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nethhiri · 24 days

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Kid and killer with someone who is a literal mouse/rat ? ate the mouse zoan fruit unknowingly thinking I’d be a cooler ability

I hope you don't mind if I turned this into a little drabble bc it inspired me. It was such a cute idea.

(Okay this got out of hand... I am incapable of telling a succinct story)

The Only Free Cheese Is in the Mousetrap

You had to admit, when you first ate the Mouse-Mouse fruit, you thought it was going to be something a little bit cooler. Mice were small and lame. No one would blink twice at a silly little mouse. As it turned out, that was your advantage.

You had been trying to hitch a ride through the Grand Line and you had been successful for the most part, hiding in the storage of random ships, eating whatever you could find. You didn't need much as an innocent little mouse. This ship, however, had no food in storage. There were only weapons and prisoners. If you got caught on this ship, the consequences would surely be dire.

The mistake was made when you decided to venture around the ship in search of food. You happened to find yourself in the workshop of the notorious K.I.D., Eustass 'Captain' Kid that is. Unfortunately you were a very unique, bright white mouse. It didn't leave you much in the way of camouflage, unless there was a bowl of flour somewhere. Even more unfortunate was that Kid was a very observant man and spotted you instantly.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? A wee mouse?" Kid crouched in front of you.

You had been so sure he was going to crush you under his foot.

"Yer not even scared, eh?"

In truth, you were terrified, in the third, secret state of fight or flight: freeze.

"Wait here, mousey."

Kid returned to his bench, where there was a mostly empty plate, save for some crumbs. He collected them in his hands and returned to the interesting white mouse, sprinkling them on the floor.

"Here ya go."

He returned to his work, glancing up at you every so often to watch you nibble on the crumbs.

The next evening, you returned. He wasn't going to squish you and he even fed you. If he continued, you could just do this and survive until the next stop in port. You were pleasantly surprised to find that he had already set out some cubes of cheese.

"There ya go, mousey. I got the good stuff from Killer's stash."

That made your tiny mouse ears flick forward. So there's better food somewhere on the ship.

It turned out, you didn't have to search for it. Kid brought it to you. Over the next evenings, Kid left grapes, cheese, bread, bananas, and a bunch of other little tidbits. After about a week, there was a tiny metal table and chair set out with the food on top. You played along and sat in the chair for him, which mad him extremely happy. He moved it slightly closer to his bench every night until it was on the top of his desk. If someone had told you that you would be eating cubes of cheese, sitting on the desk of Eustass 'Captain' Kid, you would have laughed in their faces, but here you were doing just that.

This evolved even further until you were being carried around in a pocket on the inside of his coat. It was a little warm, but it offered protection. Every so often, he would sneak a crumb into the pocket for you.

"Boss, why are you feeding your coat?" Heat had been watching him put crumbs in his pocket over the course of dinner.

"No I'm not!" Kid said defensively, not answering the question correctly.

Killer reached out to pull open his coat, but Kid snatched it closer to him. Killer tugged on it harder.

"Stop it! Yer gonna hurt Mousey!"

"Mousey?" Killer let go of Kid's coat.

Kid hmphed.

"Kid."

Begrudgingly, Kid opened his coat.

"I don't see anything," Wire quipped.

Kid's face had a light dusting of pink. He whispered into his coat, "Come on out." Nothing happened. "It's okay."

You didn't expect to be revealed to anyone and you were reluctant to come out. Kid had kept you safe this far, though. You poked your snout out of the pocket and sniffed. There were quite a lot of people in the room. Your round, soft ears followed until your whole head was peering out of the pocket's edge. You were met with a chorus of adoring squeals from the girls and even some of the guys in the crew. Kid scratched between your ears, which you were ashamed to say, felt amazing and a squeak slipped out of your mouse mouth.

Heat covered his face. "So cute." Heat reached out to scratch your head.

"Don't ya touch my Mousey." Kid possessively closed his coat.

Heat's face got even sadder than it normally was.

"Just keep that thing out of my kitchen," Killer said. "They're full of germs."

Kid muttered down into the pocket. "Don't listen to him, Mousey. He's just jealous."

The next few days, since you weren't really a secret anymore, you spent sitting on Kid's shoulder. Killer had just as much disdain for you as he did initially, much to Kid's dismay. He really wanted his first mate to think you were as cool as Kid thought. Even the tiny leather jacket he made you didn't convince the blonde.

Kid fed you well, but you were still intrigued by this secret food stash that supposedly existed. There wasn't much entertainment as a mouse on a ship and you were getting bored. So at night, you had been searching the ship for this treasure. The kitchen was the most obvious, yet the scariest place to hunt. Certainly if there was hidden food, it would be there, however, Killer was extremely territorial and observant. It would be dangerous to search that particular area. Tonight was the night you would risk it.

It was easy enough to slip under the kitchen door. Finding the good treats was harder, but your well-equipped nose was able to sniff them out. The problem came when your tiny mouse hands were unable to figure out how to open the secret paneling that the food was hidden behind. You could turn into your human form, risky as it was. It would be nice to stretch it out. You had been a mouse for several weeks.

Taking your human form, you poked around the paneling until it revealed its contents. There was a variety of fancy or high quality specialty foods, including cheeses and preserved meats. You found a knife and cut small pieces from a few things you were interested in. Then you put everything back in its approximate original position. You climbed onto the counter and reverted back into a mouse, stuffing the tiny pieces of food you had curated into your cheeks.

The following day, as Killer went about his business, he noticed a set of bare footprints on the floor. There was a light dusting of flour from the day before when he made pasta from scratch. He hadn't noticed it before now. What was strange was that the footprints were only in one spot, like a person materialized and dematerialized there. It was also strange that someone who wasn't Kid was barefoot in the kitchen, and these footprints were about half the size of his. He somewhat brushed it off, that is, until he noticed the other footprints on the counter, the much tinier, much mousier footprints.

You had been spending most of your time in the walls of the ship, when you weren't being carried around in Kid's pocket. Today was no exception. You spent some of your time exploring listening in on others' conversations. Peering through the cracks of the wood, you decided to eavesdrop on Kid. Killer had come to talk to him and you were curious about what the captain and first-mate talked about. It was a good thing you did, since you were the subject matter.

"Kid, there's something up with your mouse."

His head snapped up from what he was doing. "What? Did something happen to them?"

"The 'mouse' is fine." Killer made air-quotes as he spoke.

"What do ya mean 'mouse'?" Kid copied his air-quotes.

"I mean I don't think it's just a mouse." Killer explained. "There are footprints in my kitchen that go from human to mouse." Killer wasn't stupid. He could put the pieces together.

"So ya think Mousey is a person?"

"I do."

"Prove it."

Shit. He was on to you. You didn't even notice the footprints you left behind. Should you even show up to eat? Or would it be more suspicious if you didn't? You ended up waiting until Kid left for the night before skittering out to grab your little crumbs and retreating into the wall.

You made yourself relatively scarce for the next few days, meaning you spent more time spying on the crew, for entertainment purposes only. One particular conversation caught your attention. You only caught portions of it, but it was clearly a mutinous theme. It ended shortly after you caught on to it, however, so you didn't get any details. Technically, it wasn't your problem. This wasn't your crew and you weren't planning on sticking around. It ate at you though. It felt wrong not to repay Kid for keeping you safe. Maybe you could return the favor.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary after that. Maybe they had given up on their plans. Until one evening in particular, someone new had delivered Kid's dinner to his workshop. He didn't always eat in there but he did more and more after he started feeding you. There was something off about the smell of the food. It wasn't right. Before Kid could eat any, you scrambled up to the table and bit his hand as he reached for the fork.

"Mousey! What the fuck?! That hurt." Kid bopped your head with a finger. "No biting."

As he reached for the fork again you knocked it onto the floor.

"Don't piss me off, Mouse."

He wasn't going to take the hint. He leaned over to pick up the fork, which is when you took the opportunity to push the plate onto the floor.

"FUCK!"

You knew he wasn't going to be happy, in spite of that, you couldn't watch him eat poisoned food. You tried to run away afterward, knowing this. However, you were slow compared to him and his powers quickly put a tiny metal cage around you.

"Ya act like this after all I've done for ya?! Bad mouse!" He picked up the miniature jail cell and gave it a shake, causing you to tumble around inside, with squeaks of discomfort.

Kid stomped off with you in tow and threw you to Killer once he found the first mate.

"Take this little shit to the brig."

Killer gave him a questioning look behind his mask. "You want me to put the mouse in a cell?"

"Well, I ain't gonna kill it. I'm not a monster."

Kid relayed all your crimes to the blonde. It was funny, how Killer felt a little bit bad for you, even though he had never shown you favor prior to that. You bounced with every step he took down to the brig.

"Oh, Mousey. You fucked up." Killer was to keep you here until they docked somewhere to let you go.

No, you fucked up. Neither of them were familiar with mouse physiology it seemed. The bars on your prison were way too far apart. As soon as Killer left, you squeezed out of the cage and made a beeline back to Kid's workshop.

It was vacant at the moment. You hurried to the desk and found a writing instrument. It was tough in your diminutive body, but you left a message for the captain:

YOU ARE IN DANGER.

You hoped he took it seriously. Then you scurried your furry body back to your cell before anyone noticed, not that they would.

Unfortunately, Kid thought it was a prank. You tried another note on his desk. You tried to leave him a note on his mirror in lipstick. At this point, Kid considered that there was a ghost on board. Clearly this method wasn't working. Once it became obvious, you started venturing out of the cage when you knew there wasn't anyone scheduled to come down there to feed or check on you. The next best thing to try was going back to spying and figuring out who exactly was involved.

Now, what you would do when you figured it out? That was decided for you. It wasn't what you intended. But what were you supposed to do? One of the men spotted you. And he backed you into a corner. And he was going to step on you. Your only choice was to transform. And when he pulled a knife? Well, of course you had to disarm him. And now that he had seen you and knew you heard his plot, you couldn't just leave a loose end like that. So you had no choice but to cut his throat. You left the knife in his hand. Not very believable but there were footsteps in the hall and you had to get out of there.

Not long after that, Killer came down to your cell and squatted down, lifting your prison until you were eye level.

"I know it was you."

You licked your paw and groomed your ear, very cutely, you might add.

"You can't fool me. You really need to learn to cover your tracks."

You scratched the back of your other ear with your hind leg.

Killer let out a frustrated growl and dropped your cage. He stomped out of the brig.

How is he so observant! You really should have remembered about the tracks, especially since that's how he noticed the first time. Now what? Either their plan would be foiled by losing a member or they would escalate, thinking they had been found out. You knew there were others, and you had to find out who they were, and quickly.

Your investigative antics became riskier. You went into cabins and dug through drawers. You followed people around using the walls. You were getting closer. Until one day, you found two more people chatting. They were definitely up to no good. The more you listened the more alarmed you were. They were going to make an attempt on Kid's life again tomorrow.

There was no way you could take them both on. The only reason you won against the other guy was because you took him by surprise. You couldn't send a message to Kid either. That hadn't worked. If you tried to tell him as a human, he wouldn't trust that. The only person that knew your secret, or at least was fairly confident in his assumptions, was Killer. Maybe you could risk telling him. Maybe he would believe you. It was doubtful.

When you scampered back to your cage, you came to an abrupt stop. Killer was there waiting for you. You gulped. You were frozen. You were caught.

"Where have you been, mouse?"

The jig was most certainly up. He snatched you in his fist faster than you thought possible. You squeaked, trying to gain a little sympathy as a cute creature. Maybe it would make him believe you were a regular mouse. Then you bit him. He didn't even flinch. He was smart. He was trying to force you to reveal yourself, squeezing you gradually tighter and tighter.

You were forced into your human form to avoid being crushed, even then, his grip on your throat was immovable. You could sense his smugness in being right. He wasn't even surprised. You were grateful that however this fruit worked, you got to keep your clothes on when you transformed.

"Stop! Please!" You scratched at his hands.

Killer slammed you against the wall. "You killed one of my crew! You're going to pay for it."

"M-mu-tiny," you rasped out. The edges of your vision were going black.

Killer loosened his grip. "What did you say?"

"There's gonna be a mutiny."

Killer pushed you against the wall harder. "So you're a murderer and you've turned our own crew against us?"

"N-no. Please. L-et me go." You gasped for air. "I'll ex-plain."

Killer was decent enough to hear you out, and was shocked by the accusations. You couldn't help him further though. You hadn't heard their names and the way you described them was vague. It left Killer in a tough place. He didn't trust you, yet if you were telling the truth and his captain was in danger, he had to.

"I-I have an idea."

Killer didn't like your idea. Yet, it was better than anything he could think of, so he went along with it. And that was how you found yourself sitting on the inside of the Massacre Soldier's helmet, hanging onto his hair the next day. You could see out of the eyeholes better than you expected. Killer was strategically staring at each individual member and you were to whisper in his ear when you saw the people who were plotting.

As you spotted them, you hurriedly signaled to Killer that they were the culprits. As they had no proof, Killer was simply going to talk to them. But, as one does when being approached by a brick house of a man like Massacre Soldier, they got scared. This was not their plan, but they were so nervous, especially after one of them was killed, that they thought they had been found out. They both jumped Killer, and in the process of him defending himself, you slipped out of his mask and fell onto the deck.

You shook it off and your eyes searched for Kid, who was so distracted by the seemingly random scuffle, that he wasn't watching his own back, where a third, unexpected assailant was waiting. You ran as fast as your short legs would carry you. He spotted you instantly.

"Mousey? How'd you-"

Kid was taken aback by watching you run straight through his legs, and as he turned, seeing you transmute your form into that of a human. A human who was wrestling a gun out of someone's hand. Someone who was obviously trying to point said gun at him.

Regrettably, Kid was just a touch too shocked to react in time. His devil fruit activated to take the gun, but only after a shot was fired. He felt nothing. You, on the other hand, dropped to your knees and doubled over, clutching your midsection.

Was this how you imagined yourself being celestially discharged from this life? No. Did you have regrets? Probably. But saving Eustass Kid wasn't one of them. After all, what other mouse could say they saved a notorious pirate captain? Maybe your devil fruit wasn't that lame in the end.

______________________________________________________________

Kid thought about you a lot. They didn't have a trained doctor on board. They had to leave you at an island that had, thankfully, been in close range for you to be treated. He shouldn't be sad; his plan was to drop you off at the next island. Still, it felt wrong not to say goodbye or at least thank you.

Killer was grateful to you for saving his captain, even after being 'imprisoned' and roughed up by them. Even though you owed them no loyalty, you were more loyal than crewmates they had on board for months.

Several weeks passed. Kid happened to look up to see the NewsCoo delivery bird. The bird landed with a newspaper, some new wanted posters, and a small package. Curious, Kid picked it up and shook it next to his ear. Weird, what kind of gift made squeaks. Kid tore it open to find a dazed, white mouse.

"Oh fuck! Mousey! Sorry!"

You stumbled around in his hand, dizzy.

He hugged his hand to his chest and gave you a giant kiss on the head, staining your white fur red. In his excitement, he forgot you were a person. Upon remembering, he had a pink dusting to his cheeks and set you down.

You transformed into a human in front of him.

"Why did ya come in the mail?!"

"Cheaper fare than a boat," you grinned.

Kid all but threw you over his shoulder. "Killer! Look what we got in the mail!"

Killer stifled a laugh as he noticed a big red imprint of lips on your forehead. Kid went just as red as the mark when he noticed that it transferred to your human appearance. And neither one of those assholes told you it was there either.

Kid dropped the "y" from the end of your name from then on, but slipped up on occasion, still referring to you as Mousey. He still asked you to join him for dinner sometimes, too, as a person though, not a mouse; he didn't give you crumbs either. He liked your company.

Killer was impressed by your knowledge of cheeses and asked you to come shopping with him on islands for provisions. You also had a knack for picking the ripest fruits. He usually asked you to personally deliver Kid's meals, you know, to avoid another poisoning.

And some would even go as far as to say they saw a white critter scurrying under Kid or Killer's doors in the late hours of the night or scurrying out early in the morning.

#nethoughts #one piece #eustass kid #massacre soldier killer #x reader #drabble #one shot #kid pirates #dedicated to my beloved D&D mouse companion: Captain Muenster

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tinyundercover · 2 months

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pepper & felix (one-shot)

instincts

It takes a long time for a borrower and a human to learn to trust each other. Even though Pepper trusts Felix more than anything, he is reminded occasionally just how drastic their size difference is.

🩷 you don't need to be familiar with these characters in order to read :) this takes place over the duration of the main story. word count: 1.9k

The hum of the air conditioning filled the air, the only noise aside from Pepper’s quiet footsteps. The kitchen counter always appeared long and foreboding at night, dimly lit, but Pepper had long grown accustomed to it.

He approached the fruit bowl, peering up at the small mound of apples and grapes, just barely peeking over the rim of the bowl. Felix had caught on quickly to the fact that Pepper enjoyed green grapes the most, and while the borrower felt a little shy to have his tastes be so openly considered by the humans, it warmed his heart.

After rolling his shoulders back in a stretch, Pepper tossed his hook up to the rim of the bowl. It wasn’t very high, and it only took him a few seconds to clamber up, shoes balancing delicately on the surface of an apple. Monotonously, Pepper tugged two grapes off of the vine and stuffed them into his bag. His regular borrowing trips to the kitchen counter were repetitive and, admittedly, a little boring.

Just as his boots hit the kitchen counter again, however, his dull schedule was flipped on its head. The light flicked on overhead.

Panic seized Pepper’s wrists, and before he could think properly he dodged behind the fruit bowl, skidding to a frozen halt.

He hadn’t even heard Felix approach. The reason why his borrowing trips took place at night was because, obviously, the average human was fast asleep.

Felix’s pause was detectable, and after a moment, his voice floated over the fruit bowl. “Pepper?”

His voice carried no frustration or disgust, only a vague confusion. Pepper blinked rapidly, hugging his hook closer to his pounding heart, before loosening his grip. What was he doing?

Despite his every instinct screaming at him to stay hidden, Pepper peeked around the edge of the fruit bowl, gray eyes sheepish.

Felix’s size never ceased to amaze him. The borrower looked up and up, meeting the human’s tired but concerned gaze. When Felix stepped closer, Pepper’s muted instincts jumped.

“What are you doing?” Felix asked gently, brow furrowed— but something in Pepper understood that Felix had an inkling of what was going on.

Thoroughly embarrassed, Pepper ducked his head, staring at his shoes. Despite Felix’s overwhelming size, the human had proven himself time and time again to be loving, patient, and trustworthy. Pepper had spent hours with him, laughing and relaxing and talking.

Silenced by his own apprehension, Pepper gestured to the fruit bowl. The apology lingered on his lips. Felix’s lashes fluttered.

“Hey,” he said softly, placing a large hand on the counter. Pepper’s gaze flickered to it, and he relaxed microscopically. “It’s fine, Pepper, you live here too.” He hesitated. “But— you know you don’t have to hide from me, right?”

He had clearly tried to keep the hurt out of his voice, but it trickled through. Pepper blinked up at him, heart skipping a beat.

Honestly, he couldn't explain his reasoning for ducking behind the fruit bowl. His body had reacted before his brain.

“I’m not—“ Pepper shook his head, desperate to explain himself. “I wasn’t intentionally hiding from you. You just startled me, and— I don’t know, I have instincts, I guess.”

Felix rested his elbows on the counter, shifting a little closer to his soulmate. “Instincts?”

“I— I mean, I’ve spent twenty-two years hiding from humans,” Pepper said, lips twitching into a nervous smile. “It’s not exactly a logical thing for me to hide from you, anymore, it’s just… The light turned on, and I was hiding before I could even think about it. It’s just wired in me.”

Understanding shone in Felix’s eyes, melting Pepper’s heart. “Oh,” Felix began, not unkindly. “I see. That… that makes sense.”

Pepper nodded, comfortably moving forward to rest a tiny hand on Felix’s finger. “Right. Don’t feel bad.”

——

Felix hated his professor.

The cranky old man was always shoving last-minute assignments at his students, which drove Felix up the wall, considering how much Felix liked to stay on top of his classes.

It was currently Wednesday evening, and while Felix was already winding down on his couch and scrolling social media, he received the email that his professor now expected an entire essay by Friday.

Annoyance lit up in his chest. He sat up straighter, swiping through the email, which laid out all of the expectations for the essay. It wasn’t going to be an easy one.

With a huff of annoyance, Felix shoved himself to his feet, tossing his phone aside. He had a pad of paper and some pencils in one of his kitchen drawers, and although it pissed him off, he might as well start outlining this stupid essay right away.

He stormed into the kitchen, and with more force than he intended, he wrenched open the drawer.

The thud and the yelp of surprise sent Felix’s heart spiraling down into his stomach, and he froze, suddenly very, very cold.

Among the cluttered array of supplies, a movement caught his eye. Pepper was laying on his back, draped over a mound of pencils, tiny chest heaving with shuddering breaths. Felix met his wide-eyed gaze.

“Woah— shit, I’m sorry.” Guilt tore him like wildfire, watching as Pepper’s panicked gaze crumpled into something more miserable, slowly sitting up among the pencils. “I— I didn’t know you were in there, I— fuck— are you hurt?”

In the few months that Felix had known him, he had never once encountered Pepper in this drawer— although when he saw the paper clips sticking out of his satchel, splayed on next to him, he supposed this drawer actually held a lot of useful items for a borrower.

Still, he felt clumsy and dangerous, watching anxiously as Pepper rubbed at his shoulder, clearly struggling to calm himself. With how quickly Felix had entered the kitchen and opened the drawer, Pepper must have been given quite the scare. Felix prayed that he was only scared and not injured.

To his relief, Pepper shook his head, running his hands over his arms as if to double check. His gray eyes peered up at the human, hesitant, but thankfully not terrified. “What was that all about?” He finally asked, wincing. Felix’s heart crumpled.

“Sorry.” Felix shook his head, hoping that his embarrassment wasn’t showing on his face. “I— I just needed a pen and paper, because I got this stupid assignment from this evil professor, and…”

He trailed off, observing Pepper’s owlish gaze. Felix wasn’t oblivious to the borrower’s apprehension. He had figured out on his own that Pepper specifically felt uncomfortable around angry humans, considering that a single thoughtless action fueled by anger could lead to a lot of pain for the borrower. As much as Felix hated the idea of hurting the borrower, he couldn’t deny that he was much more dangerous to the borrower when he was angry, as indicated by his wrenching of the drawer.

Felix exhaled, dropping his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I’m not… I’m just in a bad mood. It’s not your fault. Here… you want a hand?”

When he carefully set his hand down next to the borrower, Pepper eyed it, not unlike a bird might view a suspicious object. After only a second of hesitation, Pepper stepped into his palm, pulling his satchel closer to himself. “It’s okay,” he finally said, noticing Felix’s miserable expression. “I just fell over. It wasn’t that bad.”

Felix sighed, gently moving Pepper to the countertop, where the borrower scrambled off with a little too much gusto. “If I had known you were in there, I wouldn’t have— I wouldn’t have opened it so fast. I’m really sorry, again.”

It was a little sickening, honestly, to see how much his actions could affect the borrower. They both were incredibly lucky that Pepper hadn’t been hurt, and it made Felix’s stomach twist.

Glancing over Pepper’s small form, Felix swore to himself that he would be more cautious in the future.

——

The night had started off wonderful.

Pepper had been sitting on the arm of the couch, absentmindedly untangling his hook and thread. The thread had acquired quite a few knots over the weeks, and with Felix next to him as company, Pepper had set to work smoothing it out.

They had been chatting quietly, a movie playing as background noise. Felix’s hand rested only a few inches away from the borrower, a comforting reminder of his presence.

“This movie sucks,” Pepper teased, glancing between the screen and his thread. Felix snickered somewhere above him. “Can they just kiss already?”

“They need to build up to that,” Felix disagreed, amusement in his tone. “The movie would be two minutes long without the tension.”

“Well, maybe it should— oh!”

Pepper’s sentence was cut off by the jerking of his entire body, something instantly closing tight around his torso. Simultaneously, Felix’s hand moved somewhere beside him— and with a mindless surge of panic Pepper whirled around (tightening the pain around his chest even more) with his hook gripped tight in his fists, now a weapon.

Felix was frozen, wide blue eyes staring down at Pepper, and with a mixture of fear and confusion Pepper vaguely realized that he was currently brandishing his hook up at Felix, the man he had spent the last hour laughing and watching a movie with.

The world had gone still, but Pepper’s heart threatened to pound out of his chest, still constricted by something tight and painful. Felix’s hand wasn’t wrapped around the borrower, crushing him, like Pepper had subconsciously expected— but his thread seemed to have tightened around his chest at the same time the thread had looped around Felix’s finger.

“I— are you okay?” Felix began hesitantly, finally breaking the tense silence that had descended upon them. His worried voice sent Pepper’s shoulders slumping, and with a sheepish glance the borrower lowered his trembling hook.

The thread had tangled around Pepper’s chest without him realizing, and because of Felix’s small movement, the human had accidentally tightened the thread around both of them and tugged Pepper towards him. The unexpected action had startled both of them.

“Yeah, yeah,” Pepper forced out, releasing a nervous laugh. Felix had already removed the thread from around his finger, loosening the constriction around Pepper’s chest somewhat. “Shit, that— that surprised me. Sorry.”

Although the panic had already died down, Pepper couldn’t fight the uncomfortable thought of Felix snatching him up and squeezing him unexpectedly. Of course he knew that Felix would never, ever do such a thing— the thought was absurd, actually— but the fact that he had reacted so defensively made his stomach hurt. He hated the idea that he feared Felix, somewhere deep down. His heart sank.

However— Felix was already nudging the thread aside, gaze soft and focused. He didn’t acknowledge the fact that Pepper had weakly threatened him with his hook. Gentle fingers moved against Pepper’s torso, overwhelming but not intrusive, and after a few seconds the tightness around the borrower’s chest fell away. Felix had carefully tugged the thread loose.

“Here,” Felix murmured, gaze flickering briefly to Pepper’s face. The borrower sucked in an enormous, shaky breath, bringing a hand to his chest. “Sorry about that. I think that was my fault.”

Pepper blinked up at him, numbly stepping out of the circle of thread that had fallen around him. He lowered his hook down as well, then wrung his hands together, flushing. He felt silly for having reacted with such panic. “It’s okay— I shouldn’t have strewn the thread all over.”

Felix’s gaze lingered, hesitant. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

He had noticed Pepper’s panic, then. The borrower shuffled his feet, peering sheepishly up at his soulmate. “Yeah, I promise. Thanks, Felix.”

With a considerably larger breath, Pepper patted Felix’s hand, offering a warm smile. When Felix’s gaze softened and his finger glided along Pepper’s back, the borrower sank into his touch.

----

i hope you enjoyed!!! things were getting a little too chummy in the main story and i needed to scare pepper sorry fukcufkcnks

TAGLIST: @smallsday @compact-katrina @satethesatelite @taters169 @entomolog-t @gtzel @gt-newbie @da3dm @clumsiergiantess @vee-normous @fee-hunter @torakan @mabelisthebatman n @andithewhumper @mothsintherain @violetlight @heroofthe13thday @phoenix-on-the-run @houseboatmac @dav8530 @ididit-allofit-foryou @soakedmilkgt

#unintentional fearplay my beloved #wrote this in one sitting and edited it really fast so I apologize for any grammar mistakes #pepper & felix #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #borrowers #g/t fearplay

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katerina-marie · 4 months

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Don't Go Slowly, Tell Me If You're Lonely (Series)

Chapter 3

Gojo Satoru x Reader & (past) Geto Suguru x Reader

Your relationship with Geto Suguru came to an end somewhere between the day of his betrayal and the day of his death. Your relationship with Gojo Satoru began somewhere in the midst of it all, even without you realizing.

WC: 6.7k

Content: Canon Divergence, Gojo x Female Reader (referred to as such but left descriptively vague), (past) Geto Suguru x Female Reader, Geto's canonical death, friends to lovers, angst, eventual happy ending, fluff later, reader is a sorcerer (left vague tho), brief and vague allusion to sex, but hardly descriptive, no use of y/n. More notes below.

Chapter Count: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3, Chp 4, Chp 5, Chp 6 (Final)

Notes: A bit of a lighter chapter before we (they) get into it in the next one.

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Chapter 3: You Left Me to Be (I Am What He Made Me)

It had only taken two days from the conversation in Yaga’s office to find yourself on assignment an ocean apart from home. The world looked much brighter here, more appealing in its vastness when you realized there were parts of it never touched by Suguru. It was liberating, and you set out with intentions to place your feet in all the places he hadn’t, to breathe in air that didn’t smell like home, and to freely meander without running into faces that reminded you of times past. You ignored the persisting thought at the back of your self conscious that was unrelenting in its effort to remind you of the same plans of exploring once made with Suguru. You would squander them, bury those ideas beneath layers of wall until they withered away into dust, the tendency to ignore wholly unlike you but familiar to the person you were now.

I am what he made me.

Acclimating to your hotel room and the city around you had taken a couple of days, but the mindless task of making your temporary dwelling feel like an iota of home was a productive way of expelling restless energy before embarking on your assignment. You replaced the standard hotel sheets with ones that swept away the heat of your body in the night, and the little pot of drying peppermint leaves in the corner of the shower filled the cubicle with scented steam when your hot showers carried on a touch longer than they normally did. A small bowl on the modest desk situated in front of your bed became overloaded with your favorite fruits, and the cabinet underneath was a refuge for the hoarded convenience store snacks you had picked up every other afternoon.

Earlier in the day, when you spotted a familiar bag of chips with a neon logo emblazoned on the front out of the corner of your eye, you nearly whacked your head on a wire rack in your haste to pick them up off the bottom shelf of the back aisle. The bag crinkled in your trembling hand and you threw them into your basket before you could change your mind. You had to fight back tears as you passed them to the clerk scanning your items, and for the entirety of your walk back to the hotel you contemplated hurling the bag into every trash can you passed. But when you sat alone on your bed, having already spent ten minutes sobbing into your pillow perched on bent knees, you forced yourself to rip open the bag and taste a few before disgust had you tossing them aside.

“Where did you even find these, Suguru?” You squinted your eyes in hopes of reading the tiny foreign lettering on the peculiar bag of chips in your grasp. The flavor wasn’t something you were familiar with and the smell radiating from the opening at the top of the bag didn’t incite confidence in your likelihood of enjoying them. Suguru wrinkled his nose as he caught a waft of them from his spot next to you on his bed and you heard Satoru gag from where he lay sprawled out at the foot of it.

“At the back of some random convenience store a couple towns over.” Suguru shrugged, and you plucked a chip out of the bag with a delicate pinch of two fingers.“They’re foreign, and I hadn’t ever seen them before, so I figured it’d be something fun to try.”

You hummed out your disbelief, conscious of the two sets of curious eyes trained on your face, and popped the inoffensive looking chip into your mouth. It took a couple bites before the bitter heat of it traveled down your throat and burned its way up your nostrils, and you were quick to spit the remainder of it out into Suguru’s outstretched hand. Your boyfriend grimaced in disgust, but didn’t say anything as he got up to dispose of the mess.

“That’s horrible,” you croaked, coughing into the crook of your elbow, and you shot Satoru a glare when he erupted into raucous laughter. “It’s not funny!”

“Oh, but it is! You should’ve seen your face!” Your white-haired friend rolled around the bed in his fit of amusement, displacing the dark glasses sitting on his nose, and you used your foot to shove him off the side when he inched too close. His laughter didn’t abate even from the floor, and you snagged another chip out from the bag to wiggle it in his face when he sat back up.

“You try it then,” you taunted, victorious superiority squaring your shoulders when Satoru’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click. His throat bobbed once and you heard Suguru groan from the kitchenette at the front of his room.

“Please, don’t. You know his tolerance for spicy food is worse than most children’s.”

You snickered, and Satoru whipped his head around to gape accusingly at his best friend. “Is not!”

With a sock covered foot, you poked Satoru in the ribs to bring his attention back to you and then dangled a chip in front of his mouth as he glanced down at it with a face full of resigned apprehension. “Do it,” you challenged.

Before Suguru could protest again, Satoru snatched the chip out from between your fingers and shoved it in his mouth, his lips tight with determination as he chewed and swallowed. You watched with wicked elation as his cheeks flared red, his nose scrunched, and the crystal blue of his eyes shined brighter with gathering tears. Satoru managed to hold out one more second before he descended into a coughing fit, and a pained groan that sounded like your boyfriend’s garbled name left his mouth as he folded over himself. You fell back against Suguru’s headboard, arms wrapped around your stomach as it shook with breathless laughter, all the while Satoru sat hacking and gasping in front of you.

“Children, the both of you,” Suguru grumbled as he walked back from the kitchenette with a glass of water in one hand and a bundle of tissues in the other, but there was no mistaking the affection in his voice.

There wasn’t anyone around this time to fetch you water when the burn of the chips made your throat raw or hand you tissues when your nose started to run. You were on your own in tending to your wounds, and what you told Satoru at the funeral only a week ago flitted across your mind.

Grief and mourning found you alone on an assuming Tuesday, and it came in the shape of horribly spiced chips and the memory of echoing laughter.

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Satoru called you for the first time ten days later while you sat at your desk and jotted down the report for today’s work on your assignment. Your room had been quiet, with the exception of the muffled noise from the busy street outside your window, and the sudden ringing of your phone had your hand skittering across your notebook as your pen left jagged black marks in its wake. You let out a breath of frustration and chose to use the interruption as an excuse to move from your seat for the first time in nearly an hour. Your bottom was aching, and you fell onto your bed stomach-down as you stretched your arm out to grab your phone. Seeing Satoru’s name as it flashed across the screen sent pinpricks of nervous energy throughout your body, and you hesitated for only a moment before swiping your thumb and bringing the phone to your ear.

“There you are!” He exclaimed, not even giving you the chance to say ‘hello’ once he heard the call connect. “You leave without a word and then I don’t hear anything from you in nearly two weeks.”

You winced at the faint hint of accusation in his voice and picked at a loose thread on the comforter as you bounced back and forth between feigning ignorance about the perceived implication or meeting it head-on to deny it with vehemence. Grief had made you tired in ways you hadn’t been before, and for once you believed in the bliss of the ignorant. Confrontation was no longer something you were eager to delve into.

I am what he made me.

“Well,” you started innocently, “you know how things go when Principal Yaga assigns us a mission. There was just no time to waste, and before I knew it, here I was.” You were never proficient as an actor, and never had that once been so obvious as right then.

“Mhm,” Satoru hummed, and skepticism colored every syllable of it. “And where exactly is ‘here’?”

You told him where you were, and there was silence from his end as the recognition of the significant amount of distance between you two settled in. His attitude made you feel guilty, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on exactly what made it so if you had to. Maybe the speed of your departure from the school—with the notable absence of a goodbye for Satoru—could feel akin to running away if one squinted, but you wiped your hands of the blame when you thought back and considered that out of the two of you, Satoru had been the one to first make his grand escape from you on the day of the funeral. If you just happened to be the one to go the extra distance—literally—then that was simply besides the point.

A drawn out sigh from over the phone caught your attention. “You’re not the only one,” Satoru said, and from his tone you were certain he was pouting. “Okkotsu left for Africa two days ago, so now it’s just me, and the underclassmen. Oh, and Nanami too.”

A puff of laughter came out through your nose and you rolled onto your back to stare at the ceiling. “How terrible,” you muttered.

“I know! I have to—,”

“You are not who my sympathies are for.” You were quick to interrupt him, and the petulant whine Satoru let out had you rolling your eyes good-naturedly.

The rest of the conversation flowed similarly, with small bouts of awkward silence and stilted replies making the whole thing barely tolerable, if not a touch uncomfortable. It made you painfully aware of the fact that you and Satoru had seldom ever spoken on the phone with one another. You supposed that there hadn’t really been a need for it, with the two of you always at the school and only separated briefly when out on assignment. Maybe now that Suguru was dead, the finality of losing him was causing a change in the habits of your dynamic where things were no longer seen through the lens of ‘my best friend’s girlfriend’ and ‘my boyfriend’s best friend.’ However, if Satoru were brave enough to venture into territory not yet traveled between the both of you, then you were willing to meet him there too. Afterall, Suguru would never again be back to transverse that space should it never diminish in your combined efforts.

Time ran away with itself as conversation went on, and the shadows in your room creeped further and further as the sun set and night overtook the sky. You made it known to Satoru your desire to rest, and you had just begun to pull the phone away from your ear after his goodbye when you heard him calling your name.

“Yes?” You asked, curious as to what he had to say.

“If you go a couple minutes out of the city, just past an old red brick building that used to be a theater, there’s a quaint little cafe sitting next to a worn down paint store. They have a dessert with your favorite fruit on top. I haven’t ever found something quite like it back home, so let me know if you think it’s as good as I remember, yeah?”

It was the first time Satoru’s ever rendered you speechless, and it wasn’t for anything particularly outlandish, but it still stunned you nonetheless when you realized he remembered something as small as your favorite fruit. Friends you two had been, but you couldn’t say you knew his favorite type of candy or favored dinner spot. You both had a habit of indulging in sweets, but whereas you preferred a lighter, more mild dessert, Satoru was keen to find the most sugary of confections as he possibly could at any given time.

So you smothered the smile on your face with the back of your knuckles and tried to ignore the pleasant flipping of your heart. There was someone who knew you better than you thought, who recalled the minute details of your life that took intentional time to commit to memory, and you had started to worry that the only one who cared to know such things was buried in the ground back home.

I am what he made me.

“Yeah, Satoru. I’ll let you know.”

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When you had made your way into the sleepy cafe Satoru had mentioned a couple days later, presumably visited by himself during an assignment years prior, you were greeted by a smile from a woman with graying hair and wrinkles weighing down her cheeks. The sun had just recently risen and you were hoping that this little place, with its brown-red booths and aging wood floors, would allow you to indulge in dessert before most people had even left their beds. There must have been something about the lingering tension in your shoulders or the fading purple underneath your eyes that caught the attention of the old woman you assumed owned the cafe. She hadn’t let you finish your request before she had you plopped down into a corner booth by a window overlooking the city street, and you could hear the vintage crackle of a jazz radio channel from the kitchen a few feet behind you. Coffee was poured into a ceramic mug next to you with the promise of only a few minutes wait, and you pulled out your phone to help mind the time. Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard that sprung up in the message thread between you and Satoru, ready to inform him of what you were starting your day with, but indecisiveness stilled your thoughts and your fingers.

Since when had you ever spent so much time considering what was about to come out of your mouth? At what point did you begin to fear what the absence of your words—or even the excess of them—would or wouldn’t do to the person receiving them? Would the result have been the same either way? The destruction left in the wake of words said and unsaid had left you insecure, because such ramifications could be found under the shadow of a stone monument marking a grave.

I am what he made me.

The soft clattering of a plate and utensils being placed in front of you brought you out of your new propensity for overthinking, and the old woman with worn hands and a knowing smile brushed a hand over your shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen again. You stared down at your plate with wide eyes, shocked by the sizable portion of what lay before you, and in another time, another world, this would have been shared by two or three. But there was just you and someone an ocean away who was waiting for your judgment, so you snapped a quick picture of the dessert piled high with your favorite fruit and then grabbed your spoon.

Some minutes later, when the plate was halfway cleared and your stomach was full to the point of aching, you took another picture of what remained and sent the two off to Satoru with a brief message underneath describing your marvel at his recommendation. You didn’t think twice about the unreasonable hour at which he would receive them, and figured he would come around to them in his own time. However, you had just managed to take a step out the door of the cafe after paying your bill and promising to return when your phone pinged twice.

Satoru: I’m happy to hear it’s as good as I remember!

Satoru: Maybe next time I’ll be there to finish off your leftovers.

The idea of it was hard to swallow and the smallest bit endearing all at once, and you chewed at your lip as you mulled over the possibility while starting the walk back to your hotel. Once upon a time, there had been someone who always promised to clear what remained on your plate, his stomach seemingly endless in its capacity to fill itself. But Suguru was here no longer, and you struggled to reconcile with the idea of someone else occupying the role you had always imagined him in. You would never call yourself solitary in nature, but when you had envisioned who would permanently take up the space next to you, the person always appeared with warm brown eyes and black hair that never lightened in the sun, leaving you to wonder if you’d always be destined to chase after him. You cursed Suguru for the emptiness he left behind.

I am what he made me.

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The habit of keeping in contact with one another sprouted from that one phone call and subsequent texts. As weeks went by, you and Satoru formed a comfortable rhythm of leaving each other messages and voicemails detailing each of your day-to-day activities. He’d send you pictures of new desserts he’d find when he was supposed to be working, and you would send a wall of text asking his opinion when a curse you had encountered during that day’s work had done something you’d never seen before. On occasion, Satoru would call you on a slow weekend morning when you were barely coherent enough to understand his rambling, and you would listen half-heartedly while you waited for your coffee to drip into a styrofoam cup.

This time, he was lamenting his latest spat with Megumi, and you offered little bits of advice while you sat with your feet kicked up on your desk. You didn’t have much to say in regards to the tumultuous relationship Satoru had with his reluctant student, but whatever you did say to him would lend itself useful. Later that day, a message lit up your phone, and you couldn’t help smiling at the picture in it. Satoru’s grin was wide enough to reveal his teeth and he had his arm thrown over Megumi’s shoulder as he dragged him in close for the photo. The two must have worked out whatever tiff they had found themselves in this time, and you would say it was for the better, but Megumi’s contemptuous scowl would convince you to think otherwise.

Overkill would lend itself to the passion involved in whatever Gojo Satoru deemed worthy of immersing himself in, but perhaps that was part of his charm.

Unfortunately, as time had proven to you, even the most regular of routines could be disrupted in unexpected ways. Nightmares weren’t something you had been prone to beyond normal infrequence, but grief manifested in peculiar ways and when a multitude of them had cropped up on multiple nights six months into your assignment, you stopped replying to your friend for the first time. You had no idea how to explain to Satoru that seeing his name flash across your phone or hearing his voice in your ear during late night phone calls felt much like digging your finger into a new bruise. It was sore and throbbed, and you scrambled away from the pressure of it, even if you were the one inflicting it on yourself. You were grateful for Satoru’s perceptiveness because he didn’t push as he had a penchant for doing. When you didn’t respond to him for two consecutive days, he went quiet.

You didn’t hold Satoru responsible for the rollercoastering of your emotions, nor would you lay blame on his name for the insurmountable decision he made resulting in the loss of someone significant to both of you. However, you could not scrounge up any explanation that would be palatable to him as to why his presence was suddenly too much for you when a nightmare lingered in front of your eyes all the next day.

They took many different forms. In some, you threw yourself between Satoru and Suguru, if not to take the hit yourself then to deliver the killing blow with your own hand in another. However, the more vicious ones didn’t ever involve the day Suguru left or the night he died. In fact, they could blend in seamlessly with the memories you had of him, and you were never able to untangle to which they belonged.

How it felt to have Suguru on top of you, the weight of him familiar and comforting and never able to be forgotten. He liked to suck marks into the skin below your collarbone and you had a tendency to pinch and scratch at the skin of his back when he moved in a way that overwhelmed your senses. Or after, when the two of you rested against each other and smoothed fingers over the bruised flesh, you would whisper plans for the future into the air you shared, tired in body but eager in mind.

The worst one had you avoiding Satoru for weeks, unable to think of him without feeling like he was the kick to the bruises that scattered over the entirety of you.

You and Suguru sat across from each other in a worn out booth, and familiar music floated out from the kitchen behind you. The cafe was empty, save the old woman, and the remnants of sleep still clung to your unbrushed hair and wrinkled lounge clothes. Morning sun flashed through the window to your right and caught on the brown of his eyes to light them up in a way that you sorely missed. He smiled at you, unburdened and untouched by the disintegration of his mind, and you squirmed with giddy anticipation for the plate of dessert you had been waiting to show him.

“You know sweets are more of a habit belonging to you and Satoru,” Suguru teased, flicking his finger softly against the back of your hand from where it rested on the table next to his. The two of you always spent slow moments twining and tangling your fingers together and against the other’s, and a cozy morning at breakfast was not an exception.

“Yes,” you said back to him, your smile flirty and voice light,“but you know I would prefer to indulge with you.”

Suguru chuckled and the look he shot you sent a shiver of anticipation down your back. You had opened your mouth to see how quickly you could make him blush, but a plate landed in between you two and the old woman had a perceptive twinkle in her eyes.

“Glad you made it back,” she told you, “especially with someone to share your dessert with.”

The alarm on your phone had you blinking into wakefulness, and the dream faded to its place in the realm of endless ‘what ifs.’ You yanked a pillow over your face to muffle your wailing as you despaired at the unfairness of it all. And if you never again sat foot into that sleepy cafe with the best dessert you ever had, you’d tell yourself it was to keep from overindulging, not because you were afraid to see somewhere you could imagine Suguru in so vividly, but would never get the opportunity to watch come to fruition. If tempting yourself into a periodic delusion was a new method in overcoming grief, then you’d simply have to turn the other cheek.

I am what he made me.

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It took another month after that dream before you could text Satoru again. You sat on the edge of your bed with your phone in hand and lip tucked between your teeth. The text was simple, nothing dramatic or emotionally heavy—a picture of a cupcake with frosting the same blue of his eyes that you found at a different restaurant—and you hoped that he would respond well to the pitiful white flag you offered him. You hit the ‘send’ button before you could delete the whole thing and threw your phone across the bed before you got up to go take a shower.

You’d admit that it was your fault for clinging so tightly to the idea of Satoru as nothing other than your boyfriend’s best friend. He had become your friend as well over time, and you wondered if you had looked at him more closely as his own person, someone worth the space he took up and the energy he brought to your life, if it wouldn’t hurt so terribly to see him without Suguru behind his shoulder. It wasn’t fair to him, not in the slightest, and if you ever wanted the chance to be able to look at him without looking for a ghost, you owed it to the both of you to remove the distinction. As you stepped into the shower and let the hot water ease your body into languidness, you intentionally took the time to think of who Satoru was without Suguru.

Gojo Satoru was your friend. Gojo Satoru was tall, and he always made sure you were aware of it. Gojo Satoru had eyes unlike you had ever seen before. His addiction was anything drenched in sugar and saccharine in taste, not unlike your favor for dessert before dinner, but contradictory in its severity. Gojo Satoru had a tendency to make you laugh in times of your distress, whereas Suguru had always offered verbal comfort first. Neither was more important than the other, just different. Gojo Satoru had high slanting cheek bones and a jaw that was more angled than curved and it made for a handsome face—,

You inhaled so deeply and abruptly that water from the spray above you forced its way down and into your lungs, and you had to hold yourself up against the shower wall from how hard you began to cough. You fumbled your arm out to find the knob that turned the shower off, and when you had regained just enough breath you grabbed your towel from over the glass wall and wrapped it around yourself.

Satoru being handsome wasn’t untrue in its objectivity, and you remember thinking such the first time you met him, but the attractiveness of his appearance wasn’t something you had thought much of past that point. And now, when the idea of it jarred you so suddenly that you nearly drowned in your shower, you couldn’t quite get rid of how it lingered at the back of your mind. However, you saw no sense in dwelling on it, as it couldn’t possibly be pertinent information that your brain had just supplied you with, and made your way out of the bathroom to get dressed. The sight of your phone lighting up with Satoru’s name stopped you dead in your tracks and you swore out loud when you remembered why you had sought solace in the bathroom in the first place. The possibility of not knowing how Satoru would respond to your message was worse than whatever reply he could send back, so you picked up your phone to read what he said.

Satoru: I love that you think of me while you’re out in the wild.

You snorted, and the sense of urgently forthcoming dread vanished.

You: Let’s not lie to ourselves, shall we?

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When December 24th flashed at you from the screen of your phone on the morning of the first anniversary of Suguru’s death, you were resolute in your decision to accept the magnitude of the day, but forbade it from swallowing your personhood whole.

I am not entirely what he made me.

So, you spent the morning braving the winter weather to gather the meager supplies you could to prepare a holiday feast in the miniature version of a kitchen back in your hotel room. You grabbed a fancy looking bottle of wine from a glass cabinet in the grocery store and popped into a little bakery that caught your eye on the way home. You cooked and sang merrily to the music coming from your phone, all the while cursing the single-pot burner on your poor excuse of a kitchen counter when the water you had been waiting for to boil suddenly burst over the rim in a loud hiss of steam. Luck would have it that no other cooking mishaps occurred after that, and you were able to tuck into your attempt at a feast with a glass of wine in hand just in time for the sun to begin setting.

The first couple bites took some effort to swallow as your mind wandered back to what was going on just a year ago, a time that felt so confusedly distant but vivid all at once, and you could at least acknowledge how Suguru’s death had indisputably changed the trajectory of your life. Some ways were more obvious to you as you sat alone on Christmas Eve in a country far from home, but the others unknown to you had you contemplating what could be next when you ultimately had the bravery to pursue them.

And then your phone rang, always disturbing what little peace you had left, and you weren’t surprised this time when you saw Satoru’s name. He answered with his usual exaggerated enthusiasm and for once it made you smile. Hearing him chatter away in your ear, you pushed away from where you sat at your desk, wine still in hand, and situated yourself against the pillows on your bed to listen to him recount the events of whatever holiday gathering he had subjected Nanami and the students to. You laughed where appropriate, and chastised him when necessary, and you forgot all about the meal you had painstakingly worked on all day. You refilled your wine glass once and then again as the two of you went back and forth in easy conversation, and it wasn’t until your eyes started to grow heavy that you let it slip from your mouth.

“I miss him,” you whispered, interrupting Satoru in the middle of whatever tale he was recounting about his latest mission. He went quiet, and you instantly regretted bringing up what had been lingering at the edge of your minds this whole time.

Satoru finally responded before you could spiral into panic. “I miss him too.”

Hearing the same despondency in his voice that you were feeling slither into your chest helped ease the sting of tears in your eyes, and you were proud when you only had to wipe away one or two from your cheeks instead of descending into a blubbering mess. In an effort to continue, you cleared your throat and probed Satoru with another question about his mission, thankful when he threw himself right back into the story with the same level of theatrics from before you interrupted him. And if you closed your eyes to listen to him in an attempt to feel like he was right next to you instead of an ocean away…well, you wouldn’t probably remember doing so in the morning.

When you did wake up, hours later and your room still blue in the early twilight, your phone was next to your ear from where it had slipped out of your hand once you had drifted off to sleep. The call wasn’t still connected, but there was an awaiting message from Satoru along with a low battery percentage warning.

Satoru: You know you snore when you sleep?

The text had you sitting up in a hurry. You didn’t feel the need to confirm or deny that fact, not when you already knew whether you were affected by that particular habit (Suguru had long ago told you) and you simply responded with a snarky reply and a well wish for his day before getting up to tidy last night’s mess of food and pots and pans. It wasn’t until later in the afternoon when you took your phone from the charger to call Shoko and wish her a happy holiday that you caught a glimpse of the previous day’s call history. To your utter bewilderment, the call log indicated that Satoru stayed on the phone at least an hour more after you last recalled checking the time before you fell asleep. And if he hadn’t succumbed to sleep himself and instead listened to the quiet or whatever there was on your end of the line, then there was suddenly one more person in the world who knew something about you that only Suguru previously had been privy to.

————————————————

A week later, nearly an exact year from your departure on assignment, Gojo Satoru called you in the middle of the night to beckon you home.

“Do you have any idea of what time it is here?” You hissed, dazed in a way that could only come from being abruptly woken from deep sleep, and you just barely propped yourself up in bed on your elbows.

“Absolutely,” he chirped, sounding none at all ashamed, “but that’s not really important right now. I—,”

“I would beg to differ, Satoru.”

“ As I was saying,” he continued, enunciation heavy on that first word, “I wanted to know if you could be on the first flight home in the morning?”

You blinked a couple times, truly aghast at the nerve he had. “I’m going to hang up.”

“Wait! I need your help!”

The urgency in his voice, however faint, had you sitting up in bed and partially more inclined to stay on the phone. “What happened?” You asked cautiously.

There was a tired sigh from Satoru’s end of the phone. “I have a new student. Good kid, but he swallowed a cursed object and—,”

“Oh, god,” you groaned, throwing your head back against your pillows and slapping a hand over your eyes before it slid down your face, “not another one.”

Satoru was silent and you were just as stunned at the outburst that left your mouth. For as talented as Suguru was, you never quite got over the disturbing fact that he ate curses. Even thinking about it now made your skin crawl, and you were not keen on having to watch it happen again.

Before you could offer some mumbled apology—for what, you weren’t even sure—Satoru erupted into loud, full-bellied laughter, and the sound of it proved to be gloriously infectious. In seconds you were laughing alongside him, and the simple joy of it made a pleasant tingle in your stomach.

“I swear,” Satoru gasped, breathless sounding in the best of ways, “it’s not like that. Or not exactly anyways. There’s plenty to explain, but I could really use your help. There’s a lot going on and I’d hate to admit I might be in over my head.”

The idea of never returning home hadn’t ever crossed your mind, even in the worst of your grief, but you hadn’t quite yet planned out when you intended to come back to Jujutsu High. You figured time would have decided for you in some sort or fashion, and you couldn’t ignore the inkling in your gut that maybe this was it.

“I’d need a couple days to wrap things up here, Satoru…but yeah, I think it’s time I come home.” You felt more optimistic about the idea by the time it left your mouth, and it certainly didn’t hurt when the strongest sorcerer let out an ecstatic ‘whoop’ on the other end of the phone.

With a promise to call him back at a more appropriate hour, you bid your friend goodbye and nestled deeper into the cocoon of your blankets to catch a couple more hours of sleep. The prospect of returning back home had you wiggling in excitement, and it occurred to your sleep-addled brain that it wasn’t the yearning for a familiar bed or your favorite home cooked meal that drove your desire to go back. Instead, in something you were scarcely ready to admit but unable to deny, the allure of home took form in delightfully rich laughter and a pair of pretty blue eyes.

————————————————

Satoru didn’t need to be here. There were trains that would get you back to the school in only half an hour, and if you didn’t want to have to participate in the publicness of it all, a taxi would do the job at minimal cost. So no, Satoru didn’t need to be standing outside the entrance of the airport as he waited for your flight to deplane, but he had wanted to, and that had been enough motivation for him to deal with the hecticness of evening traffic and pay for overpriced parking just so he could transport you and your luggage home.

He hadn’t necessarily told you that he had planned to be present when you took your first steps back onto home soil, and you didn’t indicate that you expected him to be there to assist in any way. In fact, Satoru was mildly concerned that you wouldn’t exactly be pleased that he would be the first familiar face you see upon walking out of the airport, and the possibility of that happening nearly had him turning around to flee back home. But he was nothing if not impractical in his persistence and he rooted his feet to the ground until he could gain sense of you. It was a long held habit that he started with Suguru, always being aware of his best friend’s presence even if he wasn’t consciously seeking it out, and that range had extended to you at some point in your relationship with him. So now, even when there was face after face that passed by him in whirls of conversation and scuffling feet, he could feel the exact moment your foot touched down outside the terminal and began to close the distance between you and him.

In an effort to stand out in the midst of the crowd, Satoru straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin just slightly above being level with the ground to ensure he was the first thing you noticed when you stepped out past the doors. He could feel the steadiness of your heart beating and heard the bumping of the wheels on your luggage as you pulled it behind you. Each step closer was a shot of adrenaline straight to his veins and he could feel the anticipation swell in his chest. With a burst of other people, he watched as you pushed past the exit doors, eyes sweeping across the pavement in front of you until they caught on his own (he had intentionally left this black eye band in the car).

Satoru swore he wasn’t being dramatic when time seemed to slow ever-so-slightly. He saw your gaze widen in the same moment a deep breath lifted and expanded your chest, and the expression of surprise coloring your face might have been a touch overwhelmed. He took a step towards you and lifted a hand to wave only to be stopped when he saw your mouth begin to stretch into a shy smile. You bit at the corner of your lip as if to try and hide it, but the white of your teeth flashed and your eyes were bright with excitement, and the way you bounced lightly on the tips of your toes to wave at him had a jolt of energy traveling from the hair on his head to the bottoms of his feet.

When Satoru’s heart leapt in his chest at the sight of you, stunning as you always had been and enticing in ways he hadn’t allowed you to be to him before, he had a startling realization that the feelings he was experiencing weren’t to be labeled under the guise of a reunited friendship, but instead something exhilarating and terrifyingly new.

And oh, he was in so much trouble.

————————————————

The calm before the storm, so to speak. I'm very excited to write the next chapter, so let's hope it delivers!

Brief ramblings from myself: I've intentionally written this fic to have the time gaps/skips it does mostly because a.) I was worried about the tedious repetetiveness of trying to include slower moving parts into a longer, more drawn out story and b.) there's supposed to be a sense of development going on between the lines/scenes. I've tried to hint at that and what it looks like, but not sure if I'm succeeding. Moral of such ramblings: writing is hard for me, and I am very grateful for anyone who is reading this <3

Taglist: @paprikaquinn & @kafanizdakicokiyi

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #gojo x you #gojo x reader #geto x you #geto x reader

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gingerbreadmonsters · 6 months

Text

HEART EYES CRY BLOOD!!

or: yours sincerely, wasting away.

gn!reader, blood, violence, and extended discussions of death, the world’s worst stress dream with a happy ending, i promise. life and limb and all that. my undying and eternal gratitude to @zozo-01 and @androgynouspenguinexpert, who sacrificed their time, laptop battery, and brainpower to feed my delusional mind, and all my love to @sincerelywhistler for creating possibly the most beautiful vega on earth and inspiring the barbie ponytail agenda. warden not wanting to miss a thing in 16,800 words or less.

this fic is the combination of two other series of mine, human nature and peaches and cream – it’s entirely possible to read this fic without having looked at either of those, but i think you’ll enjoy it a lot more if you know what’s happened so far in both of them!

human nature masterlist

peaches and cream masterlist

main masterlist

Recipe for undying love:

Add veneration, sacrifice, and subversion to a small saucepan, and simmer over medium heat until thick enough to coat the back of a teaspoon.

Stir in devotion until fully dissolved, then immediately remove from the heat.

Mix blindness and faith together in a separate bowl, then add slowly, mixing until fully incorporated.

Transfer mixture to clean bowl, then sift in persistence, stirring continuously until mixture becomes thick, smooth, and glossy.

Add fortune to taste, then transfer mixture to a greased and lined tin. Bake for 35 minutes at 180°C, or until a skewer comes out clean.

Leave to cool slightly on a wire rack before turning out. Best served warm with cream and fruit, but can be kept forever in an airtight container until you are discovered, or until all escape conditions have been met and the universe can begin again.

It starts…

…to be honest, you don't actually know how it starts. It's a total mystery, as far as you're concerned – it could have been anything. You're not sure if you were even there at the time, or if you just stumbled in by accident. You don't know when it starts, or who starts it, or why it even starts at all.

More importantly, you also don't know how to get out.

The first time was a total accident. You'd not gone far, only for a little walk down to the park for some fresh air. It’s kind of a weekly thing, you see. Both of you have to do it – it’s important that the neighbours see you two doing ordinary human things like shopping and walking and laundry, so they don’t get suspicious.

Obviously, you have to modify your human form a little bit so that you can’t be recognised by anyone who might be looking for you, and it’s a little bit annoying. Hiding your demonic features is less comfortable than it used to be, so you’re always grateful to come home and shed the disguise. It’s just so itchy, so stiff and awkward – your gums ache with the quiet pressure of suppressed fangs, and your skull cries out for the horns that it knows should be there.

Sometimes you go together, and other times you go one at a time. Going alone is fine, even if it gets a bit tricky trying to field questions from your neighbours. The two of you came up with a cover story when you moved in, and you've done your best to stick to it – it's kind of a silly story, and you had to watch a lot of television to make sure you got all the details right, but it seems to be working.

You did your best to make it as bland and generic as possible – no details that anyone could use to try and track you down. Forgettable. You never mention how you met, or even anything close to it – in fact, you and Vega have never even heard of Dahlia. As far as your neighbours are concerned, you're newlyweds from the other side of the state, looking for somewhere to settle down. That’s a pretty normal thing, right?

Vega's job – you still haven't really decided what it is, but definitely some sort of dull office thing – lets him work from home a lot more than it used to, and your job (Vega suggested ‘copywriting’, which is apparently some sort of bookish computer-y thing to do with adverts) is mostly online too, so you thought you’d take the opportunity to get a bit further out of the city. Both of your families live out of state, which is why nobody comes to visit you, and nobody saw you moving in because… um…

…oh, because it was very sudden! Yes, that’s it. You’d heard from a friend of a friend that the family who used to live here had to move because of a work thing. Some sort of exciting opportunity that had come up, maybe? Or a promotion? In any case, they’d practically jumped at the chance to sell their house to you so quickly. You and Vega had been living in a tiny flat in the city, so you hadn’t really had much stuff – no need to pay for a huge moving van, right? It’s not surprising, then, that nobody had seen you arrive.

Yeah – yeah, it’s like you just appeared out of thin air. Yeah, that’s so funny. Haha.

Unfortunately, everyone seems very chatty in this tiny little town, and keeps asking difficult questions. It got a bit awkward when one of the neighbours asked about why you didn’t have a car – luckily, Vega had been there at the time, and managed to make up some lie about having taken it for repairs a few days ago. That evening, you’d both spent several hours on the computer trying to figure out what sort of car you were supposed to have, and you’d even gone on a little reconnaissance mission around the neighbourhood, to see which types and colours of car people living here tend to have.

It’s in the garage now, some generic-looking shiny thing in some inoffensive colour or other that Vega magicked up with the help of a very complicated-looking repair manual. Unfortunately, neither of you actually knows how to drive, which makes it a bit hard to actually look like you’re using it – the whole driving thing is much less intuitive than either of you was expecting, and neither of you have been able to make it do anything useful! It’s a nightmare!

You could probably make it go with magic, but if you’re honest, that’s a lot of effort and energy for not a huge amount in return. For now, you’ve just settled on leaving the garage door open and conspicuously washing it with a bucket of water and a sponge every so often, to make it look like you know how to use it. That’s probably enough, right?

It was kind of difficult, trying to figure out what things you needed when you first arrived. All those mundane human things that they like to keep in their houses, like lunchboxes and pianos and those bicycles that say they’re for exercising but don’t actually go anywhere. When you’d arrived the house had been furnished with all the stuff that the, uh, previous tenants had owned, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. If that means having to drag Vega all the way to the closest garden centre at 9am on a Saturday to go and choose a suitable plant for the empty space on the front lawn, then so be it.

(Obviously, it’s a peony. Dark pink and white stripes, big flowers with soft petals. What else?)

You know what, it doesn’t even matter. You’re just rambling, now. The important thing is that you’d not been home when you felt it, that very first time.

You’d been about five or six minutes away, walking back through the park. It was busy, so many humans around that you couldn’t do anything suspicious – but you’d felt it, all the same. Gravity failing, air rippling around you, something deep and vital being snatched away. Silence where it shouldn’t be, a dry sort of cold, bitter and biting. No moisture in the air left to freeze.

Panic – pure, unfettered panic, turning your body to acid. All you could do was run.

Fighting your way through the slow, stupid humans that blocked your path, streets flying past as you pushed yourself faster and faster. Something had been wrong, so incredibly wrong, pulled out from under you. Running across the road without looking, footsteps loud against the pavement, turning the corner, and-

You’ll never get your hands on us again. Either of us.

Yellow caution tape, stretched across the street, fluttering just outside the boundaries of a tall, solid ward. It’s enormous, a huge dome that ripples and pulses with power. If you were human it would probably have been imperceptible, but to your demon’s eyes it was more like frosted glass, obscuring what was inside but not quite hiding it. You could make out the blurred shapes of people inside, but no more – the magic was almost unbelievably strong, all thick and liquid. What could have been happening?

You’d known you had to get inside. But how? It didn’t feel like Vega’s magic, there was none of that familiar sherbet fizzle on your tongue, it didn't bleed into your aura in that seamless, easy way. This had been something else, something wrong – grim and cold and clumsy, more of a sledgehammer than a switchblade.

Ducking underneath the tape to face it, your stomach lined with lead. Someone else was doing this.

It recoiled from your nervous touch, or maybe it just pushed you away? It was like gravity, or maybe magnets – like poles repelling, your own face in the mirrored surface of the ward.

Gritting your teeth, you’d forced your hand into the seething mass of magic up to the wrist, and though it screamed for you to leave, you didn't give in. He’s taught you too well for that. The world swam around you as you fought your way inside, and it was like trying to walk through oil, sticky and solid.

Closer, closer. Your body, getting impossibly heavier the further you go, laden with the iron weight of so much magic pressing in on you from every direction, and oh, it hurt, it hurt. Crushing, grasping, squeezing pain, trying to trap you in its brutal fist – but with every torturous step, the picture got clearer. Cars, more than normal, parked haphazardly in the street. Trees, still and unmoving with the lack of breeze. And humans, all dressed alike, swarming around the middle of the street, running into one of the houses – wait, that’s your house – the sound of shouting, screaming, gunfire—

Are you there, darling?

Delta uniforms. It’s the Department.

They’d found you.

If you’re being entirely honest, you don’t really know what you did next.

You didn’t scream, you’re fairly certain, but you think you froze. Paralysed with panic, all you could do was stand and watch as the shrieking carnage began, a crashing wave of blood and death and fire, and the whole new life you’d built for yourself turning to ash in the summer sun.

Hidden behind a parked car, you’d watched in horror as more and more humans poured into your house, descending upon the eye of the storm. Windows breaking, walls crumbling, your lovely front garden set ablaze and trampled into nothing. Magic coursed through the air with every breath, every fabricated cell of you singing with vicious power as wards formed and shattered, as the earth slipped and shuddered, as pure, seething energy tore through brick and bodies alike.

Pain, raw and ravenous, the sort you thought you’d escaped from long ago. Flooding your body, lighting up every simulated nerve – the hateful heaviness of your physical body binding you to the ground. You couldn’t make sense of it. Falling down inside your own mind, dizzy spirals in the riptide of anguish that swept you away.

Away from home, away from him. How could you have been so stupid?

I can feel you, darling. You are there, aren’t you?

Vega’s voice in your head, fainter than you’d ever heard him, fault lines in the asphalt. Staked to the spot, waist-deep in the sand. You couldn’t say a word.

Precious thing, you have to leave. Leave now, and you must not return. This place will never be safe for you again.

Something building in the ground, in your core, in the atmosphere – magic, but whose? His words, fractured glass in your shattered mind – how you’d fallen to the ground, ears ringing, crushed under the incredible pressure. How you’d tried to crawl, dragging your pathetic form out from behind the car, brittle claws snapping and breaking on the ground.

A word that wouldn’t form, desperate and terrified. The liquid mess of your face, the bloody puncture marks in your lip. Panicking, panicking, all your insides turning out. You’d screamed aloud in agony, uncaring and unknowing of who might hear – your only thought was him.

I know it hurts, my sweet. I know. And I’m sorry.

Wanting him, needing him, every molecule of your existence set ablaze in horror. You’d been so utterly blinded by fear that you couldn’t even think about fighting it, so absolutely consumed by this new, most instinctual panic. A frightening crescendo in the Spellsong, so unbearably loud in your core. Drowning, drowning, clawing at your own throat for something that wasn’t there. Voice breaking, heart breaking, teeth and gore and hatred.

If only we’d had more time.

A celestial being, struggling to breathe. The unfeeling terror of the vacuum of space. Every nerve singing with pain, overwhelmingly bright and crushingly dark all at once – your skin peeling away, blistered and burning as your heart turned to diamond and your eyes turned to ash, and this world and this plane and everything in it—

Goodbye, my darling.

-ceased to be.

I love you very, very m—

01001100 01000101 01010100 00100000 01001101 01000101 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010100 00100000 01010100 01001111 00100000 01010100 01001000 01000101 00100000 01001101 01000001 01010010 01010010 01001001 01000001 01000111 01000101 00100000 01001111 01000110 00100000 01010100 01010010 01010101 01000101 00100000 01001101 01001001 01001110 01000100 01010011 00001010 01000001 01000100 01001101 01001001 01010100 00100000 01001001 01001101 01010000 01000101 01000100 01001001 01001101 01000101 01001110 01010100 01010011 00111011 00100000 01001100 01001111 01010110 01000101 00100000 01001001 01010011 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010100 00100000 01001100 01001111 01010110 01000101

It starts…

…wait, it starts?

What?

Fuck, it feels like your head’s about to split in half. You crack one eye just barely open, before clumsily slamming your hands over your eyes with a weak hiss – it’s so bright, that single slice of sunlight, and it hurts.

Blinded, you can’t tell what’s happening at all. It feels like you’re lying down, something rough and painful scraping against your face and all down your right side, and through the insistent ringing in your ears you can hear something…. rustling?

It takes a few minutes for the worst of the pain to subside, but before long you’re able to peel one hand away from your face and push yourself up to sitting. Your head won’t stop spinning, but it’s progress, at least.

Timidly, you blink one eye open, peeking through your fingers just in case, but the worst of it seems to have passed. As your eyes adjust to the light, you realise where you are.

You’re… back in the park.

The roughness you were lying on is the paved path that you always follow on your way back home, and the unusual sound you could hear is coming from the trees overhead, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. It’s just as busy as it was earlier, and the humans walking past seem to be staring at you warily, collapsed in the middle of the path – hurriedly, you check that your human disguise is in place, but it turns out you didn’t need to worry. You were already camouflaged, just as you were when you last walked through here.

But – but how?

The terrible aching in your head is the only sign – you can’t find anything else wrong with you, physically or magically. How did you get here? What happened to you? And what’s that – that feeling…

Staggering to your feet, you ignore the stupid human onlookers and their stupid whispers. It doesn’t matter what they think, and it doesn’t matter how you got here. None of it bothers you, nothing can touch you now. All that matters is what happens next.

You’ve got to do what he said, you’ve got to run – there’s nothing left for you here any more, is there? They’ve taken it all, haven’t they? This place isn’t safe anymore – the Department will be hunting you now, they’ll be here any second, and you aren’t far enough from where – from where they – they—

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

Looking away from the gates in the distance, back into the park, you can see the dark nest of trees that you’ll have to reach if you want to rift away unseen. It’s not far, maybe a little more than a hundred metres. If you ran, you could be gone in less than a minute. You don’t know where you’d go, but anywhere has to be better than here, right? You couldn’t possibly stay here, a fly desperately clinging to the web – he’d want you to escape, wouldn’t he? Isn’t that what he said? That he wanted you to be safe, and leave him behind?

Can you leave him behind?

It’s ridiculous. Even if you went back, what would you do? You’d be walking straight into a trap for nothing. Demons dissolve when they die, magic scattered back into the universe – there’ll be no body for you to find. Even now, at this very moment, everything that made him will have already disappeared, never to return to you again.

He’s gone, he’s gone. You try to suppress it, but you can’t – in your mind’s eye, you can’t help but see it – your house, your lovely warm house, with the photographs you took hanging on the wall and the flowers blooming in the garden that he grew for you. Perhaps they’re still there, or perhaps they’re destroyed – perhaps you’re the only one who remembers them now. Are you all that’s left of your love?

You look towards the trees.

You’ll leave. You’ll leave this place and never come back, and they’ll never ever find you. You’ll leave and live and forget him, forget this cursed place and this cursed plane, and you’ll become something new. Something different and demonic and utterly unrecognisable.

It’s what you ought to do. He wouldn’t want you to be so… so sentimental.

The air freezes.

What’s happening? What’s happening? Déjà vu hits you hard and fast – your insides turn to ice as you reel, knocked backwards by the sudden weight of the memory.

Floating, falling, lighter-than-air. The balloon of your skull pops and you spiral into silence, unknown claws tearing at your middle and all your insides falling out. All the warmth is sucked out of the air in a second, your skin raw and tender as all the nerves there start to sing.

It’s that same thing you’d felt before, that crippling, burning absence that had told you something was wrong before. It’s exactly the same, every agonising ripple of loss that tears through your core – and before you can even realise what’s happening, you’re already running as fast as you can towards the house.

You’re definitely going too fast for anyone to think you’re human, but you really don’t care, leaving a trail of shouts and curses behind you as you push people out of the way. At one point, you’re fairly sure you phase right through a man who doesn’t get out of the way fast enough, and the almost-certain car crash that you leave behind as you dart across the road isn’t exactly the most subtle thing you’ve ever done, but there’s no time for that now.

The ward looms above you as you turn the corner, stretching up into the sky, and you tear aside the caution tape to hurl yourself against it with a bitter snarl, clawing and biting at the bouncy, stretchy surface until you can slice a gash big enough to let you through. It repels you at first, but you bare your fangs and push, jamming your body into the gap and squirming inside.

Briefly, you laugh to yourself – you’re doing it exactly as he taught you, but with none of his finesse or elegance. What would he say, if he could see you now? Something clever, you’re sure.

The ward tries to force you out, just like before, but you won’t be deterred. The Department’s warding is no match for the white-hot force of your desperate fury, slashing blindly at the thick layers of magic over and over again until they crumble away in front of you. Gradually, the blurriness of the barrier gets clearer and clearer, and although your core aches with the effort, you keep throwing yourself at it until it finally lets you through.

The scene that greets you, stumbling from the suffocating grip of the ward, is no less horrifying than it was before. Deltas everywhere, laden with guns and sprays and shock sticks, filling the street and advancing on the house. It’s like a nightmare, those terrifying dreams that humans have when they sleep – it feels like watching the end of the world. Unmarked vans full of faceless, heavily armoured soldiers are parked haphazardly across the road, a peaceful suburbia turned to a terrifying prison.

But hold on – why are they doing this? It doesn’t make any sense. Why would they be going back into the house, when you know they’ve alre—

Are you there, darling?

Blindsided, you stagger backwards as his voice echoes through your head. How is he…?

I can feel you, darling. You are there, aren’t you?

You must be going mad – what magic is this? It feels like him, exactly like him, as if he’d never been taken from you at all. How can this be happening?

Precious thing, you have to leave. Leave now, and you must not return. This place will never be safe for you again.

As the soldiers descend on your house, the same buildup of magic as last time fills the air, yet it barely registers in your frantic mind, smashed flat against the ward as the painful pressure swells and swells. Once again, you try to struggle against it, but it’s too strong. You can still see more humans throwing themselves at the house, even as others are engulfed in flame, or crushed by invisible force, or thrown screaming from the upstairs windows.

In the back of your mind, you realise that he’s saying it all again, the exact same way he had the first time.

I know it hurts, my sweet. I know. And I’m sorry.

The sound of gunfire, humans shouting, Your physical body starts to falter under the incredible force of magic pressing down on you, soft tissues disintegrating into nothing, and you watch in horror as your body starts to break down. Frantically, you flood your form with healing magic to try and reverse it, but it’s no good – the more magic you use, the less stable your body is, and the faster it erodes.

Is this how it ends? It would be poetic, you suppose. A second chance to live, and all you could do was die with him.

If only we’d had more time.

It’s getting harder and harder to think, crushed backwards against the unrelenting surface of the ward. As your body melts away, you smile with what’s left of your mouth, and close what’s left of your eyes.

Goodbye, my darling.

It’s not so bad. If you really concentrate, you can almost feel his arms around you once again.

I love you very, very m—

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It starts…

…well, you know.

Gasping for air, your eyes snap open as you sit bolt upright – the familiar sunlight sears your eyes, but the pain isn’t quite as bad as before. Air rushes back into your lungs, back inside your body and free of the suffocating force that only moments ago had held you, and even though you don’t technically need it, you’re pathetically grateful for the learned relief.

The pavement scrapes your palms as you push yourself to your feet. You’re here again, dumped back in the park just like last time, and as you look around – really, properly look around this time, you start to realise what’s going on.

It’s the same humans as before, the same breeze in the trees, the same clouds in the sky. It had been the same ward and the same soldiers, the same words in your head said in the exact same way. Déjà vu, on an unbelievable scale.

It’s a loop.

That’s what it’s called, right? A timeloop? Like the thing from that film you saw on the television, the one where the same day keeps happening over and over again, and they had to find a way to stop it. You’re stuck inside until you find a way to do some specific thing, and you’re supposed to keep repeating the day until you figure out the perfect way to do it.

(You’d asked Vega if these timeloops were real or not, some quirk of some branch of magic you’d never tried before, and he’d said they weren’t – just human flights of fancy. Oh, the irony.)

You can’t be certain that that’s what’s going on here, considering it’s only happened twice, whatever it is – wait, or is it three times? Should you be counting the number of resets, or the number of times the same things happen? Because they’re not the same, and if this is going to keep happening then you should probably make a decision on that sooner or later…

The air pressure plummets around you, earth swaying underneath your feet, and your mind is made up. Not about the stupid counting thing, that can wait – but about what all this means, what you’re going to do. For you, right now, the choice is clear.

You don’t know why this is happening, but you must have been put here for a reason. There must be something important you have to do, something that the universe can’t do without – something must be wrong, and you must have to fix it. Why else would this be happening to you, and why else would you, specifically, even know about it?

Nobody else seems to be clutching their head in timeloop-induced pain, nobody else seems to be crying and screaming about the existential horror of being forced to, perhaps indefinitely, repeat the same fifteen minutes of their life again and again. As far as you can tell with your limited knowledge, you’re the only one who knows.

There’s only one thing it could possibly be, one reason that you might be trapped here.

Vega.

You’ve got to save him. Whatever happens, wherever this leads, you’re going to get him out of there, no matter the cost. He’s too important to lose – to you, and seemingly to the rest of the universe as well.

Most likely, it’s something to do with his plan, his grand scheme to take back the Sovereigns for Aria. Could they be doing this? You can’t rule out the possibility. Who else would have the power to even try and pull off such an enormous magical feat? Time travel? You can’t even imagine how much magic it must be taking.

Then again, it’s not like it really matters who’s behind all of this. You’d do it no matter what. If there’s any chance that this could work, you have to take it. There can’t be a world without Vega – there just can’t be. It’s impossible. There’s just no way.

Goodbye, my darling.

You’ll fight for him, as hard as you can, for as long as it takes. He saved you, once before, and in doing so he gave you everything. You won’t fail him now.

The ground shakes again, and you start to run.

I love you very, very m—

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You keep running, and running, and running.

Loop after loop, you keep learning.

How many has it been, now? Fifty? Sixty? You’re starting to lose count. Every time, you try something new. You’ve given up on trying to maintain any semblance of humanity – something’s stopping you from rifting, but you abandon your disguise and let your demonic form take over, reaching the ward in about a minute and worming your way inside. After some experimenting, you’ve discovered that the weakest part of the ward is actually behind one of the houses on the opposite side of the street, so you’ve started aiming for there instead – it’s a little more difficult to get close to the action from there, but you’re iterating your way through finding a route.

You’ve tried to leave things behind, or leave yourself notes between loops so that you don’t accidentally forget anything, but nothing you do is ever permanent. Unfortunately, it all gets washed away at the moment you’re reset, so you can’t set things up in preparation for a future loop. It would be helpful if you could, but apparently it’s just not meant to be.

Right now, your focus is on trying to get into the house in time to help Vega escape. Something about the structure of this particular ward is designed to suppress magic use inside it, so you’re not as powerful as you should be, and it’s not possible to rift from inside the barrier either. You know you’ll have to get him out of the house and outside the barrier in time – but it’s not as easy as you’d hoped.

It feels like he’s set up a barrier of his own around the house that you’re not strong enough to break through on your own, and it’s blocking out almost all outside magic. That means you can’t talk to him and ask to be let in, or tell him about your plan, and it means you have to wait for the Department to break through before you’ve got a chance of actually entering the house.

You haven’t been able to figure out where in the house he’ll actually be, for when you do manage to get inside, but you suspect he’s in your bedroom, upstairs at the back of the house, overlooking the garden. It would make the most sense – even before all of this, it was one of the most heavily warded rooms in the house, and the physical distance between that room and the front door that they’re mainly attacking from gives him just that little bit more time to react before they reach him.

If he is there – and you’re fairly sure he is – then you can’t actually see him. It’s probably a good thing, because it means the Department won’t be able to see him either, but it makes your job a lot harder as well. You’ll have to figure out a way to sneak inside and convince him to come with you, then escape without being seen.

Goodbye, my darling.

If you could just get up to that room… but how?

I love you very, very m—

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It’s been days. Weeks, perhaps, or maybe months. You’re not sure.

Loops upon loops, the same neverending fifteen minutes. Four hundred, five hundred, six hundred – or is that six hundred thousand? It’s a good thing you don’t need to sleep.

You’ve managed to get a little closer, but it’s still not enough. You’ve tried to get in through the garden, through the back door, through the secret entrance to the basement Vega made that only you and he have ever known about. No matter what you do, you just can’t reach him in time – gunned down in the kitchen by the Department, burned alive as the hallway fills with fire, blown to bits when a grenade comes sailing over the fence and scatters you across what used to be your very neatly-kept lawn.

There’s just so many of them, filthy rats swarming through the street, flooding your house like the disgusting vermin they are. The stupid magic-dampening effect of the ward makes it almost impossible to cloak yourself for long enough, and there’s almost nowhere to hide once you get close enough to the house.

Electrocuted, clubbed, impaled, dismembered – and not enough magic to put yourself back together. You die every time, and you remember them all.

(You don’t know if the loop resets when you die, or when he dies – but with no way to record any proof for the next loop, there’s no way to tell. It doesn’t really matter that much, seeing as you – for obvious reasons – can’t do anything after you die, and whatever magic Vega does seems to wipe out everything inside the ward, including you and him at roughly the same time. So, in a very real sense, there’s no actual benefit to knowing. You’re just curious.)

Vega still says the same thing, no matter what you do, and you always hang on to his every word, no matter how much it hurts. It feels… comforting. Knowing that he’s so close, that you’re almost, almost there – a hopeful reminder that one day, this will all be over, and he’ll finally be yours again. He says goodbye as your broken body fizzles away into nothingness, and the agony of death is almost worth it to hear him again.

Goodbye, my darling.

It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it? Two immortals, cursed to hear each other die over and over again. There’s a joke in there, one that if you weren’t so tired, you could probably think of. You’d say something clever, and Vega would laugh. He’d give you that mischievous, knowing smile, and slip his hand around your middle, and lean down to kiss you even though you’d have to hide your demon fangs and tongues because there's humans watching.

Waking up doesn’t hurt any more, though. So, you know. That’s something, at least.

I love you very, very m—

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It feels like years. Centuries, even.

You feel old. The blinding, neverending sun, dust gathering in the tiny creases of your palm. Your body doesn’t age, but your mind feels ancient – you haven’t seen the night in what feels like a million years. Has your life been longer inside the loop, or out of it?

You don’t give in.

Iteration after iteration, you keep trying. At times, you can’t help but feel like you’ve tried everything – that every possible option has been exhausted, that there’s just no way. That you’ve searched everywhere, killed everyone, heard and seen and done it all, and yet still it’s not enough.

Everything is always exactly, exactly the same. It used to be comforting, but now it’s just infuriating.

You’ve wondered if the secret might be to stay outside the ward altogether – if maybe you going inside distracts Vega in some way that means he always dies, or if you should try to dismantle it from the outside in the hope that it would force the Department to retreat and regroup. But, alas, neither of those ideas work either, any of the hundred or so times that you try them, and all that happens is you end up right back at square one.

There have even been loops where you don’t try anything at all. Instead, you’ve tried to make sense of the loop itself, figuring out how it works and where its limits are. As far as you can tell, the loop is always reset at the point when Vega dies, expending all his magic to shatter the ward from within, killing anything and everything that’s inside. You don’t know what happens after the ward breaks – presumably all of that force escapes outwards, devastating the surrounding area and likely wiping half the town off the map.

The loop also seems to have a sort of physical boundary, one that you’re unable to cross by physical or magical means. It’s roughly circular, with the house at its centre, extending about three or four kilometres in all directions. You can travel freely within it, but you can’t leave and you can’t signal anyone or anything outside.

You can’t rift – you can’t even open a rift, let alone travel through it, which you privately suspect to mean that there’s someone or something very powerful running this whole thing. Like this, you’re entirely cut off from Aria, and far away from anyone who could help – even the Spellsong sounds weak and strange, on the edge of changing key. How could such a thing be possible – what could have the power to do that?

Throwing yourself against the wall, the same impossible wall, forever. Who do you have to thank? Who do you have to blame?

The memories are a little less clear than they used to be, but it doesn’t stop you from dreaming. Dreaming about the life you used to have, the slow, golden days from before it all began. Are those days still there? Will they ever come again? Or is this all that’s left, now – is this the most you’ll ever have?

He still says it, even now – even when you’re not inside the ward, his voice still finds you. He tells you to go, to save yourself. To leave him behind. He says goodbye, time and time again, and you never let it stick.

Even after all of this, every torturous decade that passes in the prison of your stolen time, you can still picture him exactly. Every detail of his face, his form, his smile. As if he were right there, right in front of you. As if this had never even happened at all.

Goodbye, my darling.

The tiny bubble of eternity, stretching out in all directions. Does he smile as he says it? Or does he cry, and you’ve just never known?

I love you very, very m—

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The park, again.

You’re fairly sure you have the first part nailed down. After an uncountable amount of tries, you’re certain this is the fastest way to reach the ward. You need to revert back to your demonic form, with its elongated proportions and affinity for speed, and brace yourself to phase through the humans and cars and buildings that stand between you and the weak point in the ward.

This time, you’re going to try mind manipulation again. If you can just get a few more of them under your control, and take out the one who shot you to death from across the street last time, you might be able to hold them back a tiny bit longer…

Your human disguise disappears in an instant – teeth splitting and sharpening into fangs, bloody horns piercing through your scalp as they bloom out of your skull, and the screams around you begin. Good. It means they get out of your way quicker.

Smiling to yourself in grim satisfaction, you turn to run. There won’t be any obstacles in your path until you get closer to the gate, so you can just—

It’s you.

…What?

No, no, no.

This can’t be right.

You’ve seen this all before, every single part of it, every moment in excruciating detail. A closed system, a circular world, repeating over and over again. Nothing ever changes, and nobody but you can remember it.

Something must have gone horribly, horribly wrong. Never in a million million tries, a million million loops – not once, not ever has this happened before.

There’s a voice in your head. You can’t move.

Of course it’s you, the voice marvels, and you can feel someone behind you. Someone magical. But how? There’s never been anyone magical here before. Ever.

Your nonexistent blood turns to ice at the sound of quiet footsteps, starting to circle slowly around you. Sharklike. Predatory.

I should have known.

Slowly, whoever-it-is steps into your field of view, and you frown as you try to figure out where you’ve seen him before. Because you have seen him before, haven’t you? Why does he seem so… so familiar?

He’s a demon, that much is clear – his tail sways slowly behind him as he walks, and long, pointed claws catch the afternoon sunlight as he flicks his hair out of his eyes. His horns aren’t as tall as Vega’s, but they seem to be well-maintained and shiny. For some reason, it takes a little more effort than it should to make your eyes focus on him, like the world goes a little bit hazy around his edges.

He reminds you a little bit of a Concubus, although you can’t quite put your finger on why. Maybe it’s something to do with the way he walks, effortlessly smooth and steady, or the way his presence seems to draw you in without even trying. He’s not especially tall or short, and his features conform to mostly-human proportions – his fingers aren’t so inhumanly long like Vega’s are, his fangs not nearly as sharp or numerous, and his eyes don’t have the black sclera that you’ve come to favour. There’s just something so irresistibly, fascinatingly beautiful about him that leaves you unable to look away.

(Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you remember Vega saying something about an incubus. Or did you read it in his file? Oh, come on, come on – what did he tell you? It’s right there, on the tip of your tongue…)

(Hm. It’s probably nothing, and you’re probably wrong, but you just can’t shake the feeling that there’s something you’re forgetting.)

It’s weird, though. He looks so much like a demon, but he doesn’t feel like one. There's emotion there, certainly, but which ones – and why can't you tell? Your aura fizzes and pops as it touches his, like it’s unsure what to make of him, and the air tastes like a strange kind of energy you feel like you should recognise. It soaks into the song of your being, the invisible space between the stars, like something primaeval and powerful – an ancient, inevitable force.

He catches your eye, and something splinters in your mind as he smiles. Involuntarily, your legs give way underneath you, and if his magic wasn’t still keeping you upright, you’d be in a graceless heap on the ground.

Maybe you were wrong. He’s no demon, no ordinary one at least. He’s something new, something strange and ethereal, reality bending around him like light around a black hole. A walking, talking law of the universe – wearing a demon’s crown, and looking so very, very familiar.

You’re not… His mind is uncomfortable to speak into, multicoloured static filling your head like an ache, but you struggle through it anyway. You’re not from here.

I suppose.

The not-demon raises one perfectly-manicured eyebrow, looking you up and down. But, to be fair, neither are you.

A twinge in your chest, a niggling, scraping feeling in the back of your brain. You’re hardwired for the adrenaline of the chase, for the mission you’ve been fixed on for so long – it’s unnatural, to still be here in the park for so long.

I have to go. He needs me.

Is that so? muses the not-demon, pretty lips twisting into a wicked smirk. Are you sure?

He opens his hand to reveal what looks like a pebble of some sort, perfectly round and black and smooth, before tipping his palm and letting it fall.

I think he can wait.

Shocked, you stare as the pebble doesn’t fall at all – instead, it just hangs immobile in the air, frozen at the very moment that it left his hand. There’s no telltale ripple of psychokinesis that you can feel, no illusion cast over your senses. It’s like time just… stopped.

Seeing your surprise, he sighs, and leans slightly to the right. Behind him, the rest of the world is frozen, too. Humans caught mid-step, mid-smile, mid-breath. Trees that blow in the unmoving breeze, clouds that hang suspended in the breathless, staring sky.

A creature who controls time. Is he the one who’s behind all this?

I – I don't understand.

Your voice is so small as you try to push down the fear, the instinctive sense of danger that flickers wildly in your core. Who are you? And how did – what do you mean? How do you know me?

He shrugs, strangely casual. I know everyone.

But – but…

I know everyone, and I know everything, he says evenly, unblinking as he walks slowly towards you. I know every word in the world, every note in the Spellsong, every drop of blood and blade of grass that there ever was or will be. Little demon, I know every thought you’ve ever had, every speck of stardust that ever formed you, and I know how every single moment of your entire existence will end.

Paralysed, all you can do is watch as he stops just in front of you, expression utterly impassive. What is this? What is he going to do to you?

So, I have a question for you.

He leans forward, closer and closer, until his face is right in front of yours. Staring up at him in terror, you want nothing more than to back away – but you can't, you can't, trapped in his inescapable web and entirely helpless.

He sighs, sadly.

Does it ever work?

…Hang on.

Well, you’re not sure what you were expecting him to say, but it certainly wasn't that.

The not-demon continues, inspecting every tiny facet of your confused face like he might find his answer written there. It's not that I don't think it's admirable. It is. But don't you ever get tired?

Does it… work?

He nods. Yes.

I don't… You're so, so lost by this whole conversation – what on earth is he talking about? I don't know what you – what do you mean, ‘it’?

Oh, don't lie to me.

He says it lightly, waving his hand like it's a joke, but there's something sharp and steely just under the surface. Call it ‘professional curiosity’, if it makes you feel better. I want to know, and I’m asking you nicely. Does it work?

His gaze has turned hungry, almost manic in its intensity – reflexively, your magic recoils from the tidal wave of power that surges inside him, towering over you like a tsunami, jaws open to swallow you whole.

Tell me, little demon, ‘cause I want to know. Is it worth it? Is it better?

This change in him – is it mania, or is it madness? The realisation blossoms in the back of your petrified mind, fault lines in the frozen surface of the sea. This – this creature, whatever he is, that feeling that you couldn’t quite explain.

Does it make you happy, hm? Holding on so tightly to your quest, forever. Tell me the truth, if that's what this is – because your ignorance doesn't look very blissful to me.

It wasn't just fury, and it wasn't just fear. Yes, yes, you can taste it now, sweet and tart on your paralysed tongue. It's heat and blood and savage need, it's sweet revenge and desperate, ravenous desire – this is a man driven out of his mind with passion.

You’re not scared, are you? Of a little question like that? the man spits, like sour acid splattered across your skull. No, I don’t think so. So answer it, and answer me – are you pleased with what you’ve done? Is this the eternity you always dreamed of?

You can't move, can't breathe, can't think. It's like staring into a black hole, this incredible force looming closer and closer. You have to run, why can't you run? Your mind stutters, buckling under this crashing, crushing weight of stress and terror and confusion.

I don't know what you mean, you sob, wanting nothing more than to rub your eyes as hot, scared tears finally spill over. What is this – who are you? I don't know, I don't know – I want – please, Vega, I – I just want – Vega, Vega, I need—

The not-demon says nothing, face utterly blank as he just watches you cry. It's embarrassing – you can't help the awful wailing that tears its way out of you, every fraction of your being screaming out for help. You want him to go away, why won't he just go away? You don't want to be here, you don't want to talk about it, you don't want to be alone – you want Vega, Vega, Vega!

Lovely Vega, wonderful Vega – he's so safe and kind and precious to you, and you need him so much. You don't want to be scared. He keeps you safe from being scared. He should be here, but he isn't, and it’s not right, it's not right! Why can't he just be here?

Nothing moves. You cry and cry and cry, and it's the only sound in the whole wide world.

So you don't know.

He closes his eyes for just a moment, before he reaches out to slowly take your hand in his. Of course. Of course you don't.

It's strange, but he doesn't feel warm or cold – it's like his skin is exactly the same temperature as yours. All you feel is the pressure as his fingers fold around yours, both hands enveloping your own, and sweet magic ripples across your face as your tears suddenly dry up all on their own, as if they were never even there.

I’m sorry.

Why does he look so… so sad? It's frightening.

I thought….I thought that maybe you could have been like me, he says quietly, his thumb stroking slowly back and forth over your knuckles. Apparently not. Although, maybe it's for the best.

He smiles mournfully, and tosses his head in a mock show of vanity. You can have too much of a good thing, you know.

There's a sudden sort of crumbling, crunching noise, like an eggshell cracking, and your whole body drops to the floor like a stone as the paralytic magic holding you up collapses. Caught unawares, you only just manage to avoid landing flat on your face – he's still holding one of your hands, and you barely manage to get the other one underneath you in time to save you from a very nasty nosebleed.

Careful, now.

He watches you scramble to your feet in amusement, before swiftly looping his arm with yours and guiding you the wrong way down the path – well, the wrong way to you, seeing as you always go in the opposite direction. Walk with me, won’t you?

It’s not exactly like you have a choice, but you nod anyway. Okay.

As you walk, time begins to move again, but much more slowly than it should. You pass a jogger, running in slow-motion in the opposite direction, and for some reason you get the tiniest, nagging feeling that something isn’t quite right about her.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the not-demon reaching out a curious hand towards the ground, and you watch as a dandelion growing by the side of the path is plucked from the earth and summoned to his fingers.

You’re confused. Was that psychokinesis? It looked like it, but it didn’t feel like it. If you had to be specific, you’d say it felt less like a physical manipulation and more like a psychological one, closer to telepathy or dreamwalking or something. But that can’t be right, can it? What kind of magic could he be doing, that seems one way but is actually another?

Regardless of your astonishment, he catches the dandelion out of the air and twirls the stem between his fingers, to the left, then the right, then the left again.

It’s a lovely world, isn’t it?

You nod warily, unsure what to make of all this. It seems best to just let him talk.

He holds the dandelion up to the sunlight, narrowing his eyes as he examines all of the little fluffy seeds, a soft white bubble atop the skinny, green stem, neatly sliced at the bottom from where he’d picked it.

I wonder…

Bringing it back down, he blows gently on the puff of seeds and watches as they come loose, fluttering in slow-motion through the air and leaving the bare stem behind. Some begin to fall to the ground much more quickly, while others are carried away by the wind, slow like air bubbles rising through thick honey.

So detailed, he murmurs, as he watches the seeds tumble away with the breeze. It’s remarkable.

Surprised, you turn your head to look at him. Detailed?

It's a strange word for him to choose – surely the world is just… like that? This is just how Elegy is, with all its rules and laws and creatures. What an unusual thing to say.

He doesn’t elaborate, but just keeps walking. You’re carried along by his arm in yours, a melancholy mockery of the way Vega used to walk with you, and you can’t help but close your eyes as the sense of loss swirls up inside you once again. So near, and yet so far.

I wish things had been different, you know.

At first, you’re not sure who said it. Then, you catch sight of his face, and realise he’s wearing exactly the same expression as you.

It’s not that I regret it, as such, he says wistfully, but I wish it hadn’t come to… this. To all of this.

His tail curls thoughtfully from side to side, just barely noticeable at the edge of your vision. When I noticed it, I thought that this might have been the answer I was looking for. A solution, at last. Or the model for one. A way that I could fix everything, for good.

Sunlight glitters off his fangs. All I wanted was what I used to have. What was taken from me.

There’s something hard and ruthless in his voice as he says it, form blurring ever so slightly at the edges. Not enough to really notice, but you feel the tremors of escaped emotion stirring in your own core as if they were your own.

Perhaps they are. You must not be as different as you’d first thought.

His words in your mind, full of longing, rhythmic like a prayer. I wanted it back – that life, that world, where nothing ever went wrong. I thought I would be willing to give it all up, if I could just have that world back.

Your shirt flutters in the slow breeze as you pass a woman walking a dog, holding the lead in one hand and her phone in the other. She shivers slightly as the two of you stroll past, and that irritating feeling of forgetting something tingles again in the back of your mind..

I wouldn’t want power. What would I need it for? the not-demon continues, a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes as he gestures mindlessly in front of him with his free hand. I’d give up everything. I’d let the universe spiral off in its own direction, let it tear itself apart the way it always seems to want, and I’d just keep that tiny little piece all for myself.

Idly, he reaches up and flicks his hair out of his face with a single, pointed claw. He seems distracted. You’d wager that he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

I’d keep just enough to hide myself away, keep my little, perfect world protected, and I’d live forever in that little bubble of time where nothing could ever go wrong again.

He laughs humourlessly to himself, a quiet, grim little thing. Sorry. I think what I mean to say is… thank you.

Time stops.

You’re not just saying that – it really does stop again. Nothing moves except for you two, no sound except for your quiet footsteps on the path, slowing down.

Me? But I…

Something like dread crawls up your spine, slow and creeping. I haven’t done anything.

No, he replies calmly, you haven't. And I understand it now. Your little experiment – it hasn’t worked, which means I need to find another way.

Sorry, your what?

You must have heard him wrong. You must have. There’s no way he actually – there’s no way he means that.

I’m sorry, you manage to choke out. ‘Experiment’?

He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t say anything. In an instant, you’re seeing red.

You mean this whole time – time thing? The looping? you hiss, suddenly furious. It’s been nothing but an experiment?

He shrugs, suddenly cagey. In a manner of speaking.

How did you…? You don’t care who he is, or what he is, anymore – all you care about is tearing his stupid fucking head from his shoulders. This has all been a test? Hundreds of years of torture, losing your mind in the prison of this neverending spiral, and it’s never meant a thing?

What have you done to us? you scream, words turning to raging radio static as you hurl them into his head. What have you done?

What have I done? I’m hurt, little warden, he gasps, and that name, that name – right word, wrong voice, and it burns your skin like hot oil. For once, it’s not my fault.

Then whose is it? you snap, fingers twitching, simulated blood simmering with rage. Who do I have to blame?

Infuriatingly, he has the nerve – the nerve! – to just roll his eyes and keep walking. You won’t like it when I tell you…

You won’t like me if you don’t fucking say it, you spit, sharp claws digging into his skin as you try to struggle out of his grip on your arm – but he’s stronger than he looks, practically dragging you along by the elbow, and you can’t even draw blood. Who is it? Tell me!

Of course it’s got to be difficult, he mutters to himself, and your aura flares in fury at his exasperated tone – like you’re just a child throwing a temper tantrum. Why does it always have to be difficult?

He finally lets you go, and you skitter backwards away from him on pure instinct, your form swaying and changing constantly as magic rolls beneath your skin. Claws lengthening and shortening, blood freezing and melting, bones stretching and contracting. You can feel your magic surging, pressing against the bounds of your physical body, seething with your desperation to destroy.

You’re making a scene.

The man stands still, regarding you with what you can only describe as a miserable sort of rueful pity, and it makes you even angrier. Actually, I suppose that’s sort of the problem.

He knows you won’t respond, head too full of rage and mouth too full of fangs. I thought you would have realised, by now, but I guess not. Didn’t you think it was odd, how nobody noticed us?

The question takes you momentarily by surprise, before you realise what he’s talking about. Of course. You’re always in your demon’s body nowadays, so you quickly learnt to tune out the screaming. It hadn’t even occurred to you that nobody was panicking, at seeing two adult demons, horns and tails and all, walking through the park.

I thought it might be better if we weren’t disturbed, he says gently, hands raised slightly like he’s trying to soothe a cornered animal. I thought you might want to be alone when I told you.

Your laugh is a horrible, screeching thing, wild and frenzied as it forces its way free of you. Told me what? Told me that none of it was real – that this has all just been a game to you? That you’ve been playing with us for some sick amusement?

That’s not—

The air around you starts to shimmer as it heats up, grass just barely on the edge of catching alight. You say you know everything – you have no idea what it’s like! How many times I’ve died for this, for him – you don’t care! It doesn’t matter to you how much we’ve suffered, how hard I’ve tried, because it’s all just some fucking joke to you, isn’t it?

You think you can just take him from me? you spit, venom pooling in your mouth and dripping down your chin. He’s mine. And you could never understand what it’s like, to do what I’ve done – what I’ve had to do! Do you think it’s easy, to have him dangled just out of my reach, dying over and over again when I can’t save him?

The earth stands still and watches as you howl your grief at this monstrous, stone-faced stranger, utterly silent except for the ragged breaths you don’t even need.

The only creature in this world I could ever truly love, and he’s dead, you laugh, manic tears running down your face. He’s dead! He’s gone, isn’t he? He’s just gone, and I can’t follow him.

Shuddering with rage, you stalk forwards, thinking only of one thing. Is that what you wanted? Is this what you wanted to see? What it looks like to be cursed with false hope, forever? Your fucking experiment worked, then, because you will never, never know how it f—

I do know!

The man’s voice shreds through your body as he screams, a shockwave of sparking, glitchy static forcing you back several metres into the grass. Of course I fucking know!

Stunned, all you can do is reel as your mind is overwhelmed with emotion, washing over you like a tidal wave and knocking you flat on your back. Something like electricity courses through you, locking up every muscle, the stinging crack of a lightning bolt as it spears you to the ground, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts—!

Is this how he truly feels? Is this what drove him mad? You gasp for air against a raging torrent of grief, white-hot and agonising, consuming every atom of your being in torturous fire – images flash by, too fast to see, leaving only the impression of a handful of flowers and a lonely, sunlit grave.

It feels like your mind is too big for your skull, excruciating pressure as it fills with voices, vying against the Spellsong for control of your form – you feel as though even your demonic nature, that most base of things that creates you, begins to falter under the hellish weight. It’s morphing, changing, all the magic in your body burning up as it turns from the bubbling, aching lust that formed you into something else, into this starving, sobbing desire that roars into the empty sky.

You are made again, full of fury and love and sorrow. You are your mission, single-minded in your quest, a ravenous force and a never-ending power, seeking only to regain a world that is no more. This universe is yours, turned inside out at your will, and… and…

…hang on. This isn’t right.

Blearily, you try to force yourself back into your own brain, struggling to form the thoughts that you know should be there. There’s a lie – a false memory, that you should have seen coming from a mile away. That’s not how you came to be, that’s not the right story. You weren’t formed from lust. You’re an Inchoate, not a—

Concubus, you breathe, and the illusion shatters.

It takes a little while to come back to yourself.

When you do, you’re still lying there in the grass. Your tail is digging uncomfortably into your back where you’re lying on it, and your gums ache from your fangs constantly lengthening and retracting, but you’re still you.

There’s the soft sound of footsteps, and a hand appears in your vision. Grudgingly, you take it, and the man pulls you to your feet.

Sorry about that, he says sheepishly, the tip of his tail curling from side to side in faint embarrassment. I, um… well. You know. Sorry.

Time seems to still be frozen – no feeling of the breeze in your hair, or sound of the leaves in the trees rustling faintly. The sun is high in the sky behind you, and you wonder how you ever missed that he casts no shadow.

It’s you, isn’t it? you marvel, as the pieces fall into place. The incubus he told me about, the one who brought him to the Department in the first place. That was you.

It’s strange. You don’t have nearly enough evidence to prove it – it’s not like he’s the only incubus in the world, and Vega never showed you what he looked like, or even told you his name. He only ever mentioned him once or twice, back before you escaped. But for some reason, it just feels right, something instinctive deep down inside, telling you that it’s the truth.

He nods, wry smile playing across his face. I think his exact words were ‘you human-loving pathetic little upstart worm’ at the time, but yes, ‘incubus’ will do. That was me, a very long time ago.

Did you know, back then? you ask, curious. That he would come to me?

Not at the time, no, he replies. But, well – you know what they say. Everything happens for a reason.

You gesture vaguely with one hand at the lazy world around you. Even this?

Even this.

He ducks his head, looking strangely remorseful. And I meant what I said: I am sorry that I have to tell you. But you deserve to know, and it wouldn’t be right to keep it from you.

You’re about to protest, but he shushes you first. I know. I’ll explain everything, I swear. All you have to do is close your eyes.

Warily, you look around, but nothing has changed. Yet.

What are you going to do?

I won’t touch you, if that’s what you’re worried about, he says. Close your eyes, and just listen to me. Listen to my voice.

Hesitantly, you do as he asks. You can still vaguely sense your surroundings as your aura gently reflects off of them, feeling the grass beneath your feet and the leaves of the trees above you, and you can feel that the incubus hasn’t moved at all.

(Is he still an incubus, after everything you saw? Probably not. But he still hasn’t given you his name, so it’s the best you can do.)

I don’t want you to think, he says solemnly, I just want you to answer me honestly. Alright? However feels right – the first answer that pops into your head.

Okay.

Good. Where are we?

You nearly open your eyes out of reflex, caught off guard by the bizarre question. …What?

Nope, it wasn’t a joke – he sounds serious. I mean it. Where are we? Where is this place?

It’s – it’s the park. Near my house.

The incubus clicks his tongue in understanding, like he hadn’t known. The park, right. And your house! That’s very good. But where is your house, exactly?

Well, it’s close to the park, you reply, still confused. Shouldn’t he know that too? It’s only about ten minutes’ walk from here, back the way we came.

Ten minutes… I see. You can’t see it, but you’re fairly sure you can hear the minute sound of him nodding his head – the tiniest friction of skin and hair and fabric, and you strain your ears to try and focus on it. But if I want to go there and visit you, I’ll need more than that. Remind me what street your house is on?

Uh… I mean, it’s definitely nearby… It’s just on the tip of your tongue – fuck, what street do you live on? You know how to get there, but the name… If you turn right, then left, then keep walking, it’s sort of straight ahead.

Right and then left? Ah, I know the one, he muses, before his voice turns all puzzled. He sounds sad, and that feels… wrong, somehow. You don’t want him to be sad. But there are lots of houses on that street, aren’t there? And I wouldn’t want to get the wrong one. So what number is your house, then?

Oh, it’s number… You go to say it, but the answer isn’t there. Lost in thought, you snap your fingers like it’ll help you remember – because you do remember, obviously. It’s your house! Of course you know which number it is!

It’s, um…

There’s an uncomfortable pause, as he watches you try to rack your brain for the right number, and you start to get more and more embarrassed the longer it goes on. Come on, come on, why can’t you think of it?

Eventually the incubus just gives up. You know what, it doesn’t matter, he murmurs reassuringly. That was kind of a difficult question. Shall we do some easier ones?

Relieved, you hastily agree. Yes, please.

Alright. Alright, we’ll do that.

He thinks for a second, before humming quietly in satisfaction. You know what, why don’t we talk about Vega for a little bit, hm? That sounds good. You like Vega, don’t you?

Mmm, Vega. You smile dreamily at the name, letting the incubus’s low, calming voice wash over you. Yeah.

Yeah? Mm, I know, he laughs, not unkindly. And I can see why. He’s so handsome, isn’t he?

Mm-hmm. Vega…

Without even having to try, the thoughts fill your mind – the image of Vega’s form here on Elegy, and the warm feeling of being bathed in his astral aura. He looks…

Even after all this time, you can picture him as clearly as if he were right here in front of you. The gentle curve of his horns, long hair pulled up high, falling messily past his face and down his back. Tall and lithe, elegant fingers tipped with savage claws, the sly curve of his tail as it sways lazily back and forth. In your head, sweet blood drips from his fangs, gore smeared indulgently across his face and down his neck, running down over his chest, a slick, shiny trail that leads lower, and lower, and lower…

Dark eyes and a darker smile, ever knowing – ever hungry. Vega’s is a cruel sort of beauty, and no matter how long his absence, it never fails to captivate you.

He’s so pretty, you mumble, only barely aware of the words. He looks so nice.

Oh, I’m sure he does, replies the incubus, and you can hear the indulgent grin in his voice matching your own. And he’s so clever, too! Don’t you think he’s clever?

You nod, because it’s true. Very clever.

Clever and beautiful… I see, I see.

The incubus gasps theatrically, like he’s surprised himself, and you find yourself hanging onto every little sound. Ooh, but he’s got big plans, hasn’t he? Lots of ambition! And I do like that, in a man.

You can’t help but laugh delightedly at the way his voice dips all low and flirty when he says it, like a special secret from a best friend. But he’s not all work and no play, is he? That would be pretty boring. I bet he knows how to unwind, when he wants to. Is that right?

Absentmindedly, your hand drifts up to your neck, fingers pressing gently over the tender shape of Lyra that you know is there. It stings slightly, fresh as it is, the deep bite of his namesake star sitting just where your pulse ought to be.

Yeah, you breathe, only slightly embarrassed. Yeah, he does.

Obviously you can't see it, but you can practically taste the wicked smirk that spreads across the incubus’s face at your admission. Mmm, I thought so.

He starts to move, circling slowly around to your left, the quiet echo of his footsteps on the concrete floor. He even found the time to get married, didn’t he? That’s pretty impressive. And he found himself a real catch, too – you know, I heard the wedding was something very, very special indeed.

Your wedding ring suddenly feels like it weighs a ton as he mentions it, enormously conscious of the weight on your finger that you’d almost forgotten was there. So sorry I couldn’t come, by the way. But is that true? Did you have fun?

Oh, your wedding day… Hadn’t it been so wonderful? Flowers and ribbons and confetti everywhere, like a great big birthday party, and all those floaty, happy feelings you got to gobble up from all the people watching you. Vega’s lovely words to you – the special promises you made, to be together forever and ever. And the music! That big piano thing that the lady played for you, so loud and sweet-sounding, the whole song of your being singing along.

Even after you and Vega had left the ceremony, you’d still had fun. He’d carried you in his arms back into the room you’d passed through earlier, the one with all the balloons and chairs and decorations, and shown you the cake he found – it was the tallest cake you’ve ever seen! It had so many layers, and it had lots of flowers made of pink sugar stuck to the sides. There were two little figures made of sweet-smelling stuff on top of the cake as well, that were shaped a bit like humans, but you hadn’t really been paying attention to them.

You’d really really wanted to try some, but you hadn’t seen any sort of spoon to eat it with, or a knife to cut it with. And perhaps you could have made one with magic, but you couldn’t really be bothered – so instead, you’d reached out and excitedly clawed a handful of sweet cake out from the front, scooping it up into your mouth and enjoying the rich, buttery redness that had been hiding inside.

Vega had refused at first, but he’d relented when you’d taken a second helping and offered it to him, neatly taking a bite out of the red and white chunk of cake and icing sitting in your palm. He hadn’t wanted any more after that, though, so you’d helped yourself to the rest, burying your face in your palm until half your face was smeared with all of that sticky, gooey goodness.

Oh, it had been so delicious! You’d been tempted to take the whole thing home with you, but that would have been quite greedy – and you did already have plans for dinner, so you’d just settled for taking one more handful, as well as some of the sweet flowers from the sides of the cake as a snack.

Red velvet flavour, Vega had said after you’d got home, sugar flower dissolving on his tongue, peering at the list of cake flavours he’d found on the computer screen. How…. unpleasant. Why would humans even want to eat that?

You’d been so confused. Is velvet the shiny one? I thought they made music out of that.

No, I think that’s ‘vinyl’, dear, Vega had replied, although he’d looked a bit unsure. It’s the one that’s mostly smooth, but a little bit fluffy. Like a sort of fabric, I believe. Did you think it tasted like that, darling?

You’d shrugged, too preoccupied with licking the sugary, cakey mess of crumbs and icing from underneath your claws, making sure not to get any of the red stuff all over your nice white clothes. Whatever it is, it’s nice. We should find some more.

Lost in the lovely memory, you startle as the incubus quietly clears his throat, the sound echoing off the walls and bouncing around the room – shit, you were meant to be answering a question, weren’t you?

Lots of fun, yeah, you say happily, rocking softly from foot to foot in content. He’s so good to me.

Yeah? Oh, I bet he is, laughs the incubus, slowly coming around to your other side from behind you. Real husband material – you want to hang onto that one, for sure. And I bet he took you on a hell of a honeymoon, didn’t he?

You start to reply, but then you realise you don’t know what to say. Did you have a honeymoon? You must have done…

The air is cold and still, and you can hear every near-silent swish of the incubus’s tail as he walks, the tiny sounds of the building settling around you. No? Hm. That’s funny. I could have sworn you two went on holiday somewhere… And pretty recently, too. Don’t you remember?

Holiday, a holiday… why does that sound familiar? Did you go somewhere special with him lately? Did he take you anywhere unusual…?

It would have been pretty late at night, wouldn’t it? the incubus continues, thoughtful, and you let his voice lead you back into the maze of your memory. Yeah, that’s right. It would have been dark outside, and he’d have led you inside, wouldn’t he? Maybe by holding your hand? Or asking you to follow behind him?

Now that he mentions it, that sounds… yes! Yes, you remember! Walking side by side with him in the dark, streetlamps overhead as you’d got closer and closer to the building – oh, and how he’d said to stay close to him…

You remember going inside, don’t you? You’d just gone inside, and you were looking for the stairs. Do you remember the stairs?

He’s right, you had been looking for the stairs. How could you have forgotten? You’d been trying to find a way to get downstairs, to see what was going on. You’d been curious. Why had you been curious?

But you didn’t find the stairs. You saw someone instead, didn’t you?

Someone unexpected, someone who shouldn’t have been there…

A strange man, someone you didn’t recognise.

He’d been so odd. Saturated with magic, but no sound at all – singing with no voice, a terrifying emptiness where something ought to be.

The incubus speaks again, low and gentle. And he was scary, wasn’t he? You were so, so scared. Because it was frightening, there in the dark, talking to that strange, scary man.

Yes… you murmur, shivering in the chill of the empty room. Yes, I remember…

But it was okay, wasn’t it? he asks, and there’s something indescribable in his voice that you can’t quite name. You got away. You held Vega’s hand, and you turned and ran, as fast and as far as you could. You ran all the way outside into the night, and you kept running until you could run no more, and then you rifted away.

You start to agree, but there’s a strange sort of friction in your mind when you do. Is that not what happened? Why does it feel wrong?

No, you manage to force out, but the words are slow and painful as your eyes fill with tears. No, I didn’t hold Vega’s hand.

The incubus nudges your aura gently with his own, a silent question. You bite your lip to stop it trembling so much, and let him take you in his arms as you start to shudder uncontrollably.

Why not? he whispers sadly, and this time, you know he already knows the answer.

Streetlights flickering outside. I couldn’t.

Why?

Cold concrete under your feet. There was nothing to hold.

Why?

Because he wasn’t there, you wail, and the corridor is filled with the airless song of your grief. He was already dead.

Silently, the hazy spell of the incubus’s voice falls away, and you open your eyes. Not to the trees and sky and earth of the park that’s near your house, but to the grim, dark grave that is the CloseKnit headquarters, and the moment that the world itself ceased to be.

You’re back.

The incubus holds you softly as your body convulses with awful, aching sobs, lowering you gently to the ground when your legs start to give way and you can’t hold yourself up any more. I’m so sorry, he murmurs into your mind as he kneels with you, rocking you back and forth as you cry uncontrollably into his shoulder. I’m so sorry, little warden.

It’s torturous, how the memories come back all at once, as if they had never gone away. The sheer, absolute panic of that moment, of seeing the empty space where Vega had been only a fraction of a second before. How you’d felt something give way deep inside you, some buried well of power so immense and vital that to even think of it was to fall apart – all you remember was a sharp flash of light, brilliant and blinding, and the sudden feeling of falling.

A sickening crack, your body and your mind splitting open as magic poured from your being, rending the very sky and the entire universe that hid behind it. Nothing had been real, nothing had mattered – only you, only the murderous, vengeful fear that filled you, the agony of your terror and the fury of your fear.

How? you weep through tears, not trusting your voice to come out as anything but a screech. How could I forget? I thought – I really, really thought he – that it…

That it was real?

He quietly shushes you as you start to keen, pressing his face to your hair. I know. I know you did. And it’s not your fault. It did exactly what you designed it to do.

You couldn’t bear it – couldn’t bear to believe that it could even be real. That such a world, such a cruel and awful world, could ever come to pass. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be allowed.

Your body spasms and twitches uncontrollably as you cry, all messy and wet. Just another thing that’s out of your control.

You couldn’t believe that he could be taken from you, the incubus whispers, words full of the terror you can’t say. It was impossible, surely? For him to just… disappear? For everything he ever was or ever would be to have vanished in an instant, leaving you behind?

It had all been so fast. Trembling behind him, peeking out over his shoulder at the horrifying, empty shape of that – that creature, that thing. One second he was there, and the next…

Dissolving into the air, returning to the Spellsong as if he had never existed at all – the ring on your finger that suddenly had no pair. You hadn’t even seen his face.

Poor, sweet little warden. The real world was too horrifying, so you dreamed a new one for yourself instead. You needed comfort, you needed to be safe – so your mind took you to the one place in the world where that could be true.

But you couldn’t quite forget, could you?, the incubus muses, sounding strangely proud. Or perhaps… fond, in a bizarre sort of way. You had to make sense of it somehow. You had to explain to yourself why he wasn’t there, and why he never said goodbye. So you dreamed that too – a Vega who was still alive, but always out of reach, and whose last words were that he loved you more than anything.

Held tight in the incubus’s arms, your form trembles erratically, magic desperately melting and setting over and over again to try and keep up with the emotions that flood through it – even the air temperature starts to change, heating up and cooling down with every wave of grief.

Your hair grows long and limp, hanging miserably to the floor to hide your face, before suddenly getting shorter again with every spike of rageful sorrow that flares in your heart. Layers of fat and muscle writhe like snakes under your skin as it flickers between colours, freckles splattering themselves across your back before they fade just as quickly, and your whole face aches as everything moves – your eyeballs changing shape in their sockets, your cheeks splitting as your mouth widens, then sewing themselves back together when it narrows again.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, again and again forever, just to hear those precious few seconds of his voice again. To hear the words he never got the chance to say.

What do you look like now? Would Vega even recognise you at all? Acid tears burning trails down your face, searing tiny divots in the concrete when they fall. Try as you might, you can’t make your body stay still.

The incubus shakes his head sadly. You just couldn’t let him go. You couldn’t accept that there might ever come a time where you and he would have to be parted, so you clung to whatever pieces of him you could, whatever hope you could find.

His voice comes to you as if underwater, muffled and dim, and you feel as though you truly are lost in the darkness of the sea. A creature of the deep, sunken to the seafloor, tiny fish picking at the soft tissue until there’s nothing left but bones. Soon all you’ll be is sand, nothing but grit and stones rolling in the current, floating adrift and never to be put back together again.

The ultimate escape, your very own one-more-chance – if the only way out is to do the impossible, then you never have to leave. What else is grief, but love that doesn’t realise it’s already dead?

He smiles blackly, and you feel the still-tender bite marks on your neck start to burn. The most perfect prison, for the warden of demonkind’s worst. You really do never fail to impress.

A car that doesn’t go, and a cake you didn’t make. It’s all gone now, and you’re the only thing that’s left – an impossible spectre, risen sobbing from the grave. Buried under the weight of the life you thought you’d have, crushed under the rubble of a peony and a picket fence.

You don’t know how long you spend there, a puddle of limbs splayed across the concrete, crying your endless eyes dry. Perhaps it’s a day, or a year, or a century. Perhaps you’re there forever, never leaving, never stopping even for a moment. It’s impossible to know.

What do I do?

Brokenly, you nudge the words into the incubus’s mind, begging that he’ll have an answer. I don’t – I can’t, I don’t know how…

The words don’t come, but the incubus seems to know exactly what you wanted to be able to say. You don’t know what comes next, he says softly, and perhaps you don’t even know if there is a next. What could possibly come after this? The world has already ended. All you know is grief, and you can’t imagine a time when that grief is not your entire mind.

Creatures of emotion, and the magic that follows it. The great curse of demonkind, that we must become our love.

You feel sick. There’s nothing left. He’s gone.

The incubus pauses for a second, before sitting back slightly and tilting your head up so you can see his face. Gone, you say?

Where else could he be? you mutter, with a voice like smashed glass. He’s nothing, now. I can’t feel him, not at all.

He shrugs, face carefully blank. I guess.

Your sore eyes narrow. What’s that supposed to mean?

You’d do anything, wouldn’t you? Whatever it takes, whatever has to happen, for you to see him again.

He lets out a deep breath, a faraway look in his eyes. You don’t care what it is. You don’t care what it’ll cost. Reality means nothing, if it keeps you from him – you’d tear the world apart to find him again. In fact, you already have. He’s the only thing that could ever matter any more, and he’s the only thing that could ever satisfy the awful emptiness inside.

The half-smile on your face probably looks more like a grimace. How did you know?

Didn’t I tell you before? I know everything.

He laughs, but there’s no humour in it. You and I aren’t as different as you thought, little warden.

Does it change anything? you scowl, pathetically trying to cover your pain with frustration. No matter what I say, he’s no less dead.

Yes, well… His gaze flicks to the right, sliding sideways off of yours. About that.

He sighs.

I have a… a theory, I suppose. Untested. I can’t say it’ll work for sure.

A theory? you repeat, suspicious. What theory?

Look, he admits, it’s something of a work in progress. I think it does what it’s supposed to, but I haven’t had the chance to try it out yet.

What does it do?

The incubus clicks his tongue, claws drumming quietly against your arm.

I’m looking for someone. Someone I lost, a little bit like you.

He blinks, suddenly thoughtful. Actually, a lot like you, now that I think about it. Hm. In any case, I want to bring them back – and I think I know how.

You stare up at him, perplexed. If you know how, then why wait?

There’s… well, there’s a lot that could go wrong, he replies gingerly. Messing with reality is a tricky business, little warden. If I’m not careful, it could do all sorts of… unpleasant things. Things that I can’t allow to happen.

There's an unspoken question there, and you have a horrible feeling that you know what it is. That you know what this has all been leading up to.

You want to try it out on me, you say. On us.

If you wouldn’t mind…

He says it so casually, picking lazily at his claws like he’s talking about the weather. Not to be rude or anything, but when we’re talking about magical experiments that might permanently delete us from every dimension of the universe, I do have some suggestions as to which of us should go first.

Ah. There it is. That’s why he’s hesitating.

Is this really what you want to do?

If this goes wrong – and for all you know, it will go wrong – you might end up completely destroyed. Past, present, and future. You’d be removed from time entirely, and the world would simply go on as if you’d never existed. You’d never have coalesced, never have gone to Elegy, never have met Vega at all. A new universe, one less star in the sky.

Would that be better? Would you even know you’d disappeared? Would anyone really miss you, if you had never existed in the first place?

For a rational mind, it’s dangerous – too dangerous. But what’s the alternative?

If you say no, what comes next? You’ll have to pick up the pieces, and learn to live with everything that’s happened. Knowing what you know now, you’ll have to find a way to live without him. You’ll have to make your own way, on the run from the Department – will you take up Vega’s mission in his stead, to fight for the survival of your species? Or will you crack under the pressure, faltering and failing alone, abandoning the fate of demonkind to someone else?

A world without Vega. You can’t even imagine it.

By all logic, you should say no. You should – but this chance! How could you live with yourself, if you threw away your only hope at bringing him back? What could possibly be left for you, in this new, terrible world, that you wouldn’t trade for the chance to see him again?

You’ve already lost everything. There’s nothing left to risk.

I think…

The incubus raises an eyebrow, pointed tip of his tail brushing his hair out of his pretty face, and your broken heart aches.

I think you already know what I’m going to say.

He smiles, wide and only a little sinister. I can see why Vega likes you.

In the back of your mind, you can very nearly hear some sort of dull, droning noise – a low, glitchy buzz like electricity. Your skin starts to itch, and you can feel some of your hair start to float as it goes all staticky.

The demonic mind is a funny thing, the incubus continues solemnly. If you had the choice, would you want to remember this? Or would you rather not know?

I don’t want to forget.

The answer is obvious – you don’t even have to think about it. I don’t regret it. Any of it. I don’t regret fighting for him like that, and I don’t regret who I’ve become. And if the chance ever comes for revenge…

The incubus nods, and you can feel his satisfaction mirroring your own. You want to know why you’re doing it.

Of course.

And all it cost…

He trails off, lost in thought, and you have the strangest sort of helium feeling in your head, your body growing almost imperceptibly lighter. You really do love him.

Light sparkling off the diamond on your finger, shattering into streaks of bright red and electric blue. I do.

Then remember him, little warden, the incubus murmurs, as everything begins to flicker and fade, colour leaking out of the world around you to leave only black and white and grey. Remember him, and let me do the rest.

He closes his eyes, and the humming, buzzing sound in your head gets louder. It clicks and cracks like the radio, a familiar sort of whirring sound underneath it, like the soft friction of something spinning. A record, perhaps? Or is it something else?

As the noise thrums through your body, you fix Vega’s image in your head as hard as you can, filling your mind with thoughts of him and the world you want to wake up to. His voice, his face, the feeling of his form curved around you as he holds you close to him. The song of his being, sweet and swirling, harmonising with yours.

Bloody fingerprints on the fridge door, claw marks gouged into the arm of the sofa. Wisteria growing up the trellis, stacks and stacks of spare hairbands in the bathroom cabinet. The shape of Lyra brands itself into your mind, the dim light of a fading constellation – and the radiance of your own namesake star cries out in return, reaching into the chattering sky like a lighthouse staring out to sea.

The static feels like a storm, strange winds blowing you from side to side as the noises grow. It’s getting more and more difficult to see, but you feel it as the incubus lets go of you, standing up and starting to walk away. Something about it sends an instinctual pang of fear through your body, and you hurriedly call after him.

Wait!

The figure in front of you turns, features beginning to blur until you can barely picture his face in your head – even though he’s right in front of you, you find yourself struggling to remember what he looks like.

Is this the end? you shout, desperate in a way you don’t really understand. Will I ever see you again?

He laughs, summer light and sunshine easy, and it sounds like a farewell. Who’s to say? he calls back to you, and you notice that he’s unmoved by the wind that beats furiously against your body. Perhaps, if this works, we’ll meet again someday. In a world where both of us can get what we want.

The gaps between your thoughts are getting longer, splintering and stretching, dissipating out into the universe like stardust. Reality twisting beneath you, swallowing you up, ever expanding and entirely unknowable. You can feel it, just barely – time turning back on itself, things and places and people not the way they were before. A new world. A new reality.

As your body crumbles into electric dust, you can feel that you’re almost gone. Your voice has nearly vanished, a blocky jumble of noise that tumbles away in the storm, but you know he hears you all the same.

I look forward to it already.

As your mind begins to dissolve into static, through the sandy, glitchy storm you can just about make out the shape of the mysterious incubus, silhouetted against the collapsing universe, and blowing you a kiss with the tip of his tail. Then I’ll be seeing you soon, little warden.

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And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

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Recipe for undying love (REVISED):

Add dread, rage, and sorrow to a bowl, and mix until a smooth dough forms. Chill in the fridge for at least one hour, then roll out it on a flat surface until thin and use it to line a loose-bottomed tin.

“I… I think I did the wrong thing.”

Line case with baking parchment and cover with baking beans. Bake at 200°C for 20 minutes or until crisp, then leave to cool completely on a wire rack.

“I can’t make a mistake… but I made one.”

Mix together denial and agony in a large bowl, then slowly add faithfulness. Stir continuously until fully incorporated. If mixture splits, add a small amount of vengeance and continue stirring.

“His magic is still there. At least part of it. Maybe enough.”

Separately, add misery, regret, and a pinch of self-loathing to the bowl of a stand mixer, and beat until soft peaks form. Fold in beaten ingredients to original bowl, then transfer to case.

“I have to go back.”

Dust generously with terror, and refrigerate for at least four hours, or overnight, until fully set.

“Doc.”

Remove from fridge approximately fifteen minutes before serving. Best served chilled with double cream, caramel, or chocolate sauce.

“Will you come with me?”

You knew the risks. Can be kept in an airtight container for as many cycles of your self-inflicted timeloop as you can stand, or until the reality you came from is manipulated enough to force your husband’s killer into bringing him back from the dead.

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human nature masterlist

peaches and cream masterlist

main masterlist

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted vega #redacted warden #redacted echo #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters

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