cautious energy.

"No, I just wanted to check on some things."

"Would you like a tour of what is going on?"

Tlotliso's pleasant attitude made Yani suspicious if the niceties were only because she was higher royalty and not just a noblewoman anymore.

"I would like that," Yani said.

She took another sip of the tea and left the desk, following Tlotliso out of the inner office. Mpilo worked with the other staff, bringing in more boxes. Yani waved at him and he grinned happily. Tlotliso took her to a floating wall that held images of what Erik's floor would look like before he returned.

"Gorgeous," Yani said.

Tlotliso swiped an image and overlayed it on the mess of construction and business going around all the expansion. Yani admired what it would all look like eventually.

"Wow, this place is going to look so good. Will they finish it on time?" Yani said.

"We have until the actual coronation. Our goal is to have it done before Prince Erik flies to Warrior Falls," Tlotliso said.

"Warrior Falls? Why would he go there? He is being given power as part of the peace agreement."

"He still must face challenges to the throne from the other tribes."

"He has to fight again for what is rightfully his?"

"It is our way. We give every tribe the opportunity to gain a pathway to the throne. Prince N'Jadaka is not exempt."

Yani glared at the woman.

"Shall we continue, Your Highness?" Tlotliso said.

Yani nodded and took in the floor, checking out the designs and new wall and ceiling inscriptions and carvings on columns. Workers brought in new covered furniture, floor rugs, and artwork. She checked her kimoyo after half an hour.

"I must go now," Yani said.

She walked with slow, deliberate steps toward the private elevator, trying her best not to let Tlotliso sense the urge to run. She swiped her hand over the elevator and waited to leave. The public elevator dinged, and she turned her head to see what other new luxury item was being given for Erik's posh new office. A palace guard and Remy stepped out of the elevator. Remy held a box of files and there was a shocked expression on his face. The two men lowered their heads to Yani.

"What are you doing here?" Yani asked.

"I work for the Governing Board," Remy said.

"Finally, you made it," Tlotliso said.

Erik's personal assistant stopped short when she noticed Yani was still on the floor staring at Remy from across the room. The familiar energy bothered Yani.

"You know each other?" Yani asked.

Tlotliso took the files from Remy and glanced at Yani.

"Mnumzana Ramatla Ntu finally brought us papers that Prince N'Jadaka requested before he left this morning," Tlotliso said.

"Is something wrong?" Remy asked.

Yani shook her head and gave a slight grin.

"No. I guess I'm surprised to see you here, of all places."

Tlotliso watched both of them and Yani quickly took on the stance of a royal and tuned down the informal tone of her words and used her best formal Wakandan.

"I leave you to your work," Yani said.

Remy held up his hands in the triangular shape of respect for her status. Tlotliso did the same and Yani did a high step, throwing her shoulders back like Queen Shuriya, and entered the private elevator. Remy left with the guard back into the public elevator. She went down several floors and crossed over an expansive hall to another section of the West Palace amid stares at her rushed movement.

"Princess Yani."

Disa's morning receptionist stood and paid his respects.

"I need to speak to Lady Abdullah," Yani said.

"She is in an important planning meeting—"

"This is more important. Let her know I am here waiting for her."

The receptionist nodded and tapped his desk and an earbud.

"Apologies for disturbing you, Lady Abdullah. Princess Yani is here to see you."

Moments later, Disa strolled out with a big smile on her face. She held out her hands like she was highlighting Yani.

"Look at you, Princess Yani, congratulations," Disa said.

"Can we talk somewhere private?"

Disa glanced over at her receptionist.

"Can you please tell the team that I'm taking a quick break for a family matter?" Disa said.

"Thank you," Yani said.

"Let's go in here," Disa said, leading Yani into a side room with different building models on display in glass cases.

"What's up?" Disa asked.

"Did you know Erik has to go to Warrior Falls again and face anyone who wants to fight him for the throne?"

"I didn't."

"I was talking to Tlotliso about Erik's office expansion and she gave me a tour. She told me he has to do it even if the throne was handed to him. I know the other tribes are going to fight to take the throne from him."

"With all the turmoil going on, you're probably right," Disa said.

"I don't want him to fight again. He has too much to accomplish if he loses to someone stronger. They might kill him for good this time and Shuri won't be able to save him again—"

Yani sucked in her breath to calm herself down.

"Let's do this. Can you stay for dinner tonight with the royal family?" Disa asked. "We can talk to T'Challa together and see what's really going to happen when Erik comes back."

"I can't go through this again," Yani said.

Yani's shoulders slumped, and she rubbed her forehead as Disa contemplated the news with her.

"We'll all come to dinner," Yani said. "I refuse to believe Umama and Baba Z would go for tradition over getting their lost grandson back, only to face death again. Erik would never tap out of a fight, and I don't want Riki or Sydette to watch open brutality like that."

"I agree," Disa said.

"Lady Abdullah… the team is asking for you," the receptionist said in a soft voice.

"I'll be there in a minute," Disa said.

"I'm sorry I interrupted your work. I thought you might know more than me because you're here," Yani said.

"It's fine… really."

"Go on back to your business. I just needed… needed to ask about this."

"Dinner then? Joba will be excited to see Riki and Sydette. She has some new fairy lights to show them," Disa said.

"Dinner," Yani said.

They stared at one another as if they wanted to say more to each other, but Disa returned to her inner office. Yani had wanted to speak about her new status, but she could do that later in the night since she had left her proclamation in Erik's office by accident. She left Disa's office and pondered hitting up Shuri or T'Challa before going home to calm her jitters about Erik fighting. Sighing, she decided to wait until dinner so that she and Disa could hear the truth together.

Erik stepped from the Royal Scorpion Fighter and drew in a deep breath of the fresh, high-altitude air. The air pressure made his temples throb, and he forced yawns out to make his ears pop.

Three male priests, three female priests, and two non-binary priests greeted him at the end of the Scorpion Fighter ramp. Cloaked in violet-colored robes that covered their heads too, the priests waited for Griot Shange and his helpers to approach him.

"Remove your robe please, Prince N'Jadaka," Shange said.

Erik unfastened the robe all the way to his feet and pulled it off. He stood naked before them as one helper took the robe from him. A woman came to him with a bowl and a brush and gently painted his entire body with Wakandan symbols with yellow paint that smelled like they made it from flowers.

"Follow us please," a female priest said.

All the priests turned away from him and led him through the pathway of the main temple that favored a grand ziggurat that had an opening decorated all over with panther statues that had nothing on the giant one on top of the entrance. The surrounding energy was quiet, and Erik didn't hear any birds… no sounds at all. There was a hushed grace on the grounds. His bare feet dodged pebbles and twigs before he stepped on the smooth temple floor.

The interior of the first temple was cool and a single shaft of natural light fell upon a raised circular table containing a pearl-colored gemstone that glowed with its own inner light.

"That is your spirit filling up the temple," Shange said as the stone grew brighter.

"Strong," said the priest to his left.

The walls and several fixtures embedded in the stone walls slowly lit up with neon blue and green lights that reminded Erik of vibranium, but more ancient.

"The Gods accept your presence. Bast must think you are worthy," Shange whispered to him.

Another woman, covered in white painted symbols and nude like Erik, stepped forward with a small, heated sharp blade and cut marks under his eyes. He hissed with the burning cuts, but he withstood the pain and kept his eyes on a massive wall carving of Bast.

"Let us begin," a non-binary priest said.

A vibration swelled inside the temple and for the first time since arriving, Erik felt afraid. The noise vibrated his teeth and skin and his flesh crawled with the sound that grew more powerful. The carving of Bast rippled, then moved like the Goddess was testing the flexibility of the stone skin. He gasped as the lips of the enormous mouth stretched open, speaking his name with an ancient, gritty tongue.

Eyes behind his own eyes pushed against his eye sockets with the increased vibration as Ogum woke up to meet Bast. The heavy physical sensations of his maternal family's warrior orixá greeting the Panther Goddess of his father's family short-circuited his overloaded brain.

Erik passed out and fell to the floor.

Chapter 57 HERE.

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[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt.4

Summary: In his attempt to get to know his wife, the Darkling realizes he might be getting too close.

Warnings: angst, swearing, sexual innuendoes, slightest bit of fluff

Part one // Part two // Part three   

=================================

Y/N couldn’t sleep that night. Not only did she agonize over the slightest possibility of his words being true, but the lingering of his lips on hers even hours after they’ve left tormented her mind. Instead of sleeping, she sat outside in the darkness with nothing but stars to keep her company. She shuddered with the cold wind as it chilled her, even the kefta didn’t protect her as well as she thought it would.

Sighing, she smiled up at the night sky, watching the stars in their celestial dance. It’s undeniable, she’s envious of them – their freedom is undisputed, their beauty unmatched by anything earthly. No one can force a star to marriage, no one can dull its brightness.

“Are you alright?” Genya spoke up, startling Y/N into a loud gasp.

Turning around, Y/N giggles in slight panic, a hand resting on her chest. “You scared me!”

“I didn’t mean to”, she chuckles too, coming closer to Y/N who let out a relieved sigh, only to look up once again.

“I couldn’t sleep”, she explains, “So I came here to watch the stars.”

“Most people are afraid of the dark”, Genya raised an eyebrow as she fixed her gaze on Y/N instead. She studied her carefully, unsure if she should invest all her hopes and dreams in her – no matter how striking she is.

“Oh, I’m scared of the dark!” Y/N exclaims, pointing up at the sky, “But the night sky is littered with lanterns, meant to guide you home. My mom always told me to look up whenever I feel lost, because the stars will help me find answers to any worry.”

Pursing her lips, Genya frowned, “Does that mean you doubt your plan?”

“No”, Y/N replied with haste, “I am simply trying to understand some of the chess pieces I thought I had figured out.”

Looking back at the Palace, Y/N’s eyes found the window of her room in an instant. A dark figure passed by it, the candlelight revealing the figure is pacing.

“He’s not a bad man, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Holding her breath, Y/N’s eyes find amber ones, “That’s not what I’ve heard. His deeds have spoken plenty about the strength of his character.”

“He’s fighting a war, not just with the outsiders, not just your father, but those on our side as well.” Pausing, Genya steps before her, “Do you know what they call him?”

“The Darkling”, she states, “A starless saint, a demon, a shadow king.”

“So many of those names are meant to demonize him, to shun him from society simply for the power he was born with”, licking her lips, Genya reaches for Y/N’s hand. “His own people are dying simply for who they’re born as – humans, Shu, Druskelle, they’re all sharpening their swords. If he’s not feared, we’re all dead.”

Nibbling on her lower lip, Y/N closed her eyes. Exhaling, she faced Genya once more.

“Does that mean I should applaud him for the way he’s treated the First army so far? How can you defend him when he’s the one who brought you here…to the emperor?”

Retracting her hand, Genya flashed a smile – one too strained to be believable. “He tried to defend me and got himself punished for it. So I’m here and I’m telling you to give him a chance.” Walking past Y/N, Genya stops just a few paces behind her, “He might surprise you.”

All the things Genya said became faint echoes inside Y/N’s head. When she returned to the room, she was ready for a new quarrel with Kirigan. Despite her readiness, he was sound asleep as she slipped her kefta off. With trembling fingers, she lifted the comforter only to stifle a laugh upon a surprising sight. Not only had there been a pillow to separate them, but three to ensure she wouldn’t accidentally roll on his side during the night. Perhaps she did smother him the night before and for once, she didn’t feel ashamed, rather satisfied. If he’s so insistent on sharing a bed, why would she make it any easier on him?

Tossing the pillows aside, she slid onto his side. Pressing her lips in a thin line, she tried to wrap an arm around his middle, but she couldn’t do it with her heart clenching wildly inside her chest. She drew back, forming tight fists at her side as she glared up at the canopy in frustration. If she’s going to play well and win, she’ll have to swallow her pride and withstand some discomfort.

Staring daggers at the back of his head, Y/N held her breath as she half climbed atop of Kirigan. Waiting to see if he’ll wake, Y/N finally released a shuddered breath. Burying her nose in the crook of his neck, she finally felt herself warm up after being outside for so long.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled his scent – woodsy and clean as if he had just had a bath. She never realized it before, but he smelled the same way on their wedding day…and night. But also earlier when he was pressed against her, devouring her mouth. Just the thought of his arms around her, his tall frame against her and the feverish kiss they’ve shared had caused her heartbeat to quicken with no shame.

And while she drifted off, she failed to realize something else – the Darkling was very much awake.

Instead of moving away when he felt a weight atop of him, he struggled to even his breathing. She smelled like spring, like lilacs and oddly enough, he enjoyed it. Most times, he’d crinkle his nose in disgust for strong, flowery scents made him nauseous, but she didn’t have the heavy, unbearably thick air of perfume cling to her – it felt like it’s her natural scent.

Smiling, the Darkling allowed himself to relax once her breathing calmed down and while her hands and feet felt like icicles, her cold nose brought most of the discomfort. Once she warmed up, by stealing his body heat, the Darkling began to drift away too. After all, he was winning.

A single ray of sunshine came through the window, its heat tickling Y/N’s nose. Sleepily, she brushed at it then tried to turn away, but something blocked her way. She lazily opened her eyes and saw the strange bed canopy overhead. When she remembered where she was and how she fell asleep last night, she felt her face grow hot as blood rushed to her cheeks. Even her body seemed to blush. She moved her head toward the other side of the bed and looked at where her husband’s supposed to be, yet he was gone – only the pillows she could have sworn she removed remained.

There was no way of knowing it, but each morning, the Darkling opened his eyes and looked at her first. No matter if she was drooling or her hair matted on her face, he quite enjoyed his view. She seemed gentle, almost like a saint sent to remind him light can exist along with darkness he’s been shrouded in.

Disgruntled, she sat up and huffed. She wanted to wake up at the same time as he did. One, she wanted to see his reaction and laugh, two, she really wanted to discuss the kiss from before. Then again, she just wanted to see the general at his most vulnerable state – waking up disheveled, just like any human would. His perfectly styled hair unnerved her and she couldn’t help but wonder if Genya used her power on it because she had never once seen a hair out of place, not even after their kiss.

For the rest of the day, Y/N tried to catch him alone. Unfortunately, she barely saw her husband at all. A fleeting glance of acknowledgement was all she received as they passed each other in the hall, both surrounded by others.

At night, she laid awake in hopes of speaking to him before bed. The faint candlelight on the bedside table kept the darkness away, relieving her fear. Would he laugh at her if she admitted to it? After all, isn’t he the one who can create darkness out of thin air? Perhaps he’d shroud her with it and prove he truly is cruel, but she had no way of being sure. He must never know of it and she truly hoped never to see his display of power.

Lost in her thoughts, she blinked and it was morning.

Wide eyed, she sat up and looked to his side. It was unmade, the pillow dented right where his head was and yet she can’t remember hearing him arrive in the night or leave in the morning. She never does.

“Fuck”, she mutters under her breath as she slams a fist in his pillow. Grunting, she buries her face into it, muffling her frustrated scream.

“Are you done?” Genya frowned at her, waiting by the door while Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs into a pillow.

“YOU’VE GOT TO STOP SNEAKING UP ON ME!”

Scoffing, Genya rolled her eyes. “You need to be more perceptive about your surroundings.”

A knock on the door had startled them both, enough for them to both let out a strangled scream. The door opened before either of them gave the permission and once they realized who it was that entered, they didn’t need a reason as to why.

“Ah, you’re awake.” The Darkling grinned at his wife who narrowed her eyes at him immediately.

“Your voice gives me a headache”, Y/N complains.

Squinting at her, the Darkling wondered if a woman could be so infuriating without wielding some mystic power to make her so.

“I believe you agreed to ride with me.”

“Oh”, Genya smirks, “She’ll ride you –“, covering her mouth, Genya giggles as she sees Y/N’s glare is on her, “I meant, with you.”

“I’ve prepared the horses”, he waited for her to respond, to give him reason to dislike her yet she didn’t.

“I will keep my word”, Y/N stood with her formidable gaze on his. She dared not look at his lips for they brought memories and self-loathing she’d rather avoid. After all, what kind of a woman quivers for her enemies touch?

“Wonderful”, he smirks, “I’ll wait for you to dress.”

Remaining in his spot, his hands at his sides, Kirigan raised his eyebrows as both women stared at him.

“Get out”, Y/N waves him off and he clicks his tongue.

“You may not let me touch you, but I can look.”

Angry, she narrowed her eyes at him, “That didn’t stop you from pinning me to a door.”

Genya’s eyes widen, pressing her lips to stop herself from commenting on their little exchange.

Shrugging, he stepped closer. His eyes raked over her body, the nightgown leaving little to imagination. “You didn’t seem to protest”, he leans in, “Especially since you proved you could easily escape me.”

Swallowing thickly, she exhaled through her nose. She couldn’t argue with that, now could she? If she wished, she could have forced him to unhand her. She could have fought him, but she didn’t. She may have been startled when he kissed her but she barely tried to push him away and still, when she had the option to back away, she was the one leaning in for a kiss when he lifted her onto the table. He played a game with her and she lost that day and now he gets to be smug about it.

“As your husband, I promise to protect you from all others. If anyone harms you, they’ll part with their life. For that alone, I deserve an occasional view.”

Winking, he takes a step back and sends a smile in Genya’s direction before turning on his heel and walking out.

“YOU KISSED HIM?!”

Groaning, Y/N throws her head back, “Sort of. It’s more like he kissed me and I didn’t fight him on it.”

“So, does this mean you like him?” Wiggling her eyebrows, Genya squealed in excitement. “Are you bringing him on this plan of yours?”

Holding out her hand, Y/N shook her head, “No, no and no. I don’t trust him one bit and he isn’t exactly a man who’d go along with it.” Exhaling loudly, Y/N decided, “He must be removed along with the emperor.”

When she walked outside, Y/N breath was caught in her throat. The sight of the general on a horse truly felt like a fabrication. Never had she seen a man as majestic as him, as proud and aggravatingly cocky all at once. With his black kefta and the cape, he rode on a black stallion as if he were a mere extension of his will.

She wasted no more time in mounting her white mare, chasing after the Darkling who seemed to only then notice he’s not alone.

Her horse was not above average size, but she was alert and slender-limbed. Her muscles and good nature allowed Y/N to keep up a fairly good pace, never too far behind the black stallion her husband rode. The stallion was clearly riled up, competitive by nature. Anyone else on its back would be a great danger for the rider, but he clearly trusted Kirigan.

The wind blew her hair back and the cold was rather unforgiving on her skin. Passing him narrowly once they entered the woods, she didn’t look back. Instead, she gripped the reigns tighter and continued to breathe as the cold air made her mouth dry and throat scratchy.

Feeling his gaze on her, she relents, looking back at him.

“Where’s your coat?!” He shouted after her and only then did she realize it must have fallen off. Genya made it pretty for a romantic ride, not quite as practical for a race. But that’s not what truly made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. The hint of worry laced in the words of an angry general is what betrayed him and she couldn’t help but wonder – what if it’s more than just lust for him?

“It was slowing me down”, she couldn’t suppress a victorious smile just as he couldn’t suppress an annoyed grunt. Yet they both slowed down, neither of them speaking as they turned around and headed straight to the palace.

“You’re an avid rider.” The general conceded as he dismounted. Before she could blink, he was beside her, his hands on her hips as he pulled her of the horse and effectively stole her breath away.

The rosy colored cheeks left him defenseless as he stared at her too, a little too intently for it to be innocent. Taking her hands in his, he brought them up to his mouth, blowing at them. She kept her gaze at him, undoubtedly in shock as her cold hands started to tingle with the warmth of his breath.

“I’ll have to leave for a few days”, he speaks before she has a chance. “You’ll have the bed all to yourself.”

“Don’t I have to come? If it concerns my peo –“, she began, but he silenced her.

“It’s got nothing to do with the army. I’m merely doing an errand for the emperor.”

Looking at her hands still in his, she pursed her lips. “Doesn’t he have enough servants to do his bidding?”

A breathless chuckle escapes him, “Why? Will you miss me?”

Rolling her eyes, she snorts, “Why? Do you fancy yourself as someone of importance?”

He looked at her like she's the Sun, angrily squinting at every second she spent in his presence. He never looked at her other than in frustration. At least she thought so. It’s how he looked at her a month ago when they first met on a field stained with Druskelle blood. He stood there, alone and victorious as she stepped over the bodies after arriving on this side of the fold with a Sandskiff.

All of their conversations were arguments – she’d narrow her eyes and he’s squint at her, throwing jabs at each other every chance they get, but this felt different. Something changed after the wedding and she wasn’t entirely sure what.

Achingly aware of their closeness, she couldn’t help but ask. "What is this between us?"

Pausing, he looked at her with wonder. If he could put it to words, it wouldn’t make any sense. His mind could hardly fathom what exactly she meant to him other than being a nuisance, but he didn’t exactly hate her as he believed at first when he admittedly hoped she’d find herself eaten by Volcra while crossing the Shadow fold. What he hated was not having a choice. He hated how arrogant she is and how little respect she has for her superiors. He especially hated her mortality, her species and all the atrocities they’ve committed against him and his kind.

He didn’t love her, that he was sure of. He couldn’t possibly care for her either. Lust, winning this game, feeding his ego by having Zlatan’s daughter at his feet is what he longed for. So no, he didn’t love her, but a part of him feared he might love her in time. For the first time in a very, very long time, the Darkling had a fear and it carried her name.

Perhaps that’s why he reacted the way he did when she asked him if there is something between them.

"Nothing." He grabbed the back of her neck, his lips pressing against hers hard.

He was right, she realized. There was nothing between them, nothing between their lips, not even air.

Pulling away, he smirks as she inhales sharply.

"Did you feel a connection?" He looks her in the eye, his lips set in a firm line.

"Yes", she whispers shakily.

His eyes harden as an ache in his chest reminds him of his fear. Someone like him must give up anything he could possibly love for the loss and disappointment are inevitable. She’s mortal, an enemy behind his borders he can never trust. So he will shut his heart out. Love is not an option for the Darkling, he reminds himself. The last time he allowed himself to love was also the day his heart turned to stone. So, he will not love her and she will not love him. He will destroy that possibility, cut any ties that bind them. Lust is the only thing he will let fester.

Leaning in, his lips brush hers softly as he whispers against them, "That's why you're a fool." Stepping back, he heard her gulp. “The connection you feel is lust, that’s all we have and it’s all we will ever have. Accept it.”

“Is that true or are you just afraid?!” Her voice wavers and she instinctively steps toward him, asserting dominance she felt was lost.

“General”, Ivan calls out, just in case Kirigan needed an excuse to leave.

“Afraid?” The Darkling chuckles dryly, averting his gaze to Ivan who waited for him at the entrance. “I’m not afraid of anything”, he remarks as his eyes lock on her lips again, “Certainly not of my wife.”

As he stepped back, the Darkling caught the strangest look in her eyes. It looked like clarity, total and complete sobriety from the ecstasy his presence gave her. She stood proud, despite the self-loathing in her previously warm eyes that slowly turned them back to the ice she held when she first laid her eyes on him.

=============================

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Part 5  

[electric--blanket]

a place where the heart rests

so, because @thekaiserroll drew fanart of my fanfiction i decided to return the favour by writing a long Wintersberg one-shot based off of her short comic! i hope you enjoy touch-starved Heisenberg.

warnings for death (not for main characters) and some angst.

read on ao3

--

Mama… I want mama. It hurts.

Where’s mama?

Karl Heisenberg always suffered from nightmares. Even before he was taken in by Mother Miranda — as a child, Heisenberg often experienced night terrors that had him screaming in his bed. There were distant memories in the back of his mind, where he’d wake from a terrible dream that had him screaming for his mother — and she’d always come to his side. In that terribly large, cold estate that Heisenberg once called home, it always felt so lonely. But, his mother always eased his fears; with her silk nightgown and the distinct smell of expensive soap. Her soft fingers would comb through Heisenberg’s locks of ashen brown hair, hushing him in a soft tone of voice — a voice he could no longer remember.

During the experiments, it was the only thing Heisenberg begged for when he felt the cadou infesting his body. It felt like a worm wriggling around in the wet soil during a storm, curling and writhing through his organs. He screamed for his mother, wishing she would save him from the pain and take him home again. A seventeen-year-old boy screaming for his mother to come and save him looked utterly pathetic from Mother Miranda’s perspective, and the feeling of fear only intensified when she stroked Heisenberg’s hair whilst he screamed. A soft whisper that uttered, “I’m your mother now, child.” It made Heisenberg nearly vomit.

That was the last time someone had ever touched him so tenderly. He’d not felt a loving touch since then and ducked away from Miranda’s so-called ‘motherly’ touches.

At first, Heisenberg coped with the intense trauma of his bodily changes by taking it in stride and calling his newfound power of magnetism a ‘gift’. He knew deep down it was the opposite: it stopped him from ageing, rendered him infertile and stripped away his dignity by becoming a slave to Miranda. It took a long time for Heisenberg to fully process what had happened to him. His father had left him in the clutches of a madwoman, and his life only got worse from there.

In a fit of rage — perhaps at the age of twenty-nine — he revisited his parent's estate to confront the man he could no longer call ‘father’. He had aged since Heisenberg last saw him, but those steel eyes he’d inherited were still as hard as ever. His mother lingered in a doorway just down the hall, but she didn’t dare come to greet her son as he snapped with a short, interrupted breath. Heisenberg had grabbed his father by the neck and pinned him to the nearest wall, knocking down a beautiful oil painting his mother adored. His fingers didn’t seem to stop, squeezing on the skin and bone until he felt a sickening crack vibrate beneath his fingers.

Heisenberg hadn’t meant it, not really. It was as if a demon had taken control of his body and sought revenge that barely mattered anymore. He didn’t realise what he’d done until he heard the sound of his mother screaming; distraught and fearful of her own son that she’d once coddled so long ago.

That was the last time Heisenberg saw his mother and father. The estate was quickly abandoned not long after, and from what he knew, his mother took her belongings and moved to Austria with some distant relatives. That large house teased Heisenberg every fucking day, with how it towered near the factory grounds and reminded him of what he’d done. Arson wasn’t exactly on his bucket list, but Heisenberg couldn’t resist taking a match to the place and watching it burn. Whatever childhood remained in that house was left in a pile of ashes, and he never looked upon it ever again. All of the silly dreams and hopes he’d had for his life were gone.

That was until Ethan Winters showed up. Nearly a hundred years later, Heisenberg felt something he’d sought after for so long — hope.

**

“Karl? Karl—!”

Mama. I want mama. Everything hurts.

Heisenberg forced his eyes open. It felt like his life was replaying in front of him whilst he was passed out; like watching an old film reel repeating itself and becoming more distorted each time. Up until that very night, Heisenberg’s life had been a series of traumatic events and unforgivable actions.

That night, he’d turned it all around just by laying his eyes on Ethan Winters. A man so incredible, resilient and insane… He’d do anything to get his little girl back. It was the man Heisenberg had oh-so wanted his father to be, and he admired that about Ethan. He’d never been so good at expressing his emotions honestly, or even laying out his ideas in a proper fashion to others… Oh, but Ethan was special. He’d shown Heisenberg patience that he’d not been offered before and decided to join him at his side to kill Miranda. Together.

“Karl… Fuck— Don’t die on me, asshole.”

Ethan… Ethan…

Above the metal remnants of what his mutated body had used as a shell, he could hear Ethan pushing the scrap aside to try and find Heisenberg buried beneath it. He could also hear the distinct cries of a distressed baby, something that brought him back to Earth. Heisenberg reached up through the metal until his bare, calloused fingers brushed up against Ethan’s soft knuckles. There was a moment of silence when their skin touched, but Ethan didn’t waste any time in grabbing Heisenberg’s hand and pulling him out.

The moment the pressure around his body ceased, Heisenberg felt the telltale feeling of sickening warmth seeping from many wounds across his body. The cadou inside him didn’t react too well to it, trying to cope with the trauma done by squirming and pulsating inside of him. Heisenberg drank in the expression of Ethan’s relieved face for just a moment, only until it warped into one of worry and horror. Heisenberg was weak, and his knees buckled beneath the weight of his torso before he fell back onto the ground.

The baby cupped carefully in one of Ethan’s arms began to cry again as Ethan jostled her accidentally in an attempt to help Heisenberg. A baby crying wasn’t really helping Heisenberg’s already distressed state, but it made him realise just how fucked he was. There was no way they would get away in time together, and Heisenberg was too injured to walk. The cadou might have helped to some degree, but it didn’t ease the burning pain in his body, and the loss of blood that was making him dizzy.

Ethan’s horrified expression was pinned on an appendage from the Megamycete, which rose up from the cave systems like a flower bud in spring, ready to bloom. The small, red flashing light alerted him to the fact that Chris Redfield had succeeded in planting the bomb. They had to leave.

“Go.”

A silence hung in the air for just a moment, and Heisenberg didn’t realise what he’d just said. For the first time in his miserable existence, he was being selfless and urging Ethan to leave him behind. It was the last thing Heisenberg wanted.

Don’t leave me here. I’m fucking scared. I don’t want to die yet.

“Fuck you,” Ethan’s voice trembled with venom, “I’m not leaving you here now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Heisenberg let out a bitter chuckle, tasting the blood seeping from his gums as he grinned, “I don’t think we have any time to be arguing about this, buttercup.”

“No. I— Mia’s dead, Karl. I need you.”

That’s right. Heisenberg briefly recalled Miranda’s kidnapping of the not-so-innocent woman and the experimentation that followed. Unfortunately, her body gave in due to her state after giving birth and she died on Miranda’s operating table. Ethan’s wife was dead, and Rose was now left without a mother’s loving touch.

“I said go. Rose needs her papa intact, not blown to pieces.” Heisenberg insisted, slumping back against the pile of scrap metal.

“Damn it—” Ethan looked hesitant to leave Heisenberg. It was a truly sweet sentiment: to see someone care about him after all this time. After all of the terrible things he’d done, and the love he’d been deprived of… Someone cared about him. Maybe that was enough. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to die like this.

“Fuck.” Ethan stammered again, licking his dry lips and swallowing, “Karl… I… Thank you.”

“... Yeah. I know, Ethan.”

That was all he needed. A trembling, watery smile shot his way before Ethan held Rose close with both arms and turned to run.

He’s going to be a great father.

Heisenberg looked up at the plant-like form the Megamycete had taken, looming down upon the ceremony courtyard with writhing mold creeping closer to Heisenberg. It was then that he decided that giving in like this wasn’t who he was: he was a fighter to his last breath.

In a last attempt to preserve his life, Heisenberg parted the pile of scrap metal and shuffled beneath it all. He rolled his wrist, the cocoon of metal surrounding him and tightening. The metal creaked, drowning out the sounds of the mold writhing around the metal to try and get inside. Heisenberg closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. I won’t die. Not yet.

The explosion that followed shortly after was deafening, causing the entire ground to shake beneath him and the metal to shudder against his body. It felt painful, rippling off his injured skin like that… But, fortunately for Heisenberg, the explosion wasn’t nuclear — the blast was enough to do the job and wipe out the mold and the Megamycete.

A silence followed the explosion, brick and ash collapsing against Heisenberg’s metal cocoon. Each noise made him flinch, and his fingers twitched instinctively as some final line of defence. He didn’t know how long it was before he felt brave enough to let his guard down and release his telekinetic grip on the metal. The scraps suddenly slumped, collapsing around him as Heisenberg pushed the metal off of his body and emerged like a phoenix rising from the ashes of its former self.

The smoke and dust still remained, causing Heisenberg to cough heavily as he took a sharp inhale of the air. He squinted through the dust and remains of what was left of his home town and realised how much he’d lost. It hit him all at once; his childhood, his parents and his fucked up little family. Even though he hated Miranda and his makeshift siblings deeply, they were all he truly had left to call ‘family’. It was over in the blink of an eye, and Heisenberg suddenly felt like a child all over again. Like a child waking from a nightmare, scared and alone.

Heisenberg’s fingers twitched into tight fists, clamping his mouth shut as tears threatened to spill down his face. Even after all this, he tried to will himself not to cry, to never let down the walls he had so carefully built. But, at that moment there was nothing left to keep the foundations upright. Heisenberg’s fists loosened, and he brought his hands up to cover his face instinctively. A knot seemingly untied itself in his chest and throat, and a guttural sob left him. Maybe — just maybe — it was okay.

**

Navigating the woods was even worse during a snowstorm at night. It was bad enough that Heisenberg’s body was weak from his healing injuries, but it felt haggard from his intense emotional breakdown. In a strange sense, he felt relief from it but at the same time, it felt awfully inconvenient. Heisenberg was sure he looked like a terrible mess; his clothes were torn and his hair was damp with clumps of ash hanging from his silver locks. Not to mention the blood staining his clothes, and his valuable dog tags that hung low on his chest.

In his many idle chats with Ethan before they fought Miranda, he could recall the other man mentioning he didn’t live too far from the village. It was a fair distance away, but not too far that it would be impossible to reach if your car broke down on the road between them. Still, it wasn’t a pleasant or short walk.

By the time Heisenberg even managed to reach a place that looked like a livable home, he was close to collapsing in the snow… But, he held out. The lights were turned off inside, but a motion sensor light on the property turned on once Heisenberg got close enough. The bulb blinded him briefly, and he held a hand up to shield his eyes as he walked up the porch to the door. Heisenberg sluggishly lifted his hand, knocking on the door as hard as he could and leaning against the frame. It took a few moments before he could see a light turn on inside from the windows, and the sound of someone walking down a wooden staircase slowly.

The person on the other side of the door stopped before they reached for the doorknob, and they spoke out.

“Who is it?”

Ethan Winters. That voice Heisenberg had missed so dearly; in all of its glory and full of caution. It almost made him laugh.

“Let me in, Ethan. I’m freezing.”

“Karl?”

“As smart as ever, Ethan. Can you hurry up?”

Ethan was quick to unlock the door and remove the security chain, twisting the doorknob and pulling it open. There, Ethan was standing in a pristine white shirt and some boxers that hung low on his hips… Along with a pair of comical slippers that seemed to resemble a cartoon dog. Heisenberg’s lips twitched into a tired grin.

“Oh my, too much skin, Ethan. Back in my day—”

“Shut up and get in here!”

Ethan grabbed Heisenberg’s arm, tugging him inside to shield him from the snowstorm outside. He slammed the door shut and quickly locked it back up, and the two men finally stood face-to-face. There was a silence that hung in the air, with so many unanswered questions on the tip of Ethan’s tongue, but none came. Without any further hesitation, Ethan threw his arms around Heisenberg’s neck and tugged him close for an embrace.

It was the first time Ethan had touched him in such a way. So full of affection and genuinity, it made Heisenberg’s fingers tremble with uncertainty. He didn’t know what to do with his hands: so overcome with the touches that smothered him. His brows creased into an expression of relief, and Heisenberg’s steel eyes fluttered shut as he succumbed to the hug. He wrapped his arms around Ethan’s waist, squeezing him carefully and burying his face into Ethan’s shoulder. The smell of talcum powder and formula milk permeated his shirt, giving Heisenberg the comfort he craved. He never wanted Ethan to stop touching him, and he was content to stay like this for as long as he could — to make up for all the time he’d lost aching after affection.

“I thought…” Ethan mumbled slowly, “I thought you were dead.”

“Mm.” Heisenberg hummed lowly in response, curling his fingers into Ethan’s shirt. “So did I. Turns out I’m hard to kill.”

Ethan snorted softly.

**

As it turned out, Heisenberg wasn’t too bad with kids.

It was a tough adjustment for the two men at first; Ethan had to keep Heisenberg a well-guarded secret as he was moved to a new location with Rose (courtesy of the BSAA). Heisenberg followed their steps at a safe distance, but he was never too far from them. Understandably, Ethan was moved into a smaller home: a humble bungalow in a quiet German village. Once the BSAA had left Ethan in peace with Rose, it didn’t take long before Heisenberg settled into the bungalow with them.

Ethan had insisted that if Heisenberg was going to stay there with him and Rose, then he’d need to learn to help take care of the baby. At first, he was extremely hesitant to do something akin to a parental figure… But, Rose was a surprisingly sweet baby. She didn’t fuss too much and rarely threw a tantrum over the little things. Rose was the right amount of responsibility for Heisenberg, and that made him a patient parent.

He’d been taught how to properly hold her (after many lectures), how to prepare her formula and change her. Rose was understandably unhappy with Heisenberg’s presence at first, perhaps longing for her mother that was no longer around… But, after a few months, she took to Heisenberg very well.

Because of Karl’s lack of mortality and infertility, he never thought he’d take the figure of a father like this… But, it wasn’t exactly an unwelcome opportunity. He’d even upgraded from sleeping on the couch to Ethan’s bed.

The first night Ethan invited him to bed, Heisenberg could tell from the flustered look on Ethan’s face that it took a lot of courage to ask him to bed. A sexual joke lingered on the tip of Heisenberg’s tongue, but he bit it back in favour of keeping the proposal on the table. Instead, Heisenberg had nodded with a cheeky grin and followed Ethan to bed.

There had been some nights where the loss of Mia hit Ethan harder than he’d liked it to — even after Mia’s work with The Connections was revealed, he had still loved her to a degree. Those nights were the hardest. All Heisenberg could do was hold Ethan in his arms and comfort him with nothing more than his presence.

This invitation into Ethan’s bed was far more intimate than a comforting hug. At first, they stayed a polite distance apart on either side of the bed, with Ethan turned on his side whilst Heisenberg stared up at the dark ceiling. In the darkness, his eyes created shapes that danced across the ceiling and warped before him. Much like the mold that infested him, it was as if it continued to taunt him with its presence. After a moment, Heisenberg finally turned onto his side and glanced at the lump that was Ethan with his back to him. That urge to touch returned to the forefront of Heisenberg’s mind. It was that deep ache in his chest, like a lump of flour stuck in a smooth dough that needed to be coaxed inward.

He reached out but stopped himself before he could touch, trying to plan the best way to move forward with what he wanted. Heisenberg pursed his lips, shuffling his body closer to Ethan’s back until he finally slid his arm over Ethan’s waist. He could feel Ethan’s body freeze and tense up a little, which made Heisenberg’s heart feel like stopping altogether. Had he gone too far?

But after a moment, Ethan relaxed, pressing his chest back into Karl slowly. It was all the permission he needed to slot himself fully against Ethan and quietly seek out his hand. Once Heisenberg found it, he carefully laced their fingers together as he held Ethan like that, tugging him close with his elbow.

No words were spoken in the darkness, but a silent understanding of what they both wanted. Heisenberg finally felt complete like this, closing his eyes and exhaling tiredly. His body suddenly felt tired, releasing all the tension it had been holding trying to psyche himself up to do it.

A feeling of affection swelled in Heisenberg’s chest as he held Ethan, finally giving in to the darkness and drifting away with their bond now stronger than ever.

**

“Are you fucking insane, Ethan?!”

Chris Redfield. A thorn in Heisenberg’s side, but not as bad as Miranda. His voice filling their home put Heisenberg on edge, but it didn’t really matter too much to him. It was around ten in the morning, and the couple had just had breakfast. The television was on, playing some cartoons in the background as Rose was sitting on the soft carpet of the living area with her toys, and Heisenberg sat close to her.

When Chris made an unexpected visit, and he spotted Heisenberg in the living room, the yelling began. Ethan had kept Chris just outside of the room so that Rose didn’t see her father getting angry, and Heisenberg made sure to keep her attention on her toys. Heisenberg was wearing a pair of tartan boxers, along with a button-up pyjama shirt with a white tank top beneath it. It wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of bedtime fashion, but it made him comfortable enough at night.

When the yelling only got worse and Rose seemed irritated by the noise, Heisenberg carefully brought Rose into his lap and crossed his legs.

“Hmm,” He hummed in feigned thoughtfulness, “Does ol’ Karl need to perform for little Rose again?” Heisenberg sighed dramatically, “Oh, the things I do for you.”

He turned his body subtly to the kitchen area, holding his hand out and focusing on one of the drawers. It slid open, a few tablespoons floating out from a cutlery tray. Heisenberg pulled his hand back, the spoons floating across to the living area and bringing them to a stop in front of him and Rose. With a simple, slow roll of his wrist, the spoons began to twirl and move in a circular motion above Rose.

Her eyes widened with fascination, the corners of her mouth opening into a gleeful smile. Absently, she reached up with her soft, pink hands and tried to reach for the spoons half-heartedly as they continued their motions. A soft laugh bubbled from her, causing Karl to smile softly.

“He’s a dangerous bioweapon, Ethan. He could hurt Rose!”

Heisenberg managed to hone in on those words; a sharp pain digging into his chest when he realised the implications Chris was trying to make. That Heisenberg was a monster. A bioweapon without feeling. A creature that would kill a child.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ethan pointing wordlessly at the soft scene of Heisenberg with Rose in his lap, entertaining her with spoons. That was all he needed to say, really — without even saying it. Even Chris was at a loss for words, and he quietly relented. Ethan was surely in for an afternoon of lectures.

It made Heisenberg smile a little more, turning his head subtly towards Ethan and catching his gaze. It was his quiet way of saying thank you. It went beyond thanking Ethan for trusting him with Rose but thanking Ethan for listening to Heisenberg, taking him into his home and loving him. Even though they’d never spoken those three little words out loud, maybe they didn’t need to. Their actions, affections and closeness spoke those words loud enough.

Truly, after all this time, Heisenberg didn’t think he was capable of ever being loved or trusted. Now that he’d left that horrible life behind, he was now a father, a friend and possibly a lover. The trauma would always remain, yes, like the cadou and the mutations. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be happy like this, in this simple little life he’d started to build with Ethan.

Maybe it would be okay.

[astaroth1357]

Demon Brothers React to MC Getting Kidnapped by Lesser Demons.

Watch out for minor first half spoilers!!

Lucifer

Kicking himself because he has to find out through Mammon that the MC is missing and he didn’t notice their absence himself.

The second the alarm gets raised he gets into a state somewhere between coldly rational and extraordinarily furious. 

Definitely still level-headed enough to rally and organize his brothers for a search party but there's nothing but seething rage just rolling off of him the entire time. Probably-could-have-made-another-Satan type rage.

How well he keeps his composure will be based entirely on how long the MC is MIA. The first hour or so will be mostly put together but past that he'll start to slowly unravel as the panic takes hold.

At one point he even gets snippy with Diavolo over the phone and that's when you KNOW that he's reaching meltdown mode.

If he's the first to find the MC, his #1 priority is to get them away from whatever scum grabbed them and take them to the closest safe place he can find. He'd scoop them up so fast they won't even know where he came from, just whoosh! How'd I get on this roof??

Only once they're out of harm’s way will he circle back and deal with their kidnappers personally. You better be sure any damage done to his human will be reflected a thousandfold back onto their attackers. Probably coming back to the MC with some blood on him and is not going to care.

Relieved to have the MC back but restricts them from going out alone after a certain time now for their own good. If they need something that badly, they can come to him.

Also strings Mammon up by his toes that night for losing them in the first place.

"By the time Cerberus gets to you, I'll be sure you're only my table scraps…"

Mammon

The first to notice that the MC was being oddly quiet (thank their father for his text spamming habit) then found their stuff scattered and abandoned at RAD.

Told Lucifer right away and, oh boy, he is a mess: talking a mile a minute, punctuating his sentences with expletives, on the verge of tears, whole nine yards.

He left his human alone for what?? Like five minutes, if even, to go to the library and get themselves kidnapped?! What kind of guardian is he?!?

Already searching the place top-to-bottom without being told where to go or what to do.

He actually ends up a strange inverse of Lucifer. While Lucifer will start panicking more over time, Mammon will start panicking less as his fear escalates to all out anger. Give it a few hours and he’s not even going to be able to keep his demon form under control anymore.

You know this boy is legging it across the entire Devildom himself waving around some kind of hand-drawn "Have You Seen This Human?" flyer looking for any leads at all.

If he were to find the MC first, his first action would probably be to plant his foot right in the face of whoever took them. Hard. Then repeat until their skull’s a caved-in mess on floor. No mercy this time, just pure protective rage.

Following the fight, you'd think he was just reunited with his lost puppy. Lots of crying, hugging, and blubbering out apologies even when the rest of his brothers show up.

Would pretty much be glued to the MC's hip for at least a week afterward and makes more of a point to hang off of them in public now. They're his human after all, can't have anyone else getting the idea of pulling a stunt like that again.

"MC!! What'd ya go runnin' off for?? We're goin' home after I take out this trash, got it!!"

Leviathan 

Wouldn't really want to believe it at first because it just feels too unreal, like, the same thing happened to Henry in Episode 86 of TSL when he was kidnapped by enemies of the Lord of Fools and it was up to his true friend to track him down…

Suddenly remembers that Henry was also tortured while he was taken and that really sets in the panic.

Unsure of how to help at first because he knows he's just a useless shut-in but Belphie of all people is the one to remind him that he does have one big advantage over his brothers: a fucking navy.

In an act of surprising backbone, he more or less demands a full fleet of ships from Diavolo and (honestly to his shock) he gets exactly that to comb the Devil’s Sea while looking for MC. Lotan even helps out!

If he were to be the first to find the MC (presuming they are indeed on a boat or something cause 🤷‍♀️) those kidnappers really shouldn't have challenged the third strongest brother in his natural element, eh? Those who aren't automatically lashed in the face or flung overboard by his tail get hung by the leg over the edge of the ship for Lotan to pick off one by one.

Sails back to shore with MC booming with pride that he of all people finally got to be their hero! Will literally be so happy if MC ever brings it up again, doesn't matter how much time has passed.

Things would settle back to normal pretty quickly after that, but he now checks up on the MC a lot more often and will even leave his room for them if they need to go somewhere and don't want to go alone. Can't have this turning into a rerun, you know?

"You hurt my only friend… So drown."

Satan

One guess how the Avatar of Wrath took the news. It's not swimmingly.

Unless your definition of "swimmingly" is a murderous rampage of toppling furniture, breaking windows, and swearing to curse right about anything that moves, in which case aptly put. 

He gets stuck in an anger-induced tantrum for a bit before finally getting snapped back into coherent thought by Belphie and putting those mystery novels of his to good use. Smart boi takes second to Lucifer himself in the search, suggesting good locations for his brothers scout based on what clues they have to go on.

Of course, he's not content to just to call orders from the sidelines and is out searching himself like he's on the goddamn warpath. Doors? Who needs doors? If anything the hole I made in your wall is more efficient.

Should he be the first to find the MC he would coolly and methodically subdue any kidnapper he can get his hands on, release his human, and bring them home as soon as possible. They've been through quite enough today and don't need to see anything he's got planned for the bastards later.

But the second that Diavolo puts them in the castle dungeon, you best bet that Henry 1.0 is going to the LEAST of their worries. Who's ever wanted to play a life or death game of hide and seek with a giant snake and the incarnation of Wrath itself? First one caught gets the "quick" death! Any volunteers?

Might give the MC a mild scolding for going out when they shouldn't have but otherwise is just happy to see them back and safe. May act extra soft towards them for a couple days, just until the nerves of the situation finally wear off.

"Don't mistake this for mercy. I assure you, I don't know the meaning of the word."

Asmodeus

Highkey freaking out, like, almost as hysterical as Mammon when he hears the news. 

Being the Avatar of Lust, he of course knows there's a whole lot of creeps out there in the world and he is utterly terrified that his poor MC has fallen victim to one at that moment.

For once, all thoughts of himself and his looks are out the window. What? It's past 2am and MC is still gone? I can stay up another hour! Dry shampoo and a washcloth counts as a shower, right? Who the fuck cares, where's MC?? Somebody find them already!!

Pools his contact list with Satan's and starts reaching out across the whole Devildom asking for people to be on the lookout and offer tips. Also begs Solomon to use his magic to help in the search (which he's more than happy to do anyway because he cares about the MC too)

If he were to find MC first it'd be one of those rare cases where he'd be seen really truly enraged. No cute banter, no playful flirting, just telling those worthless scum-vats exactly where they belong and exactly how he's going to put them there. Is it any surprise that he's also madsick with a whip?

Crazy relieved that MC is free, but now it's on them to help him clean up and get back to his prettiest self. I mean, he worried himself half to death while they were gone! All this dirt and sweat going to take three, no four, bathes to fully clean off!! Best hop to it~♡

"Touch them one more time and I'm going to set fire to whatever landfill trash like you crawls out of!!"

Beelzebub

It can't be happening. It honestly can't be happening. First he loses Lilith and now MC?? He can't lose two. He. Can't. Lose. Two.

Pretty much the mantra going through his head as he tears the Devildom apart with his bare hands. 

It's 1000x worse than how he gets when he's hungry because at least then he might stop when he finally gets fed. Now it's either find MC or wait until he collapses from exhaustion and hope he doesn’t leave the whole realm a smoldering crater before he gets that far.

There's no reasoning with him either, the best the brothers can do is steer him in a direction and let him loose.

If he found MC first he probably wouldn't even realize it for a bit, he'd just keep attacking whatever or whoever is in front of him on his path of blind destruction. It'd take the MC literally flinging themselves at him or throwing their arms around him to snap him out of it but then it's back to sweetheart Beel.

Hugs ensue. Really tight hugs. Probably a few tears and apologies too (even if it’s not really his fault at all). 

Woe to anyone who tries going for the MC once he’s sure he has them because they WILL be broken then eaten. He’ll encourage his human not to look, but some things just have to be done.

Would absolutely carry MC back home and refuse to put them down until the others force him to. The floor may as well be lava planning on taking them away from him too.

Wouldn't care as much about personal vengeance as his brothers as long as MC is safe. He'll trust that his family will more than punish the kidnappers (though chances are he already took a chunk or two out of a few of them during his rampage anyway).

Protective instincts up by 100 after this, though Belphie usually steps in and eases him back a bit when he's about to get suffocating. MC never travels without a buddy now, ever. He just can't risk it.

"MC, I-I'm sorry… I just couldn’t lose you too…"

Belphegor

Keeps the coolest head of all the brothers on the outside, but there's a cold fury building up in those eyes.

Pretty much takes charge of whipping everyone back into gear with a combination stinging remarks and heavy duty guilt tripping. May not be the nicest method, but it's effective. 

"Asmo, grow a freaking spine and do something useful for a change! Mammon, this your fault to start with so you ought to be breaking your ass to find them! Satan, watching you is getting embarrassing, pull yourself together and think like you're good at it!"

His harshest criticisms get saved for Lucifer (big shock) but he only dishes them out when he sees his older brother really losing his grip or teetering on losing hope. If the “mighty firstborn” can’t keep it together then why should they even listen to him in the first place?

When he's not administering "motivation," he's keeping tabs on Beel's progression through the Devildom and trying to minimize the damage there. He's the only one that can get through to him long enough to change his course if necessary.

If he were to find the MC first, well, unlike Satan he doesn't have the forethought to save the torture for later. It's happening right here, right now, and you better bet that being the last born doesn't stop him from being a force to be reckoned with.

Waits with the MC for his brothers to catch up to them and deal with any stragglers. May cuddle with them and look like he's trying to take a nap in the meantime, but in truth he's still very alert, on edge, and ready to absolutely wreck shit if anything gets too close to them.

Though it doesn't look like his lazy ass goes through the same protective streak as his brothers, he's a lot quicker to try and convince the MC to stay home now. No out and about=less chance of getting nabbed. Plus he keeps his favorite pillow, win-win. 😏

"What about your worthless lives makes you think you deserve my mercy??"

[fullfiresiren]

beauty of the dawn

jujutsu kaisen

fushiguro toji x reader

The notion of a loving family was something foreign to Fushiguro Toji. Family, to him, was a bitter word -- full of hate and abhorrence. Abandonment and fear were a commonality in his own childhood. But in you, he finds a warmth he didn’t think he deserved – a home he craved, a love that makes him feel safe; full of gentle touches and soft kisses. But he’s scared. He's broken, and angry, and he knows the threat of his family is always lurking close, snapping at his heels, ready to devour. You bring the notion of family to his doorstep, and he spooks. He panics. He can’t let them find you, he can’t and he has to give up the only feeling of warmth he has ever known to do so.

It haunts him forever – leaving behind the only woman he ever loved, and a child he will never know.

word count: 3.8k.

notes: *inhales* ANGST— lmao but really, I live for it. Toji may be a bad person, but I suck dick, not morals, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ bro I fr don’t even know what came over me. This has been like the smallest headcannon for me and somehow it turned into this horribly sad piece, and although Toji is a dick, I also think he is an incredibly complex character that, at the end of it all, was just a desperate father trying to look out for his child. I think he deserves much more than he got, and he kinda gets shat on in this fic lmao I'm so fuCKING SORRY FOR THAT--

warnings: nsfw/18+, angst, hurt no comfort, abandonment, unplanned pregnancy, pregnant reader

“Take me,” he prays, panting secrets that fall from his lips onto your soft skin; promises of pleasure as he breeds you deep. “Take all of me.”

And you do – over, and over, and over again.

Hilting him to the deepest part of yourself, and holding him close, so close, his breath a hot ghost across your face as he leans his forehead against yours. You keep him there until he is finished, taking his seed like it was sacrament. He gives you everything he has to offer, and only when you have slipped into a light slumber does he pull away.

He never strays far, though, and he cannot stay away for long. You are like sweet honey and warm sunsets; the breathing embodiment of a life he was never before privy to – the promise of something better; a miracle. Far from the cold depravity and sharp pain of his own family, in you, he found only warm touches, and words of tender affection. Toji feels so overwhelmed by the amount of love he has for you, that sometimes it’s unbearable. He feels so happy he could die.

He is not an honest man, by any means. He kills for a vocation -- and enjoys it, too. It’s something he’s good at. It’s an easy way to make money, and it helps him pay for his half of the rent on the meagre apartment you share. It also lets him keep the fridge full, make sure you’re always warm, and that you’re never without. He doesn’t really care about himself or what he has to do – so long as you’re happy.

The weight of his body is always heavy between your thighs, his chest solid, thrusts slow and deep, stretching you, making a perfect fit for himself inside you. He likes drawing it out – each time he takes you. He enjoys seeing you beg for release, relishes the way your tears slide down your flushed cheeks, because he likes being the one to kiss them away, knowing he is the only one who ever makes you feel this good. His name sounds so perfect when it falls from your lips at your height of ecstasy, and the way you take him in has him swearing he can see heaven.

You see a side of him that no one else does, but he’s dark, he’s toxic. The amount of sadness in his soul is challenged only by the sheer force of his anger. He's sure that he wasn’t always like this, but... he can’t really remember a time when he wasn’t. Everyone and everything was his enemy. He’s never really told you much about his family, or his past. His childhood had been dark, you assumed, based on the way he flinched around children, and steered clear of any conversational topics that included them or parental figures.

Toji Fushiguro was untouchable to everyone, and only just tangible to you.

He wants to be able to give you everything. He wants to lay his head on your chest in the depths of the night when he’s feeling lost, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to come home every night, no matter what happens to him throughout the day, and be able to feel the brush of your soft lips; to taste your tongue with his – god – he wants to. But he’s afraid. He’s scared. If he gives you everything... if he shows you who he really is... what happens if you see something you don’t like? Will you pull away from him? Will you cast him out and abandon him – just like his family did? Toji isn’t feeble by any sense of the word, but he thinks that would be the one thing that would break him.

That’s why he’s only let you see glimpses... and only every now and then.

He’s just so miserable when he’s alone. He’s angry at the world, and you’re the only thing that soothes him. The only thing he has ever loved.

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror when he comes home, locked away in the too-small bathroom. You hear the keys turning in the lock; a signal of his arrival, and the door to your apartment opens, bringing with it sounds of paper bags crinkling, keys being tossed into their bowl, and huffing exhales as he struggles to kick his heavy boots off.

“Toji?”

“I’m home!” he calls, his voice a deep timbre in his chest, smooth like rich oak.

You follow it, leaving the safe space of your bathroom to find him, and when you pass the threshold into your small kitchen, he’s lifting bags of fresh groceries onto what little counter space you have. The movement carries with it droplets from an October rain that had caught him by surprise on his walk home, ones that hang from the edges of his black hair and drip down onto his damp black shirt.

“Toji,” you repeat, beaming as you bound into your small kitchen. “I have wonderful news!”

He spares you a glance between unpacking vegetables, dark eyes tracing the curve of your face, hands grasping at packets of food that need to be tossed in the fridge, and cans to be stacked in the shelves.

“Hmm?”

He offers you his face, leaning in close, pausing in his task to receive a small blessing of affection from you — a soft kiss against the scar on his lip that has his eyelashes fluttering closed, and then one more fully against yours – always greedy for any love you bestow, always chasing just one more, just once more, just another, my love, just one more...

He continues with his chore, but only when you giggle at the fluttering of kisses he peppers across your face, your jaw, suckling at your neck, your hands against his chest pushing him gently, urging him to finish his task – but not before you give him another deep kiss, all giddiness and mirth swimming in your gaze. He can’t help the deep chuckle that spills from his lips at seeing you so happy.

“Toji,” you begin, and he’s rummaging in the paper bags, brows furrowed because he could have sworn that he bought three carrots, and not two -- “I’m pregnant!”

He stills.

He can sense your beaming smile, almost feels the warmth of it on his cold skin, and it only makes him shiver.

The seconds tick by without any form of reaction, and the atmosphere grows horribly tense. Toji doesn’t look at you, but he can see from his peripheral vision that your smile slips at the same time that your shoulders round and you make yourself smaller, unconsciously closing off. You’re twisting something in your hands, suddenly nervous, and he has a nauseating feeling that settles in his gut, because he knows exactly what it is that you’re holding.

It’s proof.

“Are you... happy?” you ask, and you hate that you have to. It’s like a punch in the gut, and you’re afraid. This was not the reaction you were expecting at all.

“Are you sure?” he doesn’t know why he asks that.

He isn’t looking at you, and he isn’t moving – he’s not even blinking. You feel your hands becoming sweaty as you clutch the positive pregnancy test, mouth dry. A quickly increasing panic creeps over your skin, gripping you by the throat, and you honestly have no idea how to traverse this kind of response to your news. In the bathroom you only practiced scenarios in relation to a beaming, positive reaction.

Which room should we make into the baby’s room? Our baby can always sleep with us, though, and I know they’re definitely going to prefer you – I'm hopeless with kids... but I hope they look like you, Toji – a perfect combination of everything I love about you!

Do you want to pick names out? I hope it’s a girl... but a boy would be wonderful, too! I know the baby will adore you, no matter what! Do you have any names you like? We can name them after someone you love? If it’s a boy, I want to make his middle name yours...

Why didn’t you think he was going to show apprehension or reluctance? Why were you so idiotic to assume this is something he desired when he’s never given you any signs of wanting to start a family? He’s probably feeling entirely overwhelmed – and no wonder – you have no tact about this. Fuck, you’re stupid. You fucking idiot. Pathetic, dumb, worthless--

“Y-yes,” you reply, and your voice is a shadow of its former self. “I took three tests. I have one here--”

“How.”

You flinch a little under the curtness of his words.

“W-what—?”

“How did this happen?”

“Uhm...” your voice sounds so frail when you speak, and you can't help it. He’s making you feel like you’ve committed a horrendous sin. You’ve managed to combine the epitome of affection between the two of you into the creation of what will become a child – a perfect mix of the two of you, and yet, you’re beginning to hate yourself for doing so. You didn’t mean to... it was an accident... “We don’t... you know... use protection... and we... have sex... a lot...”

“I thought you were taking the pill.”

You feel like you want to throw up.

His entire body is unnaturally still, and he’s not looked at you once since you’ve told him. You are pretty sure that the can in his right hand is warping under the violent pressure of his grasp, and you wring your hands around the test nervously, the weight of it somehow heavy against your palms.

“I... don’t take the pill...” you remind, and then as an afterthought, you add, “I’m sorry.”

Words you never thought you would say in relation to this. You never though you would have to apologize in this kind of situation. You exhale a shaky breath, and it seems to bring him back to reality. He sets the can down on the countertop with more force than needed, and you try your best to blink back tears as you ask, “You’re... not happy... are you...?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and it hurts to say – god, it hurts. The words sting when they leave your mouth, like a hard slap against your face, but the ache is not nearly as bad as the way his silence is wounding you. You feel like you’re about to collapse from the amount of pain you have in your heart.

“I need to go somewhere,” is the most he offers you, before he’s turning on his heels and striding past you, leaving the apartment you share.

The noise of the front door slamming shut echoes in your mind long after the sound itself has gone.

He never did come back.

  — — — 5 years later — — —

 In the end, you were blessed with a baby girl, all chubby with round, rosy cheeks. Dark hair and eyes like her father, but soft and gentle like her mother. She was an almost perfect child. She never cried, and she never fussed, content in just being close to her mother. She listened when you spoke, and learned fast, growing just as quick, and you would die for her. She was your blessing; Akemi – the beauty of a new dawn.

You’re sure that he would have loved her more than life itself, but you try not to spare any thoughts his way anymore.

Toji gambles his life away, blowing through anything he earns as quickly as he makes it, drowning himself night after night in heavy alcohol to dampen his senses until they are nothing more than a faint hum in the back of his brain.

With any luck, those things will kill him long before the guilt does.

He fucks faceless women, drunk beyond sense, and when he finishes, he leaves before they sleep.

“Hate me, (y/n),” he sneers, turning sharply to vomit up onto the wet asphalt, breath a shaky exhale as he stumbles into the cold night, thoughts only on you – only ever on you – unaware that he’s crying. “Hate me. I fucking deserve it.”

His face is smeared with bile and tears, and he is so fucking angry -- so desperately sad, and he cries, and cries. He wants to go home. He just wants to go home. He wants to meet her – his darling daughter – he wants to hold her, and kiss her forehead, and tuck her into bed. Fuck everything that he thought – he would have been a great father, he knows it – and you knew it, too. He’s so lost without you, and he wants to lay his head on your chest in the safety of your bedroom, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to feel the brush of your soft lips again; to taste your tongue with his, moan your name into your parted sigh, make you feel him again.

He screams, but it catches in his throat before he can, and he splits his knuckles open when he sends a furious punch against a brick wall.

He can protect you from a lot of things – but not the power of his family. Not that. He’s just one man, and they’re so many. He has a heavenly restriction, and they are all blessed with both innate and inherited techniques, passed down through eons. He knows what they’ll do if they ever found out about you – about the child, and Toji swears on everything he has, that he won’t let them touch you – or her. Even if he won’t be able to. Even if he’ll never be able to hold his daughter, to thank her for being born, to cradle her against his chest and feel her wrap her small fingers against his – he won’t let the Zen’in have her. He won’t.

But that doesn’t mean that he deprives himself from watching over her – or you. Eyes follow the two of you home from her pre-school, singing nursery rhymes to your hearts content, watching as she orders “up, up, mommy!”, squealing happily when you lift her onto your shoulders. He imagines himself in your place; lifting her to higher heights, hearing her giggle a chorus of happy songs as your hand finds his, lips on his scar as you tell him how much you love him.

But he always keeps his distance, dark baseball cap shielding his features, and leaves before you feel someone following you.

It becomes increasingly hard to keep it at that. He starts pushing the boundaries, testing how close he can get. He knows he shouldn’t -- he has no right to – but when she dropped her stuffed toy one time in the supermarket, and you were oblivious to it, he finds himself bending down to grasp the too-soft toy in his calloused hands, dropping it in your basket when your back is turned, and your brows are furrowed as you regard the price difference between her favorite flavor of juice compared to the off-brand ones.

The thrill of being so close, of doing something, anything fatherly, was like a fix – a short relief from the aching despair and loneliness constantly plaguing him, and he finds himself doing it more and more – always pushing, always testing the waters. He even smiled at her once when she caught him staring, and she sent her own toothy grin back at him. His heart soared.

His daughter’s name was Akemi, and he first heard it when it fell from your lips one warm afternoon. He wants to write her name on his heart – right beside yours.

He wants to give her something – a pretty gift, but he doesn’t know what. He was never good at buying presents, and would only ever bring you flowers, since it seemed like something that could never go wrong, and would always bring a bright smile to your face. Flowers would be strange for a child, though. He twists the dainty silver bracelet between his large fingers, thinking bitterly that this was the same way you held the pregnancy test all those years ago. He didn’t really care how much it cost him. He’s sure that the salesman added unnecessary tax and extras to the price just to give himself more commission, but Toji doesn’t care – he just wanted something pretty to give to his daughter.

When he finally sees her enter the park, small hand tugging yours happily, his mind goes empty, and he can’t stop staring. You are as beautiful as ever, and it’s no wonder his daughter is so ethereal when she has you for a mother.

She is perfect, he thinks -- too good for this life -- and even though it’s the worst thing he has ever done, he is reminded that pulling away from you was the only way to save her from his family. It looks like she escaped the curse of inheriting any of his bloodline's techniques, and what’s more so – it seems like she, too, is oblivious to curses; skipping past them as she chases leaves that skit about the dirt path of the park, her teddy in her arms. Toji dips his head down when she draws near the bench he’s sitting on, the brim of his baseball cap keeps his face hidden, and his sadness known only to himself.

“Excuse me?”

He bristles when her voice floats past his ears, so gentle and sweet.

“Hey, mister,” she pokes his knee with her slim finger, so tiny compared to the size of his body, and he jerks at the contact. “Is this yours?”

She’s holding the bracelet in her small hand, the silver glinting in the morning sun, offering it up to him with large eyes, so close to him. At this distance, he can see the true color of her eyes – exactly like his own – and the small freckles that dot her skin. The longer he stares, the more his chest constricts painfully, tightly – he’s finding it hard to breathe, and he exhales suddenly, sharply snatching it away from her.

The force of the movement causes her to stumble a little, tripping over her feet, and before she knows it, the man who was once sitting before her has entirely caught her in his large arms, scooping her up before the ground has a chance to harm her.

She blinks once... twice... swaddled in his arms, sitting against his broad chest, and Toji frantically looks for you, finding you caught up in talking to another mother, too busy to notice. He knows he would scold you for it if he was still in your life, but when his daughter laughs, he snaps his head back to look at her, forgetting what thoughts he had in his mind at the glinting sound of her happiness.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, “You’re fast! Thanks for catching me!”

He doesn’t know what to say – if he should say anything at all. His plan was to give her the bracelet, telling her that it was a late birthday gift from someone that loves her very much, and walking off before she (or you) has the chance to catch on or respond. But now that he’s inches away from her, holding her close as she peers up at him, he’s lost again. He’s lost, and he can’t breathe. He needs you to steady him, but you aren’t here, and he doesn’t know what to do, what should he do, what should he--?

“Where did you get that scar from?” she asks innocently, her large eyes suddenly trained on the mark beside his lips.

“F-from an accident,” he mumbles, “a long time ago.”

“Oh,” she hums, hands splayed against his broad chest, looking around her, swaying her legs absentmindedly. “Wow, you’re really tall! I can see everything from up here!” she exclaims happily, “My mommy’s not as tall as this, so when I sit on her shoulders, I can’t see nearly as much as I can now!”

“Oh,” he mutters, not really knowing what to say, “is that so?”

“Mhm,” she nods, “Mommy’s not as big as you are either.”

At this, he gives a genuine laugh – a sound he hasn’t heard fall from his lips in a long, long time, looking at her with quiet adoration.

“She’s not as fast as you either,” she continues, “you were super-fast!”

“She’s strong in her own ways, though,” he mutters, offering her a soft smile.

“Do you know my mommy?”

He bristles, actively avoiding her gaze. His heart is racing from this much interaction with his daughter, and he’s sure she can feel it under her small palm. It beats for her – if only she knew, and Toji contemplates, for the briefest of seconds, just telling her. The thought leaves his mind as soon as it enters. He doesn’t have that choice, and he doesn’t deserve it.

“Not really,” he mutters, dipping down slowly to set her footing on solid ground once more.

“She’s really pretty,” the little girl continues, playing with the soft fabric of his t-shirt in a small moment of fondness and familiarity, “and nice – and she makes great food!”

Toji realises only after the fact that his hand had settled on top of her head, and he’s stroking her hair softly, thumb caressing her cheek when he moves to cup her face. She doesn’t seem to mind at all, and Toji is overwhelmed with a plethora of emotions. Pride in you for doing all this by yourself and raising such a wonderful child, shame for abandoning you and his daughter, mirth, anger, warmth, sadness, love--

“Akemi!” you call, seeing her lift her head at the sound of your voice. “This way, honey!”

“Oh, I have to go now! My mommy is calling me!” she perks up, gripping her teddy a little tighter and offering the man a smile. “Bye-bye!”

“W-wait!” he calls, thrusting the gift into her small hands. “This is for you, uh... f-from me...”

She looks down at it, before her whole face lights up, and Toji is suddenly breathless – she looks so much like you when she’s surprised, happiness blossoming over her face the same way it would on yours.

Toji feels a deep-rooted emptiness inside his body when he watches his daughter retreat away from him; a living embodiment of all his failures to you, and yet, as he sees her long, black hair whip out behind her, he realizes something else — she was your promise delivered; a combination of everything good between the two of you, in itself a miracle. He might not be in her life, but he was also partly responsible for creating something so beautiful, so ethereal.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but if he was ever fortunate enough to be granted a second, it would be a miracle; a holy gift.

A blessing that would accompany the beauty of dawn.