#tw: platonic abuse

[shizucheese]

So you know how there are some people who like to attack/ vilify those who don't like Lae'zel and they try to paint it as a sexism thing or claim it's "because she's not conventionally attractive" or w/e and then bring up Astarion and Shadowheart "because they're racist too" in the same breath? I think I had a bit of an epiphany on this that needs to be shared. Putting content warnings here as well as in the tags just to make sure we're thoroughly covered: references to trama, physical and verbal abuse, SA, toxic family dynamics, religious trauma, and religious zealotry ahead. Also note that this doesn't just apply to people whose favorite character is Astarion and/ or Shadowheart, I'm just focusing on them since they're the ones people complaining about people not liking Lae'zel always bring up.

Okay, now with all that out of the way... I think the people who complain about people not liking Lae'zel but liking Astarion and Shadowheart and fixating on the whole "but they're racist too" argument miss some pretty major points regarding why a lot of people like Astarion and Shadowheart and how the way Lae'zel treats you in Act 1 is a major factor. A lot of people like Astarion and Shadowheart because on some level, they relate to them. Maybe they came from a household where one or more adult was abusive (physically or verbally), narcissistic, overbearing and/ or controlling. Or maybe it was a friend or romantic partner, or more than one, who used them and abused them and treated them like dirt. Or maybe they're an SA survivor. Or maybe they have religious trauma, and maybe that religious trauma is exacerbated by the fact that they have people in their lives who refuse to change their views, or even double down on them, even when shown evidence that contradicts their beliefs. Or maybe it's some combination of these.

Even the reasons why Astarion doesn't like the Gur and Shadowheart doesn't like Githyanki is steeped in trauma: it was a group of Gur beating Astarion nearly to death that lead to him being tricked by Cazador into becoming his spawn (and if he hadn't been turned into a vampire, he would have died), and Shadowheart makes multiple references to the fact that she saw githaynki cut down her comrades during her mission with some serious brutality.

A lot of these people who identify with Astarion and Shadowheart because of their own past traumas have promised themselves that they're never going to let anyone teat them that way, speak to them that way, try to control them, act like they own them, etc. etc. ever again. I know that's what happened to me. Now let's look at how Lae'zel treats you in Act 1, shall we? She's verbally abusive. When you try to talk to her, she simply replies to you with "Speak" as if you're some kind of dog. When she first propositions you for sex, she's still at her most abusive towards you, but because you fight good, she wants to lick your skin, taste your sweat, and "take what's hers." Even once the entire party knows--because we literally all see it in action with our own eyeballs--that the only thing preventing us from becoming either brain washed slaves to the Absolute or just straight up becoming mind flayers is the Astral Prism, she still keeps trying to take it and return it to the githyanki, even going so far as to try and kill Shadowheart for it. Even when her loyalty to her culture nearly gets her killed in the Zaithisk, and you tell her the true nature of it, she refuses to accept the reality and tries to blame the doctor, who she accuses of being a traitor, rather than accept that no, actually, it was working exactly as intended. It takes Voss showing up at our camp after everything else that had happened, and telling her the truth about Orpheus--something we had already been told about and found books covering before that point--to get her to even consider the fact that um actually maybe Vlaakith is evil (something that coming face to face with her and her nearly killing us didn't even convince her of).

All of these things I've described about Lae'zel in Act 1 are things that can be incredibly triggering to someone who has experienced any of the traumatic experiences I described above that has resulted in people identifying with and latching onto Astarion and Shadowheart. And like....does Lae'zel get better in Acts 2 and 3? Sure. But by that point, the damage has been done. And like in real life, Lae'zel isn't owed anything just because by Act 2 she's clearing the bear minimum of not being straight up abusive to your character. People aren't required to stop ranking her as their least favorite character, or straight up not liking her, after the way she treats you for the first third of the game. Especially not when that "first third" can easily be the part of the game you spend the most time in, with you spending dozens of hours in that part of the game, which also means they're spending the most time with Lae'zel before her character improves at all. Like I'm not saying that the ven diagram between "people who relate to Astarion and Shadowheart because of trauma" and "people who don't like Lae'zel" is a perfect circle, but the overlap is probably a way rounder oval shape than people who are too busy insisting that if she were a handsome man she would totally be popular appreciate. Before I wrap this up, I want to touch on that last part because I think it's important to address. I've seen people make that claim, but would Lae'zel really be more popular if she were a guy? I haven't seen a single person who makes this claim say they would like Lae'zel more if she were a guy. What I have seen is multiple people say in response that they would actually like her less if she had been a guy, which is honestly also how I feel.

Maybe this is something worth exploring in a separate post someday, but I would actually argue that the only reason Lae'zel works as a party member at all is because she's a woman. Flip her gender and she becomes an abusive man who treats you like you're beneath him and who says he wants to taste your skin and your sweat and claim ownership of your body as the first "nice" thing he ever says to you. As a woman who already has to deal with the general sexism of our society (including lawmakers trying to take ownership of our bodies and make medical decisions for us instead of leaving it between us and our doctors), especially a woman with multiple male-dominated hobbies, that's something I would find incredibly triggering--(even more so than I already found Lae'zel's sex proposition, which already made me super uncomfortable and had me thinking "wow imagine if a guy said this"). That's not "edgy and mysterious;" a man who treats you poorly but still thinks he's entitled to you/ your body, would be the poster boy for toxic masculinity, and I can promise you that more people would have taken issue with a character like that than they do with Lae'zel as she is.

Especially people with trauma like what I described at the beginning of this..

[envy-of-the-apple]

Infinite Rewind

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: Instead of dying, you are sent 13 years in the past, but this isn't your face. "Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"

Part two: Rewound Infinitely

Word Count: 18.1k

(Warnings: slight yandere, death, murder, inaccurate Tokyo geography, blood, violence, mild gore, obsession, unhealthy relationships, child abuse/neglect, time looping(?), fem!reader) Ageless blogs that try to follow me will be blocked

First, you saw a monster. 

It was big and horrible—nasty teeth. You heard screaming. People. Running as fast as they could away from the creatures. Pain. 

And then, you saw a bright, clear sky. 

The sun was blaring down at you. It was so hot. Wasn't it December? How was the sun out at night? 

"Hey, you good?" 

A girl is looking at you. Short brown hair. A high schooler, judging by the uniform. How is she wearing all black when the weather is so hot? 

When you don't respond, her eyes squint. 

"Suguru, are you okay?" 

That's not your name; your mouth moves faster than your brain.

"I-I'm fine." That wasn't your voice. It was deeper. More masculine. What the fuck happened to your voice? 

The girl gives you another strange look but you're too busy freaking out over your new voice. Your hands are different too. A completely different skin tone, larger. 

And then you're fumbling with your pockets, clothes you know you didn't buy. The girl is calling for you again but you're too busy pulling out a fucking flip-phone and looking into the black screen, the only thing you have for a mirror. 

Purple eyes stare back. These aren't your eyes. This isn't your nose. This isn't your hair. This isn't your face. You blink. He does too. You open your mouth. So does he. You pinch your cheek. In the reflection, he winces. 

Oh, you just fucking bodysnatched someone. 

ⴵ

Ten minutes later, you conclude that your name is Geto Suguru, you are a 16-year-old boy, the year is 2006, and you attend a religious academy. 

"You're finally acting normally again." The girl-newly discovered as Ieiri- says. "No more weirdness." 

You don't blame her, considering you grabbed her by the shoulders, asking ridiculous questions like: what year is it, who am I, why am I here, who are you, am I dead, is this Hell, etc. For a teenage girl, she took your outburst well. 

"Sorry," you say and by now you've gotten used to your voice, "it must have been the stress from studying." 

She just hums, continuing to walk beside you. Though, Ieiri had a point. You were definitely calmer, and it was mostly because you figured it out. 

You were dreaming. 

You were lucid dreaming, to be more precise. Your brain was conjuring up a weird setting and you just happened to be placed in another person's body. You heard about this happening before. You were just so freaked out because this was the first time anything like this had happened to you. 

An impulsive part of you wants to tell Ieiri that this is just a dream, but you've heard weird things happen after a lucid dreamer tries to break the illusion. It's best if you just let it just play out and see where this goes. 

“Excited?” 

“Hm?” You ask. And Shoko rolls her eyes. 

“For the mission you have this evening. Special grade. Sounds scary.” She says, her sarcasm evident. 

Mission? Special grade? You don’t know what those words mean but it sounds like a school field trip. Shoko takes your hesitance as something else. 

“Ah,” she says, “so you forgot.” 

“I didn’t.” You reply on instinct. 

“I expected this from Satoru, not you. You should stop hanging out with him, he’s starting to rub off on you.”

You give a sheepish laugh, and it’s enough to quell her questions. 

She leads you into the school, all through the winding halls and through an office door. You couldn’t be more grateful, it’s not like you would have known where to go. It’s a teachers room. Two people are already inside. 

“Wait, for once, I’m early?” The boy with sunglasses asks, voice dripping with amusement. He’s leaning dangerously on a chair. You stare at him. You’ve never seen someone with white hair before. It can’t be real. 

“He forgot.” Shoko pipes up and the boy cackles. 

“That’s hilarious. I’m starting to rub off on you.” Ah, this must be Satoru. 

You give a nervous smile. “Haha, yeah.” 

The boy stops rocking in the chair. Three pairs of eyes look at you. Your uniform feels itchy.

“Gojo, stop making such a ruckus.” The man, presumably his teacher, gruffs. "You two got the briefing yesterday. Do your job and for the last time do not leave your assistant manager behind again." 

Gojo groans, and you delve into more confusion. Before you can say anything, the kid is hopping out of his seat before lazily striding out the door. Shoko and the teacher look at you expectantly. 

Oh, you were supposed to follow him. 

Not wanting to make a scene, you catch up to Gojo. He's tall, his footsteps are long and wide. But you're tall now too, so it's easy to keep up with him. This new body of yours has a lot of pros. 

"Yaga's so annoying," Gojo suddenly says, "constantly nagging us like that. It's not our fault the assistants can't keep up." 

What should you say? You clear your throat. 

"He just wants what's best for us." 

Wrong answer. 

"Where'd that come from?" He snorts. How charming. "I know you agree with me. You're just tryna' act like the nicer one, again. It's starting to get a little old." 

Is that how 16 year-olds talk? Rude, but also strangely off-putting, like he can see straight through you. Or more accurately, he can see straight through Suguru. How close are these two, anyway? 

Why did any of these questions even matter? This is a dream! You need to wake up already. 

On the campus grounds, a sleek black car waits outside for you two. Along with a miffed man in a black suit. This must be a very rich school for a field trip to have a chauffeur. Where were you two going again?

Gojo hops in the back, taking one of the window seats. You take the other. In your own body, you would've fit nicely. But Suguru's legs are long, and the spacious car feels cramped. You should've taken the passenger seat. How do tall people live like this? 

The ride is quiet. Out the corner of your eye, you catch Satoru type away on his flip phone. A moment later, yours beeps. You still have no idea how to use Suguru's phone or his password, so you ignore his message. Satoru groans. 

Quickly, you learn that Satoru has a very low attention span. When looking out the window gets boring, he bugs the chauffeur. When the chauffeur ignores him, he starts bugging you. 

"Hey heyyyy," Satoru says, "when this is all over, we should go to that new ice cream place. Like you said, we should." 

You look at him. "Uh, sure." You say. 

"And you should pay for it, 'cuz you said you owed me last time." 

Fine, whatever. "Sure thing." 

He grins. You can't see his glasses, and it makes his smile even more unnerving. This kid. 

This doesn't feel like a normal field trip at all. Why did you stop in front of some rackety house that looked as though it were about to collapse? You turn back to the only adult in the vicinity, but he's out too. He takes out a lighter and a cigarette. In front of impressionable children, too. Wonderful. 

"I'll wait out here." He says, though his tone is uncaring. "Since we're out in the country, there's no need for a veil. Do your best." 

Veil? What? Gojo's already going off again and you've already decided to be his chaperone, so you follow. You reluctantly trail behind him. Feet crunch the leaves. The house grows bleaker and bleaker. 

"Okay, I have a plan!" Gojo exclaims when he gets through the squeaky door. He's so loud, can't he be quieter? "I check upstairs and you check the ground floor and the basement. Got it?" 

Check the house? Were he and Suguru electricians in training or something? That still wouldn't explain why a grown man decided to drop off two teenagers in front of a creepy mansion. And why in God's name did Gojo want to split up?

"I-I don't think that's a good idea," you say, "shouldn't we try to stick together?" Or, better yet, leave. 

He clicks his tongue. "Ugh, you're so lame. Not like Suguru at all." 

Wait, what did he say? You're about to call out to him when he climbs up the stairs, disappearing from view. Unbelievable. 

This kid was starting to get on your nerves. Enough, you were leaving. You could have a nice dream where you met and fell in love with Zendaya, not babysitting some teenager, whilst possessing another person's body. You were going to wait outside with the man and hope your dream finally came to an end. 

Except, you couldn't go outside. The door was gone. 

It-it was right behind you, right? The entrance was right behind you. You couldn't have gotten turned around so quickly? What the hell happened? Or maybe you had gotten turned around? Considering how distracting that Gojo kid was, you might not have realized it. 

You look around the house. Looks like it'd been abandoned for a while. There's dirt on the shelves. Chairs were toppled over and left to rot. The wooden floorboards dangerously creaked beneath you. Just what had happened here? 

There's no patio door. No door leading to the outside. At the same time, you hadn't explored everything yet. Each door led to a room. The only door that didn't, led to a basement. And no, you weren't going down there. 

When you got back to where you started, you noticed something had changed. 

There was a person. Seated right at the base of the stairs? 

Gojo? Was he done with urban exploring? Maybe he knew the way out. He stands up, reaching to his full height, then higher, then higher. 

Gojo was tall, but this thing was taller. Gojo was human. This thing wasn't. 

What the fuck you can only mouth because your voice is stuck in your throat when it takes a shaky step towards you. It's a black husk of a figure, too skinny but too tall and twitching fingers. You don't know how you could've mistaken this for the kid. 

Another step. You're running, back into the house, leaping over the fallen shelves and creaky floorboards. It gives chase, and you can hear it groan behind you. It's deep and rumbly and terrifying. It just motivates you to go faster. 

It's slower than you. That's good, but it seems to realize this. You can barely celebrate your advantage before something heavy is smashed into your back, sending you toppling to the floor. You and wooden chair crash on the ground. 

It hurts. 

Everything hurts. 

Dreams aren't supposed to hurt. Because this wasn't a dream. 

This was real. You were stuck in the year 2006, stuck in another person's body, about to get mauled by a monster. 

You were going to die. 

You aren't even fighting anymore. How pathetic is that? The shock numbs your body as the thing grows closer and closer, all you can do is reach your hands up, protecting your face. 

And then the creature explodes. 

An implosion. It's skin and bones twist in a way no one should. There's a shriek, something wrong and high and inhuman before it's gone. Like it never existed in the first place. 

After all that, he's still smiling. Like the cat that just caught the mouse. 

"I guess we're not pretending anymore, are we?" Gojo asks, stretching his arms. "That's good. That game was starting to get a little boring, anyways. Now, then." 

He folds his glasses, tucking it on his uniform. Blue, his eyes are. As blue as a clear sky. 

"Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you, and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"

ⴵ

Contrary to your belief, Gojo Satoru is a good listener. 

There's never an interruption. Not even once. Every once in a while, he nods, a hand on his chin. It's probably because he can't interrupt. You just keep going on and on. Word vomit. 

He only speaks when you pause to catch your breath. "So you are from the year 2017, and you went back in time to body-snatch someone. I had a feeling your technique had something to do with possession." 

You look at him warily. "Wait, you knew this entire time?" 

You two hadn't moved from your earlier spot. You were still sprawled on the floor, still feeling the adrenaline surge through you. Gojo had transitioned to squatting on the floor. He scratches his neck, still so casual. 

"I have good eyes. Don't worry about it." He shrugs. "Anyway, you seem pretty harmless, and as annoying as it is not having Suguru around, I doubt killing you would do any good." Why is he being so nonchalant about murder? Is this kid really sixteen?

"I think we gotta' just wait around until your technique reactivates." Gojo whistles. "2017. That's like a decade away. I wonder what happened for your technique to show up." 

You blink, trying to remember the date. 

"It was Christmas Eve..." You glance at him. "And then I was here." 

He thinks for a moment. "Yeah, I got nothing." Of course. 

He sighs, before sprawling on the dirty floor, belly up. You grimace at his antics but choose to keep your mouth shut. 

He doesn't seem very worried. At the most, he looks mildly inconvenienced. Why isn't he worried about his friend? 

When you ask him, he just snorts. 

"Sorry, but you're not that scary. Besides, I don't have to worry about Suguru. He's strong." 

Well, that's nice to know, but one other thing still bothers you. 

"You speak so casually to me," you mutter, "You know I'm older than you, right? I'm 22." 

He laughs. "22? Damn. You're old, man." 

"That isn't old!" You argue. "You have no concept of age since you're just a teenager." And why did he assume you were a man? Oh right, you were trapped in a teenage boy’s body. Of course.

"I mean, technically, I'm older than you, right?" Gojo ponders with a grin. "If you're 22 in 2017, that makes you what—11 in 2006?" 

You say nothing because you have a feeling that if you continue to argue with him, he'll just drag you down to his insanity. 

"Technique, you've said that a couple of times." You look at him. "That's what you call your 'powers', right? Does Geto have one too?" 

"Yeah," Gojo says, "but you can't use it. You have zero cursed energy. Honestly, it's at the same level as a plant. A bit lower than regular humans. It's a little impressive, actually." For one second, could he stop being so condescending? 

"What's his technique?" You ignore his comments. "Could it be related to how I got here?" 

He gives you a look over. "I doubt that, but Suguru's technique is curse manipulation. Uh, you remember that thing you saw earlier." You nod. "Yeah, he can control and absorb them." 

He sounds pretty awesome. You look at your hands. Not your hands. Geto's hands. They're paler than yours, and a lot longer. This isn't your body. Your soul can feel it. You can feel the guilt too. 

'I'd give it back if I could,' you think, 'I just don't know how.' 

Gojo's getting up. He stretches. He was lying on the ground but you can't see a speck of dirt on his uniform. 

"Okay, then. No use mopping around." He grins down at you. "Maybe Yaga can do something about you. Let's get you back to jujutsu tech." 

You blink up at him. His hand is outstretched, reaching out to you. He's still grinning that insufferable grin but his eyes have slightly melted. 

"Okay." You say, barely touching his fingertips. "Let's-" 

And then Gojo's gone. And then, you're standing. And then it's cold. 

You're wearing a coat; weren't you wearing a uniform before? There's no clear sky. It's nearly dusk. 

You were standing on the sidewalk, where people bustled all around you. You fumble through your jackets, putting out a phone. An actual iphone. You flick on the screen. 

December 24th, 2017, 7:06.

Holy shit, you were back. 

Was it because you touched Gojo? That makes no sense, but how could you explain anything else that happened so far? God. You rake a hand through your hair. Your hand. Your hair. You can't believe how much you missed yourself. It felt so good to be back. 

Your mind is spinning, you had no idea what the fuck just happened.

For now, you just wanted to turn your mind off and grab a drink. 

You know there was a bar not too far from your location. Along the way, you pass by the bustling town. There's a couple walking side by side, giggling over something you couldn't hear. Right, it's the 24th. You remember your empty bed with no one to share it with, and you cement your desire to drown yourself in alcohol today. 

Your self-pitying session is almost how you nearly miss him. His shoulder brushes past you. You're about to apologize when you hear his voice. It's familiar. 

It used to be your voice. 

It's all there. Black hair, but it's longer this time around. Of course it is, he's had years to grow it out. He's tall, he must've grown since highschool. His broad back is the only thing you see, you're almost afraid to reach out to him. 

"Suguru...?" 

He halts in his tracks. When he turns around, it's like looking into a fractured past. He looks older, no longer a youthful teenager. You should have paid more attention to his eyes, how scrutinizing they were, how condescending his fake smile was. All that you could think of was that it was actually him. 

"Do I know you?" He tilts his head. "Apologies, but my girls and I are quite busy." 

You don't notice the two young ladies beside him until Geto points them out. Teenagers, maybe just around the age when you first met him. He was a father now. 

You're so swept up by the emotions that you barely notice they've continued walking. You stumble behind, ducking behind the alleyway they went into. 

"Wait! Geto!" You call. "Please! We need to talk!" You still needed your answers. You didn't know care how desperate you came off as. 

In hindsight, you should have noticed that they looked more annoyed than worried about a stranger chasing them across the street. 

The one with the ponytail scoffs. "This one talks an awful lot. How annoying." 

Geto sighs. He leaves his daughters, finally standing in front of you. This is what you wanted, right? A chance to talk to him. 

Still, you can't help but feel wrongness within you. His smile is off. 

"Most monkeys are just that, unfortunately." You don't move. You can't. Not when he places a hand on your skull. "I suppose it'd be humane to put this one out of its misery." 

Geto Suguru crushes your skull. And then you die. 

ⴵ

Again. You died again. 

This is the second time Geto has killed you. Fuck, you should've realized. 

"Back again, Greeny?" Gojo asks. 

He and Suguru were sitting outside in the grass. Satoru's holding up a few playing cards. You look at Suguru's hands and find yourself doing the same. 

Not again. 

"What year is it?" You ask warily. "And what did you just call me?" 

Gojo grins with teeth. You remember he compared you to a plant before, didn't he? He's so clever with nicknames; someone should give him an award. 

"Welcome back to 2006!" Gojo beams. "It's only been a couple of days since you left. And why are you so grumpy? I'm the one who just lost a player." 

You weren't grumpy, you were pissed. You figured out what's been going on with you, and it's all because of the asshole you're possessing right now.

The look on his face when he killed you. Like you were nothing more than an animal. A monkey. Now, you feel a lot less guilty about possessing his body. 

At least you figured out two things. You know how your technique works. Whenever someone kills you, you are sent back in time to take over their body. But you can go back whenever you touch Gojo, or perhaps just another sorcerer. 

Secondly, you have access to Geto's memories. 

It didn't happen the first time you died. It must have been because the kill wasn't direct (from Getos curse, rather than himself), but milliseconds after Geto split your skull in two, your brain was overwhelmed by his past, his present, as well as his future. 

Geto was set to die on December 24th, 2017. At the hands of his best friend, Gojo Satoru. 

Fuck him. Let the bastard die. You didn't give a shit. 

You reach over to touch Gojo's arm, ready to leave. He pulls back with a snicker. Ugh, the brat must've figured out your technique, too. 

"Stop messing around." You tell him. "I need to go back to my timeline." 

"Sure, sure," he says as though speaking to a time traveler is just another Tuesday. "But first, finish the game with me." 

"No." You tell him before leaning out even further. He isn't moving away anymore, but you still can't reach him. Fuck, he must've activated his technique. 

Despite your annoyance, you decide to keep the future away from Gojo's ears. He doesn't need to know that he'll be the one to kill Suguru. He shouldn't. Not at his age. He's just a kid. 

"Just one game! I promise!" He pleads. "Then I'll let you go. Suguru never lets me beat him, I want an easy opponent to boost my ego." 

You roll your eyes, but you settle down, picking up the cards. You already know the rules; you have Geto's memories, after all. 

It's silent, save for Gojo's humming. When you place down your King of hearts, you ask:

"Hey, is my cursed energy different at all?" You ask.

"Not really." He squints. "Wait, it has grown a little. Aw, Greeny sprouted!" 

So, every time you die, your cursed energy increases. That, or your cursed energy, increases every time you time travel. It doesn't matter either way. Does this mean you can use Geto's technique now? It couldn't hurt to try, right? 

There's a demon-no, they're called curses you know that now- floating beside you, just a little ways away. Small. Barely fourth grade. You stick your hand out, calling out Geto's power. There's a pull, a rush of energy. 

A blue ball drops into your hand. 

"Holy shit." Gojo leans forward. "So you can use his techniques." Surprisingly, there's no wariness in his voice. Just awe. 

"Yeah." You breathe before glancing up at him. "Shouldn't you be focused on your cards?" 

He shrugs, tossing the cards away. "What cards?" 

You sigh before staring at the ball. Well, you captured the curse. All that's left to do is swallow it, right? You can do that. You open your mouth. Gojo is still staring. You scowl. 

"Look away." 

He rolls his eyes. "It's not like I haven't seen you do this before. Well, not you, the guy that you bodysnatched." 

Ass, you keep that in your head as you hold your breath. You swallow the ball down. 

Instantly, you choke. 

It's horrible. Like a rotten carcass on the highway, oozing blood and oil and pus. You start dry-heaving, suffocating, spit dribbles down your chin. Nothing comes out. You've already absorbed it. The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. Like swallowing a rag that was used to wipe up vomit and shit. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. 

"Is it really that bad?" Gojo observes you. "That guy swallows them down, no problem." 

Because Suguru was used to this taste. He was used to the responsibility. The hoarding mass of distraught absorbing a curse comes with. It was a disgusting art. Something he'd perfected to mask for years. Until he couldn't take it anymore. 

Fuck, you might have lost your mind, too, if you kept having to eat this. To protect people who were happy you failed. 

You snapped out of it. Suguru's memories were affecting your own. That's probably a sign that you need to get out of here. No way would you be sympathizing with someone so monstrous. 

"Hopefully, I never do that again." You slowly recover, wiping your spit away with your hand. You lean back on your hands, exhausted. 

"Something I've always wondered." You call out to Gojo. "What did Suguru ever think about someone possessing his body." 

Gojo laughed. "Funny thing. He never knew." 

"What?" You look at him. "No gaps in his memory? Nothing?" 

"Nope," Gojo said, "he remembered what happened in the house, but he thinks he did everything. And then he said something weird." 

You perk up at that. "What did he say?" 

Gojo tilts his head. Then, he shrugs. 

"I forgot." Typical. 

You pinch your nose bridge. "So, did you tell anyone else about...this?" You gesture to yourself. 

"Wait, you're supposed to be a secret?" You look at him in alarm. "In my defense, I didn't know, but I haven't gotten the chance to tell anyone. After the mission, Suguru and I went to the arcade, and then I kinda' forgot about it." 

Well, at least Gojo's arrogance works in your favor sometimes. You can't let anyone know, especially anyone connected to the higher-ups. From Geto's memories, you know they don't like anything new. It's best to stay under their radar. 

"Good, well, from now on, we're keeping it a secret. Got it?" 

"What are you two keeping a secret?" A new voice pops up. You jump. 

You know him—at least from Geto's memories. Haibara beams at you. He looks so alive in the sunlight, smiling and with bright eyes.

He'll be dead within a year or so. 

Gojo takes advantage of your shock. "The bodysnatcher wants me to promise that I won't tell anyone that a curse-user is possessing Suguru's body." 

"What the hell? You just promised that you wouldn't tell anyone!" 

"Uh, technically, I didn't promise anything yet." Gojo retaliates. "But okay, fiiiiine. I won't tell anyone....except for Haibara." You groan. 

"What's going on?" Haibara's smile fades. "Wait, Gojo, is this not Geto? Is this person actually a curse-user!?" 

"I'm not a curse-user." You correct. "I'm not a sorcerer either, for the record." 

"You just used a curse technique to travel back in time to take over someone's body." Gojo enunciates. "Sounds like a sorcerer to me." 

"Wait, you're a time-traveler, Mr. Not-Geto?" Haibara asks and you are genuinely impressed he's able to keep up. 

"The name’s Greeny, Haibara." Gojo supplements. Haibara nods, still a bit unsure. 

"So...do we fight Greeny?" 

"It's not my name." You get ignored. 

"Nah, it's all good. Greeny's harmless. Just a weakling, don’t worry about it." Rude, but you don’t think you’d want Gojo to take you as much of a threat, not after knowing what he can do.

"Oh, okay!" Haibara instantly relaxes. The kid's really trusting, huh? 

"Okay, fine, but no one else can know, got it, Gojo?" This promise doesn't matter. It's not like you're planning on returning to the past anytime soon. As soon as you return to the present, you are leaving Tokyo and escaping the night parade of 100 demons. Fuck that. You don't want to die again. 

He waves you off. "Yeah, yeah."

He's so insufferable. You don't know who's worse: the genocidal maniac or this brat. 

"Give me your hand. I want to go home." 

Haibara looks confused. "Wait, why does Greeny need your hand?" 

"It's how the curse technique works," Gojo explains. "Greeny gets sent back in time, and then my true-love's touch sends him careening forward into the future." You frown at his comment, but he turns to you before you can say anything. 

"Which reminds me, Greeny: ever figure out how your technique works?" 

No way are you telling a kid that their best friend killed you....twice. Instead, you just shrug. 

"Haven't figured it out yet." 

Gojo stares at you. "Huh." He responds. "Well, if you ever figure it out, lemme' know." 

Sure you will. You hold up your hand. Gojo, finally holds his own up. Out of the corner of your eye, Haibara waves. And then you're back in your own body, on December 24th, 2017, 7:06 pm.

You waste no time. You push at the crowd, squeezing through the hoards of people. You need to get out. You need to leave before the death parade starts, before you're trapped in that terrifying cycle of death again. 

You need to leave. 

Exorcised. Ingested. 

No no no. Shut up. This wasn't you. This was Geto's memories. 

Exorcised. Ingested.  

You need to leave. 

Exorcised. Ingested. 

You need to survive. 

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. 

You stop, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. People glare, cursing as they move around you. They don't know this place will be a bloodbath in a matter of minutes. They'd all die. But you could stop it. 

If only if you hadn't accessed Geto's memories. If only if you hadn't eaten that damn curse. If only if you hadn't sympathized with a murderer. Maybe you'd have the courage to escape your future. 

But you'd felt that taste. Horrible. If you eat enough, you could go insane. If you were lonely enough, that would do it too. 

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. No one except for you. 

At 8:06 the screams start. The monsters come out to play their song. You close your eyes, forgive Suguru, and you die once more. 

ⴵ

For once, when you open your eyes, Gojo isn’t there with you. 

You’re still on the campus of Jujutsu tech. Suguru was just about to grab his soda from the vending machine. You finish his job. The can feels cold. It feels refreshing on your tongue. It’s a momentary distraction to the fact that you have no clue what you’re doing. 

You understand your cursed technique, but you still struggle with the application. Fuck, what did you do? You were utterly fucked. You’re playing a dangerous game. If you died- if Geto died- here, what would even happen? 

 The worst part is that you can’t even think of the hypothetical because there’s no other choice. You needed to do this. To not only save the people in Tokyo from the Night Parade, but to also save Geto Suguru. The man who has killed you three times now. 

Geto’s dissent starts to worsen at Riko Amanai’s death. If you could prevent that from happening, you could probably change history. But Geto’s true fracture begins with the curses themselves. They were rotting him from the inside.

You grimace, but you have to do it. You have to eat every single curse that Geto couldn’t swallow down himself. 

One was coming up. In less than an hour, Yaga will call you and Gojo for a mission. It’ll be a special-grade grave-type curse. Dispatching it will be simple, but Geto would be the one to exorcise it, ingesting the screams of all that the curse devoured. You needed to prepare yourself for that. 

Maybe you should save some of this soda to wash the taste off later. 

“Geto!” Someone cheers, you jump, but Haibara’s already poking his head around the wall. He grins. 

“Hey! Oh, you’re not Geto, aren’t you?” He tilts his head. “Greeny?” 

“Keep your voice down,” you whisper, “wait, you can recognize me?” 

He nods, after checking to make sure no one’s around, he says, “yeah, your eyes are different? It’s hard to explain.” He tells you. 

Huh. Interesting. 

“You’ve been gone a while.” Haibara beams. “It’s been a few weeks. I’m glad you’re back, Gojo was starting to get cranky.” 

It’s probably because he had no one to mess with. Poor him. He has all your sympathies. Ass. 

“I’m glad to return as his punching back.” You mutter. 

Haibara shyly shuffles his feet. 

“So, are you really from the future?” He asks. “Was Gojo telling the truth?” 

You nod. “Haibara, you haven’t told anyone, right?” 

“Of course not!” He instantly says. “Not a soul. Not even Nanami, and I tell him everything! Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“And Gojo, too! I know he doesn’t look very trustworthy, but me and him have kept it under wraps.” 

Reluctantly, you can’t help but agree with the kid. Gojo is annoying, but so far, he hasn’t done anything super harmful. 

“So anyway, Greeny.” He clears his throat. “Considering you’re from the future and all. Would you mind telling me what my future will be like?” 

You blink at him. He takes it as a sign to continue. “Nothing much! I just wanna know what I’ll be doing in 2017. Will I finally be a grade 1 sorcerer?” 

You think of Geto’s final memories of Haibara. A child burying another child. 

“Sorry,” you lie through your teeth, “but I didn’t know you in my future. Again, I’m not really a sorcerer.” 

Haibara nods, disappointed but still very excitable. He asks you about other things about the future, and you try to answer to the best of your ability, but you can’t shake off his dead glass eyes, staring at you from the morgue. 

“Another thing, we should have a code word.” Haibara exclaims. 

You blink. “A code word?” 

“If we ever meet in the future,” he explains, “y’know, in 'Groundhog’s day', he has to keep explaining what’s happening repeatedly? In order to prevent that, we should have a secret word between eachother so I instantly know who you are.” 

Not the same exact situation, but it sounds like exactly something a child would come up with. You indulge him anyway. 

“Okay, what did you have in mind?” 

“Well, it can’t be anything too crazy, or we might attract unwanted attention.” Haibara puts a hand on his chin in serious thought. You smile. 

“Got it! If you ever see me, just yell ‘brocolli head’ really really loudly. Then I’ll know.” Haibara chirps. 

“Wait, why broccoli head?”

“Because broccoli heads are green!” Haibara chirps happily.

You’re starting to learn it’s best not to question his logic.

You nod, very amused. “Sure thing, Haibara.”  

Someone calls out his name. He jumps before he waves to you. You watch as he joins with Nanami. They talk about something you can’t hear. Haibara laughs and you decide it would be a shame if his laugh was lost to death. 

Gojo finds you eventually. You can’t hide from him forever. You were walking into the school when he caught up with you. He’d ran there. His breath was slightly ragged. 

“Greeny, couldn’t get enough last time, huh?” You shoot him a look. 

“What are you talking about? Doesn’t matter, we need to go, the missions coming up.” 

Gojo’s smile dips ever so slightly. “How’d you know about that?” 

It’s probably not a good idea to tell the guy's best friend that you’re possessing that you’ve unlocked his memories. 

“Haibara told me.” 

“Ah,” He replies, “let’s go then.” 

The car ride is different this time around. Less tension. You aren’t as confused. Gojo is seated quietly beside you, watching the scenery go by. The assistant is too preoccupied with belting the radio to notice Gojo's words. 

“Figured it out yet?” He asks. “Your technique.” 

He's persistent about that answer, isn't he? You're sure the only reason Gojo cooperates with you is because he thinks you're inhabiting Suguru's on accident. How would he react if he knew you were doing it intentionally? It's best not to get on the strongests’ bad side. 

“Oh, not really, but I think it’s random. I can’t seem to find a set pattern. Maybe Suguru calls out to me, somehow?” 

“Maybe.” Gojo replies. His time is flat. Anxiety flips through your stomach. 

“You’re different this time around,” Gojo says. 

“Am I?” You ask. “I guess I’m just more determined today.” 

He gives you a look over. "Oh yeah? What for?" 

"The curse. I'll exorcise it, today." 

You don't know how you wanted Gojo to react to that, but you're still disappointed when he turns back to the window. 

"Do whatever, Greeny." 

In the end, you do swallow the curse. You manage to hold your gags in this time. 

It's worse than before. It makes sense. This curse was first-grade. Stronger. In terms of taste, it was like curdled blood and mold. You were so grateful for that soda. 

Gojo only watches with a tilted head. 

"You're getting better at that."

You give a weak grin. 

"Practice makes perfect," you reply, "do you think I'll get strong enough to absorb a special grade soon?" 

He doesn't like your question. You can see it in his stiff expression. 

"Maybe. Why do you want to swallow up curses, anyway? Last time you were here, you were practically begging to go back." 

His response wasn't exactly hostile but far from his usual playful attitude. You knew you'd have to confront this eventually. Despite how nonchalant he acted, it's clear Satrou doesn't enjoy watching someone prance around in his friend's body like this. If he starts to dislike you, it could rupture your entire plan. You need his cooperation, more than anything, to save Suguru. 

A little bit of the truth. Just a bit. It can't hurt, can it?

"Curses taste horrible," you say, looking at the ground. You can still taste the remnants of it, "it's the worst thing in the world. I can't even explain how wrong it feels to eat one. I thought...while I'm in his body...I could maybe help Suguru a little. I could ingest the curses in his stead, so that way, he still gets to absorb it." But it'll lessen the trauma it has on his mental state. 

You can't see how Gojo feels about that. Those glasses of his cover everything. But you know he's staring at you. The six eyes are taking you apart, observing you whole. 

"Did you know Suguru in the future?" He asks. 

"I didn't." The man that killed you. The man that will keep killing you. And you'd forgive him each time. 

Another beat of silence.

Finally, he just sighs. "You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?" 

You give a sheepish laugh.

"That isn't a compliment, by the way. You're just really reckless. And maybe stupid, Greeny." His tone isn't mean. 

"My name still isn't Greeny." You tell him. 

"Oh yeah, what's your name, then?" He's reverted back to that teasing lilt, and it almost makes you relax if you don't note the curiosity underneath. 

So far, you've been lax giving away information regarding the future, but you don't think you should continue that. What if you're too careless and the future changes in a way you didn't intend? A name, personal information, that could be way too dangerous. 

"Actually, just call me Greeny. I like that name a lot better." 

"You complained about it all the time, though?" Gojo argues. 

"It's starting to grow on me." You grin. "Grow? Get it, because you compared me to a plant and-"

"Stop stop, you really are an old man." Gojo groans. You just grin wider. Then, you grimace.

“I can still taste it.” You complain. “I’d kill for a cigarette right now.”

“I caught our assistant manager smoking a while back,” Satoru suggests. “Maybe you could go and beg him for one.”

You toss him a look. “Suguru doesn’t smoke, and I’m not giving a teenager a nicotine addiction.” You have found lighters inside Suguru’s pockets, but you have a feeling it isn’t for his own cravings.

"Hey, could you do me a favor?" 

He gives a wordless hum.

"Maybe after this, could you take Suguru out to a cafe'? I can taste the aftertaste of the curse." You shudder. "Just get him something to wash it down." 

Also, Suguru couldn't go back to his dorm after this. Suguru dissented because of his fractured relationship with everyone, not just with Satoru. You'd try to bridge the gap between him and his peers as much as you can. You go through Suguru's flip phone, asking Shoko if she wants to join the two. 

When you're done with that, you snap the phone closed. 

"Okay, I'm done here. You two have fun, okay?" You raise your hand. 

Gojo just huffs, amused. "Sure sure. By the way, someone wanted to thank you." 

You blink at that. "What?" 

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it."

He gives you a high-five, and then you're back in 2017 in your own body. 

Temporarily. So far you figured out that you get sent back an hour before the night parade happens. 8:06. Considering you have a couple more minutes to kill before you’re killed, you reach into your pocket for that cigarette you’ve been craving. You pick the first out of the box, cherry burns just out of corner of your eye.

You notice things now. The children giggled to their parents. Old couples gingerly held hands with sweet smiles. You'd save them, but first, you need to save Suguru. 

And do really do that, you'd have to save Riko. 

Easier said than done. You could go back in time, but you can't really control when to go back in time. It's been random, but your trips are typically two days away from each other. You can work with that. 

But in order to get to Riko's death, you'd have to die...a lot. Absorbing curses made Suguru lose his mind, but how well would you fare with dying over and over again? 

"Hungry?" 

Someone looms over you. A woman. She's pretty, with short hair and bangs. In her hand, she holds a bag of chips. 

"The vending machine gave me an extra." She gives a laugh. She kind of sounds like you. "Would you like one?" 

"Oh." You take it. "Thanks." 

"Don't mention it." She trots off into the crowd. You watch her.

A stranger's act of kindness. She didn't even know what would happen to her soon. You grip the bag, it crinkles in your grasp. 

It didn't matter how well you'd fare with dying over and over again. You'd get over it. So many innocent people depended on you. You can't just abandon them like this. 

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right? It's aggravating how accurate he is, honestly. 

The screams start up again, and you forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

It takes a few cycles to finally reach the day Amanai Riko is assassinated. Whenever you deem yourself too early, you often accompany Gojo on a mission and exorcise a special-grade curse. Your overall plan is working, bit by bit. Each time you return, Suguru's memories swarm you. Each curse he remembers as less painful. 

It's why you get worried when you get there a little too late. 

"Something wrong?" Riko asks. 

You've stopped in the middle of the hallway, and of course, they're looking at you strangely. You know this place. Tengen's barrier is just an elevator ride away. Suguru, Riko, and Miss Kuroi were all almost there.

Fushiguro Toji has already arrived. 

In the first timeline, Geto leads the girls all the way down to Tengen's barrier. He puts his trust in Gojo. Of course, he would. They're the strongest. And in the end, Gojo does kill Toji. 

But the kill comes too late. Riko still dies, and the fracturing happens. 

You thought you'd have more time. If you had arrived a bit earlier, you could have fought with Gojo, and the chances of defeating Toji would have significantly increased. 

What do you do?

"What's the matter?" Miss Kuroi asks. She's supposed to die today, too. 

"Sorry, ladies." You smile. "But I need to go back for him." 

You don't answer their calls, running back up the hallway. The sun's bright, shimmering beautifully in the sky.

It contradicts the blood dripping all over the stone floor. 

Gojo's lifeless body is draped across the rubble. It's a horrifying sight. Eyes that were once like the sky are just this empty blue. A dead sea. He isn't breathing. You know, if you touched his wrist, you wouldn't feel a heartbeat. 

"Hate to break it to ya', but the Gojo kid's dead." Toji's right behind you. You can feel him grinning. 

You know Gojo isn't dead. At least, he won't be dead for a while, but seeing the boy who used to tease you, annoy the shit out of you, laugh at you, be so....it made you freeze. Falter. 

You were wasting time. 

"Sorceror killer." You say after a minute. You almost can't bring yourself to turn, to look at him. The man who kills Gojo. The man who could've killed Suguru, but chose not to. "You certainly live up to your name." 

Toji's grin widens. The only man in the world with zero cursed energy. It'd be awe-inspiring if it weren't so terrifying. 

It's funny. You weren't afraid of dying, not anymore. You were afraid of failing. Failing when you were so close, when victory was just a blink away. 

"The flyheads." You mention to the swarms of curses all around you. "That's really smart." It gives you an idea or two. 

You have Suguru's memories, but they aren't always concrete. You just have snippets. A general idea of what happened within a certain event. It makes sense. Humans can't remember everything. 

But regarding the memories of Suguru and Fushiguro, everything is crystal clear. It's almost like you were there when it happened. 

It also means that you know Suguru, at this current level, won't be able to defeat Fushiguro. 

But Suguru doesn't need to beat the sorcerer killer; he just needs to hold him off. 

Currently, Suguru's body contains 368 curses: 3 special grades, 24 grade ones, 33 grade twos, 103 grade threes, and 205 fourth grades. 

You release all 368 of them. 

In another timeline, these curses would look to you as something to devour. Today, these curses have a new target. 

It won't stop Fushiguro. You're not dumb enough to think that. But it should give you time. Hopefully, it'll be enough time. 

Your knees hurt when you collapse next to the corpse. Gojo's so beautiful, even when he's dead. 

"Gojo." You shake him. Nothing happens. "You need to wake up. Gojo." 

Nothing happens. You don't know what caused Gojo to become the strongest, Suguru wasn't there. For once, you are blind to the past. 

"Riko needs you. Wake up. You-you need to go and save her and Miss Kuroi." 

His body's so cold, and you know he's dead because when you touch his skin, you don't wake up in the present. You push against his body, and he falls limply right back to place. You're sure this sight will haunt you for the rest of your life. 

"Satoru." You beg. "It's Greeny. Please, please, please wake up."

 Nothing happens. 

Everything happens. 

The brightest blue you've ever seen. It's heavenly. A glow that warms and chills your skin. It takes a while for you to see again. When you do, Satoru is standing. 

Somehow, his eyes are even brighter. You don't think you're looking at a teenage boy anymore. 

You're sitting in front of God. 

"Greeny." he states, voice flat. "You're late." 

You manage to smile.

"Sorry." 

You’ve seen Satoru fight before. He’s always calm, body relaxed as he practically floats in the air. Those fights differed from Suguru’s memories—post Satoru’s awakening. There’s always this twinge of desperation. An aftertaste of bloodlust.

But seeing it for yourself is something else entirely. Even with Suguru’s heightened senses, you still can’t follow him. He’s barely a mirage. One milisecond you can see a blue flash, the next you see nothing.

It's barely a fight. Not this time around. Fushiguro is completely unmatched. There's a flash of purple. And then, it's over. 

Fushiguro is in shambles. You didn't realize he was human until he started to bleed and shatter. Parentage over labor. It's sobering, in a way. 

Satoru's mouth moves. You're too far away to hear anything. They stand there for a few more seconds until Fushiguro slumps. Then, he falls.

You wonder when you got so desensitized to death. 

Gojo stands there. You should let him compress, but the clock is ticking. You need to do one more thing before you can let Suguru go. 

"You need to go." You say when you're close to him. He doesn't acknowledge you. "Riko's about to enter Tengen's barrier." 

He looks at you right then. His eyes. They're so bright, but they're strangely lifeless. Like he can't process you, your words. 

"I can see you now," he says, "it was so foggy before, but now, you're crystal clear." 

Six eyes look at you. You don't think you're hiding behind Suguru's face anymore. 

You clear your throat. 

"Gojo." You remind him. "Riko. You need to stop her." 

He blinks back into focus, rising from his high. 

"Oh," he says after a moment, "right." 

You stop him before he can walk any further. You hold out your hand. 

"You and Suguru." 

For the first time in a while, Gojo hesitates to send you back. You wait a couple seconds longer. 

"Yeah," he finally says.

His skin still feels cold. 

ⴵ

This death is a lot more painful than the others. 

The curse that's holding you is more intelligent than its predecessors. It keeps you alive, tearing at your skin, feasting on your flesh. Blood is everywhere. You scream until it rips out your vocal cords. It's almost a mercy to just die. 

You forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

Time skips a lot faster now. 

You stand in 2006, four months after the death of Fushiguro Toji. It takes a second for Geto's memories to kick in. What you see makes you nearly cry in relief. 

Gojo and Geto made it in time. You can still remember the tears spilling down Riko's cheeks, the smile on her face when Geto asked her if she wanted to go back. They were safe. They were home, with each other. 

You did it. You actually managed to pull it off. 

But you can't celebrate, not yet. From what you can gather from Suguru's memories, Geto defects after four years. You've just held off the eventual. 

It's nearly the middle of December. The air feels a bit chillier. You stay on that bench where Suguru once occupied. He was finishing his lunch. Usually, he'd eat with Satoru, but Satoru wasn't on campus these days. 

Right, you weren't finished with your work, yet. There was still one other issue. Suguru went on missions alone these days. Swallowing curses, letting them fester and rot in his body. It's isolating and grueling work. You might have been able to help him with the absorption, but your aide won't be enough to prevent his eventual downfall. 

You'll have to deal with his natural isolation. To do that, Suguru will have to make friends with people who aren't Satoru. 

Suguru does have friends, but he's the closest to Satoru. Considering Satoru is getting busier each passing day, Suguru needs to broaden his horizons a bit. 

It's a good thing this school is filled with such colorful characters. 

Haibara and Nanami were sitting in the back of the school. From Geto's memories, their dynamic was interesting. Haibara was definitely more outgoing than the two, but Nanami seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. They looked out for each other, in that way. 

Ah, Shoko was there, too. You haven't seen her since your first day. Her hair's grown longer. It lightly brushes her shoulders now. The cigarette in her hand burns a cherry red. 

Your reaction is rooted in Suguru's instinct than anything on your part. You reach out, taking the cigarette and stomping on the embers. 

"You shouldn't smoke in front of kids." You tell her, hoping she didn't read too much into your action.

Shoko scoffs, but to your satisfaction, she doesn't take out another one. 

"We're just one year below you." Nanami retaliates, but he looks more at ease now that the cigarette's out. 

"Did you finish lunch already, Geto?" Haibara asks kindly, then he takes a closer look. "Greeny?" 

You suck air through your teeth, giving Haibara a scathing look. Instead of looking exasperated, Nanami looks confused. 

"What's Greeny?" Nanami asks, and Haibara weakly laughs. 

"It's-uh-my new nickname for the tree that's growing over there!" He wildly points to something just behind you. "'Cuz it's so...green!"

"Of course." You note the hint of affection laced within his tone. 

"When'd you get back?" Haibara recovers with eagerness. 

"Recently." You grin. "Nice to see you again." 

"You saw him this morning," Nanami interjects, and you shrug. When he frowns, you know you pulled off a perfect Suguru impression. 

Suguru melds into the conversation perfectly. Haibara says something funny, Shoko and Suguru agree, Nanami disagrees. It's a lovely little cycle that ends when Nanami grumbles and picks himself up to go. Shoko starts to follow suit when you stop her. 

"Your hair's nice." You tell her. 

She hums, grabbing a strand to study it. You can see hints of dark circles beginning to form under her eyes. She looked livelier when you first met her. Curses have been popping up left and right since Fushiguro's death. Everyone is overworked, but Shoko looks like she's getting the brunt of it. She's one of the only people who can use RCT on others, and there aren't many healers on her level. All of the strongests share one thing in common it seems. 

"Pretty soon, it'll be longer than yours," Shoko replies. You smile in response. 

"Where are you going?" You ask. 

"Dorm," she replies, "I'm behind on paperwork." 

You had a feeling she always was. You gave a look of sympathy, but misery loves company. 

"I have some work too," You 'remember' the piles of papers lodged on Suguru's desk, "Maybe we can do it together later. The cafe right next to campus? It'll be my treat." 

She looks at Suguru. Her eyes are a pretty color. 

"Sure." She shrugs. "see you then." 

You feel your heart thump twice in your chest and decide that your work here is done. 

Haibara stares at Shoko's disappearing back. The forehead flick comes from both you and Suguru. 

"That hurt." Haibara whines. 

Good, you inwardly think. 

"Sorry." You tell him. He rubs his head, and you wonder if this is how kicking a puppy feels like. 

Luckily for you, Haibara recovers quickly. 

"You've been gone for a while." Haibara tilts his head. "What happened?" 

You can't exactly control your technique, it's more like it has a mind of its own, placing you exactly where you need to be placed. Instead of answering, you sigh, leaning against the wall. 

"Timeline gimmicks." You tell him tiredly. "It's hard to explain." He frowns, but he takes it as an answer.

"Do you know when Gojo's coming back?" You ask. "I think it's time for me to go back again." 

In previous time travels, you and Haibara tried to see if any physical contact would be enough to send you back. No matter how many times you two high-fived, shook hands, or even held hands. Nothing worked. Only Gojo Satoru could activate your technique. It must have something to do with the amount of cursed energy another person has. 

“He should be getting back later this evening.” Haibara muses. “But I’ll be happy to keep you company!”

It's nice to hear him chatter. If you'd let him, he'd go one and one. But you like hearing him talk about his sister. Apparently, she’s also a sorcerer, and his affection for her makes you smile.

"You remind me a lot of her, actually." He tells you. "Even though, y'know, you're a man." It's enough to get a laugh out of you. 

“Do you have anyone in your family who can see curses?” Haibaracasks.

“No,” you answer honestly, “at least, not that I can tell. My dad never spoke of curses or strange powers when I was growing up.”

You think he would have said something; after all, you two were too close to have secrets from each other. Your father was a single man, who took to raising you himself after your mother passed away. He often said you had her laugh.

“Maybe you’re one of a kind,” Haibara suggests.

You agree with him.

Gojo finds you before you can find him. He comes up to you with a grin and a wave.

“Hey, long time.”

His sunglasses are tilted down. You can see his eyes. They’ve lost the mania he had in his fight with Fushiguro. You’re relieved at that. You still can’t shake off that strange thing he said to you.

Wordlessly, you raise your hand. Satoru frowned.

“You wanna leave so soon? You just got here.”

“I’ve been here for hours,” you tell him, “also, you aren’t very concerned that someone is using your best friend’s body as a puppet.”

“He’s been through worse,” Satoru tells you off with a wave. Some friend.

“Let’s go to the arcade,” he suggests.

“Do that with Suguru.” You tell him. “I’m not hanging out with a high schooler.”

“Right right, my bad. I keep forgetting you’re an old man, Greeny.”

“22 is not old,” you say with exasperation, “didn’t your birthday just pass? You’re just five years away. I’ll see your attitude change, then.”

He grows quiet. You feel like you messed up somewhere.

“How did you know about my birthday?”

Fuck, you keep forgetting about keeping Suguru’s memories a secret. It takes everything within you to just relax.

“Haibara told me,” you say, “blabbermouth. You know him.”

“Oh.” Gojo replies. “Huh.”

You shuffle your feet. Distantly, you wonder what shoe size Suguru wears.

“How did your mission go?”

“Horrible,” he’s instantly back to his usual self, whiny and complaint, “and the curse was so ugly too. It was oozing goo everywhere.”

You frown. “Sounds gross. But you won, right?”

He doesn’t even answer. You secretly admire his sheer confidence. You certainly weren’t that when you were at his age.

“How’s Amanai and Miss Kuroi?” You ask.

“Safe.” He tells you. “The higher-ups weren’t really happy with us after that; pretty sure all these sudden missions are punishments.” He frowns. “But they’re fine. Miss Kuroi officially adopted her, so she’s a Kuroi now, too.”

You smiled. You already knew all that, but it’s nice to hear it.

“You saved them,” he says.

You laugh, “I didn’t do a thing.” You tell him. “You and Suguru did all the heavy lifting. I just caused some property damage.”

“You did.” He replies. “I don’t know how, but things always manage to work out whenever you’re around.”

You don’t like how he phrases that, but you don’t react.

“You think so? Maybe I’m lucky.” It’s supposed to be a joke of some kind. Neither of you laugh.

“You really don’t know us in the future?” He asks.

Maybe you should’ve asked Shoko if you could have a cigarette.

“I really didn't,” you say, “Honest, I—I have no idea what’s happening. I’m just as lost as you. Hopefully, I can figure out how to control my technique, and you won’t have to see me again.”

You never stopped feeling guilty for doing this to Suguru. Controlling him. Forcing him to laugh with his friends, make decisions based on your feelings rather than his. But you’re so close. You promise yourself that once you fix everything, you’ll never cause someone this much pain again. No matter how many times they kill you.

Satoru’s fists tighten. He looks even more upset at your response.

“That’s not what I—” He cuts himself off. You wait. Satoru says nothing more.

“You’re annoying.” He tells you in the end. It’s clean and cut, but it sounds like him. More confident, less wavery. “And stupid too.”

You can’t help but smile.

“Thank you. Am I done entertaining you now? Can I go?” He grumbles, holding up his hand.

“Yeah, sure, Greeny.”

ⴵ

You forgive Suguru.

ⴵ

Something’s wrong.

You can feel it. Something’s wrong.

You look through Geto’s memories. There’s nothing. Everything’s going as it should be. Everything looks perfect. Then, why do you feel so wrong?

Currently, Suguru was finishing excorcising a curse. You absorb it, swallowing down the remnant like it’s a pile of rusted nails but even the disgusting taste isn’t enough to wash away the feeling of dread.

The walls of the hospital was empty. The auxillary managers had already cleared everyone out by the time Suguru had walked in. Maybe it was the silence that added to your stress?

You walk out. Nothing changes. One of the managers comes up to you with a clipboard.

“The curse was exorcised.” Suguru tells them. “It wasn’t first grade, it was special grade. It was still disposed of.”

He curses, scribbling something down on his clipboard.

“The wrong information again.” He hisses to himself. “If we keep doing this, someone will die. We need more people, we’re way too stretched out.”

Those words are familiar. Hold on.

“Wait, what day is it?” You ask the frazzled-looking manager.

Offhandedly, he responds. He says the date so casually, and yet his mere words feel like a bear trap, tightening on your leg.

No. You should have had more time. Why weren’t you given more time?

Nanami and Haibara have probably already been dispatched. You go through Suguru’s phone, finding Haibara’s contact. It doesn’t go through. Nanami doesn’t pick up either.

You won’t make it in time. Even using Suguru’s curses, you won’t be able to reach them until it’s too late. Suguru’s memory of that day is muddled and dark, but Haibara’s dead corpse laying on the examination table. The pieces of him that Nanami could bring back.

You wouldn’t be fast enough.

He picks up on the second ring.

“...What’s up?”

“It’s Haibara.” You spit the words out as fast as you can. “Satoru, you need to go and get him right now, he isn’t going to make it—”

“—Greeny?” The exhaustion in Gojo’s voice is gone. You can hear something rustle behind him.

“Satoru, listen to me.” You beg. “Haibara and Nanami were just dispatched on a mission, but Yu isn’t going to survive it. It wasn’t a second-grade curse; it was a first grade. Please, you have to go and save him before it kills him.”

It’s silent. It feels like hours have passed when you know it’s just three seconds.

“We’ll talk later, Greeny.” The line clicks.

You’ve lost the trust of the strongest.

ⴵ

The future has changed when you get to campus. Haibara’s status is still alive. Barely. But he’s still there. Shoko’s currently taking care of him.

Nanami remains quiet the entire time since he returned with Haibara’s battered body. The only thing you can think of to offer comfort is to pat his shoulder. He barely even registers it. It’s more for you than for him. You’re self-soothing, taking care of something else, so you don’t have to recognize your own panic.

If Haibara dies, right here, on this day, everything can change. Everything can go back to the way it was in your original timeline. Haibara, with his sunshine, smiles, and bright eyes. His death is so important, and you can’t even think of him right now.

Gojo Satoru knows you’ve been deceiving him.

This is bad. So very bad. If he starts to suspect that you know more than you let on, he might deem you enough of a threat to kill, regardless of whether or not you’re in Suguru’s body. It’s not like that hasn’t stopped him before.

Gojo Satoru is selfless. He’s selfless enough to kill his best friend, if he thinks it will save everyone.

But if Gojo kills Geto here and now, would that really be bad?

You’d lose your path to the past, but the threat to your life would be over. Even if you did die in Suguru’s body, at least the people of Tokyo will be spared the Death Parade. You’ll still get what you want. And it will be much easier than your current plan.

Nanami shuffles behind you and you instantly snap out of it. That wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been you. That same lack of apathy when Fushiguro died in front of you.

It seems like dying over and over again caused you to lose bits of your humanity.

Shoko comes out. Nanami stands up, a tall ball of nervous energy. Shoko removes her mask. Her dark circles have grown even more prominent. She’s only 17.

“He’s still alive.” Nanami sags. “But he isn’t responsive. I’ve done all that I can.”

She looks at Nanami, and then she can’t anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Nanami rasps, the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, “don’t apologize. It was my fault. I should’ve taken better care of him.”

You swallow. It wasn’t his fault, you wish you could tell him that it was yours.

You wonder what Haibara’s younger sister looked like. A spitting image of him, perhaps. Shorter. Darker hair, bigger eyes. Their smiles would look identical. What would she look like when she’s told her brother died doing the profession he forbade her from doing?

You can’t do that to her. You can’t be the reason she loses her brother the second time.

You’re not sure if a God is even out there. How could there be? What kind of entity would do something like this to you? Still, you sit on that bench, right outside the room where Haibara’s body lay, and you pray for a God.

Gojo’s footsteps stop right in front of you.

It’s hard to get the words out. For a minute, he just stands there.

“Did you exorcise it?” You finally ask.

“Yeah.”

You lift your head up to look at him. Even in his school uniform, he’s regal to look at. Like a warrior of the sun, blessed by the moon, sent to vanquish beasts and monsters.

Now, his blood-soaked sword is pointed at you.

Make it quick. You can only think. Just make it quick.

“Not here.” You say.

Nanami was still shaking. Shoko was right beside him. So you stand, you drag yourself away from Haibara’s fading presence, and Gojo follows behind.

It shouldn’t be this pretty outside. The sun is bright, and the sky is clear. There should be rain. Enough rain to drown the Earth.

“I figured out your technique a while ago, y’know.” You don’t look at him. You can’t. “Dying. Death activates your technique. Each time you die, you’re sent back 12 years in the past.”

You grip the fabric of your uniform until your knuckles turn white. Satoru’s cruel enough to continue.

“But I never got why your soul kept possessing Suguru’s body. It always felt kinda’ random. Unless he was the one who was killing you. Over and over again.”

“Gojo. Stop.” You beg.

“That’s how your CT works. Every time you’re murdered, you go back in time so you can kill them when they’re at their most emotionally vulnerable moment. It’s a pretty powerful technique, all things considered. I might not even stand a chance against it. Assisted suicide, never expected that from you of all people.

But you never do. Each time Suguru kills you, you just come back and try to save him and everyone else your hands can reach. I can’t get why you did that.”

He steps in front of you so you can see him. The God that he is.

“Let’s cut the shit, Greeny. Tell me what future is so bad you’re willing to die over and over again to prevent it.”

The worst outcome you could have ever thought of was standing right in front of you.

Satoru was demanding to know his future.

And...you couldn’t.

You’re taking in a shaky breath. It’s not enough oxygen. The sky was close to crumbling, and you still couldn’t breathe.

“There’s nothing to know.” You try. “There’s nothing, I’m fixing it—”

“—by Suguru killing you, or is this considering killing yourself, now?”

“You don’t understand.” Your voice is cracking, so high-pitched that even Suguru’s vocal cords can’t keep up. “You don’t get it. You can’t.”

“Then help me understand.” His voice is as ragged as yours, he steps closer, you step back. “Tell me why my friend would do something like this to someone.”

It clicks right then. Satoru’s anger isn’t directed at you.

No, it’s directed at Suguru.

It’s even worse than you thought.

“He—he was better than me. He was supposed to be the best out of all of us. I wanna deny it all that I can but—but I can see the proof right here in front of me. And—And I don’t—” His voice breaks too much to continue. 

You’re breaking, too. How many times have you been doing this, over and over again? All alone, with no one to support you. To comfort you.

The words are right there, threatening to bubble out. It’d be so easy to tell Satoru everything.

And maybe you would’ve, but then you looked at him.

Despite how disingenuous Satoru acted, you knew he was kind. The kindest person you’ve ever met. He’d sit there and listen, and he’d break every bone in his body to help. That’s just how he was.

Satoru was selfless, he was selfless enough to kill his best friend here and now if it meant he’d save the millions in Tokyo.

You can’t put another burden on the strongest.

You can’t do that to a kid.

“It—it isn’t him.” You manage to spit out. “He isn’t doing it on purpose. It’s not his fault.

It’s the curses. They were too much for him; they overtook his body. Suguru couldn’t control them anymore.”

He says nothing. It’s like you’ve put a spell on Gojo somehow, freezing him in place. Satoru can’t do anything but stare at the talking puppet that’s his best friend.

“He lost so many people.” You continue. “Riko, Miss Kuroi, Haibara. He couldn’t take it. It was too much. His body succumbed to the curses, and they took over Shinjuku. That’s how I keep...”

It’s okay to lie like this, you justify to yourself. Because the Suguru, you know—the one with fake smiles, beady eyes, and a broken expression—isn’t the one that Satoru knows. They’re two completely different people. Years—timelines—apart from each other. They aren’t the same.

Even then, you forgave both Sugurus a lifetime ago.

You’d get on your knees if you know that would make a difference. You’d plead and beg and cry if it would get Satoru to drop it. In the end, you can only stare at him.

“All I’m asking is that you trust me.” You whisper. “Believe that I’m making this right. Please, Satoru?”

His eyes. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s gone quiet and dull. The same look he had when he fully awakened his technique. The day he became God.

But he’s not a God. God’s don’t cry.

He leans ever so closely until his head rests on your shoulder. His body shakes.

“You’ll save him, right?” He asks. Gone, is his aura of confidence and resilience. He’s nothing more than a shell. If you feel something stain Suguru’s uniform, you say nothing about it.

You smile anyway.

“I will.” You tell the truth. “I will save him.”

You think of something morbidly funny.

“I’ll die trying.”

His shoulders shake with quiet, genuine laughter, the kind that’s wet and sticks to the top of your mouth.

“That’s fucked up, Greeny.” He whispers.

You hum, reaching up to pat him on the back. It takes another minute before he gathers himself up. His eyes are shiny. Satoru blinks it away.

“Haibara will be okay.” He says with such conviction. “I’ll take care of him. I’ll take care of Suguru, too.”

He doesn’t get it, not yet. He doesn’t understand that Shoko and Satoru and Haibara and Nanami need him. He’ll get it soon, though. You managed to put Suguru on the right path.

For now, it’s all you can do. 

“I know you will.” 

He scoffs, right then. 

“You’re really annoying, you know that? Next time, don’t piss me off like that. Just tell it to me straight.” 

Rely on me. Lean on me.

“I’m sorry,” you say and you truly are, “I won’t leave you in the dark from now on. I guess I just forgot that I had a friend in 2006.” 

His eyes get a little brighter. “It’s actually 2007—” 

“Shut up.” He laughs and it sounds like him again. 

You reach out your hand and his grin fades, the tiniest bit. He mirrors you, regardless. 

This time, you hesitate.

“You should learn how to be selfish every once in a while.” You tell him. “I won’t fault you if you’re selfish. I don’t think anyone will.

He doesn’t answer that, but his touch is finally warm.

ⴵ

It hurts. It hurts so much. Blood seeps into the pavement. You can hear the curse laughing. It sounds like him.

You forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

It’s today. 

You can feel it. You don’t even have to look at the date to know.

The catalyst for December 24th, 2017.

Suguru’s already dressed. You’re currently standing in front of a shotty mirror, watching your reflection.

He looks tired. His smile’s a bit muted. You notice a scar you hadn’t seen before. An unregistered special grade curse, Suguru’s memory gives.

He’s different from when you saw him a year ago, but there’s still a spark in his eye. You cling to that hope, as hard as you can.

You step out of the room. It isn’t Suguru’s. He’d rented accommodations with an older woman and her son for the mission. Their place smelled like home. It made your stomach turn.

She smiles when she sees you coming down stairs. She looks kind; she has the eyes of a mother. You’ll never understand how a person who raised children could do something like this to another.

“Mr. Geto.” She chirps. “I’m so glad you’re awake! Would you like anything to eat?”

“No, I’m fine.” Better get this done sooner than later. “I should be heading back now, anyways.”

Suguru had already absorbed the curse tormenting the village last night. You can feel the sticky aftertaste in your mouth. He should have left the village yesterday, but the people were insistent he stayed one last day as thanks, feeding him all they could.

Now, it’s obvious that it was a way to butter him up for today.

Her smile grows a bit nervous. She shuffles her feet a bit.

“If it isn't too much.” She starts. “The head of our village asked if you could look at something.” Her eyes darken into disgust.

You fight to keep your smile.

“Of course. Please, lead the way.”

It’s worse than you ever could have imagined.

You’ve seen this play out so many times in Suguru’s memories. He reminisces about this moment a lot. Because of that, you knew this scene too, like the back of your hand.

And yet, seeing two children huddled together on the floor. Nothing could prepare you for that.

The village head is saying something. The woman who Suguru roomed with is yelling at the scared kids, but you can’t hear any of that.

Their clothes were dirty and ripped. Their cheeks were hollow, and they looked like they hadn’t eaten for days. Himiko’s eye looks swollen.

The twins.

The first time you saw them, they stepped aside and let Geto kill you. There’s something oddly poetic about you being on the other side.

They tremble as they continue to look at you, flinch whenever that woman raises her voice. They must think Suguru’s here to kill them.

They’re too young to think like that. They’re too young to see the horrors of this world so soon.

It’s a mistake to look towards the end of their cell. Dirty water and dog food.

How could a human do this to them? How could a mother do this to them?

You feel red. It coarses through your blood, your veins, your soul. It feels like there’s lava right underneath your skin. Shuddering, tittering anger.

There’s more than enough fire to burn down an entire village.

‘Suguru,’ you think to your companion, your tormentor, ‘I think I’m starting to get it now.’

You reach for the bars of the cell. The twins shrink away.

“Ah! Mr. Geto, you musn’t get too close to them—”

“I’ll take them.”

“What?” The head of the village asks.

“The children.” You straighten yourself up. “I’ll take them off your hands.”

It’s pointless to do anything to these people. They’re delusional enough to think that they’re in the right. By torturing these children, they’re protecting their own. It’s fear. That’s all it ever was. Even without a curse, it’ll fester on and on until this village is nothing but abandoned homes. There’s no point to punish these people any further.

If you look at the adults a bit too long, you’re afraid of what you’d do, even without Suguru’s interference. Instead, you focus on Himiko and Nanako, looking into their wary gazes. Their hands are so tiny. You could protect them with your own.

When you got out of this backward village, you’d find them something to eat.

ⴵ

You go to Shoko first.

She looks surprised to see the twins. You can’t imagine why. Still, her voice is calm when she speaks to them, setting both of them up in the clinic room. Since you got them into the car, Nanako and Himiko seemed to calm down. Himiko even told you the name of her doll.

A little while later, Yaga comes for a visit. He’s the principal now. Usually, his voice is filled with gruff, but he’s oddly gentle when he speaks to them. Nanako cracks a shy smile.

You can’t escape the ‘we’ll talk later’ look he gives you. Inwardly, you sympathize with Suguru. But a harsh lecture is better than being branded a murderer.

He hasn’t come by, yet. With the twins aided for, you decide to go find him yourself.

Walking through campus feels a little nostalgic. The grounds of the infamous jujutsu technical college are a bright green. It’s summer again. You’ve met so many colorful characters since your time here. You’ve only seen snippets, mere seconds of their lives, and yet it feels like an entire lifetime.

He’s sitting on a bench when you finally see him, nursing a drink. He doesn’t acknowledge you. You have to roll your eyes at his childish behavior, plopping down beside him.

“Hey.” You say first.

“Heard you adopted two kids,” Satoru says, “Never thought Suguru would be a teen mom, but here we are.”

You laugh, light and breathless. The sky is so pretty today.

“I don’t think he’d have it any other way, personally.” You respond.

He reminisces on your words.

“This happened before too?” He asked.

It did. It was a lot less of a happy ending, however.

“Yeah,” you say regardless, “he took good care of them last time. He’ll do the same in this timeline too. I’m sure of it.”

And this time, he’d have help. Shoko, Satoru, his teachers. They’d all be there for him. Suguru’s memories haven’t changed yet, but you know the future you step into will be a different one.

“In any case, I’m glad I got to see jujutsu tech one last time. It’s a beautiful campus.”

“You act like you’re leaving,” Satoru says, uncaring. “You’ll just come back again next month. Or next year.”

You play with your fingers.

“I...won’t be doing that from now on.”

He pauses. Then, he looks at you.

“What?”

You can’t gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t look happy. You find this a bit hard to swallow.

“I fixed the future.” You smile at him. “I finally did it. Suguru won’t break. Himiko and Nanako won’t lose their father. You won’t lose a friend, anymore. There’s no reason for me to keep coming back. You’re all free.”

You phrased the last part as a joke, but Satoru isn’t laughing.

“Wait, you’re leaving? You’re...leaving leaving.”

You nod. “I can’t believe it either.” You still can’t believe you accomplished everything you set out to do. A task that seemed so impossible, now you’re standing on the other side of it.

It wasn’t truly over. Not really, but you were able to get Suguru through the worst of it. Now, you were sure Satoru and Shoko would take up your mantel, pushing Suguru through the finish line. Just like he’ll do to them.

Satoru’s quiet.

“You seem happy.” He notes.

“Well, I did just save everyone, I think I deserve to feel a little good about myself.”

For a moment, you want to ask if it’ll be okay to visit everyone in the future. To see how Shoko and Suguru and Satoru are doing as adults. You stop yourself. Of course, they wouldn’t want to see you. You needed to stop being so greedy.

This, was more than enough.

“Will you at least tell me your name?” Satoru asks.

“You know I can’t do that.” You tell him with a smile.

“Right right.” He laughs, it sounds hollow. “Time travel, bullshit. Makes sense.”

“I’ll miss you.” You tell him.

He straightens himself up.

“I’ll miss you too, old man.” He responds. “You were a lotta’ fun to mess with.”

For once, you aren’t offended by the old man’, comment. If anything, it feels somber.

“Can I ask for some advice?” He suddenly asks. “Y’know what they say, ask the old and wise or whatever.” Okay, now he was starting to push it.

“What is it?”

It’s his turn to shuffle with his fingers.

“What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it?”

You glance at him. He looks earnest. Did something like that even exist for Satoru?

“Something I can’t catch up to?” You ponder out loud. “I guess I’d have to make a big enough ruckus to where it has no choice but to look back.”

He frowns. “That makes no sense. You’re growing senile.”

You laugh. You’ll miss this brat.

You wish you could stay more. You wish you could ask about Haibara, and Shoko, and Nanami, but the clock is ticking.

Suguru’s getting impatient.

“Bye, Satoru.” You reach out your hand.

He scrutinizes it, before clasping it within his own.

“Yeah, Greeny.”

Within a blink, you’re back again in the middle of Shinjuku. December 24th, 7:06 pm.

It’s the same as always. People bustle around you. Children’s laughter. Everything always repeats itself, but you don’t think you can ever get sick of it. You’ll savor this peace for as long as you can.

You reach into your pocket, flicking out a lighter and the first cigarette of the box. You don’t know why you always chose this one. Despite outmaneuvering time itself, perhaps it’s within human nature to follow what’s written stone.

You’ve relived this hour so many times that you can list everything that happens. Down to the exact minute. 7:08- a little girl wearing a red dress walks by. 7:09- a lady with short hair catches your eyes and smiles. 7:14-an old man and woman bicker with each other as they pass you by. 7:21- A little dog sniffs the bench you sit on. 7:34- Two schoolchildren run past you, babbling. 7:45- five construction workers grumble out their grievances. 7:58- a businessman talks loudly on the phone.

You wait. You sit on a bench and wait until 8:06.

Five seconds after 8:06. Twenty seconds after 8:06.

The clock clicks to 8:07.

You were expecting to feel something else. Celebration. Elation. You half-expected to cause a scene and jump for joy right there in the streets of Shinjuku.

None of that comes. There’s just a feeling of relief. A weight presses you down, and you slump in your seat.

It was over.

It was finally over.

How long do you stay like that? Hours? Days? When you feel like you can finally breathe again, it’s only 8:12. Time travel warped your sense of time.

You stand up, stretch, feel your bones crack and pop. In the second timeline, you wanted to get a drink to drown your misery of nearly getting killed by a curse and being alone on December 24th. It felt like a lifetime ago when being single was the worst of your problems.

Honestly, you’d stay celibate for the rest of your life if it meant you wouldn’t have to go through that ever again.

Tomorrow, you’ll decompress and devolve into hysteria over what happened.

Next week, you’ll check yourself into therapy.

Today, you decide to go home and sleep for a couple hundred years.

You must look like a zombie with the way you wobble down the street. Physically, your body is perfectly fine. You’ve suffered no bruises or cuts. Even the numerous times you’ve been killed leaves nothing on your skin.

Mentally, you’re in shambles. The indomitable human spirit within you is snuffed out.

The stairs to your flat is your last enemy that you must vanquish before you can reunite with your adoring bed. You cling onto the railing with dazed eyes. You don’t see the curse until you’re right before it.

Distantly, you wonder how often you’ve passed a curse and didn’t even realize it. It’s almost instinct to reach out with your hand, intent on absorbing it.

Nothing happens. You remember you aren’t Suguru anymore.

It’s a grotesque-looking thing. No eyes, too many hands, a gaping mouth. It turns and looks at you.

Strange. Its’ smile mirrors the one in the abandoned house.

Adrenaline. You feel it coarse through your veins, meld into your bones, explode in your skin. You’re stumbling back, nearly tripping down the steps in your haste to get away.

It screeches. Loud and clear and angry and you can almost feel its teeth chomp on your leg, ripping your muscles and skin to mere tatters.

You’ve died before. You’ve been skinned alive before. You’ve been eaten before. Yet, it all amounts to nothing compared to the fear you feel at the thought of the curse catching you.

It can’t have been nothing more than a third grade. If you were taller, larger, special-grade, you could have killed it immediately. But you weren’t, not anymore, you were at the same level as a plant. Useless. Helpless.

A dead man stumbling, tripping, running.

The streets were quiet. You supposed that meant there’d be fewer casualties. But it didn’t make you feel any better. And even if there were people around, no one would have been able to help you.

Your brain isn’t working as clearly. Fear is the only thing that guides you. You’re reduced to a rat scampering through a maze. Sooner or later, that rodent reaches a dead end.

The alleyway was blocked off. You felt the rough brick wall scrape your hands and even the feeling of your raw skin couldn’t assuage your heart pumping in your throat. When you whirled your head back, it was right there, and you knew you were dead.

Again.

It might kill you, if it’s feeling generous. It might cut your legs off and watch you bleed, if its feeling kind. It might eat you, if it’s a decent curse.

It shouldn’t be happening. You fixed it. You were supposed to have fixed everything. But clearly you didn't. There must have been some piece of the puzzle that you forgot. You need to go back. You need to fix things, but why do you need to why can't he just leave you alone—

You don’t see what happens. One moment, the curse is there. The next it isn’t.

“Those things are so annoying.” The newcomer complains.

No, not new. You know him.

You blink. He grins. It’s kind. A toothy smile that warms.

“You alright?” He asks in sympathy. “Curses are pretty scary, aren’t they? Are you hurt?”

It’s him. You weren’t in 2006. You were in the present, here and now, and he was here with you.

He actually made it.

“Ma’am?” He asks.

It wasn’t intentional. You just blurted it out, the promise you made to him. It was a decade for him. Mere hours for you.

“Um, broccoli head...?” And then you instantly regret it.

Haibara Yu takes a minute, eyes squinting like you just grew a new head.

Then, he gasps.

“Greeny?”

ⴵ

A few minutes later, you’re seated at a restaurant. Haibara has not shut up.

“—I—I can’t believe it? It’s actually you! I thought I’d never see you again ‘cuz Gojo said you weren’t gonna be around anymore, and—and then suddenly you pop up outta’ nowhere—not that I’m complaining— but—”

“—Haibara.” You interrupt. “Please, slow down.”

He stops himself, right when the server comes with drinks. He shoots the waiter a smile, and then he’s back on you.

“Sorry.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I—I got a little excited. And nervous. It’s just...well, I didn’t expect you to be a girl.”

That might have been your fault. Both Haibara and Gojo kept referring to you as a man, so you decided to roll with it. Earlier, you would have justified it by insisting the less they know about you, the better. Now, you just think you were being petty.

“So, how you’ve been? A whole decade...” You murmur to yourself.

“Fine! But what about you?” Haibara asks, concern etched into his eyes. “Where’d you go?”

Wow, he was actually worried for you. Despite being in Suguru’s body, you didn’t really feel like part of the group Shoko, Gojo, Nanami, and Haibara were part of. You felt like an outsider, being somewhere you didn’t belong. It's because you were an outsider. Nevertheless, it’s nice to know one person missed you.

“This might be a little hard to believe, but I just came back to 2017 two hours ago.”

Haibara gapes.

“Wait, so to you, that whole thing happened, today?” You nod. He leans back in his chair.

“Holy fuck.” You laugh at his awe.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way.” You change the topic. “From the curse.”

He waves it off. “I was just paying my debt. From what you did for me all those years ago.”

Ah, Gojo must have told him. Oddly enough, Haibara doesn't seem all that perturbed that he shouldn’t exist currently. At the same time, it feels just like Haibara.

He’s different from when he was younger. Taller. The baby fat is gone. His face is more built, just like the rest of his body. His eyes are less round, but they haven’t lost the spark. A few scars here and there, but he’s all in one piece.

You weren’t able to see what he looked like as an adult from Suguru’s memories, he’d never grown up. But now, you can see it for yourself. You can see the active change you made in his life, to his life.

“Haibara—”

“Yu—” He says seriously. “My friends call me Yu.”

A smile twitches on your lips.

“Tell me about everyone.” You scoot your chair closer. “You, Suguru. How is everyone doing?”

He perks up at that, clearly delighted to be talking.

“Great! Everyone’s doing great! You should totally come visit the school, sometime. They’d love to see you. Uh, even if they don’t technically know you, but I’m sure they’ll love to meet you!” He rambles, and it’s nice to know he hasn’t changed from his younger self.

“Let’s see, Kento’s teaching the first years. I teach the second years—”

“—You’re a teacher?”

He nods. “We all are! Except for Shoko, but she has her own thing going on. Anyway, Mimiko and Nanako have become second-grade semi-sorcerors. Isn’t that incredible? I’m just a first grade semi-sorceror, and at their young ages too! But Suguru wasn’t surprised, he kept saying his girls were prodigies. Oh! You probably want to know about Suguru too, right?”

You nod. Even if you hadn’t done anything, you don’t think that would have stopped his enthusiasm.

“He’s a teacher too! At least, for right now. Yaga’s been wanting to retire, and there have been talks of Suguru becoming the next principal. Principal Geto has a ring to it, right? Oh, and Shoko is currently planning the wedding. You’ll definitely be invited, of course! She said I could bring a plus-one. Oh, and—”

It goes on like that for hours, you think. Not that you mind. You listen to Yu babble on and on about his friends, his students. He talks about Nanami’s recent baking addiction, Shoko’s new office cat, Suguru’s favorite tea pot. It’s a never-ending surge of information.

Eventually, you catch on to the fact that he’s deliberately leaving someone out.

"Yu?" You interrupt him while he's talking about the prank the fourth year pulled on Nanami. "What about Satoru? What's he up to?" 

Maybe you were overthinking things. Haibara likes to talk; perhaps he forgot to exclude someone else's story in his rants. But then, he grimaces. For the first time in this entire conversation, Haibara is reluctant to talk. 

"Satoru is..." He winces, and your hands turn into fists. 

No. No. You were supposed to save everyone. Why hadn't you saved everyone? 

A warm hand grips your own. You'd been shaking. 

Yu gives a soft smile, and you remember he's no longer younger than you. 

"He's not dead." He assures you, but his smile fades. He straightens himself up, and his hand pulls away. 

"Satoru defected from Jujutsu tech. We don't know where he is." 

What? You must have misheard him wrong. Satoru wouldn't do that. That's not like him. This is some sick joke.

But there's no teasing grin on Haibara. His face is grave. You hate it more than anything. 

"It happened when he was a fourth year. No one really knows what happened. Suguru refuses to say anything about it, but I think he's just as confused as the rest of us. It came outta nowhere." 

Yeah, it definitely came out of nowhere. It's so random. Why would Satoru do that? The last time you saw him, he was so happy. He was smiling; he teased you. What happened? It made no sense. 

"So, you haven't seen him for nine years?" You ask. "Not even a glimpse?" 

Yu shakes his head. "Nothing but his residuals. That's how we know he's still alive." 

Nothing computes in your brain. None of it made any sense. You saved Suguru. That was supposed to make everyone happy, including Satoru. Why would he turn around and do this? Defecting made no sense.

"We've actually been tasked to execute him. Since he’s been branded a curse user, all four of us. " Yu laughs with no humor. "Isn't that insane? I don't think any one of us could even fathom doing that, even if it were possible." 

It wasn't possible. Gojo was the strongest. Nothing could go toe to toe with him. Once he put his mind to something, no one could stop him.

But maybe you could. 

You're shutting that idea down immediately. You were done. You were done with dying and time-travel and strange powers. You wanted it all to be over. It'd be so easy to thank Haibara for the nice meal, to go home and sleep this entire day off. Satoru dug his own grave, he can go lay in it. You weren't responsible for someone else's actions. You wouldn’t. You can’t do that another time.

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?

You hate that brat so much. 

You close your eyes. Take in a breath. Then, you open them. 

"Haibara?" You ask. "Did Gojo tell you how my technique worked?" 

He shakes his head. You grimace because convincing him might take a while.

"Okay, well, I'll need you to do a tiny favor for me."

ⴵ

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Oh, you're back already?" Satoru says casually, turning back to gaze at you. "I just left today. How did you convince Haibara to snap your neck? That guy cries after killing a mosquito.”

You’d caught him just as he was leaving campus. Yu’s body was less athletic than Suguru’s. Your breath was slightly ragged, pulled down by minor exhaustion.

It doesn’t weigh down your frustration for Gojo Satoru. The biggest pain in your ass you’ve ever met.

“Shut up.” You snap. “Just answer the question.”

“We haven’t seen each other for a year and that’s how you react?” Satoru ignores you. “That’s mean, Greeny. How ‘bout we discuss my treason over steak. Haibara can pay.”

“Satoru.” You beg, “Why are you doing this? What’s the point? Why is everyone happy with their life except for you?”

That seems to get him. His posture stiffens ever so slightly. You can see him work his jaw. He finally drops his act.

“You didn’t have to come back, y’know.” He murmurs quietly. “You could’ve just stayed in the future. Like you said, Greeny, everyone’s happy with their life. 4 outta’ five. That’s a passing grade.”

For once, you wish you could possess him. You wished you could open his brain and peer into his memories until he finally made sense.

“I could never leave you behind like that.” You say the truth just as quietly. “I’ll die a thousand more deaths than do that.”

He smiles. It looks genuine as it looks painful.

“Yeah, I know. I know you, Greeny. Always gotta’ play hero.” He gives a bitter laugh. “That’s why I defected.”

You stare at him. He’s a fourth-year now, even taller than before. You aren’t equal to him anymore in this body, now you’re starting to think you never were.

“Satoru.” You start because what he’s saying can’t be the truth. Your heart broke and broke. “Did—did you leave—did you leave everyone for a decade just so I’d come back? Why would you do that to yourself?”

He doesn’t say anything. Then, he steps forward, just a bit.

“It’s your fault,” Satoru says like it’s instinct to blame you for his actions, “this was your idea.”

What’s he talking about? And then memories of the two of you sitting on that bench just outside of campus.

What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it? So that’s what he meant. You were an idiot.

“That’s not fair, Satoru,” you say regardless, “I—I never—I couldn’t expect you’d do this.”

“What choice did I fucking have, Greeny?” There’s rapid steps and he’s in front of you, desperate and wild. “You—you just left me here. You left me alone and I couldn’t even look for you because I know nothing about you. Your face, your eyes, your hair, not even your fucking name! How’s that fair?”

It’s true. It’s all true. As much as you tried to claim you tried to make everyone happy, you only focused on Suguru. And Suguru’s happiness enlisted space from the strongest. In a different timeline, things would be different between them. A button he never left behind. Words Satoru never said. That timeline held too much pain and suffering, so you scrubbed it from history. In this rendition, everything was changed. Suguru had Shoko. Yu had Kento. Who did Satoru have?

You saved Suguru in this timeline. But to save him, you neglected Satoru.

Satoru must have known. He must have known you intentionally distanced Suguru from him, but he allowed it anyway. Satoru’s selfless like that. Too giving. Too Godlike.

But he’s selfish too. Purposefully demeaning himself so he could get one more glimpse of you, uncaring if you went through hell for his sake. Too taking. Too human.

Once, you told him that if he was selfish, just once, you wouldn’t fault him. What a liar you are.

You forgive Satoru.

“I’m sorry.” Haibara’s voice is like your own. You step closer. His infinity lets you in. “I’m sorry Satoru. I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”

It’s hard to wrap him in a hug. The brat’s too big. He sinks into your touch like a tiger, filled with dangerous claws, retracted just for your sake. He shakes the tiniest bit; even now, he’s keeping himself as a pinnacle. If you hear a sniffle or two, you don’t comment on it.

It’s why your heart breaks to tell him the truth.

“I can’t give you my name.” You whisper in his ear. He pulls back. He doesn’t look at you.

“Yeah, I know. I know. time-travel bullshit—”

“For now.” You add. “I can’t do that for now.”

Three pairs of eyes look at you. You’re not hiding behind Haibara anymore. You’re not trying to.

“December 24th, 2017. 8:06. Tokyo Skytree.” You look at him. “Can you wait until then?”

For you, it’d only be an hour. For Satoru, it’d be a decade.

You expect him to reject it, to yell at you. You decide if he wants to be selfish; you’d let him.

“If you don’t show up, I’ll turn evil.” You laugh. His grin widens and he’s back again. “I’m serious. I’ll take over the world. I’ll throw the biggest temper tantrum ever.”

“You’re such a brat.” There’s no hostility in your tone. “I will. I promise.”

‘I’ll save you,’ You promise in your head because he’s too prideful to hear it.

“Is it still possible for you to go back?” You ask, the wariness present again. “The higher ups haven’t taken any action against you, right?”

He shakes his head.

“I think Yaga might yell at me, but other than that.” He shrugs. “They’ll decide it’s teen rebellion and sweep it under the rug.”

You laugh again. Satoru shoots you a toothy grin.

When you reach out a hand, Satoru mirrors you. He clasps your hand in his. For once, you wonder how they’ll feel on your own.

“See ya’ later, Greeny.”

A blink. Satoru’s gone. Your hand is empty, and you’re standing in the streets of Shinjuku once again.

ⴵ

December 24th, 2017. 8:06, at the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

Why did you decide on that date and time for all the places? You were so fucking stupid. You needed to stop being so poetic.

It’s already 7:12 when you’re desperately waving down a taxi. The driver looks disinterested when you blubber out the location. When he tells you it’ll cost extra because Sumida City isn’t part of his route, you’re more than happy to fork over the money.

It’s already 7:35 when you stumble through the interiors of Tokyo Skytree town. It’s crowded. Fuck, it’s December 24th, of course people would be out and about.

At 7:44, you finally reach the observational building. And then you hit upon a snag.

It’s closed.

Renovations, the sign reads, accompanied by an irritatingly cute drawing of a cat, please come visit us next week.

Would this excuse be enough to satisfy Satoru? You’re only human. Surely he’d understand if you couldn’t make it because the entire building was shut down.

Or wait. Was this Satoru’s doing?

You look up at the tower. Lights were still on and flickering. No crowds. No people. No prying eyes.

Let it be known that you’ve never trespassed before, until you met Gojo Satoru.

With a guilty conscious, you step over the line. You justify it by convincing yourself you were saving the world because you know Satoru wasn’t joking a decade ago.

The elevators still worked. Thank God. Yet another hint he’s paving the way for you. You made the location, but it feels like you’re a mouse stuck in a human-designed maze. Even though you set up the game, he’s still managed to rig it.

You land on the first deck at 7:52. At 7:56, you reach the second observational deck.

It’s empty. You’ve never seen the skytree so empty before. Not a single soul is here except for you. Your footsteps echo across the floor. Were you early?

Out the corner of your eye, there’s a post-it note stuck on the window. A hand-drawn arrow. Up ahead, there’s another one.

You follow the next, and then the next. All the time you don’t know how to feel about him doing all of this just for an encounter. Something bubbles in your stomach. You’re pushing it down.

You follow the post-its until there’s one placed right on top of a door.

Authorized personnel only. Why does this brat continue to test you?

But it’s already 8:03; you’re far too deep to complain.

A service elevator greets you. If you press the button, it’ll take you all the way up to the broadcast equipment, the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

It’s different from the past two elevator rides. The service elevator isn’t all that polished. The wheels squeak a little too dangerously at times. It’s slower, too.

That’s bad, because now you’re starting to think.

That familiar feeling boils within your stomach, again. You’re anxious. It’s strange to say, but meeting Satoru through Suguru, meeting Satoru through Yu, it felt like you had a protective shell around yourself. You were free from his judgement, only invoking curiosity.

If you show yourself to him, how would he react? What would he say? Would he get angry that you made him wait a decade for such a blunder? Even worse, what if he doesn’t get angry?

What if—what if he’s disappointed by you?

Cold feet. It freezes your toes. You want to go back. You want the elevator to go back down, you want to go home and hide away.

But you promised Satoru. He deserves answers.

Pathetic answers are better than no answers at all.

Instead of your soul being protected by a sorcerer's body, it’s protected by your own. You’d steel yourself for whatever comes next. You could melt after.

It’s windy up here. That’s the first thing you notice. Icy wind cuts at your face and your eyes squint so they don’t dry out so quickly. It’s colder, too; your jacket is nice protection, but nothing helps your vulnerable hands.

But the view. Oh, what a view.

The sea of twinkling lights shines from the city. The sun has set, leaving Tokyo to do nothing but shine. She’s gorgeous like she’s picked the stars from the sky, burying them within her own soul. You could stay there forever, if she let you.

It’s 8:09. Satoru was late.

Or maybe he just wasn’t planning to show up.

You lean away from the railing. It’s just like him to make huge gestures and at the last moment, ditch everything. The balloon in your lungs deflates ever so slightly.

And then, you can feel hands.

Around your shoulders, caging you in. Large and warm despite the icy air. You know these hands. They’re familiar, even a decade later. His chest presses up against your back. His face settles in the crook of your neck.

His laugh tickles your ear, and you aren’t so cold anymore.

“Caught ya, Greeny.”

(“Did something happen to you, back there in the house?”

"Hm?" Suguru asked.

They were wading through long grass and overgrown weeds. Satoru glances at his friend. Suguru looks fine. His cursed energy has gone back to normal. That's probably good.

"You were just acting weird," Satoru said, "I mean you fell on your ass in front of a curse. Embarrassing."

Suguru huffed, a red hue across his cheeks. "Shut up, don't remind me."

'So he remembered,' Satoru thinks, 'didn't expect that.'

They're almost to the car when Suguru speaks again.

"Actually, I did feel a little strange," he says, "I felt like I wasn't really all there. There was this voice, guiding me along."

"Really?" Satoru shivers. "That sounds creepy."

So the entity within Suguru was a bad thing after all. He should try to get rid of it if it ever comes back. It might take a complex spell or something-

"Not really." Suguru said. "It's hard to explain, but it felt....nice."

"Nice?" Satoru echoes.

"Yeah."

And then it's quiet again.)

Part two: Rewound Infinitely

[shallyouobeyme]

Map

Platonic!Yandere!Damian x reader (GN)

Summary: Damian and you have to work on a project together and he realizes how you seem to be invisible to everyone else - how you want to be invisible - and something in him makes him want, no need, to figure out why...

! Minors Do Not Interact !

TW: Domestic abuse (not shown directly), planned kidnapping, Dark content, yandere, This is all fiction, I do not condone this

Day 4 of my Yandere Writetober, Tomorrow word is 'Golden' so if you have any ideas lemme know

People did not think Damian was sentimental, most of all his family. If a person had an idea of who Damian was, but wasn’t close to him or hasn’t personally met him then they could probably still assume that in private he might be a bit more emotional than in public. This person would be wrong though. Sure, in private Damian might be a little more open and showed a few more emotions, but most of those were rage, pettiness and sarcasm. Damian was a lot of things, but definitely not sentimental. At least not usual. And then you came into his life. 

From the moment he was born, Damian had a map of how exactly his life would be played out. Then he was brought to his family and the map changed. From wanting to become the next head of the League of Assassins, he now wanted to become the next Batman. He wanted to step up once his father needed to step down and take his rightful place as the head of the family. Alone.

Everyone and everything else that was a hindrance in that way - be it his age, school, villains, friends or even his own family - was just an obstacle on the map of his life. He thought you'd be just the same, a Problem to be taken care of and to leave behind. Just another annoying child in his class - which Bruce insisted he attend - that weren't fit for the reality of life he faced every single day. It was just typical that he had to be stuck with you working on a project for a class in which he had a grade to make up, because of too many absences. He didn't bother to question why you had to do the project, he just wanted to get it over with.

"I'll be doing the project - I doubt you could help anyways - and you can just put your name on it as well, then I don't have to bother with you," Damian sneered to you once class was disbanded, already more than done with you and with the situation. You seemed to turn into yourself and he recognized how shy and intimidated you were and if he had been just a tad more empathetic he'd feel bad. Damian rolled his eyes and turned to leave when your hand tugged on his uniform's blazer.

"Uhm... I-I'm sorry, but-but I'd really like to-to work on the project together, I-I really need this grade," you stuttered, your head lowered in shame, even though you had no real reason to be ashamed. Damian wanted to make a snide comment about how the project was definitely better off if he was doing it on his own, but something about how small and fragile you looked kept him from doing so.

That was the first detour from the life on his map. That moment of emotion that no one witnessed, not even you because of how your head was held down. And it was only the beginning. He scoffed at your request, but it wasn't truly malicious like before.

"Fine, but we'll do it at your place today after school, no discussion," Damian stated and left no room for arguments, turning around and leaving the room, not hearing your small sound of protest.

During the rest of the school day, Damian couldn't help but watch you from the corner of his eyes, he saw how you were hidden in your uniform, seemingly wanting to merge with the backdrop of the classroom, how you kept completely to yourself and seemingly managed to become completely invisible to anyone but him and some of your teachers.

So after school, he had to keep his eyes peeled open to see you come out since you really seemed to disappear between all the other students. He went over to you and told you to lead the way home, not bothering to offer to have Alfred drive the two of you since, for reasons he didn't understand himself, he wanted to spend the time with you alone. Detour number two.

The way to your home was spent in silence, Damian looking around sceptically and you turned into yourself like you always seemed to be. The route to your home took you out of the more or less safe and high-income neighbourhood of Gotham Academy to the less secure area not that different from the region around Crime Alley. He wondered how your parents were able to afford your tuition for Gotham Academy, but he knew that you were rather good in school so he figured you were on a scholarship.

When you finally arrived at a rundown apartment complex you brought him to a flat on the fifth story, carefully opening the door as if you were afraid of making any sound.

"I'm sorry if it's a bit messy," you mumbled vaguely in his direction as you carefully opened the door and Damian realized it was the first thing he had seen you say since you had asked him to let you work on the project as well. Then you lead him into the apartment and everything somewhat fell into place.

To say it was a bit messy was an understatement. There were empty bottles of beer, vodka, wine and all other kinds of alcoholic beverages, Damian even caught sight of some less legal substances, but he decided not to mention them aloud, already seeing based on the darkening colour of your face and the way you tried to avoid looking anywhere near him that you were highly ashamed and emberassed. Detour number three.

He saw how you looked through the open doors into the other - not cleaner - rooms and he could hear your relieved sigh when there was no one else in there with the two of you. Then you lead him into your room if one could call it a room, which had a size just barely big enough for a measly small bed, a box usually meant for laundry filled with your clothes and a small desk that looked like you had taken it from the side of the road. There was no chair or even a stool.

Damian noticed Jason's influence - much to his anger - when his first thought was that 'Harry Potter would feel bad for you'. His next thought was that you didn't deserve to live like that, that you deserved better. Detour number four brought him right off of the road like never before.

"Uhm... You-You can sit on the bed if that's okay, I'll-I'll sit on the floor, then we can work on the project," you spoke hesitantly and shuffled to sit on what little space was left on the floor, but was stopped when Damian pulled you to sit beside him on the bed.

"There's enough space here for both of us," he argued and turned to you. "But- uhm- we don't have any space for the project then."

You were right, he supposed, as he saw that both of you sitting on the bed were basically taking up all the mattress had to offer. He sighed and decided that he was already neck deep into whatever was happening so he might as well see where it was going.

"Then we won't do the project today," he stated in the same tone that left nothing up for discussion and you seemed almost relieved, "We can work on it tomorrow after school in the library."

"O-Okay, I'm sorry it's so-" You stopped in your tracks, seemingly on the verge of tears, and then gave it another go, "-I'm sorry you came here for nothing, I can lead you to the door."

"I'm not leaving yet," Damian said much to your surprise as he saw the shock displayed on your face, "first I want you to tell me what is going on here." He tried to tell himself that it was just his vigilante persona shining through, but deep inside he knew it was you that made him so curious about this situation.

"What do you mean?" you squeaked, obviously - but badly - trying to hide something. Damian let his instincts lead him as he quickly took your hand and pulled up your sleeve, he had been noticing how you were playing with it every time you were scared or ashamed. He wasn't all too surprised to see blue, purple, green and yellow splotches littered over the area, some bruises new, some old. You tried to pull your hand away, but Damian's grip stayed strong.

He pulled your hand even closer to him as he inspected the arm and asked: "Did your parents do that to you?" He looked up at your face and saw tears welling up in your eyes. It made you look even more fragile and delicate than he already thought you looked like throughout the day, but it also made this rage well up inside of Damian. How dare these people make you cry, how dare they hurt you. He wanted to rip them apart, wanted to make sure nothing and no one ever hurt you again.

"Tell me the truth, I will help you, I promise," Damian encouraged you and received a weak nod from you as your tears started to flow down your face in streaks. "Okay, give me a second, I'll be right back, don't worry." Damian used his blazer's sleeve to gently wipe away some of the tears - something that his family would believe to be a lie if you had told him about it - and got up to leave the room to call Alfred to come pick him and you up.

He told Alfred that he'd be inviting a friend for a sleepover, hanging up on a too-stunned-to-speak Alfred who was surely already on his way to inform Bruce of this new development, he didn't bother to tell him that he planned for it to be a more... permanent... sleepover.

You needed him, you needed him to protect you, to care for you, to make sure you never again had a reason to cry. You were such a pure, fragile soul, one that didn't deserve to be left alone in this cruel world, he was sure that once his father had met you he'd understand. He'd feel the same way. You'd be safe with them, they'd become your family, the family you deserved and needed.

And if Bruce didn't agree if Bruce told him that he was crazy, that he couldn't just take you away from your life, no matter how bad it was, and take over your entire existence... well, he had already become ready to derail his entire plan, had become ready to redraw the entire map of his life just for him to have you along, so he might as well return to his roots because he was sure his mother would be more than happy to take you in as long as it made Damian return...

[friend-or-fo]

"You're safe," your F/O assures you, their arms wrapped around you. "I won't let them-" the pronoun drips from their mouth like venom- "hurt you ever again."

[PT: "them" in italics. End PT.]

"What if they come back?" you ask.

Your F/O's embrace tightens. "If they come back, I'll punch 'em straight into the next galaxy. But..." You feel a soft kiss on your forehead. "It's over," they say in a much softer tone. "It's all over now. And I'm here."

Pro/comship DNI, please!

[PT: Proship / comship do not interact, please! End PT]

[itsabouttimex2]

Deep Sea Sympathies

Yandere Sun Wukong

(Syntax alphabet is up next, then an LSO + Primal . Feeling super down, so I wrote something a little sadder. The villain tiers post I spent two days writing and rewriting again and again got anonymously sent to another user, who skimmed the majority of it, left out my opening and ending points, and called at least one of my criticisms “ridiculous” and even has a reblogger claiming that I “hate Macaque”, that I want “everyone to hate Macaque” and that I’m “salty”. Maybe it’s childish, but that kind of hurts when I’ve spent literal months making content for the show (often involving Macaque) that I genuinely love. I only wrote that list because I wanted to give my honest opinions as a break from my usual content as I prepared to watch and write for Season Five. Maybe I’m in the wrong and my rant was just stupid? Do you guys want me to delete the “Season Five Prep” posts?)

“I still can’t believe MK got me back into this,” the simian before you chuckles. “But I’m kinda glad he did. I really missed drawing. I forgot how good it felt.”

“…I see,” you “answer”, maintaining a stiff and poised position, staring down at the collection of utensils that the hero is using. “Are you… having fun, then?”

“Aww, bud. Come and take a seat, okay? Look, I’ll even put out a little mat for you. Come and take a seat,” he invites, plucking one of his transforming ginger hairs to make a proper cushion for you.

His tail winds lazily around your leg, tugging you closer and closer to the squishy orange padding.

“C’mon, bud,” he says, cutting through your hesitation. His voice has a powerful edge under all the sweetness- reminding you that the Monkey King is someone you can’t say no to. “I want you to draw with me, kiddo.”

Wukong is fond of this- pulling you into little “bonding sessions” that take up the whole day and leave you without time to spend with anyone else.

It’s funny, though, really- you are the last person that need be manipulated away from others.

“The Great Witch of Gloom,” was the title that you had been assigned. Before you had a name, before you had taken a step, before you had so much as uttered a cry… your fate had been decided.

You were to be a wicked soul with dark motives and a darker heart.

As old memories flood into your ever weary mind, Wukong arranges a few sheets of paper in front your mat. The grip of his tail slowly tightens, and you cease all stalling.

Lowering yourself to the ground, the mat provides a cozy cradle to shield against the cold wooden floor.

“…it’s almost Winter,” you mildly comment, tracing a finger against a smooth plank. “It’s getting colder.”

“Oh,” the simian casually asks, scooting his mat closer to yours, “you like the snow?” Here’s chance he always adores- any rare tidbit of info you offer is a chance for him to spoil you, stocking up on presents and snacks in an attempt to drown you in platonic love.

It didn’t help that you always felt so indebted after he was done stacking gifts into your arms and bag.

“So, bud- what’re you gonna draw?”

The curiosity in his voice is almost innocent, almost sweet. He pushes the multi-tiered box of crayons towards you, smiling.

“C’mon, pick a few out!”

Awkwardly; and with a shaking hand to boot, you reach for the box.

It’s… not a comfortable sensation. Waxy paper around thick wax sticks makes for an awkward feeling in your hand, and you slightly recoil from the hueless cylinder.

“Aww, kiddo. No one draws with white- heck, you’d be better off eating it! Not that I’ve, uh, ever done that.”

“…I don’t know what to do,” is your blank confession that leaves Wukong quirking an eyebrow.

“What, you don’t know how to draw? You’vd never had… oh. Oh, kiddo.”

Realization colors his golden eyes, leaving the simian king with a sympathetic frown. Your parents wouldn’t have ever let you have something as fun and bright as crayons, would they? How could he have forgotten that?

It had been a nightmare for the Monkie Kids to pry information out of you, and a further mess to try pushing you towards a healing state.

And, honestly- Wukong’s doting ministrations really didn’t help. All the love and gifts in the world could not undo your traumas- but certainly left you feeling as though you were mired in debt.

Not that you had the words to voice those feelings, leaving Wukong to continue piling on with his affections- all in the futile hope that he could love away the demons of your past.

“Okay, bud. Maybe we stepped out of your comfort zone, huh? Alright, my bad. Tell me what you wanna draw, and I’ll pick out the crayons for you, okay?”

“…I don’t know what to draw, though.”

His frown deepens. It’s hard to think that someone as young as you could be so… he wouldn’t say broken. That was far, far too cruel a word for someone he loved so dearly. You were… “cracked”, maybe. A little “tarnished”.

Like you had given up on seeing a light at the end of the tunnel and decided to instead drift slowly along in a dark ocean.

…actually…

“Bud, don’t you like the beach? C’mon, why don’t you draw something from there, yeah?”

“…could I?”

Your little words break his heart. You shouldn’t have to feel like you need permission for something as simple as drawing a damn picture. But you *do*, so he answers with false cheer-

“Of course, kiddo! Draw anything you want!”

“…how do… how would I draw… a jellyfish?”

Finally, a real smile graces his lips.

“I didn’t know you liked jellyfish,” he says, in a too familiar voice that lets you know you’ll be receiving a loaded armful of themed plushes and stress toys in the very near future.

Another load of guilt, another load of debt.

“I’ll take you to an aquarium one day,” he tacks on, unaware of your growing insecurities. “And we can look at them together.”

To him, this is healing. Love and affection and unending comfort.

And certainly, Wukong is far better a guardian than your parents were. Instead of blaming you for powers you couldn’t control, he was always ready with praise and applause. Instead of resigning yourself to rotted garments rummaged from the trash, you had brand-new clothes and warm shoes. You were never hungry. You were never bored. You were never alone.

And, above all else- you were loved.

But you were not happy.

And you doubted that would ever change.

[moonselune]

If your comfortable doing it, fem reader who's been nothing but kind and patient and supportive to everyone, revealing by accident they grew up in a abusive upbringing and it still affects them but they felt compared to everyone else's problems hers were minor and so not worth getting upset over. And of course everyone giving her some support this time

Oof this was hard to write, mainly bcs I'm not too good at writing serious angst, but I hope this is okay !

tw: abuse

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

It was a rare, calm evening around the campfire. The group was in good spirits, sharing stories and laughter. You, ever the cheerful one, were in the midst of recounting a particularly funny tale from your past.

"…and that's when my father threw the table across the room because dinner was five minutes late. Good times, right?" you chuckled, the laughter trailing off as you noticed the sudden silence around the fire. The others stared at you, their expressions a mix of shock and concern.

Astarion was the first to speak, his usual playful smirk replaced with a serious look. "Did you just say your father threw a table at you?"

You blinked, realizing the gravity of what you had just let slip. "Oh, yeah. He had a bit of a temper. But, you know, it's in the past. No big deal."

Wyll leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "No big deal? That's… that's abuse. Why didn't you ever tell us?"

Karlach, her fiery nature tempered by concern, placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Yeah, why keep something like that to yourself? We're your friends. We care about you."

Shadowheart's eyes were filled with empathy as she added, "You've always been so supportive and happy. I had no idea you were carrying this with you."

You shrugged, trying to downplay it. "Everyone here has their own problems. I just didn't think mine were as bad as what some of you have been through. I didn't want to burden anyone."

Lae'zel looked at you uncharacteristically gently. "Strength is not only in battle but in sharing our burdens. You should not have faced this alone."

Minthara, her stern demeanor softened, nodded in agreement. Gale, ever the one with something to say, spoke up. "Pain is not a competition. Your experiences are valid, and they matter."

"We are a family here. We support each other, no matter the weight of our pasts." Halsin gave you a reassuring smile from across the fire.

Jaheira, who had seen much in her long life and was not terribley surprised by your admission, added with a soft yet firm tone, "You are not alone. We are here for you, just as you have always been here for us."

The weight of their words settled over you, a comforting warmth replacing the usual isolation you felt when thinking about your past. You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of relief and vulnerability.

"Thank you, all of you," you said, your voice wavering slightly. "I guess I just got used to hiding it. But it means a lot to know I have your support."

Karlach squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, her warm smile returning. "Anytime. You're stuck with us, whether you like it or not."

Astarion, his usual humor returning, gave you a wink. "And don't worry, we'll make sure to give you a hard time about it too. Can't have you getting too serious on us."

Laughter rippled through the group, the tension easing. The fire crackled warmly, and you felt a deep sense of belonging.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[xjulixred45x]

If Child reader of Platonic Yandere Kenjaku meets Gojo...

Before anything, this is NOT a continuation of THIS one, that is more a scenerio of "What if", this is what i call the Route to the "True Ending" for Say something. NOW lest continue.

Also, this idea was kind of given by @kiracrzy-blog (thanks for that one Sweetie! Hope You enjoy!)

Satoru probably knew about (Child reader) even before the whole disaster, he would know that Geto had a child, but he didn't have much else, Suguru was very careful with them and their mother to prevent them from going after them (Even more if the child have inherited his cursed technique), but Satoru was definitely very curious about the child.

That's why he wouldn't know how he would interact with them if he ever met them, I mean, he LITERALLY killed their father and couldn't stop them from killing their mother, why would they want to see HIM of all people? He also had time to think about it in the containing prison.

A part of him wanted to meet them, see what they were like, were they more like Suguru or more like their mother? Were they extroverted or introverted? What was Suguru like as a father? And their mother? Did they suffer a lot when they died? Did they know that THAT THING was controlling their father's body?

Many of those answers were resolved as soon as he was released.

NOW, Gojo is much calmer and more mature than one would expect in the situation, he can see that (Child reader) has already been through a lot and he doesn't want them to be more afraid of him than they probably already are. He wants them to also get answers to their questions, so he sets up some small outings, nothing too complicated, just going to eat something somewhere safe and Satoru lets them ask them questions in exchange for the same.

Satoru was happy to hear that Suguru was a good father, that (child reader)'s mother was a good mother, that they lived a happy life...until Suguru died and Kenjaku arrived in his place.

Satoru is surprised that they (Child reader) don't resent him, but then he says something he wouldn't have expected at this point.

-"You may have killed my dad...but you were my father's only best friend...we can let things be...get over it...you mean a LOT to My father even...after all..."-

...that was so...wow, (Child reader) has power, they made the strongest sorcerer of today almost cry. He didn't think he needed to hear that SO MUCH...

although of course, not everything is so positive, Satoru has to retain all the anger he feels when hearing how Kenjaku came to treat (Child reader) using the body of their OWN FATHER and he may even have to console them, because well, it's HORRIBLE that distort the image of a person you love like this.

Satoru promises, SWEARS to (child reader) that after winning against Sukuna, he will go directly against Kenjaku and when he kills him, both will give him a dignified burial with the twins, and if the changes are in their favor, the WHOLE family of Geto. and (Child reader) feel light for the first time in God knows how long, they being with Gojo Kenjaku won't be after them. They are safe, they are not alone.

I think that in general, during the entire month of preparation that Gojo does before the battle against Sukuna, he takes advantage of every gap in his schedule to spend time with (child reader) and be a kind of "fun uncle" for them (he may even try to start a conversation with the twins, but it doesn't always work). He shares sweet things with them, tells them stories from when he and their father were young, he may even teach them a couple of useful techniques for hiding and so on.

Gojo carrying (child reader) on his shoulders while they go somewhere fun or while Gojo uses his infinity to float 🥺it would be so healthy..

Meanwhile Kenjaku is pulling his hair and biting his nails because GODDAMED! He can't get (child reader) back if they are not alone!if he get even a little close to Satoru he will kill him! And now (child reader) and Gojo are TOGHETER ALMOST EVERY DAY!! and at the same time he is soooo jealous that (child reader) is having such a good time with Gojo. He's their DAMN FATHER (in his crazy head at least)! And (child reader) acts more as if his enemy is more worthy of their affection than HIM):< (HE IS, but he will never admit it).

The good thing is that neither Sukuna nor Uraume are interested in helping Kenjaku in this, they already dislike him, but now that he spends his time complaining about a human child and since he wants them back, it is strangely tolerable, they are not going to ruin all returning them to Kenjaku. Part of them are just happy that Kenjaku is suffering for the first time in thousands of years.

Returning to the topic, I also imagine that (Child reader) shares everything that Satoru gives them with Choso and the twins, shows them their new clothes, saves candy for them, tells them excitedly about their day with Gojo, etc. .

Choso is so happy to see (Child reader) FINALLY be a child their age, get excited about these kinds of things and I think he would thank Satoru directly for everything he does for them even if he knows what happened in the past ( by not fully understanding humans and partly also because of all the positive feelings that have happened to Child reader)

Mimiko and Nanako are happy for (child reader), very happy, of course, they can't completely forgive Satoru, but damn, this could be the first step to HEALING (child reader), of returning to normal once everything is over , to be a family together again... who knows... maybe Gojo can be part of it... being so important to Geto...

Gojo is fine with just being a friend to (Child reader) in the future or being part of their family, as long as he is PART OF THAT FUTURE, and that future is HAPPY AND SAFE, he is fine with that, even if they don't want to see him more.

a better world is the least they owe to being Geto's child... a world where they should not have gone through all the pain and trauma they had, where he didn't have to kill their father... he wants that ( child reader) TO BE A CHILD.

So when he loses the battle against Sukuna and sees Geto on the other side, he doesn't know what to say, how to ask for forgiveness from him.

He couldn't do it, he couldn't beat him, he couldn't keep his oath, he couldn't bury Suguru with (Child reader), he couldn't see what will happen to them...HE FAILED THEM. NOT ONLY THEM, BUT ALSO SUGURU.

He left his child at the mercy of the world (with that PSYCHO still alive!!). hell, a child that Geto himself should have been able to raise if he had had different circumstances, if Geto had been there, supporting him, along with his child, both happy, safe, alive...

well, (child reader) is.

Suguru would try to console him, it's not his fault he died after all, he gave everything he had, Sukuna plays dirty......Suguru (and his wife) are grateful that at least Satoru spent the time he did with their child, trying to make a better world for them. They are grateful to him.

and (Child reader) will not be alone. Satoru KNOWS that, he can be at Peace, al least a little knowing that.

______

(Child reader) only sees on the screens (while Choso and Nanako try to cover their eyes) the result of the battle, Sukuna has won, Satoru lost.

Kenjaku is still alive.

but nothing stay still too long. then everyone is going to fight, those from Culling Game, the students, special grades, Yuji...

Choso puts a hand on (Child reader's) head, Mimiko and Nanako prepare to fight, they know what it means, they don't know how they feel about it(they already had a LOT of emotions to deal with), but they know what they have in mind.

Kenjaku is going to die. whether he like it or not.

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

First Chapter

22. 𝓑𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓷𝓽

Dorian's velvety croon filled the room as the girl's eyes fluttered open, a testament to the success of his work. With grace, Dorian ran his fingers through her hair, an almost paternal gesture with an undercurrent of possessiveness. She appeared disoriented yet curiously aware of everything surrounding her. 

In a ritualistic display, Dorian's sharp fangs pierced his own forearm, crimson droplets welling up and rolling down his arm. The scent, intoxicating and thick, traveled through the room, luring the fledgling. The girl, smart child that she was, picked up on the scent in no time. A swift realization flashed across her eyes, and she keenly picked up on the aroma.

The offered forearm hovered near her mouth, and Dorian's honeyed voice encouraged her, "Drink." The fledgling, displaying an instinctive hunger, moved to partake almost savagely, but Dorian intervened with a gentle touch. He held her jaw delicately, his fingers grazing her cold skin. "Use your fangs, doll. Show me your little fangs."

The girl, her newly formed canines revealed, elicited a proud smile from Dorian. With approval granted, she sank her fangs into his flesh. She drank with a fervor, as if trying to quench a centuries-long thirst in mere moments. The room resonated with the sound of her eager feeding.

Eventually, Dorian, the indulgent sire, halted her actions. "That is enough," he whispered, and she whimpered, a primitive plea for more escaping her lips. With a reassuring shake of his head, he spoke softly, "I know, I know, you're thirsty. You shall have more later." 

As much as she wanted. He was her sire, her creator, and her provider. He would ensure she lacked nothing. He wouldn’t leave her and, in return, she would stay by his side. He was her caretaker. ☾ Gradually (Y/n)'s reason took back control over her instincts. Her memories were hazy, as if a fog were enveloping them, but the panic and fear she had felt before still remained. She recognized the two men in the room. Recognizing the two men present, the sentiments of transformation and of an existence forced upon her hung heavy in the air.

"Killian.. Stay.." Desperation tinged her whimper as she reached out to Killian. She sought solace in the man she knew, yearning for his presence as a shield against the monster who had inflicted this vampiric fate upon her. This man had tried to protect her against the one who turned her. She felt safer with him. 

She observed the man's hesitation, her eyes filled with a profound sense of hope and despair intertwined. His gaze held a tempest of emotions, reflecting the inner conflict he, too, experienced.

Dorian, now the creator of her newfound existence, leaned in, a calming presence amidst the chaos soothing her whimpers with a gentle, almost hypnotic murmur. Safe. "Oh, he won't leave, darling." His words cut through the uncertainty with a promise. "He may have contemplated leaving, but that's in the past now. He shall stay, and he shall stay for you." ☾ She remained oblivious to the sly, dark smile Dorian gave to the other vampire — a subtle pact woven between them, one party more willing than the other.

Reluctantly, Killian approached the girl, a silent turmoil raging within him. Dorian released his hold on her, allowing her to find solace in the arms of his companion. As Killian tenderly stroked her hair, a tide of resentment surged within him. The venom in his voice was palpable as he muttered, words laden with scorn, "You are truly deplorable."

The words danced in the air for an instant, carrying with them years of resentment. The surroundings whispered tales of lives lived, choices made, and the eternal struggle between what once had been and what remained now.

Dorian smiled faintly. His eyes were wet and he leaned on his shoulder. “I know,” he whispered, his words feeling heavy in the room. “Anything for my family. My coven.”

The blond’s arms locked around Killian and he could feel the other’s tremors. "I love you so much,” he muttered, almost inaudibly, "I love the both of you so much." He repeated the statement like an endless mantra. 

Killian remained quiet, with the youngling resting on his chest and the other vampire leaning on his shoulders.

A part of him realized they could all leave. Windows were open; doors were unlocked. Walking out was easy. Just as it had always been.

"We have a daughter, Killian," he continued on. Killian suddenly felt a wetness on his shoulder. "You wouldn't leave her behind, would you? Please… She needs me, and — and I need the both of you."

He drew in a shuddering breath, the blond’s voice, his words, his touch… All of that was so suffocating. He felt caged. Not physically, no; his prison was of another kind. He would have liked to say Fate had intricately woven and meticulously pulled the threads of their lives until they were inevitably entwined. That description would have sounded poetic, or perhaps even romantic in a twisted way. Yet, even that was false, wasn’t it? Tthe truth was often less fanciful.

They were trapped.

Trapped in a tragedy of their own making.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

*TW*

Hello!!! I absolutely love platonic yanderes with teenage reader so can I ask for a fic where the teen!reader is basically a traumatized being. They have experienced hell throughout their life from mental abuse to physical abuse. Like I mean, they have gotten in many dangerous situations which ended up with police involved (kidnapped, assaulted, murder attempt). Ofc the reader never really did anything wrong, they were just an innocent child till everything went downhill. They don't have any family members left leading them to stay at an orphanage. Anddd you could say the orphanage people aren't the nicest. And their mental health has become so fucked up that they had attempted suicide.

You don't have to do this if ur uncomfortable ofc. Sorry about how triggering the request might be

On the roof

Self-Aware! Platonic! BSD Cast x GN! Teen! Traumatized! Reader

Description: You are on the rooftop in the middle of the night.

Trigger warning: Suicide attempt. Abuse. Child abuse. Kidnapping. Assault. Attempted murder.

List of Suicide hotline numbers can be found here and here.

Warning: One swear word. English is my second language.

__________________________________

You silently opened the door, that leads to the roof of an orphanage. With your phone in hand, you take a few steps forward.

The door closed behind you.

You just stand here. You were silent.

You were here. You wanted to end this.

You sighed and looked around.

Should you just... Go to the edge and jump? It's not like someone would care about you.

You didn't bother with the last note.

No one would care about the reason.

You will simply become a name in documents.

You just wanted to be heard.

You mindlessly looked at your phone.

Should you take it with you?

Or left it here, so someone else would use it?

Your gaze stopped at the "BSD Mayoi Inu Kaikitan" icon. Will the new owner delete it? Or will continue your progress?

You tapped on the icon. You didn't leave a note.

Yet, you "talked" to BSD Characters so often, that it seems right, to let them hear your last words.

Your reasons.

You opened the Main Menu and choose 'Meeting Hall' option.

The picture of ADA Office appeared. And Chibis of all BSD Characters appeared.

This new option was cute. You liked petting chibis.

All chibis 'looked' at you.

And you finally spoke.

"Mom was strange..."

________

Your mom was strange.

She smelled funny. Like water everyone told you not to drink.

Sometimes, she stared at you. Stared for a long time.

And there were rules.

1. Don't cry.

2. Don't annoy mom.

3. You eat last.

4. If you stayed past curfew, you will sleep outside.

5. Don't tell anyone about your home life.

At least, she let you play outside as much as you want. Mom liked, when you were away from home.

*******

You were five, when you got kidnapped.

That night, you wake up to get some water.

Mom saw you.

In her eyes, you broke a rule.

You were sleeping outside.

One moment you were trying to get comfortable under the porch.

Next moment a man in a mask was dragging you in a van.

Three days.

You were in a dark, scary place for three days.

On a third day you heard two men talking.

"What do you mean, that mother didn't realize, that kid were missing?!"

_____

"Still... Mom paid the ransom. Kidnappers left me. It takes three more days for police to find me..."

____

You were standing near a police officer. And your mom finally arrived to the police station to collect you.

You walked to her, your head was low.

She hit you.

You screamed.

You collapsed on the floor, and your mother bent over you. She hissed and pushed you in the side with her feet.

"Are you satisfied, brat? Get up and go pack your belongings, we’re moving to a shed."

"You should treat your kid more kindly..." the officer grumbled. Your mother squealed.

"Kindly?! This brat had ruined my whole life!” Your mom was mad. She screamed like a fury, jumped in place and gave cowering you blow after blow. You didn’t try to dodge. You just trembled, curled up into a ball.

"Hubby ran away as soon as he gets it inside me! But dear relatives didn’t let me throw it away. They didn’t let me give it to an orphanage! They said that I need to raise this child! They stood up for a little bastard! But now, when I need to pay debt, they are nowhere to be found! They say I play cards too much! I'm just unlucky! Things are not going my way! The house is mortgaged! I poured all my savings into the last card game and won! I would pay off all my debts! And because of this thing, I now have to live in a shed! What will I tell my family now?! What will others say about me?!"

Officer heard enough.

The CPS were called.

_______

"... They were trying to find my father... Until then, grandmother and grandfather agreed to took me in..."

_______

You were six.

Your grandfather sat on the opposite side of the table.

Your textbook and notebook were laying on the table before you.

And your grandfather was talking.

"I finished checking your homework. As I expected, you are a little idiot. A stupid, worthless waste of space. You have made few stupid mistakes. You wrote numbers in a wrong order.

Grandfather opened your notebook. A red paste was covering the page.

2 + 1 = 3 1 + 2 = 3

3 + 1 = 4. 1 + 3 = 4

"So..." Grandfather take a ruler.

"Give me your hand. It will be ten hits for every wrong number."

________

"...it took two year to find my father. He had a family. And I... I was a child from affair. They never let me live it down... For years"

_______

You were nine.

The blow, when it came, took all of your air out of your lungs. You would have fallen if not for your two... "siblings" holding you.

"It feels good, giving a good beating to a dirtbag, right?"

The next hit was in your left eye. You managed to close it in time.

But it will be swollen.

You felt hot breath on your face.

"Your hair is too good for a bastard child."

Your sister brought the scissors up to your hair.

Snip, snip, snip. Cutting right alongside the scalp, sending your hair like leaves swirling to the ground.

Then scissors were plunged into your stomach.

"Die, child of a dirty whore."

______

"...Police was called. They were arrested. But I remained with father and his wife..."

_____

You were twelve.

You were going food shopping. Big bags were heavy, you were tried.

You still need to clean up the house and make dinner.

When you were attacked, because someone tied to rob you, you didn't even care.

You only knew, that, you will be beaten again for being late. And for losing food.

You were long past gone. There were no point in carrying about yourself.

~~~~~~

You were thirteen.

Your father, his wife and you were going to the funeral.

Your father's uncle died.

Now he only has his wife and kids. And you.

He noticed your gaze in a reflection.

He yelled at you for staring.

And he crashed.

You spent three hours in a broken car.

You were the only survivor.

_______

"... I was sent to an orphanage. I am too old to have any chance to be adopted. And I wasn't the only one, who had no chance to have a family..."

______

You tasted dirt and blood. An old rug was thrown over your head, to make it harder for you to fight back.

Someone pressed a knee on the back of your neck and held your face against the ground.

A kick in the side made you roll on your back.

Another person began to push down on your neck with an arm.

You began to struggle, thrashing about with your legs and beating them against the floor, but it was no good.

There were other kids around—at least a dozen of them. One of them would do something. One of them was sure to see that things were taking too far. Your vision began to go fuzzy.

Caretakers saved you only because the noise didn't let them watch TV.

________

"I couldn't take it anymore. I... thank you... Thank you for making me happy... For being the only happy thing in my life."

You finished talking and put your phone on the ground. You stand up and walked towards the edge.

You heard a loud noise. You turned around.

BSD Characters were standing behind you. Real.

And you were still standing near the edge. You were silent. Nikolai lift his overcoat and put his hand into the portal.

His head reappeared near you. You jumped away. Now you were even closer to the edge.

"No... I... I don't want to... Don't come closer..." whispered you. You took another step. You were almost here.

"[Y/N], if you go back, I will give you a hug!"

You froze and turned around.

Kenji Miyazawa made a step forward. He opened his arms, offering a hug.

"I promise, I will give you a hug. Come here... You really need a hug."

You trembled. You moved towards Kenji.

Step. After step. After step.

Kenji was standing here. Offering a hug.

You launched yourself forward, wrapping your arms around Kenji. He immediately hugged you back.

You cried. For the first time in years.

In a few minutes, you were in a middle of a large group hug.

________

You are fifteen.

You are living with your family.

You still have a long path to recovery.

And you are not alone.

BSD Cast will stay with you.

And will make sure, that you will never be hurt again.

[schumachersricciardo]

Shiver

Chapter Four - Fathers Be Good to Your Daughters

♡ Mick Schumacher x Reader, Best friend!Danny Ricc x reader

♡ TW: PLEASE READ BEFORE PROCEEDING!

This chapter contains descriptions of physical, emotional, AND mental abuse by a parent to their child. It contains descriptions of the aftermath of the physical abuse. It also contains scenarios where reader is verbally abused by a parent. If this is triggering for you, there will be a TLDR at the very end of the chapter. Please scroll down to the end of this page if you want to know what this chapter is about, but not read it in its entirety.

♡ TW: Swearing, inaccurate timeline of F1/F2/F3, badly translated German using Google, not proofread, anxiety and panic, crying, alcohol consumption, a mention of throwing up (but not graphically or anything), allusions to a smutty situation, mentions of female anatomy, making out (??), angst, hurt/comfort, physical/mental/emotional/verbal abuse - read above.

♡ She/Her pronouns are used, nothing descriptive about reader except that her hair is long enough to pull back into a ponytail or braid, no reader insert, timeline skips. ALSO: WARNING!!!! I will barely be mentioning Michael Schumacher. I do not presume to know what he is thinking, or would say in these fictional scenarios. I am trying to be respectful of their privacy and not make any assumptions!!!!!! He will be mentioned here and there, but I do not believe any dialogue will be associated with him. If you do not like that, then do not read it. :) 

♡ About 12.3k words, lmao. Oops

♡ A/N: For one, this chapter was so emotional and personal for me to write. I'm very happy with the way that it turned out, as it took me about two days to complete it! It's quite a long chapter, so please take breaks if you need to. Thanks again for being so nice to me, and I hope you enjoy it.

Also, this chapter is not in chronological order of events. I based the sections on what lyrics are put and what I thought would go well with them.

I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU DECIDE TO READ OR NOT READ!

If you or anyone you know is a victim of abuse, please do not hesitate to call the provided numbers after clicking any of the links at the bottom of this page.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

based on the song lover of the light by mumford and sons 

“Stretch out my life and pick the seams out

Take what you like, but close my ears and eyes

Watch me stumble over and over” 

Mick knew from a very early age that having solid friendships was something very important to have in order to build a strong foundation in life. He saw that modeled so dearly by his father, and all the friendships he had made over the years. His older sister had great friends who treated Mick with nothing but respect… And some pranks. And his mother (besides the envied relationship she had with his father, her husband) always stressed that having good, pure of heart friendships would take you further in life than anything else. 

And for the first time in his life, Mick felt that warmth and joy with you just weeks after you had moved to Germany. Your friendship bloomed quickly and tightly, as you two seemingly became inseparable. It was a rare sight seeing one of you, without the other at school. Everyone could notice the shift in momentum when you were absent and Mick was left confused as to what to get to lunch that day. And vice versa, when he’d be gone - you’d be often found wandering around the school’s library not actually picking out a book, at every recess you had. 

But Mick as bad at math as he was, was more acutely aware of any signs of emotional or mental change in you than one would believe. He could see it in your expressions and body language if you were going through something at home. Your nose would scrunch more and you’d have more difficulty doing simply math problems than usual. You made it a point to never chew on your pencils or straws, but if you were particularly stressed… You could easily bite through the stick of lead or plastic. Mick knew this and he recognized it more as your friendship grew. Most of the time, you’d reassure him with the exact smile he fell in love with and most of the time he’d take your word for it. 

Except the day he didn’t and refused to let up when he could tell it was more than just stress. 

“It’s fine, Mickey, just drop it.” 

“I will not drop this, Smidge!” Mick was now chasing his best friend down as she stormed out of his room. 

“Leave it alone, ugh!” You spat back, as you opened the back door and tried to create some space between you and the blond boy. You took your hair out its ponytail holder in frustration, trying to make that antsy feeling going away by running furious hands through your hair. 

“Smidge, I swear, if you do not tell me what is going on right now-“ 

“Oh, you swear?” You turned on your heel in anger and gestured towards whatever imaginary thing you were gesturing as you huffed. “You swear you’re going to do something about it? Huh? Fuck off, Mick!” 

Mick let out a scoff, which kind of turned into a laugh? He was laughing now? You rolled your eyes and turn your back on him once again. You had plopped yourself on the lawn, looking out at the vast city line in front of you. You began to pick at the grass below you, your hands needing something to fiddled with to try and center your anxiety. You took a deep breath. Mick could see from behind the way your shoulders rose, and shakily fell. He knew you were trying not to cry. And of course he never wanted to see you cry, but part of him wishes you did. He knew it would probably make you feel better… But to be honest, the last time he could remember you crying in front of him was when you fell off your scooter just a few meters from the very house you were constantly visiting. Mick tried to shake that happy thought out of his mind, because he didn’t want to ruin it. 

“Smidge… Please, I know there is something bothering you, and I promise I will not tell anybody else… But you know I hate it when I cannot help you.” Mick spoke softly as he took a seat beside you. You avoided eye contact. 

Mick was trying to decipher what your facial expression was like, but your hair had fallen and was covering the view. He took a deep breath and reached his hand over to yours. Grabbing your fingers delicately, while also trying to get you to stop pulling out the grass, he gave your hand a squeeze. You squeezed back gently and still without making eye contact, you scooted closer to him. You leaned against him, your head on his shoulder. He adjusted as needed, his right arm placed behind him so he could support the both of you.

You always found comfort and safety tucked underneath him. And you knew that you two would be sharing a blanket and watching a movie in no time. But that fleeting thought only gave you a second of relief. The two of you remained in silence as you listened to the rustling of the wind as it danced with the leaves and branches. You could hear birds chirping in the distance and you could practically cut the calmness of the world around you with a knife. This is where you wanted to be. You never wanted to leave this spot, but life was never that kind and soon enough, reality pulled you back in as Mick’s humming brought you and your daydreaming to a halt. 

“I didn’t do well on my last math exam.” You stated. 

Mick stopped humming. He was trying to figure out why that of all things had you so upset. He didn’t comment though

“I got a B- or something…” You sighed. “I studied and I studied… But I only got a B-… It was humiliating.” 

“I am sorry about that, Smidge. I know how much you value getting good grades.” Mick finally responded. His tone was… trying to be supportive, but he really didn’t understand why getting a B- in math was so devastating. He would LOVE to get that grade on a math exam, even after studying. 

“I don’t care about getting good grades, Mickey.” You retorted quicker than you probably should have. You stiffened your posture and moved away from him. Your heart rate was picking up and you were getting nervous. Mick noticed. He noticed everything when it came to you. 

The blue eyed boy wasn’t sure what came over him next, but as you sat now sort of in front of him, he guided his hand up to your face and moved your hair out of the way. He tucked in what he could behind your ear, a few pieces falling still. You looked up at him and he could finally see… and feel just how distraught you were. 

“He cares that I get good grades.” You finally croaked out. 

Mick’s facial expressions now were the confusing ones. At first he was relieved you told him. The next second he was confused as to why that was the reason you were upset…. And the third was panic. And he’d never admit this to you, but if it were because of some guy at your school making fun of you for something like that… Oh he’d have some words with that person. 

“Oh… Ehmmm… Oh…” Mick pressed his lips together in confusion. You could see the gears moving in his head as he tried to figure out who you were talking about. 

“My dad.” You finally cut him off. He looked as though he was about to give himself an aneurysm if you didn't stop him from thinking so hard. 

“Oh.” 

Now, Mick has always had his suspicions about your home life. For instance, when you didn’t come to class one day when you two were younger, the teacher had made a comment about if he knew about your home life or not. He then went to his father and asked advice. He let it go for the time being, because you really weren’t absent a lot, but he made sure make a mental note for later. Seemingly, you had a pretty decent home life. You got along with your older brother, and you always said your mom was one of your best friends. Albeit, you never spoke much about your father. He was in the military and pretty high up in command. His job was very ‘hush hush,’ so even you, his daughter had limited if information on what he actually did as well. You always spoke about him with respect though, and never making it seem like there was anything going on at your house. 

But Mick… Mick was sorely mistaken. You were wearing a zip up jacket which wasn’t uncommon, but Mick did think it was a bit warm for it. He never would dream on commenting on what you were wearing though. Slowly, you peeled the jacket off of you and as slowly as you did, was as slowly as he could process what was in front of him.  

Your arms were littered with bruises. Not just bruises, fingerprints. Someone was pressing into your skin, your precious beautiful skin so hard that they left their fingerprints. Mick blinked quickly, trying to see if his brain was playing tricks on him. Soon enough, you took off your shirt as well. Mick didn’t even care to notice you in your sports bra. But there were even more bruises on your skin that you had been covering for some time now. Based on the yellowing on the biggest one near your ribs on your left side… You had gotten hurt a while ago. Yet, there were bruises on your back and your chest that indicated they were fairly new. Mick felt like his heart was going to explode and his brain was going to go with it. 

You allowed him to look at you - to process the information presented. You thought that showing instead of telling would be more effective, anyway. Moments later, you put your shirt back on and sighed. And if you weren’t sat in the middle of Mick’s backyard, you’d shed your leggings too to show the damage there.

Mick shakily breathed out your name, which he never called you. He always called you Smidge or Liebling - never your real name. He himself felt tears brimming in his eyes as he watched you put your shirt back on and throw your hair back into a ponytail. It was as though the visual he was getting was completely different from the mental images he was receiving. He couldn’t catch up and he just did not know what to do. 

“How long?”

Mick finally gained composure and demanded to know more. His tone was serious, short. He was never this… Cold with you? You could tell he was absolutely fuming too. The tips of his ears were turning red as his jaw pulsated with every clench of it. Now he was the one unconsciously grabbing clumps of grass and ripping them to shreds. 

“What???” You tilted your head. 

“How. Long. Has. He. Been. Beating. You.” The angrier he got the more German he got too. His accent was quite thick as he stood to his feet and began pacing. It was never a good sign when he would pace. His fists were wound up in tight balls, knuckles pale white with tension, as he thought of every scenario in which he could kill your father, and get away with it. 

“Mickey-“ 

“No, don’t you dare ‘Mickey’ me right now! How long has he been beating you up?” Mick cut you off and rushed towards you. He was just inches from you now. 

You knew he was angry, irate even. And you knew he’d never hurt you, and that this anger was not directed towards you. But on instinct, you backed up as your breath caught in your chest. 

Mick shook his head, running his hands through his hair. He knew his parents would be home soon and he knew if they saw how angry he was… They’d have questions, and he could never lie to them… Which means they’d figure out exactly what was going on with you… Which meant… Well, war. 

You took another deep breath and bravely closed the gap between you. You had never felt anything like you had before Mick. You had never had a boyfriend, nor any friends that even came close to the security you felt with him. You reached up and caressed his cheek, his face leaning into the palm of your hand. You almost never initiated physical touch besides leaning on him. But he always welcomed it no matter how limited it would be. He closed his eyes and grabbed your hand in his, the both of them interlocking as he nuzzled into your hand farther. 

“I…I can’t remember how long, Mickey. I can’t remember how long it’s been since it started.” 

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“I have done wrong, you build your tower

But call me home and I will build a throne

And wash my eyes out never again”

There were rare occasions that you and Mick were not together, but he was handsome and simply because of his surname, was like catnip to ladies. While you were still in Formula Three, Mick had graduated to Formula Two. Even so, having his last name meant he was probably getting more invites than the average person. 

But come on, no one is average in Monaco. 

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” 

“Yeah, you too!” 

Women���s bathrooms at parties and clubs were something else. There was no caste system in place and if you needed to cry about your ex or needed to puke your brains out before Gasolina came on (but who wouldn’t), a women’s bathroom at a club felt like the safest place to do those things. 

“You’re with Shoemaker, right?” The very clearly drunk girl beside you yells in your face. Sure, you were also drunk… But why was she yelling? 

“Schumacher.” You corrected. 

“Yeah!! He has blond hair and is super hot? Yeah, dude, my friend was hardcore hitting on him and getting the vibe from him…” The girl beside you held in a burp… Or maybe she just was just not trying to puke in her mouth. 

“Sure, he’s handsome.” You finally answered. You just wanted to get some water. 

“Oooookay, well I th-think my girl is going to try and make a move on your friend,” The drunk girl slurred as she was trying to get the cap of her lipgloss separated from the tube of the glossy pink liquid. “I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything between you guys!” 

The girl began applying her lipstick as you tried to process what she was saying through your own drunken state. Finally, it all came together and you turned your head to face her. 

“You hunted me down just to ask me if your friend has permission to sleep with Mick?” You tried to sound as sober as possible. 

The girl shrugged her shoulders and shot a quick smile to you as she gathered her purse. 

“W-Well, you guys are always together! She just wanted to make s-sure you weren’t a thing.” You nodded as she finished speaking and primping her hair. 

And maybe it was because you were drunk, the emotion of jealousy arose in you. Luckily, your cheeks were already flush from the shots of tequila you consumed earlier. You were sure Mick always had girls trying to hit on him and maybe they were successful in doing so. Mick was an adult and as long as they were consenting adults too, what’s the harm in him having a little bit of fun? 

What’s the harm, right? 

“No, Mickey and I are not a thing. So, uh, tell your friend to not worry about - not to worry about me.” You finally responded as you blotted a cold and wet paper towel on your face. The girl grinned and blew a kiss in your general direction, soon then stumbling out of the bathroom just as clumsily as she had stumbled into it.

You took a few deep breaths and looked down at your phone screen. The letters were moving on the screen as you tried to focus your eyes long enough to reach the Uber app. You didn’t know why you wanted to leave all of a sudden. Consciously, you knew Mick had his pick of women and probably picked from them when he wanted to. Yet again the giant green monster clung to your chest as if it was part of your beating heart. Sloppily typing your location into Uber, you managed to click ‘Order.’ 

Your driver is 13 minutes away. 

You took one last look at the bathroom sink making sure that at the very least you had your wallet and hotel key card. Nodding to yourself, you made your way out of the bathroom and back into the sea of sweaty bodies and blasting music. The exit sign was aglow about 50 yards in front of you??? No - that can’t be right. 50 feet? 50… Dancing bodies? And as you did your best to toddle over to the exit, you finally managed to get out the door. 

The crisp, cool air was a refreshing touch after being in a crowded club for hours now. Frankly, you didn’t like going out to clubs, but Mick did and any chance to score some free tequila was always a win in your book. You leaned up against the wall beside the club closing your eyes. 

“Smidge? Was machst du hier draußen (What are you doing out here)?” A familiar voice, a very hoarse one at that brought you out of your drunken mini nap as you pried your dry eyes open to see who that was.

“Sie sollten nicht alleine draußen sein (You should not be outside by yourself).” 

Mick’s usual perfectly coiffed hair was messily atop his head as his porcelain cheeks were red with the heat of the club and many shots of jäger he did. He wore a simple dark blue button up and black jeans. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows lazily matching the state of his hair. You smiled at the boy in front of you and eyed his hair up and down. 

“I’m going home, Mickey. Well, not home-home.” You shrugged shoving your phone in his face. He backed up and his eyes squinted at the screen. 

Your driver is 8 minutes away. 

“Alright, Smidge.” Mick took a lean against the same wall just next to you. 

Your shoulders were barely touching when you could feel his fingers try and find yours as your arms were at your side. Your heartbeat began to pick up as your hand finally found his. And it wasn’t a full hand hold… Yet this felt much more intimate. Barely interlocking fingertips, he hummed softly to himself as he looked up at the night sky. 

“How did you even know I was out here? I thought you were getting hot and heavy with some chick somewhere.” 

Mick let out a breathy laugh. He shook his head in disbelief and smiled widely. 

“Hot and heavy?” He repeated in jest. 

“Shut up.” 

You rolled your eyes and tried your best not to look at him. You knew he was staring at you with those eyes and you also know you turn into a puddle when you look into them… especially when drunk. 

“But no, I was not getting hot and heavy with that chick somewhere.” Mick finally spoke. “I’ll always find you, Smidge. Ihre Sicherheit steht für mich an erster Stelle (Your safety is my number one concern).” 

“Ich bin erwachsen (I’m an adult).” You groaned looking at your phone screen. 

Your driver is 4 minutes away. 

The two of you stood again in silence as you still waited for your driver to arrive. Mick hummed to himself and suddenly, was kneeling on the ground. You looked down in utter confusion as he began to undo the clasps to your heels. He didn’t say a word as he managed to effortlessly undo both shoes of yours… And you were honestly impressed because you thought he was way more drunk than you. Taking something out of his own crossbody bag, he opened a tiny case and handed you some flats. You had told him a while ago about these ballet flats you saw on the internet that easily folded up for ease of access. You didn’t think he was paying attention, but there he was as he slipped the flats onto your feet and grabbed your heels. 

You were frozen in stance. He was acting so casually as he looked down the road for the driver. Your heels were in his one hand while the other reached behind him for your hand. Hesitantly, you placed your hand in his and walked over to the curb. 

“I think I see our driver.” 

“Our driver?” 

Your best friend and you exchanged equally as confused expressions. Mick’s expression was that of offense and disbelief, while yours was of perplexity and unsureness. 

“Well, yeah. I am not about to send you back to your hotel room in the middle of the night in Monaco - alone.” Mick stressed and stretched out the last word as if it were supposed to be something completely obvious to you. 

“Again though, I am an adult, Schumacher.” 

Soon enough, the Uber driver pulled up to the curb and rolled down his driver’s window. The driver asked you for your name and as you recited your first and last name for some odd fucking reason, Mick opened the back door for you and ushered for you to get into the car. You eyed him carefully trying to decode his actions. Sliding into the car and putting your seat belt on, you were surprised when Mick also slid into the car. 

“Can I change the address of the Uber? I will pay whatever you need to do so.” Mick chirped as he leaned towards the driver. 

Your best friend and the driver exchanged the how’s of it all, and finally the car began to drive away from the still busy club scene. 

“Why did you give him your address?” You whispered. You could feel the alcohol still inside yourself, swimming in your veins. 

“Alone. Hotel room. Alone. Monaco. Alone-“

It was as though Mick was reciting the Winter Soldier’s trigger words. He spewed off the reasons and tried to also go through the whole ‘Concern for your safety,’ lecture one more time, this time with more emphasis. And truly, you didn’t know what came over you - or maybe you did and maybe those tequila shots were in fact a terrible idea - but as he was ranting and raving about the streets of Monaco and how (and this was very true) unsafe it was to be a woman alone at this time of night, you leaned over and cut him off with a press of your lips to his. 

Mick’s hands found your waist as you had your hands on either side of his face. You had to remind yourself that you were still in the back of the Uber. Pulling away, you could see how glassy his eyes were, yet still filled with the same affectionate expression he always had towards you. Cuddling and tucking yourself into his side, you could hear him humming as he draped a hand over you. 

“Thanks, and sorry for the confusion earlier.” Mick gave the driver an extra cash tip before the two of you made it to his condominium. 

Mick drunkenly fumbled with his keys with one hand while holding yours with his other hand. You tried to pry your hand from his so he could have an easier way of unlocking his front door, but the grip he had on you said otherwise. 

“If I can have a super license… I can open the door with one hand, Smidge.” The front door finally swung open after what felt like an eternity.  

The two of you shed your shoes and as he plopped your heels down on the counter and washed his hands, you managed to find some food in his fridge. 

“I’m drunker than I thought…” Mick mumbled as he came up behind you, his arms wrapping around you. You ever so slight leaned your head back so your the sides of your heads were touching. 

And as you both looked at the inside of the fridge, not wanting to move, you could only turn around to face the boy. You put your arms around his neck and placed a kiss on his forehead. The intimate act was not lost on Mick, either. And this time his hum sounded differently than usual as he closed his eyes, holding you tightly to his body. 

Finally as you two peeled apart, you grabbed a few beers and some leftover pizza, turning on your heel. Mick followed you as you navigated your way into his room. Well, he’d also just follow you anywhere, but as you entered his room, he could swear he was dreaming. 

Mick helped you put the food and beer down and told you he was just going to changed into sweats as he disappeared into his bathroom. At the same time, you rummaged through his closet and drawers to find clothes. You dawned one of his old Ferrari shirts and some shorts you found that actually fit you.

After you both had changed, you got comfortable and sat on his bed criss cross waiting for him to come back. Mick was in his bathroom, his sweats already on, but his mind racing a mile a minute. 

You both were way too drunk (even if it didn’t seem like it) to take things anything further, but for some reason tonight the ambience was much different - more intimate. It was the feeling he so desperately longed for you to feel as well. He’d never force you or guilt you into feeling the way he always has for you, but he was just happy to be able to be there for you when you reciprocated. 

Even if it was just for one night… Mick kept repeating in his head as he splashed his face with water. 

Mick exited the bathroom and smiled softly at the sight in front of him. You were absolutely glowing and the fact that you were wearing his clothes was even better. This was the life he wanted with you, and he knew he’d wait an eternity to earn it. And in any lifetime, he would want to find you, he knew that much to be true. 

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“Skin too tight and eyes like marbles

You spin me high, so watch me as I glide

Before I tumble homeward, homeward”

Mick was absolutely dominating Formula Two, just as he did in Formula Three. So there you were visiting Mick the day before free practice was going to start in Silverstone. 

He knew that your mother had just been diagnosed with cancer and that your time was vastly being taken up by transporting her from place to place when you could. Mick would always offer to help, but you didn’t want him to get involved in your family drama… Well, with your father. 

“I think you’re going to do great things tomorrow, Mickey.” You smiled widely as you went to reach for something in the cupboard above you. The two of you were at his hotel room as he relaxed after a hard day of training and sim driving. 

“You always say that, Smidge.” Mick peered over his shoulder to you, his eyes half focused on the video game’s loading screen in front of him. 

The sound of dishes breaking quickly pulled him out of his half trance. He was on his feet and over to you as fast as Edward stopped that van crashing into Bella. 

Your hand had been cut by the falling and breaking glass, the blood slowly beginning to pour out of the wound. You were praying you didn’t have to get stitches. 

Mick responded hastily, grabbing the nearest dish towel and wrapping your hand with it. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. He repeated in the back of his head as he pressed gently to your palm. 

“I could have helped you, Smidge.” Mick broke the silence as you winced at his touch. As he helped you to your feet, he guided your hand under the now streaming water. 

“I’m a big girl, Mickey.” You retorted, clearly aware that you were contradicting yourself as he washed your wound of any passing infections. 

He just hummed in response as he shut the water off and examined your hand. He repeated that he thinks you didn’t need stitches, and that he would return shortly the first aid kit. True to his word, he gestured for you to take a seat on the couch. It was as if he knew exactly what you were thinking too, the way his touch was almost nonexistent because it was so soft as he bandaged your hand. Oddly though, you cowered in pain as he moved your arm to the side. It was an unseemly way of moving it, too as Mick tried to see if the bandage was tight enough on the side of the hand he couldn’t see. 

Mick cocked his head to the side and stared at you with one look: That better not have been because of what I fucking think it is. 

You hesitated being the one to break the looming silence between you two now, but you thought if you didn’t he’d say it aloud - and to have someone else say it aloud was sometimes worse than you admitting it. 

“It’s not what you-“ 

“Show me.” Mick cut you off, his deepening blue eyes piercing the air with every hyperbole you could think of. 

“Mickey, it’s really nothing. You just moved my arm a weird way, I’m okay.” 

“Show. Me. Now.” 

And as you always do what you’re told, you lifted your shirt slightly and before you could even take it off, Mick was stood on his feet and typing something into his phone. He didn’t utter a word to you for the next several minutes, he was just typing furiously on his phone. You had put your shirt back on and remained silent and sat on the hotel’s couch. You knew there was no stopping whatever he was doing. 

“I have to finalize it, but you are to have security now. One guard, or eighteen, I do not care - You are no longer going to be alone.” 

“Mick, I can’t have a security guard. I don’t even want one.” You took a deep breath and exhaled. 

“I do not fucking care! I don’t! I really do not fucking care.” Mick had slammed his phone down on the counter making you flinch. 

Fuck. And as he watched you carefully, you began to sob for only the third time in your entire friendship. Mick cursed himself in all the languages he knew as he approached you with trepidation. Sitting beside you, he began to mutter apology after apology, also in every language he could muster up in that moment. Mumbling again to himself, he grabbed the blanket off of the back of the couch  and wrapped you both in it. You were still crying as you tucked yourself safely into his side. You felt badly for staining his shirt. 

“Ich weiß nicht, was ich tun soll (I don’t know what to do).” You spoke in a whisper as you gripped onto his shirt with dear life. 

And frankly, maybe his way was a bit extreme, but he only had one train of thought as he hummed between the two of you, his arm tightening around you. 

Take you far away from him and bring her home to you, Schumacher. 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“I know I tried, I was not stable

Flawed by pride, I miss my sanguine eyes

So hold my hands up, breathe in and breathe out”

As school children, it seemed like the two of you were inseparable. There were weekends where you didn’t see him, of course, but you’d always get to talk on the phone after his karting events. You truly appreciated the way his family opened up their home and arms to you, as well. You really didn’t know how much they knew about your own home life, but it was something to be said that they never invaded your privacy. 

Mick had finished second in his karting race, which wasn’t the result he obviously was vying for, but it was amazing nonetheless. As his family made their way back to the hotel room, he got cleaned up and made his way over to the tiny kitchen. 

“Has she called yet?” Mick’s small voice interrupted his mother’s train of thought. 

“No, baby. But I will let you know when she does; I always do.” Mick’s mother reassured him as he frowned and walked towards the tv area of the hotel room. 

Mick’s mother sighed and watched her son sulk on over to the couch. She knew how much he cared for you, and even as young as he was, she also knew he loved you. He might have not known it was love at the time, but she knew all the signs of it and he exhibited every single one of them. She put away whatever she was working on, and made her way over to the couch. She sat beside her son and grabbed his hand reassuringly. 

“Is there something wrong, Sohn (son)?” 

“She never is this late to call me, Mama…” He quietly uttered. “I think there is something wrong.” 

While his mother pressed for more information he truly didn’t have, he tried his best to vocalize all the things he noticed about you that were not typical. His mother began piecing the tiny bits of information he was giving to her together and all she could was sigh. She couldn’t have fathomed what you were going through at home and maybe Mick didn’t realize the signs as he listed them off for her, but she sure did. Part of her wanted to do something about too, right then and there… But it wasn’t totally her place either. She didn’t know the severity of the situation or if Mick was retelling things as correctly as a young boy could. All she could do was put it in the back of her head and make note of it. 

A few hours later, Mick’s mother entered the room where Mick was relaxing on the full sized bed. He was playing some game on his Gameboy, his tongue slightly hanging out in pure concentration. She cleared her throat and handed him her phone. It took him a second to register what was happening, but as soon as it clicked he put his Gameboy down and grabbed the phone excitedly. Mick’s mother couldn’t help but smile as she left her son to his own devices. 

“Smidge! Finally, you call. I have been waiting all afternoon for you to call!” Mick was energized now as he set up on his bed. He could hear you shuffling around, presumably trying to find a place to sit. 

“I’m sorry I’m late.” 

Now, Mick was around a lot of loud karts and when he’d go to his dad’s races, those were even louder. Was his hearing as bad as it was at his age or were you being abnormally quiet? 

“Smidge? I can barely hear you! You have got to learn to speak up on the phone.” 

Again, you said something but he could barely understand it. He tried to push you to speak louder as he pressed the phone to his ear as closely as he humanely could. 

“Es tut mir… Leid. Ich… verstecke… mich und muss… flüstern… (I’m sorry. I’m hiding and I have to whisper).” You finally sputtered out in broken German. 

Mick’s eyes widened as he finally understood what you were telling him. He didn’t care if you spoke an entirely different language, he would do anything he could to understand you. 

“Vor wem versteckst du dich (Who are you hiding from)?” Mick was fully sat up, his legs dangling off the side of the bed now as he was on alert. It took you another few moments to gain enough bravery to speak. 

“I’m hiding from-“ 

Suddenly, you were cut off by a booming voice. The voice was deep and loud enough that Mick could hear it over the phone. He pulled the phone away from his ear as he tried not to be afraid. The voice on the other line was muddled, but Mick picked up a few things here and there. 

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THE PHONE?” 

“NO, YOU LISTEN TO ME, GIRL!” 

“I’m sorry, dad! I’m sorry, please!” Your voice was frantic as you defended yourself to the best of your ability. 

Mick was rushing now to where his mom sat on that same couch. He gestured for her to put it on speaker and listen too. Mick’s mother’s expression fell as she listened to absolute abuse you were going through and she knew right then and there, it would be something she would have to do something about. 

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up, you stupid little girl!” 

“Daddy, please-“ 

And then the line went dead, with the sound of your phone being crushed - stepped on in brute force. 

Your voice was so tiny as you shrunk into yourself. You had no intention of allowing the Schumacher’s to hear that part of your life. You were deeply worried that they were going to try and intervene now and make matters… worse? You had a million thoughts going a million miles a minute. 

But just as fast as those thoughts raced through your mind, was just as fast as your father stepped the phone. Mick knew you would deny everything, or at least tell him that your father was just exceptionally upset that day. He knew you’d come up with any and every excuse to protect the very man who was supposed to be protecting you. Mick couldn’t comprehend any of it. But he knew he would be there for you to make sure when you were ready, and you let your guilt be washed away… That he would make certain you never hurt again. 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“And in the middle of the night, I may watch you go

There'll be no value in the strength of walls that I have grown

There'll be no comfort in the shade of the shadows thrown

You may not trust the promises of the change I'll show

But I'd be yours if you'd be mine”

Mick and the rest of his family were on a short summer break in Australia. He offered for you to join him as he always wants you by his side, but due to your mother’s declining health you had to refuse. Of course he understood, but he was still disappointed. He remembered distinctly you telling him that Australia was one of your favorite places and that you wish you could move there one day. 

And it being summer in Australia, the sun was sweltering and Mick was trying not to get sunburnt as he sat under the tree near the lake where his family was staying. There was an old bench swing attached to the large branches above it. Mick debated the stability of the swing and the branches, but eventually gave in and sat on it. Gently swinging back and forth, he took in the scenery and the sight of the beautiful vast lake in front of him. 

He missed you. And sure he missed all his other friends, but you weren’t just anybody else. He missed you. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and searched for your name. Opening up the text message thread between you two, he began to type. 

Smidgen ❤️: Smiiiiiiiidge, i misssssssss you!! 

You were at your mother’s house, trying to spend as much time with her as you could. She was taking a nap in the recliner beside you when you heard your phone ding. 

You: Mickey, you sound drunk. Are you drunk? You know you’re not supposed to text people when you’re inebriated 😅

Mickey 🐭:  Never! But I am not drunk, I just miss you. 

You: Mick, you always miss me. How is Aussie? 

Mickey 🐭: Boring without you.

You: As are most things. I’m sorry I couldn’t join you this year. 

On the other side of the world, Mick sighed as you two continued to text. He loved his family and he loved his off time, but a deep seated part of him that had been growing and growing over so many years worried about you being by yourself. What if something were to happen and he was three continents away from you? What if he couldn’t protect you? You had always tried to reassure him that you could take care of yourself when he would be away, and that typically when you were at your mother’s house, you in fact were left undisturbed. 

He knew this. But he didn’t care for it nonetheless. 

Another two weeks went by on his vacation and as he tried to keep busy with various adventurous activities, the image of your smile and the sound of laughter filled his brain as if it they were always meant to be there, resting neatly in the crevices of his mind. 

There was only about a week and a half left before he got to go back home to Germany. Mick was sprawled out on his bed, listening to some music. Soon, the sound of the doorbell ringing caught his attention. He was the only one currently home, so he annoyingly turned his music off and got up to go see what the fuss was about. Upon opening the door he was stopped in his tracks. He practically had to scoop his jaw off of the floor. 

“Smidge? Do my eyes deceive me?” You shook your head with a grin. 

Mick engulfed you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground and peppering your face with kisses. He was always very affectionate with you. He brought you inside and gathered his breath back into his lungs. You had a duffel bag and a backpack with you that you managed to set down finally after the long awaited reunion was over. Looking around the house that was clearly lived in, you turned back to your best friend. He was grinning one of the biggest grins you had ever seen on his face while he grabbed two water bottles. Opening yours for you, he handed you the bottle and waited for you to sip it. 

“I cannot believe you are here! I think this is the happiest I have ever been.” 

“I can see that!” You laughed along with him as you took a few more sips of water. You sighed happily as you put the cap back on the bottle. “Is there a place I can put my stuff?” 

Mick nodded with elation as he grabbed your two bags. Gesturing with his head, he motioned for you to go towards his room. You opened the door and saw that the bed was made and it was fairly clean. It was almost as if he knew you would come here. Mick set down the bags and awaited for you to finish your scan of the room. You turned around and didn’t realize how closely he was standing behind you, as you collided with his body. He used his hands to steady you and definitely took the opportunity to bring you into another hug. The smell of his cologne was familiar; safe. You nuzzled into his chest as his arm found solace wrapped around your body. 

He didn’t know why you were here, and he really didn’t care, but he also knew that there was probably a good reason. It had to have been a good reason if you left your mother with her home care nurse, instead of… 

Suddenly, Mick braced for the worst. 

“Mick… Mick, you’re squeezing me too tightly.” You croaked out trying to unravel yourself from him. Immediately, he loosened his grip on you and smiled slightly. 

“Sorry, Smidge. I just missed you a lot.” The two of you made your way to his bed and laid down on it together. 

You easily found your way to the side of him and nestled in comfortably while he rested his head on top of yours. 

“As glad as I am that you are here… Is your mother…?” Mick awkwardly tried to start a conversation. He needed to know one way or the other. 

“She’s alive, Mick. She’s alive.” 

The blond boy sighed a sigh of relief, pulling you even closer to him. He could feel his body relax and his body temperature increase when you would cuddle him. He didn’t respond to you, only hummed in consolation. 

It had happened before in Monaco, the overwhelming feeling that you needed more from him. He didn’t pry further as to why you were there, and maybe that was a big reason as to why you were feeling pulled to him. For once, he didn’t press you to explain yourself or question why you bought a plane ticket all the way to Australia when your mother was as sick as she was. He simply was there to be there, and that meant more to you than anything at that moment. 

You climbed on top of him, your bodies finding their ways around each other. Your legs were on either side of him as you sat on his torso. His hands found your hips, his eyes finding yours. And as glanced down at the boy below you, you wondered to yourself if this was always how it was supposed to be between the two of you. Leaning down and closing the gap between you, you again pressed your lips against his. 

It was more fervent this time though. The catastrophic and carnal need to feel his hands roam your body and his lips claim yours as his overwhelmed your senses as your body melted into his. He was vigilant as he explored your body with his hands, making sure he wasn’t hurting you. You had to take a breath between the multiple shows of endearments between the two of you. His eyes were glued to you as you sat back up on his torso. Peeling your shirt off, you tossed it somewhere. Mick just watched in adoration as you removed your bra as well. He looked at your body on top of his as though you were sculpted by DaVinci himself. And by all accounts, you were.  

You blushed at the attention he was giving you, only to remove yourself from sitting on top of him. He frowned and wondered if he did anything wrong. But before he could begin mentally listing things he could have done wrong, you tugged on his own shirt. He sat up and reached his hands back behind his head. 

“Can I?” You interjected quickly your eyes filled with curiosity.

Mick just smiled and nodded. He let his shirt fall again and waited for you to approach him. You scooted closer to him and took a deep breath in and released. Sure, you had seen him shirtless countless amounts of times, but this was much, much different. You didn’t mind it. 

Your fingers found the hem of his shirt and with a trying motion, you began to pull the shirt over his head. He assisted you a bit, his broad shoulders getting in the way of you being able to pull the shirt completely over his head. Your fingers began to dance down his chest, the circles and trails they were leaving behind was a feeling Mick would never forget. Still sitting up, you climb into his lap and had your legs on either side of him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and gently tugged at the hair on the nape of it. Again, with a hunger and desperation you had never felt before your lips crashed into his and his hands found your hair in a hurried attempt to get as close to you as possible. 

He never wanted to let go of you and the feeling that came with this. He had loved you for so long. And to have you here, in his bed, making it known that maybe… just maybe you loved him too… He didn’t want to wake up tomorrow morning. He didn’t want it to be a dream. 

“Bist du sicher (Are you sure?)” Mick finally breathed out in between sloppy kisses. You gleamed at him, your lips swollen with fervor. Biting your bottom lip, you nodded. “I need words, schätzen. I need you to say-“ 

“Yes. I’m sure, Schumacher.” 

Mick pulled you in again, his lips finding your neck as he peppered it with kisses, sucking ever so prudently as he made his way up and down the soft skin of your neck. 

You didn’t know what would come after this, after everything was said and done… But for now and just for now, you wanted to be his just as much as he wanted to be yours. 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

current day 

“So love the one you hold

And I will be your goal

To have and to hold

A lover of the light” 

It had to remain to be seen how long Hamilton was going be out of the season. He was going through some personal issues and while you knew Silverstone was going to be your first race, you didn’t expect to have to race before that. And of fucking course your first race is Monaco. You were busy training and preparing for the course, trying your best to keep a strong head on your shoulders. There was so much pressure with you being the first female driver and Monaco being your first official race, that you began to feel nauseous. Finding the nearest bin, you excreted the contents of your stomach into it, grimacing at the bitter taste that came afterwards. 

“Kiddo? Are you right?” Daniel’s thick accent interrupted you washing of your hands. 

“Yeah, fine. I’m just nervous.” You washed your mouth out with the sink water and wiped it on the nearest towel. 

“I get that…” Daniel looked around the paddock as you followed him with your eyes. “Hey, do ya think we can go somewhere private, to chat?” 

You cautiously nodded and led him to your driver’s room, shutting the door behind you. 

“What’s this about, Dan?” 

Daniel awkwardly sat down on the chair and ran a hand through his curls. Making a few tiny popping sounds with his mouth he finally looked at you. 

“Is there, uh, something goin’ on with you and Mick?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Sure, you two weren’t talking as much anymore. And you didn’t think it was that obvious, but you remained stoic trying to gauge where this conversation was headed to. 

“He’s been like, really, weird.” Daniel struggled to get the words out as he scrunched up his face. 

“Uh… I’m sorry that’s he’s been acting funnily, but maybe he’s going through something on his own.” You shrugged your shoulders. 

“Well… I mean… He’s acting like, more, sulky than usual?” Nodding along as the Aussie driver continued to list off reasons as to why and how he was more sulky, you finally stopped him before he said anything else. 

“I’ll talk to him, don’t worry, Dan. I’m sure it’s nothing.” You shot him a smile and waited for him to respond. 

“He loves you, you know. Like, a lot. Like more than the average man has the capacity for love.” You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. 

The last time you two had really spoken in person was when you ended up fighting. You knew he loved you. You knew he was in love with you… But he also knew that you try so hard to not allow yourself to be vulnerable like that. And maybe the relationship was physically reciprocated, Mick struggled with the fact that it was not emotionally reciprocated more than anything. You loved him, sure. He was your best friend… But the voice inside your head knew that for your own protection, you shouldn’t be allowed to love anyone… Especially Mick. You didn’t deserve him and he didn’t deserve someone who has made him wait this long for something he so desperately craved. All you could do was reiterate that you’d talk to him and try to get him to be less-sulky. 

The Australian soon left the room and you were alone. Pulling out your phone, you quickly dialed Mick. 

“Schätzen, is that you? Are you okay?” Mick’s tone was immediately serious as he answered the phone. You two were barely talking and now you were calling him. 

“I’m fine, Mickey. I just wanted to know if you wanted to get dinner tonight.” 

“Tonight?” Mick was fumbling with something on the other end. It was odd too that he didn’t immediately accept your dinner invitation. 

“Is tonight not a good night for you?” 

Soon, your heart dropped once again and as it lay wafting in the pit of your stomach, you could feel whatever contents were left in there if any, slowly creeping their way back up your throat. 

“Who is that?” It was a woman’s voice. She was giggling. “Ugh, Mickeyyyy, hang up!!!” 

Mickey. 

No one else called him that except for you, in fact he made it a point to not allow it. That name was reserved for you… So you thought. 

Mick mumbled something to her in French, his hand covering the microphone. 

“Yeah, I could make tonight-“ 

“Nevermind, you’re busy and I don’t want you to give up your evening just for me.” Your tone as surprising as it was to you, was actually quite genuine. You never wanted him to feel like he couldn’t have fun. 

“Smidge, I can-“ 

“No, seriously it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Mick continued to move around where he was, the thick accent of her Monegasque-ness peeking through the phone call.  

If your German was terrible, your French was even worse. You sighed to yourself and decided to hang up the phone. He wasn’t paying attention to the conversation and you didn’t want to pay attention anymore. Rubbing your eyes, you grabbed your backpack and headed out of the paddock to your car. 

There was something that had changed so quickly about your surroundings. As you reached for your keys it was if the wind was knocked out from your lungs. You slowly turned around, keys still in your hand. 

How the fuck did he find you here of all places? 

“Hello, daughter. Shall we have it out at your place of… work… Or is there somewhere I can knock some fucking sense into you?” 

You looked around at the parking lot and by every strand of bad luck, it was seemingly empty and you two were the only ones there. You had every intention of shutting it down, right then and there, but you stood frozen in front of the man who was supposed to love you, but instead you spent your entire life picking up the pieces of the mess he made. Some of the pieces were even lost in the trauma of trying to keep your composure long enough to get where you were. Mick was always the one to lend you the broken parts that seemed to fit perfectly, just so you could have the wherewithal to start over again… And again, and again, and again… 

“Did you suddenly go mute? Answer me.” You flinched in response, your back hitting your car behind you. You could just hear him calling you pathetic. You knew he was thinking it. 

“I can drive us to my hotel room. Just… Just don’t make a scene, okay?” 

Your father rolled his eyes as he snatched the car keys from you. With your head hung like you were a little girl in trouble again, you trudged over to the passenger’s side. You placed your backpack in the back seat and waited for your father to drive off and take you hopefully to your hotel room. 

What seemed like a century later, you two were up in your hotel room. You stood on opposite ends of the living space provided. 

“This is quite fancy. How can you afford it?” 

“Formula One pays well, but I know you’re not here to talk about my job.” You were short with him, trying to keep your emotional and mental distance. “Why are you here, dad? I’m very busy and-“ 

He hastily closed the distance between you, grabbing the back of your head, clumps of hair intertwining with his knuckles. Forcing you to look up at him, his glaring and empty eyes matched his unwavering stoicism. He squinted at you, smirking. 

“Pathetic. You’ve always been fucking pathetic.” Releasing your hair, your father smacked you in the face, causing you to be  tossed to the ground, by brute force. He was now circling you like a vulture does a dead zebra. You didn’t dare look up at him. You remained submissive on the floor, making certain that you didn’t shed a tear. 

“Where’s your boyfriend now, huh? Not coming to your fucking rescue this time?” You didn’t answer. 

With a swift kick to your side you fell over on the cold floor and held your ribs in pain. Still, you did not cry.  

“Answer me! I asked you a goddamn question!” 

You opened your eyes to find your father towering over you still, sure as hell ready to deliver another kick to your side. 

“He’s out with friends! Out with friends!” You repeated in complete fear. You could hear your father scoff and walk away from where you were. 

You thought that would be the last of it, and as you began to get up there was another kick to your side. This time it was a little lower as you felt the pain radiating up and down your leg. He must’ve hit your thigh or something. 

You were breathing heavily, doing all you could not to cry. After he got a good look at you, he threw your phone down at your feet. He surely shattered your screen. And fuck if it if he didn’t know what he was doing, because he did in fact kick in places you could cover up. And even so, you the blow to your face wasn’t hard enough to leave a lasting mark. Just one for the time being. Fuck. 

Soon enough, you could hear the hotel room slam. You were sure you were going to get complaints from other hotel goers, because it ended up shaking the walls. With every bit of strength you had, you reached for your phone. The screen was indeed cracked, but still usable. You knew that Mick was out and occupied… Your heart cried hoping that where he was, he’d hear you and come… But you also didn’t want to bother him… You leaned up against the wall, your breathing shallow. Looking at the phone screen you dialed the only other person you could think of. 

On the third ring, they answered and you resented how happy they sounded. 

“Oi! Can’t get enough of me, huh?” Daniel’s accent poked through the phone as you tried to gain enough composure. 

You were afraid of him seeing you like this, because you were one hundred percent sure he had no idea what abuse you’ve gone through your entire life. It was strictly need to know between you and the Schumacher’s. Releasing the pent up air in your lungs finally, you stuttered out his name. 

“Wait, wait, what happened?” Daniel’s tone of voice suddenly changed as you repeated as best as you could the turn of events. You could hear him grabbing his car keys and leaving his apartment. 

“I’m sorry, Dan. I’m so sorry… I’m sorry…” You were incessantly repeating, your sobbing growing louder and louder. He was trying his best to reassure you through the phone. He instructed through his own panic to stay on the phone with him until he got to you. 

You obeyed as you always did. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you heard a knock on the hotel door that scared you half to death. Maybe it was your father coming back to finish what he started. 

“Hey, it’s Dan. Can you let me in or are you…” Daniel’s voice trailed off into hopelessness. He didn’t want to imagine to you were so hurt you couldn’t even answer the door. 

Groaning loudly, holding your side trying to support every weary step you took towards the door, finally you managed to turn the handle enough where Daniel could just push it open. You stumbled backwards as you had to find somewhere to lean up against. 

Daniel’s brown eyes were immediately scanning every inch of your body, trying to decode your physical state. You were keeled over the tiny kitchen counter provided. Your shoulders rose and fell far too slowly for anybody’s liking. He saw how swollen and red your cheek had become and there was an emotion begin to bubble in his stomach and protrude through his chest that he rarely ever felt. His kind hand reached out to rub your back, being so careful that he didn’t hurt you. Daniel helped you over to the couch and sat you down. He didn’t dare say words but he knew you would tell him when you were ready. 

“He found me at the track… Took my keys and made me tell him where my hotel was…” 

Daniel nodded cautiously along, his eyes painstakingly wide as he did his best to take in the information. 

“I didn’t have a choice… I didn’t want… Fuck…” 

“Hey, it’s… Take your time.” Daniel wanted to say that it was okay, but clearly… it was definitely not. You took another deep breath. 

“He just came out of nowhere and grabbed me by my hair, and started yelling at me…. Then slapped me or something… And i fell to the ground…” 

Daniel gulped in absolute horror as he did his best to try and keep composure, clenching his jaw so hard he thought he might break a tooth. 

“He kicked me in my ribs and in my right leg… I think… I can’t even… Remember…. Then he threw my phone at my feet and left…” 

The Aussie boy next to you licked his lips in anxiety and you could see out of the corner of your eye how hard he was gripping the sofa beneath him. A familiar sight to you, as he white knuckled the cloth. Now, it was his turn to take a deep breath. 

“Listen, this not your fault and I don’t want you to ever think that it is, alright?” You nodded to his words, unable to make eye contact out of shame and guilt. “I’m going to get some ice, right? It’s just down the hallway. I’m going to take the room key so you can stay here with the door locked.” 

Daniel did one more visual pass over you as you slumped to the side of the couch. You were exhausted on all fronts. You knew though you couldn’t fall asleep, in case you had a concussion too. He left the room shortly and as he ventured down to where the ice machine was he was furiously dialing Mick. But to no avail, he wasn’t answering his phone. 

DannyRic to MickSchu: Mick!!! Mate!!! Pick up the phone or like, come to the hotel!! She’s in a bad way, mate. And fuck, there’s only so much I can do. 

DannyRic to MickSchu: I’m going to murder you mate, please pick up the phone! 

Daniel shot off a few more panicked texts after those before he reached the ice machine. He figured you wouldn’t want him texting any other person either. All he could do was wait. He filled the ice bucket and practically sprinted back to your hotel room. Opening the door with the key, he announced himself so as not to scare or startle. You lifted your head and watched him get a towel to wrap the ice in so it wouldn’t burn your skin. Your eyelids felt heavy and your body broken. 

If you died tonight, that would be better than anything to follow. 

Daniel stuck around for a few more hours, keeping you company as he made sure you got something to eat and drank water as best as you could. He tried to also convince you to tell Toto that you couldn’t race tomorrow in free practice… But that was immediately shut down by you. Daniel didn’t want to fight that battle when there were other matters to attend to. 

You could see that it was now dark out, and you had to go to sleep at some point. Sighing to yourself, you turned towards the very tired Aussie. 

“I need to shower, Dan… Could you maybe, help me get, in there?” 

The Australian’s brown eyes widened so much they encompassed his entire face. 

“I, uh… Yeah, I can, uh, do that for you.” Daniel stuttered out as he rose to his feet. 

Reaching out a hand towards you, he helped you up and over to the bathroom. He was going to kill Mick for not answering his phone. And Mick was going to kill Daniel for seeing you naked. But what other choices were there? The two of you made it into the bathroom and he motioned for you to sit on the toilet seat. 

“Can you raise your arms up at all? I don’t want to have to cut your shirt.” Daniel chuckled nervously. You only nodded with a smile, lifting your arms as far as you could. 

“Fuck… I forgot… Fuck…” You cowered in pain as you held your left side. “Okay, I can do it. Just, uh, if you need to stretch out the shirt to get it over my head. I don’t mind.” 

He complied with his famous smile and soon your shirt was off and to the side. He could see the forming bruise on your rib cage and couldn’t imagine how much pain you were in internally. He kept his thoughts to himself as he helped you step out of your jeans. Down to your underwear and bra, the tall Aussie just stood there. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You joked. throwing a wink at him. You might as well break the tension with a joke. “But, I really think I got it from here. Thank you so much, Dan.” You placed a kiss on his cheek and as he made his way out of the bathroom, he could hear you singing to yourself before the sound of the water escaping the shower head covered your voice. 

He once again took his phone out and finally saw that he had a lot of missed messages from Mick. 

(14) Missed Calls from: Mick Schumacher 

(29) Text Messages from: Mick Schumacher 

Daniel looked through all the texts as fast as he could, but the only watch catching his eye that his friend would be over soon… And that was… About twenty minutes ago… Which means… 

“Smidge! Smidge! Let me in, it’s Mick! Let me in, or I swear-“ 

Daniel opened the hotel door and immediately was greeted by a very distraught man. He let Mick in, and let Mick scour the hotel space like a bloodhound looking for a missing person. Mick stopped short of the shut bathroom door, as he could hear the water running. 

“What happed, Daniel? Fuck! I should’ve been here, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!” Mick didn’t allow enough time for Daniel to answer before he was practically foaming at the mouth with rage. If it weren’t a hotel room - your hotel room, Daniel was 99% Mick would’ve started to punch the walls. 

“Mate, mate, calm down. I can’t talk to you when you’re like, all mad.” 

“She even asked me to come out to dinner tonight, and if I just had fucking said yes - God fucking dammit!” Mick didn’t know what to do with his body with the amount of pure, unadulterated fury riddled his body. “I’m so fucking stupid! Ich bin so ein Idiot (I’m such an idiot)!”

 

Mick continued to yell in German. Daniel could barely speak proper English, so he had no idea what he was saying. The rant was cut off though by the sound of the shower turning off in the distance. Mick took one deep breath and breathed out through his nose. 

“Thank you, Daniel… For being there for her.” 

Daniel put a supportive hand on his shoulder. Giving it a good squeeze, the two boys said goodbye to each other. Mick made Daniel promised not to tell a soul. And for the first time in his life, Daniel knew he was going to take this promise to the grave. 

Mick gained some more self control and pushed the bedroom door open slightly. Giving it a small knock, his voice immediately made you perk up where you were. 

“Kann ich den Raum betreten (Can I enter the room)?” 

Still wrapped in a towel, you slowly made your way to the ajar door. 

“Bist du anständig (Are you decent)?”

“No, but come in anyway, please.” 

Mick opened the door further and saw that you were sat on the edge of the bed. The towel hugged you tightly, but he noticed you were gripping it as if it were going to fly away from your body. He rushed to your side and took you into his arms. He could tell you had been crying despite the shower. He didn’t even notice the tiny bruise forming on your face before immersing you into his embrace. Shortly after some time spent in his arms, you peeled away and finally made eye contact. 

Mick’s hand went to your bruised cheek, his thumb just above hovering the swelled skin. Your dad had never hit you in your face before, he always was so careful. Mick couldn’t help but stifle back some tears, his previous selfishness clouding his racing thoughts. 

“I need help getting dressed for bed, Mick.” 

He knew what that meant. He knew exactly what that meant, in fact. But without another word, he kissed your forehead and got up to go over to your suitcase. He took out some underwear and a t shirt. Carefully, he helped you step into your underwear, looking away when you needed to adjust the elastic. The air caught in your chest again as you tried to calm yourself. Mick hummed comfortingly and allowed you to take all the time you needed. Your hand was shaking as you began to take off the towel. You didn’t care about him seeing your chest, no. He’s already seen it. You were not wanting him to see how bruised your torso was and how big of a bruise there was on your thigh. But you had to, and so you did. 

Mick couldn’t find the words. He looked down at your bruising body, his lips beginning to tremble. He was shaking his head unable to believe that because of his own stupidity, your body was again bruised and broken. 

He helped you put a short on and helped you climb into bed. You just wanted to sleep and dream about a better day tomorrow. Mick made sure you were comfortable before going to turn off all the lights and making sure the hotel door was locked and dead-bolted. He made his way back to you and crawled into the bed with you. Your body was too sore to move around much, so Mick just went where you needed him to be. Soon after you tucked underneath his arm, he could hear you steadily breathing, the warmth and security of his body making you for the first time today feel human again. 

“I’m so sorry, Schätzen. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t here…” Mick whispered into the air, not knowing if you were asleep or not. He knew he wasn’t going to get much sleep either. He wanted to stay awake as long as possible just in case your father decided to come back. 

“It’s fine, Mickey… Let’s just… Go to sleep…” Your voice was filled with fatigue as you began to doze off into unconsciousness. Mick pulled you closer into his body. 

The emotionally sapped German boy who you adored so much was laid there contemplating whether or not he deserved to be there beside you. If anything, Daniel would be the one that deserves this spot. He was there… He came when you called… He was everything Mick promised to be for you, but in failing to do so, Mick just stared at the ceiling frozen in regret. He could feel some tears falling down his face, wiping them quickly with his free hand. Mick took a deep breath once more and suddenly, his mind was made up. He had one goal in life now. He didn’t care about race car driving, or sponsorships… Hell, he didn’t even care about anything else at this point. Mick Schumacher vowed to himself that he would never allow anything else to happen to you from then on and out until the day he died. He knew it, you probably knew it even as you slept on his chest… There was one goal he had now. 

Mick Schumacher was going to find your father and make him pay. 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

TL;DR: This chapter depicts phases of reader's life as she navigates hiding the abuse she suffers from her best friend. He finds out and he vows to never allow her to be hurt again. There are emotional and romantic boundaries crossed in this chapter too, but nothing too explicit - Just the allusion to reader and Mick having sex. The last part is written for the current day. Reader's abusive father finds her after training and again physically abuses her. Daniel Ricciardo comes to her rescue as they both await Mick to arrive.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

https://www.helpguide.org/find-help

https://nomoredirectory.org/

https://victimconnect.org/resources/national-hotlines/

https://www.domesticshelters.org/resources/national-global-organizations/international-organizations

https://www.therapyroute.com/article/helplines-suicide-hotlines-and-crisis-lines-from-around-the-world

These are some helpful links I found while searching the internet. Please do not hesitate to reach out for help for yourself or anyone you may know is involved in a violent and abusive situation.

[sapphic-agent]

Let's Talk About Izuku and Bakugou's Relationship

Happy New Year, everyone! Thought I'd kick 2024 off with a new post. I haven't written an in-depth analysis in a while, so I figured now was a good time.

So, I've touched on this before, many times in fact. If you've seen my other posts, you know that I think that the BKDK relationship is a clusterfuck of codependency, abuse, and toxicity. But I don't think I've ever analyzed it frame-by-frame, so here's an attempt.

Childhood

The lake scene has the most focus than any other flashback in the series. It's meant to show us why Bakugou hated Izuku; he assumed Izuku looked down on him and saw him as weak. It's supposed to support the idea that Bakugou has an inferiority complex that's been present since he was a kid and that's why he lashes out at Izuku and wants to be rid of him. Because Izuku makes him feel weak.

But this isn't true. Or, it doesn't paint the whole picture.

One thing the lake scene seems to gloss over is the fact that Bakugou was always mean to Izuku. Maybe he wasn't as harsh and could be written off as just a kid being a kid, but he still made fun of him. He still went out of his way to make him feel bad about himself and humiliate him. He called him "Deku" way before either of them were (or weren't) given a quirk.

And he only ever did this to Izuku, not the other kids part of his posse. He, even at such a young age, saw Izuku as an easy target, someone he could easily shove around because he knew Izuku wouldn't fight back (this would persist for the next ten years).

It's important to note that there's only one instance where Bakugou's behavior towards Izuku turns violent. It's when Izuku defends a kid that Bakugou and his posse are picking on. This is the moment where Bakugou becomes physically aggressive; not when he found out Izuku was quirkless, during the lake, or any time before. It's here, when Izuku stops being the defenseless wimp who won't stand up to him. He doesn't like that Izuku stepped out of the mold he had confined him to (I'll come back to this later).

The truth of their childhood together is that Bakugou was always inherently awful to Izuku. It wasn't like he experienced one bad moment that flipped a switch, Bakugou liked picking on Izuku from day one.

Middle School

There isn't much to say about their days at Aldera other than it's just a progression of escalation from their childhood. They've settled into their roles as abuser and victim. Bakugou knows he can say and do whatever he wants and Izuku won't defend himself because it's been the status quo for a decade.

He revels in that power he has over him, likes to remind Izuku of his "place." And if he steps out of line, Bakugou exerts that power over him to shut him right down, stressing his inability to do anything about his situation. It's a cycle of abuse.

Deku vs Kacchan Part 1

I've already talked about this scene before, but this is also another example as to what I was alluding to above.

As @delawaredetroit pointed out in a post from a while ago, Bakugou isn't feeling betrayed here. He himself has said time and time again that he and Izuku weren't friends. He cares about the fact that his victim now has power of his own.

All their lives, Bakugou had the power and Izuku was powerless. That was the dynamic they were used to and the one that Bakugou was aware and repeatedly took advantage of. But now, Izuku isn't powerless or defenseless. He no longer fits the mold that Bakugou had tied him to since childhood. That's why Bakugou is so upset; not because Izuku kept something from him but because the power imbalance between was shifting.

And it's why he tries to use guilt-tripping here. He wants Izuku to feel bad, wants to reestablish some of the control over him he just lost. And it works, because Izuku tells him he inherited his quirk completely unprompted after the fact. Bakugou knows he has the power in their relationship and has no issues abusing that power.

Sports Festival

I don't have much to say here, but I would like to point out something very inconsistent concerning Bakugou's interpretation of his relationship with Izuku. He claims that Izuku kept following him around and that he couldn't get rid of him, which attributed to his dislike. But even if that was true when they were 5, it's actually the opposite at least from middle school on.

Bakugou went out of his way to target Izuku in the first chapter/episode. He also tracked him down after the Sludge Villain incident. He's initiated every one of their confrontations in UA. And here, he deliberately eavesdropped on Izuku's conversation with Todoroki.

I don't know whether to call it hypocrisy or ignorance, but Izuku was content to leave Bakugou alone. Bakugou's the one who's constantly harassing and obsessing over him.

Final Exams

Izuku daring to display confidence and competence invokes immediate physical violence in Bakugou. He doesn't like that Izuku is talking to him like he's an equal, he doesn't like that Izuku dares to step outside of his role as a victim. Bakugou wants Izuku to act like he's below him and gets agitated when he doesn't do that. He, in this moment, cared more about putting Izuku in his place than his own grade.

Deku vs Kacchan Part 2

I mentioned that BKDK is codependent in the beginning of the post. This is what I mean.

Bakugou can't cope with the fact that he isn't the best and takes it out on the only target he has. Izuku had nothing to do with his shortcomings, but he still felt the need to establish superiority over him; a grasp for some measure of control.

Like I said above, he's well aware of the power he has over Izuku. Do you think he would have tried this with Todoroki? Or Tokoyami? Or Iida? No, because he knows that none of them would have even dignified him with a response. But he knows he can control Izuku in a way he can't with other people. He feels comfortable treating only Izuku as his emotional and physical punching bag.

The Apology

It's interesting that prior to apologizing for treating him badly, Bakugou proceeds to treat Izuku badly.

This interaction is important because it's their first major conflict after Bakugou's "redemption." We're supposed to be at the point where he's changed. But he still resorts to insults and goading. His first instinct is still to put Izuku down.

I've said most of what I needed to about the apology. But I do want to mention that coming from Bakugou's mouth, it grossly understates what happened during those ten years. Because the abuser is the one telling the story, his transgressions don't seem that bad. He's the one controlling the narrative, so his classmates- Izuku's friends- don't know the full story. They don't know what Bakugou put Izuku through. Bakugou comes off looking sympathetic to their peers by speaking "his truth."

Was this his intention? Probably not as Bakugou doesn't really care what others think about him. But it does raise the point that this is the extent as to how Bakugou sees his past self; as a stubborn, overzealous child and not the abuser that he was

[swannieluv]

｡ﾟ･The Bold Mendacity - 1. Second life, second chance

✦⸼࣪⸳ As you met death, the waters of truth make its way towards you with the blessing of a second life. Can you be happy this time?

✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐆.𝐈 𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 (𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜) 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 <3

✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐖𝐜: 1.6k

✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆!!: Mentions of child abuse (?) and death.

✦⸼࣪⸳𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨: ♡

✦⸼࣪⸳ A/N: Finally the first (officially) chapter! I hope you all enjoy this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it. <3

Second life, second chance

Death. The act of dying; the end of life; the total and permanent cessation of all the vital functions of an organism.

That's the most common definition given to that word. Yet you slowly woke up in the midst of a sea of darkness. There wasn't any pain, it was more like a peaceful drowning.

Some of your memories were playing around in bubbles. Events like your first word, your first time meeting the Hydro Archon and the Iudex, and your death.

The night you were born was also there. A stormy wind was making windows clap like crazy and things got carried by the wind. Your biological mother had just gotten rid of you, throwing her baby inside a lake on the outskirts of Fontaine and running away.

The Hydro Archon was also there in the bubble, staring at your newborn self with a smile on her face. Confusion plagued your mind, since you thought she had never actually interacted with you outside formal events.

But now you understood, she had been the one to take you out of the water. For some reason, no one had ever told you that during your fifteen years living in the Temple of Aestas.

You couldn't bring yourself to like her, she was just a reminder that your freedom had been cut as she found you. To save a nation whose only person who would stand still is its goddess, that was why you were brought into this word. Maybe that was why she felt the need to save a baby, because they were useful.

Except that fate made a mistake. You were never the real Child of the Prophecy, the people from Fontaine only mistook you for the date you opened your eyes to the world and their archon's actions. In the end, the real one was born and you hadn't even the chance of meeting them.

You subconsciously extended a hand to touch the bubble. It popped instantly, causing a feeling of slight lightheadedness.

“Is this what dying feels like?”  Your thoughts were being twisted as the water pushed your body down. The quietness of the place was causing a sense of uneasiness, there wasn't anything there.

“So here you are…”

You heard a serene, divine-like voice coming from above you. The sound was so familiar, yet you couldn't recall where you first heard it. But the person sounded as refreshing as the rain on a hot summer afternoon.

“I thought it would take longer until the other one was born, I'm glad it happened now.”

The woman who was talking to you had a warm presence. Her face was blurred in your mind, as if she had intended it to be.

You tried to speak. Your mouth opened and bubbles came from it, as if silencing the words never spoken.

“You did it well,” A pair of hands grab your wrists and pull your figure closer “Thank you, my child.”

“I hope you enjoy the second act I prepared just for you.”

And with that, the stranger gave your forehead a kiss. That action felt just like a maternal embrace, something that you only got from one person along your whole life.

Then, the woman disappeared from your view.

The water around you started to look fake, like a limbo. Suddenly, the place you were in disappeared and the only thing that could be felt was your heartbeat.

You breathed and cried. It was just like coming out and breathing after a long time underwater.

But the sobs that left your mouth were too high pitched for a teenager.

Rain was the first thing you noticed. It was storming heavily, shaking all the leaves and making a rustling sound. Never in the past had you witnessed a storm so violent as that.

In your field of vision were also marble pillars and statues. The majority of them depict the image of the Hydro Archon. The buildings surrounding them had some lights coming from inside the chambers, it looked like a temple.

It brought bad memories from when you used to live in the Temple of Aestas, one of the four principal temples in the nation, and spent your whole life worshiping the Goddess of Justice and being worshiped.

A bad taste came to your mouth as you thought about it. You decided to just shrug it off.

Maybe it was just a dream, a postmortem hallucination or even an ascension to Celestia. But the scenario was too ordinary and shabby to be the residence of the gods.

“Waaaa–” You tried to speak, but only cries came out from your mouth. Then you tried to move your head to the side.

You were getting soaked and that was when your situation became clear: You were alive once again.

The urge to bawl your eyes out again was really strong, and that's what you did. It was like fate was punishing your sins even after your demise. Was being a fraud that bad? You didn't want to deceive a whole nation, yet it happened anyway.

Your sobs subsided as soon as the sound of something moving around the bushes was heard. Shivers went down your spine. A boar? A Hillichurl? A person? What could it be?

“I think I've heard something…,” A female voice met your ears. A small dot of light could be seen in the dark woods, most likely someone with a lamp. “Hello?”

Unexpectedly, a melusine came out of the forest. Her body had a contrast of blue and lilac, and she was wearing a blue uniform while carrying an umbrella. She looked down at the small cardboard box you were left in.

'Oh, one of the Marechaussee Phantom. It's strange to see her here.' You blinked twice at the strange presence.

“Poor one…” She took the box in her small arms and examined it looking for any name or evidence. Nothing was found.

“Oh, I'll take you to the Temple! They'll know what to do!”

She ran rapidly through the rain to the inside of the building. It was a lot different from the one you lived as a child. The melusine knocked on a big wooden door before opening it.

Inside the room was a woman dressed in a classic Fontainean religious outfit. She had dark brown hair cascading from his shoulders.

“Veleda? What's the hurry late at night?” She looked confused at the presence of the melusine. They must already know each other.

“I found this small human outside in the temple's garden while patrolling. Do you know anything, Sister Dora?” Veleda handed the box over to her. Sister Dora seemed to be one of the devotees here.

'In which one of the other three temples am I? It certainly isn't the Temple of Aestas.' You were still drenched from the storm. And as a baby, it was very much risky to stay so.

“I'll talk about this with the rest later.” The woman looked at you with a concerned expression. “I don't know how many hours they spent out in the cold, so I should hurry up on warming them. Thank you for finding this child, Veleda.”

“It was my pleasure to help!” The melusine bid her farewells and left you alone with sister Dora.

In the room you were brought into, the fireplace was getting hotter every second. You had your clothes changed and put in a small crib with a few blankets to warm your tiny frame up. The sound of rustling didn't stop, the rain was getting more and more violent.

It was relieving after such a long time in the cold.

'Living as a baby with full awareness… Yet not being able to do anything,' The only thing your baby body could do was look up. You couldn't even turn to the side yet. 'How wonderful.'

The woman had left you alone for a few minutes to look for any soft food a baby could eat.

Knock knock.

A soft knock caught your attention. The door slightly opened and dark blue hair could be seen from the other side. When the person noticed no one was inside the room, they entered and closed it.

'Hm?' You blinked twice, it was a girl. She didn't seem to be older than seven and was carrying a small wooden sword. Her clothes were soaked from head to toe.

From behind both of you, sister Dora appeared again holding a tray with a plate mashed potatoes and a bottle of milk.

“Clorinde! So here you are!” She left the tray on a table and went to the child with a worried look. “Everyone in the south part  was looking for you! Do you know how risky it is to stay outside in a weather like this?”

She grabbed one of the unused towels she had picked for you and started to dry Clorinde's hair. Her face didn't show much emotion and her eyes were sharp for her age.

“Sorry, I wanted to train a bit more…” She left the training sword leaning against the wall and then looked at you.

“A baby, really?” She pointed at the crib you were in “Are they going to that orphanage too?”

“Oh, no. Our partnership with that place ended last year.” She left the towel with Clorinde and went back to you.

Sister Dora walked to you and took your small body in her arms. Her embrace was almost maternal and safe. You started to tear up at her action.

'Maybe it’s not a punishment from above, but a second chance? Maybe I can finally be happy in this life…'

[mxssingmemories]

boundaries // hotch & rossi x platonic!reader

summary: after hotch confronts you in his office, you react intensely. rossi is worried. comfort ensues, hotch and rossi are honorary father figures.

wc: 3k~

warnings: reader’s boyfriend is abusive and a piece of shit, yelling, happy ending i swear

“Okay, what’s going on?” Hotch asks, shutting the door to his office behind you. His tone is slightly concerned and you know he’s not letting this go by the look on his face; his eyebrows are folded down and he’s frowning. You sigh and flop down on the chair in the corner of his office, looking down at the floor like it killed your best friend.

“Listen, whatever’s going on, we can fix it. Even if you don’t want my help, it’s got to be fixed, kid. Just tell me what’s going on. Even Reid came to me about this. You know I can’t just let it go,” he said, his expression tight as he stared at you. The tension in the room was high as your eyes widened. Whatever Hotch wanted to accomplish with this “chat”, it was clear to the both of you it wasn’t going to get far. You stood up and slowly started walking towards him with squinted eyes.

“What is your problem, Hotch? I am perfectly fine! Even if I wasn’t, you have no right to say shit like that! That’s my damn business, not yours!” you yelled, jamming a finger at his chest. On a normal day, you wouldn’t even think about saying any of this to your boss. Your brain didn’t process the consequences at all, but Hotch’s did.

“Y/L/N! You do not speak to me like that! I am your boss-” he started, but was cut off by the door slamming behind you as you walked out. He deflated instantly, sitting back in his chair as all the tension drained out of his body.

The stairs creaked as you stomped down them. The whole team looked up at the noise with slightly concerned facial expressions.

“You alright, kid?” Rossi asked, attempting to pace his gait with yours. You were practically running through the office. Rossi prided himself on being quite agile, but even he was no match for you.

“Fuck off,” you grumbled. Rossi’s eyes widened as he froze in his place. When his wits came back to him, he took a few steps back towards the group. “Jesus, ragazza,” he whispered as he watched you walk away.

“The hell’s her problem?” Morgan asked Rossi, holding his hands up placatingly when he received nothing but a death glare.

“Guess it’s her time of the month,” Derek muttered to himself, eyes widening when he realized how loud he actually said it. 

“Derek Morgan. I will beat your ass,” Rossi deadpanned, already starting to walk out of the doors to follow you. You’d left a bit of a trail when you stormed out. Your phone laid by the top step of the stairs and so did your badge. The older agent picked up your phone & badge and tucked it in his pocket, knowing you'd end up wanting that later.

You walked speedily, fueled by the anger still coursing through you at the situation. You had a certain level of respect for Hotch-he was your boss, after all-but in your eyes, he had stepped way over the boundary. Deep down, you knew he had good intentions, but that didn’t excuse his overstepping.

You sat down on the pavement with a sigh, your gaze falling to the ground as your brain ran 1,000 miles a minute. Rossi's presence was made evident when he sat down beside you, holding your phone in one hand and badge in the other. You kept your eyes steadily on the ground, pointedly ignoring him. Of course Rossi was not one to give up, reaching his hand out further as he silently asked for acknowledgement of his presence.

"Hey, ragazzino, I know you're pissed, but I'm here for you. I just want to help." he said reassuringly, a kind smile on his face as you finally made eye contact. Quickly, you grabbed your belongings from his hand.

"Thank you," you said softly.

Rossi smiled at you as you slowly leaned against him, bringing an arm around you as he took a deep breath.

"Listen, piccola, I promise Hotch didn't mean anything bad. We both know I have no idea what happened, but he wouldn't try to hurt you on purpose." the older agent reassured you, watching your facial expressions attentively as you tried to come up with an appropriate response.

"He breached boundaries, Rossi. Even if he didn't mean to hurt me, he went too damn far. I can't just move on from that!" You half-cried, half-yelled as tears gathered in your eyes. The minute your body started to shake, Rossi took his cue and gathered you in his arms. He held you tightly as you let everything out, loud sobs escaping your mouth as you buried your head in his chest. He rubbed your back lightly, the comforting touch grounding you slightly in the midst of what seemed like hell.

"It's okay, tesoro, let it out. I'm here," he cooed, rocking you back and forth like a baby. Rossi couldn't lie when he said the emotional reaction you had surprised him. After almost three years of being on the team, they hadn't seen you cry once. Even after you'd gotten kidnapped and shot by the Reaper himself, you held steadfast. His heart hurt as he watched you fall apart in his arms, only tightening his grip on you as your cries started to die down. When you were ready, you pulled back. Your head was still resting on Rossi, but you could see him now. The tears in his eyes came as a shock to you, and you looked up at him questioningly but he just shook his head. He reached into his pocket with his free hand and handed you a tissue.You accepted gratefully. Taking it with a sniffle, you wiped your eyes as you desperately tried to regain your composure.

"Do you want to talk about it?" the older agent asked softly as he looked into your eyes. You took a deep breath as you nodded, shifting your position to be able to sit beside him.

"You remember Alexander?" you asked quietly, so quietly in fact Rossi had to physically lean closer in order to hear you.

"As in your boyfriend Alexander? Yeah, I do." he spoke, watching you carefully as you planned your words out.

"He, uh. He didn't like me going out with you guys for dinner." you nervously said, your face dropping as you saw the confusion evident in David's eyes.

"He yelled. Really loud, Rossi. He didn't even let me explain, he just yelled and he kicked me out. I don't even know why I let him, that's my damn apartment. I slept on the street for two nights straight." Rossi's eyes widened as he realized the full extent of the situation, the anger for your "boyfriend" calming down as his paternal instincts kicked in.

“Angel, no one should ever treat you like that. Do you have a place to stay tonight?" he asked softly, and you nodded.

"I got the balls to kick him out two days ago. I don't know why I didn't do it sooner. He just made me feel so small, Dave. I didn't know I could even feel like that. I thought he loved me!" you choked, your voice breaking once again as you brought the situation out in the open. For the second time in thirty minutes, David pulled you into his arms. One hand cupped your face, forcing you to make direct eye contact with him.

"Listen to me, kiddo. You did not deserve that. it is not your fault, do you hear me? You did nothing wrong." he reassured, brushing the tears that fell at his words. You tucked your head back into his chest as more tears fell, but he stayed by your side for all of it. The quietness of the alleyway was disturbed once again by your cries. A lone tear fell down Dave's own cheek as his heart contracted at what you were going through.

"Sweetheart, why didn't you tell us?" he asked quietly, both of your teary eyes looking at each other as you sighed.

"I didn't want to be a burden. I thought it would get better, you know? But Hotch saying what he did..I don't know. I can't just keep pretending." you confessed. the older agent placed his hand back on your shoulder.

"You're never a burden, angel. You're part of the family. You're like one of my kids, okay? I never want you to feel like you can't talk to me. About Aaron, though, I think we both know you need to talk to him." He said, squeezing your shoulder as your eyes traveled back to the building. Quietly, you nodded your head. As David stood up, he offered you a hand which you gladly took.

"You really see me as your kid?" you asked, head down while you walked. There was a part of you that thought he was kidding, but Rossi immediately dismissed all of your doubts.

"Absolutely, piccola. Don't ever think I don't, okay? You're more important to me than you think." A small smile rose on your face at his words. The walk to the doors was almost over, and by then you had done your best to fix your appearance. With a deep breath, you walked in as Dave held the doors open for you. The stairs to Hotch's office were a death sentence in your mind. The presence of his hand on your back gave you the confidence you needed to talk up the stairs. The team eyed the both of you, but you sent a small smile down to them and their faces changed from apprehension to a mix of relief and concern.

The knock on Hotch's office door seemed to reverberate through the entire bullpen. You stood at his door with a tight expression, and he opened it with an even tighter one.

"Y/N. I think it's best if you come in." You nodded as your eyes fell to the floor. Hotch motioned for you to take a seat as he shut his door. You did as asked, only making eye contact with your boss when he sat in a chair beside you. The silence in the office was deafening, as you both waited for someone to speak. It became clear about 2 minutes in that you weren't going to say anything, so Hotch took the hint. "Listen, kiddo. I want you to know I'm not mad. I understand that whatever you're going through has caused this situation, and I want to be here for you, but I can only do that if you let me in." he said evenly, and you felt your shoulders relax at his reassurance.

"I'm so sorry, sir. What I said and did was completely out of line. I promise you there's a reason for it." Hotch nodded to show he was listening, his body language open as he waited for you to explain.

"You remember when we went out to dinner last week?" you questioned, and continued when Hotch nodded again. "Apparently, I neglected to tell Alexander that I was going out with you guys. He was waiting for me. He..he wasn't happy, Hotch. He yelled a lot. I didn't know he was capable of that. He ended up kicking me out of the house. I slept on the street for two nights." you explained, voice breaking at the last part as your boss' face immediately contorted into concern.

"Oh my god. Are you okay? Do you have somewhere to sleep?" he asked almost frantically. The nod you gave him seemed to satisfy the statistical part of his brain as he studied your face. Tears pooled in your eyes at the situation you'd somehow gotten yourself stuck in. Crying in front of your boss (and admittedly father figure) was not on your to-do list today.

"I'm so sorry. I should've noticed. Fuck," he whispered. He abruptly got up out of his chair and wrapped you in a full-body hug. It caught you off-guard for a second, but you returned it the second you realized what was happening. The dam broke for the third time in a day, tears spilling out onto your face as you held onto him like a lifeline.

"I've got you. I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he muttered in your ear as he held you. You just cried even harder, the sounds not missed by the team in the bullpen. They were watching through the blinds with sad looks in their eyes. You're their baby, and it pained every single agent to see you in tears.

You pulled back from Hotch's arms as he studied your face, his focus falling on the dark circles under your eyes.

"When was the last time you slept?" he asked, and you sniffled as you tried to respond.

"You can't expect someone to get more than an hour of sleep on the street, Hotch," you tried to joke, but it failed miserably as Hotch looked at you like an injured animal.

"Okay, that's okay. Can you sit down on my couch for a second?" he asked you, and when you nodded, he gave you a timid smile. Unfortunately, your body decided it didn't want to cooperate. You instantly fell back down when you tried to get up. Hotch's instincts kicked in as he caught you and carried you over to the couch bridal style.

"Jesus, next time warn me," Hotch murmured as he sat you down. "I'll be right back, kiddo," he assured you. He walked out of his office to see the whole team watching him with looks on their faces that belonged at a funeral.

"What did you do?" Garcia asked, the death glare on her face actually scaring Hotch. He had to remind himself that he was, in fact, the unit chief.

"She's going to be fine, Garcia. She just needs us right now, okay? Now can you get me my stash?" he asked her, and she sighed but nodded. As her footsteps retreated, Morgan and JJ came to his side.

"Listen, Hotch, I don't know what you did but you need to fix it." JJ whisper-yelled, staring Hotch down.

"JJ, you are one of my best team members. You should know by now I do not take well to being told what to do. I have this under control. Y/N does not need you all against me, she needs us as a family right now. I am asking you to understand and respect that." Hotch ordered, walking away from the two as Garcia returned with a basket that had a blanket, some candy, and a pillow in it.

JJ and Morgan watched as he retreated back up the stairs, looking at each other in confusion before going back to their watching positions.

By the time your boss made it back up, you had cleaned up a little bit. Your runny mascara had been taken care of and you were sitting up properly. You smiled at him, and he returned it.

"Can you lay down for me, kiddo? I know you need the rest." he murmured, and you nodded as he draped the blanket over you. His hands held your head as he placed the pillow behind it, and they lingered as he stared at you.

"You're not a burden, honey. I can practically hear negative thoughts buzzing in your mind right now, but I can assure you none of them are true. You know I see you as my daughter too, right? It's not just Rossi. We love you, kid." he smiled at you, and both of your eyes were wet with tears as you smiled back at him.

"Thanks, bossman." you said, as Hotch sat down on the floor.

"You know you don't have to sit on the floor, right?" you asked, giggling when he rolled his eyes at you.

"Can I sit on the couch with you, then?" he asked, joking manner gone as he looked you in the eyes. At your nod, he pulled himself up and sat on your end of the couch. You adjusted yourself to where you were facing him, your head on his chest. His hand absentmindedly carded through your hair as his paternal instincts kicked in. It didn't take long for you to drift off, his steady heartbeat lulling you to the sleep you so desperately needed. You thanked whoever had the power over your life for giving you a team who you knew always had your back. Hotch continued to card his hand through your hair, making sure you were asleep before he let himself fully process what you went through. 

His thought process was interrupted by a text message from Garcia, and he smiled as soon as he saw it. She'd sent a photo of the two of you in your current position, the caption reading 'team dad confirmed?'. He rolled his eyes at her antics and let himself exhale for the first time since the confrontation this morning, his fatherly smile coming back onto his face as he looked down at you. Nobody could blame Penelope when she snapped a photo of that, too; she had a feeling this would be something they would want to see in the future.

[iridiss]

I want a (non-canon compliant) Narinder whose gentle.

I want a Narinder who was once a kitten, newly crowned immortal, under Shamura’s careful mentorship. Who grew up the hard way, who learned you have to be rough, loud, mean, manipulative, and maniacal, you have to be bloody and violent and cruel, in order to survive in this world. In order to survive against Leshy and Heket’s brutality and Kallamar’s back-handed cunning. He learned from a family cruel and cold that love was a fool’s game, that sentiment was insignificant, that caring was weakness. So he scoffed at caring for anybody at all and learned how to break and toy with people as if they were dolls, made only for his own consumption and desire. That’s what his siblings told him, that’s what Shamura told him, that’s what his subjects and the fight to survive told him.

But he never saw his toys fit for anything more than the most necessary use, he never let them come any closer than professional arms-reach business, and he made sure to throw them away the second they were no longer strictly necessary. And he hated the cruelty of his siblings. He hated how they treated him, he hated how they made him fight for his fair share. And then he kept rebelling against the doctrine of the Old Faith. He would take the cruel, old, traditional rules of how one was supposed to act, and he would take them more as loose suggestions than anything severely concrete that you had to live by. He would start making up his own rules, or ignoring other rules that he simply didn’t like or deemed “inconvenient.”

He quickly became the black sheep of the “family.”

And then the Gods of The Old Faith betrayed him. And everything he was ever taught became a horrible lie. Everything became unjust. Everything turned into a false, corrupted kingdom that had to be torn down, that he could fix, that he could replace with something better. He tore it all down, violently lashing out against the family he had trusted, the family he had followed to the end of the road at his own expense, tearing them apart with his own two hands, because the scars he bore over the years became far too fucking loud to bear. Because everything had been a lie all along. Everything had been wrong, this whole damn time.

And they killed him for it. He screamed so loud about their lies that they simply had to smother the sound. They murdered their own brother—if he was ever a real “brother” to them at all, or nothing more than another religious heir to a crooked throne.

He was a God turned exiled heretic.

So he’d make his own fucking kingdom instead. He would undo everything, and start anew, following the doctrine he always knew was better. What he thought was superior. But problem is, it’s not that easy to shake off the entirety of one’s religious upbringing overnight. He was still clinging on. He would scream and shout about the incongruities and arrogance of The Old Faith all damn day—but then he’d keep Aym and Baal, a gift from his old mentor and oldest sibling, close to his side. He would call them fools and tyrants and wretched liars, but he’d remember the Darkwood flowers with a fondness, yearning to stand in his brother’s flower fields again someday. He would stay in the Lamb’s cult, when he could easily become a constant dissenter and leave like any other follower, when he could attack them, maybe even kill them, at any given moment. He doesn’t. He stays. He clings on to the fondness. He never fully let go of that old sentimental feeling.

I want a Narinder who doesn’t understand what love looks like, because the closest thing he’d ever known to true, honest love growing up was the scraps he’d receive from a withdrawn and uncertain Shamura. Those rare moments where Shamura was kind, warm, gentle, full of love, when he’d listen to the lullabies and the poems that they would weave to put him to sleep, when he’d be wrapped up in the blankets of their webs and their nests. When they would give him gifts.

When they gave him their final gift.

He doesn’t understand love. He was trained to view it as weakness. He still feels deeply, severely insecure about showing said weakness, he doesn’t want to face the severe and violent consequences of welcoming it. There’s a part in him deep down that understands devotion, that already internally understands what real trust, respect, loyalty, and integrity looks like. But it’s buried deep, under layers upon layers of indoctrination, manipulation, fear, insecurity, doubt, ungodly amounts of pain, and rage. He has enough of a natural moral compass to be able to tell when someone’s entire belief system is flawed or fucked up, and he has enough justice in him to want to tear the entire damn world apart from the ground up. Even if it’s just in the name of avenging the kitten in him that was forced to die all those centuries ago.

He isn’t aware of it. He doesn’t understand what’s going on inside of him. He’s never even taken an introspective glance at himself and why he feels everything that he does, he’s never even asked himself why everything hurts so much beyond the simple “my siblings betrayed me, therefore they all must die as they killed me” surface level. Frankly he’s too scared to look, so he pushed it all away and easily leans on the grinning, devilish, mean mask he always depended on before.

Then I want a Lamb that’s everything he ever needed. Literally, yes, as the vessel prophesied to save him, but also emotionally.

The Lamb had everything taken away from them by The Old Faith. They were killed and thrown away to Narinder’s feet like a broken toy. They want to destroy the doctrine of the Old Faith, they want to rip the world apart from the ground up and completely start anew. They share Narinder’s moral core, his drive for justice, his drive for revenge.

But they also learn, through their own cult, how to rule with love and mercy. They save and spare each follower individually, they marry their own followers, they cook for them, clean for them, house them, decorate for them, they love their followers. They learn that there is value and strength in utilizing the “sentiment and care” that the Bishops deemed as weakness. Literally: one of the best and most overpowered mechanics of the game is building your friendship level with your followers. You can’t live without them. You are their servant as much as they are one to you.

And when Narinder demonstrates his upbringing at its fullest by betraying Lamb and throwing them away like they were nothing more than a toy—The Lamb spares him, too.

I want to express to you how much that means, especially to him. I mean, hell, Narinder wasn’t spared by his own family. But instead, this tool, now proven Almighty God, gave him a level of grace that he wasn’t even allowed to fathom before. There couldn’t be a stronger, faster way to take a wake-up-sledgehammer to someone’s childhood manipulation. The Lamb was sent to destroy every last trace of the Old Faith, and I don’t think Narinder ever considered the extent of what that entailed.

He’d been lied to his entire childhood, being told that heart was weakness, that kindness would be his downfall, that sentiment was heresy. And yet here was a God besting him and every other deity/bishop in the land, and still cleaning up their servants’ shit with a broom. And I like to think that Narinder would undergo a massive change during his time in the cult.

He’d start off hostile and vicious and mean, because he’s still convinced that the Lamb betrayed him and “betrayal” is kind of a very emotionally heated topic for the guy right now. Even if the Lamb actually did the opposite of what his siblings did to him. He’s also terrified, confused, lost, and he certainly doesn’t trust any of the flowery, overly friendly mortals getting all touchy-feely with him.

But maybe he starts to show a little more wistfulness and nostalgia through his side-quests, maybe he’s trying to gauge how trustworthy the Lamb is by asking them to bring him special items from his childhood, and when they follow suit, he dips his toe in the water and shows just a little bit more of his heart, a tiny, itty bitty fragment. And then they don’t hurt him for it. They treat him with the same kindness they give to all of their followers.

And over time, he starts to see that the Lamb’s dominion is one of safety. All of their safety had been violently torn from them in the hunt for the last lamb, so now they do everything in their power to make their cult a home. And they welcome Narinder into that home, and Narinder is safe, and he’s loved, and he’s taken care of, and he’s respected, and he becomes one with the community. The Lamb is able to rule like this and still keep their power. And actually, their power is tripled by their bond with their people! Their kindness literally becomes a strength, and Narinder has never seen anything like it before, but they pull it off! In fact, the Lamb literally defied and beat Narinder into the ground because they weren’t willing to give up their home and their people.

I think he’d come to see The Lamb very differently over time. He’d go from seeing them only as an insignificant weapon for someone else’s use (possibly projecting a lot onto them), to bring in total awe of them, to learning that they’re trustworthy and safe, to seeing them as an equal.

I think they’d be two halves of the same whole. They understand each other in ways that no one else ever will. They’re the Gods of Death, past and future, they belong to the same power. They sit on this throne together. They teach each other everything they ever needed. They’re immortals together. Lamb once served Narinder in total devotion, then Narinder served Lamb in total devotion, and now they’re equals in every conceivable way. They have literally trusted each other with their lives. They were forged in very similar religious trauma and bloodshed, they were there at each other’s darkest time, working as a team. They’re vengeance-bonded. They saved each other. They spared each other, gave the other a second chance. They made each other better. Bonded in blood, divine vows, death, and resurrection. They are THE POWER TEAM.

As their bond grows, Narinder would end up letting his repressed soft side shine through. I can see him allowing himself to be kind for the first time, learning to recognize that not only is it safe for him to care here, it’s fully embraced and encouraged. The Lamb will punish him if he’s too mean to one of their followers. He can be gentle here, he can let his guard down and unwind. So he does, and he becomes a whole new cat. The Lamb eventually trusts him with leadership positions in the cult, until they’re ruling side by side, as they should. Narinder moves on from any desperate reach for power, because he’s secure enough in himself to know he doesn’t need to fight for it anymore. He would fight and die for Lamb as much as they would fight and die for him. They’ve given him true sanctuary, true family. True devotion.

[yandere--stuck]

if you have any more thoughts on the Joker Junior extending the family take I'd love to hear them!! Would J be interested in having Nightwing with them? Or Alfred? I'm not sure how well either of them would take to the venom, but if they have Batman anything's possible

Less ideas and more of an actual fic, oopsie!

---

Three weeks. Three long, agonizing weeks without Tim. Three weeks of hoping beyond all hope that he was somehow fine. That they'd all look back on this and laugh.

But, no. Eventually, Bruce was able to get word that The Joker and Harley had holed themselves up in the abandoned Arkham Asylum, and something in his gut that made him sick knew there was some correlation.

Part of him hadn't wanted Barbara to come along, but he also knew he wouldn't be able to stop her even if he tried. So, the two of them traversed through the crumbling asylum together and followed the echoing sound of Harley's voice singing a lullaby.

“Hush, little baby, don't say a word,

Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird,

And if that mockingbird don't sing,

Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring….”

Closer, closer. It took both of them every bit of will they had not to sprint through the halls as fast as their legs could carry them. As Harley’s voice grew even louder, Barbara split up to find another way in while Bruce took the lead. His heart nearly leapt from his chest with anticipation as he closed in on her location.

“And if that diamond ring is brass,

Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass,

And if that looking glass gets broke-”

The moment Harley saw him burst through the double doors, she perked up, greeting Bruce with a smile. She was cradling a flower vase in her arms, which she set down onto a covered table. Craning her neck, she shouted over her shoulder. “Puddin’, Hubby's home!”

Bruce’s eyes followed Harley’s gaze, spotting Joker on the second floor where he rested on a recliner. With a flourish, The Clown rose to his feet, turning away from his rabbit-eared television set and popping a pipe from his mouth, tossing it aside. 

“Well, hello, dear!” Joker strolled down the stairs, stopping just shy of Batman. He wrapped an arm around Harley, the two of them smiling sweetly at their bat. “Welcome home.”

Bruce all but snarled in their faces, leaning close and baring his teeth. “Where's Robin?”

Both clowns shared a quizzical look.

“Robin?” Joker repeated with a quirk of his head. “There's no Robin here!”

“Maybe he means our little J,” Harley offered.

The Clown Prince of Crime snapped his fingers. “Of course! That's it.”

Meeting the Bat's eyes, smiling back at his scowl, Joker gestured to the other side of the room. To whatever was being concealed behind the large blue curtain. And Bruce couldn't help his rage, shoving the couple aside roughly as he moved to cross the room. 

The Joker stumbled back, recovering with the shake of his head and click of his tongue.  “He must be so stressed out from work.”

“I hate it when he gets like this. He never knows when ta relax,” Harley shook her head and reached underneath the table, pulling out a bazooka from beneath the tablecloth. She fired, and a band of ribbons erupted from the muzzle, knocking Batman to the floor with a hard thud and wrapping him up like a gift - bow and all.

“Good thing he has us. Hmm, now what say we bring this little gift of ours back to the bedroom to unwrap?”

Joker's grin stretched just a little wider as he noticed the movement of Batman's hand - holding it up just so as if to signal someone, just out of eyesight, to stand down. Joker's eyes crinkled. Perfect. He wondered, was it the eldest birdboy? Or maybe they'd be getting two bats with one stone?

“Y'know, Bat's, we've been doing this little run around for years,” Joker spoke again, approaching his prone enemy. “It's been loads of laughs! But the sad fact is - none of us are getting any younger.”

Harley joined his side, patting her stomach. “That ol’ clock's a tickin’!”

“Quite right, Pooh! So, Harley and I were thinking it's about time the three of us finally settled down together.”

“But rather than experiencing the joys of pregnancy, we decided the best way would be to just marry into the family.”

Hand-in-hand, the clowns walked over their Bat's prone form to each rest a hand on the curtain in front of them. 

“But no matter how happy we are to join you, we were a bit disappointed that we didn't really have the chance to nurture them, too,” Joker lamented. “And after all, what better way to officially join the family than to impart a little bit of our personalities to the kiddos? He needed a bit of molding, of course, but-”

The couple yanked on each side of the curtain, the blue cloth sliding and billowing out as it parted - revealing a child strapped to a medical examination table.

“... What kid doesn't?” Joker finished with a grin, drinking in the Dark Knight's reaction. 

Bruce couldn't help the exhale of ‘no’ that left him. Couldn't even blink, too horrified to look away from what had been done to Tim. The horror set in all at once, like freezing water flooding through every nerve in his system.

Joker brought Tim forward with the click of a button, the table rolling forward and bringing the boy into the light. 

Tim...

His face an acid-washed white. His hair an unearthly green. His Robin costume now replaced with an exact recreation of Joker's own suit. And his face… Contorted in a pained smile and his eyes wide and afraid, unblinking.

“Say hello to Dada, JJ,” Joker cooed.

Tim's eyes, seeming to glow red in the light, shifted from Joker to Batman. He leaned further into the light, locking eyes with Bruce, and laughed. He laughed in a way Bruce had never, ever heard before. He unbound himself from the table, leaping to the floor on scrawny legs - God, how much weight had he lost in such a short amount of time. What had they done to his boy?

All at once, the cold shock and dawning horror inside Bruce shifted - and his whole body was alight with rage, like a fire inside threatening to escape through every orifice as he ripped through his bonds. The shout he made was near inhuman, launching a batarang he had cut the ribbons with directly at Joker's head, only for the Clown to dodge it with ease.

Harsh giggles flooded from Joker's throat, wiggling a finger in a ‘come hither’ motion before jumping onto the now vacant medical table, rocketing off with the click of a button, causing Bruce to almost stumble and reorient himself to take off after him - and leaving Barbara to deal with Harley.

—

Giggles bubbled from Tim JJ's throat as he stared unblinkingly down at his father, body crumpled on the floor, cape draped almost protectively over his prone body. And with giddy glee, The Joker Papa J hopped down from the giant building blocks he was perched upon, where he had sliced at Batman and sent him tumbling down only seconds ago.

It was all a blur for Bruce. The chase. The horrific videos of Tim… Tim's torture. Three weeks. Three weeks of that Hell. Electrocution. Beatings. Torment. Starvation. And it was all his fault. He'd failed him. The rage that had filled him nearly completely, made him seen red, had all been snuffed out. 

First Jason. Now Tim. And Bruce still couldn't bring him to end this. His vision swam, and he could barely even focus. Not on Tim. Not on the man who tortured him. But… Wait. Where was-?

With a final hop, Joker landed in front of Batman in a crouch, hovering over him with a sly grin.

“You've lost, Bruce,” He rasped, and just hearing the name on the clown's lips made JJ seize up, his forever-smile momentarily twitching and a flood of nervous giggles escaping him. The clown continued, voice low. “Robin is mine… And now, so are you.” 

And with a hearty heft, Joker lifted Bruce up by the scruff of his cowl and cape, as if presenting him. The grin of his face, the look in his eyes, as he looked down on his enemy. So proud of himself, so smug.

And Bruce. He looked in a daze, lost and beaten. Blood dripped from his lips.

This isn't what Papa promised. He said everything would be okay now. That he'd see Dad and Dick and Babs and Alfred again and he wouldn't be mean or hurt him again, because Papa knew he would be good now…

But when Joker met his eyes, something in them changed - his smile warping to somehow become comforting, happier. The darkness in his eyes dissipated, replaced with an excited shine. And with a free hand, The Clown grabbed for a large gun that looked more like a toy than anything.

“Here ya go, sonny-boy!” He said, tossing the weapon.

JJ scrambled forward to catch it. He couldn't help but notice how light the gun felt as he cradled it in his shaking, gloved hands. For a moment, he couldn't look away.

“Make him one of us,” The Joker urged, voice like a hiss. 

It wasn't a conscious decision to aim the gun. It just happened. Like one minute, JJ was there and gone and back again. His hands shook so hard that he could hardly keep the weapon straight. Could barely even look at him. At the mask. At the man behind it.

“Tim…” Batman breathed. JJ had never heard his voice sound so small.

JJ would swear he couldn't breathe if it weren't for the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the wheezing, giggling exhales that escaped him as he struggled to calm down. Tears threatened to pool from his eyes.

This wasn't right. But, Papa knows best. He said everything would be okay afterward. He said he wouldn't be punished again. But, he couldn't. But, he couldn't run, either - too scared. Too weak. He wanted to be home. He wanted his family. He wanted to stop crying, to be able to breathe, to run into his fathers’ arms-

“It's alright now, JJ,” The Joker soothed, recapturing the boy's attention. “Just pull the trigger, and everything will be okay.”

JJ wanted his Papa to be telling the truth. He just wanted everything to be okay. He just wanted it all to stop. Bruce, please forgive him.

His finger squeezed around the trigger-

Joker's laugh filled the room, just as a green mist began flooding from the gun’s opening. It spread through the air and quickly covered both men. Joker laughed long and loud as he clung to Batman. He pulled his Bat into an embrace, a smile so bright and wide it made the corners of his mouth rip, as Bruce began to choke and hack.

The man seized up and shook in Joker's arms. Slow at first, but soon trembling and writhing in agony, barely restrained and pained chuckles escaping him. So much hurt flooding through every nerve and system that almost faculties left him. His lungs burned, his face ached, he couldn't feel his extremities and wouldn't have been able to hold himself up without Joker's hold on him. Bruce wasn't sure if he could speak or even breathe anymore, but somehow his body found it in itself to betray him, forcing laughter from gritted teeth.

Joker took a knee, gently laying Batman to the ground. The bat spasmed and jerked. Tears began to fall from behind his mask, shining on his cheeks in the light. Gloved hands caressed the sides of Bruce's face. Green eyes glinted in the light as they watched each movement of the other man - every sputter, every gasp, every choked out laugh, every pained, slowly blooming smile that wobbled onto his face.

“You must be so scared, aren't you, sweetheart?” Joker cooed. “You've been scared this whole time, haven't you? Ever since that night in the alleyway...”

Batman didn't reply - couldn't. His eyes crinkled as his smile grew involuntarily. All he could do was return the man's gaze with a manic smile that wasn't his own.

Joker stroked the top of his cowl lovingly. “But it's okay now, Bruce. You don't have to be scared anymore. You don't have to be strong. Don't have to hold yourself back. Me and Harl will build you back up to what you were meant to be. We'll be brave for you now. And do you know why?” 

Bruce couldn't respond. For one, the agony of whatever this was, whatever Joker had planned for him, blotted out almost all thoughts in his mind completely. Could only tremble and writhe and cry and laugh. Laugh. Laugh. The laughing made it hurt just a little less. But he could still barely even register what the other man was saying. What he could register, though, was the image of Joker slowly leaning down to press his lips to Bruce's cloaked forehead.

“Because we love you.” Joker finished.

—

“Ohhhh, Harley!” Joker's voice rang through the cavernous halls of the abandoned asylum. “Barbie's turn!”

Barbara's stomach sunk to her feet and her heart skipped a beat. Barbie? No. No, there was no way, he could have known her name. Oh God, what happened to Bruce-?

In the middle of her ruminations, Harley caught her by surprise. A jab to the face, the pull of her leg to trip her up leaving her scrambling to correct her fall- only for her to feel hand grasp tightly at the nape of her neck, coiling painfully at the root of her hair. She was shoved onto her stomach, face-to-face with the dirty, cracked tiles of the former asylum’s floor.

“You know what that means! C'mon, Barbie,” Harley grunted, fingers twisting in the roots of her hair. She lunged forward, slamming her face to the floor with a sick crunch. “Let's go party!”

And everything went dark.

… Barbara awoke with a groan. The smell of pennies flooded her nostrils. Her vision was bleary and swam as she struggled to open her eyes.

A dark figure entered her vision from her periphery, and it loomed over a figure clad in purple. And for a moment, just one moment, she allowed herself to hope.

But, that hope crumbled just as quickly as Joker's voice entered her ears. 

“You're okay, Bruce, you're okay, sweetie. You're gonna play nice now, right?”

Barbara couldn't help but shudder at the sound of Bruce's laugh in reply.

Hands found their way to Barbara's hair again, this time much softer. Not grabbing, just brushing and stroking almost soothingly.

“Wakey, wakey, eggs ‘n bakey,” Harley sang as she carded her hands through the younger woman's hair. “Y'know, I've always wanted a daughter. A little girl of my own. You think you'd ever want Mama to braid your hair for you? It's so pretty!”

“Ah, welcome back to the land of the living, Barbie,” Joker greeted. “Your Dad and I were just talking about you. A real chip off the ol’ block. Now all we need is to make it official.”

Barbara watched as Tim approached Bruce, pushing a gun of some kind into his hands. The Batman held it in his hands, smiling down at the weapon - but seemed almost hesitant. Unsure. Like he knew this was wrong. Like the weapon would somehow come alive and bite him.

“Batman, listen to me,” Batgirl pleaded. “Don't do this. Whatever they've done to you, this isn't you.”

“Oh, but it is! And soon it'll be you, too,” Harley corrected, walking back to give herself some distance.

“I know you're torn, Batsy, but I promise this is for the best,” Joker rubbed circles into the other man's back. “We'll all finally be together. Once we get Barbie here, then we'll get Dick and Al. And we'll be a family! They'll never be hurt again. You'll never be hurt again, sweetheart. I won't let anything bad happen anymore. You'll get your happily ever after. You won't be afraid ever again, I promise.”

Tears stung at Barbara's cheeks as she begged. “Batman, please!”

And for a moment, she thought she somehow got through to him. They locked eyes and Bruce smiled at her with a smile that isn't his own. But, she thought she could see understanding or recognition or something in his eyes, and was sure he'd toss the gun away and start kicking Joker's ass.

But, she was wrong.

With a hiss, green toxin flooded all around her. Even over her screams, the sounds of Joker, Tim, Harley, and Bruce's laughter smothered her completely. And soon after, so did her own.

[itsabouttimex2]

Heavenly Refuge

(Made to pair with one of my Ne Zha bots!)

This is not where you belong. This is a paved land of gold and white, stark and sparkling. What little life there is that’s been allowed to grow is stifled, under thick restriction. Koi fish in opulent fountains. Peach trees in a rigid row. Sacred flowers in little silver pots. But there is no true freedom for these little living things- each one is under strict maintenance.

Like yourself, then.

So short a time ago had you been plucked from the mortal realm by a Celestial Prince, his appearance heralded by a blushing fire divine. The soft light raged high, and fervent footsteps beat against the fertile ground, and the air filled with the scent of… lotus.

Ne Zha, as you would come to know him.

Marshal of the Central Altar. Third Lotus Prince.

“Y/N! Get down from there!”

Sometimes you wondered if maybe it wasn’t a spear that the warrior wielded, but instead a stick with which to constantly jam up his own-

“Y/N!” He repeats, pink fire racing around him in anger. “I will not say it again! Come down from that peach tree this instant!”

No doubt that the stern prince wished to bestow upon you another lesson of manners and dignity, to teach you the way of the Celestial Realm. Perhaps this time it would be on the matter of properly conveying respect to the elder members of the Court. Perhaps he would lecture about the food that was or wasn’t acceptable to eat in a realm of Gods.

Peering down from the sacred tree reveals a sight you have become quite familiar with- your “guardian”, decked in crimson and pink and gold, fuming.

At this point, he seems ready to explode.

You slowly peer over the edge of the tree, shaking.

Ne Zha freezes.

There are hot tears spilling over your cheeks and down the smooth tree bark, drenching the sacred peaches on the branches beneath you. You’ve overgorged on fruit, cheeks stained with the sweet juice of the holy drupes. From the scent of several saccharine puddles of bile on the ground, you’ve vomited at least twice.

“By the Realms…”

The words are barely a mumble, caught under his breath, his pink fire dimming as he catches sight of the tears on your cheeks. He’s angry at you, yes. But… you look so miserable. The prince cannot help but be taken by a wave of concern for your wellbeing.

Sun Wukong had done this before, once. Eaten a near tree’s worth of sacred peaches and chaos an outright uproar in the Celestial Realm… but he had not been a child (not by the Celestial Realm’s standards, at least) and he had not been a trembling, vomiting mess.

“…Y/N. You will come down from that tree, and you will do so now.”

There’s a hollow look in your eyes, one he’s grown used to- it’s the same look you get when you “know” what’s waiting for you.

You’ve known harsh backhands and hanger strikes. You’ve known folded-over belts and crescent scars born of manicured keratin. You’ve known hot iron and water buckets.

But the Li family are not the guardians you knew. Teaching you this seemed to be going down the route of pulling teeth, unfortunately.

The Third Lotus Prince holds out his arms, and forces a trembling smile. It’s hard to bear a grin when what he wants; more than anything, is to bolt you by steel into place and never again risk you slipping away.

When you stand up and jump, it’s with far too much ease. The plummet comes almost naturally, like you’d been thinking on it for hours.

‘Are you used to risking your life’, Ne Zha wants to ask. But you won’t answer. He already knows that. ‘Do you like risking your life?’

It almost relieves him that you were sure to keep mum instead of answering. Because…

…because he’s scared (and certain) that you would say yes.

Ne Zha catches you with a measure of grace, your ragged form landing bridal style in his arms. And… Gods, you look even worse up close. Dark bags under your tear-swollen eyes, puffy patches of red around your cheeks, irritated by the cling of sticky juice and the bare-nail scraping of your trembling hands.

“…a-are you… are you m-mad…?”

“No,” he half-lies, patting your quivering back. “Let’s get you home.” Ne Zha shifts you to a more comfortable position, then tightens his hold. Anything to not look directly at your miserable, worn face. Gods, when was the last time you actually slept through the night?

“…Mis… M-Mister Jing…?” Is the trembling question on your lips, barely audible. “Are we going to your father?” is the little section left unspoken. Not that the prince wouldn’t understand.

Ne Zha is already walking along the path back to Li family’s palace.

“Yes, little witch. He’ll be…”

Gods, he was never any good at lying. Then, the last time the prince tried was centuries ago. His own condition at the time had been rather similar to yours, a little trembling mess of tears and bile. Ne Zha had sworn to his father with big wet eyes that he was most certainly not sick, just very excited to start training. It hadn’t worked for him then, obviously, and even now he can barely manage a somewhat believable:

“He’ll be, ah, pleased to see you unharmed.”

And on his way the prince goes.

On any other day, there would be chatter amongst the other deities, servants, and guards. Today, though, the only sound in the air is the click of Ne Zha’s boots against the paved way, punctured by your shaky breathing.

They don’t even have to enter the palace to find Li Jing- the man is waiting, stern and frowning, under an opulent ivory arch. His polished boot taps unhappily against the tile.

“Let me have them,” Li Jing says, tempering his voice to only mild unhappiness,” and then prepare their chambers- this time, add those “precautions” we previously discussed.”

He’s… working on his flaws. Slowly. Having your realm nearly dissolve in a fit of rumbling chaos struck Jing hard enough to inspire an honest attempt to improve himself.

So Li Jing was making slow strides to be kinder, and gentler, and Ne Zha was adjusting in turn be more open to the man his father was becoming.

And they had decided to expand their family with the newest addition to the Celestial Realm, a little witch who had strange powers and an unhappy past. Maybe, through “fixing” you, the improvement of their fractured family tree would come sooner.

“Yes, Father,” the prince obediently replies. He keeps his voice calm and neutral- though there is clearly worry bubbling under the surface. He carefully sets you into his father’s arms, then watches you for a moment to ensure that all is well. Then he bows to Li Jing, before preparing to take his leave.

“And, ah, son?”

“Yes, Father?” The prince asks, pausing. His back is turned, but Ne Zha tilts his head a fraction- listening to hear more from Li Jing.

“…good work."

Those two words send a chill through the prince’s blood. Praise was not entirely foreign to Ne Zha’s ears- but it was rare. Few and far between were the times when his father would compliment him. He’s silent for several long moments, letting the words sink in. It’s odd, the way they set his gut rolling like a stone in a river.

Finally, the prince swallows, and dips his head in reply.

“Thank you, Father.”

From here on, things would be better between them- even if your potential “betterment” was the vehicle they used to drag themselves across the finish line.

So be it.