#I supposed I should tag that just in case.

[mononijikayu]

a walk — ryomen sukuna.

As you entered the banquet hall together, the atmosphere shifted subtly. You made sure to settle him beside your uncle, who was seated on your right. Conversations continued, but there were curious glances and speculative whispers. Sukuna's presence alongside you, clearly as your companion and equal, sent a powerful message to everyone present. Your status as heir to the Ryomen clan lent your actions an implicit endorsement, and your obvious confidence in Sukuna, as a new member of your family, your future right hand man, challenged any lingering doubts about his place among them.

GENRE: Heian Era to Cursed Womb Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining;

masterlist

listen: a walk by baek yerin

note: i wrote this and wanted to publish it early but i fell asleep, so here we are!!! if you want to be tagged for the next chapter, just comment here~ ill make a list and add you in!!! thank you for your support and i hope you enjoy~ mwah~

YOU THOUGHT YOU SHOULD HAVE REFUSED THE SUMMONS. But you supposed that it would be unbecoming of your position as heir to not show up. You stood gracefully before the gathering, your appearance meticulously composed in sharp wonder, which lent an air of solemnity and reverence to the occasion. Your jūnihitoe shone with pride, multiple layers blossoming through with the double heron. The layers of your kimono cascaded in various shades of indigo representing sincerity and integrity, interspersed with lighter hues of wisteria to signify the young life you advocated for within your ancient lineage.

You could see your lord father behind the magnificent byōbu, his dark gaze fixed on you as he sat primly on his shitone. Your uncle, now a father to Sukuna, was just behind your father, enveloped in a solemn silence with his adopted son behind him, head bowed. You think that Sukuna shouldn’t lower his head. A Ryomen shouldn’t. 

Yet you could not blame him. Sukuna knew this gathering was about him. But how could it not be? He was a boy tied to cursed energy, one who had been plagued by a curse himself. And the world was curious, for he was no one but a common boy—a fiend who had stolen and stirred chaos.

It was not uncommon for the Ryomen to welcome new members among their ranks, to bring them into the family and give them a new name. However, giving the Ryomen name to someone bound to a curse was another matter entirely. You did not see it as a significant issue—the curse was dealt with, and Sukuna was free from its clutches. Yet, it still wasn't enough for these people. It was common procedure for the elders to get involved, but it infuriated you that the elders of your own clan had chosen to inform the other clans and involve them in what should have been a private matter.

You looked at your father and bowed.

You turned to the Ryomen elders and bowed.

Then towards the other clan elders, you nod.

“You may speak, Ryomen Hiromi.” Your father says to you, raising his hand. “State your case.”

You purse your lips as you stand still to address the assembly, your voice carrying a calm yet unmistakable edge of frustration. Your uncle snorted, noticing it. "Esteemed elders, and honored guests from the esteemed clans," you began, your dark eyes sweeping across the room. "I understand the concerns that arise upon this matter. However, let us not be swayed by fear of the unknown nor the shadows of the past."

You paused, making sure your words sank into all. "Sukuna was indeed once a fiend, but he was also a victim of circumstances far beyond a child’s control or understanding. The curse that once clouded his fate has been lifted, cleansed by the very traditions and strengths that our clan upholds."

As you concluded your statement, a stern voice cut through the charged atmosphere of the assembly hall. Elder Hoshiko of the Kamo Clan, known for her conservative stance and influential voice among the sea of clan elders, stood up. Her presence commanded attention, her eyes sharp as they fixed on you.

"Lady Hiromi," she began, her tone as cool as the steel of a blade, "Your words paint a hopeful picture, but they also skirt the edges of naivety. Are we to simply forget the chaos this boy wrought before his 'cleansing'? Are we to trust so readily in the efficacy of a ritual that many of us have yet to witness firsthand?"

The room tensed as other elders nodded in agreement, their murmurs filling the space with a wave of skepticism. You think that was a fair comment. None had seen the depth of your own cursed technique for years. No one truly knew the depths of it all, not even you. Your head hurts, that voice whispering once again. But you stood firm. You will not waver; you meet Elder Hoshiko's gaze with a steely one of your own.

"Elder Hoshiko, I respect your concerns," you replied, your voice thick with firm resolve. "Yet, I must challenge the perspective that holds us anchored to fear and doubt. Sukuna's past actions, while regrettable, were influenced by forces he neither understood nor could control. An orphan in the streets has had no guidance. Since his arrival under our care, his behavior has been nothing but exemplary."

Another elder, Takashi of the Ryomen, known for his strategic mind but cautious nature, chimed in, his voice adding weight to Hoshiko's doubts. "But can we risk the safety of our clans on 'exemplary behavior' observed over merely a few moons? What assurances do we have that the curse does not linger or that it cannot be rekindled?"

The tension in the room thickened palpably as Akihiko of the Fujiwara, your great-uncle, made his position clear, aligning himself with the more conservative faction represented by Elder Takashi. His voice, seasoned with years of authority and sharpened by disapproval, filled the room as he addressed you with a stern glare.

“I agree with Elder Takashi,” he declared, his stance rigid and commanding, underscoring the gravity of his objection. The silence that followed his statement was heavy, charged with familial and political implications.

Your mother, ever the astute matriarch of her line, responded not with words but with a haughty smirk, a subtle yet clear indication of her alignment. Her amusement at the discomfort you now faced was thinly veiled, revealing the complex layers of rivalry and allegiance within the clan. This smirk was not merely a mother's reaction; it was a political stance, one that favored her own kin over the progressive ideas you proposed.

Your father’s reaction was swift and sharp. His gaze darted towards his wife, eyes narrowing into a harsh glare that spoke volumes of the internal conflicts that often played out behind the closed doors of their estate. This look was a silent rebuke, a fleeting yet intense display of disagreement with the stance his wife had chosen to publicly support.

Akihiko continued, his tone slightly raised to emphasize his disapproval. “He is an outsider. One who does not know the ways around our world. Is the Ryomen name ever made so lightly that you give it to any random boy you find on the street, Lady Hiromi?”

The challenge hung in the air, direct and formidable, questioning not just your judgment but also the very principles under which you operated. It was an accusation of recklessness, a critique that sought to frame your decision as a dilution of the clan’s esteemed legacy.

You, standing amidst your family and the clan elders, maintain your composure. Your expression was calm, though your eyes were alight with the fire of conviction. You understood that your reply needed to bridge the gap between honoring your clan’s traditions and advocating for the progressive values you believed were essential for their survival and growth.

A glint of purple light echoed in your eyes. When Sukuna saw that, he could feel every fiber of his being scream in the silence. It was terrifying, the way you glared. It was silent, it wasn’t provoking. Rather, it was quiet. The whole room shuddered at the sight. Sukuna did not know what it was. But everyone in the room was silenced immediately. For a moment, he thinks how awe-striking the purple was in his lady’s eyes. Yet, when you closed your eyes and opened them, they turned into hazel summer gazes once more.

“Great-Uncle Akihiko, Elder of the Fujiwara,” you began, your voice steady and respectful, yet imbued with a firmness that matched his challenge. “I understand your concerns, and I do not take them lightly. Sukuna was indeed an outsider, but under the guidance of our clan, he has shown a willingness and a capacity to learn and embrace our ways.”

You paused, ensuring your words were measured and impactful. “The Ryomen name is not given lightly—it is earned, through commitment, learning, and transformation. What I propose is not a hasty grant of our name, but a carefully considered integration of a potential new member who has shown promise. We are not just preserving our past; we are building our future.”

Your response was a blend of deference to the clan’s traditions and a confident assertion of your modern leadership approach. You sought to remind everyone present that the strength of the Ryomen did not merely lie in their exclusivity, but in their ability to adapt and thrive through the inclusion of new strengths and perspectives.

The room fell silent as your words resonated with the assembled family members and elders. Some faces showed contemplation, perhaps reconsidering their initial resistance, while others maintained their skepticism. You knew that convincing them would not be an overnight success but a gradual process requiring patience, diplomacy, and unwavering dedication to your vision.

"Elders, the assurances you seek lie in the very foundations of our practices and the strength of our traditions. Our ancestors built these rites to combat such curses, to cleanse and to renew. Have we become so distrustful of our own heritage that we doubt its power?"

Your challenge was bold, and it hung heavily in the room. You continued, turning to your great–uncle. "Moreover, allowing fear to dictate our actions leads to stagnation. We are not merely guardians of the old ways but also shepherds of potential. Sukuna deserves the chance to prove his transformation—under careful watch, certainly, but he deserves that chance nonetheless."

The rest of the elders started to echo into a symposium of words as they huddled about together. The assembly was silent for a moment, the weight of future decisions palpable in the air. It was the lord of the Gojo Clan—Gojo Suzaku who broke the silence, his voice a calming balm to the heated exchange. His tender eyes gazed at you with a soft smile.

"Lady Hiromi speaks of progression and trust in our ancient rites. Perhaps it is time we consider her words not as a call to blind faith, but as an invitation to demonstrate the resilience and adaptability of our ways. If the boy proves himself under the vigilant eye of the Ryomen, would we not then strengthen the trust in our own traditions?"

His intervention offered a momentary pause in the contention, providing the elders a chance to reflect not just on the risks but on the potential rewards of embracing change. You nodded to Suzaku, grateful for his support and hoping your arguments had sown seeds of courage among your doubts. You appreciate him quite well. From what you heard from your uncle, he refused to send the delegation of elders from his clan without him. It was as though he knew that you would be suffering the ire of his kinfolk.

The room simmers down and the rest whispers like cicadas in the summertime, now considering the broader implications of their decisions. Ryomen Hiromi used this moment to strengthen your position, your voice resonating with conviction. Sukuna looked at the clan leader of the Gojo. He was perhaps your age—no, he’s older than you. He was a tall man, dressed in fine layers of white and blue silks, the crest of the Gojo clan across each layer. His motodori made his handsome features obvious, his clean shaven face.

He did not have their family’s technique. It had not been reborn for multiple generations. But from what Sukuna hears, that does not make lord Gojo any less powerful. Perhaps that’s why you look at him tenderly, with deference. Sukuna knew that jealousy is not a good feeling, it was a negative emotion. A Ryomen did not concern themselves with jealousy, either. Contentment is a Ryomen’s word. Yet, as he smiled at you and you smiled back, Sukuna thinks lord Gojo did not deserve to look at you like that. Nor did he like that you eyed him with deference too.

"Thank you, clan leader Gojo, for your insightful words.” You continued, turning your attention back to the room at large. "Our young Sukuna's integration into our clan isn't just about managing risk—it's about leadership and vision for the future. One that I must lead, as my lord father’s heir. Our traditions are not just relics of the past but living, breathing practices that adapt and overcome contemporary challenges."

You addressed the assembly with a renewed fervor, "We stand at a crossroads where our choices will define not just Sukuna's fate but the identity of our jujutsu world. Will we be known as those who shrank back in the face of adversity, or as pioneers? Are we just not to live in a modern world, because you fear change?”

Several of the elders shifted uncomfortably in their seats, your words challenging them to rethink their initial resistance. You think you have gotten the Kamo. They speak too much of pride for tradition, about being the guardians of the past. Perhaps had the Zenin arrived too, there would be the same reaction on their faces. But you doubt that they would willingly go. They hated that your father had chosen you as his heir above any other man in his household.

But you think you could scarcely care for Zenin at this moment. You basked in the look your father had given you from afar. Your appeal to their legacy and identity struck a chord, particularly with the younger members around them, who were more receptive to the ideas of adaptation and evolution.

Elder Hoshiko, still a formidable figure, softened slightly but maintained her cautious stance. "Lady Hiromi, your passion is evident, and your argument compelling. However, we must proceed with caution. If we are to embrace this path, I propose strict conditions under which the boy's integration is monitored and evaluated at every step."

You nodded, understanding the necessity of compromise. "That is a prudent suggestion, Elder Hoshiko. I welcome oversight and stringent conditions. I am one for rules, after all. If this is what must be, then let us begin somewhere. The clans I’m sure would be more than willing to aid our Ryomen clan in this endeavor. Is it the strength of each other, to contribute to society together, not what must be?”

This proposal seemed to appease the more conservative members of the assembly, providing a structured path forward that included checks and balances. The atmosphere began to shift from overt skepticism to cautious optimism

Elder Takashi, now seeing a structured approach to the situation, added, "Let us then draft a framework for the boy’s observation. This framework will detail behavioral expectations, milestones for assessment, and the consequences of any deviation from the set path. This way, we maintain control while allowing for the possibility of integration."

"Very well, Elder Takashi," you replied, your tone even and composed, betraying none of the frustration that tinged your earlier thoughts. "This will be much discussed with my father. Fear not."

Before another elder could interject with further doubts or concerns, Lord Isamu, your father and the esteemed leader of the Ryomen, rose to his feet. His movement was graceful, yet deliberate, capturing the attention of everyone present. The elder's stature, combined with the authoritative calm of his voice, immediately lent an air of finality to the discussion.

“That it shall be, do not fret, elders, friends,” Lord Isamu announced, his voice resonant, echoing slightly off the high, ornate ceilings of the council chamber. 

As he spoke, he adjusted the sleeve of his kimono, a subtle, almost unconscious motion that nonetheless underscored his next words. The faint rustle of silk against the quiet of the room underscored his presence, as shadows from the flickering light of hanging lanterns played across the fabric, adding a dramatic flair to the moment.

“But all must have trust in my daughter. There is no reason for the child to not grow with such excellence when the pride of the Ryomen teaches him our ways.” Lord Isamu’s gaze swept across the room, each member of the assembly feeling the weight of his look. Then his wife, and then, her uncle. His wife lowered her eyes. He turns back his gaze at Hiromi. It was a reminder of his authority and of his confidence in your capabilities as both a leader and a mentor. “There is no one better than my daughter and my heir.”

His statement was not just a declaration of support for you; it was a directive that echoed his unwavering belief in the principles that had guided the Ryomen for generations. His words sought to remind the elders that the strength of their clan did not merely rest in maintaining old traditions but in their capacity to adapt, to teach, and to grow stronger by integrating new elements into their lineage, guided by the wisdom of their customs.

The room, previously filled with murmurs of concern and skepticism, now fell silent, the elders and other attendees digesting Lord Isamu's words. His endorsement of your judgment effectively sealed the council’s decision, casting it in a new light—not as a concession but as an affirmation of the Ryomen’s resilience and dynamic leadership. And through the dull bureaucracy that had led to more hours of waste, the adjourned assembly agreed, and what had started as a contentious debate moved towards constructive planning.

You felt a cautious relief; while the road ahead would be rigorous and filled with scrutiny, it was a path forward nonetheless. Sukuna would be given his chance under the watchful eyes of the Ryomen elders. Sukuna will do so. He’ll show them. You sighed.

You think you’ll be able to sleep tonight.

‘Do you think that you deserve such a thing?’

That voice says, almost mockingly as you sighed.

The voice was truly right. A god is always right.

“No.” You say under your breath, “I don’t.”

FATHER ANNOUNCED A BANQUET FOR THE GUESTS SOON AFTER. As the elders dispersed, leaving the room echoing with the last murmurs of conversation, you stepped closer to Sukuna. Your uncle sighed at you as you nodded back at him. You smiled down at the younger boy, looking at him as though to reassure him that everything was fine. You brushed your fingers against his hair, a small blush appearing on his cheeks. 

“You just had to antagonize the elders, hm?” he sighed, a slight smile playing at the edges of his mouth despite his words. You stood together in the quiet aftermath of the council meeting, the heavy doors closing softly behind the last of the departing figures.

You met his gaze with a spark of defiance still alight in your eyes, tempered by a hint of mischief. “Uncle, if I didn’t challenge them, who would?” Your voice carried a lightness, but underneath lay a steely resolve. “We can’t always bow to fear and comfort. Sometimes, we need to stir the waters to catch fish.”

Hiramu chuckled softly, shaking his head. “True, but you don’t have to use a spear every time, little niece.” he teased you gently, acknowledging your tactic. “Your father supports you, and that’s no small thing. But remember, these elders are not just obstacles to overcome; they’re resources, allies in the making if you handle them right.”

You nodded, understanding the wisdom in his advice. “I know, uncle. I do value their counsel and their experience. But sometimes, it feels like they’re more interested in preserving their own peace than in what’s best for the clan. I want to push them to see beyond their immediate concerns.”

Hiramu placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “And you will, Hiromi. Just remember that it’s not always about pushing. Sometimes, it’s about guiding, showing them the path and letting them walk it with you. You have a vision for the Ryomen that’s bold and inclusive, and it’s exactly what we need. But bring them along with you. You’ll need them on your side as you lead.”

The last of the daylight filtered through the high windows, casting long patterns on the floor that flickered as lanterns were lit in preparation for the evening’s banquet. The moment of solitude between you was a rare pause in the rhythm of your responsibilities.

“Come,” Hiramu finally said, breaking the contemplative silence as he gestured toward the hall where the banquet was being prepared. “Let’s join the others. Show them your resolve pairs with your grace. Tonight, let them see the leader you are becoming, not just the challenges you pose.”

You nodded at your uncle, understanding his encouragement and the wisdom behind his gentle urging. However, as Hiramu turned to move towards the bustling banquet hall, your gaze drifted away, settling on the young boy who was the subject of much of today's discourse—Sukuna. Your eyes lingered on him, seeing not just a boy shadowed by past misdeeds and complex curses but a burgeoning emblem of your leadership and the clan's potential for inclusivity and change.

Sukuna stood slightly apart, his posture betraying a blend of apprehension and curiosity about the evening's events. The noise and light from the banquet seemed to beckon him, yet also hold him at bay, emblematic of his current place at the fringes of the Ryomen clan. He did not know what to do, you think. He does not know how to belong after not belonging for so long.

Your uncle noticed your hesitation and followed your gaze. With a sigh, he understood the silent conversation passing between you. Your responsibilities as the heir—and your personal commitment to Sukuna's integration and acceptance—were pulling you in a different direction than the rest of the clan members joyously heading towards the banquet.

Hiramu gave a slight nod, a gesture laden with both resignation and respect for your dedication. "Go on, little niece," he said softly, his voice carrying a fatherly warmth. "He needs you more than I do right now."

With that, Hiramu turned and proceeded alone, his figure gradually merging with the others, disappearing into the light and laughter of the banquet hall. Left in the quieter, shadowed part of the corridor, you took a deep breath and approached Sukuna, your steps measured and your demeanor composed yet inviting.

As you neared, Sukuna looked up, his eyes reflecting a mix of relief and surprise to see you approaching. "Everyone's going to the banquet," he remarked quietly, an underlying question in his tone about his place in this new world.

You smiled gently, reaching out to lightly touch his arm in reassurance. "They are, and we will join them, but first, let's talk for a moment. Let’s take a walk.”

Sukuna purses his lips in a line and nods slowly. “Yes, my lady.”

You snicker. “You and your formality, Sukuna. Are we not alone?”

“But—”

“This is all new to you, I understand that and it's important to me that you feel part of this, truly part of it," you explained, your voice low and soothing. “But do not risk discomfort. You don’t have to be so formal all the time.”

“.....Yes, Hiromi–sama.”

You sheepishly sigh but it was a start. 

He would learn in time to be comfortable.

Perhaps it's just not the time just yet.

Your decision to delay joining the festivities was a clear indication of your priorities. For you, leadership was not just about making decisions from afar or addressing the clan from a position of authority; it was about being present and supportive, about making sure that each member of your future clan, especially one as vulnerable as Sukuna, felt valued and included. And more so, you did not want him to be overwhelmed. He had never been a part of this sort of world before. What sort of leader would you be if you were not thinking of his comfort?

Together, you would later join the banquet, but this moment—quiet, away from the prying eyes and ears of the clan and the jujutsu world—was crucial. It was an opportunity to strengthen a bond, to build trust, and to reaffirm your commitment not just to the traditions of the Ryomen clan but to the individuals who formed its heart. To give him a chance to be a young one first, before a man. Soon enough, in a few years, he would not have such moments to himself anymore. He needed this. No one deserves to be deprived of their youths, after all.

"Sukuna," you began, your voice soft yet imbued with a strength meant to fortify him, "I hope that you raise your head. A Ryomen does not bow his head. Today was important, not just for you but for all of us. You've been given a rare opportunity, one that comes with great challenges, but I believe in you. I wouldn’t have stood up there if I didn’t."

Sukuna looked up at you, his previous resolve mingling with a trace of vulnerability. "Hiromi–sama, I... I'm not sure I can be what they want me to be. What if I fail?"

You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Failure is a part of growing, a part of learning. Remember, perfection isn't what we're striving for; it's growth, understanding, and integration into a family that values strength through trials. I have grown from my failures too.”

Your words seemed to slowly seep into Sukuna, easing the tension that had knotted his features. It’s as if he had not known you to be one of failure either. But Sukuna thinks of you as his god. There were no flaws in gods. And he had to live up to that. "But they see me as a risk, a potential threat. How do I change that? What can I do to make sure I stay by your side, Hiromi-sama?”

As you paused, something in the moonlit night seemed to transform you. Sukuna watched, captivated and slightly bewildered, as subtle changes manifested before him. It was as if the serene glow of the moon drew out a deeper magic from within you—a magic that seemed inherent to the legacy of the Ryomen clan. Your eyes flickered with a mysterious purple light, briefly illuminating the darkness with their ethereal glow. 

Your hair caught the moon’s silver rays, turning shades lighter until it mirrored the lustrous sheen of moonlight itself. The transformation was subtle yet profound, marking you not just as a scion of your clan but as something more, something almost otherworldly. 

As the days turned into weeks, Sukuna's understanding of you deepened, and his nocturnal observations revealed more than the daily interactions could. There were nights when, wandering the silent halls of the shiden, he would find himself drawn towards the quiet tsuridono, where you often retreated. 

At first, these encounters seemed mere coincidences—chance moments when your paths crossed under the silver glow of the moon. But as these nights multiplied, Sukuna began to understand: you, the ever-composed heir of the Ryomen clan, battled with your own hidden struggles. One you refuse to talk about. One that you refuse to expose to the world. The vulnerability of the heir is the vulnerability of the clan, after all.

The servants whispered among themselves, voices low but filled with concern, that you rarely succumbed to sleep. Some even murmured that you did not sleep at all, plagued by nightmares too profound and terrifying for others to fathom. Yet in his presence, you never showed any sign of this nocturnal torment. To Sukuna, you were always the pillar of strength and grace, your smile unwavering, your demeanor unflinchingly positive.

But he knew. He had heard enough, seen enough in the shadows under your eyes when you thought no one was looking, to understand that your vigils were not by choice. The nightmares that haunted you were a burden you carried silently, a stark contrast to the serene facade you presented to the world.

Sukuna, who had once been considered a monster himself, felt a poignant connection in these moments. Standing by your side under the luminous canopy of the moon, he felt an unspoken bond form between you. It was in these quiet hours, away from the eyes of the clan and the weight of your roles, that he felt he could offer you something invaluable—respite from your unseen demons.

In the peaceful solitude of the tsuridono, with only the whispers of the night and the soft rustling of leaves as their company, Sukuna would speak softly, telling you tales of the world outside the clan’s domain or simply sharing his thoughts on the mundane aspects of daily life. Anything to distract you, to pull your thoughts from the clutches of your nightmares.

Sometimes, he believed, his presence did rob you of those nightmares. Maybe, just maybe, the monster he thought he was could be the guardian he aspired to become. Under the watchful eyes of the moon, your features would relax, the tension easing, your breaths becoming more measured and calm. In those moments, Sukuna felt a profound sense of purpose, far from the destructive path he had once walked.

Sukuna could only gaze at you in awe each and every time. To him, you embodied the very essence of beauty and power that his previous life had taught him to fear but now urged him to revere. The Ryomen shiden-zukuri, known for their formidable marvel, of its wondrous magic and spiritual depth, were indeed a marvel of the world, yet none seemed as wondrous as Ryomen Hiromi at that moment. Doubt clouded his mind—was he worthy of such attention, of your kindness, or even your presence?

His internal turmoil must have shown on his face, for your expression softened as you looked at him, your magical display subsiding as you returned to the warm and reassuring figure he had come to know. With a tender smile that seemed to calm his racing heart, you reached out, your touch gentle and reassuring.

“You don’t need any excuse to be by my side, Sukuna,” you told him softly, your voice as soothing as the night breeze. “You are one of us now. You do not ever have to leave.”

Your words, simple yet profound, pierced through the fog of his insecurities. They were an affirmation, a welcome, a promise of belonging that Sukuna had never dared to hope for. Your acceptance served as a powerful antidote to his self-doubt, reinforcing the fledgling sense of identity he was just beginning to explore under your guidance.

"Still, to your question, you change perceptions not by hiding your past but by owning your future actions," you responded with a determined nod. "Show them who you are becoming, not who you were. Every day gives you a chance to write a new page. And remember, you are not alone in this. I am here, uncle is here, and we will support you through every step, every stumble."

Sukuna's eyes, reflecting a mix of reassurance and residual fear, met your steady gaze. "And what if the elders are right? What if I am too much of a risk?"

You smiled warmly, squeezing his shoulder. "Then we take it as a challenge, Sukuna. We work harder, learn more, and prove them wrong together. You are part of this clan now, and that means something. You have the Ryomen blood of resilience and courage starting to flow in you, even if not by birth, by choice and by bond."

You had always refused to say ‘you’ to him for moons now. You always say ‘we’. You always made sure he was not alone.  That he would not face the world alone. Perhaps, it was true—how the heart only beats for the gods, like those monks at the temple say in their sermons. 

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Sukuna's mouth, the first genuine one since the meeting began. "I don't know if I deserve this chance, Hiromi–sama."

"Deserving isn't something that’s always given, Sukuna. Often, it’s something you take upon yourself to prove," you countered, standing up and offering him a hand to rise as well. "Let’s start this journey, shall we? Step by step, day by day. You're not just proving it to them; you're proving it to yourself."

As they walked back towards the gathering, Sukuna felt lighter, bolstered by your faith in him. The road ahead would be fraught with challenges, but the promise of becoming more than his past defined was a compelling beacon. With you by his side, the journey seemed not just necessary, but hopeful.

As they approached the warmly lit banquet hall, the sound of laughter and conversation spilling out into the night, Sukuna took a moment to look over at you. Your confidence in him, your unwavering support—it didn't just make him feel accepted; it made him feel expected, like his presence was something to be celebrated rather than merely tolerated.

"Thank you, Hiromi–sama," Sukuna said, his voice carrying a mix of gratitude and resolve. "For believing in me, when not many would. For letting me be with you.”

You smiled, your eyes reflecting the flickering lights of the banquet hall. "We all deserve a chance to prove ourselves, Sukuna. And sometimes, we need someone else to see that potential in us before we can see it in ourselves."

“I realize these things because of you, Hiromi–sama.” He says shyly, looking down at his feet. “That’s why I’m thankful.”

“Then I should thank you too, Sukuna.”

He looked confused. “For what, Hiromi–sama?”

“For taking a walk with me,” you said, your words floating softly in the cool air. “I know that it was quite a lecture, this walk. But I must thank you still. For the company, for the peace. It was the best walk I’ve had in a while.”

Your tone carried an earnestness that made Sukuna glance at you, noting the genuine smile that touched your lips and the relaxed ease in your posture that you rarely saw during formal clan gatherings. It was as though the walk had not only distanced them from the physical space of the banquet but also from the roles they habitually played within the clan. Here, under the canopy of stars and the gentle rustle of leaves, they were simply two individuals sharing a moment of tranquility.

Sukuna’s response was thoughtful, touched by the sincerity of your gratitude. “Hiromi–sama, I should be the one thanking you,” he admitted, his voice low. “Not just for the walk, but for everything today. For standing by me, for bringing me into your world and treating me as more than just…..” 

He hesitated, searching for the right words, aware of how much you had put on the line by supporting him so publicly. “It means a lot to me, more than I can properly express. This walk, this evening—it’s more than just a pleasant time. Everything. Everything is more than anything to me. It’s a symbol, I think, of a new beginning. Of being seen for who I could be, not just who I was.”

You stopped and turned to face him fully, your expression softening further under the moonlight. “Sukuna, seeing potential in others is easy. Helping them see it in themselves, that’s the true challenge. And you’re rising to it beautifully. You are now the pride of our clan, too.” You reached out, your hand lightly touching his arm in a gesture of camaraderie and reassurance. “This walk, these talks, they’re as much for me as they are for you. We all need reminders that we’re not alone, that change is possible and worth striving for.”

Resuming your walk, you continued in companionable silence for a few moments, each lost in their thoughts about the day’s events and the future that lay ahead. The pathway wound through the meticulously maintained garden, past flowering shrubs and under arching trees, their leaves whispering secrets to the night wind.

“As for the lecture,” you added with a playful smile, turning to look at Sukuna again, “consider it part of the learning process. We both have much to learn, after all. And I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather learn with.”

Your words, light yet laden with truth, struck a chord with Sukuna. He smiled, realizing how much this journey with you was transforming him. Not just in how others saw him, but in how he saw himself. The night might be drawing to a close, but for Sukuna, it felt as though his true journey was just beginning—with you by his side, the path seemed not only clear but inviting.

The pathway meandered gently, lit sporadically by lanterns that cast a warm glow and stretched their shadows long and thin across the ground. As you walked, a comfortable silence settled between you, filled only by the natural sounds of the night—the soft chirping of crickets and the occasional rustle of a breeze through the leaves. It was a peaceful backdrop that allowed both you and Sukuna to reflect on the transformation each was undergoing.

Finally, Sukuna broke the silence, his voice thoughtful. "Hiromi–sama, before today, I often felt like I was looking at a road mapped out by someone else's hand. But now, walking this path with you, it’s like I’m seeing the horizon for the first time on my terms. It’s liberating and daunting all at once.”

You listened, your expression one of understanding. "It's a journey that many fear to start, Sukuna. The road to self-discovery is never straightforward or free of obstacles. But you’re not just on any path—you’re on one that you are helping to pave. Every step forward you take, you're laying down your own stones."

As you reached a small bridge that arched over a tranquil koi pond, you paused, leaning on the rail to look down at the slow-moving fish gliding under the moonlight. The scene was picturesque, almost too perfectly serene, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had often marked Sukuna’s past experiences.

You continued, your voice soft but firm. "Remember, change isn't just about leaving behind who you were; it’s about moving toward who you want to be. And you have everyone in the clan, especially me, rooting for your success. We believe in you, Sukuna, not just for what you can offer us, but for who you can become.”

The affirmation brought a genuine smile to Sukuna’s face. "Thank you, Hiromi–sama It's hard to believe sometimes, that I have found a place not just to stay, but to belong. And to think that I can contribute, that I can be part of something bigger—it gives me hope.”

You turned from the pond, continuing your walk back towards the house. The moon was high, casting a silver light that seemed to guide your way. You glanced at Sukuna, your gaze assessing yet kind. "And that hope is what will drive you through the darkest times. Just as the moon guides us tonight, let your hopes guide you when the path seems unclear."

Sukuna nodded, absorbing your words. The concept of hope as a guiding light was powerful, and he felt its truth resonate deeply within him. As you approached the residence, the sounds of the night began to give way to the soft murmur of voices from inside, signaling your return to the world you had temporarily left behind.

As you reached the door, you stopped and faced Sukuna once more. "This walk may end here, but our journey together is far from over. Remember, step by step, day by day."

With a final reassuring smile, you opened the door, stepping back into the light and warmth of the clan home, a symbol of the community you were both a part of. Sukuna followed, feeling not just like a guest being led, but like a member walking alongside his equals. Each step was a step forward, and with your support, he was ready to face whatever the future held.

As you entered the banquet hall together, the atmosphere shifted subtly. You made sure to settle him beside your uncle, who was seated on your right. Conversations continued, but there were curious glances and speculative whispers. Sukuna's presence alongside you, clearly as your companion and equal, sent a powerful message to everyone present. Your status as heir to the Ryomen clan lent your actions an implicit endorsement, and your obvious confidence in Sukuna, as a new member of your family, your future right hand man, challenged any lingering doubts about his place among them.

Throughout the evening, you made sure to introduce Sukuna not just as a newcomer but as a valued member of the clan. You shared stories of his progress and his efforts to integrate and contribute, framing his past as a testament to his resilience and his future as a promise of his potential. With each interaction, Sukuna felt the weight of his old identity—the cursed, the outcast—shedding away, layer by layer.

"It's not going to be easy," you whispered to him as you paused by the grand window overlooking the clan's ancestral grounds. "Change never is. But every step you take is a step forward. Remember, you're not alone in this."

As he stood there, beside you, Sukuna felt a newfound fortitude. The doubts that had once clouded his vision began to dissipate, replaced by a resolve that was anchored by the support and belief you showed in him. With you by his side, guiding him with wisdom born of experience and a deep understanding of the very traditions he was learning to navigate, Sukuna found himself not just ready but eager to meet the expectations laid before him.

The notion of earning acceptance in a world that had once seemed wholly alien to him no longer appeared so formidable. Instead, it beckoned as a worthy challenge, an opportunity to prove his worth and carve out a place where he truly belonged. Your assurance that every step was a progression made him view each day not as a burden but as a building block towards a larger goal—a mosaic of efforts that would collectively shape his destiny within the clan.

Your presence—a constant reminder of strength, perseverance, and the potential to overcome adversity—instilled in him a courage that he hadn't known he possessed. It was this shared strength that transformed his perspective, making what once felt like distant dreams now seem within tangible reach.

The moon above, a silent witness to his inner transformation, cast a silver glow that seemed to light up the path at his feet. It was as if nature itself conspired to remind him of the luminous journey ahead. The cool breeze, whispering through the trees, carried with it a sense of anticipation and the sweet scent of the gardens below, reinforcing the sense of renewal and growth.

Ryomen Sukuna feels his heart beat.

He doesn't think he'll ever forget this feeling.

And he never truly did, not even as years passed.

Ryomen HIromi was all he'll ever love in humanity.

And he'll always go back to this night, this walk.

facts about the story !

hiromi at this point was sixteen - seventeen; sukuna is only three - four years younger.

her father, isamu and her mother, akiko, have been estranged for many years, more so because she's supporting her family, the fujiwara and their ambitions.

hiramu has always maintained her will never be a good husband, so he never really sought it out despite his brother arranging for him to meet eligible ladies.

the ryomen adoption system requires a sponsor - hiromi is sukuna's sponsor and that's why she speaks for him. however, someone else has to be give him his name. hiromi convinced her uncle to do it and he agreed. this changed during genmei's time, they can now be both.

sukuna still hasn't adapted to the ryomen way of life. the ryomen clan is the strictest in way of life. they wake up before dusk and do all their training, tasks and work before it gets dark. they immediately sleep after dinner.

hiromi doesn't sleep very well, but her reverse cursed technique aids in that. still sukuna is always too concerned about her that he insists to the medicine wing that she needs the best stress relief tea. the medicine wing became endeared by him for his devotion to hiromi over time.

sukuna is technically now the fourth heir of the ryomen, being adopted as a son into the main line. in the future, because of sukuna, the ruling line of the family can no longer adopt anyone, to prevent usurpations.

suzaku gojo has known hiromi since they were children, and is very fond of her. he was very good friends with hiromi's elder brother, akimu - who he sparred and rode horses with as a young boy.

the elders of the ryomen are very conservative too, but because isamu has all the power, they can't step on what he does or what hiromi does as often as they would like. inviting the other clan elders is another choice to make hiromi's life hard.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk au #jujutsu kaisen au #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fic #jjk x you #jjk x oc #jujutsu kaisen x oc #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryoumen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x oc #sukuna ryomen x oc #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x oc

[the-kr8tor]

KATY THINK OF THIS (IM THAT ONE ANON THAT SAID ABOUT RUNAWAY PRINCESS X PIRATE HOBIE AND I WANNA ADD TO IT)

what if she’s running because she’s getting married to this shitty aristocracy that her family arranged and she running away from that and ends up meeting ways with a pirate. Hobie probably doesn’t know she’s this princess and falls in love but news breaks out as always she gets found and forced to marry that aristocracy and Hobie’s basically gets betrayed. (Live laugh love)

Btw other anon can use this idea or make their own version

Aahhhhh anon I'm so sorry but this took on a life of its own 😭😭😭 but I ended it open ended just in case someone requests something in this au!! So sorry that this pivoted from the prompt, ly thank you for requesting ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x Princess! reader

Word count: 2.3k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW blood, CW violence.

A/N: If you want more princess! Reader x Pirate! Hobie, @pinksugarscrub has a few fics with them!

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Marriage, it's supposed to be a happy occasion. One where it's supposed to be filled with laughter and dancing with your family and your new family. Looking forward to your new life with the love of your life. Not whatever the hell your father arranged for you.

As you hide from your handmaiden below deck together with your dowry which is basically a barn full of chickens and cows, their noises hide your frustrated groans from trying to rip your gown from your body. You've had enough of the silky fabric and its luscious lace, you've hatched a plan, a plan to escape from the loveless marriage that will fall on you once you step out of your father's ship. You were not dubbed ‘the realm's problem princess’ for nothing.

Whilst your sisters were called ‘the realm's delight’ or ‘the realm's most beautiful’, but, as the seventh daughter out of twelve siblings, you were not granted a title befitting of you. Even though you're not the heir or even the spare, you were given something much more priceless than a piece of land or castle, no, you were given freedom. Freedom to whisk away every night to mingle with the common folk, freedom to run around the castle without getting reprimanded by your royal parents. Why would they even blink an eye at your so-called debauchery when you're the seventh and not the eldest or even the youngest?

But that sense of freedom that they have given you has now backfired on them. You absolutely refused to marry a stranger from another country, and for political gain nonetheless. You fought everyone to not be sent away from your home. You kicked knights in their steel clad groins, you punched footmen right under their chins. The last straw apparently was when you tried to stow away on a merchant ship whilst you were disguised as a common boy, to which your father and his adviser did not appreciate.

“it’s for the good of the realm,” they said, “I secured an advantageous marriage for you” they said. Well they can shove that marriage contract up where the sun doesn't shine. If your father's adviser was so keen on marrying the strange royal then he should just marry him instead.

You grumble obscenities under your breath, a chicken tilts its head at your frustrations. The fabric of the skirt finally rips away from your hips, leaving you in only your petticoat and corset. A locket tumbles off from the sewn pocket inside the skirt. You almost forgot about the damn thing in your haste to get away.

Grabbing the golden locket, you don't even sneak one last peek at the painting inside, a painting that depicts your so-called fiancé. He's not ugly per se, but he seems…boring. Too boring for you at least. All his correspondence to you were lackluster, his poems lacking heart and character. You surmise that it was written by someone else ever since you've heard rumours of his illiteracy.

You huff, throwing it on the pile of fabric. A cow moos next to you, and you spare her a glare.

“This is for the best, Belinda.” You've named her after your handmaiden. Belinda has been your only friend since your journey. “I don't want to get married off to some strange man, to live in a strange land. And to never see my siblings, not even during the holidays!” You put on trousers that you've stolen from one of the sailors accompanying you. “I'd rather risk it out in the sea than be a wife.” Miraculously, the trousers fit perfectly. “Finally, something right goes my way today. Let's hope this luck continues.”

As you say those words, the ship lunges harshly to the side, knocking you off your feet then flinging you against the hardwood. Vision swirling, the poor animals cry out in their cages, you think they're crying out based on their frantics faces since your ears seem to only hear that high pitched ringing sound.

Dust falls on you like snowflakes, looking above, the dust comes from the deck. Before you could stand up, the ship lunges once again. You slide on the floor, together with the crates and cages.

Your vision finally clears moments before Belinda's cage smashes into you. Frantically, you crawl aside, the metal cage missing your foot by only a few inches.

“Are you hurt?!” You ask the cow as if she can talk back. Belinda moos loudly, you now notice your hearing coming back. And you just now notice the warm crimson sliding down your forehead and down to your lashes. Blinking away, you wipe it, blood coating your palms, heart pumping rapidly, you panic. “Oh, shit.”

You need help, but you backtrack as the sounds from above get louder and louder as your hearing finally normalizes. Screams and gunshots can be heard, cannons are going off from your left, and you're absolutely petrified.

You just want to go home. This isn't exactly what you pictured when your brothers tell you of their feats while at sea.

The animals in their cages cry out in the same panic that swells in your chest. If you want to run away, they must want the same thing. In your fear-addled brain, you grab the set of keys that are set on the wall to open each of their cages. The chickens cluck and scamper away the second you open their cage, while the bigger animals are much more apprehensive. You coach them out of their enclosure, Belinda is the first one out, and the rest follows.

Something hits the hull of the ship, the sheer force knocking you to your knees. A split second later, you feel water under your trousers. Looking over your shoulders, you see water seeping through the gaping hole. And you notice that you're now alone below deck.

Trudging the rising water towards the stairs, someone familiar calls after you, her voice is hoarse yet you can recognize it even in your sleep.

“Princess!” Belinda calls, the real Belinda.

“I'm here!” You yell back, the water now reaching to your hips.

She quickly comes down the stairs, she gasps, eyes wide with panic. “My girl! Come hurry!” Hand reaching towards you, you thank your older brother for teaching you how to swim.

You finally reach her before the water could drown you. Belinda sighs in relief as she yanks you away from the freezing water.

“What were you thinking!” She roams her eyes towards your clothes, or the lack of it. Half hugging you, shielding you away from wandering eyes, she guides you towards the deck.

“I didn't cause this!” You defend yourself, shivering from the cold, regretting ripping off your warm gown.

“I know you didn't, stupid girl! We're getting sacked by pirates!” Belinda practically screams in your ears, and your blood runs cold. She groans when she sees the blood coating half of your face. She murmurs something about getting sacked once she gets home. Or was it axed?

“Pirates?!” You remember all the stories your older brothers told you. ‘Be wary of the sea, for they hold sinister beings’ they said, and you thought they were talking about sea monsters. You grew up, and now you know they weren't exactly talking about mythical beings. “Oh sh–” Belinda side eyes you. “Shucks!” In your peripheral, you spot cow belinda eating cabbage inside the galley.

Your handmaiden leads you down the hallway, “we need to hide you!” Her body shakes from fear at what they would do to a princess like you.

“What about you?” And you fear for her safety.

“I'll be alright, princess, I'll live but you might not.”

“What the fuck!” You let out not because of what she said but because of the large man waiting at the end of the corridor.

“We're dead.” Belinda says nonchalantly, as if this was a regular occurrence for her.

“You the princess?” He asks gruffly, his cutlass shines from the sun beaming through the window. The scars on his bare chest and the tattoo on his neck scares the living out of you.

“...no?” You say meekly. “You're on the wrong ship, mister. No princess here!” Your voice squeaks.

“This is ‘the raven's beak’, right?” He raises a thick eyebrow.

“...no” a big fat lie on your end that you hope he did not see through you.

He looks down at you, you can practically see the cogs in his head turn.

“We'll be going now, sir.” Belinda chuckles nervously. Just as you're about to escape the pirate, he grabs your bare shoulders. Your handmaiden immediately takes your hand.

“Hold on, you're not going anywhere. That corset is too pretty and intricate for some wench.” He drags you away whilst Belinda tries her best to yank you away, and in turn she gets dragged too. Her heels scrape against the wood, her face turning red from frustration.

“A wench!” You scoff, fruitlessly elbowing him. “Ow!” Your elbow hurts, it's like you punched a wall.

The stranger chuckles, “Time to meet the captain.”

“Wait, are you going to kidnap me?!”

“Of course we will.” He says matter of factly. Belinda continues to hold your hand but she has given up from trying to take you away from the large man. “For ransom.”

You burst into laughter, the man raises a brow at the sudden outburst. Belinda cocks her head at your strange behavior.

“Oh that's funny!” You continue to giggle even when you finally reach the deck. The sun hits your skin, warming your wet clothes. The smell of gunpowder makes your nose itch.

Both pirates and captured sailors look at you having a laughing fit. Your eyes water, and your chest is hurting from all the laughing. The man sets you down right next to the bound sailors. Head in your hands, giggling subsiding, fear encapsulates you again, and now you refuse to look up.

“Havin' a giggle, eh?” A voice asks.

“Yep.” You pop the p in your mouth, face still hidden from your captors.

“Is this fun to you, princess?” A feminine voice pipes up from your right.

“Not one bit!”

“She doesn't look like a princess, you sure it's her?” Another unknown voice asks.

“Not sure, Pav.” You feel someone crouch in front of you. The leather from his clothes squeaks, metals clinking together as he moves. “Maybe if the princess graces us with her beautiful face we can identify her?”

“Nope, not doing that.”

“C’mon, love, we're not going to hurt you. Your father wouldn't pay us if we did.”

“It's funny that you think my father will actually pay the ransom.” Your voice is still muffled by your hands.

“Why's that?” He asks softer.

“He doesn't like me, if you got one of my brothers then he will surely pay you.” You take your hands away, eyes going wide for a second once your vision is blessed by the handsome pirate. Clearing your throat, fixing your composure, you ignore the smirk on his pierced lips. “Y-you’re shit out of luck because you got me instead.”

“Nah,” he tilts his head with a smile. “I think I got lucky.”

Your cheeks are suddenly warm, you don't think it's from the sun. Hands clammy, you nervously laugh.

Surprisingly, he laughs with you. “Captain Hobie Brown,” he introduces himself. Your instincts kick in, but before you could introduce yourself, he smiles genuinely at you. A smile that has his eyes crinkling in the corners, a smile that weirdly fills you with comfort. “I know who you are, princess. And I know your father will pay the ransom.”

You knit your eyebrows. “How would you know?”

“Easy, you're his favourite.”

“Bullshit, now that's funny.”

“A princess' face but with the mouth of a sailor. I think you'd fit right in with us, hm?” Hobie takes his coat off to drape it on your bare shoulders. “Your sailors were frothing at the mouth.”

“W-what?” Sure enough, when you turn your head to the side, you see your father's men quickly avert their eyes.

“Why don't we strike a deal?” His grey eyes twinkles in the sun. It reminds you of when the light hits the water just right whenever you look out your bedroom window.

“Do not, princess! He's a liar! All pirates are.” Belinda scoffs at the pirate right before a blond woman stuffs her mouth with a piece of cloth.

Despite the warning, you're curious. “What deal?”

“Come with us,” he whispers lowly, just for your ears to hear. “Let's deceive your father and your fiancé, we get their money and you get out of your marriage. Easy.”

“That doesn't sound easy.”

“Nothing in life is.”

“How would you do it?” You roam your eyes around his face for any clue if he's lying. You don't find any.

“Come aboard, and you'll find out.” Hobie stands up, hand stretched out for you.

“Sounds like a trap.” You look up with a growing smile. “But it's better than getting married.” To Belinda's disapproval, you take his hand.

“Good choice—” You pull at his hand hard, eyes threatening, grip getting stronger, stronger than a princess should.

“Don’t fuck with me, Hobie. Trust me, whatever you're planning, let’s hope my fiancé doesn't actually care about me.” Something passes by your eyes. “If he does, if what you tell me is true, then my father's army will be the least of your worries.”

A grin spreads across his face, the silver he wears is glinting just like his grey eyes. “I know of your fiancé, and your warmongering brothers.” He leans closer to your bewildered face, “do you think I need the money? When I have them?” Leaning away, he takes a step back to show you his fleet, a fleet that could even rival your father's and your fiancé’s combined. Their flags wave in the wind, red sails dancing in the breeze. “What do you say, love? Would you rather get married, or stay and listen to my plan?”

You grin back, “I've heard of you,” the infamous pirate captain smugly smiles. “Let's hear your plans then, captain.”

#request done #silently feeding your bdas hunger #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #atsv fluff #hobie fluff #hobie brown x fem!reader #pirate! hobie #pirate au #pirate hobie brown #princess! reader #hobie x you #cw blood #cw violence #hobie brown x you #spider punk x fem!reader #fanfic

[afterdarkprincess]

fuck it if i can’t have him

Pairing: Sami/Jey Rating: Mature Word Count: 1,514

how dare you think it's romantic leaving me safe and stranded? Cause fuck it I was in love...

Part 2 in a series I'm calling "i love you (it's ruining my life)" Read part 1 here or this part can stand alone!

AO3 Link

Set between Elimination Chamber 2023 and Wrestlemania 2023

tag squad: @jeysbvck @harmshake @southerngirl41 @imabillyami @elementaldoughnut12 and @feelschicken

this fic is still running with inspo from @motherknuckers much appreciated!!

---

The sound of weights hitting the floor echos in the empty hotel gym and Jey pants with exertion, sweat dripping down his face.

It’s late, way later than he should be awake- they have a flight early tomorrow morning and his brothers won’t be kind in waking him up in a few hours. But he just couldn’t fall asleep, finally giving up and heading down to the gym. It’s technically not supposed to be open this late, but Paul has a way of working these requests into their hotel reservations, just in case.

The last few weeks have been tense after his disappearing act after the Royal Rumble. He was welcomed back after proving his loyalty by kicking Sami, but things haven’t been the same. Maybe the problem is him, the discomfort he feels within himself projected onto his cousin and brothers, but the vibes have been different.

When he thinks about everything that’s happened since the beginning of the year, looking at everything that’s gone wrong and how it all fell apart.

How close he and Sami had been to… something. Something that scared and excited him in equal measure.

He’d made his choices, sure. That superkick at the end of Raw was as clear a message as he could send. How could he have done anything else? Roman was going to take it out on Jimmy if he didn’t come back, hell he could have taken it out on Solo if he wanted to. The thought of his brothers suffering on his behalf is unbearable to him.

But at the same time, losing Sami has hurt more than he cares to acknowledge most days. He feels like he’s lost a limb, on unequal footing as he goes about his days. It’s too quiet without his constant presence, there are times he sees something funny on his phone and turns to show Sami but he’s just not there.

It reminds him of how he felt as a child when he and Jimmy were separated, the bone deep wrong that they had to learn to get over as they got older and had separate lives.

Jey wipes away the sweat from his face and tries to breathe, slow and steady like he’s been practicing.

It’s not fair. Nothing about his life has been fair since Roman established dominance in his life, you’d think he’d be used to it by now. But something about this last indignity, he just can’t seem to get over it.

Why couldn’t Roman just accept Sami into the fold? Hadn’t he proved himself over and over again over months, he’d beat Kevin for them at Wargames for them, that had been enough for him. Why did Roman have to push it to such extremes?

Sami choosing Kevin over him, over the family, over Roman. It hurt like hell, but Jey could understand that there wasn’t another choice for Sami to make. Sami wouldn’t be Sami if he had chosen to batter a tied up Kevin Owens. That innate goodness that permeated his soul, the light that made him put up with months of abuse from Jey, keeping the faith on whatever it was he saw in him.

Jey’s not sure what that even was anymore. He had no problem beating up Kevin Owens or anyone else Roman pointed at, whether they deserved it or not. Anything resembling a sense of justice had been beaten out of him by the Tribal Chief ages ago.

He couldn’t do it to Sami. Not at the Rumble. Not at Elimination Chamber. Not until it was clear that Roman would force him to make an impossible choice between his brother and Sami. The man he…

He picks up a barbell, starts a set of reps to keep his mind from the obvious ending of that sentence. The feelings that just rub salt into his wounds, adding insult to injury.

Not that it matters now. Even if Sami had thought of him like that, it hadn’t been enough for him to choose to stay, even if Jey had been brave and selfish enough to ask that of him, if there had even been a chance. Roman took that away from them both.

He finishes a set, and the song playing in his earbuds ends, starting another track thats both familiar and new. Jey fishes his phone out of his pocket and checks the screen, confirming his suspicion.

It’s a new song by an artist he and Sami had bonded over, they’d talked about it when it had been teased on twitter, excited about it. He’d completely forgotten in all the turmoil. It feels like a knife in the heart now.

However, he doesn’t stop himself from hitting share and copying the link into a new message to Sami and hitting send before he can even think about it.

It’s late as hell, no way Sami’s going to see that message until the morning. And what’s he supposed to say now? After the way he attacked Sami the last time they saw each other, he can’t exactly just act like nothing happened.

He stares at the screen, hovering his thumbs over the empty message field. Can’t say nothing either. Fuck.

thought you’d wanna see it- sent 2:30am

Somehow that sounds worse. Desperate. Clingy.

Jey swaps back to his spotify feed and changes the song before shoving his phone back in his pocket.

Maybe it’d be better if he never met Sami at all. Or at least if Sami had never attempted to join his family. He’d known Sami for a long time now that he thinks about it, he’d been around backstage for years, and they’d done spots together over the years here and there. Truthfully he hadn’t payed him much mind for most of that time.

It wasn’t until he approached Roman that it all started. The disgust he felt watching someone beg for the opportunity he’d been beaten into. Sure he could see the appeal of trying to get into the most decorated faction in WWE, but could it really be worth it? Even with the belts on his shoulders he wasn’t sure.

At least before then Jey didn’t have this foolish hope, didn’t know how it felt to be safe and secure with his family and have someone to commiserate with, some of that burden off of his shoulders. They’d been so damn happy. Or at least he had been. Maybe Sami had deceived him. Maybe-

The burn in his forearm alerts him that he’s pushed himself too far, setting down the weight and groaning.

Between the aching twinge in his arm and the far deeper ache in his chest, he finds his eyes stinging with tears.

“Fuck- FUCK!” He screams, the sound echoing around him.

How is this the right answer? Feeling miserable, unable to sleep, down bad and crying at the gym over Sami fucking Zayn.

He lays back on the weight bench, stares up at the ceiling and just lets all the shit he’s been pushing down wash over him. Tears flow freely down the sides of his face, anger at Roman, jealousy over Sami picking Kevin fucking Owens, disappointment in himself at letting it get this bad, that bitter feeling wishing he could change the course of the last 3 months so he could just be happy with Sami again.

Fuck.

Fuck it, he was in love with him. He was in love with that ginger idiot. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it now.

He sighs out his breath, letting his eyes close for just a moment. Something about admitting it to himself releases the ball of tension in his chest, and the late hour begins catching up with him, his eyes growing heavy.

He presses his thumbs against his eyes, rubbing them and wiping the lingering tears away.

Jey wipes down the bench efficiently, tossing his stuff back in his gym bag before heading out and back up to his room. He’s in a room by himself tonight, which Paul tried to sell to them as a treat but it feels more like a punishment.

The door shuts behind him, disturbing the quiet of the early morning. He thinks about getting a shower, but honestly he’s too tired for that. He’ll take care of it in the morning before the flight.

He rolls into bed, phone in hand, and against his better judgement opens his messages again. There’s no reply, unsurprisingly, but then he sees it.

A tiny “Seen 2:34am" underneath the bubble.

Sami’s…. awake? Or was anyway. The top of his phone reads just after 3 am now.

Maybe…. just maybe…

Jey worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he feverishly types a message, giving it one quick look over before hitting send. After all, what more does he have to lose?

He lets the phone drop against his chest, trying not to get his hopes up and getting comfortable in the bed.

His eyes shut for the briefest of moments, and he feels his phone vibrate in his hands.

---- Couldn't get this out of my head- wanted to leave the ending pretty ambiguous and kayfabe compliant. Got all this angst out of me, here's hoping I get back to fluffier WIPs lol

Hope you enjoyed!!

#samijey #jey uso #sami zayn #jeysami #jey x sami #wwe fanfiction #my writin

[verdantglow]

Fuck it, time to be loudly cringe & find my 30 weirdos.

Trafficstuck AU

Because even 12 years after starting Homestuck, I still found myself in bed one night, trying to sleep, but unable to because all I could think about was Griann <> Gudtym Wiscar.

(I’ve got so much figured out for this AU that I don’t know how to share. Please send me asks about your fave/anything you’re curious about so that I can have some direction for this lore vomit!)

#I’ve got troll names & blood colors for everyone #plus a handful of their quadrants figured out #I have so many more ideas tho that I haven’t written down yet #(I should really write this stuff down…) #I can tell you right now tho that there are A Lot of ships in this #mostly because quadrants but also because like #what not have polyamory if it’s my AU & I want to? #also lots of quadrant confusion #because feelings are complicated #(also I promise for my followers who are looking for SmallEtho or scarian) #(that there is plenty of both in this AU.) #trafficstuck #hermitstuck #(because that tag gets seen more & I might expand to all the hermits as well once I know them better!) #traffic smp #trafficblr #verdant art #also I drew these like. Over a month ago. #it was the doodle of Gudtym & Griann that actually drove me to join this fandom. #(this fandom being mcytblr) #I drew these nerds as trolls & suddenly the brain rot had claimed me lol #scarian #I supposed I should tag that just in case. #as it’s explicitly stated here.

[bbnibini]

I wonder if it's a design choice or the devs themselves can't make up their mind, but why did Solomon's eye colour "change" in NB? The chibi sprites in the OG show his eyes are shades of grey to brown/almost gold-bronze.

The NB chibi sprite shows his eyes to be dark blue and brownish-gold.

Don't even get me started with the cards and merch that can't make up his effing eye colour

To my Solobesties (I'm calling Solomon stans this now. I think we formed a strange kinship after lesson 17 even if we never interact lmao), especially artist solobesties, hats off to you and your service to the community.

My personal HC is kinda a spoiler for uhhhh something I'm writing, but here it is:

"It's just…your eyes are like you: I can't figure them out." "MC, I-" "No! No! Solomon, I'm sorry! No…it's not like that, I promise! Look at me, won't you? Please look at me." So he did. His eyes trembled as he met with yours. How could he have hidden this part of himself for this long? How could you not notice? How could you forget? How could Father be so cruel to him and you for simply existing? You traced the corner of his lips with your thumb as you held him by the cheek. He was leaning onto your right hand, unable to maintain his gaze. He was surprisingly bashful. Adorably shy without his facades. But he looked like he would crumble even with a gentle word so you did not say anything. He looked at you expectantly, then looked away as your gaze burned onto him for too long and muttered, "You can't figure me out?"in almost a whisper, after a long-drawn out silence, weighing in his words, watching your expressions and body language. Afraid, so deathly afraid. You smiled. "It's like I'm looking at a mirror. Sometimes it's silver, sometimes it's midnight. When you look at the world around you and then look back at me, I feel like you've captured the sky and the oceans in your eyes. It's beautiful." His face was red all over, even to the tips of his ears. It was such a shame. You haven't even said everything you wanted to say to him yet. That he was the moon and the stars to your daytime; gold and silver gazes, looking after you from afar in the many branches of realities he couldn't be as honest with you as he was now. Ah. What will you do without him now? How can you give this up after remembering everything? You knew it was selfish, but you love him. Both of him. Every part of him just as much as he loved you and every part of you that existed. But now, you had to say goodbye. Again. How truly unfair.

#is this supposed to be a plot twist in NB? Like there are 2 Solomons maybe even 3. Solomon is the new Saber from FGO with his iterations lol #is Nightbringer like...a Solomon from a darker timeline? /hj has it been the Solomon we're living with for the entire time? #does that mean the Solomon we called early in the prologue is the actual OG Solomon and he's trapped somewhere dimension hopping? #idk anymore this man lives rent free in my head #obey me #obey me solomon #sorry for the spoiler jumpscare to those who know *waggles eyebrows* it won't be out in like an ice age later. I have so many passages #of my solomon brainrot. im quitting soon so i'm just posting it here willy nilly i apologise or should I say you're welcome? /s sdljflfhfgh #TAG EDIT BUT IF MY FIRST TAG IS THE CASE THIS IS JUST A NEW FLAVOUR OF ME AND LOVING SABER BUT THIS TIME IT'S A DIFFERENT TRAGIC KING #THIS IS COMEDY sjkfsdkgdsfjsdf MOM I HAVE A TYPE but anyw can Solmare make a separate game for him too lmao /jk unless

[ninjasmudge]

heres my oc for today, shī tóng, hes a guardian lion brought to life by a wealthy dragon household, but when his other half died (guardian lions almost invariably come in sets) he left to go wander. he was almost consumed by his own magic in grief until he came across two kids, one of whom had the ability to cancel out magic for a short time. long story short hes a dad now.

#the two kids are adults now they have their own stories and designs it was years and years ago that he adopted them but its important #why is he the first oc i share in ages? simple hes my fave recent finished piece fdsabhghsfhh #i liked how his hair looks and i LOVE his colorscheme #hes started out a little awful cause HE DIDNT KNOW HOW TO CARE FOR KIDS BUT HE DID HIS BEST AND THEY TURNED OUT GREAT #1 of the kids is an EXTREMLY flashy tattooist and part time con artist now and the other was a hitman with superspeeduntil he opened a bar #i love them i might post them soon too if i like the one art of diamond #lmk #mk art #my art #mk oc #mk ocs #lmk ocs #lmk oc #I DONT REMMEBR WHICH #MK #yea hes a furry look i couldnt help it what else am i supposed to do when hes fully a guardian lion #furry #yeah i should tag that for blocklists just in case #oc art #oc stuff

[circus-k]

had this one in the brain for a while

#just doodles #sth #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #should i tag the ships???? #roupaz #sonelise #i think i’m hilarious btw #both ships are cute this isn’t supposed to be shitting on them or anything #<- just clarifying in case

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

HSH AU: Home is Where the Heart is

Mark keeps hearing and seeing things whenever near the Torres Family Home, and despite Cesar not feeling like anything is wrong, Mark can’t shake off the feeling of being watched.

TW: Friendship problems, paranoia, hallucinations, body/face horror, blood/gore, implied possession

Notes: this is. the longest fic. I’ve posted here, being around 10,000 words long, so. long read. BUT I’m pretty proud of this fic, and I hope you guys like this new au and the world in it! There’s. so much I’m excited to show, and this is just scratching the surface :)

( @deadmuttsbones [tagging cause they co-own the au])

-----

September 9th, 1992. 10:06 PM.

Mark couldn’t shake the unease in his gut that night. He could’ve said no; the option to refuse Cesar’s offer to hang out and stay the night at his place was there. He could’ve told Cesar how he really felt about it, yelling at him about the discomfort and dread he felt in his chest every time he stepped through the front door. Yet he didn’t, and now he was driving the long road to Cesar’s home, all while rain bounced off of his windshield and the radio played the same songs he had heard a hundred times.

Mark glanced at the rear-view mirror, seeing how his brown hair was a mess, and how he had dark circles around his eyes, sighing before glancing at the suitcase in the backseat; packed for only one night. He was wearing a black, V-neck T-shirt, a golden cross hanging in front of his chest. He had a pair of worn blue jeans over his legs, along with plain grey sneakers. His hands tapped the steering wheel with the music as he tried to shake off the sinking feeling deep inside of him, repeating a simple phrase to himself in his head: “only one night.” Besides, Cesar was going to be there, and it wouldn’t hurt to see a friend after a week of not talking to each other, right? It wasn’t like Mark had anyone else to hang out with.

Mark’s car drove down the wet asphalt road, slowing down and stopping next to the curb, his green eyes staring at the house in to the side of his vehicle, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to ease the tension. It was a one story home, with plain, reddish-brown outer walls, with a white garage to the left of the front door, which had a small, grey stone porch in front of it, with a planting pot to the left of that. The living room window to the right of the front door had yellow light pouring out in between the curtains, and Mark could hear faint murmuring as he got out of his car, pushing the door behind him closed. The rain hit his hair and shoulders as he stared at the home, his lips pursed and his shoulders tense as he gazed at the light coming from the window. He shook his left arm by his side as he swung open the backseat door, pulling out his suitcase and placing it on the grass of the front lawn. With a huff, he slammed the door shut, all before he heard the front door open.

“Hey!” A voice said as Mark turned to face where it came from. He saw a figure in the doorway, barely visible aside from his silhouette as he waved Mark over. “Come on, it’s pouring out here!”

Mark took in a breath, picking up his suitcase with one hand, holding his other above his face to prevent the rain from hitting him in the eyes. He jogged across the yard, his sneakers slamming against the concrete driveway before he ran into the home, brushing past the person in the doorway as he closed the door behind Mark. “You said you’d be here at like…eight. It’s ten already.” The man said as he turned towards Mark, who was setting his suitcase next to the couch, which sat in front of the window, before turning towards him.

“Yeah sorry, Ces…just…bad weather.” Mark sighed.

Cesar sighed quietly, walking past Mark towards the TV, turning the volume of it down, the sound of gunfire and yelling from the old western no longer drowning out their words. Cesar was a decently tall young man with tan-colored skin, with black wavy hair and a faint mustache on his upper lip. He wore a white T-shirt, along with red shorts, with a pair of plain white socks covering his feet and no doubt becoming charged with static from the shaggy carpet of the living room. Mark watched as Cesar walked out of the room, calling for his mother to tell her about their guest arriving as Mark sat on the couch, shifting in his seat as he attempted to get comfortable. Mark stared at the TV, hoping the sound of the programs will drown out the sound coming from directly behind it. He glanced up, looking back down and shifting his position on the couch again when he saw it. How stupid; he was scared of a fucking clock.

The grandfather clock in question was tall, made of reddish-brown wood, carved with intricate patterns. The pendulum behind the glass swung, the ticking of the clock echoing in the living room as its hands twitched with every second. Carved, wing-like pieces of wood protruded from the top of the clock, the shadow of them flickering onto the red, striped wallpaper from the light of the TV and the lamp on the table next to it. Mark stared at the clock’s face, seeing as the time neared 10:15 as he swallowed the lump in his throat. His eyes fixed on the center of its face, the sound of the TV being drowned out by the sound of the pendulum swinging from side to side-

“Hey Mark, you gonna sleep out here tonight?” Mark was taken out of his thoughts by Cesar, who was standing in the archway leading to the kitchen. “Or do you want like…a few blankets to sleep in the bedroom?”

“Oh…u-uhh…the bedroom.” Mark glanced at the clock again.

“Cool.” Cesar gave Mark a quick thumbs up. “You can sleep by the bed if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah that’s fine.” Mark coughed.

Cesar’s friendly smile faded as his brows furrowed. “…You alright, Mark?”

“Yeah, I’m…yeah.” Mark sighed, looking down as he rubbed the golden cross hanging from his neck with his thumb.

“…Alright, I guess.” Cesar said.

Mark looked around the room, seeing the multiple photos hanging on the walls, along with the furniture before he looked down at something that caught his eye; a grey cat bed resting beside the clock. It was empty.

“Hey, where’s your cat?” Mark asked.

“Oh…yeah, gah…Johnny…hasn’t been seen for a while.”

“What? Why?”

“We don’t know.” Cesar sighed. “We’ve been asking the neighbors but…no one’s seen him.”

“Shit…” Mark said under his breath. “I’m…sorry dude.”

“I’m sure we’ll find him, it just might…take a while.”

There was silence among the friends, Cesar noticing Mark shifting in his seat as his eyes darted around the room.

“…Do you even want to be here?” Cesar asked.

Mark’s breath hitched slightly, his chest feeling as tight as his throat. “…I mean…I’d like to hang out with you.”

“Yeah, but do you actually want to be here?” Cesar repeated.

Mark paused before he looked at Cesar with a pensive look in his eyes. “No.”

“Then why did you—”

“Cause I wanted to say I was sorry, okay?” Mark stated. “For…y’know…what happened last week.”

“That’s…it?” Cesar scoffed slightly. “Dude, you could’ve…told me at school or even through the phone.”

“I-I don’t know, I just wanted to talk to you.” Mark said. “Like…actually talk to you.”

“…About what?” Cesar asked before the two of them heard footsteps coming from the kitchen.

“Marco, I put a comforter and a few blankets and pillows on Cesar’s bed.” Ms. Torres appeared in the doorway, her Spanish accent present as she spoke. “You can make your bed on the ground, and if it’s not comfortable, I can get you some quilts.”

“Thanks…miss.” Mark said.

Ms. Torres was a shorter, middle aged woman with shoulder length, wavy dark brown hair and deep tan skin. She wore a black cardigan over a white shirt, along with a silver necklace. “Okay, Niño, I’m going to bed, come get me if you or Mark need anything.”

“Alright, mamá, see you tomorrow.” Cesar said as his mother pulled him into an embrace before walking down the hall, closing the door to her bedroom.

“Cesar, don’t you ever feel like…you’re…being watched?”

The question made a pit form in Cesar’s stomach as he turned towards Mark, who was sitting on the couch, staring at him with anticipation; expecting something from Cesar.

“I mean…yeah, I have, but…who hasn’t?” The corner of Cesar’s mouth rose slightly in a nervous smile, fading as quickly as it appeared. “Sometimes you just…feel like that, there doesn’t have to be a reason to it.”

“Do you ever hear…b…breathing?”

Cesar’s throat felt tight.

“Like…not even…from anything in particular just…almost…everywhere here.” Mark continued.

“…Mark…what are you even…talking about?” Cesar asked. “I…look, I just wanted us to spend tonight just hanging out, without the weird shit—”

“Do you?” Mark seemed aggressive with his question, leaning forward as he stared at Cesar’s eyes, being able to make out the concern in his stare. Cesar glanced around the room, shifting his weight onto one foot as he stared at the ground; thinking.

“…Yes.” Cesar’s voice was quiet, almost a squeak.

Mark let out a breath, shaking his head slightly as one of his hands clasped his necklace. “Then why…why have you been acting like I’ve been crazy this whole time if you knew?”

           Cesar didn’t respond to his question, rather looking towards a bookshelf and looking back to Mark. “We have some…board games.” Cesar stated. “Monopoly? Cards? Do you want to…play anything? I-I can dig out the SNES in my closet—”

           “It’s…fine. I’ll just…watch TV.” Mark responded, brows furrowing on his face as he looked away from Cesar. He could see Cesar lower his head in his peripheral vision as he walked away, sighing and scratching the back of his head. He disappeared behind the archway as Mark stared at the TV, the black and white images reflecting off of his eyes. He watched as the two characters in the western spoke to each other:

           “You know, I don’t see why I stay with that bastard.” One of them stated, looking towards the taller cowboy next to him. “All he does is cause trouble for me, and for everyone else he’s around.”

           “Well, Billy, I’d say it’s about time you let him go.” The older man stated. “Besides, you always have me, and we have a home you can stay in, food you can eat. You don’t need him if you think he’s nothing but trouble for you.”

           “I guess so, Mr. Parker.” Billy chuckled. “Guess I’m…right at home here, huh?”

           “That you are. You’re always welcome here, and never forget that.” Parker laughed. “We always love guests. You’ll love it here, Heathcliff. You’ll love it here.”    

           Mark looked away from the screen as his eyes were drug upwards, back at the grandfather clock, hearing the characters in the TV laughing despite their noses bleeding heavily. Mark’s eyes couldn’t be moved, hearing the clunks and ticks coming from the inside of the clock, faint bells ringing in Mark’s head. He couldn’t look away, sitting up as he stared at the clock’s face, the hands shifting and the pendulum swinging, calming, in a way. Maybe Cesar was right, and he was just on edge. Maybe he deserved to lean back, sink into the couch, and let himself relax.

           Mark didn’t want to. He didn’t want to relax, feeling as if his eyes burnt as he watched the clock, every sound aside from the ticking fading into oblivion; all until he felt a hand be pressed on his shoulder.

           “Mark?” Cesar’s voice shook, and when Mark looked up at his face, it almost seemed like he was…scared.

           “What do you want?” Mark asked.

           “What the fuck, you scared the shit out of me,” Cesar said frantically. “I tried talking to you but you didn’t respond; dude I was wondering if I should call an ambulance—”

           “What? You…never said anything.” Mark rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling as though they were dried out.

           “You’ve been staring into space for over a fucking hour, Mark.”

           Mark looked at him quizzically before glancing back at the clock, heart sinking when he saw the hour hand nearing midnight. “W…but I…I don’t…get it.” Mark muttered.

           “I tried talking to you but you just mumbled shit at me and never even looked at me.” Cesar continued. “Dude, you’re…seriously fucking worrying me.”

           “I…fuck…” Mark pressed his elbows on his knees, grasping his head with his hands as he stared at the carpet.

           “…Maybe…you should go to sleep, dude.” Cesar suggested. “I mean…when was the last time you slept well anyway? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

           “…Yeah…I haven’t.” Mark muttered under his breath, trying to push down the feeling of nausea in his gut. “…Fuck.”

 Mark could still hear the clock, even as he laid on the makeshift bed on the floor in Cesar’s bedroom. He stared into the darkness, hearing Cesar’s faint breathing from the bed in the corner. Mark normally took off his necklace before bed, however he found himself still clutching it hard enough in his hand to leave indents in his skin. He turned onto his side, pulling the covers over himself as his eyes darted around the room before he shut his eyes, curling into himself as he tried to fall—

GONG.

GONG.

GONG.

The clock’s bells rang throughout the home, startling Mark out of his half asleep state entirely. He sat still for a moment, trembling slightly before groaning, throwing his blanket off of him before standing up. “Ces—” Mark paused as he stared at the bed, seeing nothing but neatly made bed sheets and pillows where Cesar once was. Mark stared at the empty bed as he felt his throat become tight, hearing the loud, echoing bells from the living room.

He turned towards the bedroom door, seeing faint blue light coming from the dark hall. He stared at it, swallowing the lump in his throat as he walked towards the door, tempted to claw his hair out when he felt that the ground was damp. He felt the carpet of the bedroom turn into the wooden floors of the hallway, puddles formed on the floor as if it had rained indoors. His heart sank when he stared down the hallway, seeing that there were more doors than before. The four doors on the side and the one behind him turned into eight, then sixteen, then thirty six. The hallway stretched on both ways, reminding Mark of a hotel’s eerily empty and long hallways. He silently stepped towards the door next to Cesar’s, attempting to open it, only to find the doorknob remained unmoved.

Mark’s breathing clouded the cool air in front of him as he looked down the hallway, seeing a white, square shaped light at the end of the expansive hall, the sound of the bells ringing in his ears, joining the sound of static in the overwhelming choir, making Mark let go of his necklace just to cover his ears. He walked down the hallway, seeing the light slowly grow closer with every step. He wanted to scream, though deep inside he knew it would only result in a wheezy whisper and nothing more. He wanted out of that damned hallway, the many doors feeling so familiar yet so alien at the same time.

His wet socks hit the wooden floors as he walked, all until the wood felt oddly soft, and warm. He looked down, seeing that the wood grain of the floorboards was beginning to twist and look less like wood and similar to-

Mark didn’t want to think of what the veins meant.

Mark looked up, seeing where the light was coming from clearly; an analog television, resting on a table half sunken into the ground. The bells had finally grown silent, and the static was all that remained. Mark waved his hand by his side as he attempted to push down the overwhelming nausea he felt from the putrid smell, as well as desperately trying to brush off the feeling of being followed. He stood in front of the TV, raising his hand towards it, pointing a finger towards the power button, and clicking it. The screen shut off, delving the hall in darkness as Mark gasped, trying to turn the TV back on, only to find it unresponsive.

“Fuck…fuck…please…” Mark whimpered as he stood still, hearing his own heartbeat in his ears, unable to ignore how it sounded like a ticking clock. He wanted to wake up, knowing it was nothing but a nightmare. Please fucking wake up.

“You’re always welcome here, Mark.”

Cesar’s choked whisper into his right ear felt like it was burning itself into his head.

Mark awoke with a gasp, feeling the shaggy carpet under his body and face. He was drenched in sweat, his breathing heavy, and his body feeling even heavier. He felt the carpet stuck to his face as he pushed his upper body off of the floor, feeling the heaviness begin to wane, even though his arms felt weak. He looked up, eyes widening when he saw something towering over his prone body; the grandfather clock. Mark scrambled to his feet, staring at the clock as he shook off the exhaustion and heaviness in his body. His chest heaved with every harsh breath as he grasped his necklace tightly, glancing through the kitchen to see the back hallway, where Cesar’s bedroom was.

Mark pushed open Cesar’s door, his silhouette blocking the hallway light as he stared into the room. Darkness cloaked his form, his face concealed in blackness, with only two faint dots of light from his eyes visible. He stared at Cesar’s still, unconscious body before he slowly approached Cesar’s bed, lifting an arm over him before speaking quietly, yet urgently.

“Cesar.”

Cesar’s eyes flicked open as he breathed in harshly, feeling Mark’s hand rest on his shoulder before he quickly sat up, smacking the arm away and staring at Mark with wide eyes, only letting out his breath when he saw it was him.

“M…Mark?” Cesar mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“…What? What fuckin…time is it?” Cesar asked, happy when he began to make out Mark’s face in the darkness, no longer just seeing the shines of his eyes.

“I don’t know.” Mark responded with a trembling voice. “C…Can you come with me for a second…?”

Cesar stared at him, watching Mark back out of the room before Cesar slid out of bed, following Mark through the hallway and into the living room. Mark stopped in front of the clock, pointing at it with a shaking hand before looking back at Cesar. “W-What…do you feel looking at this?” Mark questioned.

“…What?”

“Please, just…a-answer the…the question, Cesar.” Mark stammered over his words, not making eye contact with Cesar as he talked.

“I…I-I don’t…know?” Cesar responded.

“Please, you…y-you have to feel something looking at it, right?” Mark looked towards Cesar for approval.

“Mark, what’s going on with you, you’ve been talking about my house nonstop every time I’ve seen you for, what, a month?”

“Yeah, and I-I’m fuckin’ tired of you just…ignoring me,” Mark said, brows furrowed and his shoulders tense. “You told me that you’ve heard the breathing too, felt like you’re being watched, yet you keep pretending that I’m just out of my fucking mind!”

“Mark, I just wanted to hang out with you; a normal night for ONCE.” Cesar said, walking in front of the clock, blocking Mark’s view. “What the fuck is going on; you refuse to fucking tell me anything!”

“Cesar, there’s something seriously fucking wrong here,” Mark snapped. “I’ve told you EVERYTHING I’ve felt about this place, yet you refuse to just LISTEN to me!”

“Mark, calm down—”

“NO, I’M TIRED OF THIS,” Mark stepped towards Cesar as tears ran down his cheeks and his speech became slurred. “YOU THINK I’M FUCKING CRAZY, DON’T YOU?!”

“Mark—” Cesar felt Mark shove him away, stumbling backwards before hitting the clock, cracking the glass covering the cavity holding the pendulum before he fell to the ground. He laid on the ground, pressing a hand against the sore part of his back as Mark glared at him; all before Mark’s stare began to soften. Mark grimaced, trying to hold back tears before covering his face, sobbing into his hands.

“Fuck…Cesar, I’m…so fucking sorry.”

“Get out.”

Mark looked through his fingers to see Cesar staring back at him, the glare feeling like twenty daggers piercing his heart.

“…Cesar?”

“GET OUT.” Cesar repeated loudly, making Mark flinch as he pointed towards the front door. “If you don’t like this place, GET OUT!”

Mark stumbled backwards, looking at his suitcase, which sat by the couch as Cesar continued. “I’ve…had enough of this SHIT, Mark.” Cesar spat. “No…no I don’t think you’re crazy, I think you need THERAPY.”

Mark chest heaved with every sob, the one arm not clutching his sweat-stained shirt shaking in front of his torso. “I-I…shit…fuck…I-I-I—”

“I’ll see you at school, Mark.” Cesar stated, standing up. “Go home. Get help.”

Mark turned away from Cesar, storming towards his suitcase and grabbing its handle before freezing, feeling a pit in his chest. He could smell something similar to copper, or old coins. He shook his head, not bothering to grab anything he may have left behind before bolting towards the door, swinging it open and walking outside, slamming the door shut behind him.

Cesar glanced at the clock, seeing the cracked glass and the small shards of it breaking off of it and falling to the floor. It smelled of iron in the room, and when Cesar looked up at the clock’s face, he saw something running from the grooves around it, dripping down the wood before Cesar hesitantly wiped it off with his fingers. He looked at the liquid on his fingers, rubbing it with his thumb, staining his hand with red. “…W…what?”

Mark threw open the back door of his car, tossing the suitcase inside without much trouble as he stifled a sob. He closed the door before opening the driver’s side door and sitting inside. He closed the door, and buckled his seatbelt before grasping the steering wheel with enough force to make his knuckles pop. He grimaced as tears ran down his cheeks. Way to go Mark; you lost another one. Maybe you never needed Cesar anyway, Mark. Maybe you never needed—

“FUCK!” Mark shouted in his car. He slammed his hand against the wheel, causing the horn to blare for a moment before he crossed his arms on the steering wheel, lowering his head and pressing his forehead on it. “…Damn it. God damn it…”

 Cesar woke up later than he normally did the next morning, finally waking up around 11 in the morning, rather than his normal 8 AM. He was wrapped and buried in his blankets, barely visible from beneath them before he heard a knock on his bedroom door. He stirred awake, pushing the blankets off of his head as he groggily stared at the door as it opened, revealing his mother. “Oh…sorry for waking you up, have you seen Marco?” She asked.

Cesar blinked at her, sighing before turning over onto his side. “He’s…he left.” He mumbled tiredly. “…Last night.”

“Did he tell you why?”

Cesar thought for a second, or as much as he could while half asleep. “…No.”

“Oh…are you alright?” Ms. Torres stepped into the room, folding her hands in front of her as she looked at Cesar worriedly.

“…Y…I dunno.” Cesar responded. “Just…weird.”

“Well…alright; breakfast is ready whenever you want it.” Ms. Torres walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her as Cesar pulled the covers over his head. He felt himself drifting off, ready to sleep until noon until the door opened again.

“Oh! Almost forgot, you have that recital this Monday, don’t forget it,” Ms. Torres said. “In fact, I’d recommend you practice a bit before then.”

“Ye…yeah…whatever.” Cesar heard the door close once again, ready to fall back asleep until his eyes shot open. “Oh…shit.” He turned onto his back, pressing his hands against his face; the piano recital. How was he going to concentrate on playing after everything that happened the night before? He wished he could’ve pushed it off another week to give him time to decompress and relax, though it didn’t seem like he was lucky enough for that.

“‘Practice a bit before then’, as if…I haven’t been practicing nearly every day for a month.” Cesar muttered as he sat up. He opened his closet door, seeing his black suit hung up next to the shelves, along with his white dress shirt right beside it. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a simple black t-shirt before closing the doors.

He walked out of his bedroom, turning towards the bathroom to get dressed before flicking on the light. He looked into the medicine cabinet’s mirror in front of him for a moment, pausing before he could close the door, staring at the mirror his brows furrowed. His eyes looked towards the reflection of the hallway behind him, seeing a portion of the kitchen. It was empty, though when he turned behind him, his breathed hitched slightly, as he could see his mother placing plates and food on the table. He turned back towards the mirror, his unease not waning when he saw that the kitchen was still empty in the reflection. He let out a shaky breath as he backed out of the room, deciding to change in his bedroom instead, unnoticing of the figure in the kitchen archway in the reflection.

Cesar quickly got himself dressed, walking out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, staring at the table before his mother noticed him. “Would you like some eggs?” She asked, though Cesar barely looked at her.

“I’m not hungry right now…” Cesar stated, glancing at his mother before walking into the living room, much to her dismay. He walked towards the couch, seeing the sun’s light bleeding into the home from the window, hitting the carpet and even the furniture on the opposite wall. Cesar’s eyes followed the light for a second before they landed on something. He stared at it quizzically, pausing before stepping towards it; the clock. He looked at the glass, seeing the pendulum swing back and forth as it always did, however, Cesar couldn’t help but feel uneasy when he realized that the glass was fixed, with not a single crack or blemish in sight. It was as if the event the previous night never happened at all.

Cesar crouched down, lightly grazing his fingers across the newly-fixed glass before speaking. “Hey, mom, did you fix the clock last night?” He asked.

“…No? Was it broken?”

The answer made a pit form in his stomach as he turned back towards the clock, swallowing his unease and standing up. “N…No, just…curious.”

Mark’s shaky breathing was the only sound in his bedroom, sitting on his knees on his bed as he stared, unblinking, at the wall in front of him. He scribbled with the black marker in his hand, leaving thin, dark lines on the grey drywall. Organic-appearing pictures formed from his mindless drawing, lines branching off like veins, with small, scribbled eyes peeking through them. He didn’t know why he was doing this; he even had a notebook he could draw in, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t get out his thoughts in any other way. He had to.

A knock rang from his bedroom door, though Mark barely heard it, continuing to draw even as his hands were stained with ink. It was only when the second knock rang that Mark paused, slowly turning towards the door as he stared at it with dry, bloodshot eyes. Blood oozed down from his nostrils, dripping over his mouth and chin, though he didn’t seem to react to the taste of iron.

“Mark?” It was his mother. “…You haven’t been out of your room in a while, are you alright?”

Mark took a moment to respond, blinking as he regained his bearings. “…Yeah.”

“You sure? Do you need anything?”

“No, Mom.” Mark responded, looking down at his stained hands; he needed to wash them off, the best he can, anyway. “I’m fine, just…tired.”

“Alright, just…remember to take care of yourself okay?”

“…Yeah. I…I-I will.” He looked back towards his drawings, brows furrowing as his eyes grazed over the lines. He shook his head, looking around his room before his eyes focused on something just barely out of view in his open closet; a poster, one of a horror movie he liked to watch. He hopped off of his bed, grabbing the poster, along with a small box of pushpins before climbing back onto his bed, breath heavy as he stared at the drawings, all before he rolled out the poster and held it against the wall, securing it with the pins. He didn’t even want to see them himself, so why would the others?

Mark opened his bedroom door after he finished hanging up the poster, closing the door behind him, seeing the stairway leading downstairs before he turned to his left, where the upstairs bathroom was. He stared into the dark room before flicking on the light, turning towards the mirror and seeing the state he was in. His wavy brown hair was covering his left eye, almost being a blessing, knowing how his other eye appeared. He had a dull purple ring over his sunken eyes, with the eyes themselves being bloodshot and red.  He seemed paler than usual, though he swore he looked better the night before. He was wearing his pale grey sweatshirt, along with his cross necklace of course. He hated the way he looked; he had acne from stress, and his hair was a complete mess. He hated the crimson streaks going down his top lip, with every wipe of his hand only making it smear across his lower face. He hated it.

The faucet was leaking, dripping water as he stared deep into his own reflection. It dripped in rhythm, with every time the water fell onto the porcelain below making Mark want to scratch his ears off with his nails.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Trip.

Trik.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Mark’s hands shook as he breathed in deeply, grimacing as he stared at himself. He couldn’t take it, raising a fist before throwing it into the mirror, cracks spreading from the impact as shards exploded onto the countertop. Mark screamed, pulling his arm back and stumbling into the wall, sliding down as he stared at his fist. His knuckles were bloody, with shards half protruding out of his skin, tearing it and causing the crimson to drip down his arm.

He couldn’t find anything to say, only gasping and grasping his wrist as he stared at the blood. He could hear his mother running up the stairs, and he knew he had no explanation to his action. He barely even recognized the sound of the door opening until it hit his foot, hearing his mother’s voice worriedly asking him what happened. It was nothing more than noise to him. He could hear the pulsing in his head again as he sat, unmoving on the bathroom floor. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore, or even why.

He was scared.

--

September 12th, 1992. 6:46 PM.

 Cesar hadn’t slept well the entire weekend.

He could feel his exhaustion creeping up on him as he adjusted the red bowtie around his neck, looking at himself in the mirror as he centered it on his shirt collar. Despite his neatly done hair, combed to the side as best as it could, and his spotless black tuxedo, the bags under his eyes alluded to his less than energetic mood. He adjusted the rose pinned to his lapel until it looked good enough before taking another look at himself in the mirror, taking in a deep breath before letting it go, shutting the light off before leaving the bathroom.

He walked down the hallway as he fidgeted with his dress shirt cuffs, feeling a pressure in his chest; he couldn’t decipher whether he was anxious about the recital in little more than two hours, or the stress he felt creeping up inside of him from the past few days. He hadn’t been able to shake of the nausea in his stomach, though he pressed it down anyway. It wasn’t like he was going to make his mother worry. He was better than that.

Cesar walked into the living room, sighing as he sat on the couch, grasping his knees with his strangely clammy hands. He took in slow, deep breaths, just like his therapist told him, though it didn’t seem to relieve the sinking feeling in his chest. He glanced around the living room, feeling oddly…unnerved by the red wallpaper; did it seem almost…redder than usual? He looked towards the corner near the ceiling, eyes squinting when he spotted something leaking from it, dripping down the striped wallpaper. It was almost invisible, blending in with the wall almost seamlessly. Cesar couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps…Mark was right to be concerned—

“Niño, are you ready?” Ms. Torres walked into the room, dressed in a black cardigan, black shirt, along with a floral skirt. “We’re supposed to be there in a half hour.”

“…I thought it was a couple hours…away.” Cesar asked, eyes still fixated on the strange substance leaking from the walls before looking towards his mother.

“It’s nearly 8 o’clock,” Ms. Torres said after taking a glance at the grandfather clock, seeing that it was 7:49 PM.  “You need to be there by 8:30, remember?”

Cesar stared off at nothing in particular as his brows furrowed. “Yeah…of...of course.” He looked down at the coffee table, his eyes focusing on the stack of papers resting next to the TV. “Schubert’s Serenade” was written above the music notes, a song he was all too familiar with; even remembering how often he practiced made his hands hurt. He sighed, slipping on his black dress shoes before grabbing the stack of papers, hoping the performance would help get his mind off of…everything.

He didn’t expect Mark to show up, nor did he particularly want to see him in the audience. He didn’t need this recital to be ruined by their personal drama.

Cesar’s deep feeling of discomfort didn’t subside, even as they drove down Mandela’s streets, the streetlights passing over their car. He glanced towards his mother, who was focused on the road as she drove, able to see in her face that she wasn’t affected by the strange aura Cesar felt; if anything, she seemed excited for Cesar’s performance more than Cesar himself was. Cesar let out a soft sigh, staring through the windshield as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“…Do I…have to do this?”

The question made Ms. Torres glance at him with a weird look in her eyes. “Do you not want to? I thought you were looking forward to this.”

“Well, yeah but…just…gah, I don’t know, things have been…” Cesar paused for a moment as he thought to himself. “…Weird, lately…couldn’t this be done any other time?”

“Nervous?”

“…Yeah, honestly.”

“You’ll do great, I can feel it.” Ms. Torres smiled. “I’m sure everyone will love it.”

“Or just…laugh at me.” Cesar crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.

“Oh, don’t say that,” Ms. Torres let out a nervous chuckle. “Hey, if nothing else, I’ll enjoy the performance. Even though I am a little biased.” She let out a short laugh as Cesar looked towards her, her sunny attitude doing nothing to help his mood. He didn’t have much time to think about getting out of the car and walking home however, as they were already there. As they parked, Cesar looked up at the building, seeing all the cars in the parking lot, the amount of which making his heart sink into his stomach.

“There are…a lot of people here.” He said quietly.

“Niño, look at me,” Ms. Torres looked at him with a soft gaze. “It’s going to be alright, just focus on the music. I’ll be there in the audience, and trust me…I won’t laugh at you.” She smiled softly. “I’m proud of you either way.”

Despite the worry in his eyes, Cesar smiled, taking in a deep breath before grabbing the music sheets and opening the door, stepping outside and following his mother to the front door. He felt the pressure in his chest finally begin to wane, though the hesitation he felt didn’t leave him as he hugged his mother and parted ways to go backstage. He stared at the music sheets, taking in yet another deep breath as he shut his eyes. “Focus…on the music.” He muttered under his breath. “Just…breathe.”

Ms. Torres took a seat in the auditorium, sitting next to a few other parents, presumably there for their own children’s performances along with her. She looked around the large room before placing her purse on her lap, digging through it before pulling out one of the larger objects inside of it; a personal camcorder. She held onto it, looking up towards the front of the room, seeing the large, jet black grand piano resting on the wooden stage. She couldn’t wait, even if she knew there were a few performances before Cesar’s. Sure, she was biased, but she knew Cesar was going to sweep the floor with the others, even if he was less confident in his abilities.

Cesar sat backstage, trying to ignore how uncomfortable the metal folding chair was as he looked over his music sheets, checking over and over that they’re in the correct order. He felt cold, and his hands shook despite the decent temperature in the room. He could hear someone on the stage, performing and playing music that would be calming, if Cesar didn’t know he was next on the list. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, it ticking ever so slightly, nearing 9:00. Despite how quiet the ticking was, each one felt like a drill in his skull. The deep breaths weren’t helping his nausea and borderline lightheadedness anymore, and his leg began to bounce up and down as he tried to push it all away.

“You’ve been practicing for a month now,” Cesar thought to himself. “You know it by heart; it’s going to be fine. You have to impress them. Don’t be a baby about this.”

He pressed his hand against his head as he worriedly stared at nothing in particular, shutting his eyes as he tried to think to himself. The music was fading away, and the sound of the audience clapping tore Cesar out of his train of thought, making him open his eyes and sit up completely straight. He suppressed the urge to hyperventilate as he saw the teenager that was on stage walk into the room, immediately leaving to join the audience, he presumed.

He stood up, holding his papers and approaching the entrance to the stage, waiting for his name to be called. He stood still, able to hear a pulsing in his head, unsure if it was the steadily forming headache, or simply his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He took in a few breaths, exhaling after each one, and as soon as he heard his name, he swallowed his sudden fear and stepped out onto the stage.

It was complete silence as he walked towards the grand piano, glancing towards the large auditorium, the sheer amount of people in there being unclear due to being concealed by the bright spotlights limiting his view. He felt blank; unsure if the seemingly clear mind was due to too many thoughts at once or none at all. He sat on the bench, placing his papers on the music desk of the piano, looking at them, seeing the name “Shubert’s Serenade” at the top as he held his slightly shaking hands over the keys, holding his breath for a moment before playing the first note.

The solemn song echoed throughout the auditorium, the audience silent as they listened intently, with Cesar’s mother filming with a faint smile. Cesar tried to focus on the music like she had suggested, though something was itching in the back of his mind, with the quieter moments of the song making it only try and drown out the serenade he was playing. He pushed through each bar of music, without flaw, slowly beginning to feel his unease wash away. He felt calm, with the music, while gloomy, making him feel more at ease. He approached a quieter section, his hands moving across the keys as he played. He felt a sense of peace, despite the crowd of people to his right.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Cesar missed a note.

He glanced to his right, seeing that no one’s expression had changed, nor did anything seem out of the ordinary. He began to wonder if it was just his mind playing tricks on him until he heard it again; faint ticking, coming from somewhere just out of sight. He shook his head slightly, flinching when one of his fingers slipped and hit the note next to the correct one. He could feel his chest become tight again, and he had to suppress the urge to bounce his leg, lest he accidentally hit or let go of the pedal of the piano at the wrong time. He swallowed hard, telling himself that it was only for a few minutes. He played the wrong note again, the action making him grimace slightly.

Someone laughed.

He glanced towards the crowd, seeing from his limited view that none of them were necessarily happy, but he heard murmuring that he couldn’t make out. He tried to continue playing, only missing more notes, each time making someone in the crowd let out a mean-spirited chuckle. Cesar could feel his breathing quickening, hearing faint, otherworldly laughing in the distance as he played, the timing of the song becoming off the longer he went. Ms. Torres looked at him with furrowed brows and a look of concern, wondering what was going on for Cesar to act so strangely, knowing there weren’t any audible distractions she could hear.

Cesar’s jaw was clenched, and each note was becoming harder to play as his hands stiffened and shook. He was slowly losing his grasp on the song, with the notes on the page even seeming to warp in his view despite nothing changing. He felt something behind him, refusing to look back until he was done with the song. He lost track of the bass line of the song for a moment, the action making the crowd in his head laugh again. He could hear the ticking of a clock, pounding in his ears like gunfire. His chest heaved as he looked down at the keys, trying to maintain his composure until—

Something dripped onto one of the white keys; a crimson liquid.

Another drop hit the ivory, Cesar only realizing after being able to taste it that it was blood, running down from his nose. He saw something in both sides of his peripheral vision, reaching towards his head. He Cesar stared at the keys, the song becoming dissonant as the bony hands reached towards his face.

A loud bang of discordant notes echoed throughout the hall as Cesar slammed his hands against the piano, standing up and pushing the bench back as he did so. The audience flinched, letting out surprised gasps before muttering to each other. Cesar swung to look behind him, seeing nothing before turning back towards the piano, grabbing his sheets before storming off of the stage, wiping his rapidly bleeding nose with his hand. Ms. Torres stood up, watching him disappear backstage before she shut off her camcorder, shoving it into her bag before brushing past the concerned people sitting next to her. She walked down the aisle, feeling tight in the chest as she walked around the building, calling Cesar’s name as she looked for the backstage entrance.

She burst through the backstage door, looking around and only seeing the surprised looks of the other performers before she walked past them with a quick “sorry”. She looked up, seeing the door leading outside before rushing towards it, swinging it open as she looked into the parking lot. She couldn’t see anyone there, though when she turned towards the street, she saw the rearview headlights of their car disappearing down the road.

“Cesar?!” She called, rushing down the concrete stairs before running into the parking lot, watching as the car drove away, exceeding the speed limit. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to conceal her worry and fear. “…O-Oh, no, Cesar…Que ha pasado ahora...”

Cesar pulled into the driveway as soon as he made it across town, shutting it off and hopping out, leaving his sheets in the car as he slammed the driver’s door shut. He muttered obscenities under his breath as he rushed into the house, swinging open the door and closing it when he was inside, all while holding his blood-stained hand under his nose. He walked quickly past the living room, through the kitchen, and into the back hallway, flicking on the light of the bathroom. He grabbed the toilet paper, tearing it off of the roll before pushing it under his nose to catch the blood. His breathing was uneven and his eyes watered, bordering on sobbing as his wide eyes stared at the sink.

“Fuck…y-you fucking idiot, this is the only car you drove there…” He groaned under his breath. He sighed, throwing the paper under his nose into the trash before turning on the faucet and washing his hands of his blood. Red stained water ran down the drain as Cesar felt the nose bleed subside, and as soon as his hands were at least mostly clean, he shut off the water, pressing his hands against the counter as he tried to regain his composure.

He looked up with a deep exhale, staring at himself through the mirror, seeing how red his eyes were due to the crying. His left eye appeared to be covered by his black hair in the reflection, despite it being above his eye in reality. Cesar stared at the reflection, brows furrowing when he realized that the lights in the hallway were off in the reflection, but not when he turned behind him to verify that they were on. “…Wh…” He turned back towards the mirror, eyes widening when he realized that his reflection was smiling at him.

Cesar couldn’t even let out a scream before his shoulders were grabbed by the reflection in the mirror, pulling him through it without struggle. Cesar yelled, feeling himself fall towards the floor, a water-like liquid splashing onto him when he hit the ground. He laid on the ground for a moment, feeling his clothes being stained with the thin layer of red liquid that rested above the tiles of the bathroom. The smell was nauseating, smelling of iron and rust, along with rotting wood and fresh paint. It was completely pitch black past the light of the mirror, the yellow lights from it bleeding into the mirrored room.

Cesar’s panic spiked again as he scrambled to his feet, looking down at his feet to see he was ankle deep in blood, or something that appeared to be blood. He looked back towards the mirror, seeing the bathroom he was used to, and he raised his hands, slamming against the mirror, loud bangs echoing from each impact as he began to hyperventilate. “NO! No, no NO, PLEASE, LET ME OUT OF HERE!” He cried, tears running down his face as he attempted to break the “glass.” “LET ME OUT…PLEASE…please…” He squeaked the last words out, looking through the mirror before a figure emerged from behind the counter, standing up, it’s limbs cracking as it moved. Cesar’s eyes widened in horror as he stared at the figure, his heart dropping at the realization that it was his own face looking back at him.

“A round of applause…” The alternate’s voice was breathy, sounding as if he was out of breath through his wide smile. Its bloodshot eyes stared at Cesar, thick, dark blood leaking from his nose, right eye, and from behind the hair covering his left eye. It was even wearing his suit, albeit torn and hanging together by threads. “It must feel nice…to come home after your performance. Make yourself comfortable, Cesar.”

Cesar grimaced as he curled his hands into fists, slamming them into the mirror as he screamed for someone, anyone to come to his rescue, watching as the alternate flicked the light off, walking down the hallway before closing the bathroom door. Cesar cried, sliding his blood-stained hands down the mirror as he lowered his head, sobbing to himself as he covered his face. This wasn’t happening; it couldn’t be happening. Maybe he would wake up, realizing it was nothing but a fucked up nightmare, and that everything would be okay. However, when he heard a loud, deep creaking from the dark, mirrored home around him, he realized it wasn’t as simple as that. The walls creaked, moving with every groan of the support beams. Tree-branch like marks covered the walls from what he could see, pulsing slightly.

Mark was right. The walls were breathing.

--

September 15th, 1992. 10:56 PM.

 Mark was awoken by his cellular phone ringing. He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep on the couch that evening, finding himself sprawled across the sofa when he groggily opened his eyes. He sleepily turned towards the coffee table, hearing the ear-splittingly annoying ringtone from his blocky cell phone. He let out a tired groan as he reached towards it, nearly falling off of the couch before grabbing it and holding it up to his ear after accepting the call.

“…H’llo?” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he waited for the response.

“Hey, it’s Cesar; I hope it’s not too—”

“Cesar?” Mark sat up, brows furrowing and his already hauntingly vacant stare becoming more harrowing. “What—why are you calling me this late? You haven’t talked to me in days and you’re calling me now?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just…” Cesar sounded…strangely out of breath. “It’s not me, it’s my mom. She didn’t show up at my recital on Monday—”

“What? I didn’t…even know you had a recital.” Mark murmured as he rubbed his eyes. “You…didn’t…invite me��N-Never mind, fuck, what happened to your mom?”

“I don’t know, but…I’m at the police station to report a missing person, so I just…wanted to ask you a favor?” Cesar continued.

Mark remained silent for a moment, glancing around his empty living room with furrowed brows. “After…ignoring me for so long, you want me to do a favor for you?”

“Look, I-I know it’s been…rough lately, but I really need just this one thing,” Cesar sighed. “Can you please at least…listen?”

“Listen to you?” Mark scoffed. “You barely listen to—”

“You know the cameras we installed after we were robbed?”

Mark let out a sigh as his statement was once again pushed aside. “…Yes, what about them?” He asked with barely disguised annoyance.

“I was wondering if you could…turn them on. I’m worried that while I’m gone something might…happen?”

“Fuck no.” Mark’s tone darkened. “I already told you, I’m not going back to that fucking house. Besides, I thought you didn’t want me there anymore.”

“I was just…angry, okay, but I’m better now. Besides, I checked everywhere, and there’s nothing here.” Cesar responded. “Please, can you do this? Just this once? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Mark absentmindedly scratched his neck, staring ahead blankly. “…I…God…” He thought intently for a moment before speaking again. “Alright. I’m just going to go in there, turn them on, and then leave though…that’s it.”

“And that’s all you need to do.” Cesar said. “Thank you for this, really. I appreciate it.”

“…No…n…no problem.”

 Mark felt empty as he drove to Cesar’s house. No thoughts ran through his head, as much as if felt like there should’ve been, and his stare remained blank, fixed on the road in front of him. His hands were clamped on the steering wheel, grasping the leather hard enough that it hurt. His breathing was deep, yet quiet, feeling oddly calm knowing the circumstance. It was as if he felt like he made the right decision, though deep inside he wished he didn’t take the offer, no matter if it helped he and Cesar’s friendship or not.

Mark glanced down at his hand, seeing traces of lazily washed off doodles drawn on his forearm before he grasped his sleeve, pulling it over the organic looking drawings. He shook his free, bandage-wrapped hand for a second, and then pushed his hair out of his face before grasping the wheel once again. In and out. Go in, turn on the cameras, and get out. That’s all he needed to do.

Mark parked on the other side of the road, opposite of the home before he stepped out of the vehicle. His hands shook by his sides as he hesitantly walked across the street, his sneakers hitting the pavement then eventually the driveway being the only sounds he could hear for miles. Not even the crickets seemed to be chirping that night, and the air was still and cool. Mark couldn’t help but feel a chill go up his spine as he approached the front door, reaching for the doorknob before pausing. He raised his other hand, clasping his necklace before taking in a breath, and opening the door.

He felt like he was going to throw up when he heard the grandfather clock ticking again. He let go of the door, keeping it open as he carefully looked around, looking up at the living room ceiling before spotting the first camera. He walked towards it, avoiding eye contact with the clock before reaching towards the camera and locating the switch. However, when he saw it, he paused; the camera was on, and the red light was switched on as well. He lowered his arms, turning towards the archway leading to the kitchen to look for the next camera.

The next camera wasn’t much better; red light was flashing, and the switch was on. He growled in annoyance, wondering in confused silence why Cesar asked him to turn the cameras on when they were already active. If anything, it was wasting both of their time, though nevertheless, Mark decided to try his luck with the other cameras. He looked around the room, spotting the basement door, before he turned towards the back hallway, freezing when he saw the camera above the bathroom door, finally seeing a camera without its red light on.

Mark couldn’t help but notice the pit forming in his stomach as he approached the dark hallway, eyes fixed on the camera above him. It felt oddly cold as he walked further into the hallway he swore was shorter, feeling as if the floorboards were less firm than they used to be. He looked up at the security camera above him raising his left arm to find the switch, only to see it wasn’t near the back with the wires like the others, making him furrow his brows as he grazed his hand across the metal searching for it. Finally, he found the switch, being on top of the camera, where he could barely reach. He was done; at least he hoped that the others were already on as well, so his job would be short.

He tried to stand on his flat feet, no longer standing on his toes until he felt a dull, hot pain in his left hand, as if it was burning. He winced, trying to remove his hand from the overheating camera, only to find that it didn’t budge. He stared at it, jerking his arm back, though the action didn’t free his hand either, even as the pain began to increase in intensity. He muttered curse words under his breath as he pulled his arm away, all before the camera broke off of its base, the wires that didn’t sever coming with it. Mark let out a yell as he looked at the camera in his hand, beginning to fabricate stories to explain the broken tech, until he turned it around. His heart stopped beating for a moment when he saw why he couldn’t move his hand.

The skin of his hand looked as if it was melting, fusing with the metal of the camera’s casing as if they were one entity since the beginning. He could see his veins becoming one with the wires, and his skin was becoming pale and thin near the fusion point. Mark tried moving his fingers, only able to see his bones and tendons move slightly under his skin. His breathing was becoming frantic as he pressed his right hand against it, attempting to free himself as he let out surprised and horrified yelps.

“Hello, Mark.”

Mark’s gaze snapped towards the noise, seeing a figure at the end of the hallway like a living shadow. “C…Cesar?” Mark’s voice shook as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, backing away into the corner and pressing his right hand against the wall for stability. It wasn’t Cesar; he could see it.

It was tall, and malnourished, with its limbs bent oddly, as if they barely held up his body. His smile was stretched wide across his face, his one right, bloodshot eye unblinking as it stared at Mark with glee. Mark looked towards his left eye socket, feeling as if he was about to vomit when he saw that the eye wasn’t even there. Protruding from the socket was many dull colored veins, almost like wires in a machine made of flesh. The veins and arteries fused with the skin on the left side of his face, as well as wrapping around his head and fusing to the back of his skull and neck. His skin almost looked dead, a paler version of the real Cesar’s skin tone. The look of it made Mark sick, the feeling of dread overpowering the burning he felt in his right hand.

“You seem tense.” “Cesar” said softly, his smile not once fading. “Why don’t you relax? You’ll be staying here for a while.”

Mark stared at what was left of the alternate’s face, his eye wide as familiarity rushed over him. The smile Mark saw in the mirror, the tall figure he saw in his dreams; even his voice felt like a jackhammer in his skull. He could hear the ticking and beating of the clock everywhere, steadily growing louder as he turned around, seeing that his right hand was immovable, and slowly sinking into the wall. “Y…You…WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Mark shouted, eyes full of fury as he tried to free his arm, noticing that his right leg was hard to move as well.

“You…make things so…difficult for us.” Cesar tilted his head. “It chose you! You should be honored to be such…an esteemed guest.”

“Wh…What chose me?!”

“It just wants the best for you, don’t you realize that?” Cesar asked calmly. “These walls, the rooms and halls; they’re safe. Secure. I don’t understand why someone would want to leave Home like you seem to.”

Mark remained silent, looking down to see his shin halfway in the wall. The burning sensation rushed over his body as it fused with the drywall and wallpaper, all while he felt a heartbeat that wasn’t his own. He screamed, both in pain and horror for anyone to hear, hoping someone could free him despite his own flesh and bones deconstructing.

“Welcome Home, Mark.” Cesar said. “All its guests welcome you.”

White hot tears ran down Mark’s face, feeling his head throb with every tick of the clock, trying to pull himself out of the wall; away from his fate of being consumed in the belly of the beast. He stared at “Cesar” with hatred, the smile on its face making him burn with anger. “YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” He screamed, his throat shot and his nose gushing with blood. “I HATE YOU! I FUCKING HATE YOU!”

Cesar didn’t even flinch at the yelling as Mark thrashed around, all attempts to free himself being fruitless. He stared at the replication of his friend as he shouted and sobbed, all until Home took away his mouth and eyes too.

Rest, my dear.            

Welcome Home.

#shmorp writes sometimes #Mandela catalogue #tmc #tmc Home Sweet Home au #blood tw #gore tw #body horror #face horror #tw paranoia #paranoia inducing #(supernaturally caused but. just in case) #mark heathcliff #cesar torres #alt cesar #uh. does. Ms. Torres even. have a tag? #anyway. this was. supposed to be the prologue but uh. I got a tad silly wacky so. here's. a VERY long fic by my standards- #But hey I think you guys will like this au for real :) #ask me if theres any tags I should add by the way. just want to make sure this is properly tagged #cause. theres a lot to this one-

[liquidstar]

Can you not edit asks anymore wtf??

#hope it's a glitch bc this is dumb #i just wanted to add a tag #but what if i worded something wrong or had a typo or forgot to add a pic etc etc #or what if i wanted to turn reblogs or something off in an ask post?? i can't do that now? #i kinda understand the idea if its on purpose about not changing answers but this is still ridiculous #it's a post. asks are posts. you should be able to change it if it has a problem #in this case i just forgot to add a tag so nbd tho but like #come on posts are supposed to be your own things you can customize. let me edit that shit

[vvitchering]

Some droidcaptain words for the hopefully still here and just really quiet fandom ✨ my prompt was “first hug”

Captain Andor, like most organics, is inherently difficult to predict.

Every day brings new experiences and data to collect and yet he never feels as though he’s made progress. He’s cataloged everything from the dark circles indicating poor sleep to the sound of his pleased sigh after his first sip of morning caf (brewed as dark as possible). K-2SO’s data is limited in the area of physicality, however.

“It’s a hug, Kay. Stop analyzing it.”

The Captain’s arm is slung around K-2SO’s hips, his side a wall of warmth against the droid’s chassis. No one touches security droids. He has no data on this behavior. He tells Andor this and receives an exhausted laugh for his trouble, but no further explanation. He does not pull away.

Hesitantly, acutely aware of the unknown territory he’s entering, K-2SO reciprocates. Their height difference means his arm wraps around Andor’s shoulders. He feels the human relax into the contact, which cannot be comfortable. The data rolls in. He finds it pleasing.

“You continue to be full of surprises, Captain Andor.” K-2SO remarks, and he dutifully files away the images of the lazy smile he gets in return.

“We’re partners now, Kay. Call me Cassian.”

“...Cassian, then.”

This too he finds pleasing.

#this was supposed to be a drabble and then it was a double drabble #and I think it’s actually a couple words over that even but who cares #droidcaptain #cassian/k-2so #rogue one #I haven’t really seen much evidence of life in the tags for this ship so I’m probably just yelling into the void #but my friend said I should post it anyway #in case there’s two people chilling out there who would be happy to see new stuff #anyway hi I hope someone gets just an ounce of serotonin from this #mine

[cherry-pop-soda]

MISS SCARLET AND THE DUKE 3.04 - Bloodline

#miss scarlet and the duke #msatd #UNHINGED COMMENTARY BELOW -> #okay so first of all i just had to gif this scene because i really almost cried watching it the first time #i feel like the collective Fandom Hivemind was so busy being annoyed that william was gone for two eps and annoyed at william for the #arabella debacle (which is understandable) that a lot of the really amazing details from this episode especially #this scene got overlooked a little #this whole show just makes really good commentary on feminism #it repeatedly makes and demonstrates the point that true feminism is supposed to uplift *everyone* #this scene being one of many cases in point #i could ramble on about that concept forever but i should make another post for that #also this is my first time trying my hand at making gifs with words involved so i hope they turned out alright !!! #i had to brighten and recolor this SO MUCH dude i love this show but it is. a bit shadowy sometimes #but anyways !!! here’s my little contribution to the fandom and i hope to make more in the future :D #i’m planning a fanfic as well but well. who knows how long that will take me to write lol #don’t look at me i always write SO MANY TAGS on my posts lmfao

[cubedmango]

thought id see some deep and thought-provoking discussions about the philosophical and moral questions posed in atsv but all im seeing is a whole bunch of "the whole spider society is evil and fucked up for trying to save the entire fabric of the multiverse even if they have to bear personal grief for it and miles is the only Good One" and man . expected too much from the 'spends 90% time and energy thirsting for scary big vampire guy' fandom huh

#sorry im just . kinda really mad abt takes im seeing (against my will but alas..... twt fyp and ao3 tag cursed as hell) #like ???? just not getting the nuance of the conflict in the movie at All . its not supposed to be one side wholly good one side wholly bad #taking ppl away from this movie for a second and sitting them in front of the trolley problem . baby steps so try to understand this first #NOT ABT MIGUELS METHODS BTW THEY WERE 100% FUCKED UP !!!! he went way too far thats not even up for debate #but more the mindset he was coming from which is still justified from his perspective like dude lost an entire World!! comprehend that !!!! #also ppl getting on gwens and peter bs and peni's cases abt 'betraying' miles like theyre doing smth insanely evil like bro..... enough #aauagghhgh psychic damage from bad takes is happening i need to stop reading these #ummnmnm . dunno if i should even post this idk maybe im the only one thinking too hard abt it #atsv spoilers #my post

[vole-mon-amour]

i have that pic of Brett and Phil almost kissing as my lockscreen and every time my eye isn't blurred to that, it gets to me very hard. Phil's hand on Brett's back. the way he holds his glass of white wine (was it champagne?). the look he gives him, he went full IN, looking at his lips/straight to his face. i can see Brett's smile, but Phil? my goodness. Brett's hand on Phil's side. even the way Phil tagged Brett, that menace.

"we're just joking. unless..." kind of pic. it gives me a mental whiplash and even butterflies sometimes. like, I don't actually ship them (unless? 😄) and understand where it might be coming from, but that pic makes me want to write an actual rpf just for a kissing missing scene. i actually did a while back, but it's so weird writing only that little moment, it's 100 or 200 words at best. i think it's bc i don't ship them i can't actually write a decent story for them, i just don't see it in a romantic way.

and yet, every damn time when i really think about it, it doesn't let me go. oh, how happy I'd be for the visual of Roy and Jamie kissing. but of course we're not getting it. of fucking course. (deep sigh)

method acting, they say. you teasing jerks.

#brett x phil #brett goldstein #phil dunster #roy x jamie #ted lasso #i don't have a tag for b/p but with this post i think i should tag it just in case #lockscreen #personal #just to be clear: i really don't ship them #but the way they act with each other... #how am i supposed to resist? #and no i don't see roy and jamie in this pic #i can imagine it but it's still phil and brett being a menace together

[tragedykery]

longing for moonlight

i stand underneath the moon’s watchful gaze in a night that feels too much like ink. it fills my lungs with shaky breaths yet slips and i am left bereft longing for something i can have. something i can hold.

i think if i reach out through the threshold of my window, through this pitch-black emptiness —not quite styx nor lethe, existence nor oblivion, this something-nothing defined by absence— if i reach far enough, my outstretched hands will catch on moonlight spidersilk unspooling at a gentle, desperate touch.

if i tried, if i could i would have something real. something that doesn’t crumble in my carelessness, something kind and steady and tangible. something to hold and be held by.

yet i stand still. do nothing but sing into the quiet night a skylark’s song of longing or sorrow and hope the moon will hear —but know she cannot soothe my worries and i will have to make peace with the light that is supposed to (but does not, cannot) shine within myself.

i stand underneath the moon’s watchful gaze clutching my chest to keep my shadows from spilling out into the nothing-night once again defined by inability or inaction.

fuck it. have a (mostly) unedited poem

#my poems #e #you can obviously interpret this how you’d like but. this should go in my #aro tag #poetry #also there’s supposed to be this undercurrent of like. of course you can’t fucking touch the moon(light) #and if you tried you’d most likely get hurt. y’know? #anyway. posting this before I chicken out. currently screaming crying shaking etc #internalised arophobia #<- just in case #can we talk about the moon tonight? (low & full in the baby blue sky) #<- moon tag

[2manyfandoms2count]

I've only slept 4h in the past 32h but I need to hold on until tonight to go to bed so I don't ruin my whole sleep schedule/week, and you know what the whole Taylor Swift shop being down and the eras tour "will she/won't she announce anything tonight" is keeping me up better than any cup of coffee ever could

#there was definitely less adrenaline pumping through my veins last night in the icu dealing with the patients going downhill than now #i was supposed to study respirztory failure not refresh a black page help #i should probably check out the hyperventilation chapter anyway just in case i need it #taylor swift #the eras tour #elle rambles in the tags #about me

[wishidnevergrownup]

my flight is so delayed i’m so bored and I’ve already gotten two long island ice teas, what am i supposed to do now???

#maybe I should watch the eras tour…….again #cw alcohol #alcohol cw #tagging just in case #lmk if there’s a different tag im supposed to use cause I don’t wanna upset anyone