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scary-grace · 1 month

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

There's no such thing as a good night at work when you work in the world's most infamous brothel for monsters, but your night takes a turn for the worse when you find yourself serving drinks to visiting half-vampire Shigaraki Tomura. You don't mean to catch his interest, and you don't mean to start a conversation. You definitely don't mean to get him drunk. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Life in Asylum continues, and in the endless scroll of days and nights, cleanups in empty rooms and mop-ups in private parties, it’s almost possible to forget about the half-vampire who will be back at the next full moon. Almost, but not quite. Vampires are a rare enough occurrence in Asylum that everyone’s talking about Shigaraki Tomura and his master, and since they’re going to be regulars, Overhaul provides more than a little education for the staff about the one type of inhuman next to no one has experience with.

Most of the workers don’t care, but you pay close attention. Your knowledge of vampires contains next to nothing concrete. You need to learn, if you want to hold your own during your next conversation with Shigaraki Tomura.

Vampirism is spread through a bite – true. Everyone who’s bitten becomes a vampire – false. Apparently, creating a new vampire requires intention on the part of the vampiric sire, which probably helps to keep the population down. The mechanism that causes half-vampirism is unclear, but what’s perfectly clear is that half-vampires are something unusual. They need to consume blood, just like vampires do, but unlike vampires, they also need to eat. They still have heartbeats, still need to breathe, still need to see the sun every so often. Beyond that, though, no one’s able to describe what powers a half-vampire has, or the degree of strength advantage they have over an ordinary human, or whether they can turn into a true vampire – or how they do it. The question of what Shigaraki’s capable of is one you’re not able to answer, and it bothers you. Then again, if Shigaraki had correctly guessed what you are, he’d be equally in the dark as to what you’re able to do.

Most inhuman species have some sort of biological limitations, just like humans do. Werewolves still need to eat and sleep, and while bullets will damage them, silver bullets are the true threat. Liches and demons can’t set foot on holy ground, no matter which faith has consecrated a given spot, and shapeshifters lose their forms if they get too tired. Everybody knows all about vampires and sunlight. Faeries don’t have limitations. Faeries have rules.

Faeries can’t lie. Lying has physical consequences. Faeries have given names and true names, and while the true names are the most dangerous, even knowledge of a title or nickname can grant some degree of power over them. Faeries are vulnerable to iron, but not in the same way werewolves are vulnerable to silver. A gift offered by a faery is never just a gift; either it comes in repayment for an earlier favor, or it comes with strings attached. Nothing your father’s people give is ever given freely.

And that’s where you got yourself in trouble. You did Shigaraki a favor by using your glamour on him. If that particular rule applies to you as a half-fey, you’ve bound Shigaraki to you until he can repay the debt.

All of that would be enough to deal with heading into the next full moon, and you feel like it’s possible to handle. But three nights before the vampires are set to arrive, the itching starts, and things go from manageable to impossible in the space of an hour.

The last time this happened, you took a few days off of work until it was over, but it’s occurring over a much larger area on your body – your entire left arm, shoulder to wrist, and it’s not going to peel away until it’s ready. If you try, you’ll open yourself up to infection, and if that doesn’t kill you, the way it’ll look once it’s healed will probably make you wish you were dead. You can manage not to scratch while you’re on shift, but when you’re off, you’re scratching constantly, and every last one of your coworkers has something to say about it.

“Better not do that where the boss will see,” Nemoto remarks as you’re all eating in the cramped servants’ mess. “He finds fleas disgusting.”

Nemoto knows damn well you don’t have fleas; he just doesn’t like you, because his demonic ability to force confessions doesn’t work on faeries, and that includes you. The maid you’re sitting next to recoils away from you, and across the table, Tengai rolls his eyes. “It’s not fleas,” he says. “Haven’t any of you seen a half-fey molt before?”

“It’s not molting,” you say uselessly. It would only be molting if you did it regularly.

“Of course none of you have seen it,” Chrono says. Usually he eats with Overhaul, but sometimes Overhaul can’t stand being around even his right-hand man. “Half-fey in general are rare, and her variety of half-fey is rarer still.”

Everyone looks at you. You can’t tell if they’re waiting for you to explain or thinking that they’ll figure it out if they just stare hard enough. Either way, your face turns red, and Chrono heaves a dramatic sigh. “For most of you half-breeds, it doesn’t matter which of your parents was the inhuman. It matters for faeries.”

Tabe burps. “Why?”

Why questions are usually safe to ask Chrono – asking Overhaul a why question results in either a flat, irritated look or a two-hour lecture about the minutiae of the topic. “It’s unclear,” Chrono says. “What is clear, however, is that half-fey children take after their fathers in appearance and lifespan, and their mothers in magical ability.”

“Huh?”

Chrono doesn’t have his mask on. This time you can see him roll his eyes. “Children of human fathers and faery mothers resemble humans, and have human lifespans. Despite that, they have significant magical abilities.”

“How strong are they?” Rappa asks through a full mouth. “Stronger than regular human magicians?”

Chrono shrugs. You, meanwhile, think about a conspiracy theory you read in one of Overhaul’s books – that all human magic-users are secretly matrilineal half-fey, whose mothers either abandoned them to their fathers or swapped out the child of an unknowing human couple for one of their own. If that was the case, nobody would ever know. Other than the magic, matrilineal half-fey are indistinguishable from ordinary humans. “Hang on,” Setsuno says. “If half-fey take after their fey parent in how they look, how come she looks so human?”

“She doesn’t,” Chrono says. He looks to you, and you lower your hand from your shoulder. You’ve been using the cover of the conversation to scratch to your heart’s content. “Show them.”

You give him a pleading look, which he ignores, and finally you rise from the table and back away. You’re still wearing your uniform, so you pull up the skirt on your right side, revealing your leg. The table recoils as a group, and you’re pretty sure everybody’s thinking exactly what comes out of Rappa’s mouth. “What the fuck?”

“Patrilineal half-fey inherit their father’s lifespan,” Chrono says, “and their appearance – or some of it. They appear to be completely human until they reach physical maturity, at which point they begin a partial transformation. You can see the patches where fey skin has grown in to replace human skin, creating a patchwork which renders the half-fey unable to conceal their true nature.”

It’s not just your skin. Your ears have begun to change shape, growing pointed at the tips, and the natural color of your eyes has taken on a strange iridescent overlay. You need to blink less than you used to, sometimes – other times, it’s a struggle to keep your eyes open in the light without sticky, pearlescent tears oozing from them. If your father had been one of any of half a dozen varieties of fey, you’d have seen changes with your mouth, with your hands, even with the way you breathe. But while your mother never told you anything concrete about your father, she was at least able to confirm that he didn’t have gills.

Your transformation is mainly cosmetic. That doesn’t make it any less terrible, and cosmetic is a relative term. “Due to their appearances and lack of other gifts, half-fey used to make frequent appearances in human freak shows,” Chrono continues. “Some also theorize that the reason they’re unwelcome in faery society is due to their ugliness.”

“Oh.” Your coworkers are nodding at this, like it makes sense to them. Nemoto’s looking right at you when he responds. “I get it.”

You know you’re not pretty, but that doesn’t mean you like having it hammered home. You drop the right side of your skirt back down and sit again, and spend the rest of the meal picking at your food. Your appetite’s gone, and your shoulder is still itching. Even though you’re exhausted from your shift, you’re going to have a hard time falling asleep.

You’re making a beeline back to your quarters, with the intention of trying to shower off the itch and falling asleep immediately afterwards, when Chrono catches up to you. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“Thank you?” Backtalking to your boss is a terrible idea, but you can’t hold onto your skepticism. “For what?”

“I explained your situation, so you wouldn’t have to.” Chrono looks pleased with himself. “I did you a favor.”

“You could have done that without calling me ugly.”

“Should I have lied? It’s not as if you’re unaware,” Chrono says. He reaches out, hooks the neckline of your uniform with one finger, and pulls it aside. “How much skin are you going to lose this time?”

“Everything on my arm,” you say. Chrono looks surprised, and you seize the opportunity to shy away from his hand. “Goodnight, boss.”

“Your arm,” Chrono muses. “That’ll be a sight to see.”

Yes, it will. The juxtaposition of smooth, perfect, oil-slick shimmering faery skin with plain human skin on the same body is enough to make anyone’s skin crawl, yours included. You turn away from Chrono, and you’re almost out of earshot, almost to safety, when you hear him speak again. “You’ll have to show me when it’s done.”

That’s not the first comment like that you’ve heard from Chrono in the past year or two. They’re becoming increasingly frequent, and you know what they mean, just like you know you don’t want anything to do with them. You mumble another goodnight and duck into the female servants’ quarters, shedding your clothes and slipping a faint glamour over yourself as you step into the shower. You’re pretty sure there aren’t scrying mirrors in here, but at the same time, you’re pretty sure that if any guests wanted to pay to watch the maids shower, Overhaul would find a way to make it happen.

The hot water helps dull the itch, for now. You dry off and change into your sleeping clothes, noting every spot on your body where your heritage has surfaced. Your right leg is covered, thigh to calf, wide sashes and ribbons of fey skin interrupting your skin, jagged and gaudy. Your torso is covered, too, but you were smarter with that – when it was time, you peeled your dying skin away in a single piece rather than clawing it to ribbons. There’s some on your lower back that you never tried to peel away at all, and as a result, the fey skin is pitted and scarred. It looks hideous. You look hideous.

You know it’s true, but at the same time, you know you’re lucky. You’ve seen photos of half-fey whose fey skin broke through on their faces, unmistakable and impossible to hide. At least you’ve got a prayer of hiding this. Or you will, once you’ve peeled this next sheet of skin away to reveal what’s beneath. You crawl into bed and close your eyes, hoping that the itching will wake you in the middle of the night, so severe that you’ll have no choice but to peel the skin off right then and there. The waiting is the worst part. You just want it to be over before the full moon.

But it isn’t over before the full moon. It’s the biggest piece of skin you’ve lost – the last big piece you’ll lose, if only half your skin changes – and it’s clinging on for dear life. You beg Overhaul to help you, to employ the magic he uses to reshape the workers’ bodies when they’re injured, but he refuses. “The reaction between your meager magic and mine is too unpredictable,” he says. “I can’t help you.”

“Then let me have the night off,” you plead. He shakes his head. “Please. I won’t be any use if the skin breaks through.”

“You have my full permission to take your break to remove it,” Overhaul says, and you bite back tears. You were barely functional after you excised the skin on your torso. There’s no way you’ll be able to work with your left arm freshly peeled. “Not only is it a full moon, it’s also the autumnal equinox. We’ll need your glamours if any of the half-dozen rituals scheduled to take place here get out of hand.”

The equinoxes are the only nights where ordinary humans are allowed into Asylum, and they’re barely ordinary – they’re cultists, devoted to the worship of specific demons, conducting rituals that would get them thrown in prison in the human world. “And even if that were not the case,” Overhaul says, “there is a certain half-vampire scheduled to arrive with his master, and I doubt anyone else will be able to get him drunk.”

You were already stressed about running into Shigaraki Tomura again, but the idea of seeing him tonight sends you into a near-panic. “Sir –”

“That’s enough,” Overhaul says, and you fall silent in a hurry. “The moon is about to rise in Kiribati, and you aren’t in uniform. Get changed.”

You won’t win this. You know you won’t. You leave Overhaul’s study, hoping that the skin on your arm will hold out for another twenty-four hours – and hoping that Shigaraki Tomura’s master decided to leave him at home.

The autumnal equinox is fairly quiet as far as equinoxes go, but it’s not often that it occurs on a full moon, and from the moment the moon comes up over an even slightly populated area, Asylum devolves into barely-controlled chaos. The casualty count for workers exceeds an average full moon within the first three hours, and for the first time in a while, Overhaul comes out of his study to help repair the bodies rather than expecting them to be brought to him. Chrono equips the workers with alarm sigils, which will trigger a warning if their heart rates drop below a certain threshold. It’s an unusual precaution, but you know better than to think it’s out of any concern for the workers’ health – more that if too many of them die, Asylum won’t be able to serve all the guests who are flooding through the door.

You’re doing some of everything – a little cleaning, a little mopping up, a little belting a demon in the face with a mop when they won’t let go of the badly injured worker you’re trying to take back to Overhaul. You’re busy enough that you can almost forget about the itching, about the faery skin that’s trying to erupt through your skin on your left arm. For the first seven hours of the night, you run yourself ragged, doing whatever Overhaul’s ordered you to do, racing from floor to floor and trying to spot trouble before it begins. You’ve lived in Asylum your entire life. There’s nobody who knows their way around better than you do.

At hour eight, Overhaul summons you to the makeshift infirmary. When you get there, you spot a pile of discarded gloves on his right, a bubbling cauldron on his left, and a newly healed worker sprawled out in front of him. “Get out,” Overhaul orders the worker, and she scrambles upright, falls, and crawls unsteadily towards the exit. The instant she’s gone, Overhaul plunges his hands into whatever’s boiling inside the cauldron.

You don’t want to know what’s in there, and based on the grimace on Overhaul’s face, you don’t even want to go near him. But he summoned you. You step forward. “Sir?”

“The first ritual is about to begin. You’ll be supervising it.”

Your stomach drops. “I can’t,” you say. Overhaul mutters a curse under his breath. “I can’t! I don’t have magic –”

“You think throwing more magic at an out-of-control ritual will solve the problem? Playing stupid won’t get you out of it.” Overhaul lifts his hands from the cauldron and you startle at the sight of them. His fingers have been eaten down nearly to the bone, and in spite of the fact that he’s repairing them before your eyes, you can’t help but feel nauseous. “There are supply kits in my study, with the measures necessary to contain a ritual. All that’s required of you is to deploy them. Go.”

“Sir –”

“I don’t have time for this,” Overhaul snaps at you, and you flinch. You’ve never seen him this stressed before. “Chrono is needed elsewhere. None of the others but you possess a sensitivity to magic, and no one other than me is able to perform the repairs. Succeed at this and you’ll be rewarded appropriately. I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you fail.”

You know exactly what will happen if you fail. You nod mutely. “The supply kits can be found in the furthest cupboard. Hold out your hand,” Overhaul says. When you do, he traces a rune into your right palm. “Use this to unlock them. Go.”

You have more questions – like how to figure out which countermeasure to use first, or how to tell when they’re needed in the first place – but Rappa’s coming through the door carrying another worker, and Overhaul’s attention shifts from you. He’s not going to change his mind, and there’s no one else who can do the job. There’s nothing for you to do but head for Overhaul’s study. Being expected to supervise a ritual is bad enough. Being late to it is probably worse.

The cultists are making final preparations for their ritual in the smallest of Asylum’s three gardens. You’re not sure which cult this is, but they brought their own sacrifice, bound hand and foot in spite of the fact that they’re unconscious. You try not to look too hard at them. You don’t look too hard at the cultists, either. You pry open the supply kit and study the items within. Now that you’re looking at it, they seem pretty straightforward. Salt and consecrated chalk, for sealing the paths leading to the garden off from the rest of Asylum. A set of wardstones to keep anyone from entering once the ritual begins. A sheet of runes to trace in midair, as an extra precaution. None of it requires more than the tiniest amount of magic. Maybe this is doable.

You confirm that all the cultists are in the garden, then get to work, starting with the salt and chalk across each path leading into the garden. Next it’s the wardstones. The cultists are using a pentagram in their rituals, which means you need a hexagram to contain them properly. Wardstones are simple enough to set. You set them spinning with a twist of your fingers and leave them to hover. A few more of these, then a few sigils, and then you’re all set. You can do this.

A single footfall and a shadow falling across yours are the only warnings you get before a familiar voice rings out from behind you. “If you don’t want people to think you’re a witch, you shouldn’t spend so much time casting spells,” Shigaraki Tomura says, and you nearly jump out of your skin. “Did you miss me?”

It takes an effort not to throw the wardstone at him. “I’m not a witch. And this isn’t a spell.”

“It looks like a spell,” Shigaraki says. He looks way too pleased with himself for reasons beyond your understanding. “That’s two spells I’ve seen you do. Your boss is a warlock, so I don’t get why you’d lie about being a witch.”

You were dreading meeting Shigaraki again, in part because you were sure he’d guessed that you were half-fey. Apparently not. “That wasn’t a spell, and neither is this,” you say. “I’ll show you.”

“Huh?”

You motion for him to come forward, and he does, looking way too suspicious. What does he think you’re going to do? You’re not the one who drinks blood. “Hold this,” you say, and push the wardstone into his hand. “Now, do this –”

You show him the proper gesture to activate it, and he tries it – and drops it, just like you did the first time you tried it. Before you can tell him to try again, he picks it up and looks at you. “Show me again.”

You show him the gesture, and this time he copies it much more closely. The wardstone spins out of his hand and hovers in midair, the last piece of the hexagram you’ve been constructing falling into place. Shigaraki looks surprised, then pleased with himself again. You’re less annoyed with it this time, mostly because it’s given you a chance to prove your point. “You can do it, and you have even less magic than I do. It’s not a spell.”

“This one isn’t a spell,” Shigaraki agrees. He’s mimicking the gesture again, even better on the third try. “The other one was.”

A glamour’s not a spell. If it was a spell, it could be replicated by anyone else, but your glamour is an extension of your nature as a half-fey. You won’t be able to convince Shigaraki otherwise without outing yourself, so you keep quiet, and you set back off around the garden, headed for where you left the supply kit. Shigaraki follows you. “I went to the bar. You weren’t there,” he says. “Are you avoiding me or something?”

“I don’t work in the lounge most of the time. That night I was just filling in.” You’re conscious, suddenly, of the fact that you’re in the maid uniform – and that the maid uniform doesn’t come with even the most useless of masks. “To be honest, I didn’t know you were here.”

Shigaraki makes an affronted sound, but you’ve reached the supply kit, and you have runesigns to trace. In the garden, the cultists are moving into position to begin their ritual. You hold the sheet in one hand and begin to trace the sigils in midair. “What do you do most of the time, then?” Shigaraki asks. “If you’re not down there.”

“I clean.” You make the mistake of gesturing at your uniform, and Shigaraki takes the invitation to look you up and down. “And whatever else Overhaul needs me to do.”

“Like this. What is this?”

“There are cult rituals happening tonight. Overhaul and Chrono are both busy, so they asked me to keep an eye on this one.”

“Huh.” Shigaraki looks away from you, into the garden. “My master had a cult for a while.”

You really don’t know what to think of that, except that if it had been relevant, it would have been the first thing Overhaul and Chrono told the staff about. “How old is your master?”

“Old,” Shigaraki says, which tells you absolutely nothing. “What about your boss?”

“Also old.”

Shigaraki snorts. “What about you?” You clam up instantly, and he rolls his eyes. “Come on. Either your name, what you are, or how old you are. Give me at least one.”

Out of those three pieces of information, your age is the one that won’t get you in trouble. That doesn’t mean you won’t make him work for it. “You first.”

“Come on,” Shigaraki complains. You wait, watching as the cultists pick up their unconscious sacrifice and lay him out on the altar they built out of bones they brought from home. “Not that it matters or anything, but I’m twenty-three. Your turn.”

“Twenty-three,” you repeat. You can’t tell if you’re surprised by his age or not, but the fact that he’s still counting it means he’s still mortal. Your age stopped mattering two years ago, but you’ve kept count anyway. “Me, too.”

“Was that so hard?” Shigaraki grins, just a little too widely. The only thing that keeps you from calling it a leer is an instinct that it’s not born out of triumph at getting one over on you. A moment later, you’re proven right. “I knew it.”

Why does it matter to him that you’re the same age? A low hum begins to vibrate through the air, and the sigil hovering just in front of you wavers. The ritual’s beginning, and you need to focus. Unfortunately for you, Shigaraki’s still here. You need to shake him off. “I’m surprised you’re not with your master. Aren’t you here to feed?”

“He’s here to feed. I’m here to learn,” Shigaraki says. Learn what? “This looks more interesting than whatever else is going on around here.”

The hum in the air intensifies. Beneath the sleeve of your uniform, you feel your skin beginning to crawl. “If you’re going to stay, keep quiet. I need to concentrate.”

“Right. Witches need to concentrate when they’re doing magic.”

You’ve decided not to respond to any more witch jokes. The cultists are chanting in one of the demonic languages, drawing in close to surround the altar and obscure the sacrifice. Now that you think about it, you’re not sure what kind of sacrifice this is, and regardless of whether it’s symbolic or literal, you don’t want to watch it. You especially don’t want to watch it with Shigaraki – Shigaraki, who’s standing next to you, head tilted to one side, scratching idly at his neck. Seeing him scratch makes you want to scratch. You peer down into the supply kit instead, wondering which of the objects inside you’re supposed to use first if things get out of hand.

“Is there food here?”

Out of all the things Shigaraki might have said, you weren’t expecting that. “Huh?”

“Food,” Shigaraki says again. “Is there food here?”

It feels like round two of the WiFi conversation, except this time, you’re able to give him the answer he’s hoping for. “Yes. Why?”

“After this. We should get some.”

“Um –”

“You get breaks, right? Even witches have to eat.” Shigaraki’s scratching harder than before, and he’s not looking at you. “I’m hungry.”

He is really skinny, but he’s also a half-vampire. You know half-vampires still need blood, and you focus on that question instead of the other, worse one. “Not thirsty?”

“I have money. I can pay for it,” Shigaraki says, ignoring you. “And you helped me out the last time I was here.”

“I’m the one who got you drunk.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t owe –”

“Stop talking.” You’ve interrupted him, but it’s not enough – he’s already opening his mouth again, and you slap your hand down over it before he can get another word out. “I mean it.”

Shigaraki’s red eyes are wide. You can’t tell if it’s with affront or with shock. His lips move against the palm of your hand, dry and rough, and a weird jolt travels through you, raising the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck. It’s drowned out a second later by a vibration through the air that makes you stagger. The sigil in front of you dissolves, unable to stand in the face of another wave emanating from the site of the ritual.

The wave abates, for a moment, and you think you’re safe – but the next thing you know, you and Shigaraki are both staggering as the vibration travels through the ground in addition to the air. You don’t need anybody to tell you that the ritual’s gotten out of hand, and you dive into the supply kit, searching desperately for something that can counteract a demonic curse. Something whips past you from the opposite direction, slicing your cheek. You don’t look up. You’re busy.

Shigaraki catches Overhaul’s message and pries it open, reads it aloud. “Your boss wants you to play a song. How are you supposed to play a song when phones don’t work in here?”

“Tell me you don’t really think that music only comes out of phones.” You pull a music box out of the bottom of the supply kit, dust it off, and open it. No music comes out – you must have to turn the handle. “Be quiet.”

Music begins to emanate from the box after two turns of the handle – a thin, quiet voice, singing what sounds like a lullaby in a language you don’t speak. You doubt the cultists speak it, either. But it doesn’t matter what the words are, or even that the singer is at least a little tone-deaf. All that matters is the glamour that drips from every note, stronger and heavier than anything you’ve ever called up. It’s a faery’s voice, and it’s already affecting Shigaraki. He sways sideways, falls hard against a column, the curse he mumbles more slurred than his voice was when he was drunk. The glamour is almost overpowering. If you weren’t half-fey, you’d fall prey to it yourself.

It’s strong enough to stagger Shigaraki and disorient you, but it’s not having much of an effect on the ritual itself. The vibrations are still traveling through the air, and worse, you can feel them in the ground beneath your feet. You keep turning the handle of the music box with no change in the strength of the demonic curse emanating from the center of the garden. Why isn’t it working?

The answer occurs to you just as Shigaraki speaks up. “It’s too quiet,” he mumbles. “Witch. Make it louder.”

You can’t. The despair barely has time to settle in before the answer occurs to you. You can’t make the voice from the music box louder, but you can make sure it’s not the only fey voice in the garden. You clear your throat, coat your voice in your glamour, and begin to sing.

It’s nothing – some song you liked when you could walk freely in the human world, the first thing that comes to mind. You make an effort to match the key the music box is singing in, and you project both your voice and your glamour, doing your best to build on what the faint fey voice is already providing. You think it might be working. You’re not sure.

What you do know is that Shigaraki’s figured you out. You can see him out of the corner of your eye, still slumped against the column, staring unabashedly at you as you turn the handle of the music box and sing. You’re able to console yourself with the thought that your uniform hides your patchwork fey skin before you realize what a stupid thing that is to think about – right now, or ever. Your throat is starting to hurt, your vocal cords straining under the weight of the glamour. You aren’t sure how much longer you can keep this up.

The vibrations from the ritual begin to fade just as your voice begins to crack, and it gives you the willpower to hold on a little longer, the notes you sing growing increasingly fractured and hoarse. By the time your voice gives out completely, the demonic energy’s faded to the point where the music box is enough to counter it. Your ears are ringing, so much that you almost miss Chrono’s footsteps as he approaches. He notes Shigaraki, then looks to you. “You should have called for help.”

“From who?” Your voice sounds awful. You cough. “I took care of it.”

“If that demonic energy had gotten into the flux field, it could have destabilized the entire dimension,” Chrono snaps. “Someone as weak as you has no business trying to contain –”

“If she can’t contain it, you shouldn’t have sent her to watch it.” Shigaraki levers himself upright. “Something was off about that ritual. Isn’t it your job to catch things like that? Or are you really okay with a bunch of human cultists sacrificing half-demons in your pocket dimension?”

“Half-demon?” Chrono swears. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“I can smell its blood.” Shigaraki shrugs. “She saved your ass. Give her a bonus or something.”

Chrono handles being told what to do by people other than Overhaul about as well as Rappa handles being told what to do by anybody. His shoulders stiffen, and his hand closes around your upper arm, venting a sharp jolt of magic into you rather than loosing it at Shigaraki. At least, that’s what you think he’s doing. Then the skin on your right arm, itchy and crawling since three days ago, erupts with an itch so sharp and acidic that it almost feels like a burn.

Your arm is on fire. You’ve felt this before, and you know instantly that you can’t leave it a second longer. “I need my break,” you say to Chrono, your voice strained.

He lets you go with a sharp nod. You turn and all but run from the garden, already clawing off your apron.

No time to get back to the servants’ quarters, but Asylum is full of places to hide if you know where to look. And you know where to look. With a master rune like the one you carry, you can open up passageways and closets that even the savviest of guests don’t know exist, and you’ve used them more times than you’d like to admit. You reach the nearest of the passageways and raise the rune to tap against the wall, only for the agonizing itch in your left arm to flare to new heights. Your body contorts in discomfort, and your right hand falls back to your side – and then, so fast that you barely register it, someone slips the rune from around your wrist.

It's Shigaraki, and he’s got enough of a height advantage over you that he can hold the rune out of reach just by extending his arm. You don’t have time for this. You really don’t have time for this. You can feel the fey skin beginning to eat through yours from below. “Give it back!”

“So that was why you wouldn’t let me say I owed you. You’re a faery, not a witch.” Shigaraki’s grinning like he’s figured something out, even though the clue you gave him was a thousand times more obvious than the clue you got a month ago. “Why didn’t you want me to owe you one? My master is powerful. You could have asked me for anything.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Except this.” Shigaraki studies the rune. You reach for it again and he holds out his other hand to forestall you. “You want this, and I want a straight answer. The ritual’s done. Do you want to go get food with me or not?”

The small part of you that’s not panicking, caught in the desperate need to get the rune back, to get away, notices how he’s phrased the question. He knows that faeries can’t lie, and for some bizarre reason, he’s decided to corner you on a question so mundane that you wonder if you’re hallucinating it. Why would he waste a question he thinks you’ll have to answer on something this stupid?

It doesn’t matter, because half-fey can lie as much as they want, and because you’re done playing around. You glamour your left arm, faking a clumsy feint, and when Shigaraki shifts away from it, you snatch the rune from his hand with your right. He’s between you and the wall, so you turn away, pressing the rune against the opposite wall and opening up the passageway there. You dive through it, the relief at being out of the hallway marred only by the fact that Shigaraki followed you in.

The passageway you were aiming for originally had space. This one is a close fit for one person, tight for two, but you’re out of time to be picky. You can’t get your arm out of your dress without unbuttoning it partway. “What are you doing?” Shigaraki asks, clearly startled, as you undo the buttons one-handed and draw your arm from your sleeve. “Are you transforming?”

Even the slightest motion of your arm sets off a wave of pins and needles, and you grit your teeth as you work it free. Bared from wrist to shoulder, your arm looks awful, mottled, bulging in odd places, almost writhing in others – like the fey skin really is trying to claw its way to freedom from the inside out. Seeing what it looks like only hardens your resolve. You dig your fingers into your shoulder, trying to pry up a piece of skin. If you get a good enough grip on the first one, you can peel off the rest in one sheet.

But you can’t get a grip. Your hand is shaking too much, or your nails are too short, or something. You remember too late that the only other time you peeled the skin back, you made the first incision with a pocketknife. Overhaul doesn’t let the staff carry weapons. You don’t have anything on you that’s sharp enough to cut through your skin, and if you can’t – there’s no way you’ll be able to scratch all your skin away before the fey skin eats through. It’ll be agonizing. It’ll take forever. And Shigaraki will be watching you the entire time.

Shigaraki. You turn to him, desperate and hating yourself for it. You know that guests are searched for weapons when they arrive, but maybe – “Do you have anything sharp?”

“Like a knife?” Shigaraki shakes his head. Then his expression shifts, and he raises one hand to his mouth, pressing the pad of his thumb against one of his incisors. You see blood well up where the tooth breaks his skin. “My teeth aren’t as sharp as my master’s –”

If they can draw blood, they’re sharp enough. You beckon him forward. “Please.”

Part of you is expecting him to bargain. Any inhuman would, if they had one of the Fair Folk at their mercy – they’d never get better terms for any deal they wished to make. But Shigaraki steps forward, closing the slight distance between you without asking what you’ll give him in exchange. His hands are dry, his palms rough like before, as they close around your wrist and raise your hand towards his mouth. “Here?”

His breath is hot against your wrist. You shake your head. “My shoulder.”

Some part of you is terrified at the thought of letting a vampire this close to your throat, screaming in terror at the thought of those teeth meeting your skin. Shigaraki edges even closer to you, as close together as you were when you were dragging him drunk down the hall. His mouth brushes against your shoulder, and you freeze in place. What is he waiting for? You don’t need him to peel the skin off for you. You just need him to –

At least one of Shigaraki’s incisors punctures your skin, and you flinch, hiss – less at the pain, and more at the fact that he’s touching you, one hand on your waist and the other around your wrist, keeping your left arm extended and keeping the rest of you close. But you’ve got what you needed from him. You dig your fingers into the breach, get a good grip, and pull.

It hurts when you peel your human skin away from the faery skin that’s grown beneath, but the human skin is already dead. As it breaks contact with your body, it goes ashen, then transparent. There’s next to no blood. The faery skin glistens, slick with serous fluid, as it’s bared to the air for the first time. You mess up a little bit at the end, peeling away a piece of healthy human skin on the back of your hand by accident. It feels like a hangnail, and your entire arm stings. The pain would be worth complaining about if you didn’t know exactly how bad it was before.

Shigaraki’s still way too close to you. You try to sidle away, and he lets go of your waist, but not your arm. He’s peering intently at it, almost fixated. You brace yourself for the kind of comments you’ve heard every time someone’s seen what you really look like. “Wow,” Shigaraki says. “It looks even cooler than I thought.”

You’re not sure you heard him right. “Cool?”

“Don’t fish for compliments. I’m getting to it,” Shigaraki says. He hasn’t looked up from your arm yet. “I thought it would look cool, and I was right. Do you have more of it?”

You’re feeling weirdly lightheaded. You nod, and you can tell Shigaraki’s grinning just by the sound of his voice. “How much more?” he asks. “Can I see?”

That question snaps you out of whatever fog you’ve been floating in. “No,” you say, and pull away from him completely. “You weren’t even supposed to see this.”

“But you’d have been in trouble if I wasn’t here.” Shigaraki’s eyes follow you closely, not just focused on your arm this time. You can feel his gaze roving over you. If you had to guess, you’d say he’s trying to figure out where else you’re hiding fey skin. “I helped.”

He helped you, after you helped him. “We’re even, then,” you say. “Is that why you did it?”

Shigaraki’s not even subtle in how he ducks the question, and before you can press him for an answer, you hear someone or something knocking against the wall outside – a sharp, uneven rattle that startles you both. You start wrestling your arm back into your sleeve. The serous fluid will glue the fabric to the fey skin and removing it will be painful later, but you don’t have a choice. You need to get out there, and you need to beg whoever’s knocking not to tell Overhaul that they found you in the world’s smallest secret passageway with Shigaraki Tomura and your dress unbuttoned.

The knocking intensifies. You miss a button at the collar of your dress and Shigaraki’s hands knock yours aside, undoing it and buttoning it properly again. Is he trying to get you in his debt officially? You decide that’s a problem for later and open the wall again. There’s no one there but one of Overhaul’s paper cranes, battering itself to death against the wall. You grab it clumsily out of the air. Overhaul’s message is blunt and to-the-point – he wants you to assist Chrono in containing the next ritual, which starts in half an hour. Shigaraki is peering over your shoulder. “I can’t read it.”

“That’s because it’s not for you. They can only be read by the person they’re intended for,” you say. Half an hour. That’s not much time. “Look, I have to –”

Another paper crane zips past you, headed for Shigaraki. He whips his head to one side to avoid it, but he read the trajectory wrong. The wing slices into the dry skin on the side of his neck and he swears, clapping his hand over the now-bleeding paper cut. You capture the crane instead and hand it to him. His expression, already annoyed, deepens into frustration and discomfort as he reads. “What does it say?” you ask.

“What does yours say?”

“Mine says I have half an hour before I’m supposed to help with the next ritual,” you say. “What about yours?”

“My master wants me to feed while I’m here.” Shigaraki scowls. “I don’t want to feed. I’m hungry.”

He’s hungry, and he helped you, and he’s a guest – but it’s not any of those things that decides your course of action. It’s something else, something you’d go mute rather than admit to out loud. “I’ve got half an hour,” you say. There’s almost certainly something else you’re supposed to be doing with that half an hour. Overhaul can be angry with you later. “We can go get something to eat.”

Shigaraki looks surprised. “Really?”

“Sure.” You can’t figure out where that surprise is coming from. He’s been bothering you about it since before the ritual went sideways. Was he not expecting you to say yes? “And we should cover that cut on your neck.”

Shigaraki pulls his hand away from it, grimacing. “It’s not that bad. I get worse all the time.”

From scratching? “It’s still not a good idea to walk around bleeding in here. Let’s go.”

You steer clear of the infirmary and make your way instead to one of the supply caches, using your master rune to open it, and then to open an alcove where you can patch up Shigaraki’s injury in peace. Shigaraki complains as you try to clean the wound. “Why does he fold those things so sharp, anyway?”

“So people will snap to it faster,” you explain. “Most of us would rather drop what we’re doing and do what he wants than risk getting a papercut like that.”

“Your boss is an asshole.” Shigaraki tilts his head to the side at your request, then freezes. “What are you doing?”

“I just moved your hair. It was in the way.” You don’t care that he’s uncomfortable. After what happened tonight, after how much of you he saw, you feel like he deserves it. You get a fingertip full of some salve from the supply caches and start daubing it onto the cut, to the tune of a sharp hiss. “Sorry. I’m trying to be gentle.”

Shigaraki doesn’t respond to that. It’s quiet as you fish through the supply kit for a bandage, a quiet that feels awkward but not necessarily tense. Shigaraki doesn’t speak again until after you’ve placed the bandage. “Can you use one of your spells on it? Whatever you did last time,” he says. “If my master finds out –”

“It’s a glamour, not a spell,” you say. “No problem.”

A phantom itch travels along your left arm as you set the glamour, fading before you can scratch it in earnest. You store the supply kit, open another passageway that will lead directly to the kitchens, and start off, counting on Shigaraki to follow you. The awkwardness follows, too, and just like before, Shigaraki speaks first. “I get it now. Why you wouldn’t tell me what you were.”

You find yourself tucking your left arm close to your body, shielding it. Shigaraki keeps talking. “You helped me just now. I owe you a favor again. Ask.”

Earlier tonight, you’d have asked him to leave you alone. Now – “We’re even. Don’t worry about it.”

“You can’t do that,” Shigaraki says. “I know how this works. You can’t just cancel a debt because you don’t want anything from the person who owes it.”

“I’m only half-fey. I don’t know which of the rules applies to me,” you say. “You’re off the hook.”

“What if I don’t want to be off the hook?”

You can’t imagine why he’d want to be on the hook. The Fair Folk are notorious for driving cruel and twisted bargains. Whether it’s due to their morality, which doesn’t map onto human morals particularly well, or due to a desire to hurt others, everyone who’s ever found themselves in debt to a faery has been keen to get out of it as quickly as possible. Why on earth would Shigaraki want to carry around a possible debt to you?

You don’t want to ask that question. You stay quiet. “I guess I’ll have to stick around, then,” Shigaraki muses. “See about paying you back.”

You glance at him and find him smirking, or grinning. You can’t tell which. Your glamour is shimmering at the side of his neck, obvious to you but subtle enough to escape his master’s notice, and his lips, which would have cracked at a smile this wide even an hour ago, look smoother than before. You have a bad feeling about why that is – and at the same time, you aren’t as worried about it as you were before. Now that he knows what you are, interacting with him is significantly less stressful than before. It’s not something you’ll look forward to. But it’s not something you’ll dread.

“I guess you have to,” you say, and his smile brightens. Even that’s not enough to dredge up the ambivalence you felt before. “Let’s get some food.”

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura #x reader #reader insert #skin hunger

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sleepy--anon · 6 months

Text

Sapnap’s Revenge Tickle Game

This is something I came up with inspired by @wishitweresummer 's Sap's tickle games

Reblog first, like later please, reblogs do more

Dream happened to be lucky today, he was at Punz's, helping him with some technical difficulties he had. When Sapnap was in a ler mood to this degree, nobody is safe and even so much as making eye contact is dangerous. However, since Dream was gone, George was gonna be his victim, and he had a thirst for revenge. He grabbed a tissue box and made long strides to George's room.

"We're playing a game~" He said as soon as he walked in the room. George had been lucky so far, never falling victim to ler moods like that yet, but he recognized the tone from when Dream fell victim to it on call with him. Dream had warned him after he moved in that running or fighting it will only make it worse for yourself, so all he did was back himself up on the bed a bit, squeaking out a noise of acknowledgment.

"Hold this above your head with both hands~ If you let go or your hands come down, you loose~ Understood~?" George nodded slowly, he knew this was gonna be hard but he feared the consequences of refusing more. He carefully took the tissue box out of Sapnap’s hands, adjusting it in his own, watching Sapnap’s fingers twitch.

"Up, come on~" He urged, climbing on the bed infront of George.

"How long until I win...?"

"If you can make it until I'm satisfied, I'll pay you $500~" While that would normally get George competitive, the time limit being until he was satisfied sent a chill down his spine. Sapnap quirked an impatient eyebrow at George, causing him to reluctantly raise the tissue box over his head.

"Ok~ go~!" Sapnap’s face split into a wide, evil grin as he jumped into action, drilling his thumbs into George’s armpits. Causing him to jump, shriek, somewhat curl in on himself and burst into hysterical laughter. Yet still keeping his arms up.

"THIHIHIS IS UNFAHAHAHAIR!"

"Oh~? And your games with me are~? Wanna explain how fair tic-tac-toe was~?" George flushed dark red, the longer he stayed the worse the sensation got. And worse, because he was keeping his own hands up, he felt more vulnerable and in turn, more sensitive. When Sapnap walked his fingers down his ribs, one hand dropped to protect them.

"Ah ah ah~ both hands on the tissue box George~ Remember~?" George wanted to growl but he swallowed his pride and forced his hand back up onto the tissue box which was now sort of resting on top of his head. Sapnap resumed his journey, pressing circles into every rib, chuckling evilly at how George twisted and thrashed at the sensation. When Sapnap pressed into the bottom ribs George’s hands shot to Sapnap’s wrists. Letting the tissue box fall between their laps as he held his wrists out from him.

"Ohohohokay! Alrihihihight, yohohou wihihihin! Yohohou wihihihihin, I lohohohose." George heaved, trying to catch his breath as Sapnap tsked at him.

"You're right, you did loose George~ now you have to endure your punishment~" George’s blood went cold, looking at Sapnap with wide, terrified eyes.

"P-p-punishment?" His hands shook from where they were holding Sapnap’s wrists. He never mentioned a punishment when they started. Sapnap surged forward to press a kiss to George's nose before pulling him so that his back was against his chest.

"Yes George, punishment~ I really don't know how you thought I would be any nicer to you than you've been to me~" Sapnap pulled George’s wrists behind his own neck, tying them together with a belt. Pressing a kiss to his jaw before leaning backwards with his legs looped around his hips, stretching him out. George whimpered at the feeling, suddenly feeling a sense of dread when he noticed where Sapnap’s hands were hovering.

"NO! COME ON SAP THIS IS CRUEL!" Sapnap scoffed at him, dropping his clawed hand onto his lower ribs cage and his knuckles on the other side. Using two different unbearable techniques was driving George to insanity, especially with how trapped he was, he could only kick.

"STOHOHOP IHIHIHIHIT SAHAHAHAPNAHAHAP PLEHEHEHEASE!" George was starting to see stars. He got a few seconds of relief when Sapnap reached over, grabbed one arm and pulled it to stretch the one side more, to make his ribs poke out. Sapnap then honed in on that one rib that made him loose the challenge. Hyper focusing on that one, ignoring George’s intense thrashing, screaming, begging.

"SAHAHAHAP PLEHEHEHEASE NOHOHOT THEHEHERE! I CAHAHAHAN'T TAHAHAHAKE IHIHIHIHIT! PLEHEHEHEHEASE! STOHOHOHOP I'M GOHOHOHONNA WEHEHEHEE MYSELF PLEHEHEHEASE!" Sapnap finally took pity on George, feeling like he took him to the same limit. He released him and rubbed his ribs and chest.

"Sometimes you boys need a reality check on what you two have been dishing out, because it seems like you two are bitting off more than you can chew."

#lee!georgenotfound #ler!sapnap #lee!george #dsmp tickle #sleepy's fics #mcyt tickle fic #mcyt tickle

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sigridhawke · 11 months

Note

🌹🌾🌺🌼💫 tell me more about those crimson ocs!

Absolutely!

Since you mentioned ‘those OCs’ lmao I will answer these with the group shared last night which was Rune, Odin, Thane, and Felix! This is also going to get really long so I’ll do the first question then the rest under the cut.

🌹 Where in the world does your OC feel most at home? Is there any reason why? If it’s not the place they were born, where were they born? Is there a certain somebody that makes them feel at home where ever they may be? What does home mean to them?

Rune:

Rune feels most at home in his actual village home. He’s traveled the world before, didn’t really like it. At home he can sit on the edges of the village or in the mountain ranges leading up to it catching travelers as they come by an intentionally make their lives worse through riddles just cause he can. It’s what sparks joy for him and somehow hasn’t landed him on the side of misfortune yet. Home is the place where he can be himself without consequence.

Odin:

Odin was originally from across the seas before the cataclysms, home ended up becoming the place he built and the culture he crafted. He was the initiator of dragons making an ancient pact with nagas which lead to all dragons having essentially an ‘assigned naga.’ So being in his element makes him feel most at home/most useful. After he lost his soul whoever, things got a little complicated, but he did get it back and the man who initially planned to fight him to the death ended up saving him/he fell in love with him. While their relationship is complex, home is his territory/lair, Vespera, and his partner Thane.

Thane:

Home is a place Thane has to relearn/rediscover ever 30 years. He has the misfortune of being caught in a timeloop as a consequence of the magic used to retrieve Odin’s soul. No matter how long of those 30 years it takes tho, home (9 times out of 10) ends up being where Odin is.

Felix:

Home is and always will be Lunaria Kingdom and wherever his dear older sister is. Born and raised in the kingdom, no matter how far he goes, Lunaria will always be home.

Rest of the questions under the cut!

[Send me Soft OC Asks] [Crimson Tag]

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them

These will be memes I will not apologise haha.

Rune:

He’s an insufferable bastard. But he’s my insufferable bastard (affectionate)

Odin:

No matter how many times I forget, no matter how much it pains him, he is always so patient and ready to accept whatever I make of our relationship, be it romantic or not. (Thane)

Thane:

I love a man who can kick my ass (lmfao)

Felix:

(Imagine how one would fondly describe their favourite fire emblem character, probably something like that)

🌺What does your OC do to calm down when they’re scared or after a nightmare? Do they have any special comfort items or need to be reassured by a specific person? How do they handle this if they’re alone?

Rune:

Not much scares Rune, he’s one of those idiots that would probably put his hand on a stove element out of curiosity and go ‘damn that was a bad idea.’ He does not fear dying for the foxfolk can’t die by normal means. If however he met the old god that broke out of his village’s mountain, then he would probably feel very vulnerable wondering if he might actually die.

Odin:

Odin, like all dragons, does not dream. Not because he can’t but because the dreamscape is a no go zone for dragons who don’t want to lose their soul to the god that roams there. His fear often extends to Thane and his people and their safety. He’s very adamant on trying to talk problems out to avoid escalation. Perhaps his biggest fear is that the curse attached to himself and Thane cannot be broken, or what will happen to Thane if the curse is broken seeing as Thane is only human.

Thane:

When scared he will feek comfort in Muse (talking to the creature and/or hugging/patting it like one would a beloved pet) or hide away in Odin’s library. He has been keeping journals of his past ‘lives/cycles’ and if something terrifies him, his first point is often to look for comfort/answers in his past or seek out Odin.

Felix:

When scared Felix will seek out his sister. It’s not a common occurrence but in those moments he has doubts or fear, nothing is more reassuring to him than her words (and her baking). He’s also partial to sitting on rooftops and looking at the stars and moons to try and clear his mind.

🌼 Who are this characters friends and found family? How did they meet, how long have they been friends for, could they ever be something more than just friends? What do they look for in a friend or a romantic partner?

Rune:

Rune’s friends are anyone he decides is his friend in the moment, but also all the young fox spirits who appreciate his chaotic tendencies. He has not partner and no intention to find one, he is just out to live his best life until the Queen tells him to stop. For all his chaos he has a lot of respect for his village.

Odin:

Odin and Thane have an enemies to friends to lovers but stuck in a timeloop vibe going for them. Friends tho, Odin doesn’t have too many as he tends to outlive them all and so keeps many at arms length. He does come to treasure his time with Princess Natasha of Lunaria after learning she has magic that did not exist in his time/when the curse began and in later story to he has greater appreciation for her and makes an effort to travel across the sea to see her.

Thane:

Thane’s friend group changes every cycle, while he’s a little more reserved he’s also open to interaction and his circumstances are pretty widely known throughout the kingdom even if there is rumours and misconceptions on what actually happens. A constant in every cycles is Odin and his summon Muse who has not returned to the dreamscape ever since the curse began. There is a familiarity that always brings him back.

Felix:

Most of Felix’s friends are other members of the guard, while he’s captain there are two other guards Phyllis and Sawne, who have all climbed the ranks around the same time as himself. He has a soft place in his heart for Princess Natasha too as he was often employed to help find the Princess when she wanted to play games or avoid her studies. He sees her in part as a little sister.

💫 What is your favourite fact about this character and why?

Rune:

The horns are fake and he wears them just cause they look cool lmao. In his original story they were real and moving him over to this story it just felt wrong to take they away so now he’s just one of the foxfolk who wears a horn headband cause he can lmao. He’s an earth spirit/elemental but he acts like he’s an elemental of the stars and that’s also fun since he’s embodying the ‘I will cause chos on purpose’ vibe.

Odin:

He was originally designed by my beloved friend as part of a ‘create the most catering OC for your friend’ challenge and I absolutely fell in love with him. As such he holds a very fond place in my heart.

Thane:

When I decided he was going to be a summoner I had the big brain idea to make his main/only summon my art muse and honestly that was the best idea ever because I love my muse so much and it’s fun to actually have the big cat in a story.

Felix:

He is a very old OC so I have a soft spot for him. He’s been through three or four iterations? Stories I never ended up finishing but throughout them all he’s always had the one arm, idk why I had that design choice initially but I really love that about him. Him how being captain of the guard and a reoccurring character in the story there is a strange sense of pride I think? Highschool me had him so emo looking and now he’s living his best life and I love that for him.

#original story crimson #tags asks and replies

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finelinevogue · 3 years

Note

ellie imagine bucky trying to teach you how to defend yourself like… that’s hot

yes hun that is very hot…;

Your bones ached and ached.

For three hours now Bucky and you had been learning self-defence, well Bucky had been teaching you. After a few hairy instances over the past couple of months you allowed Bucky the chance to get to train you in defending yourself, so when the next tricky situation arose you had a better chance of staying safe.

However, you were starting to regret it now. He hadn’t let you stop training for three hours and every muscle in your body just ached. It was sore everywhere and you couldn’t help but think that this was all a waste of time. You hadn’t successfully managed to block Bucky away yet, so what makes you think you’d be able to with someone worse out on the streets?

“Buck— I need t-to stop.” You panted, holding your hand out to stop his movement as your other hand went to rest on your thigh as you bent over to catch your breathe.

Once you could feel his standing down you lowered your hand to your other thigh and stayed bent over, working on the breathing patterns that you and Bucky had been working on to help control yourself.

“Would a killer stop, Y/N? Hm?” He questioned, making you sigh in annoyance that he kept on using this as an excuse.

“At this point, Buck, i’d just let them take me.” You replied, your breathe starting to regain itself but the sweat still vigorously ran down your forehead and the back of your neck.

Bucky’s metal arm made you flinch as it’s cold surface touched your warm body. You were only wearing a vest top and sports leggings, so he didn’t have much choice when it came to touching you where you weren’t unclothed. His touch made you look up and Bucky used it to his advantage to pull you up completely, making you stand straight in front of him. He looked between your eyes as he kept ahold of you, no doubt to make sure you didn’t fall over from feeling faint.

“Don’t—” He started speaking quite harshly, before biting his tongue, taking a deep breathe and starting again, “Don’t say things like that to me. Ever.”

You looked into his perfect eyes and saw the vulnerability within them. He was terrified of what could happen to you one day and the consequences you’d face as a result of him not training you properly, or effectively. You swallowed back the guilt as you watched disappointment cloud his own eyes because of himself. You hated that he put your safety on his shoulders, but that’s just who he was. He would always be your Bucky, but he would also always be your protector.

“I’m sorry.” You said, not knowing whether you were apologising for your words or for your lack in ability for defending yourself. Maybe both.

Bucky let go of your arm and turned away, running his tongue over his teeth before he could say anything more that he’d no doubt later regret. He went over to the other side of the training room, to pick up his water bottle and took a swig of it as he kept his back to you.

Walking over to him you felt even worse now that he was visibly shutting himself down. You reached him and hovered your hands over his back, before allowing your hands to snake around his waist and hug him from behind. His muscles and whole frame instantly relaxed to your touch and you leant your forehead onto his back as you kept on whispering ‘sorry’ and ‘I love you’ over and over again, hoping that at least one time it would click.

“Practice with me one more time and then we’re done for the day.” Bucky spoke up, not saying ‘I love you’ back or even acknowledging your apology. He was straight back into teacher mode.

Before you could reply Bucky twisted around in your arms, ready to swing his fist in your face but you easily ducked out of the way. Stepping on the inside of his foot, you managed to trip him up enough to send a punch to his stomach only for him to then grab on your hand and pull you towards him. His arms managed to get you into a chokehold, obviously not putting as much pressure as killer would but still enough for it to hurt and be difficult to get out of.

“Could’ve at least let me say yes.” You mumbled out as you thought of the best way to get out of this hold.

Slamming your elbow back into his stomach he let out a groan, before you stumbled out of his hold. As he was grunting from the stomach pain, you shot your leg out to try and kick him in the balls but Bucky was faster and caught your foot before you could make impact.

“If you don’t mind, i’d like to save them for later.” Bucky told you, talking about his balls mid-fight. You wanted to laugh, but you also wanted to win this combat so you kept your straightest face on.

Spinning around with his grip still on your foot, you twisted his arms enough for him to have to let you go. Whilst he was shaking himself off you slid underneath his legs and pulled at his ankles so he went flying to the ground, landing on his chest and heavily winded. He tried to sit up, but you were quicker and scrambled on top of him as he turned around until you were straddling him, practically sat on his hardening dick, and pretending to point a gun at his head.

You’d done it.

A smile on his face said it all. He was proud of you.

“So are we done?” You asked sarcastically, knowing that you were from the position that you had him in. Bucky laughed a little before moving his hands to rest behind his head so his muscles all flexed.

“I don’t know, plum, from the position you’re sat in i’d say we’re only getting started.”

#finelinevogue bucky barnes masterlist #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes finelinevogue #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes blurbs #sebastian stan fluff #finelinevogue sebastian stan masterlist #sebastian stan masterlist #ask finelinevogue #anon response #finelinevogue blurbs #bucky barnes fight

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gojology · 3 years

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— Gojo and Nanami | Their Insecurities

pairing : insecure gojo x gender neutral reader, insecure nanami x gender neutral reader warnings : unedited, probably some misspellings, maybe some cursing, i probably dont make sense at all wordcount : 1703 a/n : this is so bad dear god please forgive me for deeming this as content

GOJO SATORU ‧₊˚✩彡.

☆ Gojo’s insecure about his lack of bodyhair. His lack of facial hair and arm hair worries him. Being babyfaced wasn’t something positive in his eyes- no, he wishes he was physically more masculine.

Your eyes meet his, the sun rays bathing both of you in an orange filtered light. His mouth is slightly opened, skin flush to the touch. After a night of intimacy, your ready for another round, pushing your palm towards his forehead. “Good morning, Satoru.” you say, voice slightly wavering even in the most private presence, without the formalities and what not, he’s surprisingly normal, and it’s taken you a bit to adjust to that. He’s warm, but it’s the good kind of warm, and it shows on his silly, dopey smile.

You guess it wasn’t the time for more sex, so you resist your urges, directing the energy to something else.

Gradually, your palms find themselves on his cheeks, and you pinch them slightly, giving him a look you hope is loving- because you really do mean it. Your rest assured, as the curve to his swollen lips grew even wider. The sounds of bird chirped as your fingers danced across his jawline, finally at your final stop, his chin.

You tip his chin up, and sure enough, hickeys are adorning his neck. A feeling of joy and honor fills you for a brief second, you were the one that was allowed to see him vulnerable, given the pass into his locked up heart. He finally breaks the silence between the two of you, pushing away your slack hand delicately.

It’s peculiar, there’s a tremble to his lips, like he’s scared, or about to burst into a fit of tears. You think it should be the other way around, but here you were, arms held close to your chest, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation, bated breath preventing you from questioning the sudden change in tone.

“Hey, um, Y/N, weird ass question, but, am I hairy? Like, wooly mammoth hairy?”

You can’t tell if it’s sarcasm or not.

Trying not to make a face, you shrug your shoulders. “Well, I mean, not really. You’re actually pretty nonhairy, in terms of uh... The average-” you pause, realizing how drastically his face fell. “-But I do like non-hairy guys! Who would wanna date a wooly mammoth anyways? Hey, baby..” you coo, giving him a tiny peck on the cheek, fluttering your eyelashes. “What’s this about? Hey, you know, you can just be straightforward with me, I don’t mind.”

He doesn’t take a moment of hesitation, exasperatedly blurting out, “Does my lack of.. Hair, bother you?” but it seems he regrets it, your cheeks puffing up, stifling a giggle. Yet, he maintains the bone-chilling eye contact, his eyes are as vivid as ever, so blue it looked like the entrance to heaven. Your immediately lulled, whatever he was going to say was definitely urgent.

“W-What? Are you being serious?” covering your mouth, your voice is muffled, but his face looks absolutely terrified, and you relish in how funny he looked. It wasn’t everyday that he was genuinely frightened, well, maybe he didn’t show it often. “Of course not! Why would I be even remotely worried about bodyhair when I have something way more eye-catching in front of me?”

The shock turns into a sheepish smile, returning for a second time, your heart melting instantly. He takes a long, deep breath, exhaling the tension away, tugging at the covers to go over his chest. You hadn’t realized that he had stolen more than half of the blanket for himself, but you don’t make a fuss about it.

For all the weight he carried on his sagging shoulders, you’re sure the warmth is appreciated.

NANAMI KENTO ‧₊˚✩彡.

☆ Nanami thinks he’s a boring person, through and through. Outside of work, he doesn’t see why anyone would want him. Some days, he wonders if he should pick up on Gojo’s personality, telling jokes and being sarcastic and what not.

The fine, white porcelain Nanami had gifted you was beautiful, to say the least. Nanami frequently shone it until it glimmered in the light, wiping any smudge or speck of dirt that dared to get on his beloved tea set that he gifted to you a few months prior. Gold trim, alongside depictions of birds fluttering about, and your favorite flowers. It’s perfect for you, and that’s why he had gotten it. His eyes had instantly brightened, picturing your beaming face as you served the two of you some tea.

But he wonders, would you be happier if he perhaps gifted you something more up to date in comparison to the porcelain? He had enough money to buy you the world, bags, jewelry, he’d often used to hear stories of his co-workers giving their wives expensive, well, anything, and they’d be over the moon. A sudden realization grew inside of him at the thought of this:

Was he too out-of-date?

The thought went rampant in his usually collected mind, twisting and turning at night, only the sound of you, deep in sleep, could calm the troubled man down. As a consequence to his overthinking, he got little to no rest, and if he got little to no rest, his eyebags would turn their ugly, sneering faces in his direction.

And so, as he’s baking tea cakes to go along with the afternoon tea the two of you would routinely drink, he’s going deep into depth of himself. He’s a good worker, good at...

What was he good at? Aside from work, he can’t see why he’d be of use. Nanami acknowledges he’s stoic, which may be good in some cases, but often, everyone runs away from him because he appears as scary with those cold, calculating eyes. As opposed to Gojo, everyone enjoyed how lenient of a teacher he was. Well, Nanami isn’t sure on that, maybe aside from Megumi, Nobara, and Yuuji, everyone hated that. Regardless, him and Gojo don’t share something in common.

Gojo has humor, and he doesn’t.

So why did you like him?

Nanami’s subconsciously drumming his long, bony fingers against the counter, eyes studying the ceiling like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Steadily, an acrid smell completely overwhelmed your senses- now, you’re hacking into your arm, and finally, Nanami comes back to Earth.

He blinks a few times, like he’s drinking in his surroundings, before he realizes the tea cakes are completely burning into a crisp.

Now, he’s on heightened alert, yanking open the handle to the oven and fanning out the flames with a random oven mitt he had hastily grabbed for. Beads of sweat are developing on his skin, before finally, you rush in, still hacking up a storm with a large pot of freezing water in your shaking hands.

Nanami curses himself for ever appearing as informal, but then he remembers he’s infront of his significant other, he didn’t have to put on an act. His face relaxes, and he opens his mouth to speak, to apologize, but he’s paused- by you. You raise your palm up at him, the other hand opening up a window looking over the garden.

“Nana.” he freezes completely, the affectionate nickname was specially reserved for confrontations like this. You spoke softly, which, for some reason, was significantly worse than you screaming into his ear. Your eyes follow suit, staring at his collar, loosening his tie. He winces, but Nanami’s not sure why he does. You had touched him millions of times, so why was it now that he didn’t accept it?

“Yes, my love?” he finally breathes out, wrapping a strong, gentle arm around your waist just loosely. You place your thumb just below his lower lip, your index finger rubbing his plush lips all at the same time. The exchange is purely affectionate, yet, he’s still tense.

“What has gotten into you?” you murmur.

“I- Nothing, darling, I’ll bake another-”

“No.” is all you say before you grab him by the chin, unwavering. Usually, those piercing eyes of his are emotionless, something shocking. The eyes are the gateway to the soul, so why is it that it’s blocked off? But you guess it wasn’t the case here, he stared back with the same level of intensity, fear and peculiarity. You stay in that position for a little, savoring just how much you must mean to him, it wasn’t everyday he was vulnerable and let you inside. Your breathing is heavy, eyelids heavy as well due to his routinely ruckus every night, but you’re determined to erase any trace there was left of that. You kiss him. It’s sloppy, yet chaste. A fight for dominance usually occurs between the two of you, and almost routinely, Nanami wins, but this time, he lets you do the work.

Your lips never once trail away from his own. Heavy breathing through nostrils, hands roaming where it shouldn’t at such an early time, but who gave a fuck about the rules? It wasn’t a workplace, and you’d never let it be one. He clings onto your figure, you savor his muscular physique. Not once do his hands not roam, your flesh was his, and his was yours.

Finally, you pull away, heat rising to your cheeks, tears are beginning to dawn on your glassy eyes. “I’ve listened to you roll around in bed every night, mumbling shit about how you don’t see why I’d want you. You better donate your eyes and brain to charity right now.”

This wasn’t the reaction, or beatdown he was expecting. He flinches at the vivid image he got of you gouging out his eyeballs. “...Why must I do that?

“Because, you don’t use them, obviously. If you took a fucking second of your life to look deeper into your personality below the surface level, you’d see how fucking amazing you are and I love you for that.”

Shaking your head furiously, you shush him up yet again when he finally decides to speak up, tears are beginning to spill down your cheeks. “Shut up, Nana. Shut. Up.” pulling him in for another kiss, your hands grabbing at his shoulder like he was going to let go.

But he never did.

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notsosilentsister · 2 years

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When I was a teenager and more frequently suffering from unrequited crushes, I identified a lot with Gustav Aschenbach in Death in Venice by Thomas Mann. Of course that's the most unhealthy take on unrequited infatuation you could possibly have; it's literally sickening - the protagonist sees a beautiful boy at the beach while on holiday in Venice, becomes so obsessed that he ignores talks of Cholera spreading in the city, which he then catches and dies of.

There's also the pedo angle, which obviously didn't apply to me as a 16-teen year old crushing on a 17-year old. But it's a story about someone trying to sublimate feelings and failing, with horrible consequences and that's a struggle I just could relate to. Infatuation can make you feel very powerless and vulnerable, and the story captures that well.

And even though the sublimation fails, you do get some pointers as to how the process works, for better or worse. The protagonist is a composer, so it's also very much a story about art. The art in the story might have failed to help its protagonist, but the art of the story did somewhat help me.

Of course, the thing that stuck most with as a teenage reader is the ugly side of the unspoken crush. I didn't even draw the connection to the pedo angle - I actually totally missed the pedo angle! I thought all the angst was about being homosexual and ugly - but it's very obvious that the infatuation makes it impossible for Aschenbach to see the object of his desire as anything but an object. And I could sense how that would also happen to me if I wasn't careful. Not because I'm particularly bad and awful, but because that's just a very common dynamic in such a situation.

A crush is a temporary madness; it inevitably distorts your perspective. It's also, always, per necessity, deeply ego-centric. It can't be about the other person - you don't actually know them, and any unacknowledged infatuation necessarily prevents you from truly getting to know them. The moment you acknowledge the infatuation, it's either reciprocated, and you're actually dating, or rejected, and you have to give the other person space. But as long as you're just crushing on them, you're not getting to know them. Even if you spend a lot of time with them, the relationship remains necessarily shallow because of your lie by omission. So whatever you're feeling, it's ultimately all about yourself. And that's okay, I think. As long as you always keep that in mind and act accordingly.

Now I'm old, and I no longer seem to have the stamina to properly carry a torch for someone. Turns out I really miss it! I have a much more positive outlook on crushes now. A secret crush might prevent you from truly getting to know the other person, but it's a great opportunity to learn more about yourself. In retrospect, I think that all my hopeless crushes were really good for my personal development. Lean into the ego-centricity. See it as a prompt for some navel-gazing. Why did you pick that person? What does it tell you about yourself? Is there something about them you admire, that you might start to embody yourself? A shadow-self you've been supressing? Some unexplored potential?

A temporary madness can be great gift, because it's temporary. Those feelings of powerlessness and vulnerability might carry some truth we can't often bring ourselves to face. But such truths can also be a gift. A hopeless crush can be destabilizing, but sometime your life might need a bit of destabiliziation; too much order can be stiffling. A crisis can be an opportunity for growth. You can, in fact, get quite a lot out of an hopeless crush, without ever dragging the other person into it.

#infatuation #unrequited feelings #death in venice #thomas mann #personal #journal

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vanserraseris · 3 years

Note

END OF PART XII - So things get a little darker in this part. There are mentions of Jesminda’s death and Beron acts pretty horribly. Just a warning that there is parental abuse in this part. Also, I took canon and ignored some of it while writing this, but it is what it is, thanks to everyone for reading.

really fuckin prepare yourself for this one

Prince of Ashes. Part XII.

masterlist.

Eris had never laid a hand on Lucien.

Since Lucien had been born, Eris had always spoken to him in the softest tone he could manage and had always been as gentle with him as he’d been able.

Lucien had stopped sobbing, but every so often his breath would hitch. Eris tried to ignore the dread that was sinking into his bones, one hand tightly gripping Lucien’s arm, the other on the back of his neck. Eris had never handled any of his brothers so aggressively.

Eris had held him back, held him down, as his lover begged for her life. Jesminda. Lucien had cried and yelled and begged for her life as well. He’d begged for Eris to let him go to her. Eris hadn’t granted him that wish. Lucien had been so desperate he’d even begged Cato to let him go. Cato had merely shook his head, shared a brief, vulnerable, knowing look with Eris as they had continued to hold him.

Eris knew he would never forget the way Lucien had looked up at him from where he’d been crouched on the floor of the throne room. The accusatory expression and the hate in his eyes as he’d growled at the male who’d tried to protect him. Eris had practically dragged his youngest brother through the halls of The Forest House, snapping at Lucien to move his feet as he shoved him down the stairs to the dungeon.

Eris knew what his father wanted to do to Lucien, he wanted him to live through the guilt of what had just happened to his lover, and then he’d make an example of him. Jesminda’s death had been brutal, and Eris didn’t want to think about the death Beron had planned for little Lucien. Eris snarled, dumping Lucien into an empty cell. His youngest brother fell to his knees on the stone floor and Eris slammed the gate shut.

He hadn’t had a conversation with Lucien in over two years, and he didn’t necessarily want to have one with Lucien in the dungeon, but anywhere else in the Forest House, and father might see them. Eris ran a hand over his face, “Lucien—”

“You’ve taught me many things, brother,” Lucien croaked, his voice rough sounding from all the yelling, “I didn’t think you would be the one to teach me of betrayal.”

Eris furrowed his auburn brows, taking a step closer to the cell’s gate, “Lucien—”

“I hate you, Eris.”

Eris flinched back as if he’d just been hit. Those were words he’d never thought he’d hear from Lucien’s mouth. Little Lucien, who had always looked at Eris as if he’d strung up the moon. Lucien, who he had protected, who he loved. Eris could have laughed, as if he knew what love was. Lucien slowly turned to face Eris, still on the floor. His long red hair was a mess, his usually golden brown skin ashen, his broad shoulders hunched.

“I hate you.”

Of course he did, Eris thought, of course Lucien hated him. Eris had made his choice, and if he had the chance to choose again, it would still be Lucien. Eris was surprised at the flames in Lucien’s eyes, flames that did not belong in Autumn, but Eris’s face remained blank. It was better that Lucien hated him, Eris decided. If Eris had his way, Lucien would be far away from The Forest House before nightfall, and Eris had never been particularly fond of goodbyes.

Lucien looked up at him, barely resembling the brother Eris had grown to love. His voice cracked as he whispered a broken, “Why?” Lucien was giving Eris a chance to explain himself. They were brothers, Eris had watched him grow up, Lucien had softened his jagged edges. Eris wanted to fall to his knees in front of Lucien, beg for him to listen, just as Eris had begged Beron to spare his youngest brother. Eris wanted to tell Lucien everything.

He wanted to tell Lucien about their mother’s affair, about the ridiculous vow he’d made, about the vow that stopped mattering because Eris would have protected him regardless. He wanted to tell Lucien about Helion, and his Day Court magic, and how to break the spell that had been put on him as a toddler. But Eris didn’t know how Lucien would react, what the consequences of revealing such things would be.

Eris wouldn’t tell Lucien anything even if he wanted to, he wasn’t that selfish. He could protect Lucien one last time. Instead, Eris sneered, showing Lucien the face he showed the rest of Prythian. “Because you should have known better.” The strange light in Lucien’s eyes flickered, going out completely. Eris had fucking burned the relationship they’d built up all these years to the ground with one sentence. There was not a single chance of saving this now.

With one last look at the devastation on his youngest brother’s features, Eris went looking for Rufus. Rufus was the only one who would help him, who would help Lucien. He didn’t have to look far. Rufus was pacing at the top of the stairs.

“What are we going to do?” Rufus asked, his voice wavering, “Eris, what are we going to do?” Eris grabbed a hold of his hand roughly, shoving the large key to Lucien’s cell inside it.

“I’m going to find father — distract him — you’re going to wait a good half hour, and you’re going to get him out.” Rufus was smart, he’d find a way.

Rufus’s russett eyes were wide as he said, “Where will he go?” When Eris didn’t respond right away, Rufus grabbed his arm, “Eris, he can’t stay here.”

“I know, I know, I’ll figure it out,” Eris snapped. He wasn’t angry at Rufus, not at all. He was angry at himself. “I need to go.” Rufus’s face went pale as he nodded.

Eris had been expecting Rufus to let go of his arm, but instead, he pulled Eris close to him into a quick hug. Eris stiffened like he did with most affection, but he appreciated the sentiment. At least Rufus didn’t hate him, not yet. Before Eris could get his arms around Rufus, his younger brother had already let go, winnowing away without a word. Eris took a breath as he started walking down the empty hallway. He needed to gather his thoughts.

He would not think about the innocent female he couldn’t save. He would not think about the way he’d gotten down on his knees as Beron sat on his throne. He would not think about how Lucien hated him. Eris had more important things to think about. He had to think about how his mother was feeling. He had to think about how he had shown a great weakness. He had to think about how he would get Lucien out of this cauldron-damned house.

Eris pushed the doors to the throne room open, the silence in the large space a stark contrast to the screams that had echoed in it what felt like mere moments before. Eris didn’t know where his mother had gone, what Beron had done to her, but she wasn’t there. “And what do you have to say for yourself,” the sound of his father’s voice cut through the silence like a battle axe.

Beron was only standing a few feet away from him, but with each step Beron took towards his heir, Eris fought his instinct to take a step back. Eris did not want to say anything, his eyes skipped over the stained marble floor in the center of the room before he met his father’s furious gaze. The throne room smelled like apple blossoms.

Beron grunted, “I thought I raised you well,” the ash-tipped whip in his father’s hand was uncurled, the heavy golden rings on his fingers catching on the light coming in through the windows. Eris remained silent, knowing that whatever he had to say wouldn’t matter. His heart was beating too quickly, Eris noticed, and hoped his father couldn’t hear it.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Beron spoke, “This is for your own good and it is a lesson you should have learned centuries ago.” His father frowned, “I blame myself.” Beron lifted a hand and placed it on the back of Eris’s neck, the golden rings cool despite the heat of his father’s palm. If Eris had been anyone else, that heat would have burned him.

Beron pressed down hard against Eris’s neck, “You begged like a fool,” his father seethed, the hand at his neck pushing down harder so that Eris had to shift his balance, “And for a useless, worthless, seventh son.” When Beron elbowed him, Eris saw stars. The hand his father had against his neck had kept his head in place, and Eris felt the gush of blood flow from his nose over his mouth. “I have never been more disappointed,” Beron growled, shoving Eris to his knees.

“Sons of Autumn do not beg,” he spat the last word at Eris, eyes flaming as he struck Eris in the face once more. Eris guessed the rings were what made it hurt so much worse. That, or the fact that his father never really hit his face. Beron knew the value of beauty and had married for it. His father was plain, simple for a high lord. Beron had been smart, choosing someone as lovely as the Lady of Autumn to be his wife.

As Beron struck Eris in the face again, Eris figured that his father meant to leave a mark so that he would remember to never beg again. “Kill the girl and spare him?” Beron scoffed, “When a forest fire starts, Eris, does it spare anything in its path?” Eris nearly winced, but he’d been desperate when he’d tried to strike that bargain. “Does it?” Beron growled.

Eris met his father’s flaming gaze, lifted his chin. “I’ve seen stranger things occur, High Lord.”

Beron looked at Eris closely, very clearly unhappy with that response. “10,” his father stated, and Eris almost breathed a sigh of relief, he could take 10 and still move after. Eris would need to move to get Lucien out of Autumn. “10 for insolence, 10 for disobedience, and 10 because no child of mine will resort to begging.” Eris could have burned the entire Forest House to the ground at that moment. The rage he felt was consuming and he knew his amber eyes were glowing with that anger.

With each crack of the whip against his back, Eris tried to bite back his sounds of pain. At some point, Eris had fallen forward and shaking arms kept him from crashing into the marble tiles. Eventually, he couldn’t stop the pained grunts that escaped him. When Beron was finished, he threw the whip against the floor, moving to stand in front of his heir. Eris’s arms were still shaking, but he bit his tongue to keep quiet, tasting blood.

Beron squatted down, Eris kept his eyes to the floor, gaze fixed on the now dried drops of his blood on the marble. “All this, for what?” Eris didn’t answer, and Beron continued. “I would have been merciful, given him a quick death, had you not asked me to spare him. I’ll do it slowly now,” Beron hissed. “I’ll kill him and make you watch, maybe I’ll make you do it.” Eris would have mumbled a broken please if he thought it would help. He hoped Rufus had found a way to get Lucien out.

“Look at me.” His father’s words were sharp. Eris slowly lifted his head. He must have done it a little too slowly for Beron’s liking. He barely saw a flash of gold - his father’s rings - and felt a sharp pain on the side of his head. Eris heard more than felt the crack of his nose as he crashed into the tiles.

Eris felt hands grabbing his face what felt like seconds later.

“Wake up, you bastard, wake up.”

Eris sucked in a pained breath, biting his tongue to stop the groan he wanted to make. Eris felt the hands move from his face to his arm, he heard the jangling of a chain and his eyes snapped open, his head jolting up. His father didn’t usually throw him in the dungeons after a beating, but he must have guessed that Eris wouldn’t simply sit by and wait for Lucien’s execution. He pulled against the restraint on his hand.

“Stop that.” An order, a command. It took Eris a moment to realize it was not his father, just Priam, holding up his arm as he tried using key after key to get the handcuff off his wrist. Priam looked like he’d run through a windstorm. His long hair was messy, like he’d been raking his fingers through it all night, and a large, purple bruise had bloomed on the side of his jaw.

“What’s happened?” Eris asked. His voice sounded hoarse and Eris wondered how long he’d been out.

“Rufus got Lucien free without anyone noticing, but now father’s sent Cato, Owain, and Maddox after him.” Priam let out a frustrated sigh as he pulled Eris’s arm in an awkward position, “Father locked mother in her chambers, gave Rufus the beating of his life, and now he wants little Lucien’s head brought back to him on a stick. Direct orders.”

“Hurry up,” Eris snapped in his panic. His face really hurt, and he ran his tongue over his teeth, making sure they were all still there.

“I can’t hurry if you're moving,” Priam snarled. Eris froze, but Priam continued speaking. “Before you start worrying, mother and Rufus are fine and I don’t think they’ll do it. Kill Lucien, I mean.” Eris didn’t know how much he could trust that. He’d seen Cato kill people without a second thought, had done the very same thing himself. He’d seen Owain and Maddox in battle — they were ruthless.

Eris was almost certain they would do it. All of the Vanserras barely considered the orders their father gave them, his fucking dogs was what they’d all become, not his sons. “Where is he going?” Eris asked. Eris didn’t know why Priam was there. Priam hardly ever got involved when their father was angry.

“Spring. He’s befriended the beast it seems.” Eris could get a message to Tamlin easily. This could work in his favour.

“And why are you helping me?” Eris couldn’t help but ask.

Priam continued fiddling with the keys, “I owe Lucien.” He let out a low, frustrated growl, “Why does he have so many keys?” Eris wanted to know why Priam owed Lucien, and how he’d gotten a set of their father’s personal keys, but he didn’t get the chance to ask. Priam finally got the chain off as he muttered, “The beating I’m going to get for this…”

Eris struggled to get to his feet, his back burning with every movement, “Thank you, Priam.”

“Don’t thank me,” he mumbled, helping Eris stand. “If anyone asks, I had nothing to do with this.” Priam sighed as Eris rushed away from him, “And perhaps pay a visit to a healer, your nose is shattered.”

Eris waved him off, nearly tripping as he went up the stairs. Everything was going to be alright, Eris told himself. Rufus had gotten Lucien out, and Eris was going to get Tamlin to help him. Everything was going to be alright.

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mrsfrecklesmarauders · 3 years

Text

Wolfstar Part 2

The next morning, Sirius woke up with a huge grin in his face. He was a bloody idiot. Never in a million years, would he have believed his little excursion would turn up that way. But that’s what Remus provoked on him, he acted like an idiot.

Sirius rushed his fingers through his lips, searching for the lingering taste of Remus’. It had been wonderful, and Sirius wanted to do it again.

But the fantasy was over as James opened his curtains in a beat, making Sirius jump.

“The hell!”

“Good morning, Pads” James smirked “What?” he asked looking at Sirius’ shocked face “Did I interrupt a wet dream?”

James didn’t have the habit of being subtle or having manners. And that was exactly the reason why Walburga and Orion hated him. And that’s the reason, Sirius loved him.

“What?” Sirius tried not to blush.

Every ‘indecent’ topic was forbidden at The Noble House of Black. James was confident talking about them, since his parents had explained everything he needed to know without problem. Sirius didn’t understand how. He had pretended he was confident about those subjects: intimacy, kissing, sex, love… But none of it was real, because it had never happened to Sirius. Until now.

So yeah, Sirius did blush remembering the intimacy he had had with Remus last night.

“Oi!... You were!” And James noticed it too

“Padfoot…” James crossed the space between them and squeezed his cheeks.

“Arrrg!! Prongs!” Sirius protested

“Who is the lady who is stealing your dreams?”

There it was the affectionate James, kissing his head with no problem. Walburga would’ve looked at that scene with disgust.

“NOBODY!”

James wouldn’t understand. The complicate situation he was immersed in. James had shouted to the rooftops how much he fancied Evans. But Sirius couldn’t do that with Remus. Remus was everything that was forbidden. And Sirius was so afraid of the consequences. Even though he acted as he didn’t.

Sirius finally pushed James away, the latter laughing openly. Sirius buffed fixing his hair.

“What happened?”

Remus’ voice made Sirius’ heart beat fast. He wasn’t ready to see him. But there it was, his gorgeous morning face poking through the curtains.

“Nothing” Sirius said quickly, trying to avoid his gaze.

“Sirius had a wet dream” James laughed

Sirius rolled his eyes in desperation. If only James knew that the object of his affections was a few meters away, looking adorable with his oversized sweater, his hair was a mess since he moved quite a bit on his sleep, fact Sirius had learned for sharing a dorm with him for seven years. And Merlin, he wanted to run his hands through his hair, just like he did last night.

“Oh, did he?” Remus crossed his arms, smirking.

Sirius couldn’t avoid smiling back. “Probably”

“Aaarrg! And why do we have to know that?” Peter poked his head through Sirius’ curtains too.

“A little bit of privacy here!” Sirius protested.

“Hey, are you naked too?” James teased

“I always sleep naked!” Sirius hated blushing; he was usually the one making people blush. He probably wouldn’t be like this if Remus wasn’t here.

“It’s comfortable” he added when he saw his friends’ expressions. But Remus was different. He was bitting his lower lip. His eyes were moving through Sirius’ sheets, as if he could scan through them. Sirius’ cheeks were definitely on fire now.

Sirius covered himself with the sheets “GET OUT, WILL YA?”

“Yeah…” Peter left first

Remus blinked coming back to reality and run to the bathroom, probably blushing.

James laughed his ass out seeing his friend humiliated “Move it, handsome” he said patting Sirius’ shoulder “I want to tell you my improvement on Evans last night”

Sirius groaned ducking his face on the pillow.

As they went down for breakfast, Sirius found himself wanting to seat next to Remus. He took his seat beside him. James looked at him, usually they sat together.

“What? Can’t we change seat arrangements?”

James said nothing. Instead he went on talking about his evening with Lily Evans last night. Sirius was more aware of Remus’ heat next to him than James’ story.

“We are friendly now. We sat together and everything, well you saw, until you mysteriously disappeared last night?”

Sirius blinked “We came back to the castle”

“Yeah we were very tired”

“But you weren’t on the dorm when we came in” Peter raised an eyebrow.

Sirius panicked.

“We fell asleep in the Library catching up on homework” Remus said confidently. Sirius was so grateful.

“Him?” James snorted, pointing at Sirius.

“I want to be responsible” Sirius protested

If James or Peter found this suspicious, they didn’t show it.

“Anyway, I sat next to Evans. And she kept laughing at my jokes…”

“Just because they were silly” Peter interrupted

“Shut up, Wormy. I’m telling the story” James protested “Well, I started playing the guitar to show my moves and Lily kept trying to correct me, saying her dad was a guitarist or something. And our hands rushed…”

Behind the table, Sirius’ hand was so close to Remus’. His little finger stroke delicately Remus’ skin. Sirius’ heart began beating fast again. Remus’ lips curled a bit and his fingers found Sirius’, stroking them a little. Sirius swallowed. He dared to finally take Remus’ hand into his. And before they knew it, they were holding hands, fingers interlocked, under the table. It would be an insignificant gesture for anyone. But for Sirius it was so important and intimate. He just wanted to kiss Remus and shout in front of everyone at the Great Hall how much he loved him.

Sirius couldn’t give up his touch.

“Like I know we are just friends” James continued “But when I am with her, I feel like my heart is about to explode, you know?”

Sirius understood the feeling. It was happening right now. He squeezed Remus’ hand to let him know that. Remus smiled in response. And Sirius smiled as well. They didn’t look silly, it looked like they were just smiling for James’ words.

“Hello boys…”

Someone sat next to Sirius and he panicked, dropping quickly Remus’ hand.

It was Lucille. A Hufflepuff girl that had been after Sirius for years. Lucille and him had snogged a couple of times. She was good for that stuff, but then she wanted to talk about feelings and relationships. And Sirius didn’t understand why he wasn’t interested in any of that. But he was interested in all that, but not with Lucille, not with anyone. Just Remus.

“Lucy” Sirius winked.

But he wasn’t ready to admit that in front of everyone.

“I was looking around everywhere last night, Sirius” Lucille poked his arm “I was hoping we could hang out”

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” James mocked “He studies now”

“Shut up, James”

“Oh, speaking of which. Can you help me on my Transfiguration essay? You’re very good at it” Lucille pleaded

“And good at other things” Peter whispered. And James and him giggled.

Sirius was aware of Remus tensing beside him. But he was so afraid of looking at him, of telling the truth.

“Sure, Lu” he smiled “Shall we meet in The Library later?”

“Or maybe down at the Greenhouses” she said, and when she noticed the boys were giggling, she added “It’s quieter there”

“Oh, I see” Sirius winked at James and Peter “I’ll be happy to be of your assistance, as long as I receive payment”

Sirius didn’t know how to stop. He was acting like an idiot, and he knew it. But he couldn’t stop. James and Peter were amused. He felt Remus moving uncomfortably on his seat.

“Oh, thank you, Siri” Lucille exclaimed, kissing Sirius’ cheek “You’re the best” and she ran down the hall.

Sirius let out a big sigh.

“Is Lucille the girl from your wet dreams?” James laughed. Peter whistled.

Sirius simply shrugged. He focused his eyes on his plate with eggs and bacon. He wasn’t angry anymore. He was such a coward, avoiding Remus’ gaze.

“I am not hungry anymore” Remus said “Apparently nobody respects breakfast time”

And he left the Great Hall.

Later, that day, Sirius waited patiently until Remus got out of Ancient Runes, subject he had with Lily, Marlene and Mary. He was taping his foot nervously, rubbing his hair desperately. Hidden behind a statue like a bloody coward.

Remus and the girls came down the hall. Remus always made the girls laughed. And Sirius felt a rush of jealousy. He watched as Remus said goodbye to them. They disappeared through the other hall, and Remus walked towards him, as Sirius had predicted.

When Remus was close, Sirius took his arm and dragged him inside the nearest broom closet, locking the door behind him.

“What the…”

But Sirius cut him with a kiss.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry” Sirius whispered covering Remus with kisses “I’m sorry. I’m sorry”

Remus pushed him away. “Yeah you said that”

Remus didn’t look angry, he looked disappointed. Which was worse. Sirius had knot on his throat.

“You promised you weren’t going to be awkward about it” Remus said crossing his arms “Like last time”

After their first kiss, at The Astronomy Tower, Sirius had pretended he was too drunk to remember anything. Because he was so scared of the strong feelings he had. It had been different with other girls he had snogged, because there was nothing there. But the truth was that Sirius was so scared of being hurt, or worse hurting someone. Just like his mother had told him “Who would stan your mood swings, your tantrums, your stupid behavior? Just me. Your mother. And as much as you try to deny it, Sirius. You’re just like me. You are a Black and you will always be”

Sirius’ eyes started watering. And he hated when people say him cry. Orion always thought it was a sign of vulnerability and weakness.

Sirius hugged Remus, hiding his tears on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Moony” he whispered “I am an idiot”

Remus didn’t say anything. He hugged him back, stroking Sirius back.

And it was easier that way, because he had Remus on his arms, facing the wall. Sirius knew he would listen but he couldn’t say it to his face.

Sirius sniffed. He stroked Remus’ hair, and kissed his neck gently.

“I…have… very…strong feelings…for you” It had been so hard to say it out loud but there it was. And then he was confident to say the rest “I haven’t felt this way for anyone, just you”

Remus didn’t respond but Sirius’ felt his heart bumping against his.

“Do you understand what I am trying to say?” Sirius tried again, and he decided to face Remus this time. Remus was overwhelmed, his face illuminated by the poor lighting of the room.

“I fancy you” Sirius continued, his eyes filling with tears “I fancy you like James fancies Lily, or even more” he snorted “Maybe more. I don’t know what that makes me… but I am so scared of what others might say, or what would happen if they found out” my parents “And I am scared of hurting you, like I did last year for my stupid temper” Sirius started crying now “And I am so scared of losing you…” he was actually sobbing “I don’t want to lose you…” he shook his head “Not again” he covered his face.

He felt Remus’ arms wrapping him. And he wrapped his arms around his waist. Crying on Remus’ chest. That beautiful bastard smelled like chocolate and fresh parchment. Just like his Amortentia last term.

“I fancy you too” Remus whispered in his ear “Like Lily fancies James, because she was talking about him in class, you know?”

Wait, Lily liked James? Those words made Sirius cry even more “I am sorry. I am such an idiot”

“Hey…” Remus whispered “Hey, hey, hey” he broke apart and forced Sirius to look at him. Remus smiled and immediately Sirius stopped crying.

Remus laughjilyed and looked around “Looks like a pretty place to live, so cozy”t… I mean…”

“Hey” Remus interrupted “Kiss me”

“What?”

“Kiss me now”

Sirius was compelled because he needed Remus’ lips right now. They kissed softly three times. Remus grabbed his hands into his.

“We are going to solve this” Remus put his forehead against Sirius’. Then Remus smiled and began giggling softly.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“I am just very happy that you feel the same way I do”

Sirius snorted and giggled as well. He kissed Remus again. He might be scared of doing so in public, but right now, in the privacy of this broom closet, he was allowed to do whatever he wanted. Remus was his. Like run his fingers through Remus’ curls.

“Can we stay here forever?”

Remus laughed and looked around “Looks like a pretty place to live, so cozy”

“Shut up, asshole” And Sirius smiled before kissing Remus again.

#harry potter #marauders era #sirius black #remus lupin #padfoot #moony #uncle moony #wolfstar fanfiction #jily

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gtanddragons · 3 years

Text

Caught

A companion piece to @hopemakesstuff‘s works “Protecting Assets” and “Role Reversal”, this one is tied into our friend group’s Shifter!Makoto AU! In which everyone’s favorite lucky boy can (somewhat) control his ability to change his size, and all the shenanigans that ensue as a result.

Warnings: Contains spoilers for chapter two of DR1.

(Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid—!)

He’s practically mumbling those words to himself in a feverish mantra as he forces himself to hurry down the tiled hallway of Hope’s Peak Academy.

(Need to find somewhere to hide—!)

Makoto is trembling, panting from the effort of making his way through the school— although it would normally be a simple task, it was certainly anything but now that he was stuck at a meager three inches tall. Despair hung heavy over his head as what would ordinarily be a few minutes’ walk to the first floor classrooms had already taken him… what, twenty minutes at this brisk pace? Thirty? It felt like an eternity had passed, and yet he still had a ways to go.

The dining hall was closer, certainly, but it was also almost certain that everyone would be gathered there for the breakfast meeting.

He feels guilty for missing it. Just one more reason to scold himself— he should’ve eaten last night. Should have gotten some rest. Shouldn’t have worn himself ragged, because now he’s stuck at his most vulnerable in a school full of other students who could (and maybe even would) kill him without a second thought. Maybe even by accident, and that’s somehow an even more repulsive thought.

The only other student who even remotely knows about his… condition… is Kyoko Kirigiri. Not of his own volition, of course, but she’d figured it out a lot quicker than he’d expected.

…No, there was yet another person who knew. Had known, since they had gone to school together since they were children.

But there isn’t any point in making himself even more depressed by thinking about her. Not right now. Either way, she can’t help him now— and he can’t rely on finding Kyoko to help him, not when she’s likely still with the others in the dining hall. He can’t risk exposing himself to everyone else like this.

For a brief moment, his thoughts go quiet, having finally exhausted themselves.

(It’s okay. I’m almost to the classroom. I can just… hide in there under the teacher’s desk or something, wait to be able to shift back up to normal. And it wouldn’t be a lie to say that my stomach was hurting this morning—)

“Puhuhu~! And wheeeere do you think you’re going, little mister lucky student?”

Makoto yelps as an all-too-familiar figure pops out from seemingly nowhere— but this time, Monokuma towers over him, making the already-terrifying headmaster seem even more like a horrible monster than a cute little bear plushie.

Monokuma leans down and crosses his stubby arms as best as he’s able, still chuckling all the while. “I’ll admit, it’s kiiiiinda cute watchin’ you scurry around like that.~”

Makoto winces and takes an involuntary step back, gulping as the headmaster’s sharp teeth come closer into view. “I— I, um. I’m… going to the classroom…”

The bear pats his cheek thoughtfully, that unsettling grin still a mere foot away. “Ahhh, don’t wanna go to the dining hall, huuuuh? Smart move! Don’t wanna accidentally make one of your classmates a murderer, ‘cause. Yooou know.~ It would be such a shame if someone were to step on ya, or— ohhhh, how horrid! If you wound up as someone’s lunch. How cruel! Gahahaha!”

A chill runs up Makoto’s spine, and it takes all of his willpower to not fall back in fear at that obnoxiously-loud laughter. Thankfully, though, Monokuma gets out of his face as he straightens up.

“Ahhh… I should proooobably let you go. After all, wellllll… just try not to get caught, eh? Puhuhu!”

And once again, the bear is taking off fast enough for Makoto’s head to spin, still left confused over what Monokuma had meant— until the sound of footsteps in the distance catches his attention. Coming from further down the hallway…

Makoto suddenly tenses, his face blanching. He recognizes the sound of the voices drawing ever closer, and even at this distance, it’s easy to see just who’s coming his way.

Byakuya… and, trailing behind him… Toko.

...No. Judging from the obnoxious laughter resounding through the school hallway… that would be Genocide Jack. Great.

(Gghk--! How did I not hear them getting closer--?!)

Makoto furiously shakes his head-- he could take more time to curse Monokuma, and his awful luck, later. For now, he needs to find a place to hide, but staying out in the open hallway is practically a death wish.

He desperately glances in the direction of classroom 1-A-- he’ll have to run towards Byakuya and Jill’s general direction, but if he hurries…!

(I-I’m already worn out, but just a little more--!)

Makoto takes off at a full-blown sprint to the classroom, all too aware of the potential consequences of getting caught. His heart hammers in his chest as the footsteps draw closer, his two classmates coming into view like towering buildings on the horizon.

“Ugh… if this turns out to be some kind of goose chase, I swear…” Byakuya complains, his nose crinkling in disgust. He’d been attempting to enjoy picking apart case files in the archive over a cup of coffee this morning, but apparently even that was too much to ask. First he’d been besieged by Genocide Jack-- his new apparent fangirl, even pushier than Toko-- and then that accursed bear had shown up and caused a ruckus, insisting on showing them something interesting. But as of yet, Byakuya had yet to see anything even remotely worthy of his attention, and he was starting to get even more frustrated.

“Kyahaha! Ohh, Master, you know I can’t resist that stormy, sullen face! This whole ‘goose chase’ is worth every step~!”

Byakuya lets out a world-weary sigh, gritting his teeth as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

(Just keep tuning her out or you’ll get an even worse headache, Byakuya. Why couldn’t she have been the guilty party in this most recent--)

A sudden yelp from Jill drags him out of his thoughts, the serial killer’s arm snapping up to point down the hall in front of them.

“Oh look at that!”

Byakuya’s gaze shifts to where she’s pointing fast enough to get the faintest glimpse of… something. Something small-- a blur of movement in the doorway of the classroom at the end of the hall.

“Oooh, what was that?! A mooouuusee? And it thinks it can run from meeee?”

Byakuya isn’t surprised when Jill suddenly tears off down the hallway towards the classroom, shrieking with laughter. But as he follows after her, he can’t resist the slight increase of speed in his steps-- had that thing really been a mouse? He’d only seen it for a split second, but the color and shape had seemed… off. Some kind of robot like Monokuma, perhaps? A new clue…?

Either way, perhaps this tedious distraction would prove to be fruitful in the end…

Jill is on her hands and knees the moment after she rushes into the room, prowling the classroom and sniffing the air like some kind of wild animal.

“Awww, think you can hide? From me? Cuuuuuute. Now…”

Jill grins madly even as she pokes her head under a nearby desk.

“Come out, come out, whereeeever you aaaaare~!”

—

It doesn’t take long for Byakuya to follow after Jill and reach the doorway to the classroom, but even then… by the time he gets there, he’s met with the sound of desks clattering to the floor in one chaotic sweep, a triumphant yell (“Gotcha!”), and… the sight of Jill huddled up with something clutched in her hands.

Something squirming and… crying out.

Byakuya’s brows dart sharply upwards. Although he can’t quite see, and the sound is so small… he recognizes that terrified squawking.

“Aw, boo,” Jill grumbles. “Tch, not even big enough for one of my scissors…”

Byakuya hardly has any time to react before Jill turns around and—

His hands instinctively snap outwards as something is tossed in his direction. Whatever it is hits squarely in the palms of his hands and his fingers curl tightly around it, a flailing, warm weight that could only belong to a living creature— the thought alone nearly makes him drop the thing in revulsion.

(Did she just throw a filthy mouse at—?!)

“Soooorry Master~!” Jill croons, before pouting and tapping the blade of her scissors against her cheek. “Hmph… here I was hoping for some real meat, or a full-size cute boy… not a bite-sized happy meal with a little Mac.”

(What on Earth is she prattling on about now—?)

Byakuya looks down to his hands, wincing at the feeling of the little creature in his hands struggling in his grip… but as soon as he looks down, he can hardly tear his eyes away.

Caught haphazardly in his fingers, struggling and whimpering… is none other than Makoto Naegi. For once, Byakuya is at a loss for words, blinking disbelievingly at the ridiculous sight.

“Speaaaaking of meat,” Jill interrupts, her sullen mood ending with a quick snip of her scissors. “Let’s keep looking around, Master! I’m sure that goose must be somewhere around here.~”

With an obnoxiously loud cackle, she’s already out the door again— momentarily leaving Byakuya alone with his ‘catch’.

His grip loosens considerably at not feeling any more resistance; for a second, he feels a sudden twinge of grim resignation, thinking that perhaps the tiny boy sprawled out in his hands had died from the impact… though that theory is quickly disproven as he leans his head in closer, noting the subtle rise and fall of Makoto’s chest.

Just unconscious, then. Though, just to make sure (and to satiate some of his burning curiosity), Byakuya cautiously runs his fingertips over Makoto’s limbs.

Nothing broken, and… after using the tip of his nail to lift up Makoto’s hoodie and shirt, he can safely say that his little classmate managed to escape the ordeal with minimal bruising.

“‘Ultimate Lucky Student’ indeed,” Byakuya mutters. He lifts his hands even higher, squinting to get a better look at Makoto’s face.

The boy seems peaceful, at least, although…

…He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. The dark circles under Makoto’s eyes are none of his concern. What is his concern, however…

Byakuya gives the classroom one last, cursory glance before carefully slipping Makoto’s limp form into his blazer pocket. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, even as he exits the classroom.

Finally, something interesting.

Very, very interesting.

#gtronpa #alt title: makoto regrets his life choices (part 1 of several)#shifter!makoto au #giant/tiny #astral makes stuff #the writing corner #fandom g/t

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bookwyrminspiration · 3 years

Text

Shattered Upside Down

A kotlc wings au: masterpost here

Chapter 15: The Burning Bridges

word count: 7.9k

chapter summary: Confronted by the family she left behind, Sophie needs to figure out how to make them understand her--if they even can.

warnings: mild panicking, familial fights, self-judgement and questioning, swearing, and I think that's it!

taglist: I’ll reblog with it. let me know if you want to be added or removed!

This chapter was difficult, but I still enjoyed writing it! Hopefully you enjoy the twists and drama as well!

ao3 link or read below the cut

When Sophie Foster was little, she’d been privy to plenty of unpleasant conversations, butted her way through words and overheard things that’d turn her cherry red; it was a natural consequence of being an untrained telepath surrounded by creatures with weak minds.

But none of those, none of the private thoughts and moments between others, came even close to the raw vulnerability spilling from Edaline’s face as she stood, holding out a hand like too quick a movement would shatter the illusion.

She shattered it.

In a rush of movement and pain, Edaline crashed into Sophie, wrapping her arms around her tight, nearly knocking her back into the wall. Sophie’s hands lingered in the air before settling on her back, fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt, bunching it up in her hands as her breaths quickened.

She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t. Not now. Her tears would do nothing to quench the blaze.

“What are...how did--are you back?” Edaline was stumbling over her words, shaking around Sophie as she tried to hold her together, hold her close, keep her safe and never let go.

Sophie reigned in the overwhelming relief, the panic, the pain that warped her mind, turning it into little threads and coiling it into that knot beneath her chest. Pulling back, she shook her head. “I can’t stay. I--I didn’t know you were here. I came to see...I need Kesler. I didn’t know you were here; I’m sorry,” she repeated, bracing a hand on her neck and looking towards the floor, trying to avoid whatever reaction she’d have to the words. Oh how she’d missed her, missed her touch and warmth and caring nature.

She wished she could enjoy it.

“You need me?” Kesler asked, pushing back his chair to stand up, setting down his cup as he mussed his hair. “What for? Did Dex get himself in trouble with that--”

“No no,” she interrupted, opening her mouth to continue, but Edaline was pulling an imparter from her pockets. “DON’T!” She yelped, darting forward to snatch it from her hands.

Frowning, Edaline tried to grab it back. “Sophie, what is going on? What are you doing? You can’t just grab things out of my hands,” she told her, snapping her fingers and returning the device to her hands.

“I’m sorry. Please. Don’t tell anyone I’m here. You weren’t even supposed to know.” Sophie was waving her hands all about, trying to get her point across. “Please let me explain. I’ll explain. But if you bring everyone else here then it’ll just get worse and I’ve already wasted too much time and everything’s probably destroyed by now, anyways.”

Edaline paused, the frantic movements catching her attention enough to convey the gravity of the situation.

“Sophie, I haven’t seen you in weeks. What is happening with you? You were never like this before.” Edaline reached for her once more, and Sophie allowed her to rest an arm on her shoulder, to move in closer. She hated to admit how much that touch made her want to forget everything. But that would mean being here. Underground. And the dirt above her head, the cramped quarters, were already getting to her, making her skin itch.

“This is urgent; I don’t have time for that. Later. Questions later, okay?” Turning towards Kesler, who stood a little lost off to the side, she continued. “Do you know where the emergency supply of frissyn is?”

Edaline’s hand stilled against her arm, grip tightening. “Where.” It took Sophie a moment to realize she was talking to her, demanding to know where the blaze was. Because there was only one reason a person could need frissyn. Only one blaze. And Edaline had lost enough people to flames already.

“Do you?” Sophie pressed, ignoring her mom despite the pang of guilt that clanged through her chest. “You helped make the batch when Oblivimyre went down in flames, and I know they created an emergency supply afterwards--so do you know where it is? Do you have access?” Her questions barrelled out, one after the other, her body trembling with the adrenaline building up now that she was in this room and her mother wasn’t supposed to be there but she was and the world could burn down if she didn’t fix this and she hadn’t actually told anyone but these two had figured it out.

Kesler’s expression became grave, unreadable as he looked off to the side. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I don’t know where the frissyn is kept--I only ever helped make it.” Sophie’s mind hadn’t even processed the sentence when he was turning towards her holding out his hands. “But I know who does. Or rather, several people. You’re not gonna like it though.”

“Who.” Sophie demanded, then cringed back when he flinched. “Sorry. Tense.”

“You’re okay, kiddo. Let us handle this one, wherever the everblaze is, we’ll get it taken care of.”

Edaline pulled Sophie a little closer. “Sophie, darling, please tell us what’s going on. We can help. If you can tell us or show us or direct us to the location, we can take care of this without risking anyone.” Her eyes pleading, she scanned Sophie over, fingers brushing against the bandages, heart stumbling; Edaline had always hated to see her hurt, but always rose to whatever task was required of her.

“Mom, I love you,” Sophie began. “But you cannot help me right now. I need the frissyn, so I came for Kesler. I didn’t know you were here--I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry, but you cannot get anywhere near that fire. None of you can. I’m not risking you.” Sophie thought she must’ve looked just as desperate as her mother as they faced each other, that arm on her shoulder a bridge, a reminder of all she’d left behind and would continue to leave behind if she didn’t find a way to make the surface safe again.

Edaline’s eyes remained glossy, but her voice was firm. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you take that risk.” Before Sophie could respond, she turned to Kesler. “Who do you know that knows where the supply is?”

Kesler winced, glancing to Sophie once before replying. “Seeing as they’re the ones who mandated an emergency supply, the best people who’d know would be...The Council.”

The Council, who’d been demanding her return. The Council, who wanted all of them back at any cost, but it had been her that ignored them, that disregarded their hails and brushed them off.

They’d skin her alive if they saw her again.

But she needed them.

Desperately.

“Are you okay?” Sophie had lost track of how many times she’d heard the question, of the number of times she’d given the same response.

“Yes, I’m fine. I promise.” Again and again, Edaline didn’t seem to believe her, kept eyeing those bandages, cringing at the smell of smoke, the frantic bouncing of her leg against the floor as she sat there. She’d taken Kesler’s spot, still warm.

Edaline, however, had remained standing, pacing back and forth, though she kept glancing to the door, as though nervous someone would burst in, that someone would find her. Kesler had left a little bit prior, pulling an imparter from his pocket as he began pulling the few strings he had, the sense of urgency descending as Sophie realized with a dawning horror that...she couldn’t do anything right now.

Everblaze had caught in that precious little field, that place of memories and warmth turned to scalding heat. So she needed frissyn. So she’d come to Kesler--and gotten more than she bargained for. And now he was trying to pull that together. But until she had that frissyn, learned the next step from Kesler, she couldn’t put out the blaze. What was she to do in the meantime? Sit here?

What were her friends, her family doing?

Withdrawing her imparter from her pocket, she glanced at the screen. She’d told Fitz not to wait for her, that there was something else she had to take care of, but she hadn’t checked her messages since.

“So you do have your imparter on you,” Edaline noted, terse. Her posture remained tense, as though holding herself back. Like she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to hug her close or strangle her into submission. Had Sophie ever given her such trouble before?

Bemused, Sophie looked at her. “I do. Why?”

“We’ve been messaging you, you know.”

Oh. “I know,” she mumbled, reaching up to tug at an eyelash, but pausing halfway, resisting the urge.

Edaline nodded to herself, as though this just confirmed something she’d already known. Sighing, she lowered herself into a chair across from Sophie, clasping her hands together in her lap. Immediately, the aura radiating from her deepened, taking on a weight. She was a parent now, and Sophie’s heart leapt into her throat, the dread of what this conversation would be overwhelming.

“Do you understand what you’ve done, Sophie?” Edaline wasn’t looking at her, but rather off to the side, towards where a window would be had there been anything to look out upon. Instead, a small tapestry decorated the wall, though she couldn’t understand what it depicted.

Shaking, Sophie asked a question instead of providing a response. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not an adult, Sophie. Stop acting like you are one. You’re fifteen, and it is heartbreaking to see you try to be more mature. Please, just think about it for a moment. You ran away--you’re still a run away! I know you’re not here to come back and there’s nothing I can do to get you to stay. No matter what your father or I try, you do whatever you want with no regard to the consequences.

You’re living above ground on your own. There’s a reason we came down here. With that photographic memory of yours, you remember what happened when--” She cut herself off. Clearing her throat, starting anew. “I don’t think you’ve thought this through. Or that you understand the consequences of all this. And I wish you would listen, because I am your mother and I love you so much.”

Her voice broke and she turned away once more, pressing the back of her hand to her face as if it would hide anything.

Sophie had never been more uncomfortable in her life.

Her eyes completely dry, she looked to the floor, a child being scolded. But something about it...didn’t feel the same. No connection, no remorse, no desire to comfort her mother sparked in her chest. She hated to see her hurt but nothing in her wanted to listen.

What had she become?

She’d listened so attentively her entire life, had gone along with what others wanted. When she’d been admonished, she’d reflected--sure, sometimes she still came to the conclusion she’d been right all along, but she’d thought about it. Her life had been expectations and presets and rules and advice and guided to the point she hadn’t even picked her outfits.

When had that stopped? Had it ever? Would anyone ever let her be herself, to make the calls, to enjoy her life?

She’d stopped being controlled when she’d left; why would she ever come back?

The people. There were people she’d come back for, she reasoned, but she’d rather bring them to her and select them, control her own narrative. How many people would pick up a pen and write her into their story, their own little fantasies of what they wanted her to be and do, before she could pick up the pen herself?

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” Edaline asked, and Sophie’s head snapped back up, eyes wide as she realized how far back into herself she’d drifted.

Wincing, she mumbled, “Sorry.”

Edaline stood, crossing the room to place a hand on her shoulder, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. “I know there’s a lot on your mind, but this conversation isn’t over, Sophie. You promised answers, and I expect you to follow through, okay?” Meeting her eye, Edaline refused to look away until she got an answer.

“Yes, I understand.” She’d never specified when she’d provide those answers. How many little games could she keep up like this? For some reason, the way Edaline nodded and leaned back, raising her hand to cup her cheek, contented with the implication of the answer without considering the literal meaning of it emboldened her. Had she not noticed? She likely expected some level of remorse, a level of implied understanding between the two of them.

Sophie had no intention of complying, as much as she loved her mother.

“I love you, you know. I hate not knowing if you’re okay.” Edaline’s hands slid down to both her shoulders, fingering the edge of her shirt, rearranging how it laid against the bandages pressed to her skin beneath them.

Sophie leaned into the touch, allowing herself just one moment amongst the chaos. One comfort before she burned this bridge to the ground.

Opening her mouth to try and figure out a response, hurried footsteps in the hallway interrupted, quick enough to make haste but not enough to draw attention. Unless you were listening.

“Oh. He’s here,” Edaline said, tightening her grip on Sophie, anxious energy making her jittery.

Looking over her shoulder, she found Edaline looking down at her imparter. She must’ve had a thread open between the two of them. Except their conversations would be a back and forth, not the endless lack of replies she’d always provided.

Sophie frowned. Kesler was back already? He’d moved quicker than she expected, but she wouldn’t complain about having instructions sooner. She didn’t expect him to have the frissyn, but just knowing what she needed to do next would be a huge comfort. The sooner she knew what to do, she sooner she could extinguish the blaze, the sooner she could get back to her friends and help look for Linh, if she hadn’t already been found. Though if she had been, someone would’ve let her know, yet her imparter had remained painfully silent.

Aside from those first few messages trying to persuade her to let them help, no one had said anything. They knew how fruitless it was to try and convince her to let them put themselves in danger, which only gave them all the more reason to try and join. But a few ignored messages got the point across; if the first few earned no response, neither would the rest and it would be a waste of time.

Sophie moved to stand, and Edaline’s hand fell back to her side, though she looked as though she wanted to snatch her back up. But she was being surprisingly lenient, asking fewer questions than she’d expected--she was counting on that “later” promise that Sophie wouldn’t go along with.

Wait.

A second pair of footsteps sounded beside the first, as though they’d been moving in unison but fallen out of the pattern. Kesler hadn’t said he was bringing anyone back with him.

She tensed. Something wasn’t right.

“What’s wrong,” Edaline asked, brows creasing in concern. But her heartbeat had quickened, and her breaths were moving a little faster. And those footsteps in the hall were getting closer and closer.

Reaching out her mind, she searched for that link she’d had to Kesler, so strong a hold she’d had that the echoes of it still remained. Following it, it did not lead into the hallway, to those approaching footsteps. And he hadn’t said he would bring anyone back.

“Who’s here,” she demanded, standing abruptly, backing away from the table. Not that there was anywhere to go really, the room no bigger than a typical human living room, though the rounded shape was unique. She’d hit the wall and there’d be nowhere to go but everywhere but something wasn’t right.

“Sophie, I--”

“Mom, what did you--”

The door opened, so much force, anticipation, so much fear behind that single movement. And those two figures beyond it, Sophie admonished herself for not connecting the dots as soon as she heard their gait. She’d spend so long listening to them, years beside them--one of them pacing outside her door each and every night he could.

“There you are,” Sandor huffed, ducking beneath the door. He stalked into the room, heading straight towards her.

But that wasn’t nearly as menacing as the face behind him, the mixture between stark relief and a disappointed fury so profound it raised the hairs on the back of her arms.

Grady.

“Don’t touch me,” she yelped, darting back as far as she could, Sandor’s outreached hand nearly succeeding in grabbing at her bicep, no regard for the bandages wrapped around them.

He frowned down at her. “Sophie--”

“No. No. You’re not supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to be here.” The last part was directed at Edaline, who flinched, but that teary relief had hardened back into that anger, both of them. Grady, who hadn’t said a word yet, and Edaline, whose lips had pressed together into a thin line.

“Kiddo, you’re not in charge here,” Grady began, looking like he couldn’t decide whether to approach or stand his ground. Sophie swore she could feel how desperately he wanted to pull her close for a hug.

They didn’t know she could hear every beat of their hearts, could tell just how afraid they were. Of what? Of her?

“Hang on. Back Up. What is happening right now? I don’t have time for this.” Sandor made as if to move closer, so she preemptively skirted further away, though she’d eventually crash into her parents if she kept that up. Maybe that was their plan, get her in between them and grab her from either side.

Grady kept his eyes on her, but any hint of the relief he’d had when seeing her in the ruined Lost Cities had been buried deep down. But it remained there. She supposed any larger reaction he’d have would’ve been expressed when he’d received the message Edaline had undoubtedly sent--though Sophie had specified against people knowing she was here.

Imparter still in hand, a notification popped up on the screen. Wylie. He’d sent a picture.

“You have to stop pushing us away, Sophie. Please,” Edaline began, though she didn’t try to approach. Sophie had pushed off enough people that she knew it was fruitless. So many empty answers, though she’d given none of her own. A dangerously emotional game they played. They’d try to get through to her with words or force, but they wouldn’t listen to her. Not anymore.

Taking stock of the room in her mind, she tried to figure a way out of this, a way to safety.

The word gave her pause.When had she started thinking of them as the enemy? Were they? What made an enemy an enemy?

Silently, she thumbed the message from Wylie open. Nothing but a single picture, somewhere she’d never been before, but the photo had taken note of each detail of the rocky outcrop, seeming as though it was taken from the side of a cliff. Fog curled in from either side, the landscape barren and fruitless.

“How many people did you tell,” Sophie asked, voice falling to the ground like stone. Oh so heavy her heart rang. Three against one with the odds against her--number wise, at the very least.

Edaline stood straighter, devout in her conviction. And how could Sophie blame her? She didn’t know the gravity of the situation, just how badly she couldn’t be here. She didn’t know about the dragon or Linh going missing or Biana unconscious back home or Marella’s lull or Dex’s wings or the little echo or the gnomish village or that the monsters saw her and knew her.

And she never would.

Sophie wouldn’t tell.

“I told the Black Swan and The Council that you’re back.”

Sophie’s heart went cold.

“You what?”

Grady frowned, but Edaline spoke before he could open his mouth. “I will not have you taking that tone with me, Sophie. You don’t understand the world of messes you left behind here when you ran--do you have any idea how insulted the dwarves are? They gave us all a home, saved every single one of our lives and you just left.

You’re not anyone, Sophie! People know who you are and they look to you. Your actions carry a weight beyond your years and you throw it about like it’s nothing. I want what’s best for you, but I want you here. I want you back and I want you safe and none of that is out there.”

Sandor looked to Edaline and she nodded, though what it meant she had no clue. How had this gone so sharply south so quickly?

She’d known, she’d known they wanted her back, but some foolish part of her believed that there was a part of them that understood, a part of them that would see her and let her go and stop controlling her for once. So many rules. So many restrictions.

Sandor rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, looking her up and down. “We’re not letting you out of our sights again, Sophie. We’re here to help you. We’ve talked about this. I can’t protect you when you’re keeping secrets and I can’t protect you when you’re not here. I understand this isn’t what you want, but you’re young and reckless--you’ll understand one day.”

“No, I won’t,” she hissed, feeling more and more trapped by the second. This was no longer about getting the frissyn, putting out the everblaze--but what was it about? “I’m not the only person you want back.” She reasoned, trying to pull herself off the dangerous edge her mind was teetering on. Panic clouded her judgement, mind barreling through all the things they could do to make her stay, all the things they could say.

The worst part was they wouldn’t even realize what they were doing to her. And she loved them enough she might just let them get away with it.

How lovely it was to suffer to watch others flourish.

Could she do it again? Could she stay here, day after day, privy to the will of someone else--The Black Swan, The Council, her bodyguards.

No.

She couldn’t.

“Kiddo,” Grady sighed, all that fury draining from his face as her eyes darted back and forth. “Please let us help you. You haven’t given us anything to go off of--we’re working in the dark here. We’re going to make mistakes, but we can’t fix that until you let us in. We want to meet you halfway, but that requires you putting in the effort too.”

She couldn’t. Sophie scanned his face, and against her better judgement, allowed her mind to briefly brush against his, against Edaline’s. They believed every word they said.

They wanted her back and safe and protected and under control. They wanted her to be happy and with her friends and loved.

Those sides couldn’t coexist, not the way things were. They would have, once upon a time. There was a time in her life where she wanted nothing more than to feel safe and secure and comforted.

When had that changed?

“You're putting your effort in the wrong places.” Her voice was barely audible, but it held weight in this taught silence. “You don’t understand--”

“Then explain it to us, Sophie,” Edaline begged, interrupting. “We are trying so hard to get through to you and understand you.”

They were, Sophie realized. But they never would. Not here, not now, maybe not ever. A ravine had erected itself between her and the three of them and she didn’t know how to cross it. At some point out there, her mind had shifted, and no longer could she figure out how to connect to them, how to love them.

“I don’t know how,” she confessed, trying to force the moisture building in her eyes to dry. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Their eyes all widened, brows creasing as they shook their heads, physically taken aback. Something seemed to click in their minds as Edaline started forwards, reaching out a hand. Perhaps they saw the ravine between them, too. Perhaps they saw the resignation on her face, or the million little shivers crawling up her spine. She’d never know.

“Don’t you dare--” they started, but Sophie closed her eyes. She tuned them out. She couldn’t get out of her immediately, couldn’t make it to the surface through all that ground about her head.

But she could move freely between the tunnels.

Words stopped making sense in her mind and Sophie leaned back, letting herself fall into the void, glitching away.

Carpet met her hands as Sophie appeared somewhere new, landing into a crouch as her gaze darted side to side, mind scanning the room. She refused to allow such trusting ignorance to catch her by surprise again. If she’d been more vigilant, Grady and Sandor wouldn’t have caught her by surprise, she wouldn’t have revealed so much.

So badly, she wanted to reconnect, for them to see her and know her and accept her as she was. It wasn’t even about the wings anymore. She’d been misunderstood her entire life, and just once, once, she wanted someone to know her without her desperately trying to explain.

She’d thought she’d found that.

But the world was cruel captivity cushioned with the illusion of intimacy and understanding.

Pushing to her feet in her old bedroom, rounded and bare, she promised herself she’d fix this. Relationships took work on both sides, and this would be no exception. Had she not put enough of herself forward? Had she not tried hard enough?

Fixing this was the only option. She couldn’t leave her family behind like this, but she had to. How much damage would she wreak before she patched everything back together? Could she?

But she’d come here first for a reason instead of heading straight to the exit, and she wouldn’t waste any time.

Rushing to the chest at the end of her bed against the wall, she propped it open. There was a certain little device she’d left here that seemed ill-advised now. Where had she left it? Little reason to use it before, she often lost track of it but--

There. Withdrawing her spyball, Sophie closed her eyes, envisioning that staircase, the top of it. If she just got to the top of the stairs, to that ladder, she could make it out quickly. Would there be anyone heading that way?

No. There was no way for anyone to have gotten to the top of the stairs in the minute since she’d chosen to leave. Chosen. She’d picked this. This time with a clear head.

It seemed so much more permanent.

Keeping that image clear in her mind, Sophie disappeared into the void once more.

Emerging on the other side, she blinked, the sharp decrease in light unsettling. But the sky outside would be brightening on a new day, a new horror.

She hadn’t slept the entire night.

Climbing the ladder with one hand, Sophie braced herself at the top to open that grate. Just get through and get out. They’d know where she was right now, but she had a head start no one could hope to match.

But the grate refused to budge.

Heart skipping a beat, she pushed against it again, fitting her fingers into the little slots and trying to turn it around, unscrewing it.

It wouldn’t unscrew.

“Well, fuck,” she whispered, trying to orient herself. With the spyball in one hand, her movements were severely limited, the force hard to generate.

After a third attempt she lowered her hand, squinting into the dark to try and see what was blocking her.

The grate was...fused to the surrounding structure, as if there was no seam to ever open it with. How? It’d been functional less than an hour ago when she’d first gotten here.

But Edaline had used her imparter to alert the others.

They’d locked her in.

Breaths coming quicker, Sophie swallowed the fear tainting her tongue. Hand trembling too quick to be of much use, she braced it against where the seam was supposed to be.

She’d force her way through. The grate had been stuck the first time she’d come through here and she’d sent it flying; she’d do it again, but this time with control.

Grunting, she slammed her body weight against the grate as best she could, the ladder groaning beneath her with the pressure.

It didn’t give.

She tried again, and again, and again.

Footsteps echoed through the hall, growing closer and closer by the second. They’d reach her before she got out and she’d be stuck here for the rest of her life and she’d never find Linh or see Biana wake or watch Dex fly with wings of his own making.

No one would know where the everblaze burned. No one would know a dragon churned in its depths, hurt and scared and ready to lash out at the first thing it saw. It’d tried to kill her and she couldn’t blame it in the slightest.

If something went wrong her friends would be stranded. She was their way out and she hadn’t told anyone where the pathfinder had been kept.

Gasping, she pressed against the grate with everything she had, reaching up her other hand with the spyball to press the back against the grate, both hands at once as she stood unsupported on that ladder.

Something cracked.

The cover began to give way, a crack entirely separate of the circular structure it should’ve been opening up down the center.

She’d torn through the crystal with a single hand.

Her victory was short-lived. Crackling and groaning, the rungs of the ladder shuddered beneath her, the structure giving way to the pressure she kept on it.

It was falling beneath her.

Her wings beat behind her back, but they were stuck under her shirt, molded to her skin though they tried desperately to stabilize her in the air.

Shrieking, she latched her fingers into that little crack, the sharp edges cutting and biting against her knuckles, tearing at the skin.

Then the ladder was gone.

Legs dangling freely in the air, she winced at each crash and echo the ladder made as it tumbled down the stairs, entering a free fall down the center. But she didn’t have time to listen to it.

Pulling herself closer in a one-handed pull-up, Sophie pressed the hand holding the spyball to the crack, using the back of her hand to force the crystal open further, enough so that she could slip the device through the opening. Both hands now, she could use both.

“SOPHIE?” So many voices rang out at once alongside a monstrous crash; the ladder had reached the bottom, and so had the people.

With the use of both her hands, she forced her way through the rest of the grate, hearing it crack and shred beneath her fingertips, creating a bigger and bigger hole until she could fit her entire body through. Like emerging from a pool, she hoisted herself to sit on the edge, picking up the spyball with one hand as she lifted her legs through and pushed to her feet, kicking the broken grate back into place as best she could.

Then she took off.

Sprinting into the woods, Sophie allowed herself no time to look back, no opportunity for regrets. That place held no appeal any longer, and the people...she didn’t want to think about the people.

Her wings wanted out, wanted to feel the air rushing by, the deafening pounding against the sky.

Building up the speed she needed, she shot into the void.

If she’d taken just a moment, a single moment before running away, maybe she would’ve noticed.

But she didn’t.

Crackling through the atmosphere, the thunderous boom accompanying her splitting through reality had her wincing. Spyball clutched in her hands, she slowed down to a walk, then stopped altogether.

What had she just done?

Wasting not even a moment and not caring who saw, she practically tore the shirt from her body as she freed her wings, letting them spread and rest in the thin air.

Only then did she allow herself to look around.

Fog curled around her legs, creeping up into the sky and around the desolate rocks, no vegetation to be seen.

It was even dryer than it’d looked in the photo Wylie had sent her.

Sophie? Was that thunder you? Are you there--

Hi. Hello. The thoughts blasted into her mind with such force she nearly stumbled back, her grip tightening on the spyball, the adrenaline lingering in her system shaking her hands and trembling through her skin.

Fitz somehow found a way to convey the feeling of a relieved sigh without sending her the relief or the sigh.

Where are you? I’m coming to you.

Good question. Um...where are we, she said, much lighter than she was feeling, trying not to let the absolute chaos wracking her mind show. Joke it away, like Keefe.

Mountain of some kind, trying to find Linh. Can you show me where you are?

She sent a brief image of her surroundings, the thin, rocky trail that would up and around the mountain, the fog that she was slowly realizing was actually clouds, anything identifying that could give him a sense of where she was. Gales assaulted her from either side, making her squint and blink frequently, her shirt holding no warmth.

Okay, I remember that! We passed through there and Wylie stopped for some reason. Give me a minute--don’t move.

Sophie didn’t comment, instead using the few moments to compose herself, to try and master whatever was bubbling within her chest, trying to explode outwards. She’d fucked up. Badly. In so many ways. Why couldn’t it ever be easy to be a family? Something constantly in the way of whatever they wanted to be, the connections they wanted. It was her, wasn’t it. She was the problem.

Inhale. Exhale.

It’d be awfully inconvenient to carry this spyball around, but she hadn’t thought that through when she’d grabbed it. Thinking nothing beyond her need to keep track of her parents, to be able to see everyone down in the Underground, she’d grabbed the most inconveniently shaped thing she could.

Faint flapping in the distance shocked her from her thoughts, and she squinted into the distance, the moisture building in her eyes blurring the scenery.

I see you! You’re not dead! Fitz’s voice called into her mind, the excitement mixed with relief building and building, enough anxious energy it nearly undid her as he swooped down, feathers shivering in the wind as he pressed closed to the rock face, maneuvering himself in a way she didn’t understand to safely deposit himself on the side of the mountain.

His grin was infectious as he rushed forward, pulling her into a hug so tight, so forceful she let out a little oof as they rocked back and forth.

“Don’t do that again, please,” he whispered into her hair, fingers digging into her back as his wings spread on either side of her, encasing the two of them away from the whipping winds as he stepped back. Looking her up and down from up close, he raised his brows in question at the spyball.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, and while that was usually a statement accompanied with a teasing jab or remark, something about her tone, the flush of her skin, kept him utterly quiet.

His hand was still on her shoulder, so he used it to pull her back in. “Why do you smell like smoke?” He asked, alarmed, squeezing her tighter.

“Where are the others?” she deflected, though she refused to let go of him. One moment. One more moment to dry her eyes. If he was hugging her he couldn’t look at her, couldn’t see what was wrong.

So many things were wrong.

“I know what you’re doing, Sophie,” he chastised her, refusing to answer until she’d given an explanation.

“Fine. It’s because of the thing with Marella. That’s all I’ll say. Don’t we still need to find Linh?”

He didn’t seem to want to let go either given the way he melted into the hug, like he couldn’t get enough proof she was here. “We’re getting close, I think. I’ve been trying to track her, but the trail keeps going dead--not that she’s dead, but it’s like her mind isn’t even there anymore. So now we’re all spread out where I could last find her and looking manually and however else we can.”

She nodded against his chest. “Just like Marella,” she whispered.

“What?” he asked, stepping back, frowning down at her. “What about Marella--what even was all that, Sophie? She came back looking like a ghost and Biana--” He swallowed, looking off to the side, though all there was to the side was his wing, the feathers shifting chaotically in the gales.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, and she hated the confession. Wasn’t she supposed to be the leading force fixing this world? Wasn’t she supposed to figure out the answers? But there were so many problems all of the time

Fitz might’ve mumbled something in reply, but the wind picked up particularly hard at that moment, blasting the words away.

Where were you looking for Linh? she asked, redirected the conversation away from her and the things she didn’t understand. Maybe if she kept focusing, kept working, never took the break she so desperately wanted, she’d avoid all those feelings and conflicts that were threatening to break her down on the side of this mountain.

Just flying around the mountain, mostly, looking for anything that stood out--though I don’t know what that would be.

Sophie nodded, raising her free hand to press against his wings, gently guiding them to fall back from their protective circle so he could fold them behind his back. Gesturing, she indicated for him to lead the way.

Nodding, he peered over the side of the mountain, and just the sight of him there made her want to snatch him back up and take him home and safe. But she did none of those things as he jumped off the edge.

Instead, she followed suit.

Holding the spyball with both hands against her torso, she blinked that film over her eyes into place, scanning through the cold, misty clouds to catch sight of him. Circling back around, he used the opposing wind to help him hover in place.

How many of you are here? Sophie questioned, going through a mental list of things she might need to know in order to help. This mission had started without her and was in the middle of another issue or two she may have started somewhere else.

Kesler could reach out to her; she had her imparter with her. Whenever he was ready for her to step back in--as she still hadn’t told anywhere where the blaze was--he could contact her and she could go back and fix that problem.

No one had to know it even happened.

Everyone except Biana and Marella because, well, you know. Oh and Elwin’s still back at the village-thing. That place deserves a proper name at this point.

Gaining height, Fitz directed her around a particularly sharp looking rocky outcrop, slightly flatter surfaces visible.

I was about to start looking through here when you showed up.

Was it Sophie? Wylie’s voice cut through their conversation, lighting up the mindbubble with attention all drawn to her.

Ducking closer to the side of the mountain to get out of a few damp clouds, she winced as a ray of morning light shone in her eye. Was what me?

The thunder sound. Had to check to make sure it wasn’t some creature or anything coming to try and eat us alive. Where were you?

Not important right now. I’ll explain later. They’d hold her to that, she realized with a wince. She couldn’t run away from the conversation like she’d done with her parents. But that was a problem for future her.

Current her’s problem was that one of her friends had gone missing and they’d tracked her up a mountain.

Thunder crackled in the distance, and she turned sharply around to try and see where the storm was. There had been no visible flash of lightning, but as cloudy and cold as it was up here, she didn’t trust her eyes to catch everything.

Something wet plopped against the exposed skin on her arm, the few places the bandages had gotten a little banged up open to the elements. She’d tried not to focus on it before, to ignore the cold and keep warm, but she couldn’t ignore the few drops of water starting to fall around her, adding to the algid atmosphere.

“Is it raining?” she wondered, quizzical as she turned around, meeting Fitz’s eye. He squinted off into the sky, but quickly looked back down after a few drops landed on his face.

The few drops quickly turned into a downpour, the sky dampening and the clouds crying their fury upon them.

INSIDE! Fitz cried out, barreling into her and sending them spiraling towards the mountain.

Sophie didn’t even have the time to register his movements as they careened out of the sky, wings fighting against each other as he wrapped his around her--protecting her back, she realized.

The sides of the mountain grew ever closer, and Sophie opened her eyes, staring through the torrent of rain from nowhere, trying to see somewhere they could go--nothing productive could happen in such a deluge.

There. A gap beneath a ledge of rock. They could tuck under there for a moment, try and figure this out.

“Don’t fight this!” she yelled into his ear, though the cacophony may have stolen the noise the moment it left her throat.

Digging her fingers into his shirt, Sophie closed her eyes, muscles relaxing as she conjured the image from her mind; she could see the spot, so she could get there.

Shivering, she pulled them through the void.

Still entangled within each other, she shrieked as they tumbled to the ground, harsh rocks slamming against her palms as Fitz let out a soft oof.

Panting, she scrambled off of him, rushing to the edge of the covering. Soaked and dripping water, she tried to peel off the hair plastered to her forehead, staring into the storm.

Out of nowhere, just like that first time. Only now, she didn’t have Linh by her side.

Role call! She called into the mindbubble, the panic and shock setting in. So many things had gone so quickly in so many ways and she was still reeling from everything that’d happened and hadn’t been told.

I’ve got Maruca and Dex with me over here, Keefe answered immediately.

Sophie’s with me in a little alcove, Fitz supplied him, and the two groups anxiously awaited to hear from the rest of their family.

No one else sounded off.

Where are Wylie and Tam, she demanded after another fifteen seconds passed without comment.

Still crouched near the door, she dragged herself out of her mind, trying desperately to see anything out there, anything at all.

Teeth chattering, she hugged her arms close to her body, too distracted for the meditative state temperature regulation often required. She was strung out on a wire, oh so tired, a spring pressed down as far as it could go and she had no clue how much longer she could withstand this pressure before she exploded upon everything around her.

“Wait--do you see that,” she hissed over her shoulder. A flash of something, perhaps a color, a light, a signal. Or had she imagined it?

“See what?” Fitz asked, coming to stand beside her as he braced a hand on the wall.

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked.”

He didn’t even blink as he stared out into the storm, this sudden downpour of unnatural creation. She wondered where that stare came from, what it meant. Suddenly, he cursed, more explicit than she knew he was comfortable with.

“What? Did you see it?” “That’s them,” he breathed, already rushing towards the edge of the alcove, ready to thrust himself back into the storm with no further explanation.

Them? Oh. Tam and Wylie. That was them.

“WAIT!” She called out, but he’d already vanished, jumping off the ledge like the threat of falling had never been something to be afraid of in the first place. But Fitz Vacker was not immune to heights like she was, couldn’t navigate the world at the casual demand of his mind.

Thunder roiled in the sky, and she nearly stumbled over at the way it crawled down her spine, seeping into her skin and burrowing into her joints. She was whirling before it even faded.

The noises sounded like it came from within the mountain, not around it.

Fitz you absolute dumbass get BACK here, she called after him, but she couldn’t get herself to turn back to look for him.

A draft seemed to carry, pulling the crisp outside air further into the mountain, an avarice for destruction and the cold furthering the damnation of this solitude.

The moment she turned her back to this place she was unsafe. Something was watching her, leering, quiet and unending and observing. But this was not the welcome unsettling of that creature in the facility, the one made of walls and nightmares and everything that had ever been.

This wanted to hurt her and it wanted to do it slowly, and quietly, and eternally.

Trembling, she realized the spyball remained clutched tight to her chest, so creeping forward, she set it off to the side, closer to where the two of them had catapulted into this alcove together, this opening into something far more organic but just as ominous as that facility. But she never turned her back, lest something was there.

When those two dragons had battled in the sky, two people had followed suit behind her.

That’s what she’d thought at the time. Two friends, close companions, enduring the weather beside her in her idiotic endeavor into the heart of the storm.

Had they been following her, or had they happened to seek out something of their own volition in tandem, parallel in their movements in such a way it’d been only natural to assume they were following her.

Squinting, Sophie inched forward, unsure what propelled her forward. Brushing a few lingering tears and raindrops from her cheek, she exhaled. A moment alone was something she couldn’t waste; regain composure, deal with everything, break down later.

Almost convinced she’d made everything up, she blinked.

It blinked back.

Muscles turning to stone, her lungs paused. What?

Vicious and bright blue and ravenous, two eyes stared back at her.

A steady thumping was originating from somewhere in this madness, this silent torture always lonely and never alone. A heartbeat?

Fingers digging into the skin of her legs as she panicked, she tried to control her breathing.

Her pocket, she could feel something in her pocket.

Not daring to break eye contact, she slipped her fingers into the pocket of her leggings, gasping with no sound as her fingertips made contact.

When she withdrew the scale, letting it fall into her open palm, it was glowing again.

#wings au day my beloved #one day i'll stop with the cliffhangers #not today though #I don't think this is my most dramatic but it does leave questions...#kotlc wings au #shattered upside down #shattered upside down chapter #quil's quill #kotlc fic #kotlc fanfic #keeper of the lost cities

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implexedactions · 4 years

Text

Hello, Little One - Shoto Todoroki

So, do any of you like microphilia? No? Didn’t think so, but here it is anyway! A yandere giant Shoto Todoroki

Shoto is aged up and a pro hero!

Warning for Yandere Content and Microphilia

Beta’d by best person: @patchworkpiper

---

“Hello, little one.”

You shudder at the sound of his voice as he steps through the door. What had been a nice nap to escape from reality was pulled away as you found yourself once again in this prison. You move off of the small bed, and to the bars of the metal cage you’re trapped in.

You barely knew why you were bothering to respond at this point, but he was the only human you had seen in…however long you have been here. The room you were in seemed to have the singular purpose of housing you, with very little else here. Your cage was in the north of the rectangular room on a table, with the door at the south, and the couch along the west wall. There was a large window (deadbolted with curtains, of course) in the east wall.

As his colossal form walks through the room towards you, his footsteps shake your cage. Shoto Todoroki, one of the city’s most well-known hero’s strolls over to you. He crouches down, his cold eyes peering through the bars at your tiny 2-inch form.

“How is my favourite little pet doing?” He questions, as you hide behind blankets and pillows. He is standing at his full height, making you eye level with his crotch. Looking down from his nose at you.

“Terribly. I hate it here. I want to go home. I wish you would die.” You state listlessly back to him.

His eyes thin as he sighs, exasperated.

“We have already gone over this, MULTIPLE times… If I let you out, you won’t be mine. You won’t be safe anymore. That would be unacceptable.” You feel the room get warmer as he grows more tired of your antics. You guess today wasn’t a good day at work.

“I’m not yours! You just stole me and shrank me!” You shout back at him, voice rising as you get angrier and angrier.

“…Pet, disrespect is not welcome here. I’m willing to overlook the odd comment here and there, but you know what will happen if you fight back…” His threat hangs in the air, as you reminisce about…that day.

“Little one, stop struggling, I NEED to wash you.” Probing hands prodded at your form as you moved backwards in the small basin, huddling in a corner, treading water, and using your nails to try and dig into his skin whenever it came close.

“Fine then. I hope you learn your lesson, brat.” His fingers grabbed you and shoved you underwater. You tried with all your might to pry them off, but they wouldn’t budge. Your breath was running out, lungs burning as your brain tried to force you to take a breath.

“…Sorry…” You avoid his eyes and look at the ground, hiding your face.

“Now little one, I have a surprise for you. I’m SURE you’ll appreciate it, right?”

He opens the cage door, reaching his hand in and grabbing you. His fingers close forcefully around you as he stands and strolls to the couch. Sitting upon it, he places you on his lap. You try not to think of which organ you're standing on as he continues speaking.

“Close your eyes for me, okay? I’m sure you’ll love it. I’ll have to touch you to put it on, but I promise I’ll be gentle.”

You close your eyes. You’ve already been disrespectful, and there’s only so far you can push Shoto before he’ll push back.

As he touches your neck, a bell is heard. Something coarse gets wrapped around your shaking neck with gentle precision. You open your eyes and your hand touches what you assume to be a collar. He brings a mirror up, so you’re able to see it in better detail. You see a red collar, sturdy and utilitarian. It carries with it a small gold bell, which jingles when shaken. It also has a nametag at the front.

“It says ‘pet’, in case you were wondering. I’m unsure if you can still read to be honest…It HAS been a while since you were intellectually challenged; living this life of luxury and whatnot.”

“I can still read!”

“Now THAT is a shock.”

“I don’t want to wear this! I hate it! It’s so uncomfortable!” All you're able to do is mess around with it helplessly and hope he doesn't choose to tighten it.

“Pet. Stop fussing. It was custom made, and if you break it, there WILL be consequences.”

“Why should I care?!” Punishment be damned, you can’t take him anymore.

“Hmm?” He raises an eyebrow, and peers down at you.

“I HATE it here! I hate you! What gives you the right to do this to me! I'd rather live out my days in that godforsaken cage than have you touch me again!” You scream the ugly words at him, you’re sick of him, sick of your life. He pinches the bridge of his nose and growls in frustration.

“Just give up already! We both know you’re not getting out of this! Why are you so disobedient?!” He glares at you, roughly grabbing you off his crotch and bringing you up to his face. His fist encapsulates you, only letting your head move around.

“I want my old life back! I’m sick of YOUR hideous face being the only face I see!” As you shout the words at him, he drops you as he recoils in shock and hurt.

Oh no. You cower, knowing you’ve fucked up. NEVER talk about his scar.

He drops you back on his lap and brings the mirror to his face, his other hand touching the scar in a forlorn expression. His eyes scrunch up a bit, mouth wavering. This is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him. That vulnerability quickly dissipates into rage. Letting out a roar, he throws the mirror against the wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

“Wait! I didn’t mean it like that! I’m sorry!”

He angrily glares at you as you feel less confident in your words. You can feel his hot breath hitting you as he seems to be thinking. He pulls out his phone with and starts typing furiously, before a few chimes emit from the phone. He hasn’t said anything for a good while, and your heart is pounding. His face returns to a more self-satisfied expression as he looks back to you.

“Hmmm. Okay. That’s possible.” He says, a hint of malice in his voice.

“Wait, what?” Your eyes widen as you fear his sudden change in attitude.

“I said that is possible. I can arrange for you to see someone else for a while.”

“Are you letting me go?” You aren’t that hopeful, but maybe?

“That isn’t what you said, pet. You said that you wanted to see a new face. THAT I can provide.” You don’t like the sound of that.

“This is going to be someone worse than you, isn’t it? You’re not that slick, Todoroki. You’re basic.” A grin overtakes the face of your captor as your stomach sinks. It appears you forgot your place again.

“Oh, getting cocky now, are we? Let’s see if you feel that way after a week with my old man.” Your blood runs cold. His father, Enji Todoroki?! You’ve seen the man before, on TV and whatnot. Shoto speaks of him sometimes, seemingly trying to use his trauma as a bonding tool. It mainly just instilled the fact that Enji Todoroki was someone to be feared, someone who wouldn’t give a second thought to anyone he didn’t think was worth the time. You highly doubt he’d even give you a first thought.

“W-wait, w-what?”

“He's a bastard. A lot less forgiving, if you catch my drift. He hates distractions, and I don’t think he’d be all that fond of you, pet. I do not envision dealing with him to be all that nice. He is a cruel person, and I think having a pet to torture would be right up his alley.”

“I thought you hated him?”

“True, but he’s really been trying to gain my trust. And he’ll do basically anything I ask. Even looking after a pet for a week.” Your blood is pumping, you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“I-I-I-” You stammer, trying to find any solid ground in this argument. Shoto just grins and continues.

“Of course, he’s quite forgetful and dismissive. So, I wouldn’t expect him to remember to feed you or really care for you-”

“Why- why would you-”

“-or maybe he’ll just drop you on the ground and expect you to fend for yourself for the week. Surviving his day to day life. His footsteps, workouts, and daily routines, surviving off crumbs, stolen food, and the like.” You can’t take this, your sassy front has crumbled away. Shoto’s threats are too much for you to push back against.

You can’t imagine surviving a week with Enji, him burning you if you don’t do exactly what he asks. You can only be so defiant against the person who rules your life. Shoto has won this argument. You can only give in and pray that he doesn’t go through with it.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say what I said!” Shoto just looks at you, looking smug, and continues.

“After all, he doesn’t have much time for arrogant, stupid, tiny pests.”

“Please! I’m sorry! I don’t want that!” You are shaking now, on your knees in his palm, head sagging.

“Oh, am I scaring you, pet? I mean, there are other possibilities...” You jump at this chance to be good again. Anything to keep you away from Enji.

“Like if I behave, or make it up to you?” You’ll do anything he asks, you just need to not end up with Enji.

“I was meaning my father. He doesn’t have anyone in the house anymore and he seems quite lonely, he might take a liking to you. Constantly being around you, or demanding things of you. He might really take a fancy to you.”

Wait, what?

“W-what do you mean, exactly?”

“Well. My old man doesn’t have anyone in the house, he’d probably latch onto anyone new he could care for…or train. I think it’d be cute, no? A huge, strong man like him, fawning and fussing over my pet. He might view himself as a grandfather.” Shoto chuckled to himself lightly.

“Imagine a man like Endeavour, constantly wanting to be around you, hold you, feed you, bathe you, sleep with you. It’s not impossible to think that he’d be loving towards you.” It sounds better than Shoto’s treatment of you. Enji might be kinder, if he was like what was just described?

“Is…that meant to be a threat? He’d treat me better than you presumably.”

“Well, no, he wouldn’t. See, my old man is the type of man to get frustrated easily. His quirk is fire, and he has a VERY short fuse. If you don’t act like the PERFECT little pet, he’ll get mad, fast. And let’s face it, you’re a brat.” You regret ever waking up from that nap. You also regret all the actions you’ve made since that nap.

“Think about it, burning large manly hands grabbing for you, or giving a downright villainous glare because you DARED deny his affection.” Okay, staying with Shoto was the better choice again. The idea of being around either version of Enji shook you to your core.

“I-I…Please don’t make me go with your father! I’m sorry for what I said! I really am! Please, don’t make me spend a week with him!” He seemed to stop and consider it, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

“Hmm. Will you stop being such a brat?”

“Yes! Of course, I’ll do anything!”

“Kiss me, on the lips.”

You step back, legs shaking, eyes darting to his lips in terror. He’s requested this before, but you always denied it. It’s too close, too personal, too intimate. It’s an act that would seal the corrupted relationship you two share.

“W-what?”

He brings his palm, with you on it, closer to his lips.

“Come now, little one. You said you’d do anything to prove to me you won’t be such a brat.”

Hesitantly, you move closer, wrapping your arms around yourself. Swallowing thickly, you slowly lean forward and place your tiny lips on his, sealing the deal. He’s holding his breath, waiting anxiously for you to prove your loyalty to him.

As you lean back from the kiss, he breathes out, warm breath washing over you.

“Thank you for that my pet. You truly have established your loyalty to me. I just have one more thing to ask of you.”

“What is it? I’ll do anything, I swear!” You just don’t want to end up with the devil. You know how much ‘fun’ Shoto could have with the word ‘anything’, you’re not an idiot. But anything is preferable to Enji.

“In a couple of days, I’ll be going away for a week or so. International hero conference, you know the deal. You will have to stay with my old man for that period.”

Your stomach drops as you start crying. He...he lied to you! He betrayed you!

“B-but…you…you promised!”

“I said nothing of the sort. I simply asked if you’d stop being such a brat, to which you responded enthusiastically. Not my fault you misinterpreted what I said.” A wicked grin overtakes his face, as his hand cocoons your body, leaving only your head.

“I HATE YOU! You’re a villain! What makes you think you can do this?! You’re just like your father! I hope you both rot in hell together! I hate you!” You’re past the point of caring with Shoto, he can burn in hell for all you care. Although considering he is giving you to Todoroki Senior, the feeling might be mutual.

“Hahaha, little one, ferocious as ever. I DO hope you’ll survive the week with my father, it’d be such a shame otherwise.”

#Yandere #microphilia #shoto todoroki #reader insert #gender-neutral reader #boku no hero academia #boku no hero x reader #yandere bnha #my hero academia #shoto x reader #implexedactions #Long Fic #ImplexedWriting

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kenjikutie · 4 years

Text

Fateful Consequences (Oikawa Toru)

i got this ask a while ago and it took so long to write I’m so sorry! i hope you like it!

if there was one thing oikawa tooru was bad at, it was giving himself a break. he had formed a terrible habit throughout middle school of working until he couldn’t, of hitting something till it broke. and it was this mindset that made him impossible to understand

he always kept that fake smile on his face, one that sent shivers up your spine because it never reached his eyes. oikawa never could express his emotions; he couldn’t be vulnerable. it wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, but he knew that if he truly let himself break down, he couldn’t build himself back up afterward

today was worse than any one you had ever seen before. oikawa had been in the gym ever since school ended at it was nearing eight o’clock at night. you could not stop the feeling of nerves rattling in your stomach as you grabbed your backpack and began walking toward the exit. oikawa didn’t even notice until he heard the door open

he dropped the volleyball he was holding and put his hand on his hip, “(y/n)?”

you put a comforting smile on your face and turned around, hoping he would be somewhat calmer than he was earlier, “toru, it’s getting pretty late. we should get home before it’s really dark, yeah?”

oikawa didn’t respond right away, taking another glance at the volleyball on the floor then back up at you. there was a match with shiratorizawa coming up and he needed to practice as much as he could. he couldn’t stand being looked down on by ushiwaka again. but, he did have to walk you home first, there was no question about that

you waited for him by the door, not mentioning how he obviously left it unlocked. if he came back later and worked himself to the bone, it would be your mess to take care of. you would be the one who’d have to run your fingers through his hair and give him a massage. usually, you didn’t mind it at all but your patience had already been worn thin tonight

oikawa didn’t even hold your hand as you walked, too busy making volleyball motions, practicing even as he walked. you were beginning to get annoyed and even thought about taking another way home just to get there faster and away from the subtle seething creature that was your boyfriend

“toru? can we stop at the convenience store for a second? i need to get something.”, he gave you a nod and you felt your heart sink but you don’t know why you expected anything more

the buzzing light of the convenience store almost made you forget the awkwardness of this walk home. oikawa chose to wait outside while you got whatever you needed, turning on his phone and texting whoever, probably iwaizumi. you gave a smile to the bored cashier and wandered further down the isles

when you reached for a bottle of strawberry milk, you lept backward when your hand touched someone else’s. the other person shuffled backward too with an awkward sigh. you glanced over to look at them, eyes widening when you saw him

“tobi-chan!”, you smiled and saw the way he relaxed when he saw you

you propelled yourself forward to hug him, giggling as you two rocked side by side. tobio reluctantly put his hands on your back, pushing you away slightly. he had gotten a haircut and it looked nice, you noted as you stepped back with your arms behind you

“how are you, (y/n)-san?”, he asked, avoiding the blinding smile on your face by focusing on the dirty tile floor

you and tobio had met last year at one of his volleyball games that oikawa had dragged you too. the two of you hit it off surprisingly well and you grew to see tobio as your little brother, constantly supporting him and making fun of him at the exact same time

“i’m okay! toru has a match coming up soon so he’s been practicing non-stop-“, you stopped mid-sentence as arms wrapped around your middle

you must have been so busy talking to tobio that you hadn’t even heard the front door open. oikawa rested his head on your shoulder with a scowl pointed directly at kageyama, whose face flushed under the glare. you couldn’t even see your boyfriend’s face but you knew what he was doing

“toru, you remember tobi-chan, right?”, oikawa tensed at the pet name and grabbed your waist a little tighter

“unfortunately. it’s cold outside, (y/n), we need to get home, hmm? bye-bye tobio!”, oikawa turned you around and pressed his lips to yours

yours eyes widened while oikawa’s never left kageyama. catching on fairly quickly, you shoved oikawa off of you

“don’t ever do that again!”, you pointed at him before repositioning your backpack and storming out of the store

oikawa scowled even deeper at tobio who grabbed the milk quickly and ran toward the cashier. maybe he had gone too far this time but he had been on edge all day. he lost his ushiwaka all the time but he wouldn’t lose to kageyama. and he certainly wouldn’t lose you

* * *

the day of the shiratorizawa match marked the fourth day you hadn’t spoken to oikawa and he was about to lose his mind. he had been unfocused the entire game because he knew that you weren’t in the crowd, you weren’t all curled up in his jacket like you usually were and you wouldn’t be there to console him after his inevitable defeat

iwaizumi had lost count of how many times he’d struck him but none of them seemed to have any effect. the whole team was suffering because of oikawa’s mindset and when the game finally reached halfway, iwaizumi had had enough. picking up his phone, he immediately dialed your number

“where are you and what did you do to trashykawa?”, was his immediate response when you answered

“i’m here, just really far in the back so he can’t see me and i didn’t do anything, it was all him.”, there was a pout to your tone and you sounded close to tears

iwaizumi sighed and rubbed his forehead, “listen, i’m sure oikawa deserves whatever punishment you’re giving him and i know it isn’t fair of me to ask this but, he needs you and we need him. please, (y/n).”

he hung up afterward and glanced over at the captain, who was sitting on the bench with glassy eyes and knees pulled up to his chest. when iwaizumi saw you walking down the stairs of the bleachers, it felt like tons of rocks had been lifted off of his shoulders. you had a look on your face that matched oikawa’s

with a heavy heart, you snuck around the back of the bench and placed your hand on oikawa’s head, beginning to wave your fingers through his dark brown hair. oikawa flinched at first but relaxed as if he were melting. slowly and carefully, he turned around buried his face in your stomach while you continued to play with his hair

you could hear his sniffles as he spoke ,”i-i am so so s-sorry! i-i-i was mad and i w-was o-out of line a-and it w-wasn’t fair to y-you! i n-never sh-should-“

cutting him off you lowered yourself down to his eye level and took his red face into your hands, wiping off the tears with gentle fingertips. you had never seen him act like this before, certainly not in front of his entire team who were most definitely watching the scene unfold

“we can talk about it later, kay?”, you felt him nod slowly against your hands,”now, get out there and cream shiratorizawa, babe!”

it was as if the fire had returned to his eyes instantly at your encouragement. oikawa beamed and kissed your nose with a grin before cracking his knuckles

“you got it!”

shiratorizawa still ended up winning but oikawa played better than you had ever seen him before and afterward, he didn’t stop holding you all day, even skipping out on after game practice. you didn’t need him around all the time but this was certainly enough

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa tōru #oikawa x reader #toru oikawa

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shinidamachu · 3 years

Note

yo asking someone to make a wish so half of their heritage is gone forever is fridge horror-level wtfness (thnx TV Tropes).

of course RT and Sunrise chose not to focus on it, and in mythology people do give up divinity or humanity for romantic reasons, but specifically in Inuyasha it was like ‘despite your demon half you can still live a good life’ as if he has some disease 🤨

like I get in history people have had to hide their heritage to survive war and avoid being shipped off to their death or lose their rights, but to ask someone to permanently discard half their heritage and presumably hide their origins until death is tragic as fuuuuuuuuuuu

It's not even that they chose not to focus on it, is that they deliberately portrayed it as this grand romantic gesture from Inuyasha’s part and for a part of the audience, it truly was. But then again, this backfired for people like me, because it only served to proof how desperate Inuyasha really was to fit in.

Poor guy was literally planning on using the jewel to become a full demon just the day before. Then, at Kikyo’s request, he agreed on doing the exact opposite with little to no deliberation other than “what will be made of you, Kikyo?” I can only assume he was afraid her feelings were conditional. That if he had said no, she would have called it quits.

Imagine the same situation, but this time Inuyasha has a support system to lean on. Prejudice against half demons are still a thing, however he has his parents, his friends, a place to belong. Would he still have said yes in order to live with Kikyo? I honestly doubt it.

You see, Inuyasha hates being human. Not in the sense of saying he hates it, but liking it in secret. He actively hates it. And I can’t stress enough that we don’t actually understand how rightfully entitled he is to hate it.

We know how a human body feels like, we’re used to have a human body. Inuyasha is only human once a month. The majority of time he is a half demon. That’s what he is used to. Even worse: put yourself in his shoes. If you were to lose half your strength, half your sight, half your hearing and speed every single New Moon, you'd curse that night too.

Not to mention the sheer vulnerability of being emotionally and physically exposed, of not being able to protect yourself or the ones you care about and becoming a "burden” when he takes pride of being the (un)official guardian of the group. No wonder he felt so hopeless he made a point out of staying up all night. And this is what Kikyo was asking him to feel like every single day for the rest of his existence so their life together could be easier, with the aditional quicker of forever losing the features that marked him as his father’s son. You know, the man who died saving him and his mother.

Every single character that got close enough to find out about his night of weakness quickly became aware of how much he despises it. Now, we don’t know the exact duration of Inuyasha and Kikyo’s relationship, but here are our options: Kikyo didn’t know about the New Moon and that Inuyasha hated turning into human or she did know and decided to go for it anyway.

Considering that the latter option is straight up awful, I’ll just assume she simply didn’t know. What does this say about their relationship? If they were an item for a considerable period of time, how come she didn’t know about such a fundamental thing about him? Especially when people who weren’t even his love interest were aware of that fact pretty early on? What was it worth all that time together if they didn’t use it to have meaningful interactions and get to know one another? If Inuyasha was keeping secrets from her and if she wasn’t interested in learning them?

On the other hand, if their relationship was indeed short lived, that could justify the lack of knowledge, but a different issue raises: if they didn’t have time to collect basic information about each other, how am I supposed to believe in their love? How am I supposed to view the decision to erase his demonic side and live together as anything other than reckless, impulsive and thoughtless? How am I not supposed to see it as mutual convenience, a mean to an end? How am I not supposed to think they are acting out of lonileness and desire to fit in? How am I not supposed to think that if literally anyone else had given them the same options they would have taken it?

A New Moon would have happened in at least one month, tops. That’s not love. That’s a thirty days affair. It could have grown into love, if given the chance, but the pairing seemed more interested in the life they ideolized for themselves than in each other.

I don’t think Kikyo meant it as an ultimatum or that she was disgusted by his demonic attributes. She wouldn’t have approached or kissed him as a half demon otherwise. But I think it’s hard to deny that she wasn’t necessarily fond of them either, since she jumped at the opportunity to get rid of them first chance she got, with no remorse whatsoever. As if it was a bonus. This allowed with the fact that the prejudice against half demons is an allegory for racism and that she used from false equivalence to make the point that both her and Inuyasha were in the same situation puts her in a bad light.

Inuyasha was isolated by people because of his heritage, something he couldn’t change without resorting to intrusive, traumatizing and permanent magic, which Kikyo herself suggested he did. Kikyo isolated herself. People loved her because of her status and she was a privileged woman in comparison. She could have dropped everything since she was unhappy living like that, but she spontaneously chose her duty and powers over love and an ordinary life. And as much as I disagree with her choices, I can at least respect and understand them. What I can’t do is feel sympathy for her when the consequences of said choices catch up with her.

The narrative doesn’t give this problem much focus, it treats it in a much more subtle way. For instance: the jewel only being destroyed by the right wish, paints wishing for Inuyasha to become human as wrong and selfish, with the potential to be catastrophic.

That being said, Inuyasha didn’t hate being a half demon, on the contrary. What he hated was being ostracized over it, so he decided to take matters on his own hands and, when he was free to choose between using the jewel to become a full demon or a human, he went the full demon route because he knew living as human would made him miserable. But the desire of being a full demon was a facade. What he so very clearly wanted, all along, was to be accepted the way he was. That’s why he had no trouble letting go of that goal to pursue the exact opposite: there was no attachment to it. Full demon or human, he longed for a place to belong. If Kikyo was offering that to him, of course he would have taken it, even if becoming human was far from being the first choice.

Compare that with Inuyasha finally giving up from becoming a full demon, realizing he didn’t have to change at all, that he had a place to belong and people who loved him not despite of what he was but because of it, that he could be accepted as a half demon. Compare that with Inuyasha ending up with the girl that always encouraged him to be himself, with being comfortable enough around her to follow his instincts and embracing his canine mannerisms rather than shutting them down, which he didn’t quite did with Kikyo... The message is clear:

Kikyo should never, in any circumstance, have asked that of him. The implications of it were really bad and on paper it was a win-win situation for her because getting rid of the jewel to become an ordinary woman was something she already wanted. He was the one with the short end of the stick, sacrificing everything without the same level of compromising from her part.

And Inuyasha should never, in any circumstance, have accepted this deal. As his love interest, Kikyo should have been the very first persond advocating for him not to change. If the feelings they had for each other truly were love, then she should be the one helping him getting to terms with himself while he does the same for her, not legitimizing the absurd idea that a part of his essence was less worthy of existing than the other, that he should have be the one to change in order to fit in, rather than the people who oppressed him.

Thematically, even if subtle, the narrative did a decent job out of showing the audience how fucked up the whole thing actually was. What it failed to do was making Inuyasha and the others realizing how wrong it was and holding Kikyo accountable for her actions by making them talk about it.

Because God forbid Kikyo gets vocally told she was wrong (even though she often is) and God forbid Takahashi give Inukik the tiniest bit of substance and relationship development.

#Sorry if I'm not making any sense #I apologize for my rambling #And for taking so long to reply #But as you can obviously see I got carried away #Sidmailing

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chaoticpuff17 · 4 years

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A Dangerous Game

part 10

masterlist

Hello darlings! This one goes out to @the-darkest-starr ! She was my first like and my first follow. Love this girl so much, and hope it brightens her day! This one’s for you babe!

The weeks of isolation had made her ready to climb the walls. Jin came to visit when he could, but he was still a doctor and that kept him very busy. They no longer had the excuse of her stitches to prompt a visit. This left Namjoon as her only constant companion, and she didn’t know what was worse, the isolation or the fact that she was beginning to look forward to Namjoon’s visits.

They had established a sort of routine. In the mornings Namjoon would come and have a light breakfast and tea with her bringing her new reading material, and then she’d be left alone to her own devises for the day. She’d read whatever book he had brought her and play solitaire. If she had to play another game of solitaire she was afraid she was going to lose her mind. It had gotten to the point where she was even beginning to debate throwing another vase at Namjoon, consequences be damned. And then he would return in the later evening and share late supper with her. This was her life now, every day the same, and it was driving her insane. That was the point though wasn’t it?

The isolation was a punishment, but it was also a very effective tool for breaking down the will of your opponent, and Namjoon was nothing if not a smart man. He knew exactly what he was doing. She had to give him credit for that, the sneaky bastard. That was the game though wasn’t it? It was a new game and an old game all at once. And Namjoon had one the first round. She couldn’t allow him the final victory though.

It was a waiting game now. Who could hold out longer? Namjoon unfortunately had the upper hand. He had all the resources after all. He held all the power. And she wasn’t stupid. She knew that he would only put up with her insolence so long before he took to more drastic measures. It all depended on how patient of a man Namjoon was. If she was lucky, and recent history had proven that she wasn’t, she could outlast him. He’d grow tired of her, of this game, and he’d let her go. Or maybe she’d just annoy him into killing her. It wasn’t a great plan especially considering she would much rather make it out of all of this alive, but isolation can make people do and think crazy things. And maybe Namjoon sensed that. Maybe that was why he came to her room that afternoon.

“Jagiya,” He began watching her with a smirk playing on his lips.

“What do you want?” She groaned from her position sprawled across one of the sofas with her arm thrown across her eyes, a position she’d taken out of boredom upon finishing the latest book Namjoon had brought her. “Don’t you have other things to do than to pester me?”

“It’s the weekend, jagi, and you’ve been left to your own devices all morning. I thought we might go for a stroll in the garden, but if you don’t want to…” He trailed off watching with veiled amusement as she perked up.

“The garden?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Outside? Outside this room?” Her eyes were blown wide as she gazed at him hoping beyond hope that this wasn’t some cruel trick on his part. She wouldn’t put such a trick past him, but he nodded a small smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re not shitting me are you?”

“You’ve been so good, and you’ve taken your punishment so well. I could do without the attitude, but we can work on that.” He definitely had plans to rid her of the attitude.

He could practically see the cogs turning in her head as the realization hit her, when the hope settled in. “I can leave this room. I won’t be locked in anymore?”

Namjoon couldn’t have been more pleased by her reaction. There was something so fragile and vulnerable about her in this moment, having those doe eyes focused on him filled with so much hope. And he was the one who gave her that hope. “That depends on how you behave today.” He mused. “If you behave well, I see no reason why you can’t have free reign of the house and the gardens. But if you don’t behave I have no problem keeping you here in these rooms.”

The effect of those words was almost instantaneous. Her eyes grew even more impossibly wide and her face paled at the implication. It was clear to him that her punishment had been effective. Even if she didn’t realize it, there was a shift, the smallest of change. He was wearing her down, settling her into her new role.

“Do you understand, jagi?”

She nodded quickly scrambling up and scampering to the closet in search of shoes. As much as she hated depending on him for anything, especially her freedom, she wasn’t about to give up the chance to go outside. She would be the sweetest girl in the world if it meant she was going to be released from her god forsaken house arrest.

She emerged shoes in hand and a bright smile on her face too big to conceal. The excitement of being released from her room outweighed her will to remain grumpy in the face of her captor, and in this minute she couldn’t bring herself to care even taking his hand without a fuss when he extended it to lead her out of the room.

She was practically vibrating with excitement by the time they had reached the door that would lead them outside to the garden. Freedom was just a few steps away, or at least a semblance of it was, but before she could step outside, Namjoon pulled her back, and she couldn’t help but look at him in confusion.

“This is a privilege, Y/N.” He repeated, dark eyes serious as he stared her down. “If you pull any sort of stunt today, I will lock you away for so long you will forget how the sunlight feels on your skin. There are worse prisons than your rooms, jagiya.”

The threat kept her frozen in place as she stared up at him. How could he speak such harsh words so sweetly?

“Jagi?” He prompted squeezing her hand tightly. She nodded slowly unsure of how to respond to him after that. The man was giving her whiplash. “I need words, jagi.”

“Yes, Namjoon.” She sighed impatient to get outside and put his disturbing smiling threats out of her head, at least for the moment.

“Good!” He smiled brightly dimples popping out in full force. “Let’s enjoy the garden then.”

To say that the gardens were beautiful would have been an understatement. They were gorgeous, enchanting even as they sprawled out from the house. Clearly someone had put a lot of time and effort into them. It looked like something out of a fairy land to her, but then again, she was used to cramped city apartments with rag tag parks filled with litter. This was another level entirely, and she was instantly in love.

Namjoon didn’t even protest when her hand slipped from his as she wandered further into the garden. While she was enamored with the garden, he was enamored with her. He’d never seen her this soft. Her eyes had a sparkle to them that he had yet to see as she trailed her fingers across the petals of some of the flowers almost reverently. Everything about her in this moment seemed gentle.

Her eyes wandered further into the garden as she took everything in. It was sculpted into a very traditional fashion with bridges and gazebos and what appeared to be a large koi pond further from the house all connected by a series of winding paths.

“Can we go there?” She asked her voice filled with breathless wonder as she looked out towards the koi pond.

“Of course, jagi.” He replied just as softly placing a gentle hand on her back to lead her down to the pond.

He was almost afraid that if he spoke any louder or made any sudden movements that the moment would shatter and she would return to the acid spitting hellion he had come to know. He would have to savor this more gentle version of her while he could. He knew it wouldn’t last long. She would be a fierce little hellion again before long, but he enjoyed seeing this softer side of her as well.

He had chosen because she was intriguing, because she was strong, but this was something he wanted to see from her more often. As much as he enjoyed sparring with her, her constant venom was beginning to become tiresome. Yes, she’d followed his rules, but she had done it with a bitter reluctance that didn’t sit well with him. He was a man who was used to complete obedience without question. He was lenient for now though as she was still adjusting, but his patience could only hold out for so long. But for today he would enjoy the softer side of her while it lasted.

They reached the bridge that stretched across the koi pond, and settled there. Y/N leaned over the rail to gaze down at the fish that milled about in the pond a soft smile playing on her lips. She was entranced by the fish, wishing she had brought something out to feed her with. Next time she told herself. If she played her cards right, she’d be able to go out into the gardens as much as she’d like. All the while they stood there in peaceful silence, Namjoon stood guard just to the side his attention solely focused on her.

Looking at her now, Namjoon found her to be the most lovely woman in the world. Illuminated in the afternoon light with the late summer breeze stirring her hair, Namjoon considered himself very much in love with her, and he had to congratulate himself on his catch. Summoning her to that late night meeting all those weeks ago had been on a whim, purely out of curiosity to see who he was dealing with, and now he was grateful that he had. She was a dangerous woman to have around. She was capable of tearing down the empire he had built from the ground up if he wasn’t careful. But that made their game all the more exciting. It made her all the more exciting, and once tamed she would make an exquisite queen for his empire. All that was left to do was to break her to his will.

part 11

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #namjoon #namjoon x reader #yandere namjoon #mafia namjoon #rm #rm x reader #mafia #dark romance #mafia au #soft yandere #fanfic

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jamestrmtx · 3 years

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Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Twenty One | It's Showtime! (Part 2 of 3 | His POV)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Alternate Chapter Title(s):

Saint Behind the Glass** (Song Referenced)

The Extra Corny One With A Second Song Title Reference, Part 2½**

• • •

**This basically reveals Part 2 and 3 were meant to be Chapter Twenty-Two at one point (similar to how various chapters from the old version of FaiCom have been merged together here), buuut each chapter has essentially took place on different days in this version, so...

Let's keep that format, shall we?

• • •

Something's wrong.

That single sentence continues to repeat itself over and over as he makes it from Ruins to Hotland with the human, who remains quiet and distant during the entirety of the walk.

They're obligated to take off their jacket and reveal a sweaty tank top midway through, leaving their arms bare, these they try to hide from his line of sight by crossing them and glancing aside. He wonders why they do that at first, until he witnesses how hefty and soft-looking their arms are, a noticeable difference compared to the toned muscles he often saw from those who worked at the Royal Guard. Whether the human felt unconfident of their appearance or vulnerable as a cause of the nightmare he assumed to be related to, Sans wasn't completely sure of. Either way, he's aware it's best not to bring that up currently. The ups and downs to their health and body had shown greatly through these past few months, and though they were recovering little by little, they seemed to be facing some more frequent downs, as of late. Their call from a few days ago and the weak state they were in as they climbed into the back seat of Papyrus's car were just enough to make him fear there's something bigger going on.

"Shoulda worn shorts or somethin'," he comments, noticing they already seem to be affected by the heat. Frisk ventured through a variety of climates with no trouble at all, yet their parent was showing signs of fatigue in their body within a few minutes into their walk through Hotland. The place had grown about twice as hot since he last visited, though he doubts the human will believe him if he were to say that out of nowhere. They could likely take it as him trying to console them for their inability to be stronger than him; or their own child, for that matter -- someone meant to see them as a role model rather than a frail and dependent person. "Wanna borrow some of mine?"

The human stares at him like he's made the most absurd suggestion there is, similar to that of mixing water with cereal or cooking steak in a toaster. "I swear, you test your luck with me a little too hard sometimes."

"I mean it, though."

"...We're not even dating yet."

"Yet," he says, mirth in his tone. "As in, there's still a possibility for us to become official?"

"Oh, stop it." They frown and fumble with the keys hanging from their satchel; he notices their nails are stubby, and bits of dried blood can be seen at the corners of plenty. "I… I don't know when you're being serious with me or not anymore."

"I meant that, too," he states, chuckling. "Would it be late if I told you I got that punch at the bar, 'cuz I had my head way in the clouds -- thinkin' about you?"

Sans receives no comment or reaction other than (Y/N) looking elsewhere and moving aside to walk a bit further from where he's at.

As a consequence, he takes a step closer, catches them with a 'hey', and reaches for their cheek when they look down at him. "...What's the matter? Your face's burnin'."

"We're in Hotland," they retort, rolling their eyes and brushing his hand away. "Ice's frozen. Water's wet. The sun's scorching-"

"-Just like you."

They walk off again, albeit with some struggle now that the heat of Hotland has combined with their embarrassment.

"And I'm not gonna wear your shorts. It would be a waste of time for me to take a break just because of some heat -- I'm not weak."

"Not sayin' you are. Just sayin' I don't want you to die from a heatstroke."

"Either way, I overlooked my situation, and I failed to prepare for it." A solemn look falls on their face, coupled with a firm posture. "I should've kept in mind my health, so it wouldn't be right for you to try redeeming my lack of preparedness. I should've asked Frisk or you more about this." They take in a breath and sigh it out. "...even if you can adapt to it just fine, and even if Frisk didn't have as much trouble to adjust as me."

Hot-headed and fiery might just be the finest ways to describe the human's current attitude, yet he very well knows making another joke about their temper -- combined with their hotness and the place they're currently at -- would be far too much. It wouldn't surprise him if they decided to call off the tour halfway through. Patience wasn't quite their main trait, though they practiced a sufficient amount of tolerance when it came to confronting his constant coquetry for the duration of those two months one of their coworkers mentioned in the chat; he can hardly believe it's been that long, and even less how close he was to kiss them that one time on the couch. More than sixty days of dealing with his presence had to be considered an achievement of some sort, even if their feelings were mutual. The monster's completely aware of how tiring and exasperating he can be on the often occasion, so he finds it best to start rationing how much he can be at once; too much of something's rarely ever good or effective, after all.

"But... Alright. Risking it would only make it worse, either way." Their gaze turns soft and they concede with a quiet huff. "Wouldn't we have to go allll the way back, though?"

"Not exactly," he replies, winking.

Sans proceeds to unzip his jacket and reveal a folded bundle of clothing underneath it.

"I know you can be stubborn sometimes, so I came prepared." He turns it over and adds, "There's a full set of clothes there, in case ya wanna freshen up at Met's old hotel before we keep goin'." His hands brush with theirs as they take the clothing from him. "It's been abandoned for a short while now, but I'm pretty sure the water's still runnin' well, for the most part." His gaze falls on their belongings again, and he gives into a cheekier grin as he continues with, "I've noticed somethin' about you, by the way."

"And what would that be?" they ask, mouth straight and tone wary.

He observes the satchel again -- the more-heavy-than-it-looks bag they almost always seemed to carry along with them, be it for something as typical as their job to something as simple as going out for a walk. What made it odd was knowing what contents could be found inside, these he has a vague recollection from when he had no other choice but to organize their bag after having gone through it when they fainted at the bus. Sans can still remember having rummaged through layers of Frisk's clothing, school supplies, and even a few monster-aimed medicines before setting the first aid kit back to its rightful place. The only things he could recall to be truly theirs were their cellphone, wallet, keys, and eyeglasses case. Going back to that memory makes him wonder -- were their priorities in the format of a list -- what number they would label themself with.

"You usually carry stuff in that bag meant for other people -- not you." He eyes the pocket with a few contents poking out from it. "...Or am I Ied to believe that bright pink Husky hairpin's yours?"

The human looks confused for a moment, until their eyes cast down at their bag and assess the pocket his gaze is most focused on. Then, they come across one of the smaller ones, where the mentioned accessory stays clipped to. "It- It's not! That's just in case Frisk needs it." They take it and hide it away in one of the bigger, emptier pockets. "It's their favourite hairpin, and they use it more often now that their hair's getting longer."

"But they ain't here right now."

"Yes, but what if they need it later -- when I go pick them up?"

He can barely contain the joy their overly defensive expression brings upon his face.

Perhaps it's pure projection or coincidence, but they appear to resemble the same dog he mentioned with the stance they hold, not threatening in the slightest and charming at best, but still ready to attack -- figuratively, of course. Hearty laughter escapes him, though he covers it up with a harrumph. "I'm surprised you don't carry the whole house with you, at this point."

"It doesn't hurt to be prepared."

"If only you applied that thought for you, too."

They swat his skull with their hand and let out a chuckle. "Don't nag me, teddy bear." Nonetheless, a more serious look overcomes them as they sigh. "You're right, though." With how quiet it gets and how long that pause lasts, it appears as if they've become lost in their thoughts. "Not only did the social worker suggest it, but it's not fair for me to keep bothering you or anyone else because of my..." They scratch their throat and grin. "...consistently questionable life choices."

"Is that a promise I'm hearin'?"

"A big and definite one."

• • •

Half-open windows help bring some clear air into the stuffy room, as does the air conditioner set to the coldest temperature possible by lessening the dryness and heat of the wind. It's all paired up with the scents of the fresh cinnabunnies and iced coffee he carries in some paper bags, food he bought at Snowdin while the human showered. Sans sets the meal by the nightstand, covers it up with some aluminum foil, and -- finally -- wipes a layer of dirt away from the mirrored dresser before assembling some toiletries on it. Then, he sits down in bed, closes his eye sockets, and waits. The sounds of his soul beating, the breeze blowing the curtains, and the shower running are the only melodies to take over the quiet of the hotel. Turning on the radio by the nightstand further assists those noises and aids in transforming the room into a more welcoming and cozy spot, overall. The last thing on his mental to-do list is to wait some more by checking his phone and updating himself on any new messages, some few from (Y/N)'s coworkers wishing him luck. A grin's inevitable as he reads through these a second time.

The shower turning off and a door unlocking are the next changes he notices, along with the radio switching from music to news.

Sans feels his breath tremble when the human steps out. They're dressed to the nines despite their attire being composed of the simplest clothing possible: a new pair of his below-the-knee shorts, these fitting slightly above theirs as a result of their taller height; plus one of his baggiest shirts, now almost at belly button length for the same reason as the first piece. What makes such a common attire seem so complex and thought-out is how well they've adjusted it to their figure; it's either that, or he has his head in the clouds again. Regardless, they knew how to fix an outfit, and it wasn't that of much surprise if he compared it to the time they pulled the same trick when borrowing some sleepwear from Toriel's wardrobe.

Or, then again…

He was slowly becoming infatuated with them and couldn't avoid finding them attractive -- no matter the clothing worn.

At the sight of (Y/N) having their back turned to him while they perform their finishing touches by the dresser, he approaches them as quietly as he can, yet he lets himself be seen halfway with the reminder of the nightmare they had and how startled they could likely be if he tried anything extreme. He goes to hug them from behind when they catch him getting closer, though they say and do nothing in response. Still, his expectations of no retaliation are promptly shattered as they turn around, grab his hands, and twirl him once, preventing the hug.

"Nice try, teddy bear," they comment, smiling. "Do try again next time." They wink.

It's a knockout when the radio decides to switch back to music, inspiring in them what he assumes is an urge to take their current hold on him to lead him into an impromptu dance.

"So… You want to get flirty with me again?" they ask, grabbing his hands tight as they sway him left and right at a rhythmic but easy motion. "Then you've got to handle me flirting back." One hand holds his left one up while the other places his right one on their waist. Theirs then falls on his shoulder when he keeps his where they placed it at, this one he has trouble keeping still with how close he is to touch their skin, part of their waist now more exposed with their movements, showing the “love handles” he'd teased them about since he first flirted with them. A subtle but no less playful smile stretches their lips; their eyes soften, though mischief flares in their gaze. "I've made the decision to trust you," they comment, twirling him around once more. "So if you'd like us to be official, we can, but…" Their steps slow down as they trail off in their thoughts.

He treads in with, "You need to wait until the CPS thing's over with, right?"

They nod. "Unfortunately."

Their sorrow stays brief and their playfulness returns, replacing their momentary frown for yet another smile. "My memory might be a bit bad though, as I've never heard you say you like me before." To further increment the effects of their teasing, their lips fall close to his teeth but end up lower, kissing his jaw instead. "...In other words," they add, hands locking firm around his neck and bringing him closer to them. "Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Sans feels his face turn about as warm as theirs felt, and he can tell they've noticed, based on the way their face lingers close to his -- waiting.

"...I like you," he says, far too quiet to be labeled anything but a murmur; even a thought could be considered louder than his words.

They land another kiss, much closer to his teeth. "Couldn't hear you."

"I like you, puddin'," he repeats, stronger this time. "Can you, uh… do that again, though? It felt nice."

They nod, lean in further, and press yet another kiss to his face. "Gladly."

With that, the human carries on with the dance. They sway him left and right and perform small circles across the hotel room, adding a twirl every few seconds -- sometimes with them taking the lead, and vice versa. "I like you, too, Serif." Despite the meaning and weight of their words, a frown arrives on their face. "But…" They hesitate. "I still have some doubts, and I think that dream I had confirmed that."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

A few seconds of silence remain and the song ends, dropping tension in the room.

"Not now, but… But maybe later?" They let him go. "If possible, I'd like to talk at the Judgment Hall -- where you last worked before leaving the Underground."

Despite his best efforts, the skeleton can't avoid commenting, "Want me to judge how good you look right now?"

The human sighs, loud and long. "...Babe?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop."

He lets out a resounding, jovial laugh at that.

Their tone's genuinely sad, as so's their expression.

They look a hundred and ten percent done with him, though they still push forward with a, "Be serious for a moment, please. I… I really mean it, and that dream I had…" Demurral returns to their words. "It involved one of my fears about Frisk's safety, and well…" They take a deep, shaky breath. "A- And my own safety when I'm around you."

The severity of their statement dawns on him, and his view distorts itself from an attractive human to a vulnerable one standing in front of him, weak and poorly prepared -- completely alone with him in a large, abandoned, and dilapidated hotel. They were easy prey from the viewpoint of an Underground Sentry. He could easily take them captive with their current state of health and their lack of knowledge in combat. Were he still assigned to that job, had (Y/N) fallen in Frisk's stead, and were finding that seventh soul still a priority, he could just as easily inform every other member of the Royal Guard to bring the human down to the Monster King's bidding. Unlike Frisk, they had little to no determination left in their soul; a quick and direct intervention meant danger for them.

And had he still that same mindset to this day, his agreement with Asgore to serve and protect (Y/N) would be something he could break -- something simple to deal with if he framed the blame on someone else. He could just as likely tolerate some jail time for failing to fulfill his part of that job with no protest. The only real obstacle would be (Y/N)'s child themself, knowing they were likely going to guard and care for their parent unconditionally. But even then, they were still alone with him presently; in other words, he could cover up any potential evidence of him being a culprit with time to spare. Perhaps Frisk was the hero of the story, but (Y/N) was still an NPC -- someone easy to get rid of with the right amount of caution and preparedness.

"You mentioned something about Karma before, and well…" They break the silence and snap him out of those thoughts. "I've made a lot of bad choices and awful mistakes, so that makes me wonder if, m- maybe…" Tears form in their eyes as they breathe in -- once, then twice. "If maybe I don't deserve any of this kindness or forgiveness that I've been getting recently, and… And that maybe I don't belong in this story, y'know? Frisk has done all the work here so far, and they've overcome plenty of obstacles, too. Meanwhile, I- I'm a weak, ill person with a dead-end job -- trying to keep a holey row boat afloat with napkins." They let out a shaky sigh and fail at a smile. "I get that you like me, and I can't deny or ignore my own feelings for you, but I'm… I'm an unworthy, ungrateful person. We've known each other for barely half a year. Th- There's stuff you don't know about me yet -- just as I don't know about you."

Their face shines with tears, these they can't bring themself to stop with how many pour down, and how fast these are. "I've already troubled and hurt Frisk enough as it is, and I've... I've troubled well-meaning family like Brenda just as much with my mistakes." They cover their face as they sit down in bed, trying to contain their sorrow. "...And then I have these awful, intrusive thoughts that seep in whenever I think I'm doing better. I don't want to bring trouble to you or any other monsters, either, but reminding myself of my past worsens these feelings, kn- knowing I might screw up again and again and again."

Feeling the situation's getting too rough not to establish some control over it, Sans sits down with them and grabs their wrists, tugging at these for them to look down at him.

Fear reaches their gaze as they stare at his irises, completely overcoming their bright and cheerful attitude from earlier.

"Breathe," he says, voice low as he loosens his grip on their wrists -- at the feeling of them shaking almost violently under his hold. "We'll go to the Hall in a few. But, first... I'm gonna need you to calm down a lil' more." He lets go.

They nod, close their eyes, and let a few more tears drift down before he dries the rest of these off with the sleeve of his jacket. "...Alright."

When they shudder, sniffle, and recover some sense of tranquility, they look at him again and smile. "And thank you for showing me patience."

He smiles back and brings them in for a hug -- long, tight, and strong. "That I've got plenty of, puddin'."

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