#the majority of us would be dead instantly

[scary-grace]

Savior (Chapter 2) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

When you broke up with Shigaraki Tomura at the end of high school, you never expected him to stalk you for years, and when you and Chisaki Kai got married, you thought you'd finally broken free. But life with Kai turns quickly from a dream into a waking nightmare, and with every month that passes, you can feel your chances to escape dwindling. Almost out of time, with no good choices left, you turn to the one person who swore he'd never give up on you -- and hope he's less interested in stalking you than he is in saving your life.

AU - no quirks. Past (and future) Tomura x reader, present Overhaul x reader. Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Depictions of dubcon, domestic violence, and reproductive coercion (Overhaul). References to past stalking behavior (Tomura). Angst. Hurt/no comfort for the majority of the fic. If you find any of the above too triggering to read about, please go check out some of the other fics in the fandom! there are lots of them waiting to be discovered and loved. beta-read by @threadbearsweater, dividers by @cafekitsune

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

When you and Kai get home at three in the morning, dragging your suitcases through the door, you know instantly that something’s off. Maybe it’s the temperature of the air. Maybe there’s a different scent, something subtle but out of place. Maybe a shadow just inside your doorway that shouldn’t be there. You can’t put your finger on what it is, but you’re dead certain: Something’s happened. Someone was here.

Or maybe you’re just insane. Kai hasn’t noticed anything at all. He’s in a bad mood, shoulders hunched, jet-lagged or something worse. He drops his suitcase in the hall. “I hate this part.”

He doesn’t say things like that very often. “Go shower off,” you tell him. You help him out of his coat, surprised when he lets you. “I’ll unpack and get the laundry started.”

Kai glances your way, the motion unusually slow and heavy. “Why?”

“You did such a good job planning our trip,” you say. “We saw everything I wanted to see, and I didn’t have to worry about a thing. I can take care of this. Go shower. You’ll feel better afterward.”

Kai must be feeling bad. He doesn’t argue. He goes upstairs to shower, and as soon as you hear the water switch on, you leap into action. You don’t have much time. You have to figure out what happened here before Kai comes out.

The first thing you do is check the doors and windows. Sure enough, the one in the downstairs bathroom is slightly cracked. Like that, it’s too small for a person to fit through, but if it was entirely open, someone with a slim build could easily slither in and back out. You shut it, your heart racing like it used to in college, back when you’d discover some clue that Tomura had broken in. He always left something for you to find.

He always took something, too. If Tomura really was here, he’ll have taken something that isn’t for everyday, something valuable only to you. At first you’d thought he was doing it to hurt you, to punish you for leaving him, but something about that explanation didn’t track. It took almost a year of him stalking you for you to understand what he was really doing – taking things that mattered but didn’t, hoping you’d reach out to ask for them back. What would he have taken this time? You try to keep quiet as you move through the house, but your heart is hammering so loudly the neighbors can probably hear it. What would you notice missing that Kai wouldn’t? Nothing. Kai notices everything.

You’re still holding Kai’s coat. You stifle the urge to ball it up and leave it on the floor and hang it neatly instead. You unpack the suitcases, separate the dirty clothes, load the washing machine but hold off on starting it. You turn down the sheets on Kai’s side of the bed, and as you straighten up, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror at the back of the walk-in closet. You look frantic, just as struck by anxiety as you feel, and the earrings Kai bought you are still in your ears.

All at once they’re too heavy. You take them out, pulling almost hard enough to hurt, and turn to your jewelry box – and that’s when you see it. The lid of your jewelry box is ever so slightly askew.

You make your way carefully towards it, like you’re trying to catch it by surprise or something. Paranoia’s made you do weirder things. You’re meticulous as you sift through it, checking in on every piece of jewelry Kai bought you first, then onto everything you bought for yourself or inherited from somebody else. Then the things that are sentimental and nothing more, and at first you think nothing’s been taken. Maybe you left it like this the last time you looked in it. But then you look a little harder, and you realize with a jolt that something has been taken – and replaced, with something that looks almost identical.

You and Tomura had been dating for two months on Valentine’s Day, and Tomura’s friends and yours had been razzing him about getting you a gift. Tomura didn’t have any money, not since his dad went to prison, and you told him over and over again that he didn’t need to get you anything. He really didn’t. You hadn’t gotten a boyfriend because you wanted presents. If he wanted to get you something for your birthday, he could, but you weren’t worried about it. You were consistent. Sometimes you thought he believed you.

But your friends’ boyfriends went all out for the week leading up to Valentine’s Day, showering them in chocolate and presents, and you knew it bothered Tomura that he couldn’t do the same thing. On Valentine’s Day, you presented him with a box of chocolates you’d made yourself. I wanted to get you a fancy one, but they always have weird stuff in them, you remember saying. This way it only has the stuff you like.

Tomura didn’t thank you, but the way he held onto the box white-knuckled for a moment before setting it aside told you what you needed to know. Then he reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out something small enough to fit completely in his closed fist. I got you something, too.

Tomura –

Just take it. He was averting his eyes, embarrassed already. You held out your hand and he dropped two necklaces into it. The charm on one of them said Best. The other said Friends. You were speechless, and in your silence, Tomura started talking. They said to get jewelry or something. I can’t afford that stuff – not the nice stuff. We’re not best friends. We’re dating. This was stupid. I just –

You kissed him. I think it’s really nice, you said. He gave you a skeptical look. I couldn’t date somebody who wasn’t my friend, too.

And maybe he was your best friend by that point. You two spent a lot of time together, about the same as all your other friends added up, and you liked spending time with him a lot. More than your friends liked spending time with their boyfriends. You remember thinking that meant something good. I really like it, you told Tomura. Which one do you want?

Tomura picked Friends. You got Best, and even when the two of you broke up, you kept it at the bottom of your jewelry box, never wearing it again but always knowing it was there. But your half of the friendship necklace isn’t there anymore. The charm on the tarnished chain says Friends.

He was here. You can’t tell if the feeling that cuts the tendons in your legs and drops you to the floor is relief or fear, but you know you got your wish. Tomura’s here, somehow. He’s watching, again. That was the first step. Now what?

Even as you’re weighing the question, you’re aware that you have to figure out what’s wrong with Kai. It’s clear to you that he picked something up on the plane home, but he won’t go to the doctor or even admit he’s not feeling well, meaning that he’s short-tempered and sharper than usual with you. You’ve seen Kai like this a few times in the past. You know it’ll fade at some point, but for now, the tension in the house is palpable.

The two of you took an extra day off after the trip to recover from jet lag – Kai’s idea, so you can both go back to work at your best. You suggest to Kai that he should actually rest instead of just working from home. The curtness with which he responds to you tells you not to open your mouth on the subject again.

But when the two of you are making dinner, sharing the kitchen as usual, you realize that you can’t let it go any longer. Kai’s hands are shaking where he grasps the knife he’s using to cut up the ingredients, and he’s this close to amputating a finger. When you brush against him, you find that he’s drenched in cold sweat, and his face has taken on a pale, clammy cast. “Kai, are you okay?”

He mumbles something through clenched teeth. You don’t dare ask him to repeat himself, and he says it again without prompting. “I’m fine,” he says. “I –”

His expression contorts, and he whirls away from you, throwing up in the sink – mostly. The mess is bad enough. You know how much Kai hates a mess. The imperative to clean it up as much as possible, as quickly as possible, clashes with your need to get out of here before something worse happens, and somewhere in the middle of it is a vestigial urge to reach out to someone who needs help. The latter urge wins out. “Kai –”

“Stay away.”

He sounds awful. He needs help. You have a strong immune system, and you can wash your hands. You take a step forward. “Kai, I’m worried –”

“Stay away!” He doesn’t turn on you, but he lashes out with one hand. The hand that’s still holding the knife.

The blade catches you in the shoulder, pierces through your shirt, drawing a jagged line across your chest. The pain is sharp and agonizing, and it comes as such a shock that you don’t even scream. The sharp gasp you let out is more of surprise than anything else. Kai drops the knife, straightens up. His eyes are wide as he stares at you. You’ve seen that expression maybe once before, when you regained consciousness after he knocked you out. Surprise at seeing what he’s done, shock that he went this far. If Kai told you right now that he didn’t mean to hurt you, you’d believe him.

There’s blood staining your shirt, vomit in the sink and on the counter and the floor, and your sick husband is staring at you, stunned like he’s the one who was just attacked with a knife. Kai’s not functioning right now. You are, mainly because Kai’s hurt you so many times that you know the world can’t stop because of it. You pull an empty mixing bowl off the counter, hand it to Kai, and shoo him out of the kitchen. “I’ll clean up and come check on you. Don’t drink or eat anything. I’ll bring you some water once I’m done.”

Kai doesn’t argue with you. You leave him on the floor of the living room – he won’t sit on the couch – and go back to the kitchen. The food’s a loss, and everything needs disinfecting. You know Kai’s exacting standards, know how unlikely it is that you’ll meet them, and at the same time, you think you might be safe for a little while. He won’t be back in the kitchen any time soon. If he had just admitted he was sick – if he had just listened to you –

You crumple the thought into a ball and throw it away. Kai hurt you again. He did it with a weapon this time. You can’t make any mistakes.

It takes you half an hour to disinfect the kitchen, time enough that it should be safe to give Kai some water. You bring it in a clean glass, filled with water from the filter in the refrigerator, and set it down on the coffee table – on a coaster, so you don’t ruin the wood. He’s punished you for that before. There was a while where his preferred method was pinching you so hard you’d get bruises.

Kai doesn’t look like he’s in pinching shape right now, but you never know. “Do you feel any better?” you ask him from well out of reach. “Please don’t lie. I can’t take care of you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Fever. Nausea.” Kai shivers. “Chills. It’s viral. I don’t need a doctor.”

Good. Kai hates going to the doctor. He looks at you through hazy eyes, and to your horror, his gaze sharpens. “You should.”

“I’m not sick,” you say, bewildered, and Kai lifts one shaky hand and points. You look down to find the front of your shirt stained and shiny with blood. In your race to clean everything up, you completely forgot. “Oh. Um –”

“Urgent care. Now.”

He must really be sick. As much as he hates the doctor for himself, he hates sending you there even more, because any trip to the doctor creates a record of suspicious injuries. “I don’t think it’s that –”

“I was cutting meat with that knife. It was in my hand when I vomited. That wound won’t close on its own.” Kai shuts his eyes and leans back against the couch. “Call a rideshare. If you get lightheaded, you won’t be able to drive.”

All at once, you see the upside of a visit to the urgent care. Kai can’t drive you. Kai’s too sick to stand up straight. If you go to the urgent care, the likelihood that you’ll be prescribed something is high, and you’ll have to go to the pharmacy to pick it up – and you can buy more Plan B while you’re there. But you can’t sound too excited. “I’m worried about you –”

“I’ll contact you regularly. Go.” Kai sounds like he’s done with everything, you included. “And change your shirt.”

You do, while you’re waiting for the rideshare, but peeling off the stained shirt rips off the scab that’s formed when you pull it away from the wound. By the time you get in the rideshare you’re right back where you started, and the driver spends half the trip staring at you in the rearview mirror. The nurse who checks you in at the urgent care stares, too, and sticks you in an exam room before she’s even asked you to confirm your address. While you’re waiting for someone to examine you, your phone buzzes with a text from Kai: Tell them it was self-inflicted. With your history they’ll believe it.

Is anybody who looks at this going to believe you did it to yourself? In your opinion, claiming it was you is like claiming you fell and hit your face on the doorknob. It looks weirder than telling some version of the truth. When the doctor asks how you were hurt, you tell him it was a kitchen accident, and you’re so practiced, so composed at lying about what Kai’s done to you that the doctor buys it without a second thought. You get seventeen stitches and a prescription for three days of antibiotics, which gets sent to a pharmacy across the street. To keep up appearances, you text Kai where you’re going and ask him if he needs anything. He responds with a list.

That complicates things. You were going to pay for the antibiotics and the Plan B with your card. With all of this stuff, you’ll have to pay for it and the antibiotic on the shared card, then run a separate transaction for the Plan B. You take a deep breath. It’s not a complication, it’s just an extra step. It’s fine. Everything will be fine.

Your prescription’s not quite ready when you’re done collecting everything on Kai’s list, so you sit down in the waiting area. There’s only one other person there, an auburn-haired woman who’s wearing sunglasses inside and reading a gossip magazine. She looks up after a few seconds of you rustling around with your shopping basket, and her eyebrows lift sharply. “What happened to you, honey? You’re looking a little too much like a final girl for comfort.”

A final girl. You’ve heard that phrase before, but you can’t think where. “Kitchen accident. I’m just waiting on my antibiotics.”

“What kind of kitchen accident leaves that kind of mark?” She’s counting your stitches through your shirt. “You could run into his knife ten times and that would still look more accidental than this does.”

You catch the Cell Block Tango reference and feel a slight smile come to your face. “If that’s the scenario, shouldn’t I be the one with the knife?”

“If you had the knife, it wouldn’t be an accident,” the woman says. Her expression is serious as she gestures at you. “Just like this isn’t.”

You should have asked the doctor if you could have a scrub shirt to wear over this one. “Maybe I’m into that.”

“If you were into that, you wouldn’t have done something that needed stitches. And nobody who’s into that would do it right there.” She gestures again. You don’t know enough about people who are into knifeplay to argue. “You’re in trouble. You’re crazy if you think nobody sees it.”

You know nobody sees it. Kai’s too careful, and you’re too afraid of what Kai will do if anyone finds out. This is his biggest slip-up since your suicide attempt, and you know already that it’ll be a one-off – or if it’s not, Kai will stitch you up at home rather than letting a doctor have a look. Your life looks perfect from the outside. And even if somebody could see what was happening underneath – “It doesn’t matter who sees it if nobody does anything.”

The bitterness in your own voice shocks you. The woman sits forward, setting her magazine aside. “If somebody wanted to do something, would you let him?”

Before you can answer, or figure out why that question feels like being hit by lightning, the pharmacist calls you up to the counter. You stumble through your separate transactions, spend a while at the cash register trying to store everything in two separate bags, call your rideshare, and stumble out past the waiting area. The woman who called you a pathetic battered wife is nowhere to be found. Of course. And she left before you could give her the real answer to her stupid question: Nobody’s coming to save you. And of course she assumed the person saving you would be a man, or else she wouldn’t have said –

You stop in your tracks just inside the door. She called you a final girl. You’ve heard that before, all the way back in high school, watching horror movies with Tomura. For some reason he liked the old movies with the hokey special effects, and you remember him dissecting the movies while you listened and tried to ignore the fountains of fake blood onscreen. Sure, it’s probably a widely used term among horror fans, and sure, a person with blood all over their shirt draws attention no matter what – but that woman talked to you. She wouldn’t let it go. And when she asked if you’d let someone save you, you don’t think she was asking about just any someone. She asked about him. Like she meant one person in particular. Like she was asking for somebody else.

Tomura’s never sent someone to spy on you directly before, or if he has, you’ve never caught them at it. Why would he change his MO now? What if it wasn’t Tomura who sent that woman at all? What if it was Kai, testing you, testing your loyalty? You tried, but you must not have tried hard enough, or you wouldn’t feel sick to your stomach. When your rideshare arrives, the driver has to lean on the horn to get your attention. You’re too busy throwing up in the gutter to keep an eye out for the car.

When you get home, Kai doesn’t give any indication that he sent someone to keep an eye on you. He’s sleeping facedown on the couch, snoring slightly, the bucket and water glass empty on the floor beside it. You used to think Kai was cute like this, cute when he looked rumpled and awkward and human, and maybe it’s still true – but only when he’s asleep. When Kai looks like this wide awake, he’s so terrifying that it’s hard to believe you ever thought you loved him.

He was terrifying like that today, and you didn’t realize until it was too late. He’s never used a weapon on you before, and even if it was accidental, that line’s been crossed now. Crossing it will get easier for him every time he does it, just like it did the first time he struck you with a closed fist instead of an open hand, just like it did the first time he kicked you after he threw you to the ground. Maybe it’ll be like it was after he knocked you out, but maybe not. Brain trauma can’t be fixed, but you can always get a blood transfusion.

As you conceal the Plan B in your workbag, your mind wanders, back to the waiting area, to the woman telling you how much trouble you’re in. As if you didn’t know. As if you weren’t sitting there with seventeen stitches after your husband slashed you with a knife, already scared of what you’d be walking into at home. Maybe you imagined her. She was gone before you got back, and you didn’t hear anyone else get called up to the counter. And like any good daydream, she told you what you wanted to hear – that Tomura wants to save you, if you’ll let him. But as much as you want to believe that, you don’t have the heart. Nobody would want to save you. You’re on your own.  

Kai’s sick all week long, so sick that his boss sends a doctor to the house to check on him, since his boss is apparently well aware of how much Kai hates the urgent care. Kai’s own diagnosis turns out to be right – a virus, specifically a norovirus – and as soon as the doctor realizes what it is, he bans you and Kai from interacting at all until Kai’s been symptom-free for twenty-four hours. Kai was unhappy about that, and so were you – he’s pissed when you aren’t available when he wants you to be, and you don’t like what happens when he’s pissed at you. Everything would be easier if you could take care of him.

The doctor was firm. “I believe you and your wife are looking to start a family. Undue stress on her body – such as the stress provided by an illness like this one – will make that more difficult, not less.”

That’s enough to keep Kai quiet. The doctor’s instruction to rest is enough to keep him still. And the quarantine is enough to keep you driving to work, going for a walk, having dinner out rather than cooking in the contaminated kitchen – and doing all of it by yourself. Or sometimes by yourself. When Emi figures out that you’ve got a night to yourself for once, she drags you out with her crew for dinner and drinks.

You protest that Kai’s expecting you home, and they’ve got a whole set of excuses for you to give him. Big project, staying late at work, deadline moved up, boss unhappy. They’ll back you up if anyone asks. It strikes you as a little weird that they thought far enough ahead to give you what you’d need to lie, but then again, maybe Kai’s not unusual in wanting to know exactly where his wife is when she isn’t at home. Maybe that’s just a guy thing. The fact that no one comments on you leaving your phone in your car at work and hitching a ride to dinner with Emi just proves it.

You’ve never been to the bar they take you to, but you know it’s the kind of place you’d have loved – a little dingy, a little eccentric, full of character and characters. Somewhere that’s trying to be so many different things that it’s not sure what it really is. Kai hates places like this. You know exactly what he’d say after a good look around: This is beneath you. He’d say that, but he’d be wrong. You’re a stereotypical battered wife married to a sociopath, shotgunning Plan B so you won’t get pregnant with his baby, and you’re so twisted up inside that you’re hallucinating about your ex-boyfriend who you dumped ten years ago coming to save you. A place that doesn’t know what it’s doing is exactly where you belong.

Going out is kind of fun. You forgot about that. You get one drink, drink it early, and eat, knowing you’ll need to sober up completely before you risk going home. Emi has way more friends at work than you do, but she folds you in among them effortlessly, and whenever the topic of your husband – you’re the only one who’s married – comes up, she steers the ship away. “Hey, she’s a lot more than her husband! And she just went on a big trip. I want to hear about Cairo.”

“It was amazing,” you say, and as the words leave your mouth, you feel a smile come with them.

You tell the stories like you wish they’d happened, like you’d done this alone or with a friend, instead of trying to enjoy somewhere ancient and fascinating with your husband hovering over your shoulder. Kai looms large over every aspect of your life, but sometimes you can edit him out, and this time you do. Visiting the pyramids and the sphinx at Giza, wandering through museums, checking out the open-air market –things you could imagine doing, on a trip you planned yourself, one where you could spend as much time as you wanted before moving on.

But even as you paint your trip in broad brushstrokes, Kai haunts the details, and he makes it back into the conversation eventually, when a girl named Kaoruko who’s had three to your one asks if you flew first class or economy. “First class,” you say. “Kai insists.”

That’s not all Kai insisted on. There was what happened in the first-class bathroom, and the memory of Tomura you had to feed through a mental paper shredder to stay even marginally sane. Across the table, Kaoruko sighs enviously. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and land somebody like him.”

Yue from Marketing laughs. “Somebody rich?”

“No. Somebody who pays that much attention,” Kaoruko says. “All the little things that go into a trip like that. Don’t you want somebody who knows you so well? Somebody who can make everything perfect?”

“No,” you say before you can stop yourself. Everyone looks at you, and you struggle to scrape together a follow-up that doesn’t make you sound as crazy as you feel. “He’s not perfect. You should hear how he snores.”

That gets a laugh, just like you were hoping it would, but you know how Kai feels about even gentle teasing. You know what will happen to you if Emi ever brings up what you just said in front of him, just like you know you can’t ask everyone at the table to forget what they heard. Maybe Kai already knows. Maybe he has somebody following you, listening to you. Maybe he’ll be waiting when you get home, fist closed to strike you, foot drawn back to kick. Or maybe this time he’ll have a knife.

The panic closes its jaws around your heart tight enough to crush it, but you’ve been through this before. You know better than to show it. You excuse yourself to the bathroom, walking with slow, measured steps, praying that at least one bathroom is single-occupancy. You get lucky – they’re all single-occupancy – but at first they all look busy. Then you take a second look, realize that the one on the end is open, and lock yourself in. By the time the motion-activated lights come on, you’re already crying silently, your face buried in your hands.

You can’t escape Kai. No matter what you do, he’s everywhere – his name, his voice, his hands, his will. Even if you could get away from him, even if you could make it stick, you’d always be looking over your shoulder. You’ll never be safe, never be free, and those two thoughts play on repeat in your head until your head hurts too much to cry.

It’s time to start damage control. You can’t look like you’ve been crying in a restaurant bathroom when you head back out there. You blow your nose with a paper towel, then wet another one with cold water to press down over your eyes. Once it turns lukewarm, you lift it off and turn to the mirror to check what progress, if any, has been made. The first thing you register is that you still look like shit. The second thing is that you aren’t alone.

For one heartstopping moment you’re sure it’s Kai. But Kai’s taller. Kai’s sick at home. Kai wouldn’t be caught dead in a hoodie. Pale hands rise to grasp the edges of the hood and pull it back, and you watch through the mirror as Tomura reveals himself for the first time since the night you broke up.

In the seven years he spent stalking you, you never saw him even once. He stayed frozen in time when you thought about him, with messy blue hair and dry skin around his eyes and a mouth that was always one wrong move from turning down into a pout. Ten years out from the breakup, he’s changed. He’s gained at least ten centimeters in height, and his shoulders have broadened enough to change the way he holds himself, even as he leans back against the wall in a pose you could describe with your eyes closed. The biggest difference of all is his hair. It’s longer than you’ve ever seen it, falling loose and wild past his shoulders. And it’s white.

Still, his eyes are the same. The languid, almost careless way he moves is the same. Even the hand that rises to scratch his neck is familiar. All the awkward, endearing traits you remember are right where they belong – but when you look at Tomura, not a kid any longer, everything you recognize only serves to make you more uncertain. He’s not who you knew before. He’s something more.

All you can do is look at him as he takes one step forward, then another. His voice has barely changed from the last time you heard it. “Maybe you should turn around.”

You do. He’s close enough to touch, but he’d have to reach, and he’s not grabbing for you. You’d almost trust him more if he did – thanks to Kai, you read stillness to be just as threatening as motion. Tomura doesn’t prompt you, doesn’t ask a question you’re doomed to answer wrong. He just stands there, waiting for you to find your voice.

When you do, it’s awful. “I thought I imagined it,” you say. “You came back.”

“I kept my distance. I never left,” Tomura says. “I thought maybe he was right. You were better off with him.”

Your vision zooms in and out. “You talked to Kai?”

“He talked to me,” Tomura says. You didn’t know. You didn’t have a clue. “Said if I really loved you so much, I should fuck off – no, he said make myself scarce – and let him make you happy. I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t looked it. Even after you had that accident.”

An accident. He doesn’t sound like he’s mocking you, which means he bought the story Kai fed everyone, that you were in a hit-and-run accident instead of that you stepped into the road. Kai is that good. “I left you that picture, and I kept an eye on things,” Tomura says. “There wasn’t anything to see until a week ago.”

Your mouth’s gone dry. You swallow a few times. “A week ago?”

“A week ago. When you made that post.” Tomura doesn’t wait for you to respond. “With that fucking bite mark. I know damn well you’re not into that.”

“Maybe I am. It’s been a long time,” you say. You can’t raise your voice louder than a whisper. “We were just kids.”

“We were watching Hellraiser. The one with the Cenobites. You said you couldn’t figure out why anyone would try to solve the Lament Configuration, and I said there are people who are into that.” Tomura has a better memory than you thought he did, at least when it comes to you. “And you said you wouldn’t like being hurt by somebody who loves you. And then you got all embarrassed and looked at me and said –”

“Sorry,” you murmur. You remember Tomura giving you the weirdest look after you apologized. Don’t be stupid, he said, and spent so long kissing you that the two of you missed all but the last ten minutes of the movie. I wouldn’t solve it, either.

“You do remember.” A smile lights Tomura’s face, and something twists inside you. The smile fades fast. “I know you. I know you didn’t want that. And there’s no fucking way you wanted this.”

Kai would touch it. He’d run his finger over the line of stitches, and you’d hold still, knowing what would happen if you flinched. Tomura draws the line across his own chest with a hand that shakes, and when he speaks, it’s through clenched teeth. “This has been going on for a while, right? If he’d slashed you with a knife out of nowhere, you’d leave. Don’t answer that. I know. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I told you that you couldn’t run from me forever. Why did you keep trying?”

He’s not asking why you didn’t leave. The fear of that question, of the shame and judgment that would follow it, has kept you silent so many times, kept you from reaching for help when it was tantalizingly close. Sometimes you wonder if Kai knows that. But Tomura’s not blaming you for staying. He wants to know why you didn’t let him know. Because if you had let him know –

“Don’t say you’ll keep me safe,” you say. Tomura opens his mouth, and you cut him off. “Kai said the same thing about you.”

Tomura’s expression twists. “Don’t compare me to him. I didn’t hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

“No, you just followed me. For years! I was –” Not scared. Never scared. Frustrated, on edge, anxious, uncertain – but not scared. “I never got to be alone. I never had to time to think, because I knew you could be watching – because you were always there –”

“I didn’t come here to talk about that,” Tomura says. You feel an odd twinge of relief when you realize that he isn’t denying it. “And that’s not why you called for me. Tell me why you posted that picture.”

The words of the woman from the pharmacy ring through your head: If someone wanted to help you, would you let him? “Kai – he hurts me,” you say. You’ve never said it out loud before, and you thought it would be a relief, but it isn’t. “He has for years. And now he wants a baby, and I can’t – I won’t. I don’t know what to do.”

That’s wrong. You do know what to do. “I need to leave,” you say. “I need to leave and I don’t know how. I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

“If you could, you’d have done it by now,” Tomura says. “I’ll get you out of there.”

He’s confident. That’s a similarity between Tomura and Kai, maybe the only similarity – once they’ve decided how something’s going to be, they’re unshakeable. “How?”

“Let me worry about that,” Tomura says. “The less you know, the less you’ll have to lie.”

Is Tomura going to kill him? You don’t want that – or do you? One of your half-formed escape plans ends with Kai dead, but it always struck you as the most implausible, eclipsed only by the idea that he’d ever let you go in peace. What you want, more than anything, is to be free, to know you’ll never have to see Kai again. But if you can’t have that, you’ll settle for a clean break. Or any break at all.

But even that feels fantastical, hallucinatory. Too easy. “Tomura –”

He smiles, softer than before. “I missed hearing you say that.”

The twist inside you hurts more this time. “I don’t understand,” you say. “It’s been so long. I broke up with you. I married him. Why would you still –”

“I don’t care about that.” Tomura reaches across the space between you, slowly enough that you don’t flinch. His hand lands carefully on your shoulder, well clear of your stitches. “I care that you called for me.”

Your eyes prickle, then start to burn. You glance down and away, and Tomura lets you, where Kai would grab your chin and make you look. Tomura’s hand shifts, sliding down along your arm until he’s got a clumsy grasp on your hand. Tomura’s always had a strange way of holding hands. No matter what else he does, he holds on tight, like he’s trying to fuse your fingers with his. Kai’s hated holding hands since you met him. Tomura never wanted to let go.

And he doesn’t – not until someone knocks on the bathroom door, startling him and scaring you. “Hey, are you okay in there?” Emi asks. “It’s been kind of a while, and you didn’t look so good when you stood up.”

Tomura glances at the door, then back to you. “She’s good,” you say as quietly as possible. “A friend.”

“Good.” Tomura raises your hand to his mouth for a long moment that’s not so much a kiss as a puff of breath against your skin, then lets it fall. “Go. I’m here. I’ll find you again soon.”

“Okay,” you say, and he lets you go, melting back into the shadows behind the door. You open it and face Emi, seeing the worried look on her face. “Hi. Sorry. I just got nauseous for a second.”

Emi’s worry doesn’t fade the way you wanted it to. But since it’s Emi, she covers up by cracking a joke. “You’d better not be getting morning sickness on me. Who’s going to listen to me talk about Aizawa if you’re on maternity leave?”

“No morning sickness,” you say, forcing a smile. “Maybe it was the alcohol.”

“You had one drink. Who knew you were such a lightweight?” Emi teases. She links her arm with yours as you step out of the bathroom. “Come on. I want to hear about Istanbul.”

Back at the table, you talk about Istanbul – and Kai, when the story can’t avoid him. It feels ever so slightly easier than it did half an hour ago, and it’s because of Tomura, because of the weight of his hand on your shoulder, the warmth of his fingers folded around yours. His promise to help you isn’t one you can believe, but you never hoped for that. All you wanted was someone to see, someone to know. Now he knows. And you feel a little less alone than you did before.

<- Chapter 1

[sassytheturtle]

Alan Wake needs more credit for facing every writer's worst fear

Having to meet your character that you've put through hell several times over

[shikai-the-storyteller]

I miss my old high school friends and classmates o(-(

[highdramas]

soft descent | dr. jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

warnings: language, age gap (reader is 30, abbot is 48), SMUT! (MDNI!), character death (off page prior to fic beginning), zombie apocalypse typical gore and violence

word count: 5588

summary: (zombie apocalypse au) the emergency team did everything you could to save PTMC when a new virus brought on the undead, but it simply wasn't enough. so, you set out for where you may be useful-- fort knox. you find something to live for as you do in the first month of the apocalypse.

notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. you guysssss i am SO proud of this one! this is definitely the longest fic that i've ever written! it's romantic and sad and tender and sexyyyy! i'm heavily inspired by the first two seasons of the walking dead <3 this is really to give back story for some interconnected one shots in the soft descent series, so if you have requests, PLEASE i would love them <3

--

if there was anyone that you felt was capable of walking by your side through the end of the world, you think that dr. jack abbot is the one.

it’s not just that he’s capable– it’s more than that. you think that he’s built for this new life, in a way that you aren’t. he thinks with more practicality than you’ve ever been able to muster. you’d worked with him for years and barely knew him. you knew that he was intense. you knew that he could pin you down with a look that you would think about for weeks. you knew that his praise meant the world to you and that when you could feel the weight of his disappointment, you wanted to shuck it off instantly. you knew that he was a veteran and that it colored every part of his life and his work. you knew that he felt deeply for every person that he could not save. well, you didn’t know that. but you felt it.

and jack, as good as he is, could not save the pittsburgh trauma medical center.

it started with one or two sick patients. it ended three days later with the majority of the staff dead in the span of one shift.

and when it was becoming clear that there was no way out, no way to save everyone, no way to heal those who had been scratched or bitten… you all should’ve heeded the warning that had gone out days prior. leave the city. but he hadn’t. none of you had, because you felt the obligation to this city and this work and saving as many lives as possible.

it was a ragtag group of you that left PTMC that night. the roads were full of abandoned cars, so there was no choice but to go by foot. you. robby and abbot. dana. collins. langdon. samira. about six nurses. but there was so many you couldn’t save– their faces flash behind your eyes when you lay down to sleep at night. mel. whitaker. javadi. mckay. you’re still not over mckay. you don’t know if you ever will be.

you packed up all of the medical supplies that you could under the circumstances and began towards fort knox. having spent three days by foot, aiming for 25 miles each day, but at the same time stopping and gathering supplies wherever and whenever you can… you feel a level of exhaustion that beats out even a double in the pitt.

you’ve never known jack to be… sympathetic. he became your fearless leader in these first days, and you noted that being inspiring wasn’t exactly his strong suit. if he needed someone to give a speech, he oftentime left that to robby. but he said something that stuck with you, just as you left city limits, narrowly escaping with your lives. “we’re going to be needed now more than ever. most healthcare workers across this country have likely died. we have a purpose. that’s the only thing that’s keeping me going through this hell hole.”

you repeated that in your head, day over day– when you wanted to find a creek and lay in it and let the water wash over you. get to fort knox. save lives. make this all matter. but today was hard. it was your birthday.

it was so stupid. who cares about birthdays, anymore? you don’t know where your family is. you don’t know where your friends are. cell service went down before you even left PTMC. you don’t know if any of them are even alive anymore. you have no home, no place in this world– your apartment a forgotten relic to your past. your feet burn and your hands are dry. your stomach growls at you more often than not.

but you loved your birthday, back then. you even had tickets this year to see your favorite band. you remember thinking it as fate that they were going to be in town on your actual birthday.

the tears prick at your eyes. you set up camp for the night, the hot sun finally setting into the curve of the earth. you’re right by the water, allowing you to stick your feet in the river and feel peace, if only for a moment. you had been figuring out that the majority of walkers were still in cities. the disease had hardly touched the more rural areas, which made west virginia safer than most other places. “fuck,” you whisper to yourself, hanging your head, finally letting the tears fall.

you feel him beside you before you hear him. you start, your heart nearly jumping out of your mouth. his face doesn’t move a muscle. “sorry.” he groans as he sits beside you. he doesn’t say anything, but he looks at you. he notes the tears on your face, and for a moment, you think he might berate you for them. you feel like you should be berated. you’re so lucky to be alive– aren’t you? or are the dead the lucky ones? you’re not sure if you know anymore, but you feel like you should be fortunate for… something. “please. don’t let me stop you.”

face screwed up in disbelief, you look back out to the water. “i shouldn’t be crying.”

“and why not?”

“because i’m not even crying for that good of a reason.” you bring your legs up to your chest, resting your chin on your knees.

“let me be the judge of that.”

you look over at him with skeptical eyes. before and after everything that had happened, you hadn’t been precisely vulnerable with jack before. he must sense your hesitation, because he leans back. “you know, despite my reputation…” he stares at you with that same intensity. “i’m not as emotionless as everyone seems to believe.”

“i don’t think you’re emotionless,” you say instantly. “the opposite. you’re full of it.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah,” you say, chuckling. “you’re… intense.”

jack hums at your examination of him, but doesn’t say anything else, leaving the floor open for you. looking back out at the water, you say, “i turned 30 today.” you press your lips into a thin line. “and i had all these plans– some friends and i got a hotel room for the night. we got a reservation at that nice new thai food place. my favorite band was going to be playing. it all was set up to be so… perfect. and then it wasn’t. and i just–” you blow a breath out, willing yourself to keep your emotions under control. “i’m fucking angry.”

your face goes slightly red, and something flashes behind jack’s eyes at that. “i’m so angry of what was taken from all of us. i’m angry that mckay died on my watch. i’m angry that we had to–” you wince. “that we had to kill patients. i know they weren’t there anymore, but–” you suck in a gasp of air. “i think i’ve been pushing it down, you know? focusing on what needed to be done. who we could save. getting somewhere that we can be useful. but what’s the point of being useful anymore? why save people when there’s hardly a world worth coming back to?”

“be angry,” jack says, resolutely. “i’m angry. and i don’t know if i’ve got anything encouraging to say to you other than that. that i know. and i feel it too.” a piece of hair has fallen into your face, and you flinch when jack moves to push it back behind your ear. this amuses him; the corner of his mouth turns up. “am i that bad?”

“no,” you say immediately, shaking your head. you use the back of your hand to brush away your tears, sending him an inquisitive look. “i just appreciate you checking on me.”

“don’t like seeing you upset,” he says. “you look like someone just stepped on a puppy in front of you.”

you gape at him and you again get that hint of a smile on his face. you don’t know if you’ll ever get him to grin, but you think you could live with what he gives you. you think a half smile from jack abbot is worth more than a belly laugh from anyone else. “wow.”

“i’m kiddin’,” he leans into you, brushing your shoulder with his. you settle into comfortable silence, staring out into the water. the sound of it comforts you, as does the chirping of crickets nestled in the brush. for as horrific as this all is– it’s beautiful here. as much as your back hurts from carrying your pack day over day, when you lay down and stare up at a sky full of stars… maybe there is something to hope for.

“does this remind you of being out on the field?” you ask. the question had been rattling around in your head for awhile– you’d heard some of the stories of jack’s days in the military. he was unstoppable. the intensity that he carries with him is well earned, if all the stories are true. you’d probably be intense and stoic, too.

sighing, he hangs his head. “yeah.” he swings his head over towards you. “it does. being stretched thin. never knowing what you’re going to see next. not knowing if you’re going to wake up and everyone you’ve gotten close to is dead.” he pauses. “or undead.”

you can’t help it. you laugh. “i’m sorry, i’m not laughing at you, i just–” he furrows his brows as you grab your stomach, falling back into the grass. “it’s crazy. this is all so fucking crazy. undead. fucking undead.” you wipe a tear from the corner of your eye. “oh my god, my stomach hurts.”

you continue to giggle, eyes shut, and jack hovers slightly over you. when you open your eyes, it’s not a half smile that you’re greeted with. he’s smiling at you full on, no holds barred. “you’re gonna be alright, kid.” he touches your chin. “you’re gonna be alright if you keep laughing.”

with nothing more, he pushes himself up, groaning as his knees creak, and walks back to camp.

rolling over onto your stomach, you watch as he walks off, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. and when he looks back over his shoulder at you, you watch him chuckle to himself.

–

there’s not a big shift that comes for you and dr. abbot. not yet, anyway– that doesn’t happen until he finds you with the walkers a week later.

you did run into other survivors on the road. since so many were fleeing pittsburgh, it was inevitable. you provided medical services as you went. there was this thought always in the back of your mind– what happens when you run across someone not so nice? that’s how these things always go isn’t it? you’d read enough books to know that typically, the biggest monster was humanity.

jack must’ve had the same thought when he diverted your group onto a path that he hoped would be less traveled, if slightly longer to get to the base. “no lives to save if we all die on the way there,” he smartly observed.

you loved to walk. the others often scolded you for going out by yourself, but it was not easy to deter you. the wind against your face and the sun on your arms was sometimes the only thing that reminded you that you were alive, that there were still simple pleasures in this world. you told robby, not asked for his permission, that you were going on an evening walk. he looked skeptically, but nodded. and you didn’t go too far– but it didn’t matter. there was a figure just off in the distance. at first, you think it’s a survivor. being this far out of the city, you didn’t run into walkers much. if you did, jack or collins typically took care of it with the guns they had looted days ago.

selfishly, you were thankful to not be tasked with defending anyone. you weren’t fighters. you’re healthcare workers. you were a resident doctor. your responsibility was to heal, not to harm. and you had witnessed enough of that harm in pittsburgh. you had your fill when you screwed your eyes up tight and screamed while you drove a knife into mckay’s chest while she, entirely gone, her eyes vacant and her mouth gaping, trying to gnash at your neck. that was still the thing that kept you up at night. you didn’t want to add to the list.

but when the head perked up, and you shielded your eyes from the burning sun, you realized how wrong you were. your heart sank and you took a stumbling step backwards. you piqued the intrigued of the walker, or it caught your scent, because it began a steady walk towards you. and then another one appeared behind it, cresting the hill. and a third. all ready to plummet down this hill towards you.

they’re fast. and with the downwards slope, they can only gain momentum. you begin to run back towards camp, but then you wonder if it’s better to lead them away from camp– what if there are others? but if you lead them away, they may not hear you… “help!” your cry is full of desperation as you begin to veer left from camp, trying to stay close enough.

the three walkers have gained on you. but for as fast as they are, jack is faster– he runs up and captures you in his arms, a pistol in his hand– three shots rings out, right next to your ear, and you lower yourself to try and escape the jarring noise. “they didn’t get you? no bites, no scratches?” you shake your head no, and the silence that follows is heavy. you continue to cover your ears with your hands. you can feel your blood pumping through you, the adrenaline of near death. every limb trembles and you sink even lower, until your hands are splayed on the still warm asphalt.

the others must have approached, because you hear jack say, “go on. we’re good.” he lowers himself to your level like a true doctor, his hand rubbing, up and down, on your back. “we’re good.”

the others heed his words and tentatively walk off, leaving you two alone. “you’re good,” he repeats. he gathers your hair off of your neck to relieve some of the heat, holding it up with one big hand. “what were you doing walking by yourself?”

“i told robby,” you say around a gasping breath. “i– i didn’t–” you look over at the bodies. one of them is a woman, certainly not much older or younger than you. “i saw her, but she was still far off. i didn’t know she was…”

from a career of working with people at their most vulnerable, jack must sense what is about to break within you. it was close at the river, but then you were mourning the loss of what your life could be. this felt bigger than that. this was coming to terms with what your life now was.

and you swiftly fall apart.

you don’t expect him to hold you, at first. you begin to sink into yourself, the tears and the cries coming like the flood. but jack swoops in, his hand to the back of your head and his other arm circling your waist. you sit on the dirty road and he holds you, despite the humidity and the heat and everything else. you should’ve known that this side of abbot existed. the side that could be steady as a rock, unyielding and ready to protect.

you’re there for so long the sun begins to sink. you look up from where you’d hidden your face in his chest. a technicolor sunset is in front of you. your red rimmed eyes take it in, and jack pulls away enough to watch your face, gauge your reaction. when he sees the wonder in your eyes, he cranes his neck to follow your line of vision. he says, softly, “think mother nature knew you needed some cheering up.”

with a wet laugh, you lean back, but jack doesn’t release you from his hold that easily. “i guess so.” you look at him through your lashes, feeling embarrassed and grateful and reckless and warmed. “thank you. i won’t– i won’t go out walking.”

he scoffs. “nah. you will. we just need to go in pairs.” he looks like he might leave it at that, but then he says, “and i’ll go wherever you want.”

–

two more weeks go by and now it’s august and the days burn orange and you’re in the heart of west virginia.

from that sunset on the road on, where you go, he’s often not too far behind. the others are not oblivious to his trained eye watching you. they’re not stupid– they notice when he is the first one to pair with you for scavenging.

seeing walkers doesn’t have the same jarring affect that it did, even days ago. it’s still not regular, but you certainly see them more than when you first got into west virginia. you still don’t carry a gun, but jack, collins, robby, and dana now do. wherever you all go, one of them goes with you. and for you… that’s jack. if not by choice, by default. everyone seems to have their pair, natural duos from your time in the emergency room. you didn’t have that then, and jack didn’t, either. he has robby, of course, and that hasn’t change– but you think something in his mindset changed when you fell apart before him.

you don’t call him dr. abbot anymore. none of you use such formalities now. what’s the use?

the group moves through west virginia terrain towards fort knox. over time, you’d gotten more and more in the way of supplies. you found an abandoned RV in good shape with the keys still in the ignition. you all held a thought for the owner before you took it. dana was driving a pick up that she spotted back near weston. it made all of you laugh when you saw her behind the wheel. most of the places out here weren’t so looted– sometimes, you hit a goldmine still. jack’s clever thinking to take the road less traveled was proving useful, indeed. that felt like good enough reason to take your time. but winter was going to be coming sooner rather than later. your slowness wasn’t going to last forever. a thought lingers in the back of your mind, and you’re sure everyone else’s, too– this world needs doctors. and maybe you’re all being selfish. maybe you’re all okay with that, for the time being. you don’t know. you’re only human.

you liked to walk to clear your head. sometimes you missed it being a solitary activity, but jack was often quiet enough that you really didn’t have much of a change. honestly, you never minded when it was jack. sometimes dana would offer to walk with you, and for as much as you love her, she has the ability to talk your ear off– but jack picked up on your cues. when he thought there might be something on your mind, he would nudge your arm. when you shook your head, he dropped it. when you would begin to talk through whatever it was that you were thinking about, he would listen, rapt.

and, you think you provide him support, too. there was so much that you’ve learned about him– you know how he takes his coffee. well, in this world, at least. he likes it black but with two of those sugar packets that you got from a starbucks. not the artificial stuff, either. he wakes before you, but you always make his second cup. you’ll approach him in his seat– he always sits in the RV in the morning, working on one of the crossword books you’d taken from the hospital. you come up to him and take his empty cup. most mornings, he says, “you don’t gotta do that.”

you reply each time with, “but i wanna.”

and, over time, you get more and more of those small smiles.

for what it’s worth, the two of you get by for awhile pretending that whatever is happening simply isn’t. you roll your eyes when langdon calls you mrs. abbot. you simply nod when robby mentions jack looking for you.

it was a long day, and a storm was brewing. you had been camped in the same spot for nearly a week, spending time scavenging the area, which was largely untouched by other survivors. you take what you need, leave what you don’t– making sure that there’s enough for anyone else who might need it in the future. your body is sore from so many night of sleeping on the ground, but that’s everyone. “alright– we need to reduce the amount of tents so that we can get everyone out of the rainfall and under the trees.” dana says, hands on her hips. she starts rattling off sleeping arrangements, pointing at you and finishing with, “you’ll be in jack’s tent.”

you look at each other from across the circle, and you have to make a true effort to keep your face neutral. jack doesn’t even flinch. “yes, ma’am.”

your stomach twists in knots as you begin tearing down your tent. jack comes up from behind you and helps, making quick work of it. you glance over at him and murmur, “sorry you’re stuck with me. i’ll keep to my side of the sleeping bag.”

there’s a glint in his eye. “i don’t know. princess has told me you hog the blankets.”

“i do not!”

he smirks to himself, satisfied with getting a small rise out of you. “guess i’ll just have to be the judge of that, kid.”

–

it’s been a long time since you laid beside a man and it meant something.

you’d been single for the better part of five years– your ex was the kind of piece of work that would make anyone swear off dating for half of a decade. you had meaningless hookups and endless first dates, but nothing that stuck. nothing that gave you butterflies.

now, there’s a swarm of them in your stomach, threatening to dislodge. you brush your teeth and your eyes trail over towards jack, smirking at something that robby said. you glance away and finish up, proceeding to change in the RV. you’re not sure how you’re supposed to dress– sweats is most appropriate, right? you run warm, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. big shirt? little shirt?

zombies could come up and kill you at any point, and your concern is how much or how little you should wear while lying next to jack. the ridiculousness is not lost on you. but, there’s a shred of you that’s thankful for a feeling that’s normal amidst everything else. feelings-induced trepidation is something that you can handle.

you opt for the little shirt– a gas station t shirt you had cropped haphazardly with a knife– and sweatpants. when you come back out from the RV, jack is no where to be seen, but there is a light on in his tent.

unzipping slowly, you’re greeted by his face looking at you. you watch his eyes zero in on the strip of exposed skin on your stomach. you watch his adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallows.

the tent is generous when it says that two people can fit. you can see that jack prepped your side of the bed– two pillows, and your water bottle. “you left it outside.”

“thank you.” you kick your shoes off and climb under the blanket. jack huffs a laugh. “what’s so funny?”

“you wear pants to bed?”

your face heats. “not typically.”

“don’t do it for my comfort.” he reaches at the back of his shirt, tugging it over his head. “i will be sleeping comfortably. and cool.” he halts before he says, “and a gentleman.”

you roll your eyes, but you lift your hips and shimmy the sweats off, tossing them towards your feet. settling back into the pillow, you watch jack as he does the same, eventually rolling over to face you. he has the fly trap off of the tent, so you stare up at the stars. he never looks away from you.

“dana did this on purpose,” you whisper, and it’s the closest you’ve gotten to pure admission. “you realize that, right?”

“yeah,” he puts one hand behind his head, following the line of your sight to the stars, too. “she’s been on my case since we set up camp here.”

curious, you peer over at him. “how so?”

jack shrugs one shoulder. “telling me not to fuck around with your feelings.” his neck turns towards you. “told her i’m doing my best.”

you screw your face up. “you’re not fucking around with my feelings.”

“good.” there’s such a practicality to his words. he’s not barred by fear or by unease;  he’s confident. “but, for the record…” he sinks his teeth into his lower lip. “yeah, i’m not trying to fuck around with your feelings. i’ve been trying to…”

“trying to what?”

“will you let me spit it out?” jack asks with a smirk. “patience is not always your strong suit.”

you turn your chin down, indignant. “you didn’t mind when we were in the emergency room.”

“i wouldn’t go that far,” jack counters. “i think i told you to slow down on multiple occasions.”

“now you’re just deflecting.”

a clap of lightning and thunder rings out in the open air. the rain begins just after.

“i think you just proved my point.”

disgruntled now, you move to simply roll over and go to bed and pretend the entire conversation never happened. but jack laughs again and he gently wraps his hand around your arm, pulling you back. not controlling. guiding. “don’t do that,” he says. “not when i’m trying to tell you i care about you. at least give me the opportunity to say it before you shoot me down and go to bed.”

brows furrowing, you roll over to face him. “i don’t understand.”

over the course of the month or so that you’ve gotten to learn jack intimately, know the corners of his mind and the stories that weren’t often shared, you’d resolutely pushed away the notion of you not being anything but in over your head. a woman with a crush on your authority figure. broken by circumstance and clinging to the one person who moves you feel unequivocally safe.

there wasn’t a part of you the stopped to think that maybe jack was doing the same. but that he was, perhaps, more brave than you.

“i’m not good at any of this,” he says quietly. “but if we’re going to die before the new year, i want to be selfish. and if i’ve– misread, tell me, and i’ll never bring this up again.”

silence fills the tent. your mouth forms a slight o, trying to wrap your head around the string of words that he just confessed to you. “you said before, that the only thing keeping you going was the fact that the world needs us. needs doctors.” your eyes flicker down then back up. “is that still true? is that the only reason?”

“if that was the only reason, i’d be in fort knox right now.” his hand flexes where it rests on his pillow. he’s holding back– you feel the tension pulled taut within him.

“tell me,” you say with absolution.

“tell you what?”

“tell me you want me. not just because of circumstance. but because of… me.” you are growing smaller before him. “i don’t want to just be a body to keep your bed warm until we die gruesomely.”

he laughs like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard. your name falls off his lips and he extends that hand to you. you take it. he tugs you closer. you push him, he pushes you. he makes you patient, you make him articulate. “i remember, once, walking by the family room. you were sitting with a little girl who had just lost her mom in a car accident. she… i couldn’t save her. and i was dreading sitting that little girl down, looking her in the eye, and telling her. but you stayed with me.” he swallows, thinking. “i’ve watched you work on the fly and save lives without thinking twice. you’re a horrible singer, but a great dancer. you love crosswords.” he pauses. “this didn’t start last week. not even last month.” last month, when you were still a resident and he was still your attending.

“wow.”

“yeah,” jack nods his head. “wow.”

you don’t know what to say. you feel shy under his gaze, and you think he knows it. he eyes you with that cocky smirk, like he knows that you want him, but that something still holds you back. “you don’t gotta say anything right now,” he shrugs. “we’ve got time. that is, long as i’m still alive.”

you gasp and hit his chest and he keeps your hand in his and then you’re looking at each other and slowly, surely, patiently– you begin to lean in. you don’t kiss him yet. you know that he’ll leave that ball in your court. but there’s something fun about your nose bumping his and feeling his breath on your cheek and feeling the way that his hand tightens around yours. “you’re not being very patient,” you murmur, and he all but growls, and you feel it all the way down to your belly. you laugh and your hand slides to the back of his head.

his hand lands on your waist. he begins pulling you closer. “say you want me,” he asks.

“i want you.”

a shuddering breath leaves him, and it settles into your brain how affected he is. he’s drunk on you, and you on him, and your leg drags up his. you finally decide to stop your cruelty, and you close the distance. your mouth rolls against his and his tongue opens you up, and you feel like something has just split your heart, and your fondness for him is spilling out of you.

you didn’t suspect jack to be a tender lover. you and mckay used to joke that he probably fucked like a jackhammer. but you should’ve known that his patience, his sheer determination, extends here, too.

he rolls you until he’s hovering above you, hand sliding to the back of your neck and squeezes the sides, just barely. you gasp into his mouth and his knee parts your legs and every part of you feels like warm honey, sliding between his fingers. there’s a restraint when he pulls back and looks at you. “you’re trouble.”

“i thought you knew that.”

“i did,” his hand runs from the valley of your breasts, down to your stomach. it travels further to the waistband of your underwear. “now, trouble,” you flush at the way that nickname makes you press your thighs together. “do you know how to be quiet?”

“yes, i know how to be quiet, you ass–” you’re cut off with a gasping sound leaving your throat as his fingers dip into your underwear. he leans in closer and chuckles in your ear and your hips roll to meet his hand.

“do you?” he asks as his hand begins to work its magic.

“yes.”

lowering until his mouth finds the juncture of your neck and shoulder, he kisses, sucks a mark into the skin. your hand finds a fistful of his hair and you want to let go, you want to moan so loud you bring every walker in a three mile radius to find you. it would be worth it to release, to feel freely and let the world know it. your hips keep moving on their own, chasing pleasure, and jack sits up to use his free hand to grip your hip and presses you down. “i’ll take care of you, doc. don’t worry.” he leans in and kisses beneath your ear. “and you can be as loud as you want when there’s thunder.”

your eyes roll back into your head and within moments, everything is shooting stars.

–

when the morning comes, you’re smug, and glowing. jack wakes you slowly. the mourning doves are just beginning to sing their song and he pulls you closer, hungry. “think the plan is to leave soon,” he says into the back of your neck, pressing a kiss there. “but not too soon.”

it takes another thirty minutes for you to leave the tent. jack helps you back into your clothes with pride, looking you up and down. you scoff and push his face away, but then come back for a kiss. it’s easy to settle into familiarity when you spend so much time wondering where your life is going, what the point is of any of it– this. maybe this is the point. maybe this has to be the point.

holding the flap of his tent open for you, you clamber out, and the two of you are faced with… well, everyone. everyone smirking.

and without a word from either of you, dana looks at collins and says. “i told you that’s all it would take.”

[prettieinpink]

BUDGETING + SAVING MONEY FOR TEENS 𐙚

For many of us, we are entering an age when we can work casual jobs such as retail or fast food. It’s not a lot of money that we receive, depending on how often you get paid, but it can go a long way in the long term. 

In this post, I’ll be discussing how to budget for your needs/wants and save money for future goals. 

CREATING GOALS, you may want to save a certain amount of money in a time frame, want to make a big purchase (like a car) or buy everything off your wishlist. It is entirely up to you what your goals are, so I can’t say too much. However, the more specific it is, the better.

HOW MUCH? Determine how much money you need to save to achieve your goal. In total, and monthly. 

There are three types of saving goals that may apply to you;

Short-term goals >1 year (outings, latest gadget, buying your cart)

Medium-term goals 1-2 years (road trips, shopping spree)

Long-term goals 2-4 years (higher education, car)

It’s very important to set a realistic time frame, as teens we don’t get paid much and we also don’t work as much. You don’t want to overwhelm yourself as well, as it takes patience and self-control to achieve these goals.

NO LOOONG-TERM GOALS! This may sound aggressive, but any money that just sits in your account for years on end is dead money. Even though the amount of money is increasing, its value is slowly decreasing. Keep your goals achievable within a time frame of less than four years. It's much more useful if this money is put into some type of investment instead. 

CREATING A BUDGET

Calculate how much money you receive every month, and how much money you spend every month. 

You have two types of expenses. Fixed and variable. Fixed are any expenses required in your day-to-day life or it’s an amount of money that doesn’t change e.g. subscriptions or transportation costs. Variable costs are expenses that may fluctuate, like food, or any other recreational activities. 

Record the average you’re spending monthly with these two categories. 

There are many ways people choose to budget, but you have to choose a system that works for you.

Work out how much money you need to save each month to achieve your goal.

However, for anyone who’s starting in budgeting, I would say to allocate your costs using a percentage system. Your percentages for each category are going to differ from mine; e.g. 60% = savings, 20% = wants, 20% needs. Make sure it reflects the end goal. 

Track your progress. This is the major part of budgeting, you want to be recording and regularly reviewing how much money you’re spending and comparing it to how much you’re earning. It allows for space to reflect on the flow of your money like if some purchases are worth it, if you’re impulsively spending, or if you’re frequently withdrawing money from your savings. 

Adjust if needed. Maybe you want to put more money in savings and less into wants, or you want to put more into wants and less into needs. 

SAVING TIPS

SAY NO! This is probably my biggest struggle at the moment, but say no to things that will cause you to go off track. Whether its outings, getting fast-food or anything similar, say no. You have to be firm with your financial boundaries, as these opportunities will always arise again. 

RESTRICT IMPULSIVE SPENDING. We all have our moments when we see a product and we instantly think ‘I’ve got to have this’. Giving in once or twice is okay, but it shouldn’t become a habit at all. Its unnecessary spending (most of the time!) and leads to buyers remorse. 

IS IT WORTH IT? Always remember to work out which products you’re getting the most value out of. 

PAYING FOR THE NAME, a lot of brands will cut down on quality to save a few dollars, so essentially the customer is only paying for the name of that brand. Just because a store is more expensive, doesn’t mean its better.

[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |2|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Talks of Murder and Killing

Word Count: 3k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Sam had her head thrown back, trying to calm her nerves as she and Tara waited for Detective Bailey to arrive. When Quinn called her father, he had said he wanted to speak with Sam. He wouldn’t confirm or deny whether the killings on the news were the work of Ghostface, but he wanted her to come down to the station. Tara had refused to let her go alone and Bailey even agreed that he’d like to see Tara as well. They arrived at the police station first thing in the morning and were immediately escorted to an interrogation room, without anyone telling them anything.

Sam finally looked up when she heard the door open, seeing Bailey enter. “Sorry about the wait,” Bailey said, giving them an awkward chuckle.

“What’s this about?” Tara asked, tapping her fingers on the table.

“The killings,” Sam cut in. “Was it Ghostface?”

“We found this,” Bailey said, tossing an evidence bag containing a bloody card onto the table, ignoring both the girls’ questions. “At the crime scene,” Bailey sat in the chair opposite of them. “In which two of your,” he pointed at Tara. “Classmates were murdered. Care to explain?” he shrugged.

Tara leaned forward, her eyes widening at what was in the baggy before she looked back at Sam. Sam furrowed her brow as she took a look as well, her face instantly going white at seeing her ID, covered in blood, and in the evidence bag. “I lost my ID months ago,” Sam mumbled, shaking her head. “I had to get a new one.”

“Why didn’t you report your ID as stolen?”

“I didn’t know it was stolen,” Sam glared at Bailey.

Sam didn’t know detective Bailey too well. She knew he was a homicide detective and when Quinn decided to go to college at Blackmore, he transferred to New York so he could keep an eye on her. Quinn complained about him occasionally, usually saying how overprotective he was, though he did allow Quinn to live on her own with Sam and Tara, even though it would be much cheaper for her to live with him. Bailey always seemed like the typical dad, but Sam wasn’t sure, she saw danger around every corner but the majority of the time it was just her being paranoid.

“Where were you last night?” Bailey asked, getting back to his questioning.

“You can’t seriously think she’s a suspect,” Tara said. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I’m just trying to figure out what happened,” Bailey held his hands up in defense. “Do you have an alibi?” He looked at Sam.

Sam sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I was at work,” Sam answered. “Then when I came home Chad and I went to the gym, then back to the apartment.”

“And someone can verify this?”

“Lots of people probably,” Sam shrugged. “Your daughter being one of them, she was at the apartment last night.”

“It’s true,” Tara said, crossing her arms. “We were all with someone the entire day. Anything else?”

“Your classmates,” Bailey said, pointing at Tara. “Had a Ghostface shrine, it seems they killed their professor a Ms. Crane.” Tara sucked in a breath, Sam didn’t know her personally, but she had heard Tara and Mindy mention her a few times. “Earlier this evening. Know anything about that?”

“Why would we? I barely talked to them.”

“Are you familiar with a,” Bailey flipped open a file, squinting his eyes at something in the file, “Richie Kirsch?”

Sam couldn’t help the way she shifted in her seat, trying not to react. “He’s my ex,” she answered with a tight-lipped smile. “And he’s dead.”

“Yeah, he and my best friend tried to kill us last year,” Tara snapped. “What’s this got to do with anything?”

“Well, it seems these boys,” Bailey said, tapping his fingers on the photos of the two guys killed. “Intended to finish his movie.” Sam and Tara’s faces both fell at those words. “It seems they were working on a plan to kill you two.”

“We don’t know anything about that,” Sam said.

“Right, right,” Bailey mumbled to himself. “So, it’s just a coincidence these two boys end up dead?”

“There are no coincidences when Ghostface is involved.”

“Look,” Tara cut in, seeming frustrated and tired. “Are we under arrest or can we go?”

Bailey looked between the two sisters then down at the photos and evidence bag. Sam held her breath as she waited for his response. She wasn’t sure what was going through his mind, he still never confirmed if Ghostface was back, and she didn’t know if Bailey suspected her or thought she and Tara were in danger.

“You’re free to go,” Bailey said. “Just don’t leave town,” he gave Sam a look, like he knew she wanted to run.

Tara didn’t hesitate to get up, nearly knocking over her chair in the process. Sam gave Bailey one last glance before following after Tara. They flagged down a cab and Tara gave the guy directions to Blackmore. When Sam furrowed her brow Tara showed her Mindy’s text saying to meet at the school so they could go over suspects before class.

Before she knew it Sam had her head thrown back again, this time as she sat on a bench outside Blackmore College. Everyone was already there when Sam and Tara arrived and since then Mindy had been standing in front of everyone pacing back and forth. Sam just wanted her to get to the point already, she wanted to try and get some sleep before she had to go to work. She knew she wouldn’t get any sleep though; she wasn’t able to sleep last night and there was no way she’d be able to before her shift, not with Ghostface out there.

“Suspects!” Mindy said, finally seeming to get to the point. “With Ghostface, most likely, back we should go over potential people who might want to kill us! Because Bailey clearly won’t be of any help.”

Sam couldn’t help but glance at Quinn. The girl frowned at Mindy’s words but didn’t move to argue with her. Mindy also didn’t bother sparing Quinn a glance, let alone an apology. Sam couldn’t help but frown at Quinn’s reaction, or her lack of reaction. Detective Bailey was Quinn’s father, and she wasn’t saying anything to stick up for him or defend him. Sam wasn’t sure if that alone was suspicious or if Quinn just knew by now there was no point in arguing with Mindy.

“First!” Mindy continued, holding up a finger. “Ethan! The shy, dorky guy who no one suspects because he’s just so shy and dorky.”

“I’m a suspect because I’m randomly Chad’s roommate?” Ethan questioned, gesturing at Chad awkwardly.

“Roommate lotteries can be fixed,” Mindy rolled her eyes as if it was the easiest thing in the world to do. “And second, Quinn!” Mindy turned, smiling at Quinn. “Tara and Sam’s slutty roommate, a horror movie classic.”

“Sex positive,” Quinn corrected. Though she didn’t seem offended by Mindy’s accusation like Ethan had.

“How did you come to live with Sam and Tara?”

“I answered their ad online.”

“No need to say more, you’ve implicated yourself enough!”

“It was an anonymous ad,” Tara said. “And we vetted her.” Sam nodded, she had done incredibly thorough questioning to both Quinn and Bailey when they were interviewing potential roommates. “Plus, her dads a cop.”

“And that makes it more likely!” Mindy gestured wildly. “Cop dad is a great cover! Besides, what are the odds, your dad, would get this case?” Mindy crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at Quinn.

“How the hell would I know?” Quinn crossed her arms, finally seeming to get annoyed by Mindy.

“And lastly, Anika,” she smiled at her girlfriend. “You aren’t clear either.”

Anika’s face fell. “Are you kidding me?” she asked.

“Sorry babe,” Mindy shrugged. Anika just scoffed, crossing her arms and turning her head away as she refused to look at Mindy.

“I think that’s all the suspects,” Mindy said, giving herself a little nod of approval.

“And Y/N,” Sam added. Everyone turned to her with raised eyebrows. “What?” Sam shoved her hands in her pockets. “I just think they should be on the list.”

“I thought you said you haven’t ever spoken to them?” Mindy narrowed her eyes.

“I haven’t.”

“Then why would they be a suspect?” Tara questioned, crossing her arms.

“Because we have the same schedule!” Sam tried to reason. “No matter when I go, no matter what day, or what time, they’re there.”

“Suspicious,” Mindy admitted. “Anything else?”

“They have fighting experience. Not sure how much but I’ve seen them train, they definitely know what they’re doing.”

Sam continued to ramble on about you. She told them once again about how similar your schedules seemed, even when it was well after midnight and there was no one else there you’d show up. She talked all about the kind of people you did talk to and how you were otherwise reserved. Then she got into your workout and mentioned how much you lift and how much you focus on either sparring with someone or hitting the punching bag. When Sam was finished revealing all her observations about you, she looked around at the others. Everyone was looking back at her with raised eyebrows, she was going to assume they were just shocked by her keen observation skills.

“They are pretty badass,” Chad added, holding a finger up. “I hate to admit it because they seem so cool,” he let out a little chuckle. “But the way they fought that dude in the ring,” he let out an impressed whistle. “I’d hate to see what they’d do to an enemy.”

Everyone’s face slowly morphed into one of worry. Ethan and Quinn gave each other a look of concern and Tara looked at Sam as if Sam would have a solution to their problem. Sam could only offer her sister a comforting smile, she didn’t know who this new Ghostface was, but she wouldn’t let him hurt Tara.

“Okay, we’ll add them to the list,” Mindy agreed.

Sam nodded. A part of her felt a little guilty for suspecting you of such heinous things when you’ve only ever been nice, but she couldn’t take the risk. She dated Richie for months and he betrayed and used her, she hadn’t even spoken a single word to you. Sam didn’t have a real reason to suspect you, besides the fact that you went to the same gym, which a lot of people went to, but none of them had even close to the same random schedule she did, and she had never seen any of them fight like you could. She hoped you were just the cute stranger from her gym though, and not some psychopath. But she knew her life, there was no way her first crush since Richie was just a normal person that went to her gym, and all the other stuff, the stuff that drew her to you, was just coincidence, she wasn’t that lucky.

After being satisfied with their suspect list everyone went their separate ways with most of them going to class, while Sam went to work. Sam managed to get home and change but didn’t have time for a nap before having to head to her job. She managed to make it to the diner she worked at, just before she had to clock in.

Sam tried to focus on work and not let her mind wander to Ghostface and what was happening. She ignored the way people kept glancing at her, she ignored the articles she saw on their phones when she came to fill their coffee cups, she ignored the way customers bumped into her, spilling their milkshakes, ketchup, and syrup all over her. She ignored it all, she put on her fake smile and apologized to the next person who bumped into her.

Sam glanced at her phone every time she had a spare moment, when she knew, she wouldn’t get caught by her boss. She ordered everyone to text her throughout the day, so she’d know they were okay. She ordered her sister though to text her every fifteen minutes, Tara had rolled her eyes, but she had been doing it, if Sam didn’t hear from Tara within the time frame she would try calling first and then head off to wherever Tara was supposed to be.

When Sam’s shift finally finished, she rushed home, ignoring the way everyone was lounging in the living room once again as she ran to her bedroom. She didn’t have long before she needed to be at her therapy appointment, and she needed to shower and change first. She moved as quick as she could, showering long enough to get rid of the diner smell but not long enough to actually enjoy having the water rain down on her.

“I have therapy tonight,” Sam said as she rushed around the living room, ignoring her still damp hair. “I’ll be back later.” Tara nodded. “Be careful, stay inside, and don’t unlock the door for anyone.” Sam gave all of them a pointed look.

“We know,” Tara sighed. “You be careful too,” she whispered.

Sam smiled at her sister, giving everyone a quick wave goodbye before making her way out the door. She made sure to lock all the locks and double check herself before walking down the stairs. Her neighbor Danny offered her a kind smile, holding the door open for her as he was coming, and she was going. Sam did a quick check of her surroundings before shoving her hands in her pocket and began making her way to her therapy appointment.

Before Sam knew it, she was sitting in her therapist’s office, pulling at her sweater as she refused to look her therapist in the eye. She hadn’t been seeing the woman very long, she was seeing a guy for a while but when he learned her dad was Billy Loomis, he basically stopped being helpful. When Sam found Doctor Williams, Sam had started the first session by telling her all about her father, if this therapist wasn’t going to be helpful either Sam figured she might as well figure it out right away instead of wasting all her time and money.

“We’ve been sitting in silence for twenty minutes,” Doctor Williams said, not looking up from her notepad as she continued to write something down. Sam wasn’t sure what the doctor could be writing considering she had yet to speak. “Your session is only an hour long, if you want to talk,” she glanced at her watch. “You might want to think about starting soon.”

Sam frowned and flicked a glare at Williams. “I met someone,” Sam said, breaking the ice.

“That’s good,” Williams smiled, setting down her notepad and pen. “How has that been?”

“Well, I haven’t exactly talked to them yet.”

“How-How does that work?” Williams furrowed her brow.

“We go to the same gym,” Sam nodded along with her words. She was sure this was probably making her sound even crazier than she already seemed. “We’ve shared looks and a few nods,” Sam smiled to herself

She didn’t miss the small smile still on Williams’s face. “And what’s stopping you from talking to them?”

Sam’s eyes drifted down to the carpet, she pursed her lips, nodding to herself. “I think someone is trying to kill me and my sister again.” She looked up to see William’s staring at her with wide eyes. “And they’re on the suspect list,” Sam gave a little shrug.

Williams opened and closed her mouth a few times, clearly trying to process her words. “You think the person you like is trying to kill you?” Williams said slowly.

“Well, not just them, everyone’s a suspect.” Williams nodded unsurely. “I’m not being paranoid,” Sam tried to assure. “At least I don’t think I am,” she shook her head. “Tara always says I’m too paranoid but this time there’s a legitimate reason.”

Sam’s words slowly died down as Doctor Williams raised her hand. “Let’s start from the beginning,” Williams said softly.

Sam swallowed, ringing her hands as she tried to calm her nerves. “There was a murder last night. Two boys in Tara’s class killed their professor.” Williams furrowed her brow. “Then someone murdered them in their apartment.” Williams opened her mouth, but Sam wasn’t done yet. “There’s no proof, but the killings might have been committed by Ghostface.”

“And what makes you think this is Ghostface? Are you sure he’s not just on your mind, it’s around that time of year, no?”

Sam clenched her hands together. “The two students, they were fanatics,” she rolled her eyes. “Fans of Richie apparently. They were planning on killing me and my sister, but someone killed them first.”

“And you think that someone is Ghostface?”

Sam nodded. “Ghostface would never let two kids,” she scoffed. “Take out me and my sister. Not that they could,” she ran a hand through her hair.

Before Doctor Williams could say anything else the timer went off, signaling the end of their session. “See, you next week, I guess.” Sam gave a shy smile as she got up from the couch.

“Wait, I don’t want you to do anything rash,” Williams rushed, following behind her but Sam was already out the door.

Sam checked her surroundings once again as she exited the building. She began her walk back to the apartment. When she got back to the apartment, she saw everyone still in the living room. “We got pizza,” Tara said, nodding to the box on the table. Sam snapped a glare at her sister as she dropped her keys into the bowl by the door. “Anika went to pick it up,” Tara held up her hands, but Sam didn’t miss the eyeroll.

Sam sighed, shaking her head at her sister as she made her way to her room. She got ready for bed, but her mind wouldn’t stop. She kept thinking about the killings, about Ghostface potentially being back, and who they could trust.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998

[vivwritescrappythings]

late night visits

eddie munson x harrington!virgin!f!reader

Eddie catches you dropping Max off and invites you over, he teaches you how to smoke weed and smut ensues.

an: Second fanfic is smut? Not proofread because this is an adapted excerpt from a much longer fanfic that I've been writing for a long time.

tw: smut, marijuana use, dubcon? (they are both high so take that as you will), p in v sex, fingering, loss of virginity, afab reader, she/her pronouns.

word count: 6.8k

masterlist

MDNI!

--

You turned your car into the trailer park, Kate Bush blasting in the car as you took Max Mayfield home. Your older brother, Steve, had asked you to give her a ride after his band of high school freshmen had come over for a movie night, Max was singing along, closing her eyes as she drummed her hands on her thighs. You could feel yourself smiling as you looked at her out of the corner of your eye. She was vibrant, glowing under every streetlamp you passed.

 The lights in her trailer were still on when you parked out front, grabbing the mixtape out of the stereo. Max was already out of the car and snatching her bag out of the backseat by the time you got out, leaning on the driver side door as you waited for her. You made it a rule to always watch anyone you dropped off go inside, especially after what happened with Will.

“Max?” Sue called, leaning out the front door. You couldn’t quite make out her face, but the tension in her tone was obvious.

“Hey Mrs. Mayfield!” you yelled back, waving. Her sigh of relief was loud enough to be heard down the street. She went back inside without saying anything else, leaving the front door open for Max to follow. The lights from the TV lit her up as she settled back into the couch, crossing her ankles as she grabbed her beer off the side table.

“Don’t forget this.” You tossed the mixtape to Max as she passed. She called back a thanks and a quick goodnight as she ran up to her front door, slamming it behind her. You huffed, letting your head roll back and rest on the roof of the car as you looked at the stars.

Life had felt off lately, your parents were still gone a majority of the time and you were a senior in high school. You’d been getting nightmares, strange dreams of your parents screaming at you that you were a disappointment in comparison to Steve and how they were ashamed you were their daughter. Their mouths would end up sewn shut, blood dripping down their chins. You hadn’t slept right in weeks.

“What are you doing aaaaall the way out here, prom queen?” The way Eddie Munson stretched his vowels was unmistakable. You looked over your shoulder at the trailer across the way, seeing him toss a bag in the trash can out front by the curb. If you didn’t recognize him instantly, the beat-up van out front was a dead give-away.

There was something about Eddie that ignited a flare of excitement in your spine, it was a thrill that he was even talking to you. You’d had classes together, seen him in the halls, but never really acknowledged one another more than a simple nod of greeting.

“Just dropping off a friend,” you called back, spinning the rest of the way around to get a better look at him. You pressed your stomach against the driver side window as you crossed your arms on the roof. The metal was warm as you rested your chin on your forearms. He was backlit by the floodlight, his frizzy hair glowing gold.

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “You feelin’ okay to drive?” he yelled, you felt yourself stiffen. There was a rumor flying around the high school that you were showing up drunk. It turns out that you were just exhausted beyond belief. You looked back at Max’s trailer to see if there was any movement inside. “Just with your new habits and all.”

You’d been going through a confrontational streak lately. You marched around the car and right up to him, your fists balled at your sides. Eddie was grinning like an idiot as he watched you approach, crossing his arms over his chest like it was a challenge. You’d never seen him look so casual before, wearing only a black tank top and tattered plaid pajama pants. Usually he was decked to the nines, trying to look like a member of Motley Crue on their day off.

“Will you shut up!” you seethed, watching his eyes sparkle as you came to a halt in front of him. He opened his mouth and sucked in a deep breath, raising his head to the sky like he was getting ready to shout. Oh my god he’s just fucking with you now. You pressed your hand across his mouth, whatever he was trying to say muffled by your palm. You couldn’t help the smile that was spreading across your face as you looked back over your shoulder at Max’s. “Seriously, Sue knows my mom! And I wasn’t even drinking!” 

He made a noise to get your attention, your hand still smacked across the bottom part of his face as you felt him smile. Then you felt his warm, wet tongue lick a stripe across your palm. Your face twisted into a grimace as you pulled your hand away, wiping the spit on your sweater as a smile twitched the edges of your mouth.

“Alright, alright. Just didn’t expect to see you on this side of the tracks.” You cocked your head, what did he mean? He gasped dramatically, raising a hand to fan his face as he batted his lashes. “Oh Mr. Munson, I could never be caught dead in a trailer park. What would my loyal subjects at Hawkins High say?” His voice was high pitched and aloof, mocking you.

You laughed, a flush heating your cheeks as you were caught off guard. “Shut up! I don’t sound like that.” He dropped the act, smiling as he looked you up and down.

“What are you doing the rest of tonight?” he asked, scratching his cheek with his pointer finger. Your eyes narrowed slightly, was he trying to make a move? “Hey, not trying to steal your virtue or anything,” Eddie laughed, looking sheepishly down at his bare feet, “just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out or something.”

You appraised him for one more moment, nodding solidly. “Sure, but we are keeping it platonic with a capital P, Munson.” The smile that bloomed on his face could have lit up the whole block as he nodded enthusiastically. He crossed his fingers over his heart with a flourish as he turned to lead you inside the quaint trailer. 

The aroma of cologne and weed hit you first as you walked up the porch, Eddie opening the door wider. You stepped inside carefully, looking around as you toed your shoes off in the corner. It was cozy inside, maybe a little cluttered and messy. The carpet in the living room was squishing under my socks. The black loveseat and mismatched recliner took up most of the space, minimal furniture along the walls otherwise. There was a small kitchen off to the side and some stools at a breakfast bar. 

“Yeah, it’s no White House.” Eddie shut the door and locked it. Was he… self conscious? “It’s nice,” you said, looking over your shoulder at him. His eyebrows shot up in a ‘whatever you say’ vibe as he shrugged and walked inside. “Is this your place?”

He was shutting the door at the end of the hall, his bedroom? “No, my uncle lives here with me–works nights at the plant. Makes the big bucks.”

Eddie sat in the recliner with a groan, stretching his legs out under the coffee table. He gestured to the loveseat next to him with a ringed hand, a clear sign to join him. Of course he’d wear all his jewelry in his pajamas. You sat down, crossing your legs beneath you as you sank into the well-loved couch. “What are we watching?” you asked, resting your cheek on the rough fabric.

He held out a stack of movies: “I just got these from Family Video.” You pressed your lips together, taking them out of his hands.

You shuffled through, mostly horror titles. “Wow, no Grease?” You giggled at his expression before continuing through the selection. “What about Return of the Jedi?” You were way too skittish to watch horror movies anymore, you already couldn’t sleep as it was–you didn’t need anything to help with that.

You pushed the movie in his hands before he had time to protest, placing the rest on the coffee table. “Really, Return of the Jedi?” Eddie asked, getting up from his seat to put the movie in the VHS player. 

You nodded matter-of-factly, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re the one who rented it,” you argued, watching the commercials begin to play on the TV. A blue light cast over the living room as he sat back down. The lamp next to you clicked as he switched it off with a twist of his fingers. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d have to call you a geek, prom queen.” His voice strained as he reached over the far side of the recliner for something. He produced a bong with a flourish, the glass glimmering in the low light. The slightly murky water sloshed around inside as he set it on the end table between you, pulling the bowl out. You tried not to stare, you’d only ever seen bongs in passing at parties. 

You watched out of the corner of your eye as he dumped the contents into an ashtray on the end table, scraping the inside of it clean with a pocket knife. He produced a metal cylinder out of what seemed like nowhere, pulling the top half of it off carefully. His movements were delicate and methodical, clearly he’d done this a thousand times. 

“You want some?” he asked as he put the bowl back in it, holding the glass piece out to you by its neck. He held a zippo lighter in the other hand. You watched him spin the square of metal between his forefinger and thumb, thinking of an answer.

The truth was better than anything else. “Oh, uh, I’ve never smoked before,” you muttered, glancing down at your hands. Your nail polish was horrendously chipped, a nervous habit you’d picked up over the summer.

“Well if you want to try, on the house.” His voice was gentle as he held it out to you again. An offering. You shifted slightly to face him, your gaze bouncing between the bong and his soft brown eyes. 

Hesitantly, you took it from his hand. Your fingers bumped his as you grabbed the neck of it, the glass cool to the touch. Your other hand had to support the base—it was heavier than you expected. “I uh, I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, a nervous grin pulling at your lips. 

“Don’t worry it’s easy, I’ll help you,” he murmured, getting up to sit on the coffee table in front of you. His knees bracketed yours, the soft fabric of his pajama pants rubbing against your jeans. The minty smell of his shampoo was thick in your nose. “Alright, so, put your mouth on the top. You should feel the rim of the mouthpiece on the outside of your lips.” He watched you do it, your hand still holding the neck. You already felt self conscious.

 “Okay good, now I’ll help you with the rest. Pretty girls should never light their own bowls—got it?” You fought the urge to protest, just rolling your eyes instead. 

“So just do what I tell you.” You gave him a brief nod, barely lifting your head. He was grinning mischievously. You looked at him through your lashes as he flicked the lighter on, putting the flame to the bowl. “Okay suck in.” God, you must be as red as a tomato by now. 

His other hand came up to hold the bottom of the bong, his calloused fingers overlapping yours. You resisted shying away from his touch. His hands were warm as he lifted it a little, letting you straighten your spine. You could hear the water bubbling as the bong filled with a thick white smoke. It was a few seconds before he plucked the smoldering bowl out, letting you suck the contents into your lungs. 

You sat up abruptly, tears in your eyes as you fought to keep the smoke in. The bong was thrust back to him clumsily in your haste to get away from it. You managed to last a few seconds before you coughed it out, blowing smoke over his living room. “Jesus Christ,” you grunted between coughs. It felt like your chest was on fire. Eddie was chuckling, going to the kitchen. You could hear the sink running before a mason jar full of water was set on the coffee table.

“That was pretty good for your first time.” He repeated the same motions with himself, exhaling the smoke slowly as he settled back into the recliner. You couldn’t stop coughing, your throat feeling like you tried to swallow steel wool. “You’ll cough less the more you get used to it, everyone coughs their first time,” he said encouragingly, motioning for you to drink water.

You finally were able to breathe again, taking deep gulps of air. You wiped the last of the tears out of the corners of your eyes on the back of your hand. Thankfully you hadn’t bothered to put on makeup tonight. 

“Now’s time for the fun to begin,” he whispered, grinning as he rubbed his hands together. You watched the tattoos on his arms flex as the muscle under them moved–slightly surprised by how many he had.

“When am I supposed to feel it?” you asked, the beginning credits of the movie starting. You watched the yellow text fly across the screen, your fingers nervously twisting a loose thread of your sweater.

“Oh, you’ll know when you feel it.” You nodded, tucking your feet back under your thighs as you leaned against the arm of the loveseat.

It must have been a mere ten minutes later when you realized your face was buzzing and your head was full of air. Your eyes moved slower than you thought they would, taking snapshots of the room before settling back on the screen. At some point you’d slid off the couch and onto the floor, contorting yourself in the small space between it and the coffee table.

“How you feelin’, prom queen?” Eddie was still in the recliner, leaning back but not fully stretched out yet. His pajama pants looked soft, you fought the urge to touch the fabric.

You laughed—like, really laughed rather than your practiced soft giggle—your head rolling back so you could look at him. He was grinning broadly, watching you with his arms stretched over the back of the chair. “M’feeling pretty good,” you said, trying to stifle your giggles. What was so funny? 

Eddie giggled along with you, running a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, you’re definitely feeling it.” He looked goofy upside down. His hair was curling in all directions as he shook it back out, turning his attention to the movie. You lifted your head, feeling like you were fighting the full weight of earth’s gravity to look at the TV again.

It felt like you had blinders on, your peripheral vision swirling dizzily. You barely moved as Eddie got up from the recliner to disappear somewhere. Your breath was shallow, you could feel every fiber of the carpet rubbing against your socks. The sweater you wore was warm, practically making you melt into the shape of the furniture. Your limbs were heavy, everytime you moved it was like fighting molasses. Was this how being stoned always was? 

The smell of food brought you back to the present as Eddie settled back down, a big plate in his hands. You watched him pick up a piece of food and put it in his mouth, immediately hissing as he burned his tongue. “Shit are those pizza rolls?” Your stomach rumbled, were you always this hungry?

He laughed, “If you want some, you gotta come sit up here with me, pretty girl.” You scrambled, feeling progressively more uncoordinated as you pulled yourself to a standing position. Your joints cracked as you stretched, feeling a little dizzy as the blood rushed to your head. You slumped into the couch, leaning far over the arm of it and the end table as you reached for one. “They’re hot,” he warned, sounding like a babysitter.

You rolled your eyes, biting the corner off it carefully and letting the steam billow out. “You’re a freak, no one eats pizza rolls like that,” Eddie said, but his smile gave him away. You watched the steam swirl in your breath, disappearing quickly. 

You stuck yourr tongue out, eating the pizza roll in one mouthful after it cooled. You chewed thoroughly, swallowing with a gulp of water. “At least I didn’t burn my tongue.” Not to mention, it was the most delicious thing you’d ever tasted.

The pizza rolls were long gone and the movie had ended a while ago. The Twilight Zone played on the TV, but neither of you were paying attention. “So like, am I a stoner now?” you asked, laughing quietly. The question even sounded stupid when it tumbled out of your mouth.

“I’d say you are a hopeless drug-addict,” he joked. He had taken another hit only moments before, letting you have the remnants. It reinvigorated the goofy haze. Your head was buzzing again and you just let thoughts tumble out of your mouth.

You scoffed, shoving his shoulder lightly. “You wish, Munson.” You were smiling as you ran your hands through your hair, tossing it against the part. You were sure it was sticking up in a million places, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

Eddie’s umber colored eyes darted to look at you, dragging up you in a way that set you on fire. You felt yourself squirm under his heavy gaze, your lips parting a bit. “Thanks for asking me to hang out,” you blurted. You cracked your knuckles as you shifted around, trying to find a new comfortable position. 

The seam of your jeans kept pressing in all the right places, making you wiggle your hips in an attempt to get it to stop. You’d never felt this sensitive before, but now every sensation seemed to send a tingle up your spine and heat in your belly. A flush covered your cheeks, your gaze tracking back to the television.

“You okay? You seem awfully… squirmy there, prom queen,” Eddie murmured, his gaze still focused on you. His eyes were softened at the edges with concern, the whites of them bloodshot. 

“Yeah, um, just trying to get comfortable,” you said, stilling into a position despite your heart pounding in your chest. A rumor had been flying around Hawkins High that Eddie was… well endowed. All of a sudden you were curious to see if it was true. “S’just getting to my head, I guess.”

One of his eyebrows lifted enough to disappear under his bangs. Eddie stood from the recliner, moving to sit next to you on the small couch. His arm looped behind you, bat tattoos printed into the pale skin as he stooped to make eye contact. “You alright? Don’t want you getting overwhelmed, prom queen. Some people get anxious when they’re stoned.” 

You couldn’t help the overwhelming heat that consumed your whole face and neck. “I-I’m not anxious, I promise,” you mumbled, your tongue darting out to wet your lower lip on its own volition. Eddie was sitting close to you, his knee pressing into your thigh. You could smell mint, tobacco, and weed on him, the combination making your stomach flip. 

“You sure? I really can’t let Harrington’s little sister have a heart attack on my couch,” he murmured, moving a little closer. You giggled half-heartedly, glancing at the television for a moment to give yourself a second to not think about the way Eddie is crowding you against the arm of the couch.

“M’sure,” you said, your voice soft and a bit airy. You didn’t look back at Eddie, your face still hot. You pressed your thighs together a bit, the friction helping relieve some of the pressure building between your legs.

Eddie’s calloused thumb hooked under your chin, directing your gaze back to him. He had a gentle smile on his face, leaning forward toward you. “What’s going on in your brain, pretty girl?” he asked, his eyes crinkling warmly at the corners. Your breath was shallow in your throat, your chest tightening as you looked at the metalhead in front of you.

“I dunno,” you said, his fingers pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger keeping your head in place. His eyes flickered between your lips and eye contact with you. It made your mind short-circuit, clumsily trying to work toward an answer for his question that wasn’t the honest answer. “Does, uh, weed ever make you feel… weird?” you asked, wanting to smack yourself as the words left your lips.

“Weird how?” Eddie asked, his fingers finally left your chin. His large hand curled around your shoulder, squeezing lightly. Every touch kept sidetracking you–you’d done some things with guys before. Kissing and making out and touching weren’t new to you, but you hadn’t really ever gone farther than that. You never wanted to–but you did now.

You didn’t stop to think about it, not even considering whether or not you should ask Eddie if he was okay with it before you leaned forward and twisted your head up to capture his lips in a kiss as you shut your eyes. You could feel him smile against your mouth, the hand curled around your shoulder continuing on its path to press between your shoulder blades. Eddie leaned forward, the small of your back hitting the armrest of the love seat. 

It went from hesitant and tentative to needy, your lips slotting together and noses mashing against one another as you both got more into the kiss. Eddie’s other hand found the back of your neck, his fingers slotting into your hair as he tilted your head just the way he wanted it. His lips parted, his tongue slicking along your bottom lip before you let it lick into your mouth.

You only parted when your lungs were on fire, your mouths separating with a soft click and a gossamer string of saliva illuminated by the warm light of the lamp behind you. Your eyes fluttered open, already finding Eddie looking down at you as he smoothed a hand down your back and around your waist. Chests heaving and foreheads bumping together, you both smiled and giggled sheepishly,

“Weird like that,” you whispered, a tinge of a joke in your tone. Your body was twisted, both of your feet on the carpet as you twisted at the waist to face Eddie. His knees were pointed toward you, one leg bent beneath him as his other pressed into the floor to get leverage.

He smiled, his hand dipping to run his fingertips along the hem of your sweater. “Good weird, then,” Eddie mumbled, stamping his lips over yours with an urgency you didn’t expect. You twisted your body in a comfortable position, slotting your legs around his slim waist as you returned his fervent kisses.

 His hand slipped beneath your sweater, ghosting along the soft skin on your belly. The sensation of Eddie’s fingers on your skin made your breath hitch. You could feel the clench in your lower abdomen, need burrowing deep within you as his hand continued to travel upward. He cupped over the fabric of your bra, his thumb pressing the swell of your breast just along the edge of it.

“Eddie,” you whimpered against his mouth, the press of his index finger through the thin padding of your bra to tease your stiffened nipple making you keen. He smirked, repeating the motion by circling the hardened nub with the pad of his index finger over the slippery polyester. Your breath stuttered in your throat, desperation clouding along the edges of your eyes as he tilts you even further over the arm of the couch.

“Feelin’ okay, princess?” he asked, rubbing turning into heavy petting as he pinched your nipple between his index and middle fingers. Your brows were pinched together, your back arching as you chased the sensation. You nodded, eyelids partially obscuring your gaze as you met Eddie’s.   

His hand slipped beneath the underwire band of your bra, his knuckles pressing against the squishy cup of it as he finally felt your bare breast. Your eyelids fluttered as you softly moaned his name beneath him. Your sweater was bunched up on Eddie’s forearm, the backs of your thighs pressing against the top of his as he bent to lave his tongue over your throat. 

“Jesus, Eddie,” you sighed, tilting your head to expose more of your throat to him. Each swipe of his thumb over your nipple sent a jolt of sensation to your clit. You could feel yourself get more turned on with every touch, your hands winding around his exposed biceps to keep him close.

He sat back on his heels, pulling your sweater over your head to expose your plain, black bra. A dopey smile came over his face as his gaze focused on your breasts like a kid opening presents on Christmas morning. You took initiative, your arms twisting behind you to unlatch your bra at your spine and shed it onto the living room floor.

“When is your uncle supposed to get back?” you asked, that bit of information springing forward in your mind as something that could be important. Eddie was too distracted, his ringed hands finding your breasts and squeezing the soft flesh beneath the stretch of his fingers. “Eddie,” you said, your voice somewhere between scolding him and moaning.

 “Not ‘till morning, princess. We’re okay,” he mumbled, his tone airy as he licked his lower lip. You gasped as he teased both of your nipples, your spine arching toward the sensation as he massaged your chest. Your hips jolted, the seam of your jeans pressing against your clit and practically punching the air from your lungs.

A smirk found its way to Eddie’s face, his brown eyes darkening as he left one of your breasts unattended to unbutton your jeans with swift fingers. He let out a soft groan when he saw your baby pink underwear as he tugged the zipper down, his fingers gently pulling at the little white bow along the waistband. He bit his lower lip, his brows pinching together as he looked at you beneath him.

“This okay, princess?” he finally asked, his voice deep and raspy as he spoke. 

“Yeah, more than okay.” You desperately wanted him to continue, already so soaked that you could feel the gusset of your panties sticking. 

Eddie dipped his fingers below the waistband of your panties, leaning forward so he didn’t have to twist his arm that much. It still looked like he was halfway dislocating his shoulder as he did it, but he didn’t seem to mind. His eyelids fluttered over his soft, chocolate-brown irises as the pads of his fingers finally dipped into the wet heat of your soaked cunt.

“You always this wet?” he asked, his voice ragged as his forearm pressed against the arm of the couch to keep himself aloft. His fingers sought out your clit immediately, rubbing slow circles around it that made you see stars.

You blushed, embarrassment curling around your ribs. “No, not really,” you said, sheepish at how flustered Eddie had gotten you. He just smirked, watching your face as he experimented with pressures and speeds. Finally, he must have gotten a reaction he liked, one of your wines eliciting a wicked smile from him as he repeated the motion.

“C’mon, let’s get these off,” Eddie said, pulling away from you. You whined at the sudden lack of contact, your brows furrowing in frustration as he grabbed the waistband of your jeans and panties and started to pull both off of you. You lifted your hips and then curled your legs toward your stomach so he could discard your clothes carelessly. 

You moaned loudly as his fingers messily traced up the seam of your cunt, finally able to touch you properly as your legs settled on either side of him. You could feel him smearing the sticky, clear wetness that has practically been pouring out of you, his thumb pressing against your clit with agonizingly soft pressure.  

Eddie was good with his hands, unsurprising for someone who was well-practiced in guitar. You’d seen him play once in the guitar class you both had signed up for as an elective, watched the way his fingers expertly moved over the strings while you fumbled pathetically. 

You weren’t really aware of Eddie slipping his heavy rings off, putting them on the coffee table with soft thumps. Even knowing how good he is with his hands, nothing prepared you for the way your mind turned upside down when he slid his middle and ring fingers inside of you.

“Oh,” you exhaled, his thumb still steadily rubbing over the swollen bump of your clit. You were so wound up, arousal forming a knot in the pit of your stomach. Your back curved to desperately grind your hips against his hand, any embarrassment forgotten as your eyes practically roll back in your head. Eddie’s fingers pressed into the squishy spot on the front wall of your pussy, his gaze focused on the way his fingers plunged inside of you.

“Doing great, princess,” he hummed as you grabbed at him to ground yourself. Your fingers twisted into the strap of his black tank top, stretching the fabric in your pleasure-filled haze. It was impossible to keep still, your hips humping against the movement of his hand as you tossed your head back against the cushioned armrest of the couch. 

“Eddie…” you panted, starting to feel that familiar bliss of a climax coming. He’d gotten you there embarrassingly fast, your legs trembling around him as your chest heaves with each breath. He smiled, shushing you gently as his free hand caressed your cheek on its way to clasp around the back of your neck. The squelching noises filling the living room were ungodly, almost drowning out the sounds of the television altogether.

Eddie let out a soft chuckle. “It’s okay, just let it happen,” he said, his tone soft despite the undeniable rasp in his voice. It was like permission was all you needed to make the coil in your stomach snap with the harshness of a rubber band stretched too tight. You let out a soft sob as your cunt pulsed around his fingers, sucking at them greedily. You’d never cum so hard before in your life, your ears ringing as you squeezed your eyes shut. You were vaguely aware of the way you were chanting Eddie’s name like a broken record, your nails digging into his arm with no mercy.

Eddie slowed his fingers down, still working you through your orgasm until you were limp against the couch. You came back to reality with a sob, the sound thick and wet as overwhelmed tears form at the edges of your eyes. You felt weak as his fingers finally slow to a stop, your focus narrowing to just Eddie.

“That was so pretty,” he murmured, pulling his fingers from inside you. They were shiny, strings of your cum shining in the low light as he spread them. Eddie sucked them into his mouth with a grin, his eyes rolling back before he curled himself back over you to pull you into a needy kiss.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, the tang of your own pussy distinct as Eddie smeared his wet fingers on your ribcage. His hard cock pressed against the back of your thigh, warm and pulsing through his pajama pants and boxers as he rutted it against your soft flesh.

“Wanna fuck you, princess,” Eddie said between kisses, almost sounding drunk with the way his voice dropped into a low rumble. He kissed the corner of your mouth before his lips fluttered up your soft jawline. He paused to suckle behind your ear, his plush lips making you whine pathetically again.

You realized you wanted to have sex with him. The way he said it made you clench around nothing, desperation rising in you again. “Eddie, I’m a virgin,” you mumbled, embarrassed and worried about his response.

He pulled back to look you in the eyes, seriousness and lust mixing in his expression as he looked down at you. His hips slowed, still pressing his erection against your thigh and slowly rocking. He bit his lip, one hand smoothing some hair off your face. “What do you want to do? Don’t want you to feel like you gotta do anything.”

The pressure lifted from your chest, the worry dissipating as quickly as it had arrived. “I want to,” you said, lifting your head to kiss him quickly. For some reason you felt comfortable with Eddie, that panic that you have had before with previous guys nonexistent.

His eyes widened as though he didn’t expect that response, a grin stretching across his face and making his eyes wrinkle at the corners. “Okay,” he breathed, unable to keep the excitement out of his tone. He lifted himself off of you in a stiff motion, palming at the front of his pants as he looked down at you. “You just stay here, I’ll be right back.” 

He disappeared down the hall to his room, shutting the door behind him to hide it from your view. When he came back he had a silver foil in his hand, the other one pulling off his tank top and dropping it to the floor. 

“Seems like you’re hiding something in your room,” you said, a soft joke to ease the tension as Eddie settled himself between your legs again. He was ripping the condom wrapper open when he cracked a smile, his gaze flicking back up to yours.

“I didn’t know such a beautiful girl would be over or I would’ve cleaned my room,” he said in explanation. “You’re sure about this?” he asked, discarding the wrapper on the table.

“Yeah, I am,” you said, biting your lower lip as you nodded.

Eddie accepted your confirmation, pushing his pants and boxers down just enough to free himself. You propped yourself up on your elbows as you looked at his cock, not sure if it was big or average sized–but there was no way it could be considered small. The tip was red and engorged as his dick curved up and slightly to the left from a thatch of curly brown hair. There were prominent veins on the underside of it, the ridges visible in the skin as he took himself in his fist to roll the condom on.

“Lay down,” he said as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your clit a few times, making you gasp. Even through the condom it was hot to the touch. Eddie’s eyes were dark as he looked at you, still rubbing his cock along your cunt. “If you want to stop, you just tell me, princess. Okay?”

You exhaled as the head of his cock caught at your entrance, making your pussy clench needily. “Uh huh, I’ll tell you, Eddie,” you agreed frantically. 

The press of the crown of his cock into your dripping cunt coaxed a gasp out of you. It was a burning stretch despite how slow he was going, your hips wiggling to find a comfortable position. It didn’t hurt, but it was different, the sensation of fullness making you let out little huffs of air as he pushed into you. He kissed any part of you his mouth could reach, peppering his lips over your face and neck as he slotted himself inside you. 

Eddie caged you to the couch, his hand stroking your hair and your neck and your waist. He just kept going and going, your back arching and your pussy fluttering around him as you adjusted to the new sensation. Your huffs turned into whines, your head spinning as you started to feel overwhelmed.

“Shh,” Eddie hummed into your ear, an attempt to soothe you. “Relax, you’re doing so good for me, princess. Deep breath.” 

The breath you took in at his instruction was rough and ragged, rattling in your lungs. He snorted a soft chuckle in response. 

He drove the rest of his cock into you in one smooth motion, punching all the air from your body with a soft yelp. Your hands found his shoulders, holding onto him has you hooked your legs around his waist. You felt full and vulnerable beneath him, your walls stretched tight around him as the two of you breathed together for a moment.

Eddie decided you were adjusted enough, pulling out and thrusting back in. Your hips lurched with nowhere to go, a quiet ah pulling itself from your throat.

He leaned forward to press his lips to yours as he slid rhythmically in and out of you, making you mewl pathetically against his mouth. Eddie was relentless, fucking you smoothly as he mashed his lips against yours. You could hardly think straight, clinging to him as he pressed you into the cushions of the couch.

The wet, squelching noises of your pussy were loud, your tight walls sucking at Eddie’s cock greedily each time he pulled back from you. His fingers dug into the fat of your thighs, keeping you where he wanted you as you took every inch of him inside of you. His teeth nipped softly at your jaw, making your head spin as you felt yourself slipping closer and closer to brainlessness.

“You’ve got the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, you know that, princess?” Eddie groaned into your ear, his pace picking up. “She’s so fucking hot and tight around me, poor thing just needed my cock so bad.”

His voice makes you moan, the way he’s talking to you makes delight bubble in your chest. You got lost in the feeling of the head of his cock rubbing against the spongy spot on the inside of your pussy. Your brow was furrowed, lips pouting as it started to feel like you’d snap again. 

Eddie lifted himself off of you, his gaze fixed on where his cock kept sinking into you over and over again. His hand smoothed over the hinge where your thigh met your hip, his thumb stretching out to swipe over your swollen clit. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as you clenched around him like a vise, a punched-out groan rumbling from his chest as his free hand dug into your waist to keep leverage.

You were trembling beneath him, your skin started to feel like it was stretched too tight over your body. “Eddie, I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, his pace grinding a second orgasm out of you like it was his job. 

You were almost delirious from being stuffed full of his cock, your legs trembling around him as your back arched off the cushions of the couch. Eddie kept his pace, his own resolve starting to crumble as his thrusts got increasingly sloppy. His hands both found your waist, his thrusts becoming quick and shallow as his long, curly hair fell in his face. His eyes fluttered shut as soft grunts and whimpers pulled from his throat.

Watching Eddie cum made your heart twist, the way he stopped thrusting to grind into you as he crumpled down to press his chest to yours is almost tender. Your legs wrapped around his waist, everywhere that your skin was pressed together was sticky with sweat. Eddie spilled into the condom, part of you wishing he hadn’t worn it at all so you could get the full sensation. The sound he made was breathless and sultry, his mouth open and head tucking into the curve of your neck as he kept his hips tightly pressed to yours.

Your eyes slipped closed, your hands curling into the damp curls at the nape of his neck as you both caught your breath. You pressed kisses to the shell of Eddie’s ear, a bit delighted that the night had turned out this way. The muscles of your thighs were starting to burn from being bent in an unfamiliar angle, but you weren’t about to protest.

After a few moments Eddie pulled out of you with a hiss, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead. There was a look of affection in his eyes as he regarded you with a goofy smile that matched your own. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked up at him.

“I think you should start coming over more often.”

[blueteller]

The "Scent of Arm", according to Ron

There was that bit early on in the TCF series that I didn't get for a really long time.

Ron, on sight, recognized a certain scent "lingering" on Choi Han, which made him and his son Beacrox believe that he was a member of Arm. He recognized it from many years ago when the Molan residence was attacked by the members of the secret organization.

The thing is, the scent disappeared after Choi Han washed up at the Henituse mansion, thanks to Cale's hospitality, causing a major divergence. In TBOAH, Choi Han would not get the chance to "freshen up", and the Molans would follow him out of the city, abandoning their jobs as servants of the Henituse family solely because they suspected him of being from Arm. Later on, that suspicion would get cleared up and they would stay because they got actual trace of the organization.

However, in TCF, after Choi Han got cleaned up a bit, Ron instantly changed his mind and decided "no, it couldn't have been Arm after all, there is no way those guys could have come here all the way from the Eastern Continent".

So, that begs the question... what was the "scent of Arm", exactly?

My first thought, on my first time reading, was "of course, it was the scent of blood and murder, because Choi Han just came from a massacre". But that.... doesn't make much sense, does it? Ron is an assassin. He used to deal with murder and blood on a regular basis, it was literally his job. Why would such a generic scent would immediately make him think "it has to be Arm"? Even if we think of it as trauma because Arm destroyed his home, that still doesn't really add up. Especially when after Choi Han cleaned up, he instantly changed his mind. Just because the guy washed up that didn't make him any less dangerous or strong. So blood and murder as the scent of Arm, that's out.

My thoughts on the second re-read went into a slightly different direciton. Maybe it had something to do with the scent of the Forest of Darkness? Specifically, the dead mana from that forest? We know it's special, since dead Dragon mana is basically non-existent in the natural world, due to the fact that Dragons who died a natural death would turn into dust, not decay and create dead mana. The swamp with the Dominating Aura also acted as a container and let it thicken up over time in the poisoned water. That kind of rare, specific smell would make more sense as something that Ron could recognize on sight, right?

However, after thinking it over, I realized that also did not make that much sense either. Even if we accept the fact that ordinary mooks from Arm could have dead mana smell just because they traded some of it to the mermaids to help them fight against the Whales... all of that happened MUCH later than the fall of the Molan family. Why would Arm lackeys in the Eastern Continent smell like the forbidden region of the Western Continent? We can't even assume it was the extremely general dead mana smell that Ron confused as the scent of the organization, because Ron isn't an idiot; even if he doesn't know any dark creatures personally at this point, he KNOWS what dead mana is. And that's still too common thing to see Choi Han smell of it and instantly decide: yes, this guy must be related to Arm! Like, come on. That's such a farfetched conclusion. Ron wouldn't be that dumb.

My third take, was Black Despair, which is something that is EXTREMELY specific and directly related to Arm. Think about it: it does not occur naturally, Arm mass-produces it for demonic purposes, and the lackeys can all smell of it on both continents regardless of the timeline, since the White Star has been doing this stuff for a 1000 years. Also, Ron would not realize what it is, being a regular human and all, just know the smell of it and have a very averse reaction to it due to the traumatic memory it was tied to, as well as the nature of Black Despair itself. Now, I finally felt like I was getting somewhere!

There was still that lingering doubt in my mind, however. Would regular Arm assassins really smell of Black Despair? Like, all of them? Really? There's no way the Red Stars let their disposable foot soldiers anywhere near the stuff. Of course, there was the possibility that they were using it for some brainwashing black magic ritual, that let them "create" those type of suicidal pawns. But, still. I was a bit uncertain. Would Choi Han really smell of the same stuff simply because he killed a bunch of people who smelled of it??

That's when it hit me.

The smell wasn't Black Despair specifically... it was simply despair!!!

Think about it! All Arm forces SHOULD smell of despair. Either because they cause it, they feel it themselves, they spread it, and the black magic they use is fueled by it!! With despair being a literal force one can sense, of course it would have a powerful, lingering stench.

And most importantly? Choi Han's attribute is also despair!

It you think about it this way, it all becomes clear now! Choi Han was soaked both in despair from the Arm assassins he killed, the despair of the Harris Villagers that were murdered, AND his own lingering despair that radiated from him because of his trauma and the attribute he developed!!! So when he came to the Henituse mansion, of course he was a huge red flag for the Molans! They recognized the exact same despair and instantly decided to get rid of the threat!

HOWEVER. What happens the next day in TCF? Choi Han washes up. Choi Han's clothes are new, clean, his attribute is safely tucked away due to lack of danger, and most importantly? His despair starts to disappear because of CALE! Choi Han has hope, a new objective – paying Cale back – a goal in his mind, and he shows a softer, vulnerable side when he tells Cale "but you don't even know who I am". Choi Han's despair isn't all gone of course, not even close. But he isn't soaked in it anymore.

And Ron SEES all of this, sees this guy who was just REEKING of despair the day prior but has a whole new vibe today, and begins to doubt. Because of course he does!! If Choi Han was really a member of Arm, there's no way all that scent of despair could have disappeared after a single bath. So he comes to the very reasonable conclusion that he was wrong, and stops worrying about Arm's return.

Of course, later on he catches onto the scent again as he travels with Cale, so he follows the trail, separates from the group as early on as the Plaza Terror Incident, and after getting the very public confirmation that Arm is, indeed, on the Western Continent, he goes off to track Redika down all the way to Hais Island 5.

And that's why, my friends, I believe that the "scent of Arm" that Ron was talking about was Despair. Not Black Despair specifically, just the scent of Despair that Arm causes all around the world. A bit different from Choi Han's own despair, but similar enough to be confused with it.

[kotton-kandy953]

❏ 𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐀 !

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 love interest ꒱ . . . yandere ! modern ! college au ! albedo x fem ! reader

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 format ꒱ . . . oneshot

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 warnings ꒱ . . . lowkey mad scientist albedo, obsessive themes, plenty of mentions of death, stalking mention, suggestive themes, suicide mentions, yandere themes

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 synopsis ꒱ . . . In which your academic rival’s plan to kill you backfires in the worst way possible.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 authors note ꒱ . . . this was going to be in my highschool Au but it made more sense for me to put him and the reader in college. I had this idea before the 5.6 trailer came out so both of these having to do with albedo and murder is a crazy coincidence.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 word count ꒱ . . . 3.3k

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝙴𝚁𝙾𝚃𝙾𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙰 (noun): ᴀ ᴅᴇʟᴜꜱɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴀ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ

The mere thought of you drove him crazy.

Well, “crazy” is an understatement — you drive him half-insane. Albedo absolutely and utterly despised every single thing about you.

He hated how disorganized you were, how smart you were, how stubborn you were. He could just go on and on…

Albedo has held this resentment towards you since high school, but you deciding to go to the same college as him really threw him off. To make matters even worse, you two had dorms right beside each other. It felt almost as if you were everywhere, as if you were going to haunt him for eternity.

And because of this, Y/n, he wanted you dead.

And the craziest part is that Albedo isn’t even a violent person! Although, he couldn’t help but find joy in the thought of hearing word of your passing and knowing that he was the one responsible.

It took a lot of planning, light stalking, and stealing a few things from the science lab to complete, but it was worth it. It was all going to be worth it once you disappear.

And disappear how, you ask? Well it’s simple: He was going to make a potion to kill you.

Of course, he could’ve just bought some toxic drugs or what not, but why not use his talents? And where would a college student find lethal poison anyway? At a gas station? He needed something that would kill instantly and efficiently, so what’s better than making of yourself?

Nevertheless, Albedo has made many, many, potions and whatnot before but nothing like this. Nothing to inflict harm upon another.

Now, he may be a little… mentally unstable… but murder is still a stretch for the Biochemistry Major. He just had a vision of your dead body lying on your dorm floor and he wanted to make it a reality. Is that too much to ask?

It was in the middle of the night when Albedo laid out his science equipment all on his desk as he began to work. The thought crossed his mind that there might be a rule against making poisons for the person you despise the most in your dorm, but he highly doubted that.

After about an hour or so of following the instructions for the potion he wrote down in his used notebook, he held the vial of the toxic, pink-purple liquid up to his face as he eyed it suspiciously. Isn’t it supposed to be a more indigo color…?

He must’ve added something wrong, but he failed to notice that. When reaching over to grab his pen to take note of his observations, his hand slipped and the vial shattered as it hit the hard, wooden floor.

“Oh Archons-” He flinched as the glass shattered as it hit the floor. When he kneeled down to cautiously pick up the broken shards of glass and throwing them in the trash with gloved fingers, he noticing a strange fragrance filling the room. It smelled vaguely like… flowers? No, maybe… maybe it doesn’t matter!

Albedo’s eyes widened in panic as he stood up to his feet, feeling a bit dizzy, as he reached over the desk for his notebook.

The handwriting in front of him grew harder and harder to read. His vision was starting to blur, then came a brutal headache.

At this point, even a preschooler could tell that something was horribly wrong. He fell to his knees, his hands moving up to his head, pulling at his dirty blond hair in pain. He hyperventilated, the concentration of the potions’ aroma in the air being too strong.

Don’t tell me I’m going to die here… he thought to himself.

Did he somehow manage to kill himself in his attempt to murder you?

Then, he blacked out.

Abdeo’s been out cold for about six hours until he finally wakes again.

The strange fragrance of the mysterious potion is now gone. He was lying flat on his face on his dorm room floor, not the most comfortable way to be sleeping for six hours straight.

Nevertheless, he sits up rather quickly, that aching migraine from last night hitting him like a bus.

He’s so glad today’s a Saturday.

His original plan for today was to follow you to that café you go to every Saturday morning, put a few drops of the potion in your drink, then watch everything else play out. But, as you can see, his plain had been foiled.

“It’ll take me months to find someone who sells these same chemicals…” he gripes, not even touching on the fact that he still had to return the things he’s stolen from the science lab, but that’ll be fine.

After about 20 minutes of cleaning up the equipment he had used last night, Albedo decided it’d be best for him to get some fresh air. You know, inhaling toxic fumes could be detrimental to your health.

Deciding that it’d be best to get some fresh air outside, Albedo leaves his dorm.

Upon opening the door and stepping out the room, the first person he sees is you. He stopped right in his tracks, feeling this strange, tingly feeling all over his body.

Had he never really… looked at you before? Or has he been too busy hating you to even realize that…

“…you’re gorgeous…” he mutters quietly, not sure if he was talking more to himself or you.

It would have been obvious to anyone who walked by that he had been sitting there staring at you for a while. His gaze was intense, yet brimming with fascination. He had never — never looked at you like this before. And it was making you a bit uncomfortable.

His lips parted, but what left his mouth was somewhere close to complete silence. What is wrong with him??

Pursing your lips together, you narrowed your eyes at the blond and walked right passed him into your dorm.

What just happened…? He blinked. He had never, ever, even thought of saying such a thing about you. Albedo calling you “gorgeous” was not exactly what he was expecting to leave his mouth right then.

He ran back into his dorm and shut the door behind him. Feeling l his face burning red, he refused to believe that it was because of you. No — it was just hot in here… so, so, hot- maybe he should open a window?

Stumbling over his own feet, he opens the window to his bedroom. He may should have done that earlier…

Once the windows were open, he looked down at his sweetly palms. His hands were shaking. His face probably didn’t show it, but he was freaking out.

Why did I suddenly feel so — so strange around her…? Is this a side affect of the potion?

“Don’t tell me I…” his eyes widened, his blood growing cold.

“…No, no, that’s impossible. Love potions don’t exist — do they?”

He wanted to deny it with every fiber of his being, but the discolor of the potion and the strange infatuation with you all fell in place together too easily.

But everyone makes mistakes, right?

Even if that “mistake” is accidentally making a love potion out of what he was going to use to kill his rival, accidentally using it on himself, then falling in love with said rival.

Throwing his head back with a sigh, he ran his fingers through his messy, blond hair. Archons, that dammed headache was coming back again. Is that a side affect of the potion as well? But at this point, that is the last thing in his mind right now.

It’s around 10 in the morning now and Albedo is this close to losing it.

He was already on the brink of insanity before, but that potion did something to him that couldn’t he reversed.

He laid in bed all day thinking, maybe I just have to sleep it off. But he couldn’t fall asleep. He couldn’t keep his eyes closed — not when you were on his mind. His splitting headache wasn’t helping either…

He thought about you endlessly, how could he not? You were just so beautiful and- and… Stop it. Just stop. I can’t feed into my… current “obsession” or it’ll only grow worse.

Albedo tossed and turned in pain and discomfort as he wondered what you were doing right now, at this very second.

Were you okay? Were you out with your friends or in your dorm? He never really payed that much attention to your personality traits to determine if you’re more extroverted or introverted…

Were you even thinking about him?

“Archon’s know what’s happening to me… just why can’t I get you out my mind…?” Was the last thing he said before getting off his bed and began frantically searching through the items on his messy desk full of his own (and some stolen) science equipment and used notebooks.

He had taken one too many painkillers over the past few hours for his headache, but they barely affected him.

It took him until his dorm room was, well, a mess, and his headache to come back for him to realize what actually had happened.

“I made a love potion didn’t I?”

As he sat in the chain before his desk, his face fell in his hands as an exasperated sigh left his lips.

But this explanation is the only logical one out there. You were the first person he made eye contact with since he inhaled the gas let off by the potion. Not only that, but he must’ve added an extra ingredient — which he still cannot find by the way — in it by mistake, causing it to turn a strange purple-pink color.

Now, this may raise the question, “but aren’t love potions supposed to be consumed to take affect on someone?” Well, the large, capitalized words written above the recipe for the potion Albedo failed to make speaks volumes, “DO NOT INHALE OR INGEST THIS POTION IN ANY FORM.” “Ingest” includes inhaling, consuming, and entering the body in anyway.

Finally coming to terms with what’s happened to him, Albedo shows a look of apparent defeat on his face. How could he make such a mistake…?

Well, at least he wouldn’t be a suspect of murder.

Opening his journal again, he started adding extra notes to the page about the potion before getting a bit distracted and beginning to add little drawings on the paper.

He’d rather do that than clean his room anyway.

Without even realizing, he had drawn a picture of you on the next page. You even looked beautiful in his art style… if only he could see your pretty face just one more time— “-Nope. No. Stop it.” He shut his the small book in his hands, feeling the blood rush to his face again.

If he wants the affects of this potion to wear off sooner, he needs to stop thinking or talking about you in general, any means necessary.

Albedo rips the page from the book and tossed it into the nearby trash. The trash with a burned hole in the side of it from a failed experiment from months ago…

He really needed some sleep. Yes, sleep! Maybe he could just sleep this potion off, that way… that way he can get back hating you.

Maybe sleep wasn’t the best decision.

Firstly, it was four in the morning the time he woke up. The sun wasn’t even up yet.

Reaching over on his nightstand to grab his phone to check the time, the first thing he thought of, of course, was you.

“So this potion casts longer than a day… great,” he sighs as sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his pretty, icy blue eyes. “You’re just infecting me mind like a disease aren’t you, Y/n…” he typed in his password, having the fleeting thought of changing it to your birthday.

Speaking of you, Albedo knows all of your social media accounts. As a matter of fact, he has you blocked on all of them except for one.

He only has you unblocked on that one particular social for all of the wrong reasons.

Well, for one, it was for him to stalk your posts, followers, and reposts to find out about your class (and personal) schedule. It was absolutely mandatory that he needed that information to determine when was the best time for him to… get rid of you.

But that plan is long gone now. Mainly because he’d now rather kill himself to end this archons forsaken curse than to ever bring harm upon you. But, unfortunately, he doesn’t have the time to die right now.

“My goodness, you’re divine…” He quietly muttered under his breath as he scrolled through the different photos of you and your college friends. He recognized quite a few of them but just bypassed them.

His eyes lingered on one particular photo of you until he realized what he was doing. It felt wrong — feeling this way about you, that is.

Albedo desired, he silently longed for you and only you. To see your face again, your real face, to listen to your sweet voice start up an argument with him. Watching your arms cross over your chest as your beautiful eyes stared at him with such hatred and annoyance.

Albedo’s fantasies were rudely interrupted by someone knocking at his door. When getting up to answer it, somewhere deep, deep inside of him desperately wanted it to be you — but it seems the Archon’s didn’t shine their favors upon him today.

He looked through the peephole and his eyes landed on the long, black ears sticking up from his short, black hair.

“Oh, it’s just Tighnari,” the blond muttered, a hint of disappointment in his voice. Although he enjoyed Tighnari’s presence, he isn’t exactly… you.

Tighnari is a Botany major who graduated from the same high school as Albedo; he is also one of the solitary alchemists’ very few friends.

With a disappointed sigh, he opened the door.

It took only Tighnari’s concerned expression for Albedo to realize what he must’ve looked like. He hasn’t paid that much attention to himself ever since he woke up on the floor the other morning. Oh, and don’t even get me started on how disheveled his room was.

He’s a relatively clean person, but going crazy with love can do something to a person. Especially someone who’s already a bit messed up in the head.

The two males stared at each other for a bit until Albedo says quietly, “Oh- I wasn’t expecting visitors…” he pressed his lips together as he raked his fingers through his messy, blonde hair.

“Yeah, I can tell.” his ears drooped down a bit as he sighed, “I’ve been calling you all day yesterday — and today! I assumed you were just out somewhere but without your phone? That was unlikely.”

Call? When did I receive a call…? “You called me?”

“Yeah, the other night? You borrowed my notes and I kinda need them back…”

Albedo blinked in confusion before his eyes widened in realization, “Oh, yes… I’ll go get them right now.”

Albedo rummaged through the miscellaneous items on his desk until he came back with a few papers in his hands. “Yeah, I completely forgot I had them,” and completely forgot to copy them down as well…

“It’s alright,” he gave the Albedo a small smile. “Why do you look like you’ve been asleep for five years, it’s only nine AM. You’re usually up by no—“

“-nine AM!?”

“Yes, I- did you not know?” Tighnari’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He sighed, “It’s- whatever. Have a good day, Albedo.”

Before he could say goodbye, Tighnari was already gone.

Albedo walked back into his dorm room and slammed the door shut behind him, not really caring about how loud he was. He stood with his back against the door and his hand lingering on the doorknob for an extra moment or two as his mind ran wildly with thoughts.

“I should’ve told him about the potion… or maybe I made the right decision by biting my tongue.”

By Monday morning, Albedo forced himself to go to class. But he wasn’t exactly prepared — mentally, I mean. He did stay up all last night staring at photos of you (and cleaning his room), but he wasn’t as tired as he thought he would be.

This potion is really taking a toll on my mental health…

Before he left his dorm, Albedo stood in front of the mirror above his sink and took a long look at himself. How couldn’t he have ever noticed the dark circles under his eyes or how messy his hair was.

But he didn’t care. He was just going to class and coming back. Nothing more, nothing less.

With a sigh, he left his door and locked the door behind him. Before he turned to walk away, his eyes drifted over to your door. The image of you the morning he woke up from his unconscious state came back to him. Oh, how he wanted to see you again.

Good thing you’re in his first class.

He sat in far back corner of the classroom, deliberately trying sitting away from everyone else. His face rested in his palm, his missing sleep catching up to him, his eyelids growing heavy until he noticed someone walking by to get to their seat.

It was you. You paid no mind to him, but his eyes watched your every move even as you took his pen, his only pen, off his desk. It was but a fleeting moment when your skin grazed his hand to snatch away his pen.

It took him a moment or two to really realize that you had taken his only pen. But it didn’t matter to him, he wasn’t going to take notes anyway…

Looking over at you, you stared at him with a small smirk on your lips. You held the bottom end of the pen between your teeth, obviously teasing him.

Obviously, you expected Albedo, well, pre-love potion Albedo, to seethe in anger, but he only stares at you with an unreadable expression on his face. His pale blue eyes staring straight into you from across the lecture hall.

What’s up with him…? You’d think.

When the lecture began, his eyes were still stuck in your direction. He could only see the side of your face, but that was enough for him. His mind went blank as you chewed on the pen, his pen. Were you still teasing him? Or is it only a habit?

How could he focus on whats being said by the professor when he’s imagining all of the things he could be doing to you right now- stop it! Stop thinking of her like that!

Albedo let out a shuddering sigh before pressing his red face into his palms resting on the desk before him. Albedo is usually a very calm and composed person, but not around you apparently.

In an attempt to calm himself down, he searches through his backpack for a good few minutes for something to write with until he finds an old pencil from the beginning of the school year. “I thought I had lost this,” he muttered.

It didn’t take long for where his notes were supposed to be is replaced by yet another drawing of you. As a matter of fact, all that he’s been drawing lately is you… but we should all know the reason as to why by now.

When Albedo drew you, he studied every single detail of your beautiful face, and having a front row seat to you made this even easier.

When class was over, Albedo signed with relief. But he did have a few more classes left for the day… but they could wait.

He had a more important person on his schedule today…

After packing up all his things, he followed right after of you out the lecture hall. Archon’s, you were divine. You even smelled divine…

The mere thought of you drove him crazy.

This is the longest fanfic I’ve posted onto tumblr yet so yippie!

If you want a part two, I might make one :3 !!

[bahablastplz]

Cosmic Love: Chan x Reader x Felix

A night at the club turns into a lot more than you anticipated, all thanks to a stupid text that you don't even remember sending. The next day, Chan and Felix invite you over for dinner. That's all it is, right? Content: Smut, minor angst, fluff Warnings: Use of petnames 'love,' and 'babygirl,' threesome, fingering, oral (f! and m! receiving), p in v sex, lots of praise, spanking (barely), humiliation/second hand embarrassment WC: 4700

It starts like this: 

Chan texts you the morning after you go to the club. Of course, you’re hungover out of your mind, but that’s to be expected. On Saturday morning, or afternoon you suppose, you roll out of bed with a loud groan, a pulsing headache making its way behind your eyes. 

You notice that your makeup has been removed and you’re now sporting clothes much comfier than your dress and heels that were suffocating you last night at the club. Your phone is also plugged in, and you have been notorious for waking up with a dead phone the morning after waking up from a night out. 

You have half the mind to wonder, how the hell were you cognizant enough last night to do all of this? You certainly don’t remember it. It all makes sense when you check your notifications, screen a little too bright for your liking, and see that Chan had texted you an hour ago. 

Channie: Hey babygirl  I don’t know if you remember, but Felix and I brought you home last night~  You were pretty fucked up haha  If you’re feeling up to it, you want to join us for dinner tonight at my place?  Me you and Lix  Hope you’re feeling okay this morning. Let us know if you need anything, yeah? 

You groan. Of course Chan and Felix brought you home last night, that makes so much more sense. Chan has always been a natural caretaker, and if he was at the club last night and you tried to go home with some random guy or even take an Uber, he surely would have become overprotective and offered to take you home himself. 

Your heart pangs when you read the text again. Babygirl. The pet name makes it easy to remember the major crush you’ve been harboring for him for forever. Him and Felix both, honestly. You really really hope you didn’t say anything embarrassing last night that you can’t remember. That would be just your luck, honestly. Taking a deep breath, you make a note to take some Advil as you text him back. 

Y/N: Thanks so much  I’ll be there! Can’t wait 

He texts you back almost instantly: 

Channie:  Sick  We’re super excited 

A red flag should have raised over the fact that, though him and Felix were your closest friends, they almost never invited you over to their place. They almost always come over to yours when you hang out, and hangouts usually happen more organically. You brush the thought aside, chalking it up to Chan’s protective nature and need to make sure you’re okay after what was likely a rough night out. 

That’s all it is, right? 

You’re only giddy because of this stupid crush on your friends you can’t quite push away. There’s not anything more going on and there’s no lines to read between. You repeat this like a mantra as you get ready tonight, putting on just a little bit of makeup (for no reason in particular!!!), and repeat it once more as you knock on Chan’s door, bottle of wine in hand. 

He opens the door with a large smile, all teeth, that makes your heart beat a little faster. When you hand him the bottle of wine you’re met with a hearty laugh. “You sure you didn’t have enough of this last night?” he teases. You shove his chest lightly, giving him a devilish grin.

“What if I brought it for you?” You quip back. 

“I think we were imagining a type of fun that didn’t involve alcohol.” You give him a smile at his words, brows furrowing for a second before brushing off his words. He probably just means they intend to stay sober tonight. You’ve had plenty of nights that were fun that didn’t involve alcohol, so that’s all he meant by his words! Shrugging, you put the wine in the fridge instead of cracking it open, taking his advice to save the drink for another day. 

Dinner is amazing. Chan made it with Felix’s observation, as according to Chan the other shouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen ever again. You laugh as he dives into several stories of baking incidents gone wrong, including a time that Felix and Seungmin ended up burning everything they made. You defend your friend, telling Chan that Felix ‘does make killer brownies,’ which the other can’t argue with. It’s decided that Felix should do most of his cooking alone, as anytime he cooks with anybody else it ends up in a minor disaster. Felix looks thoroughly flushed and embarrassed by the end of your conversation so the two of you relent on your teasing. 

You decide on a movie. It’s not even really that entertaining and you’re barely paying attention if you’re being honest. It’s some movie you’d seen a hundred times before. You find your place between Chan and Felix, your body squished between your two friends. You nuzzle your head into Chan’s shoulder and prop your legs up onto Felix. You’re comfortable, very much so, though you tense for a second when you feel Felix’s hand rest on your thigh. You can also feel Chan’s breath on your neck, and you suddenly feel hot. Very hot. 

You hope they can’t feel how warm to the touch you’ve become, and at such a simple action at that. Are you really that pathetic? God, your crush on them has gotten out of hand, you think, but when Felix’s hand raises further up your thigh and starts rubbing teasing circles you’re not so sure this is all in your head anymore. Chan has always been touchy with you and Felix moreso, but this is just a little bit out of character for them. You’re worried to speak up for a second, scared that your words would make Felix retract his hand. When he looks up at you with an inquisitorial gaze, however, you can’t help the words that spill from your mouth. “Lix–” 

You’re not prepared for the words that come from the man behind you. 

“Tell me, Y/N,” Chan says lowly. “Do you want me to fuck you nice and hard?” He punctuates his words and your body physically tenses. Your world has come to a full stop. 

“What?” 

“Do you want me to–” 

“I… I heard you,” you interrupt. “I’m just… I’m not quite sure what you mean.” You feel afraid to look up at Chan from behind you, and you certainly don’t look at Felix; though his hand has stilled, it still rests firmly on your thigh. 

“I don’t know if you remember this,” Chan says. His demeanor has changed, and you’re met with a chuckle and a deep breath. He seems very shy compared to the man just seconds ago speaking into your ear. “Last night when you were at the club, you texted me and Lix in a group chat.” 

Fuck. 

That makes so much more sense, you think. No way would you have gotten that fucked up without doing something you would regret. You reach for your phone but a hand rests on top of yours, stilling your movement. 

“No, it’s okay,” he says in response to your panic. “I already have it pulled up. I was thinking I could read it to you.” 

“Chan, I’m sorry, I’m sure I didn’t–” 

He shushes you. For some reason sparks shoot up your spine at the action. You purse your lips shut, an action that implies your silence and you wait for him to continue. 

“Last night you were dancing with us,” he starts. “You were drunk out of your mind. I think you knew that already. But you texted Lix and I, and we could just tell you had enough to drink so we offered to take you home. But while we were in the car,” he laughs lightly. You don’t feel like laughing back, “While we were in the car, you texted us. It wasn’t meant for us, but you told us some things that you wanted us to, um, do to you.” 

“That’s not the worst part,” Felix provides unhelpfully. You glare at the man and he smiles sweetly. “Chris’ phone was connected to bluetooth and it read your texts out loud in the car.” 

You groan. Thank God you were drunk enough last night to not remember that because you’re not sure you can even relive the memory. In fact, even now you wish for the world to split open and swallow you whole. 

“Emmaaaaa,” Chan starts, reading your texts out loud in a voice that is obviously meant to resemble your own. You realize now that the text was meant for your best friend, the one that you use to hopelessly rant to about your strong unrequited crush for the two boys in question. 

“God they’re so finee  I want Channie and Lixie so bad fr  I just want them to ruin me  You know I’ve never been fucked right but I want Chan to just fuck me nice and hard ughhshh  I know you’re so tired of hearing me talk about this  But he’s so perfect I just know he could fuck me up sooo good  And Felix? I just want him to whisper filthy things in my ears With his perfect voice  He looks like such an angel I just want to see what he’s really like, if he’ll fuck me soft or nice and hard like Channie  I need them both to ruin me!!!! You don’t understand If I don’t get someone’s cock in my mouth–” 

“Oh my god that’s enough,” you interrupt. You’re not sure you can listen to another second of past-you embarrassing yourself, and you tell him as much when you shoot out of his grasp and turn around to look at him. He has a sly fucking grin on his mouth and you can’t help but feel like you’re the butt of a joke you didn’t ask to be a part of. “I… I can’t listen to you embarrass me anymore. I’m so sorry about what I said and I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Hell, you know I don’t even remember it, and I know that really doesn’t excuse it but I hope you know I never wanted to ruin our friendship. I know you guys don’t feel the same way so if you want, I can go and–” 

Chan puts his hands around your shoulders, halting your movements when you try to stand. 

“Woah woah woah, babygirl,” he says, trying to interrupt your sad attempt at salvaging your relationship. “It’s not what you think, actually. You could never ruin your friendship with us, okay?” You feel tears prick at your eyes, truly humiliated with how the night has progressed. Even now, Chan is here trying to be nice to you so you won’t feel bad about what happened which is somehow even more humiliating. 

“Did you really mean what you said?” Felix says, finally. 

“Can I even take it back now?” you say, laughing sardonically. “You know, drunk actions are sober thoughts, or whatever they say? I’m so sorry, again. Like I said, if you want me to leave I can.” Your eyes flit between Felix and Chan, gauging for a reaction, any sense that they may be uncomfortable with your actions. You’re surprised to find none. 

“If you really meant it,” Chan says, inhaling through his teeth and clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth, “Then we kind of had a proposal for you.” 

“What kind of proposal?” you ask suspiciously. 

“The kind where maybe we have sex? All three of us,” he suggests. 

What. 

What?

“What!?” Your brain supplies the only word it can think of. This is a joke, right? Your feelings that have been unrequited for so long are being reciprocated this casually? You stare blankly at the two men who are waiting for some sort of response. 

“I… I’m not sure if I can,” you answer finally. Though everything in your body is telling you yes yes yes, the arousal already pooling in between your legs, your brain finally seems to be the one in the forefront making the decisions. “I can’t do that, have ‘just sex’ with you. Either of you. And maybe I’m about to make a fool of myself even more tonight, but I have to admit that my feelings for you both run a lot deeper than just… sexual.” You let out a heavy sigh when you finally admit the truth. “I’m scared that I won’t be able to detach my emotions from it all, and I really don’t want to ruin what we have going on.” 

You’re met with silence and you open your eyes but don’t look at either of them, instead opting to look at the floor. Did Chan get a new carpet? It looks really nice–

“I don’t think it would be ‘just sex,’ babygirl.” Chan and that goddamned pet name that makes your heart flutter. “We’ve, uh, both liked you for a very long time. And we want this to go further, if you’re interested of course.” 

For the second time in one night, you feel as if the world has tilted on its axis. Maybe it has, because you feel a little bit dizzier now and your heart beats a little bit faster than it did just seconds ago. 

“Are you sure?” you ask, worrying your lip between your teeth. Felix takes his thumb and pulls your lip out from between your teeth, his thumb lingering for a second before pushing into your mouth. Your eyes close and your tongue swirls around the appendage. 

“Do you want this, love?” The deep timbre of his voice sends shivers down your spine and your eyes open, meeting his gaze. For a second, it feels as if nothing but you and Felix exist in this entire world, and you ponder his words for a second. If they really mean it and they have both liked you for a while now, you don’t have to worry about separating feelings from sex. You ponder what this means for your relationships going forward for a second but the pulsing need between your legs and the way your breath hitches when his thumb pushes further into your mouth tells you all you need to know. You want this. You nod your head and know it’s the right choice when you’re met with a reassuring smile. 

“If you’re sure, then we’re sure,” Chan says from beside you. You feel his fingers on your leg, veiny hands rubbing small circles on the expanse of your thigh. When he grips the plush of your thigh hard you can’t help the gasp that comes from your mouth, and Felix’s thumb releases from your mouth, wet with your saliva. You feel his hand come to rest on your face as he caresses you softly, brushing a stray hair away from your face as he leans in to kiss you. 

You breathe into the kiss but let him take the lead, soft and plush lips delicate against your own. When his tongue barely brushes your bottom lip you’re already opening your mouth for him eagerly, letting his tongue come into contact with yours. The kiss is passionate but almost too romantic for what you’re about to let him do to you. When you moan into the kiss he deepens it, hands pulling your face even closer to his own. 

You note the movement on the couch next to you and Chan taps your shoulder. When you turn your head to look at him he’s crashing his lips into yours in a bruising kiss, messy and desperate and it catches you off guard but you return his advances eagerly, lips and tongue moving expertly against one anothers. 

Felix’s hand comes and snakes around your waist, stopping your kiss just long enough to lift your shirt over your head. His warm breath hits your neck and it’s all you can focus on besides Chan’s wet tongue against yours, but then Felix’s fingers rub your nipples over the fabric of your bra and you’re keening backwards into his touch, running away while simultaneously trying to get more at the same time. 

When Chan finally breaks the kiss it’s with a groan and a long string of saliva connects you, wet and dirty. He sits back and admires the work that Felix is doing, having you come completely undone for him with just his fingers against your still clothed breasts. It’s Chan that reaches and unclasps your bra, leaving you utterly exposed in front of the two men in front of you and he wastes no time before joining Felix in his ministrations. 

The teasing becomes too much, tongue and teeth and pinching over your abused breasts, and at this point you’re not sure how much more squeezing of your thighs together you can do before it comes to much. 

“Please,” you breathe, and you’re not even quite sure what you’re asking for. 

“Please what, babygirl?” Chan coos at you, words laced with a teasing lilt. You reach forward and grab his hand and it’s like your breath stops when you place his hand right between your legs where you need him the most. “Want me to touch you?” He asks. His breathing is heavy and you admire his attempt at trying to keep his composure. 

“Yes, please,” you nod, eyes never leaving his. Not even when his hand cups your clothed pussy and you buck up into him with a cry. Felix shifts from behind you and pulls your back into his chest as Chan reaches down to pull down your shorts with one swift motion. 

You’re completely bare for them now, and you have little time to dwell on this fact before Felix grabs your legs and spreads them open, hooking them over his own. His hands rest on your thighs, holding you into place and giving Chan access to your sopping core. 

“God, babygirl you’re soaked,” Chan notes, two fingers swiping in between your folds. You can hear it, the wetness pooled between your legs, but when he leans his face forward and meets his tongue with your clit you can’t help the surprise that creeps from your throat. 

He’s relentless, his tongue flicking and circling your clit mercilessly. Your legs shake and try to close but are held open by Felix’s own. 

You look up at the man behind you with teary eyes and open mouth, thinking about asking him to give you mercy but the expression on his face tells you all you need to know. He’s enjoying this just as much as Chan is. 

“Does that feel good?” he asks into your ear. 

“Yes, oh my god,” you tell him as his lips come down to meet yours in a short peck. They ultimately land on your neck, nipping at the junction between your neck and ear. 

“Tell me how good,” he instructs. “Tell me how good he’s making you feel.” 

“So good, Felix, oh,” you moan. Two of Chan’s fingers thrust into you, in motion with the way that his tongue abuses your clit and it’s already too much. “God, Felix, he’s making me feel so good. He’s… He’s eating me out so good, his tongue feels…oh my–” you know you’re babbling but you can’t help the moan that interrupts your words. Felix shushes you, and you think his hands are going to find place in your hair to soothe you but instead they make way to your breasts, still sensitive from just minutes prior. 

His thumb and pointer finger pinch your nipples between his fingers, tugging and twisting them. Your back arches at his touch and your skin prickles at his low voice in your ear. 

“You’re doing so, so good for us, love. Fuck, you’re being so good letting Channie eat your pussy like that,” he says. One hand comes to grab the flesh at your hip, kneading it as he continues to tease your pebbled nipple between his fingers. “Do you like being good for us?” 

“Yes, fuck, fuck, I like being good for you,” you cry out. “Love it so much, oh my god–” and as Chan’s fingers curl up inside of you, you find your orgasm being ripped out of you with no warning. You’re cumming hard around his fingers, pulsing tightly as he lets you ride out your high on his face. Behind you Felix takes to setting a slow pace in rubbing his hands up and down your body, grounding you with his touch as he whispers praises in your ears. 

When you finally open your eyes again, you truly feel like you have woken up in a different dimension. 

“Holy fuck–” you rasp, noting when Felix wipes a tear from your eyes you hadn’t realized you had shed. 

“Do you think you can take us, babygirl?” Chan asks as he pulls his fingers from your center. He reaches across your body to offer his soaking fingers to Felix, who eagerly takes them in his mouth for the chance to taste you. You don’t miss the way he moans around Chan’s fingers. 

“Yes,” you say softly. “Want you both.” 

Felix reaches down and kisses you, much more comfortable this time with the way that he allows himself to be rougher with you, pushing his tongue into your mouth with a boldness that was lacking earlier. When you pull apart you notice the large hands on your waist that aren’t his and you’re being flipped around by Chan before you can process it. Your ass is up in the air and you’re on all fours now, squeaking when Chan lands a quick hit to your ass and kneads the flesh. 

When you tilt your head up to look at Felix you notice him pulling his pants and boxers down past his thighs, letting his cock spring free and resting at your face. He taps it against your cheek and he looks down at you, silently checking to make sure  you’re okay. Looking up at him with bright wide eyes you blink, asking him for permission as you open your mouth wide for him. 

He pushes in with a groan, letting his cock rest on your tongue for a second. You suckle on his tip and let your tongue swirl around his head, watching how reactive he is with amusement. Even though you haven’t fully started sucking him off yet he is breathy, eyes dark in the way he looks at you and strokes your hair. 

He pushes his length further into your mouth and you groan, taking him fully. He sets the pace, slow and languid, pulling his cock fully out of your mouth before shoving it back in with expertise. 

You barely register the hands behind you that grab your ass until you feel Chan’s tip prodding at your entrance, barely pushing inside you. You let out a shaky breath around Felix and Chan takes that as a sign to push into you fully. 

The stretch is welcoming. Your jaw goes slack as you take a moment to process the protrusion, clenching tightly around him as he stills. Felix uses your mouth now, setting the rhythm for the man behind you as well. Relaxing, you let yourself be used by both of the men. You feel Chan’s thighs smack the back of yours, wet and messy and relentless. This causes you to jerk forward, pushing you back and forth onto Felix’s cock. Chan’s hands press into your hips, desperate and harsh and sure to leave bruises in its wake.

“God, love, your mouth,” Felix moans. His hand in your hair is soft in its caresses, contradictory from the way his hips snap into your face ruthlessly. “You’re doing so fucking good for us, baby. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For Chan to fuck you nice and hard, yeah? For me to whisper filthy things in your ear?” 

You do what you can to nod your head, though it’s pathetic with the way your mouth is full of him. You know you look utterly debauched, absolutely used from the two men you’ve found yourself in between. The mascara you applied before is running down your face along with tears of pleasure, and you find yourself continuously blinking them away to look up at Felix. Your hands find place on the bed beside you, fingers curling into the sheets. You’re close, incredibly so, and you know it’s not much longer until you come over the edge. 

Felix lets out a low groan and you feel his cock twitch in your mouth. With a sharp grasp on your hair he spills into your mouth, right down your throat in hot spurts. You swallow around him thickly and he pulls out, wiping a bit of spit off of your mouth with his thumb. 

You fall forward into Felix’s lap, arching your back in order to give Chan full access to your dripping hole. He takes full advantage of it, fucking into you with reckless abandon. Now that your mouth is free, you have full opportunity to speak–though, the only thing that comes out of your mouth now are loud moans and broken, choked sobs. 

“Chan, fuck, oh my, I’m gonna cum, fuck I’m gonna come–” you babble. 

“Sweet girl, is he fucking you stupid?” Felix asks, wrapping his arms around you and making you look into his eyes. When you meet his gaze you nod your head sporadically. 

Chan grunts from behind you, his hips starting to stutter. “Fuck, Lix. I’m close,” he warns. “Touch her pretty clit for me, make her cum for us.” Felix does as instructed, snaking his hand down to where Chan pushes in and out between your bodies. “So good, love. Cum for us,” he says into your ear. 

His fingers barely brush your clit when you’re cumming hard around Chan’s cock, squeezing around his length hard. He rocks his hips into yours, helping you ride out your release before he pulls out and cums all over your ass. You’re whining and clutching onto Felix, though you don’t realize it; his hand runs small circles onto your back. When he looks down at you it’s as if you hung the stars, gaze so full of adoration that your heart batters against your chest in response loud enough that he very well might hear it. 

Somewhere behind you, Chan leaves and then returns with something to clean you up. You only know this when you feel the soft material on your back and you let out a grunt of appreciation. Chan sits next to you now, spooning you from the side where you lay across Felix’s body. 

“Are you okay?” Chan speaks softly. 

You scoff. “I just fucked the two people I’ve been in love with for years. You think I’m not okay?” 

“Love. You love us?” Felix asks. 

You laugh. You can’t help it, because how the fuck do you keep on embarrasing yourself like this? It’s as if they can read your mind, because before you can backtrack or word-vomit they’re already speaking. 

“I don’t know if I made this clear,” Chan starts. “But my feelings for you, they’re strong. I love you too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“Same here, love. We’ve wanted this for forever. If you’ll let us have you, we want you to be ours.” He whispers a soft ‘I love you’ into your hair and you find yourself overcome with emotion. 

The movie is still playing on the TV. It makes you laugh when you realize something. 

“Did you both seriously invite me over for dinner just so you could seduce me?” 

“Hey hey!” Chan laughs, tickling your side for a moment. “You’re the one that begged for us to ruin you, babygirl. Did you get what you wanted?” 

“I don’t know,” you say, pretending to be in thought. “I’m not feeling super ruined at the moment.” 

“That can be arranged.” 

*** Last installment of the threesome series <3 Thank you everyone for reading. If you want to check out the other three chapters, you can find them in my masterlist.

Taglist: @lolareadsimagines @elizalabs3 @chvn-max

[midnight-mourning]

Breath of Fresh Air

🐟🐟Midnight's DCA MerMay Day 4🐟🐟

more evil fucked up writing bc it's my mermay writing and i get to be evil with it, enjoy :D

DCFPU prompt used: Saltwater

Word Count: 2238

Content Warning: drowning, death, blood & mentions of gore, vomiting (saltwater) heavy themes/imagery, communication barriers that cause MAJOR issues, reader discretion is heavily advised

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"No, no please. Please you have to reconsider!" You beg as you're dragged across the deck. 

The weight of the cinder blocks attached by chains to your ankle is a dreadful reminder of the fate that awaits you unless you can change their minds. You'd done nothing wrong, all it had been was suspicion, no proof, no chance to show your innocence. 

They were just going to kill you without hesitation. 

He was going to kill you without hesitation. 

Your—now ex—boyfriend, Tom, leans against the railing of the boat, smoking a cigarette and checking the time on his watch. Bored, uninterested. As if he's not about to end your life. All of this from a stupid fight you couldn't even remember the cause of. 

Guess that's what you get for dating someone in the mob. 

He doesn't even spare you a glance, just waves his hands to toss you overboard. You thrash and curse and eventually scream as you're met with the sudden chill of the water all around you. You sink fast into the pitch black, panicking and fighting with all your might to make something happen. 

You want to yell out at the unfairness of it all. But the more rational part of you knows better than to even think of opening your mouth, especially when pressure begins to build in your ears and on your chest. You start to have a desperate desire to breathe in, having foolishly expelled energy while on your way down. 

You can't even really tell that you've stopped sinking, hardly noticing how the water no longer rushes around you. Your eyes sting from the harsh burn of the saltwater. You swallow instinctively and it's like being punched in the chest from the pressure of it. Your ears feel like they might explode. 

Your chest starts to shake as you realize you can't hold your breath any longer. You don't know what happens when you drown. Are you able to think at all as you succumb to the crushing weight? Is it instant or will it be dragged out endlessly? How much will you be able to feel—

Your cheeks puff out as then empty as the air rushes from your lungs. Near instantly your mouth and throat fill with seawater, the pain indescribable. You feel yourself start to black out, this really is the end.

Until it's not.

The air of the night hits you in the face, shocking you into alertness. You gasp and choke and cough up water. You think you lost consciousness for a moment, feeling as if you just woke up. You blink, desperately desiring to rub your eyes to remove water and tears but unable to do much with your hands bound. 

Actually, how are you even at the surface, much less staying afloat? Your mind feels fuzzy as you try to comprehend what's going on around you in that moment. Your legs kick a little and while they feel much lighter, there's still heavy chains attached to them. Christ, the mob really goes overkill with it don't they. 

Still, with that and how exhausted you are, you should still very much be sinking--and dead--even if you managed to get free of the cinder blocks which had dragged you into the depths. Another gasping breath, and you feel something slide against your stomach. You flinch, struggling and scared that it's some sort of sea creature coming to kill you. 

As it would turn out, you are half correct. 

You're shaken, blood rushing through your head and sending you into a bout of dizziness. There's a chirping noise you faintly make out. 

Blinking, blurry, your heavy head lifts up to find yourself face to face with a... person? A fish? Some sort of mixture of the two. Faintly human-like with a face similar to one, but it's yellow, rays of orange and yellow around his head. Fins, your dulled mind realizes. 

He tilts his head at you, shaking you again and you groan, eyes squeezing shut momentarily. 

Before anything else can occur a sudden shouting from nearby erupts through the air. This causes the curious look to morph into a snarl, whipping to look at the source of the noise. The shouting morphs from angry to scared, confused. You find yourself being let go, and you dip below the waves before the instinct to swim and live kicks in. 

It's a fight for your life, but you manage to shift to floating on your back. Though muffled, you can make out screaming and yelling, along with gunshots. You feel a rush of water as the boat suddenly speeds off, the sound of its engine fading into the distance. 

You're practically stuck in your current position--far too tired to try to do anything else--when you're all of a sudden grabbed again. Based on the chirp you hear as you're lifted, you understand it's the thing from before. If you didn't know any better you'd say it was a mermaid, or mer of some kind. 

Your chin is grabbed by clawed fingers, lifted as your face is examined briefly. There's a splatter of something dark across his mouth now, and a fear runs through you for a moment once it hits you that it's blood. Again though, you're not given the chance to react as you're clutched close and then thrown back under the water, then above, then under. Over and over as you realize he's taking you with him somewhere. And you have absolutely no idea as to where. 

You once again succumb to a coughing fit when the back and forth abruptly stops, faintly aware of being set upon a bed of rock and sand. Blinking, you stare up and find a ceiling of dark grey rock above you. A cave. 

With what little strength you have, you shuffle to sit up, pressing back against the jagged wall behind you. You gasp and cough and heave up saltwater, feeling utterly exhausted and wanting nothing more than to go to sleep and wake up from this nightmare you're in. Maybe it’ll be easier than you think.

You jump when that hand from before clutches your face again, stare ever curious as he examines your disheveled state. His thumb swipes over the line of drool which had been on the edge of your mouth, prompting you to say thank you without thinking. 

At this his eyes widen. Then, a large, sharp grin splits across his face. You try to ignore the blood-stains on the edge of his teeth. A part of you almost hopes Tom is one of the ones he attacked. Bastard more than deserves it. 

His grip tightens, and with how expectant his gaze is, you understand he wants you to say more. 

"Agh, easy, easy please." You wince but try to speak despite how much your throat burns. "I don't know why you, um, decided to save me, but I'm grateful for it."

Several noises of delight, completely unintelligible to you. You have no idea if he's speaking a language or just making sounds. 

However based on how the chirps shift to almost cooing—again seeming to be pushing you to speak more—you assume it must be the former.

"I'm guessing you broke the chains for the cinder blocks, which means you're... incredibly strong. Frighteningly so." You won't admit how scared you really are by that, unsure of how much he can actually decipher of your words. But given his reaction is to simply squish your cheeks, followed by more cooing, you'd argue you could call him scum and he'd like it. 

This goes on for some time, long enough your clothes go from wet to damp. He just seems utterly infatuated with you. He toys with your hair, your clothes, your still—very much—bound hands and feet. All the while thrilled at anything you say, watching your lips and mouth with a fascinated delight. 

At one point, he leaves you, diving back into the water with a particular series of clicks. He returns a few minutes later with a live fish, which flaps and thrashes in his hands as he holds it out to you. 

Having no idea what he wants you just shake your head, alarmed and confused. 

He frowns at this, then suddenly bites down on the fish's head, blood dripping down his face and neck. He releases it, now very much dead, then holds it out to you again. 

You still don't know what he wants. Not until he opens his mouth and bites at it. Ah. Food. How... quaint. 

Eating’s the last thing on your mind in the moment, even if it’s been over twelve hours since you last ate. Your stomach quietly rumbles at the thought, but looking down at the dead-eyed stare on the fish, blood still dripping from it… that about sours any hunger you may have.

He seems to pick up on your reluctance, pout upon his features. Knowing that you'll be better off for it, you give in. Though you worry about how raw fish is going to sit on your stomach. 

You nod, holding your hands out to him. "Okay, okay. I get it. I'll uh, give it a try."

It's hard to get a good grip on the fish, all slimy and scaly, but by manipulating it into your hold using how your hands are bound, you manage. You mentally hype yourself up for this, and close your eyes and force yourself to bite down, then straight through the fish. 

It's an awful texture of scales and flesh and honestly you don't even know how big of a bite you actually get but you swallow it down all the same. You open your eyes to see the mer is watching you with a keen gaze. It quickly becomes apparent he wants you to keep going. 

Ignoring how your stomach churns, you do. You manage to take another couple of bites without fully gagging. And as you do so, the mer lights up with joy. A chorus of clicks and whirls and chirps as you eat, seeming to encourage you to keep going. 

You’re certain of that when—while focused on the task of trying not to vomit—you feel a hand on the top of your head, patting it. 

That same hand rubs through your hair, half-lidded eyes and a smile present on the mer's face. 

He's petting you. 

Once he's satisfied with what you've eaten, which is half the fish at best, he takes it from you. Unhinging his jaw, it disappears down his throat in a matter of seconds. 

When he looks back at you, that same smile is on his face. After somewhat relaxing after all these hours, you feel a bit on edge again. 

"So um, could you maybe get me out of these?" You raise your wrists still bound in rope. "They're starting to feel a bit raw and I'd really like to be able to stretch out a bit—"

He picks you up then, by your arms, holding you up above him for a moment with one hand. That same head tilt from when you first laid eyes on him. 

"What are you, um, what are you doing there, bud?" You ask, heartbeat in your throat. 

You feel water tickling at your feet and ankles, chains dragging across the rock before slipping into the pool below with a small splash. 

You gulp, eyeing the mer as he makes a few quieter clicks, stare now feeling scrutinizing. And you soon find out why. 

His grip suddenly releases you, and with a shocked yelp you plunge straight down into the water below. 

You sink, though not very far, but far enough your head is well below the surface. Panic overtakes you again. And stupidly you open your mouth in a silent scream, not thinking straight in the slightest. 

You're lifted back up just as suddenly as you were dropped. Hacking and gasping and soaked as you're held up in front of the mer again. 

Up until now, there had been some discernible expression on his face. Happiness, glee, delight, disappointment, and so on. Something familiar, something inherently human. 

There's nothing but a blank stare that he displays in that moment. 

You're dropped again, this time choosing wisely to hold your breath. You can feel his hold on your wrists, the very thing that had saved you earlier was now keeping you trapped underneath the water. You're lifted back up again. 

You have an easier time catching your breath, and you see confusion cross the mer's face. Down again. 

You're held under for longer this third time. With the adrenaline running through you it's hard to hold your breath. Your eyes are squeezed shut in concentration, with the intense desire to survive, but something in you forces them open as your lungs give out and you give up. 

Blurry as ever, but you can make out the mer's face under the water with you. 

A few seconds of saltwater pouring into you until you're hoisted up once more. You're trembling by now, scared and exhausted and having no idea as to what's happening. 

Until you hear a delighted string of chirps come from the mer. You look up to see he's positively beaming at you now. And it clicks to you what's going on. What's been going on this entire time. 

And you think that you should've just let yourself drown the first time.

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I thought about this one a lot while writing it. And afterwards a lot as well. TO CLARIFY, just in case it wasn't clear. Sun is incredibly animalistic/creature-like in this, he saved you bc he was curious, and continued to more afterward bc of that same morbid curiosity, it really do be like that sometimes 😔 Thanks for reading!

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@machopeach @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful @buzzy-bee @hazelthebat @nightriverart @mr-munchies

[hhimring]

Not sure whether this works for @maedhrosmaglorweek, really, but that is what I had in mind, when I wrote some more context for a previously existing snippet about Narsil.

(Teens, no major warnings)

It was Maglor who taught Elros sword-fighting, along will all other regular lessons. Maedhros, as on other occasions, would occasionally appear on the sidelines with additional hints, encouragement, and sometimes decide to take on a specific session, not always sharing his reasoning, and then leave the rest to Maglor again. This, Elros eventually concluded, was all to the good. Maglor was better with a sword than Elros was ever likely to be—or so it often seemed to him—and while Maedhros was even more brilliant, sessions with him were intense.

It was not that Elros feared that Maedhros would lose himself during a session, forgetting what he was doing or even attacking him. That slip of the mind into past pain seemed to happen only, at times, when Maedhros was not focussing on a task at hand. The grip of a sword in his hand had a way of steadying him, especially; it must be all those daily exercise routines. Even fully present, Maedhros could be nerve-racking in ways Elros preferred not to think too closely about, right below the surface. Elrond understood all that better, so Elros did not need to.

This, today, was just an unexpected trip to a storage room, though, although Elros would have liked to have some idea why they were here. He saw Maedhros lifting something long, narrow, and wrapped from the wall.

‘This blade should come to you,’ said Maedhros, thoughtfully.

‘Should?’ Elros asked, his voice brittle. ‘Is it from Sirion, then?’

Maedhros seemed taken aback.

‘No,’ he said after a pause. ‘It was originally commissioned by my uncle for the House of Hador. That is, it was intended for Gundor, Hador’s son. But it was just before the Dagor Bragollach and, by the time Telchar had finished the blade, Fingolfin, Hador and Gundor were all dead and the road to Hithlum was hazardous. My brother Caranthir stood surety and paid for the sword so that Telchar’s contract should not be breached.

Since then, the sword has sometimes been used in defence, at need, but it has never had an owner. It was crafted for someone of Hadorian height and stature.’ Maedhros looked meaningfully at Elros. ‘Like you.’

Elros realized, all at once, that what had brought this on was his recent, slightly embarrassing rapid spurt of growth—hence the measuring look that Maedhros had given him before taking him here. It was the first time Elros had been given a sword of his own; his previous practice sword had been from the common store.

Thrilled, he drew the sword and gazed in awe at its blade. Forged by the famous Telchar, the same smith that had made Angrist, the knife that cut the Silmaril from Morgoth’s Iron Crown! And Maedhros had guessed aright; the way the sword instantly felt like a better fit for his grip and his sword arm than any he had wielded before. He tried out some practice moves where he stood. Elros was in love.

Maedhros picked up a birch broom, slipped neatly past Elros’s guard and tapped him on the shoulder with the twiggy end, drawing Elros’s attention back to him.

‘The work of a master craftsman should be respected!’ he said, ‘But, mind you, it is not an heirloom.’

Elros blinked, puzzled. How could the sword not be an heirloom, with its storied history?

‘You need to be able to lay it aside or give it away.’

Elros understood. Reduced to near-destitution by the ineluctable claim to that one set of heirlooms, the last Sons of Feanor had come to value possessions the more if no claim attached to them.

‘By the way,’ said Maedhros, as if it was an afterthought, ‘it was intended to be called Narsil.’

From a letter by Queen Inzilbeth in Armenelos to her mother Lindorie of Andunie, originally in cipher.

In a chest in a forgotten recess in the Treasury I found an ancient sword carefully put aside and in perfect condition. A scrap of writing with it and comparison with records elsewhere has led me to conclude that this must be the sword our forefather Tar-Minyatur wielded before he took up Aranruth, given to him by the Sons of Feanor. I do not know why this historic weapon was almost hidden in this way, when Aranruth and Dramborleg are displayed proudly in glass cases in the centre of the main hall. Perhaps the association with the Sons of Feanor seemed politically less opportune than the sword of Thingol that the survivors of Sirion had saved for the return of Elwing’s sons?

In any case, I resolved to seize the chance the situation offered me. There is no risk now that Narsil will be wielded by the King’s Men against the Faithful, ever. I managed to take it to Noirinan, hidden inside one of the hooped skirts that are so fashionable this season. I can hardly be said to have stolen it, since I was taking it back to its original bearer! But I am also letting you know that Narsil is concealed inside Tar-Minyatur’s sarcophagus—please pass on that knowledge to our cousins of Andunie as you see fit.

[cocogum]

The Great Wave - Chapter 17 Review

‼️SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER‼️

Nothing too major happens in this chapter which I think is a good way to relax a bit from all the serious stuff (and doppelgangers) that we've had to see in older chapters. But sadly, we don't get to see Amalia freaking out over the orphan ouginaks like a customer at a pet smart store (sorry @kirichux looks like it'll just stay a fantasy 😭) Too bad that didn't happen (for now 👹). Either way, it's at least nice to know that Yugo was actually not personally angry at Joris but rather just had a very serious while thinking about daddy Rasalar's face in the last chapter.

OMG LUIS STILL KEEPS CALLING HIM JOJO ‼️‼️‼️

I mean I know that he still does call him 'Jojo' since we also saw him in season 4 calling Joris like that, but I'm just happy to see him addressing him like that even in the Great Wave 💕💕💕💕

And yeah Luis is right, relax you're not acting as Bonta's representative/messenger right now lol Even your shushu has a point which is honestly saying A LOT. You can call them your besties here Joris don't be shy 🥰🥰🥰

And speaking of Yugo, I'm semi glad that the face he made last chapter wasn't meant for Joris. Cuz not only would he have confused the living hell out of Joris but he would have also scared the crap out of these kids.

JORIS IS WORRIED FOR HIS DEMIGOD BESTIE ‼️‼️‼️ OMG RASALAR IS GONNA GET HIS SEXY ASS KICKED ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

(sidenote: I personally see Lilotte as Joris's mortal bestie while Yugo is his demigod bestie. Yeah that's how I think i know it's clever ✨️✨️)

(yeah @geekgirles ur right, these two look so good in that panel 💗💗)

Like Joris is literally hearing that his demigod bestie got poisoned by the dragon who was meant to use him as a vessel. Shit was always personal but Joris knows that he crossed a line when he went for Yugo 🩷🩷

This must be such a weird day for Joris to visit memory lane again. First, he catches a thief who looks way too much like his past best friend. Then, he learns from Yugo and Amalia that the dragon who was meant to use him as a vessel poisoned Yugo.

Who's next on the list that would resurface from the dead and punch his childhood in the dick? His mom??

HAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAAHHAAHHAHAAHAHAHHA-

So uh Atcham really doesn't remember...either he sucks at remembering past faces or he's genuinely tweaking.

No cuz like wtf is going on in his head?? Same with Kerubim. Aren't they aware that they're standing face to face with Lilotte's doppelganger??? Come on, they literally look THE SAME. Fine, maybe Atcham kinda forgot since he had only seen Lilotte a few times BUT KERUBIM DOESN'T HAVE ANY EXCUSES TO NOT REMEMBER!?!?

He literally watched Joris GROW UP WITH LILOTTE. She was literally his best friend! After she died, can you honestly tell me how many more mortals Joris has gotten this close with??? Exactly. Atcham may be dumb for not remembering one of Joris' friends, sure, but Kerubim is the true dumbass here.

Speaking of Lilotte actually, Thirteen is clearly her doppelganger but it would be super ironic if her number (aka name 💀) was meant to be a bad omen for Harigue lol (if you forgot who that was, I don't blame you. It was that disgusting old man's name who slaved these precious kids)

Like her number name literally meant 'bad luck'. And you're telling me that she ended up being the one to bring Joris to his base? Yeah, if that isn't shit luck for that old bastard, then i don't know what is. It's especially ironic for her because that ended up being her lucky number 💕💕💕

ALSO PUPUCE IS ALIVE ‼️‼️‼️ WTF ‼️‼️

She's such a fighter, look at her still moving around with her little stubs 💕💕 It's nice to know that she survived 500 years with Joris and can still manage to run around...Pupuce is a real fighter lol

Also fun fact about her kind, they kinda work like bees: when they attack the player, they instantly die afterwards. So one attack equals immediate death. Looks like Pupuce is a pacifist....💀💀

These two bozos forgot that their asses got handed to them and are now Joris's kids. Yet they don't wanna share their stuff with OTHER orphans 😭😭😭

I swear to god it doesn't matter how old they get they are still lazy morons in each life.

I missed Luis's house magic 💕💕 The dofus movie made his skills look so smooth and satisfying like the motion and the way the bowls would just appear out of thin air, I loved it!!

AND THE CHILDREN‼️‼️‼️‼️

LOOK AT HOW THOSE LITTLE PUPS ARE OGGLING THE TABLE!!! That fucking old man never fed them right, he literally lashed out at them that they should be grateful that he feeds them every once and a while. So for them, seeing as table filled with food without anyone pushing them away or sneering at them is literally like seeing a miracle happening right in front of their eyes.

I bet that some of them still can't believe that they're out of the sewers. Those poor kids must be thinking they probably died or something because ever since Thirteen came back to the sewers, they got saved by a strong important guy that managed to scare the shit out of 'their master', got taken out of the sewers, got told they could just call their rescuer by his first name, got told they could stay at their rescuer's house, got told they could eat his food and sleep at his place, AND got told by their rescuer that he would give them normal names.

LIKE PLEASE YOU CAN'T TELL ME THAT SOME OF THEM ARE AT LEAST DOUBTING THEIR OWN EXISTENCE RIGHT ABOUT NOW!!!

All I can say is please let Yugo's wave not annihilate them and shred them into more pieces than they're already missing 😭😭

I can't tell if they're purposely being petty assholes while having the mental age of a kid. Cuz wtf bro this is like being a mom and showing off your new baby to your other kids only for them to hate the newborn because they'll have to start sharing everything with them 💀💀

I'll smack these two 😃😃

TWENTY-SEVEN STOP YOU DON'T HAVE TO GIVE HIM ANYTHING 😫😫😫😫

Don't get me wrong, it's so cute that he gave his (make-shift 😭) teddy to Joris but the fact that he was thinking about giving him anything at all, especially his TEDDY, was as if he gave him some sort of payment rather than a gift. Because why would he give him his teddy of all things? He's still so incredibly young, he obviously uses it all the time. So to give it away would mean that he's so incredibly grateful, he would see it as his payment to Joris so that he and his siblings would be able to stay here 😭😭😭

STOP IT WOULD MAKE TOO MUCH SENSE!!!! 😫😫😫😫

FIVE HUNDRED YEARS WTF MAN 😭😭😭

He says it way too casually too 💀💀

"Yeah no, he's been a pain in my ass for like 500 years now 🙄🙄 urgh I can't stand him sometimes i swear 😒😒" like excuse me????

I'm waiting for the Joris fans to use this face as their pfps lol

And into the abyss they go...

[wroetominter]

Charity Match - George Clarke

Oh shocker, I rise from the writing dead because I have the feels again and need to release them somehow. I hope everyone else feels the same as I do in saying, George better be in the sidemen charity match this spring!

Pairing: George Clarke X FemReader

Warnings: none, fluff.

———

I had been a long time fan of the Sidemen and their friends for many years. I loved to watch their videos and support wherever I could. Merch drops, their random trading card drops, the like. When they announced they were doing yet another charity event, I jumped at the opportunity to finally attend.

Sat at my laptop, poised and ready to purchase a ticket when they dropped, I felt nerves creeping in, hoping I would get lucky enough to get the seat of my choosing.

Hearing the boys in a ChrisMD video playing in the background, my focus was temporarily drawn to them hiking a mountain. I couldn’t help be distracted by the words they were saying, soon snapping back to my computer as my options for Wembley stadium finally appeared. I panicked, searching for something that was close to where the players come on and off the pitch.

I purchased myself a ticket, feeling relieved that the pressure was over. Shutting my laptop, I was finally able to focus on the video in front of me.

In the months leading up to the game, the players had finally been announced. I wasn’t shocked to find that ChrisMD, and his channels frequent visitors the Arthur’s, George, and Isaac had also been selected to play. As a promotion, and probably to make the stands look like an authentic football match, they listed new merch on the Sidemen clothing website. This included mock football kit tops, sporting the different players so you could show your support. I was excited by this, wanting to differentiate other fans in the audience and build some friendships with like minded individuals around us.

Scrolling through the list of players, I knew pretty instantly the kit I was looking for. Selecting the YouTube all stars kit, personalized to the player “Clarkeey” as listed on the website. I completed my order and smiled, satisfied I would be well dressed for the game coming up so quickly.

—

I finished my outfit with the new football top, tucking it into my jeans slightly to show off my belt. I decided rather casual outfit, seeing as I would be sitting in the stands for a good majority of the game I wanted to ensure I was comfortable. I had dressed in a black jean, with a matching black and gold belt, and some white Nike sneakers with my new football top. I had pulled my hair up, knowing a football match could get quite warm.

Pulling a few loose hairs down to frame my face, and popping my wallet, and lip balm into my pocket I was ready for the match.

The tube to Wembley ended up being extremely packed, as expected. I scoured social media to pass the time, watching story after story. I paused on George’s for a few extra moments, admiring how well he suited his football kit in the photo he took with Chris before the match.

I was quite drawn to the man, finding both his looks and his humor alluring. The type of person that draws you in just by looking at a camera. I stopped my swoon as the train stopped, and we all filed out to get to the stadium.

I quickly found my seat, deciding to grab a drink before the match as well. I settled on a pint, taking it back to my seat and admiring the view of the pitch, and the group of men practicing in front of me. Although I do enjoy the actual football aspect of the matches, you can’t blame a girl for also finding pleasure in watching a pitch full of attractive men run around for 90 minutes.

Locking my eyes to the area in front of me, where I quickly spotted #3, “Clarkeey”. He was practicing between him and ArthurTV, looking incredibly focused. From their videos, George’s competitive side had always been apparent to me. He was quite good at the majority of challenges they had done, finishing in the top three ranks on most occasions. It was no surprise to me that he likely had been practicing his match skills for weeks, or months prior to the match.

I realized I had been staring, but I could have sworn that he looked back up to me. I felt a blush creeping to my cheeks, realizing that he likely had not looked at me, but into the crowd of thousands of people. I brushed it off and snapped a few photos of myself and the pitch, posting them to my stories and socials to show off that I was indeed at the match that day. If it didn’t end up on social media, did it really even happen?

Looking around me, I decided to check out who had been sitting near me as the crowds began to settle in with the match starting soon. To my left, was only three empty seats remaining, whereas to my right, there seemed to be a group of older school age boys cheering on the sidemen as they warmed up. I was roughly three rows from the front, happy I had paid the extra amount to have such close seats as I could see the players ready to begin the match with precise detail from my seats.

The three people needing their seats to my left finally showed, and I recognized them pretty quickly. It ended up being none other than the parents and sister of Chris. I smiled at them politely as they took their seats, Kelly next to me.

“I’m glad I’m sat next to another girl, and not the screaming boys just down there” she said to me, “I’m Kelly, what’s your name?”

I giggled slightly at her remarks to the boys to my right. “I’m Y/n, nice to meet you. You’re Chris’ family, right?” She nodded.

“Yes, the few unlucky enough to call that weirdo family” we laughed together and spent the next few minutes chit chatting. I found myself relaxing more with her, knowing I had someone to talk to helped ease my nerves of coming here alone.

The match started, and the excitement and fun made the time fly by. Cheering as goals came and went, jumping up with his family when Chris scored a goal, and cheering everyone on when the game was over and the winners announced. This year, the YouTube Allstars had taken the trophy! They raised Chris up, holding the trophy and I stood there clapping like a proud mom, watching the group of lads I frequently watched with so much joy between them.

Snapped from my trance, I felt one of the boys to my right tap my arm. Turning to face him to see what he wanted. “Are you George’s girlfriend?” He asked. I was a little taken aback by this, wondering where he could have gotten that impression.

“No, just a fan. Sorry” was all I could think of in response. I clocked one of his friends filming this interaction on his phone.

“Oh, seemed like it from the kit, my bad.” He walked away with his mates, clearly trying to make their way to the front to get closer to the lads. Strange, I thought to myself.

I told Kelly about the interaction and she laughed with me. She pulled me in a little closer, wanting to whisper her next statement to me. “I’m going to bring you down to the pitch with us when we go see Chris” she said. My mouth agape I stared at her, which made her start to laugh.

“Are you sure that’s okay?” I asked her. I was of course excited, but equally nervous for this.

“Yea, absolutely! I was given a plus one and didn’t use it. And I like hanging out with you, you make these events fun. I hope we can do something together soon after this as well. It’s tough to find a friend that both knows this weird world I’m attached to, but simultaneously doesn’t just use me for information about my brother.” I smiled at her kind words.

“Yes, let’s absolutely hang out more. I agree, finding friends in general living alone in London has been difficult for me as well.”

We sat in our seats, waiting for the crowds to die down a bit before security was to come grab us and bring us down to the pitch for family and friend celebrations.

Scrolling through instagram, I found myself on the export page seeing different posts from the match. I saw one in particular that caught my eye. It was a photo of the back of Kelly and I, standing and cheering. With my hair tied up you could clearly see the “Clarkeey” written across my back as we cheered.

The caption read “Chris’ sister and apparently George’s secret girl cheer YTAS on.” I was dumbfounded. This was the second time in the last fifteen minutes I had been told I was George’s supposed secret girl. Looking through the comments I found many people commenting that they thought the same thing after seeing me at the match. A few comments didn’t seem shocked by seeing me, quoting “she is his type after all”. I turned my phone off, trying to shake this from my head as we were led from the stands down to the pitch.

We went to Chris first, obviously so his parents could congratulate them. I was introduced as Kelly’s friend, which although true felt funny as we were incredibly recently friends.

“Congratulations Chris, your goal was so fun to watch!” I told him.

“Thanks Y/n, I’m glad you enjoyed it. I heard we broke last years record for money raised as well, overall I would call this a pretty successful day.” I agreed with Chris’ words.

An arm was soon brought around Chris’ shoulders as we stood around talking. I looked at the new addition to the group, finding George now standing with us.

His hair was slightly stuck down to his forehead from sweat, and he smiled at the group, clearly on cloud 9 from the days events.

“Hello Chris and family” he said, acknowledging the rest of us. His family politely said hello, and Chris’ mom came to give him a hug. I assumed they were well acquainted from how long him and Chris had been friends.

With George stood next to me, it felt rude between the two of us not to introduce ourselves as Chris and his family had become distracted in their conversation.

George turned slightly towards me, sparking the conversation.

“I don’t think we’ve met properly, I’m George Clarke.” He said extending a hand to me. I shook his hand.

“I’m Y/n, supposedly your secret girlfriend.” I mentally face palmed at my awkward conversation starter.

His eyes raised and I rolled mine, pulling out my phone to show him the numerous posts I had found. He laughed at a few of the fanboy comments, cheering him on.

“What sparked this debate online?” He asked with a seriously charming smirk on his face.

I turned my back towards him, showing off the kit I was sporting. He laughed,

“Ahh, yes. That makes sense.” We laughed together.

“And apparently I’m your type, so the people around me sort of assumed, since I was with Chris’ family.” I said.

I was happy that this conversation didn’t feel awkward. It felt light and filled with banter. Knowing my usual track record with men, this conversation was 10 times better than my usual interactions.

“To be fair to them, you are my type.” He said. I felt myself freeze slightly, just staring back at him. I could tell he felt nervous about my reaction to his words based on the words he had just spit out. I nudged him slightly, playing into his flirtatious nature.

“Well if the kit wasn’t obvious enough, you’re my type as well so I suppose they aren’t far off of their assumptions.” George agreed with me and we had a laugh together. Our moment being spoiled by the other lads, ArthurTV, Arthur Hill, Bach, Reev, and a few others joining the group and talking about the major after party celebration they were planning.

“You need to come, pleaseeeee” Kelly dragged out grabbing my arm. Of course, I was secretly praying I was going to be invited. Wanting to continue the conversation George and I were having.

“Of course, I’ll be there.” I said to Kelly, catching George looking at me from the side, a smile forming on his lips. I couldn’t help but blush to myself. Immediately wanting to tell Kelly about the entire interaction I pulled her to the side, filling her in on the details.

“Oh my god, yes! I am making it my personal mission to make sure you talk tonight!” She squealed. It felt so nice to have a wing woman on my side for this.

With this being a party, I wanted to go home and freshen up a bit. Kelly asked to tag along so she could get a rest from the big crowd. I agreed of course, as we made our way back to my flat.

I showed her a couple different outfit choices. Bring it was March and still a bit chilly outside, I settled on a nice but casual sweater top, and some new jeans to compliment. I felt put together but casual so I would still be comfortable.

We talked endlessly about the party, as Kelly begged me to tell her again about the conversation I had with George.

“I don’t know, he told me I was his type, he was definitely flirting, right?” I questioned.

“From everything Chris has told me he’s normally not good at talking to women. I would say yes absolutely. He had the balls to come out directly and say it, he was totally into you!” She divulged that she didn’t have many friends to share this kind of stuff with, so she was really excited to see how this night played out.

Entering the event, she let me know she was going to make herself scarce and go find some other people to converse with while I essentially shoot my shot, as she put it.

I searched the crowd, not finding George anywhere. I settled myself for a moment, realizing he had to be around somewhere.

“What will you have to drink?” His voice rang from behind me, scaring me slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he lightly led me by the small of my back a little closer to him so I could hear him better. My heart fluttering at his small action. The room was crowded after all.

“Umm, I think I’ll have a vodka redbull and pineapple please” I said to him.

“Coming up,” he walked away towards the bar and I felt myself let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. He looked insanely good after the match. Dressed in jeans, a white tshirt and a flannel top pulled over it, I found myself unable to take my eyes off of him. “Here you are” he handed me the glass, keeping his pint close by him.

We were stood at a bar height table, drinks going by quickly and conversation flowing. It felt natural to be talking to him. It was almost as if we had known each other forever.

“What brought you to the match alone anyway?” He asked as I told him the story of how I ended up here. “No boyfriend?” He added taking a drink of his pint.

“Well, I have been a long time fan, so I figured it was time to come out and support in person, plus, with it being for charity it was a good opportunity overall.” I said, taking a sip of my drink as well. He kept staring at me, and I realized I completely glazed over his addition. “Oh, no, no boyfriend.” His eyes softened a little at my confession.

“Good, I’m glad to hear.” He smiled and I could feel my cheeks heating up. “I don’t often find someone I connect with this well. I was really hoping you’d come tonight.” He confessed. If I thought my cheeks were red before. “I’m sorry I feel like I keep rambling, I’m not good with these situations, really.” I couldn’t quite find the right words in response, causing him to continue his nervous ramble. “If you don’t feel the same connection it’s no worries, really. I just wanted to get to know you a little more I guess and I-”

“George” I cut him off. He pulled his eyes to mine. I placed a hand on his on the table, sensing his nerves. “I want to know you more as well. Believe me, the connection you’re feeling is reciprocated.” He sighed, looking down at our hands together and laughed.

“Thank god, otherwise I look like an idiot here.” I laughed with him.

“You look really cute, not like an idiot at all.” It was his turn to blush at my words.

“You look amazing as well, indeed still my type.” I laughed at his callback to our earlier conversation.

I was thankful for my fangirl antics, which now led me to George.

We spent the rest of the night together, laughing together and with his friends. I could tell his friends were not used to him hanging out with a girl, based on their comments non stop about it. It was funny to see George so flustered by their comments, normally seeing him so confident and casual on the screen.

I heard my name, turning to find Kelly sneaking into our group.

“Was the plan successful?” She quietly said to me. I tilted my head down a little, to show her George’s arm had been wrapped around my waist and rested on my side for the majority of the night. She smiled massively at me, giving me two thumbs up and running off. I laughed which caught George’s attention.

“What’s funny?” He asked.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” I slid closer to him, reciprocating the arm around the waist and rejoining the group conversation.

This was a very successful night.

[rabidrabbit10]

The Journal

Remember when Webby found Lena’s journal? Well, she kept it after Lena “died”. After everything that had happened she instantly assumed that Lena was dead. She’d be crazy to think otherwise right? She died right in front of her after all. As she read through Lena’s entries, she stumbled upon some more of her poetry. From what Webby could gather, this was how Lena coped with the torment she experienced at the hands of Magica. The majority of poems were clearly about Lena’s life. It seemed like it was a form of venting. That was when the guilt came. Webby felt that she should've known, that there was some way she could've helped. She still felt that she had failed Lena. That was when Webby started to write on the remaining blank pages. She wrote in Lena’s old journal as if it were her own. Sure, Webby did have her own journal she could write in, but this made her feel closer to Lena and it was the only thing she had to cope with her “death”. 

Webby was very secretive about her writing, even from her own shadow. She didn’t want anyone sneaking up behind her and potentially reading the painful thoughts she’d scrawled across the journal’s pages. This was her way of coping, and it was the closest she’d ever get to apologizing to Lena for not having noticed her situation sooner. Her words were hers and hers alone. The only person she’d want reading those words was Lena and she was gone. 

As time passed, Webby found herself visiting the amphitheater where Lena used to live more often. It was the place where she felt the most connected to Lena, so she started to write whenever she was there. It just made it easier for her to identify what she was feeling, which made writing easier. She wouldn’t have to think as much about the words she wrote on the pages. They would just come to her as long as she was there. She often sat in the same spot Lena usually sat and would write until she felt okay, which often led to Webby falling asleep at the amphitheater with her head against the journal’s pages. Mrs. Beakley was obviously frightened the first few times Webby failed to come home, but after the fourth time, Mrs. Beakley knew where to find her granddaughter.

 There was one specific day when Webby had gone to Lena’s old home. She couldn’t bring herself to write at first. Instead, she listlessly stared off into the distance, just thinking. The only sounds were the Audubon Bay's waves crashing onto the nearby beach and the occasional cry from a seagull.

Lena was grateful for the waves and the seagulls. Otherwise the silence would've been deafening as she watched helplessly from Webby’s shadow. Lena eventually had to look away. The scene unfolding in front of her was too upsetting to watch and the fact that she could do absolutely nothing to comfort Webby was only making her growing sense of helplessness worse. She only turned her attention back to Webby when she heard the sound of a pen against paper. 

Webby wrote for a while and Lena watched from a distance as Webby hastily scribbled down all of her thoughts she could before they had the chance to escape her mind. Webby fell asleep before she could finish writing. She didn’t wake up until Mrs. Beakley found her and brought her home. 

About a month after that day at the amphitheater, Webby began researching ways to avenge Lena’s supposed death. That was how she discovered that Lena was probably alive out there in the Shadow Realm somewhere and began her efforts to save her. Huey, Dewey and Louie were supportive, but concerned. They thought she might be in denial. Still, Webby was determined to save her best friend, no matter what it cost her.

 After months of trial and error, Webby finally managed to find Lena and pull her out of the Shadow Realm. Afterwards, Webby gave Lena her old journal back and apologized for having read some of the entries. She explained that she had written in it as well but there were still quite a few blank pages. Lena already knew this and, after Lena had filled her in on her whereabouts, Webby knew that Lena knew. Evenso, she felt the need to apologize. Webby didn’t know why, she just did. 

Later that day, Lena started flipping through her old journal. She felt odd reliving these experiences from her past, but it was also strangely cathartic for her. And then she came across some of Webby’s entries. Lena didn’t know what compelled her to, but she decided to read some of them. She had tried to read some of Webby’s writing when she was still in her shadow, but it was no use due to Webby’s excessive secrecy. 

Lena was surprised to find that although Webby had written regular journal entries, she had also written poetry. In fact, most of her entries were poems. Some of them were completed, others weren't. Almost all of them were about the time Webby spent with her. They were like little thank you letters that Webby had written to her. Lena didn't know why, but they hit her like a fright train. What hit her even harder was an unfinished poem titled “I Should’ve Known,” which she stumbled upon after flipping even further through the journal. It was about how bad Webby felt for not having noticed “the shadows on the walls” as she had put it.

And then Lena remembered that day when Webby had sat staring at nothing in particular for hours on end. It had been a while since she had thought of that memory. She had pushed it out of her mind because of how sad it made her, but now that she was finally looking back on that memory, Lena realized that she was probably writing this specific poem that day. It made Lena wonder if Webby had been feeling guilty for things that weren’t her fault as she stared off into nothingness for so long before finally putting it all on paper. The fact that this was even a possibility hurt. It physically hurt. Even now, years later, it still hurts, and Lena thinks that it always will.

Sorry if this sounded a bit clunky. It was originally a headcanon that I wrote back in 2022 and it snowballed into this. It's really just a very long headcanon. I've been editing it for a while now, trying to make it sound less clunky but with very little success, sorry about that.

[thepersonperson]

Sukuna Can't Tell the Time (The unique way Sukuna is damned to eternal miscommunication and existentialism in the modern era.)

Notes before we start.

1) I will be mainly using the TCB scans for the manga because of their accessibility. 

2) I need professional help.

(Click images for captions/citations.)

Preface

I want to get one thing out of the way. This is going to be a weird write-up because I'm hardly going to cite the manga.

I'm basically posting this as a reference for myself. All of this occurred so I could properly lean into the old man aspect of Sukuna for a fic I'm writing. (Aka I read too much on actual Heian Era history and now you all have to suffer.)

People often joke that Sukuna is an old man, but I'm here to tell you he is so out of touch and out of time that he might as well be existing in a never-ending Lovecraftian nightmare where time has stopped being real.

It's going to take a while to explain why this is the case so hear me out, maybe?

Fundamental Measurements

What is a unit of measurement? And where did these units come from? If you've taken an entry level physics class, you've already been through the existential crisis answering these questions caused.

But for the uninitiated, have you ever sat down and asked yourself why you know what a foot/meter is? Everyone has kind of agreed they represent a specific distance, and depending on where you were raised, you'll prefer one over the other.

I'm an American. I'm also an engineer. I have to use SI Units and Freedom Units all the time. Differing distance units are things I can easily conceptualize. I understand what a meter is. It's like 3.3 feet.

Every time I hear meter, my brain does the conversion to 3.3 feet because I was raised with feet as my base unit of measurement. But oddly enough, when I hear 100 meters, I instantly know how far that is. This is because I was a sprinter for all of Jr. High and High School. When someone says 100 meters, I picture the got danged torture stretch of the 300 meter hurdles.

The point of this is to establish that early life experiences become a reference point when thinking about things as an adult. If I didn't run track or do engineering, I would be a "What the fuck is a kilometer?" type American.

Measurements of Miscommunication

If you couldn't tell, I wrote the previous section with Non-Americans in mind. I specified the units of measurement I was using for distance because I understand people outside of the US could be reading my post.

But what happens if I don't do that? What happens when people assume everyone's units of measurement are the same as theirs? Allow me to recall a conversation I'm sure most of you Non-Americans have had with an American on the internet and vice versa.

Friend, Non-American: Ugh it's 40 degrees out today.

Me, American: Dang that sounds pretty cold, don't forget to wear a jacket.

Friend, Non-American: What the hell do you meant that's cold???

Me, American and remembering where they live: OH YOU MEAN CELSIUS. That's 104 in Freedom Units.

Friend, Non-American: 104 IS SUPER DEAD IN CELSIUS.

(40°F is 4.4°C btw.)

As you can see, these kind of assumptions relay drastically different information. 40 degrees without a unit is read as cold or hot depending on where a person is from. It also doesn't help that the conversion between these units is nonsense. The vast majority of people can't do °C = (°F − 32) × 5/9 off the top of their head.

I, for the life of me, cannot comprehend Celsius. Temperature is too abstract a concept for my brain to swap systems. I think there's a reason for this.

Unlike distance, you can't see the temperature with your body. You can feel it, sure, but sometimes you step into a walk-in freezer and come out feeling like everything is warmer than it is. Relativity like that won't affect how you see distance. A foot is a foot, a meter is a meter, and they will always look those distances. You can check them easily.

Temperature? You need a thermometer to check. Or you assume the generalized data on a weather app is accurate. And things like humidity can fudge with your perception it.

This is all to say that my brain assigned the number 40 as cold. It being a hot number is barely comprehensible because my foundation is it being cold.

(If you were wondering, yes this is why I write out dates like Month DD, YYYY. It's so no one has to look at 3/4/YYYY and guess if they're supposed to be reading it as March 4th or April 3rd because they can't tell what country I'm from.)

What does this have to do with Sukuna?

Well my dear reader, my question to you is: What units of measurement were used in the Heian Era?

Forget about distance and temperature. How was time measured in the Heian era?

Heian Era Timekeeping

Ancient Japan ran on something called a Lunisolar Calendar. This is a type of calendar based around moon phases and sun positioning hence, lunisolar.

Taken directly from Wikipedia:

"A lunisolar calendar is a calendar in many cultures, incorporating lunar calendars and solar calendars. The date of lunisolar calendars therefore indicates both the Moon phase and the time of the solar year, that is the position of the Sun in the Earth's sky. If the sidereal year (such as in a sidereal solar calendar) is used instead of the solar year, then the calendar will predict the constellation near which the full moon may occur. As with all calendars which divide the year into months there is an additional requirement that the year have a whole number of months. In some cases ordinary years consist of twelve months but every second or third year is an embolismic year, which adds a thirteenth intercalary, embolismic, or leap month.

Their months are based on the regular cycle of the Moon's phases. So lunisolar calendars are lunar calendars with – in contrast to them – additional intercalation rules being used to bring them into a rough agreement with the solar year and thus with the seasons."

Did you notice something funky? A leap month has to be accounted for with this calendar. And it gets worse. The duration between leap months vary because the earth's path around the sun varies.

Under this calendar system, instead of a fixed interval of time always passing for a year, everything is variable. This means conversion to a modern date, which uses fixed time intervals, is not a one to one thing. It's kind of like trying to convert February 29th to non-leap years. Some people born on this day celebrate on February 28th and others will use March 1st. Legally speaking in the US, March 1st is used for tallying. (And if you've seen the Pirates of Penzance, this is an actual plot point when trying to determine a character's contract clause.) So imagine that but for months, years, and hours all the time.

I exclude days from this issue because Heian Japan agreed that a day was as day. They don't shrink or grow. The 12 hours a day always pass! And yes I mean 12 hours a day.

Heian Hours

For the rest of this discussion I'm referencing this lovely source by Katherine M. Lawrence. Everything quoted is from here.

So... let's get into that 12 hour day thing.

"Days consisted of 12 hours based on the 12 zodiac animals, each Heian hour being equal to about two modern hours. In a moment I will get to why I deliberately used the word “about.”

Days were divided into six “hours” of daylight and six “hours” of darkness. Instead of midnight, the day started at daybreak. Only in the Meiji times, in 1867, did the day change at midnight.

What is fascinating is that there were always six “hours” of daylight and six “hours” of night irrespective of the time of year. In modern times, with mechanical and even atomic clocks, we accept that more daylight falls in summer than in winter. We might turn back or move our clocks forward twice a year. In Japan it was done 24 times a year—approximately every 14 to 16 days—so that the first light would always come during the first “hour” of the day, which was known as the Hour of the Rabbit, sometimes called the Hour of the Hare. Dusk would come at the Hour of the Bird, sometimes called the Hour of the Rooster.

If we were to measure the actual length of winter days using a modern timepiece, the Hour of the Rabbit would be shorter than two hours because the relatively shorter total daylight in winter would still be distributed into six parts.

The six nighttime hours in winter would absorb the extra darkness and be proportionately longer than the nominal two hours of our 24-hour clock.

All this kept the astrologers and priests busy, because every 14 to 16 days, the clocks had to be adjusted. “More on that in a minute,” which by the way, is an idiom the Japanese of the era would not have used, because our modern concept of sixty minutes to an hour and sixty seconds to a minute is highly tied to mechanical clocks."

In summary, Heian Hours quite literally grow and shorten depending on the season. That 1 Heian Hour=2 Modern Hours conversion only works when daylight hours are the exact same as nighttime hours.

But it gets even weirder than that. Rather than counting from 1 to 12 for daytime and nighttime like we might on our modern clocks, Heian Japan counted down from 9 to 4 twice. This results in a clock conversion that looks like this.

And remember, this is only accurate when daylight hours are equal to nighttime hours!

It should also be noted that these hours were announced by the ringing of temple bells throughout the day and the night. Everyone relied on these temples to keep the time at all times.

But wait, there's more! (Heian Months and Solar Stems)

This is where timekeeping really starts to fall apart in terms of my understanding of it so Ms. Katherine M. Lawrence is going to explain it.

"In the Heian period (and until 1867), each month began on the dark moon, also know as the new moon. The full moon would come on the 15th day and the month would end approximately on the 28th, sometimes the 29th, and even the 30th day of the month.

Japanese did not have the western concept of the seven-day week, though they certainly could count to seven. What they had instead was the concept of the solar stem, of which there were 24."

"The first solar stem of the Japanese year starts on the first day of the year: Start of Spring, which, unlike the Western calendar, is not  in March. The Last Solar Stem (the 24th) ends on the last day of Major Cold. The beginning of the year in Japan, as measured by the Western calendar, would start somewhere between mid-January and mid-February, the variation resulting from aligning the solar stems with the lunar months."

In summary, Heian Months may be about the same length as Modern Months, but they are strictly based on the moon phases and the 24 Solar Stems are anchored around them.

This leaves us with a conversion calendar that looks like this. (Edited to number the Solar Stems.)

And remember, this is approximate. The Solar Stems do not always align with these exact Georgian calendar dates.

The lunar months, of course, do not use our calendar date names. I present a summary table based on several people's documentation (Source 1, Source 2, Source 3) since sadly the other blogger didn't include them:

(Jan-Feb) Mutsuki (睦月) Month of Harmony/Affection 

(Feb-Mar) Kisaragi (如月) Month of Changing of Clothes

(Mar-Apr) Yayoi (弥生) Month of Plant Growth/New Life

(Apr-May) Uzuki (卯月) Month of Deutzia Flowers

(May-Jun) Satsuki (皐月) Month of Planting Rice

(Jun-Jul) Minazuki (水無月) Month of Water/No Gods 

(Jul-Aug) Fumizuki (文月) Month of Literature

(Aug-Sep) Hazuki (葉月) Month of Leaves  

(Sep-Oct) Nagatsuki (長月) The Long Month    

(Oct-Nov) Kannazuki (神無月) Month of Gods    

(Nov-Dec) Shimotsuki (霜月) Month of Frost     

(Dec-Jan) Shiwasu (師走) Month of Running Priests  

This table merges multiple sources because the translations of Kanji differ and it's good to see how/why these differences occur. There's also the issue of the bloggers presenting the months like 1-to-1 conversions.

I want to stress that these Lunar Months start and end anywhere from the middle to the late parts of Georgian Months. This is why Source 1 claims Mutsuki=Feb while Sources 2 & 3 claim Mutsuki=Jan. Source 1 chose Feb because the majority of Mutsuki occurs in Feb while Sources 2 & 3 chose Jan because Mutsuki technically starts in late Jan.

Now that I've laid all this out, I'm sure you have the following burning question:

How the hell do you convert modern time to Heian time???

I turn to Ms. Katherine M. Lawrence again for guidance.

"If this post gets some interest, I will continue and explain how the author calculates..."

There's no guidance.

However! There is an example of a conversion without the explanation.

"Thus, we know as Yamabuki and Tomoe ride up to the Shayō Tōge, the Sunset Pass, at Sunset on May 11, 1172, in the middle of a freak snowstorm, the author can say with some assurance that it happened at the Hour of the Bird on the 13th day of the 7th solar stem, two days past the full moon of the Flower Month."

So I'm going to try to figure out how this occurred using the information I've been given.

Hour of the Bird: This one is easy! The bird hour is the official sunset hour.

7th Solar Stem: According to the chart that's between late April and early May.

13th Day: Since Solar Stems are about 14-16 days this means it's almost the 8th Solar Stem which starts around May 21st.

2 days past the full moon of the Flower Month: "Flower Month" is not on my chart. From what I know about kanji, I think this is a simplification of Uzuki (卯月) or the the Month of Deutzia Flowers. This aligns with the month of May.

This is where I give up. I legitimately do not know where to go from here. ...And that's my point.

What does this have to do with Sukuna?

Before I completely lose you, my dearest most patient reader, please consider the following:

You wake up in a place where time is counted backwards and the hours pass faster than you've ever known them to. The things you use to tell the time don't exist or are in a form you no longer can recognize.

You see a clock face that counts in the wrong direction to numbers you've never seen used for time. The sounds it makes are familiar and foreign all at once. When you try to use the times and dates everyone you ever knew understood instantly, you're met with complete confusion. No one except a few dedicated scholars know how to convert your concept of time to theirs.

This is how Sukuna experiences time in the modern era.

Sukuna Can't Tell the Time (Sukuna almost fumbled his date with Gojo.)

Remember all my rambling about my own experiences with trying to understand SI Units as a Freedom Units user and my complete and utter failure to convert Heian Time to Modern Time? This is to establish that on a fundamental level, it does not matter that Sukuna has access to his vessel's memories. These foreign units mean nothing without a conversion reference.

Yuta in Gojo's body showed us how the memory recollection process works. You see them like movie and must draw your understandings from them.

We also learn from Sukuna that he tends to ignore memories that aren't relevant to his sorcery. So something mundane like telling the time isn't his priority. (I often think about how Sukuna has been watching Yuji and everyone around him use a cell phone but he still calls it a photography device.)

(He's lying about the flowers though.)

So this leads us to Sukuna and Gojo setting the date for their battle...

When Sukuna heard Kenjaku say November 19th and Gojo say December 24th his brain was the equivalent of TV static. It's very likely that Sukuna had to rely on Kenjaku to ensure he showed up at the right day. (Kenjaku, of course, is an exception here because instead of drawing from memories, Kenny got to live through the transitional period of the Lunisolar Calendar to the Georgian Calendar and had 100+ years to adjust to it. And now that I think about it, the Culling Game using days to count time is probably Kenjaku being considerate of this generational difference.)

It's a really good thing that Gojo didn't specify the time because that would've made things worse. See the following examples using the handy dandy conversion chart as a reference...

Gojo: Let's do this at 10.

Sukuna: ???

Gojo: Let's do this at 9.

Sukuna: *Shows up approximately 2 hours late at 11 am.*

Gojo: Let's do this at 8.

Sukuna: *Shows up approximately 5 hours late at 1 pm.*

Gojo: Let's do this at 7.

Sukuna: *Shows up approximately 8 hours late at 3 pm*

Gojo: Let's do this at 6.

Sukuna: *Shows up on time?* (It’s December in the northern hemisphere so the sun comes up after 6. Sukuna might still show up a bit late.)

These examples also assume that Sukuna can still gauge Heian Hours accurately. That too is up in the air because the hourly bells that sounded the Heian Hours no longer exist. The temples and bells may remain, but their use for timekeeping has changed entirely.

Since it's likely he spent a large portion of his early life in a temple, there's a chance Sukuna has a strong internalized sense of Heian Hours. But how many people do you know that can accurately feel an hour pass on vibes alone?

There isn't any point in the manga where Sukuna indicates he knows what Georgian Month is, let alone a Modern Hour. I think that's why he's just waiting on top of the building for Gojo to show up. The day starts for him when the sun comes up, not midnight. He probably figured that as long as he was out there by dawn, eventually his date would show up.

There's something strangely adorable about that. Sukuna didn't go out massacring others for funsies or wreak havoc after Gojo was unsealed. He just waited a whole month and gambled on their connection starting the death date on time.

How Sukuna Might Tell the Time

When Sukuna uses time units, he only uses minutes or seconds.

Well...the narrator implies he's able to use seconds.

This makes sense despite the Heian Era not having minutes or seconds. They're foundational units rather than a unit he needs to convert to something mentally. Because they are so drastically smaller than other Heian units of time, it's easier for the brain to calibrate itself to them.

This means that if one wanted to communicate a duration of time to Sukuna, it would be better to use minutes or seconds.

For example, rather than saying "see you in an hour", "see you in 60 minutes" would be better. Otherwise Sukuna is going to default to 1 Heian Hour and show up approximately 2 hours late.

Another example, telling Sukuna you'll "be gone for a few hours" means to him that you'll be gone for most of the day. At this point it would be better to reference a duration of an activity he's familiar with than use minutes. Sukuna watched some of those movies with Yuji. "I'll be gone for 1-2 movies" will make a little more sense to him.

Funnily enough though, telling Sukuna that you work a 9-5 wouldn't cause a miscommunication for duration. That's 4 Heian Hours or about 8 Modern Hours. He probably thinks it's weird you start working in the middle of the day and into the night though.

How Sukuna tells time for himself is likely similar to someone lost in the wilderness. He'll mostly be relying on environmental cues like moon phase, sun position, constellations, and flora growth. (Which ironically, climate change affecting flora growth patterns would throw him off even more. I can't even imagine how he'd feel about light pollution stealing away the stars on top of that. But at least the moon is still there!)

But as you can see, the normal methods of precise timekeeping are next to impossible for Sukuna to use and this discrepancy is ripe for miscommunication. This has a lot of comedy and horror potential in fanworks. (Hence me writing this as a resource.)

How Sukuna Used to Tell the Time

After doing all this research, I found myself viewing Sukuna's theme Malevolent Shrine a little differently. I always found it to be a quite sad sounding song for his character. Villains as violent and fierce as Sukuna tend to get battle themes that reflect that. In comparison to high energy bangers like One-Winged Angel (Sephiroth Final Fantasy), Avalon (Ultimate Lifeform Kars Jojo), or The Last Mission (Murem vs Netero Hunter x Hunter), Malevolent Shrine is rather somber and unfocused.

This theme opens and closes with bells. The opening in particular feels chaotic with how the different bells seem to overlap and overwhelm each other. But if you listen closely, you'll hear the gong of a temple bell that keeps rhythm by marking the start of a new measure. Using this bell, it becomes easier to count the beats, even when it eventually disappears in the middle section.

His theme to me now feels like an echo of what Sukuna used to know before he was thrust into a world that is no longer in sync with his very concept of time.

"Interestingly, the Japanese “witching hour” is not at midnight, but at nominally 2 AM (1 AM–3 AM) and is known as the Hour of the Ox."

I don't really know where else to put this. Sukuna on his throne of ox skulls, a representation of the witching hour where reality falls apart and spirits come out to play.

How all this might look in action. (Defending my questionable writing choices.)

Though everything I've given is plenty enough for people to run wild with in fanworks, I would like to give examples of it in my own. My type of autism is one where it's easier for me have something to use as a direct reference. (Clear and concise instructions please.) So I want to provide that for anyone else wired similarly.

Context: The fic I'm writing is from Sukuna's POV so I've taken great care to avoid him using modern timekeeping terms. I have a timeline for everything outlined, but I refuse to make that clear to the reader so they can get the Sukuna Experience™.

Other characters will reference the time and give the reader little windows into what date it possibly is, but otherwise they have to infer it themselves.

But because I myself use modern time, I caught mistakes I made in an early chapter... (Aka before I realized Heian Timekeeping is Extremely Different.)

Old Sentence: The year is 2019.

Revised Sentence: The year is 2019 for the Common Era.

(Heian Japan was mimicking China so I'm assuming that the numbered years restarted with each era since I couldn't find how years were kept.)

Old Sentence: It’s reminding him he has not eaten for the past 5 hours and 38 minutes.

Revised Sentence: It’s reminding him he has not eaten since the hour of the dragon—338 minutes and counting.

(This one is self evident I think.)

But even within this chapter, I obscured the date by having Sukuna observe his surroundings. I don't think it's a good example so I'll use a different one.

...it occurs under the same wisteria and same midday sun. The branches and buds have begun to green and sag before the Flowering Moon has reached its full, an indication that the bloom will come early.

Wisterias bloom in late April around the time of full moon. April aligns with Yayoi or the Month of Plant Growth/New Life. I worked under the assumption that the moons can be called by their month names kind of like Native American moon names. But Plant Growth/New Life Moon didn't sound good to me so I changed it to Flowering.

So I do have a very specific date for when this scene occurs, but Sukuna doesn't know so the reader doesn't know. The best you can guess is sometime in April but you have to know when Wisterias typically bloom and what a Flowering Moon might be. (I'm hoping this kind of vague timekeeping disorients the reader and causes frustration. I used sun, moon, and star positioning charts for this got dang it.)

Tools to Use for Weird Timekeeping

Chinese Calendar Conversions

Solar Stem Converter

(This one is annoying to use because they don't use the translated names but there is a definitions table.)

Lunar Calendar Converter

(Unfortunately it only allows for 1901-2100. You can probably infer the lunar month via the Solar Stem Converter for older dates.)

Celestial Bodies

For star/constellation positions in the night sky use this:

Sky & Telescope Interactive Sky Chart

(Yes you can even change the location and time to get the exact night sky the characters might be looking at.)

For sun positions and sunrise/sunset times use this:

SunCalc

For moon positions and moonrise/moonset times use this:

MoonCalc

(If you want to see a summary of moon phases by month this tool is helpful.)

This tool gives celestial body-specific rise and set times along with positions:

In-The-Sky

(The site is a bit unintuitive so here is an example of it being used for a star cluster at a specific location and toggleable date.)

Extra Info

Here’s a document on how the Subaru/Pleiades star cluster was used for timekeeping in historical Japan: The Inspiration of Subaru as a Symbol of Cultural Values and Traditions in Japan

There’s also this website that briefly goes over historical Japanese astrology with a focus on the Orion’s Belt constellation: Astronomy and Mythology in Ancient Japan

Wiki links for celestial body festivals that have been around since the Heian:

Star Festival (Tanabata)

Moon Festival (Tsumiki)

Why have you done this?

I don't know. Please enjoy my perverse obsession with the little details.