#hoping i censored well enough but if not. feel free to tell me so and im sorry for being a hater shjdfhjd

[kohakhearts]

choosing violence /lh. ship ask game- LEASTTTTTTT favorite pokeani ship for the ask game?

JDFGJHFHJFD OH GOD. OK. i try hard not to be a hater on main but i guess now is my time....sorry folks </3

amour/shipping: don't ship it :(

why don't you ship it?

see the thing that sucks so bad about the dynamic is that like. i could genuinely get behind it if every scene that was made to make me WANT to wasn't so awful. i think ash treats serena terribly 90% of the time, and her behaviour around him is uncomfortable to watch except for times when the narrative doesn't want you to think about the fact that she's got a crush on him (which is...very rarely, but those moments DO exist). from the wearing his clothes and pretending to be him when he's sick and can't battle someone (???) to The Kiss, there's just a lot of........ick factor for me. i want so badly to like it i really do but it crosses too many lines in ways that are Framed as Cute UwU for me to operate around that

what would have made you like it?

more scenes like the snowbelle serena throwing the snowball at his head scene maybe to be honest. i think that was actually a good moment for them in the sense that like...she forced him to acknowledge that he was making her feel like shit! which i think he does a lot throughout xy and it just. sucks. i agree that he does treat her differently than his other female companions - he treats her a lot worse than them, and i genuinely think it all comes down to how hard the writers were actually trying to push the romance angle. if they had just had more opportunities to be open and honest with each other As Friends, idk. maybe then

despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

look there are like. a small handful of ships out there that i at this point would genuinely consider notps. 2 of my biggest of all time, i actually now ship through the process of writing them myself. i desperately hope one day to count amour among them but right now. all i've really got is that they're funny to clown on. which doesn't feel very positive but i can't think of anything else JDFGJHFDKFHJ

send me a ship!

#hoping i censored well enough but if not. feel free to tell me so and im sorry for being a hater shjdfhjd #id tag as anti [shipname] but all that really does on this site is stick the post in [shipname]'s tag anyway #and then if anyone doesnt have the anti tag blacklisted specifically. also muted words on tumblr are janky as hell anyway. so yeah #answered #anon #there were actually other contenders for this one but in the end like. i can SEE why people ship those #this one i just. idk. genuinely feel like i watched a different show than some people because so many of their interactions #just made me VISCERALLY uncomfortable. not even just the ones i mentioned #anyway i'll let the haterisms go for now but like. jsdfghjdk

[theburneruneed]

I am really tired being quiet about this and feeling absolutely helpless.

In January I made an RQ account to try and better understand what they go through. I called it being undercover as I'm not a radqueer and I didn't have a better word for it. I really didn't. During it I saw the hate they get, even recoeved it, and got to know people in the community.

I felt like I was finally gaining an understanding until Ciel, also known as @/syakesan-sal hacked my friend's account who is his ex and pretended to be her to me. I have screenshots and video proof of when I found out during this whole ordeal. I censored any sensitive information as I started yo breakdown and doxx myself.

As I was doxxing myself I was hoping that maybe he would post it, maybe even if I did it publicly someone would hate me enough to try and kill me. Which is stupid and irresponsible of me, but as you can tell it hasn't worked.

During this he blamed for making an RQ account and said I was doing it to stereotype them and shit. Yes, totally, I have the energy to purposefully stereotype a group I had been avoiding and am used to stealing shit from me. I don't even have the energy to not be sarcastic anymore, so I might as well not even hide how much distain I have for this person.

I didn't want him to just run away like that from the conversation, especially after clearly caring enough about me to lhack my friend and lie to me. And before I continue he tries to say it's not hacking and that he also didn't know what happened to my friend, yet here's 1 my friend celebrating being free from him and 2 him admitting it.

He then played victim and people said I was harassing him for having gotten pissed for what he had done to me and my friend. I just didn't want him to runaway that easy and skirt responsibility, but he definitely likes to play victim as I can tell.

I tried to kill myself later and even after failing posted my doxx publicly, so people try to say it wasn't my doxx, but I have evidence of ot having been my doxx and even my friend sending me a pizza with said doxx.

Even have a censored picture of what I sent my friends in surprise they sent me a pizza

So yes, that doxx was mine and anyone who got it could've done anything to me with it. I was crazy and unstable enough to do it.

With all of this being shared, I wouldn't be here without my alters and friends. If they didn't help me I probably would've killed myself like I had planned that day. It hasn't stopped me from doing other dangerous things though and now feeling like none of my friends are truly themselves anymore.

Ciel also tries to claim he doesn't care about me and yet put on the long haul after hacking my friend's account and making it so I can't talk to her anymore, while then lying to be her to me, so he clearly cares enough about me to have made me into his little plaything for 3 - 4 days and then leave me broken for over a week.

I don't care what people want to say about me in this situation, call me slurs for all I care, but I refuse to let the person my friend was so happy to be free from snake away from responsibility AGAIN.

#anti radqueer #anti rq #pro para #anti radpara #anti rq 🍓🌈 #anti rq 🌈🍓 #radqueer #rq 🌈🍓 #rq 🍓🌈 #anti transid #anti transx #anti prat #anti trace #anti transabled #Youtube #evidence #manipulation #hacking #tw doxxing #doxxing #actually mentally ill #mental breakdown #tw suicide #tw selfharm #tw self destruction #tw self harm

[kidspawn]

this isn’t meant to be mean or anything but. “tag pjo spoilers” the books have been out for 18 years??? obviously i know some people are only just getting introduced to pjo but if they look up pjo on ANY socmed platform, there’s going to be posts dating back years full of spoilers? i think it’s common sense not to look into the tags of show you don’t want spoiled.

When I refer to tagging PJO spoilers, I'm referring to common etiquette for new posts when an adaptation is being made. While the books have been out for years, the tv show has not. There are some spoilers that will genuinely ruin the experience for people watching the show for the first time - people who, for whatever reason they chose, may decide NOT to read the books. I'm referring to tagging relevant spoilers (which I'll list some examples below) not just... everything. I'm not saying go through all our old posts and tag everything, but I am saying to think about tagging newer content!

People will watch the show on its own. It is a piece of media that will stand alone. Some may decide to read the books and it's not fair for them to go into it with spoilers. If they want to dip into the tag to discuss a new episode, I'd hope they wouldn't be bombarded with spoilers from recent posts.

People going into fandom for the first time have every right to experience the story spoiler-free for the first time, and while lifelong fans like us have no obligation to, I'd hope we would all have the compassion to cultivate a positive experience for PJO newcomers! We have the ability to cultivate a safe and wonderful place to enjoy this world! Why should we not?

If they want to go into the Percy Jackson and the Olympians tag and talk about the episodes, where they think the plot will go - why should they not have that right? Why should book readers gatekeep the fandom and prevent them enjoying this show? If they don't want to blacklist tagged spoilers or willing engage in posts marked with spoilers, that's one thing, but it's common etiquette to acknowledge that, in this environment, we can take a simple step and tag spoilers. It doesn't really take very long.

Hopefully, if they feel this is an accepting and warm fanbase, they'll decide to read the books. If not, who cares? They still deserve to read the story. The idea of "the books have been out long enough!!" is, frankly, a little "holier-than-thou" and condescending. It implies that you're only a real fan if you've read the book prior - which just isn't true!

There are some elements of the story that we can tease online (Dr. Kane, Blackjack, any Nico or Bianca reference, etc.) but there's a lot that forms the fabric of the story Rick Riordan and the team behind this show is trying to tell.

Some examples of spoilers I mean when I say to censor/tag: (You'll notice this is just a list of spoilers that would ruin the story to know ahead of time)

Luke betraying Percy (this one is pretty obvious to tag)

Luke's ultimate fate (I've seen this one get spoilers)

Kronos being the final villain (that's a well-written mystery in the books, unless you're like me and obsessed with greek myth)

Ares being a villain fake-out

Hades being a villain fake-out

Tyson being a cyclops and Percy's brother

Bianca Di Angelo. Specifically, her decision to join the hunters and her literal death.

Zoë's death. Zoë's backstory.

Most things Nico related. His villain fake-out in the fourth book, especially. That was so well written in the books. I ADORE Nico, he's my first little guy. He's so cool, and I want to see people fall in love with his arc in the same way we all got to!

Hate to say it, Nico is a walking spoiler lol.

Thalia coming back!! That was such a fun twist!

Pretty much the entire plot of the last book. I hate to say it, but that book is so well-written. There's so much foreshadowing. So much care put into crafting the story to erupt into what is one of the BEST books in the riordanverse, imo.

Notice I'm not saying anything too obvious - like certain character relationships (Percabeth is fair game, its iconic!) or even letting people know where the book differs. I'm talking about major plot elements. Major plot spoilers. If your friend was reading the books for the first time, what would you refrain from telling them?

Of course, there's no obligation to tag or censor your spoilers. I'm not telling anyone to do that. It's a gentle suggestion. I'm going to tag spoilers. That's just my choice, and i hope other people do but I'm not going to enforce it or start fights about it.

I do understand that if people want to avoid spoilers completely, they should stay away from main fandom spaces, but there are certain aspects of fandom that should be safe - like, somewhere online to gush about the show between seasons!

To reiterate: I'm not upset when people aren't tagging spoilers, I just think it'd be nice! Percy Jackson is one of the best fandoms I've been involved in! I hope other people experience that warmth and joy! One way to do that is by helping craft a courteous and spoiler-free experience.

#no one has any obligation to do this ofc but i didn't think tagging spoilers was so strenous #it's pretty simple to do. and not someting i expected anyone to get ruffled feathers over #i thought we all agreed we weren't going to make show-only individuals feel bad about not reading the books you know? #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo tv #pjo tv spoilers #riordanverse #pjo spoilers

[mish-tique]

Martian anon back here 😅 okay so, I don't know if I can still prompt some ships for the kinktober but I have a little list. Feel free to either ignore me or just take one of them. So here's my list 😅 :

- Day 3 Hate sex, 3344 set during the 2021 season and they have this whole hate sex thing going on. Not really hate sex but close enough. Until Abu Dhabi where really it is hate sex and if Lewis at first tries to get back at Max for the victory and the title that got robbed from him, he ends up fuck by Max as a comfort sex moment. (I don't know if I'm clear but you can ask me if I'm not.)

- Day 8 Breeding for Charlos. Charles has breeding kink and he wants to fill Carlos, watch him take every last drop of him. Mark him as his.

- Day 6 dub con with Charlos again 😅 kinda self explanatory here I think. But maybe if you need a specific context, something along the lines of Charles being angry so angry with Carlos about Silverstone 2022 and thus prompting this dub con? Or maybe consensual dub con as a kind of roleplay/R*pe fantasy.(censoring the word because it can be triggering but in no way its a way to shame people who indulge in this fantasy. It's more common than people think).

- Day 2 role play with Nortrell? Maybe them role-playing as pirates or kings or something?

And I think it's all. I hope it's not too much 🧡🥰

HIIIIIIIIIII omg martian anon at this point i was feeling bad because i had to reject you ( or well. deny you ) this many times already and even now some. but. ok. let me tell you that i have to skip day 3 (hate sex filled with lestappen) and day 8 (filled twice, actually, because i know no limits) BUUUUUUUUUT. I can finally tell you yes some more.

dub con with charlos (and kind of dark? for the new ones, dark romance automatically comes with the warning that it romantizes the shit out of not okay things, the actual fic would come with a whole addendum of trigger warnings); okay so. i was thinking. carlos and Charles are out somewhere, for whatever reason, even though they're annoyed with each other. charles is actually mad at carlos, because carlos sr has been an ass and the season isn't going how it should be going and how the fuck is carlos that bad at accepting a place as second driver because it should be an amazing thing to accept in ferrari. well. they kind of end up tipsy. like very tipsy. and that's how Charles discovers that carlos can be even more touchy than he normally his. and well. if he falls into it with open arms, and maybe ends up being a tiny bit rougher than he normally is, well he can blame it on the alcohol, no?

also. nortrell and roleplaying; im so for it!! howEVERRRR. we are gonna need something more. do we want one of them to be spoiled and treated right and thus the king roleplay. do we want one of them to feel wanted and thus a pirate roleplay where one is a pirate and the other is the searched for treasure? likeeeeee

thank you so much for sticking with me even though i had to tell you no so many times dksghdsg

link to how the kinktober prompt list has been filled so far!!

#cw: dubcon #charlos #nortrell #missha's kinktober '23

[inkykeiji]

help me now, i’m running on empty

characters: shigaraki tomura, dabi, a hint of keigo

genre: smut and angst

notes: waaaaaah finally!!! this is the fourth part of break my bones but act as my spine. please, please heed the warnings on this and stay safe! | title cred: memory by kane brown ft. blackbear

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, depictions of severe metal illness including psychosis (delusions, hallucinations, disorganized speech), one psychiatric assessment, family members that mean well but just Do Not Understand in the slightest, toxic relationships, cheating, extreme guilt, slight power play, minimal prep, size difference/belly bulge, slight coercion, dacryphilia, slight degradation/dumbificaition, marking, cum eating/feeding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation if you squint, rough sex, reader is quite flexible, verbal fights, blood, daddy kink, drugs, 2 references to tarantino’s reservoir dogs that are relevant to the plot, keigo goes as both hawks and keigo

part one ⋆ part two ⋆ part three ⋆ part four ⋆ part five ⋆ epilogue ⋆ series masterlist

words: 23.5k

synopsis:

And, for one terrifying moment, Dabi thinks Tomura’s about to spill his guts—to tear himself open and spew himself at Dabi’s feet, to bear his bones and blood and broken soul in a way Dabi knows he didn’t for those doctors. And, for one terrifying moment, Dabi hopes he will, the way he used to—the way they both used to—on those rare nights where they were feeling especially sick and saccharine, juvenile and jaded, free and fucked up.

But he doesn’t.

Standing in the elevator threshold, he’s tall—so tall the crown of his smooth, bald head nearly brushes the chrome frame—and dressed sharply, just as he always is, in a pristinely pressed black suit, tailored to his abnormally large, hulking frame, stitches stretching just a little as he extends his arms out; an invitation.

Your feet know what to do before your mind can even send the signal—a pure, innate instinct, almost—as you gravitate towards him, so fast you stumble into his chest with an audible thud, fingers curling in the thick material of his jacket as a wailed, warped Daddy! lacerates your throat.

He catches you with ease, just as he always does, with a fond chuckle that seems out of place given the situation; that inspires an intense warmth to burst throughout your chest and flood your veins regardless.

Cocooned in large arms, you burrow your salt stained face into the soft cashmere of his white shirt, revelling in the comfort familiarity inevitably brings as his body vibrates with the baritone of his voice, reverberations sending sparks throughout your limbs to chase the warmth.

You can't tell who he's talking to—Dabi or Kurogiri, maybe both at once—words mostly drowned out by a harmonious concert of bellowing blood in your ears and cloistered cries in your chest; something about doctors and professionals, duties and procedures.

When he does finally address you—in a voice that’s so soft, so gentle, so incredibly patronizing it would seem offensive coming from the lips of anyone other than him—it’s to placate the shudders wracking your frame and pacify the jagged fragments of concerned sentiment that keep slashing at your tongue.

“Hush now,” he’s saying, words cascading over you like melted chocolate being drizzled over a warm cookie. “It’s okay, I'm here, it’s okay,” a heavy palm cups the crown of your head, thumb caressing the strands. “We’re going to figure it out, sweetheart,”

Finally, you pull back, just enough to gaze up at him through the filmy shield residual tears have lacquered across your eyes. “You promise?”

“I promise, darling,”

The elevator dings, and Dabi emerges, carrying a box overflowing with messy papers—documents and dossiers, notes scrawled on scraps, files with cracked spines and fraying edges filled with censored forms—chest heaving just a touch.

“Ah, wonderful. Thank you, Touya,”

Touya?

Your gaze flies to Dabi’s, features crinkled in confusion; eyes squinted, brows knitted, mouth twisted.

But Dabi steadily and expertly avoids your stare, doesn’t even flinch at the use of the now foreign name, and nods, features a stern mask of professionalism, voice infused with utmost respect—more respect than you’ve ever heard in his tone before. “Of course, Sir. Trade you?” He holds out the box to his Boss as an offering, head nodding in your direction.

Tomura’s father chuckles, easily exchanging flesh for cardboard, a precious little squeak catching in your throat as the goods are swapped.

Dabi isn’t as warm as the Boss, lacking the padding strong muscles provide, but you cling to him anyway, fingers tangling in the cotton of his hoodie and lungs filling with the soothing scent of smoked hickory and tangy cinnamon.

 Another ding! attracts four pairs of eyes, chrome doors sliding open to reveal a large man with tousled ivory hair and irises that shimmer like gunmetal.

 “Sorry I’m late,” he’s saying with an amicable smile as he enters the penthouse.

 “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Dabi’s practically breathing out, dragging you towards the man as he falls into an awkward half-hug, one arm wound tightly around the man's neck, nearly trapping you between their chests.

 “Anytime, Nii-san,” the man is murmuring, too low for anyone outside your intimate little circle to hear. Dabi says something in response, muffled by the man’s broad shoulder, though you can feel the gentle vibrations radiating through his torso, quivers that turn into subtle tremors as they travel through his limbs. “I know, I know,” The man continues in a whisper, an arm hooked almost protectively around Dabi’s waist, large palm rubbing lopsided circles into his back. “He’s gonna be alright,”

 A tattooed fist tangles itself in the material of your dress, gripping you to his side as Dabi nods, giving the man one final squeeze before finally releasing.

 “I hope you’re right,”

 ✰          ✰          ✰

 Tomura knows it’s coming. Kurogiri had already told him, twice, what would be transpiring soon after landing on Japanese soil, and a voicemail from his father had confirmed it.

 And even though it’s expected, that doesn’t make it any less annoying, or infuriating, or terrifying.

 They decide to conduct in in his fucking bedroom of all places, all four of them shuffling through the heavy mahogany doors, all familiar faces—people he knows, people he should trust.

 Should.

 It’s easier this way, his father had reassured him, after he had suggested they move to somewhere more professional, like his office.

 And so Tomura sits, like a fucking child, with his legs crossed in the middle of his massive bed, and he waits.

 Doctor Atsuhiro Sako, their resident psychiatrist, speaks first. He introduces himself, mentioning his title and education, politely and patiently responding to Tomura’s snarky huffed out remarks about patient confidentiality and invasions of privacy when he explains that they're only present because they're gravely concerned about you, Tomura.

 “Remind me why I have to do this again?” Ruby eyes narrow sharply as they focus on his father’s face, nose scrunching up in distaste.

 “It’s just a simple assessment,” the Boss says conversationally, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather.

 “For what?”

 “To determine whether or not you would benefit from psychiatric treatment, or some sort of, you know, inpatient program,”

 “You...You want to send me to an institution?” he seethes. “You think I’m fucking crazy?”

 “We all just want the best for you, like the Doctor said,”

 “This is the best for me! St-Staying right here! I’m fine!” Panic sinks razored claws into his heart and squeezes, his breathing beginning to accelerate. No, he has to stay here, here with you, or else—

 “Son,” his father begins with a soft chuckle. “You totalled one of the most prestigious suites in New York, and slashed yourself to bits in the process, and not one of us has a clue as to why. That doesn't seem fine to me,”

 “Well, I wasn’t, then,” Tomura rolls his eyes, as if this is obvious. “But I am, now,”

 “And what, exactly, has changed in the past...” His father checks the glittering Rolex adorning his wrist. “Forty-eight hours?”

 Everything. Everything has changed. Now that he’s here, back home, now that he’s safe, it’s all suddenly crystal clear; it’s as if he can see the whole situation from afar, from above, in its totality.  

 “We care about you, Tomura,” Kurogiri chimes in, tone firmer than the Boss’s. “That’s it,”

 “Let’s not be hasty and jump to conclusions, now,” Doctor Sako says, quieting the room. “Nothing is final until I’ve fully assessed you, Tomura,”

 He perches gingerly on the ottoman in front of the bed, crossing his legs and humming, eyes scanning an impressive list of questions, safely secured to a plastic clipboard. The tip of his plastic pen taps once, twice, three times against the metal clasp.

 And then, he begins.

 Can you tell me today’s date? How’s your mood been? Are you sure? You’re not sad, frightened, upset, angry...? Alright, and how are your sleep habits? Are you sleeping at all? What about food? Are you adequately fuelling yourself? Grooming habits? How’s your concentration? Is there something on your mind that just won’t leave you alone? What about thoughts that enter suddenly and refuse to leave? Are you feeling confident in your sense of self? Any goals for the immediate future? I understand you were having difficulty meeting deadlines and completing work, such as the meetings you held in New York; why do you think that is? Are you feeling especially stressed? Do you think it’s impacting your performance? How do you deal with stress? Would you say drugs are a coping mechanism?

 Unsurprisingly, Tomura is overwhelmingly uncooperative, responding to all of the doctor’s questions exclusively with shrugs and single word answers.

 But Doctor Sako fires them off so rapidly, so tirelessly that Tomura’s head reels with it all, as if his brain’s some sort of malfunctioning projector, what was once playing a seamless sequence of smooth images now beginning to freeze, to flicker, to chop and distort and rewind as the slides judder and catch in a faulty machine.

 It’s beginning to feel like too much, overloading his senses and short-circuiting his thoughts as strains of words clash and collide, uncontrollably interrupting each other, ears ringing with each question spit from chivalrous lips, the doctor’s voice ricocheting off the walls of Tomura’s skull, mixing with all of the mundane, inconsequential sounds of everyday life that prick his ears, that he can’t seem to tune out no matter how hard he tries, hyper-focused and sensitive: the breathing of every man in the room, his own unstable heartbeat echoing in his ears, the gentle hum of the desk lamplight, the chirping of the birds outside, the cars zooming by below the penthouse, the scraping of the Doctor's teeth against plastic as he chews thoughtfully on the edge of his pen, the irritating skritch-skritch-skritch of the ballpoint tip against thick paper...

 And finally, he slips up, he shows weakness, he gives something of apparent importance to the insatiably vying Doctor, when he confirms his recreational drug use. Doctor Sako perks up at his response, shoulders rolling back, chest leaning forward, elbows digging into his thighs.

 “What have you been taking?”

 Tomura’s face puckers as his eyelids scrunch shut tightly, nails moving to automatically scrape at the scabs collaring his neck, the familiar burn bringing peace and silence with it, features relaxing.  

 “D-Dunno,” a shoulder shrugs in painful indifference, face morphed back into that mask of passive apathy, though a soft whimper catches in his throat, snuffed out and swallowed down before it can reach his tongue. “Coke and Oxys,”

 “And how much have you been taking?”

 “Dunno,”

 “Did you take anything the night of the incident?”

 “Probably,”

 “You don’t remember?”

 Tomura’s head shakes, lips pressed in a thin line. “No,”

 Sako sighs, scribbling something, and Tomura’s nostrils twitch.

 “What about voices? Have you been hearing things that aren’t there? Seeing things that aren’t there, or that others can’t see?”

 “While high?”

 “Are you ever completely sober?”

 Tomura cracks a smile at that, eyes narrowing a touch. “No,”

 “To?”

 “Both,”

 The Doctor nods to himself, humming and glancing down at the clipboard for a second. “Your father tells me you’re worried someone very close to you is in severe danger—”

 “She is,” Tomura scowls, glower floating to his father’s face. “You heard the calls! You both did!"

 “We did, son, we did,” the Boss agrees, calm and courteous.

 “But we haven’t received any contact in nearly a month—”

 “I have!”

 “The records—”

 “I don’t give a fuck about the records! I have been getting them!”

 "Tomura," Kurogiri begins slowly, cautiously, concern carved into his crumpled features. “We can’t find any traces of those calls, or texts, or emails, anywhere. Are you—Are you sure?”

 “Of course I’m fucking sure,” Tomura spits, though his voice breaks, words trembling under the burden of fear—of not being believed, of it being true. A dense film of tears glazes scarlet. “I can’t get them out of my goddamn mind, Kurogiri,” The confession tapers off into a cracked murmur, Tomura’s shoulders hunching in on himself, features wobbling under the combined weight of panic and agitation.

 “And what do these messages say?” Sako jumps in hastily, redirecting Tomura’s attention to him, chest beginning to heave slightly as a pen scribbles against paper, the Doctor’s eyes not leaving Tomura’s face.

 “Gruesome,” Tomura whispers, wincing as the word leaves his lips, as if the letters are made from razor blades, as if they slice his flesh on their way out. “The ways they plan to chop her up, what they plan to do with the pieces,” he swallows thickly, bloodied fingers threading through silvery tufts and pulling, a feeble attempt to quiet the reverberations of the threats, echoes that crawl through his brain like greedy little parasites, feeding off of his sanity, eyes clamped shut tightly.

 “Tomura?” Someone begins hesitantly, carefully, as if they’re speaking to a feral animal on the verge of losing control.

 “They’ve got to be deleting them, somehow,” he says after a moment, abrupt and unprompted, voice rough, lids finally lifting to reveal glassy crimson eyes, protected by a shield of rapidly collecting tears. “Th-That's the only explanation. We should—” he stops, eyebrows pushing together as if he’s confused, as if he’s suddenly lost the remainder of the sentence, a singular tear finally escaping his lashline, rolling down his cheek in solitude. “W-We should...refrain from using phones; they might have the lines tapped,”

 “We don’t even know who ‘they’ are,” Kurogiri sighs heavily. “We haven’t gotten a single lead, not one clue,”

 Tomura’s gaze snaps up, tears incinerated in an instant, fiery fury burning them to vapour. “But you—you heard them! They happened,”

 “They did, over three weeks ago,”

 “No, no,” he growls. “They didn't! I got them, just this past week! I got them during that horrendous trip you forced me to go on! I got them!”

 “Christ, we’re just going in circles again,”

 “The phone companies,” Kurogiri begins, voice rising, and Tomura flinches violently. Kurogiri inhales a breath, deep enough to fill his entire chest cavity, held for three seconds, then exhaled, slow and controlled. He tries again, softer this time. “The phone companies haven’t been able to find any traces of these alleged messages, Tomura,” A frown tugs at the corners of the older man’s mouth, staring at his charge with overwhelming pity in his bright eyes. “Nothing,”

 “Well, then, they—they must own the phone companies,” The words tumble from his lips hastily, the full thought spit out before it can be interrupted by the noises bouncing around in his skull, eyes blinking rapidly as Tomura tries in vain to quiet the indiscernible racket—the breathing and the heartbeats and the tapping—to calm the chaos in his mind.

 “Don’t be absurd, Tomura,” his father chuckles, the harmonious titter swiftly cutting through the disorganized turmoil in his head. And Tomura can’t believe he’s laughing, can’t believe he’s amused, can’t believe he’s so fucking nonchalant about the entire thing. “If there was an organization powerful enough to own the phone companies, down to having the ability of manipulating records, surely we’d know of them,”

 “We’d be them, most likely, Sir,” Kurogiri adds politely, head bowed as he speaks to the Boss.

 “Exactly,” the Boss continues. “If there were someone with monopoly over the phone companies—if there were someone tapping our phones at all, as a matter of fact—Tomoyasu would know in an instant; you know that, son,” Another deep chuckle vibrates in his chest, and he stares at his son with a peculiar little smile, head tilted, crimson eyes softening in patronization. “Really, Tomura, this is getting a little ridiculous. How much have you been taking lately?”

 “Is this—” he chokes out, breathing beginning to accelerate, wild ruby eyes flying from one face to another, between the two people he’s known his entire life, between the two people he’s ever known as family, head whipping back and forth with the motion before his dropped jaw snaps shut. “Is this some kind of fucking joke to you? Huh!?”

 Standing suddenly, Tomura’s fist slams down on the surface closest to him—a mirrored bar cart, mostly empty, reflective glass smashing upon impact—his chest stammering under ragged inhales, uneven breaths that blister as they barrel into his chest.

 “It's not funny!” he tries to shout, but his voice cracks, words fragmenting in his throat, jagged edges slicing the gummy walls and forcing a vicious cough. “The one person more important than—than anyone, than everyone combined—is in serious danger, and you’re—you’re laughing?”

 “No, Tomura,” Kurogiri jumps in quickly, attempting to pacify the swiftly escalating situation. “There’s nothing funny about anyone being in grave danger, especially her,”

 “Then...Then...Why are you laughing?” His chest hiccups with a hitched sob, half-swallowed, and he stumbles backwards, blinking rapidly as his blurry gaze flies between the two men who have raised him, more tears spilling over his lashes. “You don’t...You don’t believe me?”

 And it’s like a sharp slap to the face, this startling realization, their dismissal of the severity of the situation, fury reigniting in his chest, flames blazing higher and higher until they lick the back of his tongue, scorching his throat.  

 “I wouldn’t lie about something like that!” he roars.

 “No, we know you wouldn’t—”

 “Bullshit! I’ve been working my ass off, alright? Tirelessly searching for these motherfuckers, and I—I bet you haven’t even been trying, have you! Thought this whole thing was some big joke right from the start, huh!”

 “Tomura,” his father begins, booming voice forcing a jolt up the spine of everyone in the room, except his son. “You know that isn’t true,”

 “Prove it! Show me your research!”

 “I think that's enough for today,” Kurogiri murmurs to Doctor Sako, placing a hand on his shoulder and rousing the Doctor from his stupor.

 “What?” the Doctor looks up, frenzied scrawling halted, surprise evident in his cinnamon eyes. “But we’re finally starting to make progress!”

 The Boss shakes his head, signifying that the decision is final. “No, no, that’s enough for today. He’s clearly quite agitated,” three pairs of eyes sweep towards Tomura, who’s begun clawing at his neck again, fractured shards of the smashed mirror wedged in his flesh, viscous crimson flowing down his wrist to stain the cuffs of his shirt, trickling down his neck to begin pooling in the dips of his collarbones. “And I’d rather not exacerbate the situation any further,”

 “I’d like to treat his wounds and inspect his healing now,” Natsuo speaks up for the first time, drawing all of the gazes in the room towards him. “If that’s alright?”

 “Of course,” the Boss says amicable, features molding into a friendly mask. “We’ll leave you to it,”

 ✰         ✰         ✰

 On the other side of those doors, you sit huddled against Dabi, helplessly listening as Tomura’s fury builds from smoldering cinders to raging flames, consuming all in its path.

 Something shatters, and your entire body flinches, Dabi readjusting his grasp. His heart rattles the bones that cage it, and his head dips down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

 “Uh,” he starts unsurely, fingers playing with the material of your dress. “Maybe we should—”

 “No,” you cut him off, voice brittle and frail and not nearly as assertive as you wish it was. “I don’t want to—I won’t leave him,”

 “But I just think—”

 “No,”

 It’s supposed to be firm this time, strong and fearless and non-negotiable, but it comes out as more of a whine, as a plead, quivering and broken.

 And for once, Dabi doesn’t push, doesn’t argue or huff under his breath, simply responding with a single jerk of his head and holding you close.

 Another smash, another shout, and Dabi embraces you tighter, cradling you to his chest as his body curls in on your own, as if he’s trying to protect you, to shield you from all of the pain and the hurt and the fear.

 Gentle tremors crawl under your skin, wracking your entire form as you attempt to suppress the malicious sob mauling your chest, little fingers gripping his forearms, keeping his whole being wrapped up in yours as nails bite into his skin.

 “I’m here,” he whispers, so softly you nearly miss it, discerning it mostly from the light reverberations against your back. “I’m here,” he repeats, firmer. “I’ve got you, okay? I-I’ve got you, baby,”

 You nod, lips pressed together as that sob finally breaks free, barreling up your throat and crashing against the barrier of clenched teeth and sealed lips.

 And Dabi wants to tell you that it’s okay, wants to tell you not to restrain it, to let it escape, the way he gave you permission to shatter to pieces in his arms back in New York, but he can’t seem to form the words, tongue burning to ash as the letters sear themselves into the tissue, voice disintegrating to shreds in his throat, residual vapours of broken breath causing him to choke.

 Instead he just holds you firmly, safe and secure in his tattooed arms, offering you a comforting space to break down in while inked lips press chaste kisses to the crown of your head, chest quivering with the hum of a familiar tune you can’t quite place, lulling you into complacency as he rocks your bodies in a trancelike, soothing manner.

 Finally, finally, they exit, you and Dabi on your feet before the bedroom door’s even swung shut behind them.

 “Natsuo’s treating him now,” the Boss informs Dabi, who responds with a curt, wooden nod. “So, Doctor, what’s your verdict?”

 “Well, it’s hard to say,” Doctor Sako says, hints of irritation sewn into his tone. “Some sort of psychosis for sure, but whether it’s from the drugs or a deeper root, I can’t tell,”

 “If you had to take an educated guess,” the Boss encourages in an easygoing lilt. “Which would you say it is?”

 The Doctor blows a robust gust of breath from his lips, eyeing the Boss warily. “If I had to guess,” he begins, rubbing at an eye as he stares down at his clipboard. “I’d say it’s likely that there’s a more deeply rooted cause here, amplified or aggravated by the drugs,"

 “He’s sick,” you pipe up, face half buried in Dabi’s chest meekly.

 “It’s a plausible possibility,” the Doctor confirms. “But with what, exactly, I can’t be sure. I wasn’t afforded enough time with him to preform an accurate and thorough assessment, and Tomura was exceptionally uncooperative,”

 “S-So, what can we do?”

 “Ideally, stop the drugs and start him on anti-psychotics, and probably a mood stabilizer, too.” A frown tugs at the corners of Doctor Sako's mouth. “But he has made it very clear that he will not do so willingly,”

 “And that in-patient program you had mentioned...” the Boss trails off, head tilted curiously.

 The Doctor shakes his head. “Aside from the isolated crystal incident, he currently does not check many boxes for at risk of harm to himself or to others—meaning we cannot forcibly place him in a program without his explicit consent, because, technically, he doesn’t qualify. Not yet, anyway,”

 “What are our other options, then?” Dabi speaks for the first time, voice gravelly. You cling to him tighter, and he acknowledges your presence, his own fingers readjusting their grip around your waist, digging into the soft flesh.

 “Even though there’s no guarantee that he’ll actually take them, I can prescribe him some meds,” the Doctor says, through his expression is grim.

 “Anything else?”

 “I’m, of course, open to holding sessions with him,” he looks over to the Boss, gauging his reaction. “Either here, at the penthouse, or in my office; his choice,” he pauses, gaze flitting back to Dabi. “Other than that, all you can do is keep an eye on him. If his symptoms escalate, or he becomes exceedingly dangerous, call an ambulance,”

 “I’ll talk to him about the therapy,” the Boss nods. “Thank you, Doctor,”

 “What about work?” Kurogiri questions.

 Tomura’s father sighs, expertly polished mask of authority finally beginning to tarnish. “Regardless of what exactly this is, Tomura is evidently not fit to be managing a full workload,” Scarlet eyes assess Kurogiri slowly, who is already nodding. “We shall reduce his duties significantly, and allow him to work from home, where he feels much more comfortable—and where you can efficiently keep watch over him.”

 ✰          ✰          ✰

 They leave shortly after—all of the physicians and psychiatrists and family members—and Tomura counts; one, two, three dings—and then, Tomura waits, waits for the chaos in his head to diminish from blaring white noise to sizzling static, for the blood to clot and begin adding to the embellished choker collaring his neck, for the pain from his fresh wounds, new bandages overlapping older ones, to fade from sharp stabs to dull throbs.

 Finally, Tomura emerges, hair a haystacked mess, neck and wrists still trickling scarlet, the nail beds of his bony fingers stained with rust and stuffed with dead flesh as they absentmindedly pick at a bandage, fresh blood beginning to seep through.

 A precious gasp claws its way up your throat, and you’re on your feet in an instant—out of Dabi’s arms, into Daddy’s, little whimpers spilling past your lips as you fret over him, pillowy palms that smooth down fluffy tufts, tender fingers that catch crimson on their tips.

 Sunken ruby eyes meet glittering sapphire, and Tomura sighs, leaning heavily on you.

 This is it—Dabi knows this is it; this is the end. Tomura’s going to dismiss him of his glorified babysitting duties and permit him to return to the work he’s good at, to return to the work on the streets, to the grime and grit and ghouls, dwelling in the underground tunnels where he belongs.

 Tomura murmurs something in your ear, and Dabi watches as shock bleeds through your features—raised brows, an agape mouth, widening eyes—but you don’t defy him, nodding along to whatever he’s just demanded and taking your immediate leave. His gaze follows your movements, waiting until his heavy bedroom door has fully shut behind you, then turns back to Dabi and wordlessly holds out a hand in the vague direction of his office.

 “She would’ve been listening, had we spoken in the living room,” Tomura explains as they enter. “Little brat,”

 Wordlessly, Dabi nods, tongue lethargic and lifeless in his mouth, tiny spikes of adrenaline tingling through his veins, surging with his blood as his heart attempts to climb through the ribs that cage it.

 “Anyway,” Tomura continues, raking brittle fingers through his nest of silver, the loose corner of a bandage catching on the strands. “It’s not like it’s all that important,” he collapses heavily on the mauve leather couch with a sigh, head tipping back.

 Dabi follows.

 And Dabi waits.

 Head lolling to the side lazily, Tomura opens an eye to stare at his inferior. “Your duties are being reduced,”

 “What?”

 “You’ll still be bringing her to and from school, and wherever the fuck else she wants to go, but now that I’ll be working from home...” Tomura trails off, singular lid sliding shut again, words exhaled on a heavy breath. “I won’t be needing you here, in the penthouse,”

 “So, I’ve been demoted to chauffeur, basically,”

 “Yeah,” Tomura chuckles, though it’s nothing more than an exhausted huff, eye opening again, weak amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. “A chauffeur.”

 Heavy despondency seeps into the floor of his stomach, taking root at the core of his soul and beginning to fester, to spread, to devour; weightless delight fizzes behind his sternum, tiny bubbles of sunshine—of your laugh, your eyes, your touch, voice, scent—that burst delicately, their warmth soaking into his flesh. They mix into something toxic, into something intoxicating, a bitter acid crawls its way up his throat, eroding his esophagus before dwelling on the back of his tongue.

 “That’s all, Dabi,” Tomura says softly, after a few moments of prolonged silence.

 Clearing his throat roughly, Dabi nods, palms pressed to his knees as if he’s about to rise from his seat on the cushion, a sudden tug on his ribs tethering him. “Hey, uh,” nimble fingers flex, nails digging into denim. “Are you—I mean, how are you?”

 Tomura’s head flops to the side, and he stares at Dabi through dense, fanned lashes. Crimson sears itself into his skin—scorching his cheeks and charring his neck—and Dabi shifts under the invasive gaze.

 “Fine,” Tomura says with a nonchalant shrug, but his fingers are toying with the fraying edges of a bandage wrapped around his wrist.

 Dabi doesn’t buy it, not even for a second, but he swallows his fragmented words.  

 There’s more he wants to say, more he has to say, but he isn’t sure how to say it, lost all ability to stitch letters into words, to knit words into sentences, to vocalize the thoughts tangling in his head with the wobbly voice lodged at the back of his throat.

 So he says nothing, delivering one curt nod before grunting and standing. Each step away feels worse than the last, feels wrong, like there are threads connecting him to the only person close enough to ever be considered a best friend, pulled taut and tight with every footfall towards the door, begging him not to go, not to snap those strands, so weak and worn.

 It’s only when Dabi’s hand is on the doorknob that they yank and force him to turn.

 “Tomura,” running his tongue along his bottom lip, he pauses, waits for his boss to look up, then swallows, voice thick and weighted. “Let me know if, uh, well,” A sharp exhale, a clenched jaw, a twitching nose. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help, alright? You don’t—You don’t have to do this alone,”

 And, for one terrifying moment, Dabi thinks Tomura’s about to spill his guts—to tear himself open and spew himself at Dabi’s feet, to bear his bones and blood and broken soul in a way Dabi knows he didn’t for those doctors. And, for one terrifying moment, Dabi hopes he will, the way he used to—the way they both used to—on those rare nights where they were feeling especially sick and saccharine, juvenile and jaded, free and fucked up.

 But he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask Dabi to stop, to wait, to stay, and he doesn’t tell Dabi about the horrifying thoughts twisting the tissues of his brain into tight, tangling knots.

 He merely nods once; a slow, sleepy movement of his head, eyes slipping shut again, breathing shallow, affirmation slipping through licked-raw lips in a mutter, floating on the tail of a sigh.

 “Will do,”

 ✰          ✰          ✰

 Ambivalence chases, races, the blood in Dabi’s veins for the rest of the day; faster, higher, brighter with each second that ticks by, thrumming through his cells until his entire body’s ablaze, engulfed by the inferno sizzling under his skin by the end of the night, such scalding heat keeping him awake, alert.

 This day would come eventually, inevitably; he knew it would, carrying with it the bittersweet tang of relief and remorse, anticipation and anxiety.

 If he’s being truthful, now’s the best time for it to happen—he needs to get away from you. Really, he does—he should. You’ve barely been back in Japan for forty-eight hours, yet his best friend’s mind is decaying to rotting flesh, and Dabi—well, all Dabi can think about is you; the taste of your moans, the scent of your arousal, the sound of his name on your lips—and so, yeah, he should.

 Or should he?

 Because spears of terror pierce his heart any time he thinks about leaving you alone with Tomura—poor, unstable Tomura, who’s preoccupied trying to stitch together the remaining shreds his mind has decomposed into, who loves you so much he’s completely stopped granting you his attention, in a desperate and urgent attempt to protect you.

 Because that monster you birthed in his chest, all those months ago when all of this was just beginning, gnaws on his ribs and claws at his stomach, its eyes glowing bright jade at the thought of Tomura getting to kiss you, touch you, fuck you, whenever he wants to.

 Because icy tears sting his eyes and freeze into a sharp block in his throat when he realizes that he will no longer see you every single day, will no longer spend every waking moment with you—morning to night, dusk to dawn—will no longer get to eat all of his meals with you, or laze around taking naps with your head in his lap, or listen to you complain every time he throws on those sci-fi serials from the 30s that he loves so much.

 And that’s terrifying.

 ✰          ✰          ✰

 It isn’t like you had expected things to go back to normal, to go back to the way they were before, just because Daddy’s at home now. No, of course not; you knew he was a very busy man, even with his workload reduced to something more manageable.

 But you hadn’t exactly expected things to get worse, either.

 It was a silly hope—a dream, maybe—that Tomura might begin paying more attention to you now that you’re sharing the same space again; that Tomura might take notice of your presence and find some scraps of time for you: to eat a meal with you, or watch an episode of some stupid show with you; that, if you’re really well behaved, Tomura might even allow you to sit in his office with him as he works, cute and quiet and perfect as always.

 It was a silly hope that Tomura might want to do any of these things at all, that Tomura might care about anything other than ironing out the kinks and knots his mind has twisted itself into.

 And it isn’t like you haven’t tried, haven’t been trying, in conjunction with Kurogiri to get him to emerge from that godforsaken office, with its heavy mahogany doors and thick brass locks; to get him to eat, to take a break from whatever the hell it is he’s doing locked away in there all day.

But Tomura’s nothing if not brutally, infuriatingly stubborn.

 You still see Dabi, a few times a week for your classes and the like, but the rest of his time is occupied elsewhere, doing whatever it is he did before being assigned to protect you.

 But Dabi’s sudden absence from the penthouse itself affects you more than you anticipate.

 It feels as though everything has lost its purpose, as though everything has lost its appeal. No, you don’t want to watch those stupid wedding dress shows if Dabi isn’t there to harshly critique them with you. No, you don’t want to have dessert if Daddy isn’t there to lovingly scold you about your sugar consumption, or keep a watchful eye on how many cookies you’re nibbling on. And no, you don’t want to take a nap because you’re cranky; not if it isn’t safe and secured in a pair of their arms, not if it isn’t cuddled and clasped against one of their chests.

 And you feel it, his absence, both of their absences; a deep, dull ache that has drilled itself into the core of your very soul, that keeps tunnelling and tunnelling and tunnelling until it cracks the center and splits it wide open, filling the gash with ice, shards of it prickling through your veins every time your gaze catches on something that reminds you of them.

 And you know that’s exactly what it is that’s causing this constant throbbing pain, too; you know it is, because on those occasions when you’re privileged enough to catch in their light—Dabi’s weak flickers, or Daddy’s simmering embers—it thaws, and you feel alive again, right again.

 And, for a little while, that’s enough. For a little while, you can live with that, be alive with that, heart vigorously pumping boiling blood through your cold veins, blazing through the thick ice and alighting your entire body with that special warmth whenever Daddy has a few minutes to spare, whenever Dabi drives you to your classes.

 But eventually, flickers and embers aren’t strong enough to keep that frigid pain rooting itself within your chest from freezing your entire body.

 Eventually, you need more.

 It takes just under two weeks—eleven and a half days—until your resolve finally crumbles and your pride burns to nothing but cinders, until that loneliness threatens to engulf you from the inside out, snapping your body clean in half as it envelops you in its icy embrace.

 ✰          ✰          ✰

 You must stand outside that fucking office for hours, spending too much time debating whether or not this is the right choice; whether or not you’re just being selfish and needy, before spikes of ice shoot through your chest again, and you finally raise a trembling fist to knock knuckles against the wood.

 The first three times, he doesn’t answer.

 It’s expected, but it doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

 A tentative hand wraps around the doorknob, beginning to twist, to tug.

“D-Daddy?”

 And for a moment, it’s silent. Then:

 A harsh chuckle splinters the mahogany wood, Tomura’s voice slithering through the cracks it created. “I know you didn’t just try to break one of Daddy’s most important rules, princess,” he calls, voice cold and condescending, garnished with just a hint of amusement.

 You know better than to lie to him.

 “I’m sorry,” you apologize quickly, yanking your hand back from the brass knob as if it suddenly sprouted teeth. “I just—I miss—I haven’t seen you in over a day, and—Well, I’m...Worried?” your breath catches in your chest, stagnant and stiff, only releasing when he fails to respond. “I—I mean, have you eaten at all in the past twenty-four hours?”

 Another pause, another beat of tinny silence. Tears swell in your throat, thick and tingling, your words fighting to climb to your lips.

 “I made you some lunch,” everything sounds garbled, nothing more than a tangled mess of letters on your tongue as you glance at the silver cart, food protected under the intricate cloche no doubt gone cold by now. “I-It isn’t much, jus’a little something, but—“ you swallow. “It’s better than nothing. Try to eat, please? I-I’ll be with—I’m going out,”

 And then you’re off, barely able to get the whole sentence spit from your lips before you’re practically sprinting towards his bedroom, a vicious cry clawing at your chest. The door swings shut behind you in your haste, hard enough to rattle the art hung on the walls as you slide down the wood.

 If Daddy were in his right mind—if Daddy cared at all—such an action would’ve earned you a hefty punishment, full of tears and apologies, raw flesh and glowing rubies.

 But he isn’t, and he doesn’t, and you can’t stay here anymore, surrounded by him, by his waning scent and his perishing soul, swallowed up whole by his essence, rotting away in the belly of the beast.

 Trembling hands urgently scroll through your phone, quivering so terribly the device nearly slips from their grasp twice, frenzied and desperate to find his name, to end this erosion, to get out.

 Bringing the phone to your ear, you work hard to quell your sobs and quiet your sniffles, swallowing hard to suppress them, to keep them in your stuttering chest, to be strong and stoic.

 And for a second, you’re sure you’ve got it under control, emotions locked away in a cage of ivory, the only remnants of them present in the way your chest stammers unevenly as they thrash to escape.

 But it all implodes the moment you hear his voice, infused with panic, with passion; it all bubbles right back up again, thick tears blurring your vision and whole body shuddering under the weep you tried to tame, resolve burnt entirely to ash as a cracked wail of D-Dabi! tumbles past your lips.

 ✰          ✰          ✰

 It seems the city is caught under a perpetual drizzle lately, a soft rain whose droplets turn the world into nothing more than a landscape of hazy lights and monochrome.

 The sun, which has kept itself buried behind thick charcoal clouds for the entirety of the day, has nearly sunk beneath the skyline now, stowing away beyond skyscrapers and high-rises, gobbled up whole by the jagged teeth of the city.

 They’ve just finished their biggest job for the day, finding recruits—more accurately, test subjects—men and women desperate for something: money, a fix, an escape; men and women willing to do anything to get their hands on whatever it is they want, including agreeing to becoming AFOs personal lab rats.

 Most of ‘em don’t make it, a man by the name of Rikiya Yotsubashi had told Keigo his first official day on the job, which was coincidently the day Dabi & Co left for New York. Most of ‘em are junkies, criminals, people on the run, people who need something, he shrugged, shooting Keigo an appraising gaze from the corner of his eye, molars grinding pink bubblegum to goo. Y’know, people who won’t be missed.

 That was the most important qualification, Keigo had found out. He hadn’t exactly been shocked; it took the department years to catch onto what the medical conglomerate had been doing with its carefully selected candidates; individuals who disappeared frequently with no logical cause, who had no family or friends that would come calling for them or sniffing around, who society disdained, cast to the margins and forced to scuttle along the outskirts of civilization.

 The government was happy with it. It keeps the streets clean, Riyika had recited to him, quoting the prime minister. He donates generous sums of cash to keep our operations going, solely for that reason.

 It was revolting. The gluttonous greed of man is utterly disgusting, his boss had chuckled, clapping a large hand on his shoulder hard enough to make Keigo sway. Welcome to the real world, Detective.

 Keigo had thought he was in the real world, that he had already experienced the real world; a world full of contradictions and conspiracies, sure, but a world where Good and Bad were clearly defined, neatly sorted into easily digestible categories. A world where he knew what he was doing and why he was doing it. A world where he could nonchalantly dismiss his own unsavoury actions in favour of the Greater Good.

 He isn’t so sure anymore.  

 He isn’t so sure, because this world, the underworld, the universe of corrupt riches, has managed to turn all of Keigo’s neat little notions on their heads.

 Because he’s witnessed why these people join such organizations; he’s seen it: the single mom with several mouths to feed, offering Keigo cake and tea regardless of her predicament the moment he step foot in her shabby home; the drug addicted father with the prodigy daughter who deserves the best education money can by, working three jobs to ensure her tuition is paid in full, and she can get those pretty red shoes she wants so badly; the barely legal teens who’ve been raised by these streets, who’ve raised their siblings on these streets, desperately searching for a place to belong, for a family.

 People who are the salt of the earth, the gold in the sun, simply doing what they can to survive, doing the jobs society has forced them to do then shunned them for it, doing their best to provide better lives for their loved ones, even if it means risking their lives and bloodying their hands to achieve it.

 Because he’s seen the innocent victims, too; friends and family that get caught up in it all as collateral damage; innocent little girls like you, that fall into the clutches of monsters, that happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; or maybe it’s the right place. Keigo can’t tell anymore.

 Keigo can’t tell anymore, because down here, in this world, the underworld, bustling beneath the feet of society, Keigo’s come to learn that Good and Bad aren’t so clearly defined. In fact, he isn’t quite sure they even exist as separate entities anymore, notions bleeding into one another until they’re neither, until they’re both, all at the same time, oozing into one another like messy watercolour on a chaotic canvas, creating a new colour entirely, something Keigo’s never seen before.

 And despite the fact that Keigo’s made next to no progress these past two weeks—his first two weeks officially ‘on the job’—it’s these thoughts that infect his mind for those fifteen days Dabi’s absent in New York. It’s these thoughts that burrow through the recesses of his brain, latching onto the tissues with sharp little teeth and burying themselves within the folds, never to be extracted.

 Dabi’s been back in Japan for just under two weeks now, and Keigo’s been instructed to ‘shadow’ him every day thus far.

 On this particular day, Dabi’s got his hands cupped protectively around the flickering flame of a silver Zippo, cigarette secured between two rows of ivory, when the call comes.

 “Fuck’s sake,” he huffs out under his breath, flipping the lighter closed with a sharp twinge and sucking hard.

 Keigo laughs a little as Dabi fumbles through his deep pockets, muttering a hasty Shut up, when Keigo remarks that this is an peculiar turn of events, that no one ever calls Dabi.

 But his features, pinched in irritation, relax the moment his gaze skims his phone, thumb practically slamming down on the answer button, fingers swiftly removing the cigarette from his mouth as he breathes your name into the receiver, followed by a near desperate What is it? What’s wrong?

 Keigo straightens up, too; he can’t help it, action almost automatic, attention perking up at Dabi’s disquieted tone.

 He’s unable to hear what you’re saying, voice so meek it has Dabi gripping his phone to the side of his head, pressed tightly against his ear as his eyes narrow in concentration.

 “You...What?” Dabi’s lids loosen, eyes widening—in surprise, or shock, Keigo isn’t entirely certain. “I mean,” Dabi coughs, clears his throat, tugs a little at the collar of his hoodie, ash from his steadily burning cigarette dusting his chest. “Did you ask your Daddy? ... What do you mean He doesn’t care? You know he does, princess ... He’s what? Busy? Too busy for you?”

 Lips wrap around the cigarette, and Dabi inhales deeply, like he’s unsure, burnt fingers threading through ink. “I dunno, baby,” he mutters, words hidden in heavy clouds of smoke. “I don’t think—No, listen—Hey, listen. I don’t think Daddy should be—He does, for Christ’s sake, will you stop that?” A pause, a thumb rubbing at an eye in exasperation, your voice beginning to rise in pitch, loud enough for Keigo to hear it—just a muddled shrill sound echoing from the phone—but not loud enough for him to discern any words.

 “I don’t think Daddy should be left alone,” Dabi says slowly over your speech, almost like you’re stupid, almost like he has to force the stubborn words from his tongue. “I know, I know, I miss you too, princess. It’s been—”

 And it’s then that Dabi becomes aware of Keigo’s prying, vying eyes, turning away from his inquisitive, invasive gaze and hunching in on himself a little. “It’s been hard on me too, you know,” he continues, a soft, self-conscious confession. “It’s been...” he stops, words strangling themselves in his throat. “Different, yeah,” he agrees in a huff of breath. “Different,”

 Guilt, thick and sticky, unfurls itself in the pit of his stomach; a rapidly spreading slime that engulfs his organs and twists, and Keigo averts his eyes, tries his best to stop listening.

 Because he shouldn’t be, truly, and the longer he does, the more he feels like he’s encroaching on something deeply personal, on something that’s none of his business and should be none of his concern, something he was never supposed to be privy to, or tangle his conscience up in.

 Because Keigo can tell that whatever you’re saying on the other line, with your escalating little please?’s and whiny little Da-bi!’s, is absolutely killing his colleague, struggling more and more with each breath you take, each exhale of smoke from his nostrils, to deny you.

 In the end, he loses, just as he always does. In the end, he finds himself lounging in the luscious lobby of Tomura’s condominium—of his own home, and yours—nimble fingers picking at a stray thread of the armchair he’s leaning against.

 One ding of the elevator, one gentle breath of his name, and he’s straightening up instantly, catching you snuggly against his chest, limbs wrapped almost protectively around your slightly trembling form.

 And it’s interesting, the way the two of you nearly melt into each other in a way that’s so intimate, so familiar, that Keigo can hardly believe you haven’t known each other your entire lives.

 It’s interesting, the way your bodies seem to knot together in a manner that’s almost graceful despite how tightly you’re clinging to one another, arms looped and legs locked, everything stitched together in one perfect present, one unbreakable entity, immaculate in the way it moves, ebbs and flows, breathes in singularity, in unity.

 Keigo takes this as his cue to leave, to allow the two of you some space and privacy, Dabi nodding his understanding over the crown of your head, face still nuzzled into him.

 “Hey,” Dabi says softly, once Keigo’s departed, palms cushioning your head in an attempt to draw your face up from his chest. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he commands gently, removing your face from its sanctuary, discerning sapphire sweeping across your face. “What’s going on?”

 “Nothing,”

 Dabi’s face hardens, lips pressed in a firm line. “Don’t bullshit me,” he warns. “What did he do?”

 “N-Nothing, he didn’t do anything,”

 And it hurts, because it’s true—he really didn’t do anything. A scolding, silence as a response—not exactly anything out of the ordinary, not anymore.

 Rough palms find their designated place on your cheeks, cupping your jaw, delicate and tender as if you’ll crumble to dust if he isn’t cautious and careful. Calloused thumbs caress the flesh stretched over your cheekbones, and you find yourself nuzzling into his touch, a pathetic little hiccup breaking in your throat.

 Crystal eyes rapidly search your face, a cute crease between his eyebrows carved from concern. His head shakes a little, just minuscule movements, really, indicating that he doesn’t exactly understand, large hands keeping your gaze from straying from his.

 “He didn’t do anything,” you repeat through a thick swallow, words distorted with spit. “Th-That's the problem,”

 “Baby,” his voice breaks, as if it pains him to speak, as if it pains him to tell you that he doesn’t understand, that he can’t offer the comfort he so desperately yearns to. “I-I’m—I don’t—”

 “No provocation, no protests, no possession...No nothing. He just...He just let me go,”

 Understanding cracks through the confusion coating his face, pinched features melting as anxiety bleeds through them, replaced with the unsteady wobble of worry.

 But Dabi stays silent, because there’s nothing to say anymore, because you’ve heard it all before, opting to draw you into his arms and tug you to his chest once again, exhaling a weighted sigh against the crown of your head.

 And, truly, he wants so desperately to tell you that it’s okay, that it’s all going to be alright, that Tomura’s just in some pissy mood and it’ll pass soon, he promises, he swears, just like it always does; he wants to.

 Yet no words come, because he can’t, because he won’t, because he can’t find it in him to lie to you, even if only to provide a few moments of fleeting solitude.  

 ✰          ✰          ✰

 Over the next month or so, your presence becomes more and more of a frequent occurrence until it’s practically a permanent fixture.

 It starts with a mere call or two a week, asking if you can tag along with them, always promising you’ll be on your very best behaviour, always begging Dabi with those precious little pleads about how bored you are and how much you miss him. But it grows rapidly, in conjunction with Dabi’s steadily decreasing ability to refuse you, and before long, Keigo’s seeing you an average of five times a week.

 And, oh, you’re so cute, Keigo just can’t help but melt a little, warm a little, whole facade dropping the first time you meet when you ask, after hastily wiping those pesky crystal teardrops adorning lashes spiked with water and introducing yourself, if Hawks is his real name.

 “What do you think, songbird?” he had questioned, voiced laced with a hint of teasing as he flipped those windswept golden curls from his eyes. “Be pretty dangerous to work on this side of the industry without a code name, don’t you think?”

 But your increasing presence becomes a disruption.

 Because your time together shifts, evolves, blurring the lines between labour and leisure, morphing from you attending those standard jobs—mostly consisting of drug delivery to the higher-ups, quick and inconspicuous meet-ups with the white collar criminals, and the never-ending recruitment process—to visiting those greasy American style diners Dabi practically lives on after the work is done, time becoming languid and loose as you lounge on their glittering plastic seats, leaking into the wee hours of the morning. Or, sometimes you swing by those old movie houses, now nothing more than crumbling skeletons of the grand palaces they once were with their fraying velvet and peeling paint, to watch their midnight double features, often 1930s gangster films or those buddy-cop flicks from the 70s and 80s that Keigo just can’t seem to get enough of.

 Soon enough, Keigo’s accompanying the both of you home, the three of you huddling up in the theatre room Keigo’s so unabashedly fascinated with, with laps full of buttersalt popcorn and fingers encrusted with the sour-sweet sugar from those stupid gummies you love so much, barely paying attention to whatever show’s on the screen as you chat.

 Or you’re loitering in the kitchen, perched on the edge of granite countertops while greedy hands scour the innards of the fridge in search of something tasty and expensive; or lounging around the main living room, surrounded by scattered styrofoam and too much take-out, dainty giggles prying past your lips as the men debate philosophy and chuck dumplings and rice balls at each other.

 And it’s...It’s nice, Keigo’s horrified to discover. He knows Dabi’s mostly toying with him, intentionally wasting his time, knows Dabi still hasn’t conducted any serious business in his presence; just those tiny jobs that leave Keigo empty handed and frustrated, that lead to nothing of real use or significance.

 But when Keigo raises these concerns to his superior, worried he’s squandering precious and valuable time, Chief Yagi tells him not to worry.

 Infiltrating the penthouse is also an important part of your mission, he had said. You’re doing well, Detective, keep it up. Getting them to relax in your presence is crucial to this operation coming to fruition, he had promised.

 Sure, that makes sense; the more they lower their guard, the easier it’ll be for Keigo to wheedle information out of them, to go snooping and sniffing for clues.

 But what happens when Keigo feels like his guard is lowering as well, entirely against his will?

 Because throughout it all, Keigo observes, Keigo witnesses: just how much you and Dabi lean on each other, rely on each other; just how much you and Dabi hurt every time another slice of Tomura’s mind disintegrates—and Tomura himself.

 ✰         ✰         ✰

 It’s nearly a month—twenty-seven and a half days, to be exact—before Keigo finally sees him in the flesh for the very first time.

 And the portrait Keigo’s met with will be seared into his mind forever, carved into the walls of his skull, doomed to ceaselessly relive the scalding and the scratching when his sins haunt him in the middle of the night.

 The man walking across the room bears little resemblance to the Tomura Shigaraki he’s seen in photos and files. Knotted tufts of dull silver stand on end, mussed from bony fingers tugging, raking, yanking.

 Most of his muscle mass has disintegrated, leaving behind the shell of a man; hollowed eyes and sunken cheeks accentuating his sharp jaw and defined cheekbones, his silhouette nothing more than a collection of rigid lines and razored edges, a protruding collarbone peeking out from an ill-fitted cashmere button-up, bony wrists adorned with perpetually healing wounds, thin gaunt skin stretched too tight over slim hands.

 Blood seeps into the crisp white collar and cuffed sleeves of his tailored shirt, readily leaking from his gashed neck and gorged wrists and creating a grotesque painting in the fabric, artful blotches of crimson as bright as his eyes soaking through unblemished ivory in asymmetrical smudged patches, like bloody clouds in a bleak sky.

 And still, you’re scrambling the moment you lay eyes on him, struggling to pull yourself from Dabi’s iron grip with sweet little whimpers, feet clambering and fingers clawing your way free.

 “Daddy!” you breathe as you stumble towards him, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste. “Oh my God, Daddy!”

 He barely even registers you until you’re barreling into his chest, hastily taking a wounded wrist between your tiny palms and cradling it like it’s special, like it’s precious.

 He seems as shocked as you are, belated surprise morphing his features, gazing down at his own gushing wrists as if his body isn’t quite his own, as if he doesn’t fully recognize it.

 But it is his, and these scrapes and scratches and hollows and hacks are from him, unkempt fingernails encrusted with rust and flesh.

 He doesn’t even feel it, he tells you, voice painfully monotone, dead and limp and dismal, stare never lifting. He hadn’t even noticed.

 “Wh-What? What do you mean—oh, gosh—Dabi,” you throw a quick glance over your shoulder, Tomura’s head finally lifting, confusion contorting his features. “Some bandages, please?”

 “Dabi,” he says, soft and slow, as if he’s tasting the name, rolling it around between his teeth, tongue curling around it protectively, before finally swallowing it down. “I thought I dismissed you?”

 “Oh,” Dabi breathes, avoiding scarlet eyes as he hastily searches for those bandages. “Well, you did, kind of. I, uh—”

 “I invited him over,” you say simply, little thumbs running across Tomura’s gouged wrists with the gentlest, barely there caresses. “And that’s Hawks, one of Dabi’s friends,” and your voice is so sweet, so soft, Keigo can’t help but deflate a little, just the way your Daddy does into your calming touch. “And don’t worry, Dabi screened him; he’s safe. We hang out sometimes, when you’re too busy ‘n all—they keep me company,”

 Tomura’s gaze doesn’t lift at all, refusing Keigo any sort of acknowledgement, head nodding lethargically as you and Dabi hold delicate wrists between your palms, wrapping each in cloth and gauze, ministrations doused in compassionate vigilance.

 Yes, that’s how it happens, the very first time.

 But fleeting interactions such as these are becoming more and more difficult for Keigo to stomach.

 Because the pain is fucking excruciating.

 It’s painful to witness this memory of a man—now nothing more than a wisp, a shell, a ghost—painful to watch the way your eyes fill with tears the moment he steps in the room, and the way Dabi’s avert, the way Dabi can’t even bear to look at him anymore without a twitching nose or a trembling chin.

 It hurts too much.

 Because although Dabi doesn’t say much, can’t say much, Keigo can tell that he yearns to, that he’s affected by this in unimaginable ways as well, that this whole situation is eroding him from the inside out, each sighting of Tomura dishevelled and deranged birthing another parasite to chew it’s way through his organs, to feast on his heart.

 It’s evident in the way he’s bit his bottom lip raw and picked his cuticles until they’re bloody, in the way he rubs aggressively at his eyes once Tomura’s gone, in the way his chest stammers with hiccuped words and half-buried whimpers on the rare occasion that he does speak to his boss.

 And it’s painful to witness you or Kurogiri gently asking Tomura when the last time he showered was, or if he’s eaten, if he’s changed his clothes in the past few days, a once pristinely tailored suit now all rumpled and stained as he looks down with a shrug.

 It’s painful to witness Kurogiri working tirelessly to pick up Tomura’s slack, reorganizing appointments, holding meetings in his place, and making executive decisions.

 From the fragments of hissed conversations Keigo catches, he’s come to find out that Tomura has completely dropped his executive duties.

 “He’s missing every single meeting we’ve set up for him,” Keigo had discovered Kurogiri whispering into a phone one dreary evening, the receiver cupped to his mouth as if his palms could stop the words from escaping, from reaching prying ears. “He is not adequately fulfilling his obligations as CEO; the promises he made to the company, the duties and demands he used to delegate so professionally. He’s failing to complete the tasks assigned, he isn’t showing up for appointments, he’s refusing to return calls…Such behaviour is beyond unsatisfactory—Sir, I—”

 That’s all he had managed to hear, before Kurogiri’s voice had faded into incomprehensible static, as he moved to another room.

 And it’s these memories that haunt Keigo—sharp shards and slivers of broken expressions; glassy sapphire eyes and violently quivering lips, hidden in the comforting necks and arms and chests of one another—that torment him the moment he’s finally alone in his bed, when his ears are ringing with phantom laughs and sobs, vacant whispers and whimpers, all etched into the tissues of his brain, all typical residue he brings home from the day.

 It’s these memories that swirl around in his mind, turbulent and disruptive, harassing him the instant he finds a shred of peace.

 Because it’s his fault.  

 It’s his fault you go to sleep with tears staining your pillow. It’s his fault Dabi can barely spare a glance at his best friend, much less talk to him. It’s his fault that Tomura Shigaraki has lost his fucking mind, tangled up in paranoid thoughts saturated with terror.

 And no matter what he does, no matter who he speaks to or where he is, Keigo cannot rid his mouth of this pungent sourness permanently woven into his saliva; Keigo cannot quell the bitter acid that continually creeps up his throat to sting the back of his tongue, corrosive and toxic as it seeps into the pit of his stomach and rots away his soul.

 ✰          ✰          ✰

 “I like Hawks,” you hum out in a breath one night, nearly asleep after Dabi’s finger fucked your brains out and you’ve swallowed his cum for the second time that week.

 Your head rises and falls in time with his slow, shallow breathing, his eyes half-lidded and body languid as the drugs course through his system. Your the same, more or less, though you don’t need any drugs to get this way, such a state achieved by Dabi pulling near-violent orgasms from you with those rough fingers, greedily chasing the dull, dim after-sparks as you halfheartedly grind against his thigh.

 “Yeah?” he murmurs, palm petting your head rhythmically.

 “Mhmm,” you sigh, readjusting yourself, gripping him closer, tighter. “Where’d you find him?”

 He chuckles a bit at your naiveness. “He found me,”

 “How?”

 Dabi shrugs the best he can, the motion causing you to jiggle. “Y’know, when you know someone, who knows someone, who knows someone…” he trails off. “S’how it is in this line of work,”

 “How’d you find Daddy?”

 The question, mumbled out past loose, sleepy lips, has him jolting with a frightening start, whole body going rigid, but you’re too fucked out to notice.

 “I didn’t,” he says after a while, not even sure if you’re still awake, voice sounding weird to his ears, off, infused with something he can’t quite place. “He found me,”

 “How?”

 “I, uh...Don’t get along with—My father and I—We just—He just—” he stops, eyes closing so tightly it crinkles his face, as if it’s painful to speak these words, to recall these memories, releasing a long, sharp, heavy sigh.

 A while passes, the drowsy post-orgasm haze beginning to dissipate with each second he stays silent and stiff. Thick guilt begins to unfurl in your stomach with the growing terror that you’ve crossed some unmarked line, that you’re intruding, trespassing on memories that are not yours to know, not yours to relive, or to keep. You pull back slightly, blinking twice at him as your mouth falls open to apologize, to tell him he doesn’t have to talk about this if it makes him uncomfortable, if it’s too upsetting to utter, but his lids lift, and then he’s speaking again.

 “My father’s a real piece of shit, alright?” he exhales the sentence in one breath, words soaked in causticity, features screwed up in an expression you’ve never witnessed before, an expression that sends a scorching shock through you limbs straight to your heart, an expression saturated in pure hate. “And I just—I couldn’t fucking take it anymore,” A pause, a tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth in contemplation before releasing it with a soft pop!. “So I left,” he pauses, sucking the lip between his teeth again and biting hard, a feeble attempt to stop his chin from quivering. “At thirteen,”

 “That must’ve been really tough,” you whisper, eyes full of so much concern, so much compassion it scalds his skin, douses him in your endearing affection and eats through his flesh and bone like some sort of corrosive, bearing his imperilled heart to you.

 Sapphire darts away, whole head turning to take shelter from your gaze, an attempt to rebuild those walls you can seemingly knock down with a gentle breath and a pretty smile, barriers you can crumble with a tender hand on his forearm and a soft Dabi?.

 “Yeah, well,” he clears his throat roughly, a vain effort to rid his voice from that stupid tremble. “I managed, didn’t I?” he chuckles wryly, but it comes out dry, withering, strangled. “We aren’t all lucky enough to be born, or even adopted, into welcoming homes with—with tenderness and warmth and people who—” the word catches, shatters into sharp shards in his throat, but he barrels on. “People who care,”

 “No,” you agree quietly, thumb rubbing absentminded circles into his skin, squeezing gently. “We aren’t. But he found you,”

 “He did,” Dabi nods, swallowing harshly, resolve resuming. “He did.”

 “How?” you ask for the third time that night.

 Silence smothers the room, dense and suffocating as it encases the two of you in it’s haughty embrace. Sapphire stays focused on the flickering screen, the gears in Dabi’s head turning, shifting, clicking as he figures out how to proceed. And you don’t push, you don’t rush, opting to simply continue trancing nonsensical patterns into his scarred flesh—motions he can barely feel in some parts, but greatly appreciates nonetheless.

 “I was on the streets for three years; you know, they kept trying to put me in children’s homes and all that bullshit, I kept evading, or escaping,” The phantom of a laugh catches in his chest. “I was really sick by the time Tomura found me—it was winter, and I was curled up on the steps of a shelter, or something, half-alive and wrapped up in every article of clothing I owed. I had passed out, apparently, and when Tomura bent down to wake me, I was burning to the touch and unresponsive,”

 “Oh my God, Dabi,”

 A shoulder shrugs halfheartedly, as if it wasn’t any big deal, the motion jostling you slightly. “I really don’t remember it much; just waking up in this plush bed, with clean clothes, and thinking that—for a moment, that I had really died and gone to Heaven,” he pauses, huffing out a soft sardonic chuckle, lips curling up cruelly. “But then I remembered that people like me don’t get to go to Heaven,”

 Your lips tug down into a frown, protests getting lodged in your throat.

 “I hadn’t, of course. But what Tomura gave me was close,” he pauses, carding through the thoughts in his head. “He showed me more kindness in those first few months than—” and he has to stop, to pause and swallow the emotion thickening his voice. “Than anyone had ever shown me in my entire life,” He looks down at you then, finally, and you think you can see it—a thin film of water coating sapphire, catching in the frail silver light illuminating from the screen. “He gave me a place to stay, a car, a phone, a—a new name, new identity—and filled my bank account with 10 million yen to start, and—and—”

 And this is how I repay him.

 “He did a lot for you,” you acknowledge gently, tugging on his arm a little and garnering his full attention. “Because he saw potential in you,”

 Dabi nods, nostrils flaring with a shuddery exhale.

 “But you did a lot for him, too,” you continue in a whisper. “I don’t—He doesn’t tell me much about—about those days, but I know it wasn’t just him helping you,”

 Dabi supposes you’re right; knows you’re right, hazy fragments of memories slashing through his mind—men with ruby and sapphire for eyes and sharp ivory for teeth, talking, laughing, fucking, killing; dusty desert roads and luxurious hotels and crystal blue water; the creaking of king mattresses and echoes of gunshots; flashing sirens and viscous crimson, stained by soft powders and pretty pills.

 “He’s entrusted you to take care of me. And you have—you do,”

 He has; he does, the job morphing from some glorified babysitter to so much more.

 But at what cost?

 ✰          ✰          ✰

 It’s late, the night Keigo finally finds the courage to bring it up, to make it known, the far wall of the Chief’s office lined with glistening glass illustrating a vibrant cityscape against a pitch black sky—starless, moonless, cloudless; and yet somehow, someway, the small droplets continue to smatter against the windows, hurled by robust gusts of wind that rearrange them into a constantly morphing mosaic of bokeh—blurs of teal and fuchsia akin to tiny gems stuck to the glass.

 “Alright,” Chief Yagi is saying as he re-enters, an absurdly large mug of black coffee gripped in one massive hand. “What’s all this about?”

 Inhaling, Keigo takes a moment to find the right words, letting his lungs expand with them, holding them in his chest for a moment before finally releasing them, confession carried on a defeated exhale of breath.

 “I think we should stop with those nasty text messages,” he admits, and his superior frowns, brows furrowing as he takes a large sip, imploring Keigo to continue. “Look, this guy—Tomura, I mean—he’s really not doing well,”

  The Chief cocks his head, eyes squinted as if he doesn’t quite understand, words slow and smooth. “I would, if it weren’t for the fact that we’ve already ceased the messages,”

 “What?”

 “Mm,” Chief Yagi nods, humming around another mouthful and setting his heavy mug down with a thump. “Haven’t sent a text or a call since before he was in New York,”

 Adrenaline surges through his veins, blood thrumming with the hormone, and Keigo nearly chokes on his words. “You’re serious?”

 He hums out another affirmative, blue eyes careful and calculating as they observe his inferior. “The last one was sent—” a pause, the clicking of a mouse, the clacking of keys. “Two days before he boarded the flight,”

 Shock saturates Keigo’s features, eyebrows raising and eyes widening as he shakes his head a little, in disbelief, in disagreement. Breath infused with potent guilt twines itself around his ribs, tangling in thin strands and tightening, crushing his lungs, his heart, his soul until he can no longer inhale, attempts sputtering in his sticky throat.

 It’s so much more severe than he could’ve ever imagined, and a sickening culpability, stuffed full of acid and spite and fault, roots in the pit of his stomach. Something is seriously wrong.

 “Then, maybe we should stop—no, no, suspend; maybe we should suspend this operation,” at the Chief’s questioning smirk of incredulity Keigo continues, pressing and urgent. “Just until he’s a little more stable,”

 “A little more stable?”

 “Chief, listen,” Keigo pleads, leaning forward in his chair, fingers curling around the edge of the desk. “That man is sick—” His boss snorts, but Keigo barrels on. “I mean it; he’s really sick; mentally sick. He barely leaves his office anymore, his personal relationships are deteriorating to ash, and all he can ever talk about on the rare occasion that he does emerge is ‘the enemy’—us, you; whoever’s been sending those texts—”

 “I told you, no one’s sent a text, or a call, or a letter in weeks,”

 “Not to Tomura! Not in Tomura’s mind!” The words exit as a shout, startling the large man sitting across from him, Keigo’s fingernails digging into oak wood. “As far as he’s concerned, he’s still receiving them. I don’t know if he’s hallucinating or what but Chief—” Keigo’s voice breaks, whole face crumbling under the weight of accountability.

 “Detective,” Chief Yagi begins, hands folding on his desk. “I know that whatever’s going on with Shigaraki must be difficult to watch, but this is precisely the time we should continue with this operation—because the head of the company is so unstable. If anything, such a turn of events should make it that much easier for you to infiltrate; to gain important information and intel. You’re in their inner circle now; you should be able to find a way into that office at some point,”

 “But Sir—”

 “Can I ask, Keigo, why exactly this matters so much to you?” Chief Yagi’s chest rumbles as he clears his throat, fixing the younger man with a levelled gaze. “What happened to my Detective; the one who solved project HIGH-END? The one that was ruthless and frigid, the one with an iron grip on his personal emotions, the one willing to do almost anything—certainly more than most—to restore peace, even if it meant soiling his own palms in the process? The one who understood what fighting for the Greater Good meant?”

 Shoulders deflating with a heaved sigh, Keigo shrugs, almost indifferent as he leans back in his chair, mouth settled into a wobbly line. He doesn’t know; he isn’t sure; he can’t quite explain it, the sudden phenomenon stirring to life in his chest, the concerning squeezes his heart gives every time he watches the light fade from that young woman’s eyes—from Dabi’s eyes—that accompanies each and every passing interaction with Tomura.

 Maybe it’s because he feels irrevocably responsible, this time. Maybe it’s because he knows Tomura’s on the verge of a full psychotic break, and this is all he can do about it. Maybe it’s because he’s positive they’re the cause; that they’ll be the trigger that forces him to finally snap.

 “Have you gone soft on me?” the Chief asks with a slight chuckle, redirecting Keigo’s gaze from his knees back to his superior’s face. “Have you developed some sort of soft spot for them? A particular fondness, perhaps?”

 And while it’s all teasing—the smirk that playfully tugs at the corners of his boss’ lips indicating so—Keigo is powerless to stop the rush of guilt, of shame, of terror the words inspire, bitter acid settling on the back of his tongue—because what if he’s right? What if it’s all true? What if he’s beginning to lose his touch?

 That grin is no longer dancing around the corners of his mouth, and Chief Yagi sighs, carding both hands through unruly golden hair. “Maybe you need a reminder of just how heinous these people are, hmm? Some concrete proof of just how crooked that conglomerate is,”

 Yanking open a deep drawer, the Chief shuffles through files and documents until he finds an overstuffed file, throwing it on the desk. It lands with a distinct thud against the wood, some of the contents falling loose, bits and pieces of information peeking out from the frayed edges—murders and human experimentation—hinting at what the folder holds.

 No, he doesn’t need to hear it again, to see what they did to those girls, barely legal and bloated on the side of the river, bodies twisted and mangled and pumped full of a cocktail of illegal substances. He doesn’t need to relive, to remember all of the children they’ve left orphaned and homeless for their own personal gain. He doesn’t need to be reminded of the so-called ‘lucky’ ones, the test subjects that were able to escape with scraps of their sanity in their clutches, sentenced to live out their days in institutions and homes, because AFO robbed them of their lives, of their livelihood.

 “I assume you don’t also require reminding that this is an internal investigation?” His boss continues after several beats of silence, Keigo’s unblinking eyes finally flashing to his face, sluggishly shaking his head.

 No, he knows that, too—knows that this is to be kept private and under wraps from the majority of the force, most of which AFO happens to own; knows that their small operative—only a handful of trustworthy people, really—have been working tirelessly to keep this whole thing quiet and discreet. Keigo knows that, essentially, they’re on their own with this.

 Not that any of this really matters anymore, since Keigo’s nearly positive Dabi knows exactly who he is—a fact that his superior had claimed held no significance.

 “It’s for the greater good, Keigo—remember that,” the Chief’s voice cuts through his thoughts, scalding and steaming. “Shigaraki will survive. Focus on the task at hand—the sooner we have that concrete evidence the sooner this will all be over.”

 Keigo hopes he’s right.

 ✰          ✰          ✰

 It’s a bad habit, the things you engage in at night.

it’s a bad habit—full of noxious ink and sharp fangs and poignant guilt, so heavy that it seeps through the floor of your stomach and slithers thickly through your veins, spreading to your blood and your heart and your brain until everything’s been engulfed, infected.

 It’s a very bad habit—one that scuttles up your throat with choked whimpers of his name and skitters across your skin with tattooed palms and blunt nails and calloused fingertips, stained from the flames of Zippos and the ash of cigarettes and the blood of dead men.

 It’s a bad, bad habit—one that laid its eggs in New York and hatched in Japan, nurtured and nourished by absence, hostility and preoccupancy—and the both of you are fucking hopeless in halting it.

 And it evolves. It morphs from grinding hipbones and fingers toying along waistbands to hands finding warm sanctuary between thighs and underneath clothing, choking on each other’s tongues and precious, pathetic little sounds throughout it all.

 It evolves until finally, finally, it reaches its terminal stages; the evolutionary form you had both been trying to desperately to keep it from growing into, the evolutionary form that was inevitable from the start.

 It’s been building all day, the buzzing of that bad habit, the insatiable creature it’s spawned, the sickness it’s poisoned your brains and bodies with; it’s been growing, all day, rattling against cages of ivory as it forces your chests to expand until you just can't take it anymore.  

 You aren’t sure why today is the day it decides to finally erupt, to escape from those confines; the pretty bone and soft tissue that had contained it, that had housed it. You aren’t sure why those gentle, platonic, typical touches that have become practically habitual at this point—an arm, twined around your waist under your spring coat; tiny fingers, tangled in the curls at the back of his neck; your cheek on his shoulder, his chin on your head—now send sizzling sparks zipping up your spine and through your veins to collect in your chest, in your skull, accumulating until you can’t breathe, can’t think about anything other than him, him, him.

 And each touch is worse than the last; each touch conjures a sharper spark, blazing brighter than the one before it, bolting through your body and leaving your blood boiling in its wake.

 No, you aren’t sure why it’s happening now, on this day out of all of the other mundane days it could’ve chose to burst, to break, but it is.

 Maybe it’s because Tomura snapped on you this morning, cruel and ruthless, harsher than he has been in a long time. Maybe it’s because Dabi witnessed the tail end of it. Maybe it’s because you’ve become so starved for attention, for love, that you’re seeking it out where you’re positive you’ll find it, latching onto it like some famished parasite.

 And maybe, maybe it’s because Dabi feels responsible in some inexplicable way, feels some sort of innate desire to protect, to care for and comfort.

 Dabi had been able to hear it, the screaming and the smashing, all the way from his floor, overlapping voices becoming more pronounced and in tune as he ascended the fire escape—his preferred route of reaching the penthouse, since it’s only one flight of stairs.

 “Nothing’s ever good enough for you anymore!” Tomura was seething, just as Dabi reached the top, eyes narrowed into slits, chest heaving forcefully with the flaring of his nostrils.

 “Nothing—” you began, the word nothing more than a garbled huff of breath, dripping with disbelief. “Nothing’s ever good enough for me? I can’t even get you to fucking glance at me anymore!”

 “I’ve given you everything. Everything!” A clenched fist comes down on the table, hard enough to wobble the legs, Tomura looking up with glowing ruby eyes, molars grinding together with such fierceness his jaw flexes. “What more do you fucking want from me?”

 “You, Tomura! I want you!”

 And that, that got him to stop, features puckering as he cast you a pitiful look. “Me? Me?” he chuckled a little, and it’s a callous sound, void of any mirth as it slashes through the air. “Sweetheart, you already have me,”

 “Do I?” Glistening tears cascaded down your face, collecting to drip off your jaw, voice cracking. “When’s the last time we went out? When’s the last time you shared a meal with me? When’s the last time we went to bed together? Watched a film together? Hugged? Kissed? Fucked? When?”

 “Oh, Christ,” Rubies rolled back in his skull, a sardonic little smirk carving itself into his face, paired with a sarcastic snort. “God forbid Daddy’s too busy working, working to keep you safe, to play with his needy little girl,”

 “P-Play? No, I—” your voice cut off, severed by the vicious sob hiccuped in your throat, Tomura’s frantic eyes finally catching Dabi hovering in the corner.

 “Great, you’re here,” he remarked dryly, regarding Dabi with disinterested apathy.

 Crimson eyes slipped shut, concealing Tomura’s scathing gaze as slim fingers moved to rub at his temples in a vigorous manner, as if he were attempting to piece back together the thoughts your argument had shattered.

 “Please, get rid of her for a few hours, so I can fucking think again,” lids lift slowly, penetrating gaze boring into your face. “And don’t bring her back until she’s ready to stop being such an ungrateful little brat,”

 And, oh, how you had wailed, how you had cried and clung to Dabi for the rest of the day, keeping your face half-buried in his chest as you whimpered and weeped, only emerging when you heard the familiar symphony of clacking against plastic, glassy eyes suddenly vivacious as you watched Dabi tap two pretty blue pills into his palm.

 No, he had told you sternly, staring down at you with an unyielding gaze. Not this time.

 Eventually, you calm, ferocious sobs dying down to feeble sniffles, but he doesn’t let go of you.

 Not even once.

 It drizzles for the entire day, a sprinkling of mist across the city that has gotten progressively thicker as the day advanced, morphing from gentle taps to aggressive pounding.

 Tonight, Keigo doesn’t even bother coming up to the penthouse as is usual protocol, opting instead to hurry home so he can peel drenched cotton and denim from his skin and steep in the steam of his shower, promising to send a text reassuring his safe arrival at his place.

 You can’t exactly say you blame him, shifting uncomfortably as the chrome elevator climbs from floor to floor, small space filled with a soft symphony of residual droplets rolling off your coats and incessantly chattering teeth.

 Dabi looks over at you, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before he sucks it between ivory teeth, chewing. “We gotta get you outta those clothes,”

 “Speak for yourself,” you snort, gaze cataloging the inky wisps of hair plastered to his forehead and cheekbones, half-framing his face.

 Still, he has a point, your arms winding themselves tighter around your torso in a vain attempt to prevent more precious heat from escaping, inevitably hugging your doused clothing to your flesh.

 The torrent had been so rough, so robust that the downpour had managed to soak straight through the rubber of your cute rain jacket as well as the leather of Dabi’s, leaving the articles underneath to sop up the water until they were thoroughly wet, too, exposed skin beginning to pucker.

 It feels as though the chill of the rain has sunken into your very soul, rotting away the marrow of your bones, a violent shiver forcing the hollow structures to rattle against one another.

 The elevator dings daintily, and both of you call out cautiously for Tomura, alerting him of your arrival home with the intention to ask if Dabi can borrow some clothes (in spite of the fact that Dabi’s closet is only a floor beneath you), but you’re greeted with smothering silence, taking his non-response as a yes.

 “Here,” you’re saying as you emerge from the ensuite merely a few moments later, hair damp and messy from a hasty towel-dry, legs bare and body clad in a ratty Universal Monsters t-shirt—Dabi’s t-shirt, though he isn’t quite sure if you’re aware of this fact—hardened nipples peaking the worn fabric; before tossing a pair of Tomura’s grey sweatpants at Dabi, who’s perched gingerly on the edge of your Daddy’s bed.

 It’s shameless, and borderline perverted, but you don’t even bother averting your eyes as he shucks his waterlogged clothing. Dabi calls you out on it, too, shooting you a sly glance from the corner of his eye as he unsticks the cotton of his briefs from his skin, cute fragments of giggles bubbling in your throat.

 You find yourself in the theatre room, as it has become accustom in the past month or two, the both of you curled up on a singular mammoth seat, bodies stitched together as the roars of thunder compete with Dabi’s low, smooth voice.

 Before New York, you and Dabi had never used the theatre; the living room TV had been more than big enough, and you had been content to flop your head in a begrudging Dabi’s lap while the sparkling city skyline streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, glittering light contending with the moon’s delicate beams.

 But Keigo had been so enamoured with it, so impressed by the fact that the penthouse had a fucking theatre room—it’s only got eight seats, Dabi had informed him, lest he expect a full-sized cinema—that you had begun spending more time there.

 It’s dark in the theatre, quiet in the theatre, intimate in the theatre. It’s almost as if everything changes in the theater—slows, stops, splits—reality bending and curving and twisting until it becomes some sort of warped, contorted version of itself, until it makes things like this night, and all of the nights that have come before it, okay, acceptable, normal.

 Well, that, and the fact that Daddy doesn’t have cameras in the theatre.

 It’s here, in your very own special, distorted version of reality, this personal liminality, that it finally transpires.

 Casablanca plays softly on the screen, a pretty mirage of silver and smoke, grey and graphite images that waver almost gracefully on the canvas, but you aren’t paying much attention; not when Dabi’s calloused fingers are tracing nonsensical patterns on the exposed skin of your upper thigh, not when your own are busy swimming in the waves of soft ink at the base of his skull.

 “Surprised you didn’t go home,” you mumble into his neck, voice thick with the threat of sleep.

 “Yeah?” he murmurs, and the word’s nothing more than a gentle rumble deep in his chest.

 “Mhmm, though you’d wanna change n’ stuff,” the words are slurred, and you hug yourself closer to him, leg hooked around his waist tightening protectively, possessively. “Why’d you stay?”

 “You know why,”

“Why?”

And he gets like this, late in the middle of the night, early in the wee hours of the morning. He gets like this, when it’s just the two of you in your haphazardly constructed, fallacious world—in the false safety of your mangled mirage of reality, conjured up in the betwixt hours of the night, that starts to disperse, fade, the moment sunbeams begin to creep and crawl over the city.

He gets like this.

Honest. Raw. Vulnerable.

“Because I want to be with you, stupid,”

And although the sentence is sighed out in a single breath, fading and fraying as it reaches the end, it is still stuffed full of sentiment, so much so that the words are practically bursting at the seams, fondness threatening to fracture the entire thing.

There are no words to accurately explain just how much you cherish these transient moments, stashing them away deep within the tissues of your brain, protected by layers of pulsating blood.

And he knows why you do it, too, why you poke and prod and provoke him like that, why you force him to spill the secrets that have been taking shelter in his chest for so many months now, like the selfish little brat you are.

He knows you need to hear them now, that you thrive when you hear them now. He sees it in the way your eyes glisten and smile softens; feels it in the way your limbs curl tighter around him, pulling yourself impossibly closer; hears it in the sweet little giggles that interrupt your responding words.

And he fucking loves it.

It’s silent for a while after his gentle profession, and for a moment he’s sure you’ve dozed off, practically straddling his lap now, and he adjusts you a little, getting read to carry you to bed, when you speak again, voice meek and frail.

“He...He was real mean today,”

“I know, princess. He’s just...” the words decay on his tongue, and you know, you know, he’s just stressed; but there’s only so many times Dabi can repeat them before they begin to lose their impact, their worth, their truth.

“How do we fix this, Dabi?”

It’s so soft he nearly misses it, quivering question fading into his skin as lips brush against his collarbone.

A chuckle pries its way past his lips, just an exhausted huff of disbelief more than anything else, head shaking a little. “I’m not sure how many times I have to tell you for it to finally settle in that pretty little head of yours,” he taps your forehead, accentuating his words. “But this is not for us to fix, baby,”

“But—”

Dabi’s chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, annoyance sewn into his words as he tells you, yet again, that all you can do is offer help, that it’s up to Tomura to take it; no one can force him.

And you nod and hum and agree, because he’s right, you know he’s right, but it still hurts to feel useless, to feel helpless.

“I really don’t—” the words hitch in your chest, snaring on a trapped sob. A shaky exhale, an attempt to swallow past them, and you try again. “I really don’t know how I’d survive this without you,”

The confession is quiet and cracked with cognizance. It’s a perturbing realization, a petrifying realization, just how much you’ve come to rely on him, just how close you’ve grown.

Because—because it’s true; what would’ve happened to you, had Dabi not been here to weather this with you? What would you have withered away too, had you been forced to withstand this on your own?

Would there be any of you left at all? Or would you have decayed into nothingness, into a mere carcass of yourself, congruently with your Daddy, remnants fusing together as you both fell apart? Would anything new have risen from the remains? From the decomposing flesh and rotting bone and splintering minds?

You don’t know, you’ll never be able to tell, but one thing’s for sure: you truly don’t know how you would’ve survived this without him.

You won’t ever have to.

Sapphire blazes down at you, his chest rising and falling with short little breaths as his gaze studies your face. Lips part, but the words catch in his throat, burning up into nothing more than a disappointing huff of disconcertment.

You won’t ever have to.

He tries again, but the letters hook and burrow into the walls of his throat, leaving the flesh ripped raw and burning. Frustration seethes in his chest, rough as it rages against his ribs, and for a moment you look terrified, gazing up at him with wide eyes as panic tugs at the corners of your lips, mouth opening quickly to presumingly apologize.

But then he’s surging forward, crushing chapped lips to yours so fiercely, so ferociously it forces a soft whine to crack in your throat, lithe fingers splayed across your cheeks as his palms cup your face, curled around the hinges of your jaw and hauling you impossibly closer.

You won’t ever have to.

He prays you can decipher it, the promise he’s pouring into this kiss. He prays one day he can say it to you himself, in his own words and with his own voice, instead of forcing you to decode it though clashing teeth and dragging tongues and interspersed saliva.

Calloused fingertips and blunt nails nip at your skin, signing his name into your body in insignificant, impermanent little ways, and your responding kisses are filled with just as much fervour, messy and desperate as little hands paw at him, sinking into soft ink and knotting at the roots.

Fiery cinnamon and sharp nicotine sting your tongue, and you’re dimly reminded of how much spicier Dabi tastes, a stark contrast to your Daddy’s fresh mint and sour-sweet lemon. It’s tainted tonight, tinged with traces of bitter salt, tears rolling down soft cheeks to find refuge in the comfort of warm, wet mouths.

Boisterous hands push under your t-shirt, eager digits dipping into the waistband of your lacy panties, nimble fingers beginning to press and pull, to tear and tug, tips materializing through the dainty fabric as he grinds his cock against your inner thigh.

And you can feel it, hot and hard and throbbing through the thin material of the sweats, staining the grey fabric with sticky pre-cum as it strains and struggles against it, almost as if it’s yearning for you.

“Please,” he whispers, thumbs rubbing little circles into the flesh of your hips, the word so small, so fragile it’s scarcely a gentle wisp of breath exhaled into your mouth. It’s a question you’ve heard several times before, during three and four and five in the morning in compromising positions such as these, but tonight it sounds off, altered.

Because tonight, it’s different.

Because it isn’t a plead, desperate and urgent and heavy with beseeching, nor is it an order, wrapped up in the pretty and perfect guise of entreatment.

It’s an offer.

You don’t say anything, can’t say anything, the threat of tears thick in your throat, prohibiting your approval passage to your lips.

So you nod, just once, just a solitary quirk of your head—but, really, that’s all he needs.

Rough hands find the fraying hem of your—his—t-shirt, and he mumbles against your lips, voice raspy and low as nimble fingers begin to twist in the fabric.

“I want this off,”

Another nod, and your arms are raising above your head, aiding him in removing the garment.

Delicate fingers dance along the waistband of his—Tomura’s—sweats, and he chuckles, a gentle, fond little noise throttled out of his throat.

“Do you want these off?”

And you’re powerless to stop the shy little hiccup of a giggle that barrels past your lips as you nod, lifting your hips and helping him in kicking the pants off, cock bobbing a little as it’s freed from its confines.

Oh, it’s so pretty, you just can’t resist glancing down at it, marvelling at the way the cherry tip shimmers in the dim silver light, perfectly accented by a pearly dewdrop of pre-cum; at the way those veins, twined around the velvety shaft, dance harmoniously to the suspenseful thump of his heart.

“You want it?”

“Yes,” you choke out, the word grating your throat, glazed eyes finally finding his face.

“S'yours,”

The declaration is slurred from one mouth into another, and you swallow it greedily, a fierce flame of possessiveness sparking to life in your chest.

“Mine,” you nearly growl, small hand encircling his cock, squeezing a broken moan from his throat, a certain type of viciousness, voraciousness, veraciousness surging through your veins and alighting your entire body, because fuck yes it’s yours and you want it now.

There’s no bothering with prep; neither of you have the patience, Dabi’s adept fingers sneaking their way between your bodies to spread your cute little hole, guiding you to his cock, pretty pussy glittering in the chromatic silver spilling from the screen.

And the noise he makes as you finally sink down on him is nothing short of fucking breathtaking—a snuffed out whine that fractures in his throat, Adams apple bobbing with the effort as his head falls back with a heavy thud against the leather.

While he isn’t as thick as Daddy, the stretch is still incredible, a precious little hiss spit between the gaps of clenched teeth as he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snugly against your cervix. His hips shift immediately, impatient and desperate, the motion sending stinging pricks of pain searing through your abdomen, a wince twisting your features.

You can feel the delicate skin ripping, creating little fissures in the sensitive flesh, pussy pulsing around his cock. It feels like it’s splitting you open, feels like it’s stitching you shut, feels like it’s stuffing you full.

And you want more.

A half-swallowed moan catches in his chest as your hips wiggle, and you laugh, blinking bleariness from your gaze. A pair of tears escape your lashline, cascading down your cheeks in unison, and Dabi smiles; a wobbling, unsteady quirk up of his lips as he takes your face between calloused palms, thumbs catching the tears midstream.

After a few halfhearted bounces and a greedy whimper about how it just isn’t deep enough, Dabi halts you.

“Here,” he murmurs softly, palms slipping from your hips and skimming along your thighs, hooking under your folded knees and guiding them up gently, one by one, so your feet are planted on the plush leather, legs caging either side of his torso. “Better?”

“Y-Yeah,” you gasp, a palm involuntarily pressed flat to your gut, right between your hipbones, whining loudly as you grind down, swear you can feel him, can feel his cockhead as it pokes and prods with each rut against him as your hips grind down tentatively, a broken little whine spilling from your throat. “C-Can feel you in my tummy, Da-Dabi, I swear I can,”

“Good,” he breathes, forehead knocking against yours and lips parted slightly, sweltering little huffs ghosting over your own as ravenous pupils glitter in the flickering light, that thin ring of sapphire catching in the dim illumination. “Now,” he whispers, grasping fistfuls of your flesh, calloused fingertips gripping your outer thighs. “I think I’ve waited long enough. Show me how gorgeous you look creaming all over my cock,”

The demand is barely more than a tendril of breath, punctuated by the rocking forward of his hips, blunt nails pressing pretty indents of crimson and violet into your skin as he holds you in place.

The sudden action strikes an affirmative yelp from your chest, head nodding almost lethargically and body snapping into motion, eager in its haste to comply.

And, for a moment, it’s nice; it’s slow and easy and distracting, languid rolls of your hips meeting his as teeth clack and tongues lick and lips suck.

But the thoughts are beginning to creep in again, glowing ruby and soft silvery tufts slashing the thin veil of counterfeit comfort to shreds; and the tears are beginning to sting as they overwhelm your vision, casting the prettiest gleam across your eyes; and the choked hiccups are beginning to scrabble up your throat, claws tearing into your flesh as they struggle to reach your mouth, half-dead as they pry past your lips.

Salt water stains your tongue—yours, his, both, combining with variegated spit to create the most bittersweet viscosity; a heavy, heady substance that saturates the muscle—and he exhales a juddering breath into your mouth, blinking past the thick film of water shielding his eyes.

“Don’t think,”

It’s a plead, it’s an order, it’s an instruction, whispered out so softly, so brokenly against your lips.

And you follow, you submit, you obey, because you don’t want to think, don’t want to know, don’t want to exist in this reality at all, longing for the false ignorance and distorted escape you’ve sought out, you’ve created, so many nights prior, together.

You nod, urgent and frantic in your motions, almost as if you’re begging him to make it all stop, to put your morality on pause and your guilt on rewind, to erase it all, but another sob tears its way through your throat and into his, and Dabi sighs, pulling back slightly.

Gleaming sapphire studies your face, shining impossibly bright in the dim light, gaze sweeping across your features in one slow, fluid motion.

“Come on,” he whispers, fingers kneading the flesh of your ass as his nose nudges against yours, incentive rasped against your lips, though it shakes as it leaves his throat. “Be good for me, yeah? Be good for me,”

And you want to—you so desperately want to, so desperately need to, craving that sickly sweet equivocal praise that is so distinctly him; craving anything to make this less abhorrent, anything to scorch the shame rapidly engulfing your ribs in a tarry embrace, thick and voracious and intoxicating as it mingles with sticky desire and coats the bones, the weight of it nearly splintering them clean in half.

“You can do that for me, can’t you, baby?”

And, Christ, it’s so patronizing, your head lolling stupidly in a poor imitation of a nod. Knuckles collide with your skin, sending sizzling spikes rippling through your backside, and you squeak.

“Use your words, princess,” he chides. “I know I haven’t fucked you that stupid yet,”

“I-I can do it,”

“Yeah?” he prods in a murmur, lips busy tracing the curve of your jaw, the word soaking into your skin. “Prove it to me,”

It’s the ghost of the challenge, and the promised praise that comes packaged with it, that has your resolve strengthening, teeth gritted against stubborn tears as you begin bouncing in his lap, using your planted feet for leverage.

“That’s it,” he breathes out, head tipping back to gaze lazily at you through lidded eyes, chin tilted up slightly. “What a good girl,”

And it’s pathetic, really, the high-pitched moan such sardonic praise, drenched in condescension and sprinkled with icing sugar, evokes; a pathetic little sound that catches in your chest and cracks upon impact, tapering off into a soft whimper, a nonverbal plea for more.

It doesn’t stop the tears—not fully, anyway—but it does make them bearable, does make them easier to ignore, gathering your respective strength and bunching it together to create a flimsy barrier, one that won’t last for long, but can withstand the rest of the night.

Because try as he may, Dabi cannot hide the glittering dewdrops adorning his lashes, clumped together and saturated in sticky salt, or the continual, involuntary twitching of his nose, or the subtle trembling of his chin, juxtaposed by the love in his eyes, pupils blown to hell and insatiable for everything they scarf down—all of your sweet little noises and precious little expressions, hastily etching them into the tissues of his brain—and the genuine smile stretched across his face, widening a little more with each precarious laugh you tug from his throat.

It feels intimate, feels adolescent, feels new, and you’re powerless to quell the little bursts of giggles bubbling past your lips, peppering your hiccuped sobs, weaving together with Dabi’s gentle chuckles and short sniffles to create a harrowing harmony.

He lets you have your fun, though, lets you roll and hump and grind, his hips pressing up to meet yours, to drag his cock against that one spot buried deep inside of you, to pull those cherished, cracked sounds from deep in your throat, sucking them from your mouth and into his and storing them deep in his chest, protected by cages of bone and walls of pulsating flesh, keeping a piece of you inside of him forever.

And, really, you should feel sick, should feel disgusted for the involuntary little flutters your hole gives as those tears finally break past his lashes, streaming down his face and clashing against the elation shimmering in his watery eyes, contrasting the ecstasy glimmering in his pearly smile. Leaning forward, your tongue darts out from between swollen lips to lick and lap at the salty substance, soaking his sadness into your tongue and swallowing it down.

But it heightens the whole experience, every pound up and plunge into and pump out of you more hypersensitive than the next, intermittent flares of pleasure fraying your veins as they race your blood.

Fingertips brand his name into your skin, prints painting asymmetrical galaxies of swirling navy and periwinkle, fleeting and much too temporary as he encourages you to speed up, thighs beginning to burn.

You can feel them, those flares sparking to life in the pit of your belly, each rock forward conjured by strong hands sending sizzling cinders shooting up your spine, each piston of his hips to meet yours fanning the flames, raging higher and higher and higher until they lick at your ribs, needy moans and pathetic whimpers floating up your throat, carried on their embers.

“C’mon baby,” he nearly whines, large hands inhibiting your hips from slowing, forcing you to ride him faster and faster. “C’mon, show me how good you are, how much of a little whore you are, show me—ah, f-fuck—show me how beautiful you are cumming on my cock, show me, baby, I-I’ve been waiting so long to see,”

And it’s that confession, groaned out in near delirium, that has you gushing all over his cock, body convulsing almost violently as your cunt clenches around him, tears obstructing your vision as you cum with a strained cry of his name, making everything blurry, hazy, dreamy.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s it, that’s my good, good girl,”

He praises you throughout it all, tells you how good you are, how perfect you look, hands still clutching your hips, forcing you to continue moving until tremors jolt through your body with each brush of your oversensitive clit against his pubic bone, small hands scrabbling at his shoulder as you whimper about how it’s too much, too much, and it hurts, Dabi!

Leaning back as far as he can, he looks down as if he’s in awe, breathing ragged and chest heaving.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, gaze glued to his half-hidden cock, shaft and base glistening prettily with your juices. “Fucking beautiful,”

Finally, his stare lifts, cobalt eyes dark and ravenous as he lips at his chapped lips, breathing still laboured.

“My turn, baby,”

And you’re too fucked out to truly register his words, body boneless and pliant as he seamlessly rearranges you, unbending your legs—first one, then the other, cooing at your resulting wince—hooking a palm under one of your calves and pushing up, up, up until your ankle rest on his shoulders, thigh secured snugly between your bare chests, hard cock still buried deep inside of you.

A whine slips past your lips at the stretch, face screwing up cutely, and Dabi’s resounding laugh is cut off with simultaneous gasps as he readjusts your hips, because God, it’s so deep, you’re positive you can feel him in your throat this time, senseless babbling falling past spit-slicked lips.

Leaning back, your hands find purchase on his thighs, shaky fingers gripping his flesh as your hips roll, slow and sluggish towards his.

But he’s too impatient for that, now.

Because it just isn’t fast enough, hard enough, rough enough for him, one hand gripping your waist, the other latched onto your thigh, clutch tightening as he yanks you forward, hips snapping with a thrust so sudden it has you choking on a yelp, half-lidded eyes flying open.

It’s downright ruthless, brutal and merciless and entirely unforgiving as he slams up into you with such intense strength you practically bounce in his lap, his grasp on you so hard, so vicious that his nails break the skin, staining the pads of his fingers and the beds of his nails with bright crimson. Each powerful thrust is more relentless than the last, hips bucking up with insane precision as they increase in speed, every rut into you shoving another gorgeous grunt or glorious growl from his chest.

Arms lock around his neck to steady yourself, fingers threading themselves in a sea of ink and tugging harshly, knocking a high whine of his own from his throat.

Sobs shatter as they pry past your lips, whole body beginning to tingle from the pleasure, from the position, muscles aching as Dabi forces you to stay folded.

Everything’s beginning to feel faded, tears casting a misty daze across your vision and softening the edges, leaking into your skull and enveloping your brain in the familiar haze of unconsciousness.

“Gonna cum again?” he pants, words a faded growl more akin to a demand than a question, voice slicing straight through the cloud in your head, eradicating it in an instant. “Huh?”

“Uh—Uh-huh,” you nod your head, lashes fluttering as your eyes struggle to stay open, to be good, to obey.

“You better,”

And it’s the threat that has you pulsing around him again, whole body shuddering into his, muscles seizing and shivering.

“Please, please, please, Dabi,” you’re babbling, words flowing from your mouth in a steady stream, so slurred they’re nearly incomprehensible. “Please, want your cum, Da-Dabi; please, gimme your cum, you promised, you promised you would, you promised you’d fill my whole body with it, please, please, Dabi,”

“Oh, f-fuck,” he cries, the curse fracturing in his throat.

“Please, Dabi, I need it, I need to be full, please,”

Sharp ivory buries itself in supple skin with a predatory snarl, bones lodged in the flesh of your shoulder as he pumps you full of scalding cum; a silent stake of ownership, a subtle signifier that you are his now, too.

His jaw flexes in time with the throbbing of his cock, driving his teeth deeper, deeper, deeper with each infinitesimal increase in pressure, until they snap through the smooth barrier, flooding his mouth with metallic crimson.

A tongue pries its way past blood-stained lips to sop up the substance, greedy and insatiable as thick, sticky saliva varnishes his minuscule masterpiece.

He pulls back to admire his creation, a beautiful piece of art etched into your very being, full of the prettiest periwinkles and deepest navies and outlined by swirling charcoals, scarlet pooling in the indents left by his teeth the perfect accentuation. The tiniest whimper breaks in his throat as his rough thumb skims over the bite, glittering eyes flashing to your face as you exhale a hiss, a breathless little smile saturated with pride gracing his lips.

You can feel it, hot and sticky and oozing out of you, whining at the thought of even wasting a single drop. Little fingers sneak between your heaving bodies, varnished with sweet sweat, to dip into your raw, abused little hole, gathering as much of the viscous substance as possible and bringing it to your lips.

It appears Dabi’s in some sort of trance as he observes your motions, tongue unfurling to lick along his swollen bottom lip, laving the inky, scarred skin with glittering saliva, unblinking eyes glued to your actions, gaze shifting marginally from the way your mouth eagerly sucks your fingers in, to the way your lids flutter shut as you moan around the taste, to the way you pull your fingers free, mouth puckering greedily around them, sure to suck clean every last drop from your skin.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, voice totally wrecked, and you can’t help the shy giggle that barrels past your lips, fingers moving to gather more cum when he catches your wrist in a large hand, halting it.

“No,” he says, voice barely more than a whisper, hoarse and strained, cock giving another weak twitch. “Let me,”

His fingers are better, you tell him with a cute, lethargic nod, because they’re bigger, longer, can gather much more than your own as they delve into your cunt again, deep enough to brush your cervix, curling as he tugs them free, heaping glops of thick, gleaming cream glistening on his fingers.

Your mouth drops open immediately, obediently, tongue curling around his fingers in a way that’s nearly possessive as it welcomes them into the warm, wet cavern, lips wrapping around them as you suck hard, tongue licking and lapping and laving over his skin, between the cracks and crevices of his fingers, the digits spreading compliantly to allow your tongue to work, to ensure that you suckle every little bit from his flesh.

And you repeat it, you repeat these actions over and over again until his fingers are shrivelled and pruned from so much saliva; until your chin shimmers with strands of drool and watered down cum, the pads of Dabi’s fingers generously gathering the residue and pushing it back into your greedy, waiting mouth; until your cunt is empty and clean, and his cock is hard and leaking again.

But you’re practically falling asleep now, exhausted from the sex and the emotional turmoil. You tell him he’s welcome to use you as you sleep, to fuck you to sleep—and he thinks he just might take you up on that offer, cock jumping eagerly at the prospect; but later, another day. Right now, you need rest.

Tender hands untangle you from his body, your own limbs limp and lifeless, gathering you in strong arms.

“No,” you murmur, shaking your head torpidly and smushing your face into his neck.

“No?”

“No,” you repeat. “Not Daddy’s bed tonight,”

“If not Daddy’s—”

“Here,” you whisper, pressing a messy kiss to his neck. “With you,”

And, fuck, he’ll never be able to deny you a Goddamn thing.

✰          ✰          ✰

It’s unusually sunny, the next Thursday afternoon, deep azure sky void of any cotton fluffs or ivory strokes, the golden rays streaming through the penthouse’s mammoth windows diffused by the partially drawn chiffon curtains, haloing the living room in a hazy, gentle glow, catching on sapphire and topaz as they glitter and flash with smug smirks and menacing scowls.

“It’s so gorgeous out today,” you whine a little, throwing your head back against Dabi’s collarbone and gazing up at him with a rapidly forming pout. “Why do we have to spend it inside?”

“Because,” Dabi begins simply, slow and supercilious like you’re stupid. “I gotta kick this motherfucker’s ass, princess,”

“You wish!” Keigo scoffs, gesturing the game board perched perilously in front of him with a halfhearted sweep. “Dunno if you’ve noticed, but I already own more than half the world,”

“Game’s not over yet, bird boy,”

“Hawks,” you sulk, petulant, brows drawn and nose scrunched with the full force of your pout.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he reassures you without looking up, brilliant eyes scanning the board as if he’s calculating, cataloguing. “I’ll finish this quick, and then we can go outside, okay?”

“But—But the sun will have set by the time you guys are done!”

“Don’t whine,” Dabi warns, word fading into a growl, finally glancing down at you. “Don’t start being a brat now, not when you’ve been such a good girl all day,”

“But—”

“Listen,” he begins, no room for negotiation, straightening up a little so he can glare at you properly, his shoulders hunching in, entire form engulfing your own and voice dropping an octave lower as he murmurs to you. “You have an awful lot of homework to do. Don’t think for one second that I won’t send you to Daddy’s bedroom to do it all, alone.” He pauses, cobalt eyes searching yours, allowing his words time to sink in. “And you know Daddy will let me,”

“Yeah, of course Daddy will let you,” you grumble, stubborn tears resurfacing, nose twitching as you exhale sharply, molars grinding in an effort to keep them from escaping. “Daddy doesn’t care about anything anymore—”

“Enough,” Dabi snaps, and you flinch. “You know that isn’t true. We aren’t getting into this now, alright? Just—” he sighs, eyes finally softening. “Be good for us while we finish, yeah?”

Be good. Be good.

“Meanie,” you huff, falling back against him with a thump and crossing your arms.

But his hands are on your hips, squeezing gently as thumbs grind lopsided circles into your flesh, a silent apology; and your fingers are curling around his, lacing them together in a messy embrace and wrapping his arms around your form, holding yourself tightly to his chest, a silent acceptance; and you’re snuggling into his neck as he rests his chin on the crown of your head, comfy and cozy in your consolidation.

You doze off after that, lulled to sleep by the vibrating baritones of Dabi’s voice and the victorious harmonies of Keigo’s laughs, only to be woken when things begin to get heated again.

The rumbling of Dabi’s chest rouses you, bleary eyes blinking as you catch the tail end of his threat, something about the game still not being over, about how things can flip even in the final seconds.

“Yeah, uh-huh, sure,” Keigo’s saying, waving a self-assured hand in dismissal. “You gonna bark all day, little doggy, or are you gonna bite? Cause I’ve been hearing a whole ton of commination with very little accompanying action,”

Dabi laughs loudly, shaking his head with disbelief, a sharp smile on his face. “Nah, nah, nah, buddy, if anyone here’s Mr. Blonde, it’s me,” He pauses, something dangerous glinting in his eye as his smile stretches to uncanny proportions, and Keigo blanches, amusement melting into apprehension, as if he’s anticipating something. “You’re more of a Mr. Orange, wouldn't you agree?”

Keigo swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion, and you rub at an eye cutely, straightening up a little in Dabi’s lap, features crinkled in confusion at the sudden change in atmosphere.

“Well, I—” 

Tomura’s sudden appearance saves him from answering.

“Wait,” he calls, voice hoarse from disuse, dry and cracked as it mingles with Keigo’s stuttering. Clearing his throat, he tries again, voice finally booming the way it normally does, commanding the attention of everyone in the immediate vicinity. “Wait, where’s that from?”

“What?”

“That—That line; the—the doggy one,” scarlet eyes blink several times in quick succession, frantically scrutinizing their faces, sweeping between the two fluidly, akin to a pendulum. “Where’s it from? What’s it a reference to?”

“Oh, it’s uh, it’s a line from Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs,���

“No, no,” he shakes his head, muttering to himself as his eyes squeeze shut, outgrown nails beginning to rake viciously against crusty wrists, raw skin stained with strokes of rust and embellished with shimmering scabs, collecting under his nails as fresh blood starts to flow. “That’s not right,”

“No, Tomu, it is,” Dabi says, slowly, gently, expression sobering, distress incinerating his delight in an instant. “You know, the one with the guy who cuts the cop’s ear off? You love that movie; we’ve reenacted that—”

“No,” he growls, crimson flashing dangerously as his eyes snap open, and you feel Dabi jolt under you, reaction automatic and involuntary. Tomura whispers something to himself, gory hands tangling in silvery tufts and twisting, yanking on the strands hard enough that his face crumples. Blood runs down his forearm and soaks into the soiled cuff of his shirt, fresh blotches of scarlet blooming amidst those that have blossomed from a bright carmine and died a dull burgundy.

Shaking his head again, Tomura continues to mutter to himself, voice harsh and hostile as if he’s conversing with someone, pivoting on his heel and stalking towards his office.

“Daddy! W-Wait!” you squirm in Dabi’s grasp, his arms tightening around you, a pitiful little sound of frustration spilling from your throat.

Your tiny cries cut through the haze in his mind, sharp and swift and clear, and Tomura halts, throwing you a glance over his shoulder, voice grave as he dictates. “Stay with Dabi, baby, you hear me?” His eyes flit from your face to Dabi’s, holding a silent, three-second-long conversation, before his gaze finally darts to Keigo again. “Do not leave Dabi’s sight tonight, princess,” he says slowly, unblinking stare still glued to Keigo, finally breaking away after a beat of silence, finding Dabi’s face again. “Keep an eye on her; do not let her out of your sight tonight,”

And you can feel it, can feel the way Dabi's chest stutters under the force of his thick swallow, can feel the way his voice strains under confusion, under fear.

“Y-Yeah, ‘course boss, always,” he nods, head tilted in puzzlement. 

“Always,” Tomura repeats like it’s a gentle promise, features beginning to soften, trepidation and treachery beginning to decay. “Always,”

✰          ✰          ✰

It doesn’t dawn on him until much later that night, locked away in the sanctuary of his office, collapsed in his massive plush chair as tired eyes once again obsessively comb through the records he possesses—tape recordings of messages left, transcripts of phone calls, original copies of handwritten letters—which has now become a nightly routine, by all accounts.

Are you gonna bark all day, little doggy, or are you gonna bite?

The words loop through his mind, lazy and languid as they wane and waver in and out of focus, vaporizing to a hazy fog the moment he tries to grasp them, blanketing his brain in a cloud of confused distraction the moment he tries to dispel them, receding to the back of his mind to tug at his conscious with giggles and taunts.

It’s infuriating, the sentiment ripping through his thoughts in undetermined intervals, varying in their volume as tired crimson eyes sift through the material, the evidence, hunting, searching, investigating...

But eventually, eventually it clears, this misty smog infecting his mind, eradicated by two tiny words, scrawled in black ink, carved into the thick manilla paper, an absurd laugh prying its way past his lips.

There they are, glaring up at him and engraved into the crumpled paper held between trembling fingers—the second letter he had ever received, the night after he had disposed of Giran.

Lil puppy.

And, truthfully, he can’t believe it didn’t click immediately, the moment the words had bubbled past that stupid kid’s lips; he’s got these messages and transcripts practically memorized at this point, is sure he could recite them backwards it asked, and yet...

And yet, it doesn't finally snap into place, doesn't fully show itself, this perfectly sculpted jigsaw piece, until the dawn of morning, just as gold is beginning to spill over the horizon, several hours after the phrase was uttered.

Lil puppy.

Frantic hands shuffle through the tapes littering his desk, endless copies of repeatedly annotated documents and letters crinkling as he sifts through them, several cascading off the edges of his desk like some waterfall of ink and ivory, until he finds the tape he’s searching for.

OCTOBER 17, written across a fraying piece of cloth tape in big block letters.

This is it. This is the one, he’s absolutely sure of it, can feel it in the core of his fucking soul, positive he’s on the verge of some massive discovery, something that’ll finally make it all make sense, head nodding to himself as he hastily pushes it into the outdated player.

The thudding of his heart rattles his ribs, the cage expanding and contracting rapidly with each ragged pant torn from his throat, the echoes of his own breath creating berserk symphonies with the jumbled words crawling through his brain, too fast for him to catch, too fast for him to halt.

He finishes slotting the tape into the machine, a quivering finger pressing play, his breath cutting off the moment the reels begin to spin.

The words crack and sizzle, imbued with static as they come to life, and Tomura swears he can see them scratching themselves into his wood-panelled walls, blood beginning to drip from the crude slashes as the walls heave.

Ya gonna bark all day, lil pup, or are ya gonna bite? Huh? Lil puppy? Or does Daddy do your biting for ya, too? Chew up all your food ‘n spit it in your mouth? A caustic laugh spills through the speaker, so corrosive it’s a marvel that it doesn’t erode the plastic. Well, Daddy can’t protect ya forever, lil puppy. And you, hah! You can’t protect her at all.

A slender finger slams down on the stop button, halting the recording before it can begin spewing all of those heinous threats he’s heard too many times now, overly descriptive in what they plan to do to you, painting grotesque pieces on the walls of his skull, renditions that haunt him the moment the chaos in his mind stops, quiets, a whole new type of torture.

Silence drapes itself across his office, the chattering in his mind dimmed to gentle titters and pushed into a dark corner of his head, brows knitting as he contemplates.

This is invaluable information, sure, and he feels fucking elated, feels like all of his tireless work has finally surmounted to something, like he’s standing on the edge of a sharp cliff, and he can nearly see the ground below, mist almost fully eradicated—but there’s still something missing, though; one last piece to complete this puzzle, to crack this case...

Frenetic hands shove at the mess on his desk, pushing, digging, pulling, wildly hysterical in their search for his phone, transcripts tearing, messages crumpling, plastic of the tapes cracking as their corners collide with his wooden floors.

“Dabi!” he practically shouts, hoarse and heaving, when Dabi answers halfway through the second ring.

“Uh, Tomura?” Dabi grovels, disoriented and stuffed full of sleep. “What are you—”

“Hey, listen, listen. Who’s that kid you’ve been bringing around lately?”

“Oh, now you wanna know? Tomura, it’s 5:55 in the fucking morning,” he groans. “Can’t this wait until the sun is up?”

“No time, Dabi, no time,” and he sounds nearly distraught as the words urgently tumble from his lips, voice strained and brittle and thick with excited tears. “Need’ta know now, Dabi, or they’ll overthrow us; gotta know now, or the dogs’ll attack! Gotta collar ‘n cuff ‘em before they can,”

“Who’ll—Wait, what?”

“Who the fuck is he, Dabi?” And normally, normally a question like that would be harsh, scalding and impatient. But today, today it jiggles and jumps with glee, twitching with hopeful anticipation.

“Oh, he, uh, he’s some tweety bird I’m playing with," Dabi explains, voice warped by a yawn. “Nothing serious, no one important,” he sighs out, as though he’s falling back asleep again. “Just kinda stringing the cop along, y’know? I’ll probably dispose of him soon, or something,”

“A cop,” Tomura whispers to himself as his eyes widen, feet skidding to a stop, entire body going stiff.

“Hmm?”

“A cop! He’s a fucking cop!”

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you? Could’a swore I told you,”

“The Chief! I knew I recognized that handwriting from somewhere. Yes—yes, it must be, it has to be; it all makes sense now, he’s had it out for us from the very beginning—he’s the big man, the alpha dog, it’s gotta be him,”

“Wait, Tomura, what—” Dabi begins, only to be interrupted by incessant muttering, too low to discern. “What? I-I can’t hear you, you’re mumbling,”

“The time...Going to work...Likes his donuts...cream-filled...Gun, where did I put it...Maybe a blade this time—Oh, but I hate blades...Although, maybe...”

“Tomura? Tomura, stop, listen,” And it almost sounds like he’s begging, suddenly alert, alarmed, high notes of distressed concern fracturing his hasty tone. “Tomura, listen to me, what’s going—”

“I've got to go, Dabi,” his boss cuts him off abruptly, voice suddenly calm, serene, like he’s made a decision, a startling difference from the overlapping mumbles jumbling through the speaker merely a few moments ago. “I’ve got a rooster to slaughter,”

“Hold on a second,” Dabi gasps, shrill and frantic. “Where are you going!”

But the line goes dead.

✰          ✰          ✰

In the dark of his own bedroom, in his own flat wedged under Tomura’s penthouse, Dabi sits frozen in bed, phone still clutched to his head, fingers gripping the device so tightly it’s astonishing the glass doesn’t crack, doesn’t shatter to sharp pieces in his palm.

Time seems to slow, seems to stop for a moment as Tomura’s words coil through Dabi’s mind, letters mangling themselves with each lap around his brain, spiralling into a noose around the organ and tightening until it hurts.

Flashes of teal and jade splinter through the cracks in his curtains, mixing with the night and drenching his room in a dense yet faded blue, shapes of the night moving, morphing, as Dabi stares out into the indigo abyss, his heart oozing through the ribs that cage it.

Something is gravely wrong.

His own heartbeat blends with his quickening breaths, congesting his hearing as he calls Tomura’s phone twice more, receiving his voicemail both times. 

He tries Jin next, who tells Dabi that he’s on the island for the next week or so, but that Dabi’s most definitely overreacting.

“Pop a couple roxys and go back to sleep,” he tells him, voice gentle and warm. “I’m sure Tomura’s perfectly fine; your paranoia’s playing tricks on you, makin’ you think you heard stuff and all that—footsteps and elevator dings. Truthfully, Tomura probably just fell asleep in his office, or something; you know how he gets after a night of sniffing and crushing,”

Dabi does, probably better than anyone else, but Tomura didn’t seem high; didn’t seem like he was suffering a drug induced episode. This felt like something entirely different.

He tries Chisaki next, who promptly tells Dabi to fuck off and to never call him at six in the morning for any reason ever again—he doesn’t give a fuck who’s missing, and then Tomura’s father, getting his inept personal secretary, who claims she has no idea where the Boss went, but that she’s sure he’ll return soon, and she promises to pass along Dabi’s urgent message.

Kurogiri lives a floor under Dabi, though Dabi knows his nights spent at the penthouse have been increasing with alarming frequency. After three calls and no answer, Dabi’s beginning to get agitated; Dabi’s beginning to get desperate.

There’s only one person left to call.

“Dabi? What’s—”

“I don’t have time to explain, bird,” Dabi nearly pants out, words snaring on a hiccup in his throat. “I think—There’s something going on—Something’s wrong—I think—” Another hiccup lodges in his throat, and Dabi’s lids squeeze shut, fighting back against the acidic water stinging his eyes. “I think Tomura’s gone missing,” he manages in a harsh rush of breath. “I need you to break down the office door with me, I can’t—You’re the only able-bodied man I could find,”

“Dabi, listen—”

“I don’t have the fucking time to listen!” he roars, finally erupting, ears ringing as his blood surges. “Get your ass to the fucking penthouse, or I swear to God, I’ll burn you alive Mr. Blonde style...Keigo,”

The other man’s breath stutters, echoing through the receiver, and then the line falls silent.

“Yeah, that’s what we do to cops who are uncooperative,”

Several moments pass, and then, soft and defeated:

“I’ll see you soon,”

✰          ✰          ✰

Large hands rip you from your slumber roughly, lithe fingers burrowing into your flesh as they grip your biceps.

Lids flutter to life, lifting slow and sticky to reveal bleary eyes, glazed with thick sleep that keeps knocking your vision out of focus. Bright azure and sharp ink begin to burn through the mist, a gravelly voice bleeding into your consciousness, realization forcing icy dread to freeze the blood in your veins.

“D-Dabi?” you whimper, fingers twisting in his hoodie, pulling yourself up a little. “What’re you—What time is it?”

“Do you know where Tomura went?” He practically heaves out, breathing erratic as sapphire frantically searches your face, fingers searing blotches of navy into your skin as they flex.

“I—What?” you blink, squinting against the light, Dabi’s expression fully eradicating the drowsy haze sleep had cast over you, notes of panic sown into your tone. “N-No? Tomura’s—”

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, eyes squeezing shut as nimble fingers rake through onyx strands. “He didn’t—He didn’t like, wake you up for a moment to inform you of his leaving? Or leave a note?” Calloused palms begin patting the plush comforter, scrutinizing gaze searching for a scrap of paper embellished with Tomura’s neat scrawl.

“No, he didn’t. Uh, w-why?”

But Dabi doesn’t answer, too preoccupied with searching the bed for shreds of clues. Little palms encircle his wrists, tender in their touch, and bring both hands to your lap, drawing his attention back to you.

“Why? What’s going on?

“He’s missing,”

“What?” the word escapes your throat in a gasp, choked and full of spit, motions stilling. “Wh-What do you mean, he’s missing?”

“What do you think I mean,” he seethes, and you flinch. A sigh leaves his lips in a heavy exhale, body slumping into your touch, perching on the edge of the mattress. He inhales, holding the breath in his chest until his ribs feel like they’re splintering, swollen lungs pressing into the cage, and exhales the words. “I just—He called me, like, twenty minutes ago, going on about dogs and threats and how he has to—has to go kill a rooster, or something? I don’t know,” Dabi shakes his head. “It barely made any sense at all—I could hardly hear him—but now he’s fucking missing and I—I’m—”

His voice cuts off, words mutilating themselves into nothing more than a pathetic little squeak. And try as he may, he just can’t force those words from his mouth, can’t admit his concern, sentiments burning themselves to ash on the back of his tongue and clogging his throat.

But he doesn’t need to.

He doesn’t need to, because you can see it, can see it in his eyes, in the way they keep glazing over, terrified tears stubbornly resurfacing regardless of how ruthlessly he tries to blink them back; because you can hear it, can hear it in the infinitesimal tremors lacing his voice, in the way they keep causing him to stumble over his words; because you can feel it, can feel the thick distress patched up with unease practically saturating the atmosphere around him, cloaking him in it’s devastatingly hollow embrace.

“It’s okay,” you say softly, taking his face between pillowy palms, forcing his turbulent gaze to halt, holding his eyes with your own. “We’re gonna find him,” tiny thumbs swipe over inked cheekbones, Dabi’s eyes closing with the motion, leaning further into your touch, seeking comfort, reassurance, hope. “Alright? We’re gonna find him,”

And although there’s a quiver in your voice, he thinks he can believe you, thinks you’re right—you will be right.

And, for once, he affords himself a singular moment to become immersed in your touch, to surrender control just for a second and be weak, to open his arms and allow you to crawl into his lap and snuggle into his neck and sink small fingers into his hair; to cleanse his mind, his body, his soul, with your soft motions and gentle kisses and whispered affirmations, each one sinking into his flesh, each one a tiny spark, each one collecting at his core, satiating that creature—the one birthed from love and hate and jealousy and desire—with a warm fire.

But then the elevator dings, and Kurogiri speaks rapidly to someone in hushed tones, and large hands wrap around your wrists, bringing them down and pressing them to your chest, giving one final squeeze before he lets go.

Forty-five minutes and one fractured shoulder later, that thick mahogany wood finally gives way, cracking deep enough that Hawks can kick it open, splitting it clean in two.

Both you and Kurogiri have spent the past half hour pacing and calling and shaking, growing more fraught every minute the door stays standing, both having fired off several increasingly distraught texts to Tomura, neither getting any semblance of a response, from anyone.

It’s been getting harder and harder to keep those sobs locked away in a cage of shuddering ivory, vicious cries finally breaking free as the door falls open, revealing an image that will forever haunt the recesses of your brain, etched into your soul for eternity.

Paper litters the entire room—heaping piles of the scattered across the desk, the couch, the floor, so much so it’s impossible to enter the room without stepping on something, and you can see phantom footprints of Tomura’s loafers imprinted on the sheets—the documents covered margin to margin in Tomura’s neat scrawl, ink as brilliant as his eyes vibrant against the crisp white paper.

Dabi plucks a sheet from near his feet, bringing it close to his face. It’s a transcript of some sort—no doubt connected to the alleged mystery calls Tomura’s been receiving—though it’s nearly impossible to read the original wording, Tomura’s bright scarlet writing crisscrossing over it in overlapping annotations, accented with arrows and asterisks.

“How can he even read this shit?” Dabi squints, holding the paper further from his face in an attempt to view it in its entirety. “It’s just—It’s just nonsense,”

A tattooed hand snatches another sheet, eyes scanning it briefly, then grabs another, then another, then another.

“They’re all...” Dabi begins, and his voice sounds faint. “They’re all copies of each other—it’s all the same few conversations,”

You bend down, leaning into Dabi to examine the documents between his trembling fingers, then grabbing a handful of papers for yourself, shuffling through them slowly.

He’s right; the documents are merely replicas of themselves, rendered endless iterations, covered edge to edge in red pen.

“Oh my God,” you breathe, but the words are garbled, half eroded by the time they leave your lips, tongue melting to acid in your mouth, bitter and burning and bubbling as it eats away at your teeth.

Your vision wavers, fades, then clouds with blurry water, the whole scene beginning to swirl around your head, around your body—but strong arms latch around your waist to catch you before you hit the floor, their owner’s back vibrating against you as they murmur.

“Woah, woah, hey!” Hawks is saying as he tries to get your feet under you, hoisting you up to lean half of your weight on him. “You okay?”

No. You’re not okay.

You’re not okay, because the most concerning piece of the devastatingly deranged scene laid out in front of you is Daddy’s massive cork board, which has been stripped of all its confidential company research, its several calendars and meticulously organized sticky notes, and replaced with clippings from the documents dispersed among the room, pasted together to create illogical sentences and bizarre conclusions and sprinkled with notepaper and photos, comming together to create a harrowing mosaic.

With a photograph of the Chief of Police pinned right to the center.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #touya todoroki x reader #dabi angst #shigaraki angst #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #bnha smut #bnha angst #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

[thefanficmonster]

When You Put It Like That

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: After a long time of trying to convince the angel-like Y/N to utter a single bad word, Corpse’s attempts are finally met with success but not the way he expected.

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for this fluffy request, it was a ton of fun to write! I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post it but here it finally is and if you happen to come across it and read it, I hope you enjoy the experience hehe. Love, Vy ❤

“Wait, wait, wait, what did I miss?“ I say as I hop into the Discord call and the Among Us server, running five minutes late since I got carried away reading my chat. My fans tend to do that to me - make me lose track of time and everything else. That’s why I usually try to connect to the call and game before I turn to look at my chat. Unfortunately, I forgot that bit today.

“Omg, Y/N! Put the cat ears on! It’s for the greater good, just trust me!“ Rae commands urgently. Amusingly enough, in the background, muffled a little by her voice is Corpse’s, telling me not to.

“Not that I need a reason to wear cat ears...“ I trail off, equipping the cat ears both in-game and IRL. Yes, I own a pair of cat ears, is that so surprising? “But can someone fill me in on what’s happening?“

“’Cat girls are ruining my life’ just surpassed twenty million views on YouTube, so we’re celebrating! And Mr. Popular Pants over here keeps being a party pooper, saying it’s not a big deal and refusing to put on cat ears.“

That’s when I notice that Corpse’s avatar is the only one wearing a different accessory than the rest of us. It’s this kind of tantrum-throwing-toddler that gets me laughing my butt off every single time. Add to it the witty sibling banter between him and Rae, fun for the whole family. Well, ok, not quite for the whole family with the curse words they sometimes drop left and right.

Speaking of cursing, I don’t do it. I was raised in a household where a curse word would earn me and my siblings a punishment - always different and never not creative but most importantly - always intense enough to make us regret saying a no-no word with our parents or grandparents around. That’s kind of stuck with me and I can’t really get over it. Even when I’m upset, the first thing that comes out of my mouth is that censor word YouTubers use to not get demonetized. I’ve been using those words all my life: shoot, freak, frick, crap, darn etc. - so my channel is always kept kid-friendly in that aspect.  Now with that context in mind, you’ll understand better the shock I received for this next move I made.

“Corpse, Corpse darling, listen to me. It’s not a big deal, it’s a HUGE deal. Don’t play the humble card with us, we know you too well. Allow us to be as excited as you were when you find out!“ I start off sweetly enough, “Sounds good?“

Corpse hesitates for a second, mumbling something under his breath before replying, “Ok, I guess.“

“Great!“ I clap my hands together, “Then put on the fucking cat ears!“

To say everyone in the call, especially Corpse, is stunned would be an understatement. Hell, I’m even stunned for a second or two, my eyebrows raising at my own out of character words. And, as a person who’s only cursed a countable-on-the-fingers-of-one-hand times in her life, boy did it feel freeing and relieving. Why haven’t I been doing it sooner, for fuck’s sake?!

This must be a huge success for everyone present, once again - especially for Corpse who’s been trying to get me to curse basically since the start of our friendship. He seems too shocked to even claim and flaunt his win over my willpower to keep my language clean, which I honestly appreciate.

“Well, when you put it like that...“ He finally mutters, his voice barely reaching me through the ‘oh my Gosh‘ squeals from Rae, Poki, Lily and Leslie who never thought their tries would lead to success. On the screen, I watch as his little black colored avatar equips the famous cat ears, “...How could I possibly complain?“

“Hell fucking yeah!“ I shout, clapping my hands together, “Wooo fucking hooo!“

“Ok, how the hell are we gonna stop her now? Is there a switch we can flip?“ Toast asks, faux concern in his voice.

“Shut it, Toast. I’ve worked far too hard to have her going back to being an angel!“ Corpse retorts, sending me and the rest of the players in a fit of laughter.

It’s true! He’s been working hella hard to get at least one curse word out of me, bribing me with immunity, threatening to kill me first in Among Us, offering an alliance or being my bodyguard or whatever else I could possibly fall for.

Hey, at least I didn’t get bribed into it, right?

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse fanfic #corpse fic #corpse fanfiction #corpse fandom #corpse fluff #corpse x y/n #corpse x you #corpse x reader #corpse imagine #corpse imagines #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fanfic #corpse husband fanficiton #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband fluff #corpse husband fanfiction #corpse husband fic #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband is ruining my life #corpse simp #cat girls #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #fan #fandom #fluff #humor

[scaramouche-bully]

Hello! I started a writing blog recently! Any tips on how to keep your blog organized? I also wanted some tips on writing smuts, especially content warning part!

Thank you very much!

- ☀️👑 anon

Hi ☀️👑,

Oh! That's so exciting to hear! If you wouldn't mind, I'd love to be mutuals with your blog ♥ I'm also new to writing smut (this is my first time haha) and I don't know enough about Tumblr but I hope this is helpful!

Keeping your blog organized

Pengu had a really good post about this. They covered almost everything that I can tell you here. The link is here: Blog Tips

Writing smut

This is all personal preference so take this with a grain of salt.

Don't be afraid to use explicit language however, there are words you really want to stay away from.

Please don't use any scientific terms if you can find a better word. For example, penis and vagina really kill the mood and that one word can take someone out of your fic.

Smut is just another form of writing or telling a story. You want to keep your reader immersed.

I've seen this before but putting author notes mid-way in a fic or putting too many emoticons isn't the best idea. Whatever you have to say, say it before the fic. This is just a personal preference but dialogue is important when it comes to pacing. There's nothing wrong with dirty talk or having your characters speak, but if your fic is 80% talking. Then you might as well just write phone sex or text threads.

Format

It's a good idea to establish your fic format. Pengu covered this in their blog tips but it gives your writing some structure. You don't need to make your fic super flashy. There's no need to bold and italic every single word. This is a personal pet peeve but when writers bold/capitalize character's names or sentences like:

Kaeya leaned over | DILUC look over | WHAT DO YOU WHAT?

It sounds like shouting and it's not for me.

Pacing

Don't be afraid to jump ahead but don't bounce everywhere. If you want to start your fic in the middle of fucking, go for it. But don't dedicate one sentence to foreplay and then immediately skip to cumming.

Spelling and grammar

I'm still learning English so I still struggle with this but a bad spelling mistake is death. This is why I'm so thankful for anons that point them out so I can quickly change them. If you can find a beta-reader and you're comfortable with that, go for it. But read over your work before posting.

Content warning

This is really important, especially for darker content. It's exactly what it means, what are the contents of your fic? You can think of content warnings as telling someone what your kinks are. You don't want to surprise them just to find out that kink triggers them.

I write my entire fic out, read it back, then create a list of what kinks I happened to include. If you have a touchy subject in your fic like non-con. Please tag it (#tw non con). Tumblr allows users to filter through tags so the things that make them uncomfortable don't appear. Don't censor the tag (# tw n*n c*n) because that defeats the purpose.

Above all

Understand that everyone has a different writing style. Smut is just writing at the end of the day. There is no shame in looking at other writers and seeing what they do as reference (as long as you aren't copying and pasting their exact words). The less you focus on comparing yourself and growing paranoid over your work, the more confidence that will translate into your writing. I have never written smut before until I made this blog but I have confidence that what I put out, people enjoy, and that helps a lot. I hope this was helpful to you and if you have any other questions, please feel free to ask! I can't wait to see your writing ♥

- 🐑

#☀️👑 #☀️👑 anon #sheep talks #content warning #blog tips #writing tips #smut tips #anon ask

[callboxkat]

Banished (part 1)

Prompt: Banished

Author’s note:  Mappy MerMay! (edit: I see the typo and I choose to keep it)

Summary:  Janus has been banished from his pod for crimes that he did not commit. However, this merman’s bad luck is far from over. A mer is not meant to live on their own in the open ocean, and as one would expect, things do not go well. Enter: Florida Man.

Chapter Warnings:  false accusations, past imprisonment, banishment, treating someone as an outcast, censored swearing, crying, death mentions

Word count: 2415

Banished Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

Ao3 Link

@badthingshappenbingo​

...

“Janus, third child of Mariana and Glycon, you are hereby banished from this pod, and from all pods who condemn the nature of your crimes.”

Janus had known it was coming, but nevertheless, the merman felt the verdict stab through him like a harpoon. The water around him suddenly felt 10 degrees colder, and the walls of the chamber seemed to loom ever closer, suffocating him.

Banished.

Murmurs rippled through the small crowd. Scales shimmered as the gathered mers, most already hanging on the edges of the chamber, tried to distance themselves further from the outcast. From him.

“You will have until sunset to leave the reef. Should you be found within our territory after the sun sinks below the horizon, the penalty is death.”

Janus simply stared at the merwoman before him, holding herself tall in front of the ornate coral design upon the wall of the chamber, her face stony. Her verdict was final, and Janus knew it. It didn’t matter that he was innocent. Officially, he was a criminal. An outcast. Banished. Trying to fight her decision would only further tarnish his image, and most likely that of the family and friends he left behind.

A part of him didn’t care about that. But the part that did held his tongue.

Janus’s eyes shifted toward the back of the chamber, where he could see most of his family huddled together. His mother was crying, being held by his father. His siblings looked stunned. A part of Janus wanted to call out, to tell them to do something, even though he knew that there was nothing any of them could do to save him. He wasn’t sure they even believed him, that he had not committed these crimes. While they never told him so, their notably few visits while he was in prison spoke volumes.

His eyes slid back to the judge, and he dipped his head in bitter acceptance. His fists tightened, and the long, metal chain attacked to one of his arms clinked softly. It was there both to keep him trapped and to prevent him to use his electric abilities, as if he would ever do something so loathsome and barbaric, even if his family hadn’t been in the room.

The judge raised her hands, and the chamber began to empty. A couple of Janus’s siblings glanced back at him as they left, but mostly, the mers who had come for the show avoided looking at him now. They would not want to be associated with an outcast. He understood, even if anger gathered in his chest. Even his parents refused to look in his direction, and the glances his siblings spared him were brief.

Finally, when all who remained were Janus, the judge, and the guards, two off them swam to his sides and unlocked the chain from Janus’s wrist, one keeping a clawed hand at the back of Janus’s neck as a warning. The cuff was replaced with another, lighter, but permanent one. This one was etched with sharp symbols. Janus closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as it was locked in place, a permanent hindrance to how much of his electricity he could use without harming himself, a solemn marker of his fate, and a warning to all others of his crimes. He would never be taken into another pod, not with that on his wrist. Not unless he could somehow get somewhere far enough away that they might not know what it meant.

At last, the guards let him go. He was allowed to leave. To prepare for his departure, and to say goodbye.

Janus opened his eyes and looked up at the judge, who remained at her post, watching him. He knew that he was supposed to thank her for her mercy, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He figured that the “Go f*ck yourself” he actually wanted to say would do him and his family no favors, so he compromised and simply turned and swam from the room.

His life was over, in every way that mattered.

Outside, the bustling atmosphere of the reef seemed in sharp contrast to the somber mood within the chamber. Fish and other sea creatures weaved between glimmering mers. Cheerful gossip could be heard, as well as mers arguing over prices at colorful stalls, or calling out greetings to each other. Some kids seemed to be trying to see who could get the most pebbles to sail between the fork in a tall spire of coral.

It had been some time since Janus had been “free” this way, which only made the difference feel all the more staggering. To be suddenly thrust back into this normal part of life, even if only for the few hours they allowed him to prepare for his banishment, was… unsettling.

However, the atmosphere wasn’t quite the same as it had once been. None of the mers came close to him, Janus noted, choosing instead to take a longer path to avoid him, even as they acted as if nothing was wrong. As if it were a coincidence that they wanted to swim on the other side of the path. There had always been some nervousness that many mers tended to have around those with abilities like electricity or poison. But this was a whole level or two beyond that.

They knew. Of course they did. He was sure that everybody had been told of his “crimes”. The metal cuff on his wrist burned like a brand, but he refused to rub it, or to hide it with his other hand.

He swam away. He wasn’t even sure where he was going, but soon enough, he found himself at his destination

Of course. He wouldn’t have gone anywhere else.

It wasn’t his home that he found himself approaching, slowing his pace as it came into sight. Most of his family had said their good byes before his sentencing. Instead, he found himself at the home of his best friend: Roman.

Roman hadn’t been at Janus’s sentencing, but it seemed that the merman had somehow known he would come, and had been waiting for him. He was pacing, swimming back and forth between the two large, algae and sea star covered stones that marked the entrance to his property.

As Janus approached, Roman froze, and turned sharply towards him. His face was almost as red as the striping on his gorgeous tail, the pain in his eyes clearly visible with his long hair tied back.

“Janus,” he croaked, and pushed off of one of the rocks, swimming for Janus as fast as he could.

They crashed into each other, Roman’s arms encircling him. Janus choked on a surge of emotion and squeezed his best friend back. It was the first time they’d been this close to each other since his arrest.

“I’m sorry, Jan.”

“It’s okay,” he lied. Perhaps if he could convince Roman, Janus could believe it himself.

…

All too soon, the sky above the water began to turn pink and orange as the sun dipped below the horizon. It was time to leave.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Roman asked.

The two mermen floated together at the edge of the reef. Behind them, bioluminescent lanterns had begun to glow, and the sounds of life had begun to lull as most everyone went home for the night. Everyone except for them. Janus had a bag strapped to his back, with what few supplies he had allowed himself to bring. Some food, his gloves—which still fit over the cuff that would forever mark him as an outcast, thankfully—some bandages, a compass, and two carvings: one of his family made just after his youngest sibling had been born, and one of Janus and Roman, smiling for the carver.

Roman and Janus had gone back to Janus’s home to fetch the supplies. It had been nice to have Roman there, for his support. Most of his family had avoided him, even though he could tell they were heartbroken. A couple of his siblings had told him good-bye, and to take care of himself. Only his littlest sibling, who probably knew very little of the situation, had hugged Janus. She’d grown, since he’d last seen her. Janus had remained resolutely calm as he clung to her for the last time.

“Of course I’ll be okay,” Janus lied, now, looking out at the dark water.

Roman looked unsure, but Janus only turned and offered a half smile.

“So, uh… where are you going to go?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked. Janus still didn’t know how to answer.

“Maybe I’ll find another pod to join,” he shrugged eventually.

Roman’s eyes went to the metal cuff on Janus’s wrist, letters etched within it to symbolize his condemnation. He knew as well as Janus did that no mer pod who knew its meaning would take him, not when it was so clear to see.

“Maybe I’ll cover it up,” Janus said, putting a hand over the cuff self-consciously. He did his best to seem casual about it. He’d been almost defiant, back in the busier part of the reef, but it felt different, with Roman.

“Maybe,” Roman agreed halfheartedly.

“You know those arm bands the guards wear? Maybe I’ll get something like that. Or I’ll get thicker gloves.”

“You are pretty good at weaving,” Roman allowed. “You could make them look nice.”

“Naturally.”

They looked out at the open water.

“You could add some beading,” Roman suggested.

“Sea glass,” Janus nodded.

Roman nodded vaguely. “Oh—Jan, I have something for you.” He took off his own pack and started to dig through it.

“I hope it’s not too heavy,” Janus said dryly. “I’ll probably have to swim pretty far. If you’re giving me one of those statues of yours, I’m going to have to say no.”

“Ah, shut up,” Roman said, smacking his arm lightly. A heartbroken look flashed briefly on his face, and he quickly went back to digging through his pack. “No, it’s… here.” He pulled something out with a small flourish. He looked at it for a second, as if hesitating, then handed it over.

It was a small, red scale, a little bigger than the pad of Janus’s thumb, attached to a cord.

Janus took it in careful hands. “One of yours?”

Roman shifted, tucking his hands behind his back. “Yeah. You know, so you don’t forget about me on all your marvelous adventures to come.”

“I’d never forget you, Roman.” Janus looked down at the scale for a few seconds, tilting it so it shimmered in the fading sunlight. He glanced up, biting his lip. “I’m sorry I don’t have any to give you.”

They glanced down at Janus’s tail. It was sleek, nearly black, with a thick yellow stripe down the center that flared out at the fin, with yellow hints at the fins on his sides and back as well. All in all, it wasn’t all that different from most mers’ tails, except that rather than scales, its surface was made up of smooth, thick skin.

“It’s okay,” Roman said. “I’ll remember you, anyway.”

Janus nodded. He put the necklace around his neck, but kept turning the scale in his hands.

Silence fell over them. Above, the sun seemed to dip further below the horizon, signaling just how little time they had left.

And then Roman began to cry.

“Sh*t,” said Janus, looking down at the ground. “Don’t do that. You’re embarrassing me.” You’re going to make me cry if you keep that up.

Roman shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m trying—I know you want to just act like it’s normal, like this is just a normal night, but—Janus, I’m never—” his voice broke, and he had to take a shuddering breath to continue—“I’m never going to see you again.”

Janus knew that. Of course he knew that. He took a deep, steadying breath.

“This f*cking sucks.”

Roman, still crying, nodded emphatically.

“Come here,” he sighed. He reached out and put his arms around Roman. They floated there for a moment, holding on to each other. Roman’s grip was so tight that it almost hurt. Janus tried to memorize the feeling of his bracelets where they rested against his back, the texture of his hair against the side of his face, the way the merman felt in his arms.

“I just… How are you—how are you just okay with this? Why aren’t you yelling and screaming? Why aren’t you angry? Go fight them on this! Appeal or something. Fight. You’re… it’s not like you to just accept this.”

“It won’t change anything.” Janus said, his chin on Roman’s shoulder.

“You could at least… try.”

“I did try, Roman. I promise you I tried.” All the yelling and swearing and fighting in the world had gotten Janus absolutely nowhere. All his attempts to prove his innocence had been stricken down. One last attempt at an appeal would simply be rejected. It was too late to try, with the sun nearly set; and doing his trial over again would made no difference, anyway. Janus’s fate had been decided the moment he was arrested.

“Damnit,” Roman mumbled. Somehow, he managed to squeeze Janus tighter.

Normally, Janus was not the most cuddly mer in the ocean. But he’d allow it, tonight. …For Roman’s sake.

“What if I let you stay here?” Roman asked. “I could hide you. My parents left me a pretty big property. It has plenty of hiding spaces.”

Janus shook his head. “They’d figure it out eventually. And then they’d just kill us both.”

“Then… then I’ll come with you.”

Janus shook his head. “Roman, what about Patty? We can’t take them with us.”

Roman turned his head briefly away. He didn’t answer, other than to drop his head down so that his forehead rested on Janus’s shoulder, defeated. He never could have abandoned his sibling, or forced them to share Janus’s fate.

The sun sank lower.

“Just tell me you’re going to be okay,” Roman sniveled. “Really. Promise me.”

“Of course I’m going to be okay,” Janus lied. “I promise.”

It was okay that Roman clearly didn’t believe him. It was just what he was supposed to say, wasn’t it?

…

The moment that Janus was far enough from the reef that Roman could no longer see him, Janus broke. He just hadn’t wanted Roman to see him cry.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #ts sides #janus sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #ts janus #ts roman #ts remus #ts logan #sanders sides mer au #sanders sides fan fiction #ts fic #ts fanfic #ts #tss #banished fic #bad things happen bingo #bthb #bthb banished #prompt: banished #g/t #giant/tiny #gt #infinitesimal!sides #infinitesimal!janus #infinitesimal!roman

[leggomylino]

Sunrise | Hwang Hyunjin

 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Genre: Angst, Romance, Drama, Comedy

AU: Beauty and the Beast au

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader

Word Count: ~26k

Warning(s): Minorly dark themes, vague mentions of suicide, sparse censored language

A/N: It’s finally done! <3 | For Kumi, my dear friend. <3

Playlist:

Lighthouse → Hope

forever rain → RM

Tag List: @hanniiesuckle17​ @distrikt9​ @hanstagrams​ @hyunsunq​ @smolboiseavey​ (let me know if you want to be added!)

ღ Stray Kids M.List | M.List ღ 

  .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

| Zero ❧

It was no lie that Hwang Hyunjin was what he was. A monster. A crook. A fiend. 

But had that been his fault? No. Had it been his intention to piss off the old hag who showed up at his doorstep looking for shelter, who also happened to be a witch?

...Well, yes, technically. But in his defense, he hadn’t known she’d been a witch. He just assumed she was another ex-royal his father’s company had put out of business, bankrupt and seeking reconciliation. Another pawn knocked off the chess board. 

So then was any of this really his fault? 

Not in the slightest.

Late November was when colorful bouts of leaves piled in the corners and around the front doors of Everain Palace, when icy winds took hold from north arctic fronts and chilled all those who inhabited it to the bone, or at least, those unfortunate enough to end up imprisoned in the steely corridors below. Dank, gray shadows fell over the surrounding dark atmosphere of the cold stone walls, seeping in elongated coverage that fell over the once festering city of New Amber, now reduced to nothing but a sickly small town until the return of the harvest season. If anyone even bothered coming back.

It was no secret why no one ever wanted to come back. Everyone knew about the curse. Rumors spread fast, and as the head of his father’s company Hyunjin couldn’t hide his scarred face forever. Afraid of becoming infected, afraid it would spread, half of the town vanished within the first few days. Another half of what was left disappeared over the course of the following two weeks, and the number of residents continued to dwindle even after that, until Hyunjin couldn’t even tell you how many remained as of today, six years later. Ten, maybe twelve royals, some small groups of peasants temporarily settling in until they too were told about the curse, and the dark secrets of the young man who lived beyond its walls.

He was once beautiful until he ticked off the wrong old lady. Now he lives out his days staring at a reflection of who he once was.

The part he hated the most was that he couldn’t deny it was the truth.

“Mirror!” he called, clapping his hands once, twice, three times. “Where is my mirror?! Where the hell did you put it this time?!?”

Begrudgingly with a sigh a shadow cascaded down along the stone wall, manifesting into something three-dimensional only a moment later. Blue hair fluttered softly around smooth, rounded features, a lone earring sparkling faintly in the pale moonlight, accentuating ripped jeans and the confines of a pitch-black hoodie. 

The whole ensemble was tacky and incredibly outdated. “Here…” His shadow said, holding out the small ornate mirror. His contractor grabbed it with anxious greedy hands, claws already beginning to form far too early thanks to the autumn equinox.

He paced away eagerly, collapsing to his corner of comforting feather downs and soft silk sheets, as he stared at a reflection of who he once was, who he used to be. How he would look today had he just pretended not to be home that ill-fated night.

“Jisung!” He barked, glaring angrily over his shoulder. “Come here.”

The boy-shadow sighed once more, nodding slowly as he had no right to refuse the man who had complete control over him. So he slowly sulked over toward the bed, shimmering at the seams as he passed through the inanimate threshold like a waking dream. Carefully his edges began to dissolve, bit by bit, until nothing but a faint air of smoke remained, settling dispersedly around the dim-lit bedroom.

Hyunjin never took his eyes off his past-in-the-present self, who only stared back at him with vacant, mournful eyes. “Show her to me.” he demanded, gently leaning a few inches forward. “Where is she?”

With careful swirls like a rippling tide the mirror faltered, spiraling and transforming the glass picture until the prince’s face was gone, the image of a girl taking his place.

Then another one. Then another one…

The mirror suddenly cracked. His hands tightened around the steel handle, a low growl resonating from behind parted lips curled up in a snarl.

“I’m sorry…” the mirror muttered, Jisung suddenly appearing out of the cracks to stand before him. “She’s still not here. I don’t know what you want me to do abo--”

“I don’t want you to do anything!” Hyunjin snapped, throwing down the mirror and shattering it into a million more pieces. “I just want her here! What’s taking her so long? Where is she?!”

“I--” Jisung winced as a few stray shards transpired through him, the feeling still foreign even after all these years and past mirrors similarly broken. “...I think these things just take time--”

“Time?! TIME?!?” Hyunjin was beyond livid. The moment he stood his servant shrunk back, nearly folding himself into the safe confinements of the old chiseled walls. “Time is something I don’t have. You know this, Jisung. If this goes on any longer I’ll…” His voice trailed off and he gulped, snatching a fistful of hair in his sharp dark claws. “...Why isn’t she here yet? What are you not telling me?”

“Telling you? Wha--”

“Shut up and answer me!” He demanded, slamming the boy against the wall. The poor guy would have sunken through had he, again, not been under such a binding spell. Instead the only thing he could do was resentfully comply, doing all he could to spitefully avoid eye contact. 

“I’m sorry, Hyunjin. I don’t know--”

“You’re working with her, aren’t you?” Hyunjin continued with narrowed eyes. He began to shake him, tightening his chokehold around the boy’s throat. 

Jisung gasped a bit, nails gritting against the echoing stone walls. “I-I really don’...” He tried to choke out. “...I really don’t know. I swear. Honest.”

“Lies.”

The tightening intensified. Jisung felt like he was nearly going to burst.

That’s when he’d gotten the idea.

“Y-You’re right! I lied! I know where she is!”

The moment he was let go Jisung gasped for breath, grateful as the heavy sinking feeling of doom left his vacant bones. Hyunjin blinked once, twice before narrowing his eyes again, taking a careful step back. 

“...I knew you were lying to me. Where is she?”

After holding up his hand for breath, his shadow slowly looked up from his knees, straightening and readjusting his strange, stretchy cufflinks of the hooded cloak he wore. “She’s lying dormant somewhere. I can get her for you.”

“Where?”

“Under...erm,” He awkwardly coughed. “...O-Over that way...out yonder.” 

Hyunjin didn’t seem very keen on the way his servant waved his hand dismissively in the random direction of “out yonder”; but it was a risk he was willing to take. He was desperate. Three more days and...and…

“Fine,” he answered at last, lavishly turning his cape away from him to pace towards the half-opened window. “You have until sunrise to bring her to me. I won’t wait a moment longer.”

“Wha?! But she--”

“Fine! Twenty-four hours. And you better return with the right one, or else.”

He gave a precise gaze over the slender curve of his princely shoulders, and that was all it took for his shadow to sink out of sight into the folds of stone-pressed cement below, the clouds blotting out the last rays of moonlight around them.

| One ❧

“Y/n~ Y/n, hurry up!! C’mon, we’re gonna be late!!”

“Yes, yes, I’m coming…”

Your friend Rei ran another ten yards ahead, impatiently stopping for the umpteenth time for your slow-leisurely pace to match up. “Uuuugh, c’mon already!”

“I said I’m coming…!”

...Sheesh. 

Autumn season. It was the time when the leaves changed their colors, one final requiem of individuality before fluttering away in the cool breeze, carried off somewhere to decompose and fall victim to the circle of life. It was also the time you and your friend Reiya, who you casually referred to as just Rei, spent all hours of the short-lived days travelling from village to town, in order to sell the wares of your fathers’ goods. They were both merchants, you see; it’s how the two of you had met, many years ago. But they were old now, the circle of life creeping up on them as well, and since all the men in your town were either taken or losers not worth your time, each of you vowed to take over the family business, carrying it wherever the wind decided.

...And anyway, neither of you were interested in the prospects of marriage; being tied down? And taking orders from some mustached buffoon? ...No thanks. It’s not that you hated the idea of settling down, just...not in your town. Not at your age. Not yet.

This way, things worked out well-- you and Rei got to travel the continent, avoiding arranged marriage and spending time in each other’s company selling your fathers’ wares and in turn, helping them out. They were free to enjoy a peaceful retirement while you added memories of wondrous places and escaped the evil clutches of a life tied down to a broomstick and a kitchen stove. It was perfect.

...Except for days like now, when you’d both woken up late and were at risk of losing a good place to set up shop. Your bad this time.

“Hurry up!!” Rei whined, doing her famous one-tap-two-step-hurry-up dance. The balls of her slippered feet hardly touched the stone pavement of the path leading to the city, her arms flapping like a chicken as she readjusted the triple-stacked backpack of goods from falling off her bony shoulders. “Let’s go let’s go let’s go!!”

“I told you, I’m coming!” You groaned, having been stuck with cart duty. It may have been nearly empty, but it sure didn’t feel like it. Normally it took two people to steer, in addition to horsepower by your trusted steed, Carrots, but unfortunately…

Carrots had too many carrots last night. And she wasn’t doing so well. 

It wasn’t serious, but it would be at least another few hours before she got it out of her system, so this blissfully unfortunate morning it was you and Rei having to wing it...with you having pulled the short end of the stick.

“Nnnneiiigh,” Carrots groaned from behind you. You gave her a gentle pat while trying your best to nudge the cart over the last hill. 

“It’s alright, girl. We’re almost there. Just a little farther.”

She let out a whine, almost seeming to nod in understanding.

“Ahh, hurry!” Rei called again, making haste for the city gate’s checkpoint line. All merchants and traveling businessmen (or women) were required to have their items evaluated and checked by city officials before being licensed a temporary warrant to sell.

When you made it to the top of the hill, already out of breath, you deflated-- then just about fell over when you saw how long the line was.

Oh man. This is all my fault. We shouldn’t have stayed up so late…

“You look like you could use a hand.”

You turned around to find a tall...ish, slender boy, with hair the color of chocolate and big, round eyes to match. A single silver earring hung from his right ear. “Oh, uh, that’s okay…”

“...Han,” he clarified, gripping one side of the cart. “Han Jisung. Just let me handle this. You should probably go help your friend; she looks like she’s about to fall over.”

You peered around the other side of the small wagon to see that, indeed, Rei was playing a game of balance, swaying a bit too far this way and that as she wobbled on flat calloused feet toward the back of the long line. But you? Leaving your father’s shop in a stranger’s hands? Even if it was in a populated area, and he did seem genuine…

“That’s okay.” You told him, grabbing tighter onto your side. “I can take it myself, I’m used to it. Thank you for the offer, though.”

“...” He blinked at you a moment, doing nothing at all but staring. Just when you were considering calling for Rei to come back, though, he laid off, tossing smooth hands in the air before shoving them in the front pocket of the strange cloak he wore. “Alright, alright. Didn’t mean to scare you or anything. If you insist, I’ll be on my way.”

He let go, and you felt the full weight of the cart pull your body downward, gravity affecting you in the worst way. ...Maybe…

“Um, hold on!” You shouted, and he stopped a quarter of the way down the hill, glancing up at you expectantly from over his left shoulder. Curse him. “Yeah?”

“...” You set your pride and suspicions aside. “...It would actually...well, I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to help. Just to the base of the hill.”

His eyes did the smiling for him, and was back at your side in seconds, taking the right flank while you managed Carrots and the left.

“Mind if I ask you something?” He pipped just steps later, eyes peering at you from over the cart as he jumped like a small puppy trying to see over a counter space. You groaned.

“I suppose I have no choice, so, sure. What is it?”

“Well…” He was beginning to mumble. “I know this may seem kind of sudden but, I have this...friend…”

“No.”

“Huh?”

The cart stopped rolling, delaying your schedule that much farther. “If this is headed where I think it is, I’m sorry but, I’m not interested. I’m very busy and I don’t have time for...love. Or a relationship. Other than the one I share with my customers.”

“Oh! No, no! Hahah…” Han had let go of the cart as well, scratching his cheek. “I-It’s not that! Nothing like that...I…”

His explanation was cut off by your sudden gasp, lunging forward to grab the cart as it started to descend down the steep slope. But it was too late; it slipped out of your grip like butter in a frying pan. “Oh no!”

The cart raced down the hill, gaining momentum and speed the farther it went. Crowds of people gasped as well, jumping and throwing themselves out of the speeding wagon’s path, until…

It reached the bottom, but it kept going. And it was headed right for Rei. 

Horror-stricken, you jolted, racing down whilst cupping your lips to scream out a warning call. “Rei! Look out!!”

Rei turned around. Her eyes widened.

But she remained unscathed. In the blink of an eye something dark and ink-like had raced over the pavement and grass fields; it manifested beneath the wheels, and the cart just...stopped.

“Rei!!” You cried, letting go of Carrots to plunder to her side. She’d fainted, but Han was there to catch her.

Han…

You stared him down nervously from the other side. “...How did you get here so fast?”

He carried your friend to the shade of the forest surrounding the city walls, others whispering and already beginning to spread gossip. You tried to block it out and ignore the intense stares and glaring from eighty-or-so business-competitors, following Rei’s limp body and coming to rest beside it, pulling her head into your lap. 

Though you were out of earshot, the whispering and curious eyes still followed you; so not good for business.

“Hey. I asked you something,” you said again, making sure to keep one eye on him, and one on the cart. “How did you get down there before I did? I didn’t even see you move.”

The strange boy didn’t say anything, save for laughing a bit. He then proceeded to ask you the oddest thing: “A man, or a beast...do you think we have a choice? On what we want to be?”

“What?” Your brow furrowed to form one solid unibrow. “Don’t ignore me. I asked you first. How did you get down there so quickly?”

Still, he refused to answer. “Technically, I asked you first. So you have to answer me.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” you replied, “but I will call for help if you don’t answer me right now.”

Seeing the anger on your face, the boy calling himself Han looked out into the near-distance, at the line steadily encouching forward and now forming a beeline around your abandoned shop. “Well, given that we are out of earshot...it’s not much of a threat, but...still,” he shrugged, almost to himself. “I suppose we wouldn’t want that.”

He set himself down criss cross applesauce, next to Rei’s spaghetti legs. You huffed, attempting to protectively heave her a smidge closer to you. “Alright, well, go on.”

He gave you the goofiest grin. “Well, it’s quite simple, really! I just swooped under the wagon, and jimmied the breaks! Worked like a charm!”

You frowned, not at all appeased with that answer. “You...jimmied the brakes?”

“Yep!”

“And it just...stopped.”

“That’s right.”

“...You dove beneath a speeding wagon and managed to attach yourself underneath?”

“That’s what it sounds like~”

“That’s what it sounds like?!”

“Look, we can point fingers all day at who-did-what, but if you don’t hurry and get back in line, you’re not gonna have any place at all to set up your little shop of knick knacks or...whatever it is that you sell. Is that a snow globe?” He asked, reaching for Rei’s bag. You swatted his hand away.

“...Fine, whatever. Thanks for saving her, I guess…”

“And?”

You pressed a kerchief from your pocket to Rei’s forehead, smoothing ebony locks from her face. “And?”

Han smiled. Again. “You gotta pay me back somehow, right?”

“For doing a good deed? Do I?” You scoffed. “And here I thought you were doing it just to be kind…”

“Well now you know~ ...I mean—“ He swallowed at the glare you gave him. “...What I mean is, I did do it. To be kind. But I’d love if it you could still pay me back by coming with me to—“

“I’m not going anywhere with you or your dumb friend, if that’s what you’re asking. Just save it for the birds.”

Rei was starting to stir, twitching slightly, her eyes squinting in and out of consciousness. You began patting her cheeks and calling her name, but unfortunately, she still wasn’t fully there yet. That, and the annoying man at the other side of her wasn’t finished. “I have a proposal for you,” he stated.

“A proposal?” You didn’t like the sound of that. “...I’m not interested. Look, I’ll just, give you something from my shop, and you can be on your merry way, okay? Here, what about that snow globe you were eyeing before?” You reached over Rei’s body, fishing it out and handing him the novelty. “Take it. It’s yours.”

The glass globe held the contents of a small gray castle, surrounded in a sea of red roses. Han took the globe from your hand, examining the structure and looking almost nostalgically somber as he watched the fake snow fall. “...Thank you, but it’s not what I want.”

“Then what do you want?” You groaned. “Look, just take whatever. I don’t care, it doesn’t matter. I have more important things to worry about right now.”

“...What I want,” Han said, ignoring that last part of your statement, “is for you to answer my question.”

“What? What quest— aah, I told you already, I’m not—!”

“A man, or a beast? As individuals, do we have a choice?”

The way he’d cut you off and stated his query so seriously made your head spin; it certainly caught you off guard, that was for sure. “...I’m sorry...I don’t understand the question.”

“Hmm…” Han thought. “...Imagine you were put under a...spell. A spell that turned you into a hideous monster, with fangs and claws and fur in places you’d never imagined...but it comes and goes, this curse of yours.” He tilted his head. “Are you still human? Or are you now a beast?”

Thoughts slowly circled your mind, not knowing what to think. You had no idea where any of this had come from, the only responses coming to mind countering questions: who is Han, what is he up to, why did he want to know what you thought of such a peculiar idea…

“Well?” He egged, leaning backwards.

“...I...I don’t know,” you confessed, listing your gaze aside. “I really have no idea where you got such a crazy idea from.”

“Okay...then let me ask you this. I’ll help you out.”

What? Help you out?

He leaned forward this time. “Do you think we have a choice? Is it possible to define ourselves as one or the other?”

“Well...yes, I would think so.” Your eyes met his, hoping that if you gave him an honest answer, perhaps he would leave. “We all have a choice— to be monsters, or men. It is not a matter of blood, or a spell, but a condition of the heart.”

You didn’t know it, as you’d turned away; but the moment those words left your parted lips, his eyes shone with the hope of a thousand suns, dawning the horizon after the longest winter storm. 

You’d turned away to shuffle for a bucket and some more handkerchiefs in Rei’s Bag of Wonders, holding out the bucket without turning your eyes away. “I changed my mind. Make yourself useful and get me some water from the nearby stream, or in town, whatever. Just—“

But when you cast your eyes back to where Han was sitting, he was gone.

| Two ❧

“You must have been having one hell of a dream to stay passed out for so long.”

“Ahaha…” Rei buried her fingers in her hair, entangling them in the sea of ebony that flowed behind her and came to a steady delta tied near the ends. “Sorry about that. It was like I wanted to wake up, but I just couldn’t. Like something...some kind of invisible wall was preventing me from doing so.”

“Hmm…”

The two of you had made it into town safely, with little trouble other than what you’d previously gone through with that strange boy, Han. After getting checked in and circling the shopping district three times, your luck finally began turning around when one of the vendors apparently felt ill and decided to turn in early; bad for him, but great for the two of you. The spot couldn’t have been more perfect, either: positioned right in the center of all the hustle and bustle, it attracted plenty of attention, and the moment you set up shop, customers came lining up at the window.

The two of you worked for hours to make up lost time, grinding your fingers to the bone, shuffling around each other to count coins, search for wares, and sign receipts of official purchase. By the time the lunch bell rang, you and Rei were about ready to fall over.

“I’m tired,” Rei moaned, collapsing to her knees and digging under the counter for your grocery supply. Woefully, her hand came back...empty. “Ah, we’re all out of bread! And apples…”

“What about that bag of trail mix you bought two days ago?” You asked while organizing receipts. Someone had to do it, and you knew Rei sure as heck wasn’t going to.

She sighed, shaking her head. “Carrots and I polished it off yesterday. ...Oh, carrots.” Her stomach growled right on cue, a forlorn sigh escaping dry lips. “...I’m so hungry...”

Something about that previous statement made you pause, inclining your head to the right in thought. …Carrots…Carrots…?

...Oh no. Oh hell’s bells, you’d completely forgotten about Carrots!

Without a moment to lose you dropped the stack of receipts you’d been tidying up onto the counter, hopping out of the wagon and running as fast as your boot-clad feet could take you. Your knees were still stiff and exhaustion weighed you down, but you couldn’t allow that to stop you. Not when that poor (dumb) horse was wandering and hopefully still waiting for you.

“Hey!” Rei yelled, her head leaning out the window. “Where are you going?! You forgot your coin purse!” She waved said object in the air, as if asking for a thief to come and swipe it. “I want lemons and some gum drops! I saw a candy shop about a block down!!”

“You can’t have candy for lunch!” You hollered back. “And I can’t right now, you’ll have to get lunch yourself today. There’s something I forgot.”

Her confused expression said everything else for her, but you didn’t have time to chat about lunch plans. You had to get that horse.

You ran with all your might (what little you had left) out of the shopping district, down three blocks, and past the city gate...that is, until a guard stopped you.

“Woooah there, little miss.” The man grabbed your arm, effectively pulling you backward; and he had quite the grip to boot. “I’m afraid you can’t just go hauling eighty out here like that. I’ll need to see some I.D.”

You cast anxiety-riddled eyes to the man, making sure each gesture showcased your anger. “What? To leave the city? ...But I’m leaving, not entering!” Your anxious gaze sought out into the trees, the pastures of bitter decay and spooky autumn silence where Carrots was last seen. “Please, I need to get out there. My horse is missing, I’m afraid I forgot about her after a...mishap...and ended up abandoning her. She’s sick, so I don’t have time to play games!”

“That’s all fine and dandy, ma’am, but rules are rules. Show me your I.D., please.”

“I…! …”

Reluctantly, you yanked your arm away, digging for…

...Nothing, because you’d forgotten your coin purse. The image of Rei waving it with pride and worry left a bitter taste in your mouth. And your vendor verification permit was left in the shop, as well. “...I don’t have any. My permit is with my co-partner, back in the shopping district.”

“Hm. Well, you’ll just have to go back and get it, then.”

“What?! I don’t have time for that!” You turned pleading eyes to the officer, prayerfully searching for understanding alongside a missing horse. “Please sir, she couldn’t have wandered very far. I’ll be right back! I’m only going--”

He shook his head. “Sorry miss, like I said, rules are rules. Because of the recent string of kidnappings, all residents and visitors alike are required to provide valid identification before coming in or leaving city walls. Mayor’s orders.”

You’d been thinking about making a run for it or finding another guard to reason with until the word kidnappings made its way into the conversation. Normally you would have been curious and not too concerned...however… 

...That’s considering you heard it from a local paper floating in the breeze, or along the gossiping grapevine from one vendor to another, one chatty socialite to the next whispering to each other among the lively bustle of city life. Why were you just now hearing about it here? From an officer? How long had this been going on?

In all the questioning silence, you basically forgot about...what was it you were looking for again? “Um, forgive me for prying, but...kidnappings?”

“...E-Er...that’s...” The officer flinched, taking a half step back. “...Um...well...dammit all…” He removed his thick uniform hat, scratching his head a moment before readjusting it to fit tall and proud. He cleared his throat. “...Please forget I said anything. If you wish to leave the city, I’ll need to see some valid I.D.”

“......”

He simply stood there, pretending as if nothing had happened. The only proof you had was the sweat swimming along his forehead, but surely he’d blame that on the nonexistent autumn heat and the fullness of his uniform.

You had no choice but to reenter the masses.

- ❧ -

When you return to the gates, the same officer approved of your vending license (still sweating from that “autumn heat,”) signalling for the men in the tower to let you through. It was late afternoon now, the skyline growing dangerously close to dusk; when you’d returned to shop a while earlier, you couldn’t admit to Rei that you’d lost her best friend next to you (though some friend she was having no idea about the whole thing...), so you were left with little choice but to play along and have lunch until it was time to work again. The late-day crowds were always far less stressful than morning shifts, so confident she would be fine on her own you took back off for the South entrance the moment the work bell rang.

“Carrots...Carrots...looking for a food-poisoned horse…”

Sigh. The words were a groan from your lips as you trudged about a floor of dead leaves and twisted bare tree branches. The skyline was starting to wear thin, every step you took noisy and either resulting in startling a field mouse or alerting a wandering bear out of hibernation of your whereabouts. Not an ideal situation to be in.

I’ve been wandering these woods for three hours now. Dang it, where is she?! ...Normally, Carrots was a good horse; she followed you around, did as told, and when you did lose her (...as this wasn’t the first time…) she stayed put and waited for you to return; like that time in Cresentmoon Harbor (for it was literally shaped like a crescent), when you and Rei had been so distracted by some dashingly handsome fisherman named Minhee and wanted to hear his tales of the rough blue sea that you’d, yes, left your horse astray, where a group of thugs almost snatched her. 

That had actually been a fun day, watching Rei throw apples and trinkets and club the ringleader with his own beatstick. This time, however, you’d known exactly where you left her. You were sure there were no gangs or thugs near a place like this; not a clean-cut, safeguarded place like Westwind...any yet, Carrots hadn’t been there. Not at the top of the hill where you left her, or beneath it, beside it, or anywhere nearby.

...Although...didn’t that cityguard mention something about kidnappings?!

That stupid horse. I knew I should have overruled Rei and named her Dumdum. She went and got herself kidnapped! URGH, I had to go pulling the short end of the stick today--

A sharp wind blew by without warning, causing you to shiver. Mournfully, you wondered if maybe you should turn back and enlist Rei’s help after all...have her summon back that courageous, beatstick-smacking frenzy… 

Oh, but how heartbroken she’d be to hear of Carrot's disappearance! ...It was all for naught, though... 

Carefully, you turned around and began walking the way you came, one step, then two...then stopped. Looking out into the moors, the forest beyond, the stretch of trees and forest decay that went on for miles and miles seemed...different, somehow. It went on for miles and miles and...miles and miles and miles. It didn’t seem to have an end.

I know I didn’t walk that far… Now now, Y/n. Can’t see the forest for the trees, hm? It’s no big deal, I just wandered a bit farther than I thought. I’ll start heading back now.

Because Rei was the fun-loving, clueless bubbly-type, you had to be the strong one (not including Wild, Pissed-Off Rei). You were the confident, analytical, and ambitious of the two. You prefered logic and data, and relied almost whole-heartedly on common sense, with few exceptions. And as any rational person of your nature would, you’d made sure to mark the entire way you’d come; so it was no big deal, wandering out a bit farther than you had intended. 

...Except...

...The first marker never came. Not after five minutes, not after ten. You walked in the opposite direction for precisely 1,000 steps and counting, and all that greeted you were the same exact scene of bare trees and dead leaves. In the same order. In the same tones and volumes and shapes.

It was going to start getting dark in the next two hours. You stopped, thinking. Running numbers. Fishing for data…...fishing…...fish…...Minhee...heheh…

No, no! Staying on track was crucial at a time like this…! 

But you ended up standing there, for another ten, twenty minutes maybe, not sure what to do. There was a strange vibe in the air, you could feel it. The way it wafted through the air and settled on your skin. Rattling your bones. It almost felt like it was bribing you in another direction. 

So you did an illogical thing unlike your nature: you kept walking straight ahead, ignoring it for as long as you could. But dammit, the scenery never changed! Not after an hour, not after two… 

You were tired at this point, collapsing hopelessly by the same tree you passed a hundred times...and then you got an idea, like a fog lifting from your brain (Why hadn’t you thought of this sooner?!). Grabbing a twig, you made a small notch in the tree. Then you took off running, jogging at a brisk pace. Never making a single right or left turn, not even in the slightest. Headed only one direction, following alongside the setting sun.

That same notch bid you a pleasant hello eight and a half minutes later. To make sure it wasn’t just a coincidence, you walked another eight and a half minutes; same notch, same place, same twig resting lifelessly to the right. Same tree.

It was getting dark now. Soon the sun would be completely gone over the horizon, tucked away for twelve hours of sleep before returning to shine light on a new day. And you had no horse to show for it; more importantly, you were lost. Trapped in some kind of...weird bermuda triangle of decaying forest with no sign of life anywhere. 

Great, just great. I hate my luck… wait… 

...Ah, yes. Conveniently, just when you’d thought to possibly scream out your frustrations into your work apron, rattling on about how much luck despises you, and how you despise her back, maybe shed a few tears since no one was around, a tower of billowing smoke caught your attention, a sign of life that hadn’t been there before. 

. . . 

You should have been more cautious. Normally, you would have been. But given recent events…

“Hello…?” You called softly, pushing the door open; though, let’s be honest, the door really seemed to just...open itself. “Is anybody here?”

The house was old and worn. A small cottage just big enough for one, it must have been at some point; now, it was practically all but decayed along with the surrounding forest. Another heap of dead wood and rotted roots among many. A faintly ripe and sickeningly sweet scent wafted about the torn chamber, wrapping around sagging furniture, torn drapes, and a half-caved roof that gave clear sight to the full moon, bulging and cackling in a clouded manner.

It was a stark contrast to the decrepit old woman beckoning you from within. 

“Yes, yes… Come in, my child.”

| Three ❧

A few hours earlier, Han Jisung had just been minding his own business, a faceless shadow of a dark hood browsing Westwind goods, humming a fiery tune, all while coming up with a plan for smuggling an innocent human girl into the cursed city of New Amber. He was pleasantly aware of the time; he had exactly ten hours left before he was due back at the palace, girl in tow, in order to keep his handsome blue-haired head and devilishly charming eyes.

He had time. The two cities may have been four hours apart on horseback, a diagonal stretch of twisted forest and steep valleys between them, but being a shadow he could just-- ...zip...and zig...and...zag...right beneath the… … … 

...He wouldn’t be returning alone. He was transporting a human girl. That had no magical curse or powers to speak. The only way to return was the old-fashioned way...which meant…

He only had half the time he thought he did. Balls.

Making his way through the afternoon crowds, he followed three winding back alleyways before making sure the coast was clear of wandering eyes, seeping into the broken cobblestone and dashing through history below, long forgotten structures and fossils of stories past: a mineshaft, a tavern sign, a snuffed-out bonfire. At just a block away he set out a brisk pace for where he last placed a tracking mark upon the one known as Rei.

It had been a simple plan; since Y/n was impossible to get near, he merely embedded a small tadpole of his shadowy spirit into the other. Since they traveled together, where one was found, the other wouldn’t be far behind. Find Rei, find Y/n.

But beside that fact, it was starting to itch; being without a part of him for too long caused an empty, nagging feeling to rise and fall through his bones like a waxing, waning tide, going back and forth, back and forth. It got downright maddening after a while, almost like an addiction, to the point where eventually, he couldn’t stand to be without himself any longer. If he wasn’t whole, what was he?

...For a shadow...being whole meant everything.

“I see you’re feeling better,” he greeted her, the girl whose life he very well saved. Rei turned around from her stockpile of cash, where she placed many bags of coins in the Candy For Me! ♫ pile and few in the Dumb Taxes :( pile.

“Oh, hey, I know you!” Her face lit up tenfold; an oddity given the fact she should have been unconscious for ninety-percent of their previous encounter... “You’re the guy that saved me before! I thought you looked familiar!”

She threw a tarp over the stacks of cash she’d been organizing before, as if that was going to...protect it, or something. She rested her chin in palm, elbows propped upon the counter space. Smiled.

“So what brings you by? What can I help you with? Oh,” she smirked, wagging a single brow. “Could I interest you in this love potion?” 

A bottle of perfume made its way between them from out of nowhere, dangling like mistletoe. It...Han couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of it. 

“You wouldn’t happen to be looking for Y/n by chance, would you~?” Rei asked.

The proposed bottle had the painted label scratched off, where the replaced paint job read Love Potion No.9, along with a price tag of thirty-five coins. Han chuckled, doing his best to play off the awkward gesture. He had to tear his eyes away from it.

“Thank you, but no,” he stated, gently lowering her arm to the table. The sliver of his missing portion swam back into him, through his fingertips and up his arm, and this didn’t seem to go unnoticed by Rei, though he distracted her into shrugging it off. “I actually am looking for Y/n, if you happen to know where she is? I suppose you’re right about that part, actually.”

“Oh? Really?!” Rei’s face lit tenfold...again. She squealed. “Eeeeek, I knew it! Oh, I just love when this happens!”

Her face thrust straight into his, nearly close enough to kiss. It startled him into backing distance. 

“What is it?!?” She cried excitedly. “What do you need to see her for?! Oh, please tell me it’s to exchange letters! Or trinkets!” She looked like the shadiest business woman ever in the next second. “Y/n may have said she was organizing paperwork, but I knew what was really going on. Tee-hee!”

“...Ahh…” ...Shoot, what the hell was he supposed to say?! This girl didn’t seem like the type to appreciate being let down... “...There’s something I…” He gulped. “There’s something I wish to show her. Before setting out, that is.”

“Oh…” Her frown encased her disappointment. “I see...well, actually…” She twirled a strand of sleek black hair away from her tan complexion. “Y/n left about an hour ago...no, it has to have been longer than that…” Her frown deepened, looking off into the distance. “She took off as soon as lunch ended, and she hasn’t come back yet. I think she said she was looking for something…? But…” 

Now she was looking down vacantly into the counterspace. There was a dull sheen in her eyes.

“...I’m starting to worry. Y/n never just runs off for hours on end like this. It’s not like her at all. ...What if something…”

Han put a stop to that thought: one, because he hated seeing girls cry, and two, because he could tell she was the messy-crier that would get snot and tissues everywhere, including his hair and earring; also there was three: his ass on a silver platter, courtesy of His Angry-Cursed-Forever Highness. If he failed to secure Y/n…

He didn’t wanna think about it. Which is why he swiftly set Rei upright, patting her shoulders and promising that he would go out and look for her. She couldn’t have wandered far, seeing as her whole livelihood was on the line (and in the hands of someone like Rei…whom he didn’t know that well, but still…)

“Can you give me an idea of where she may have gone? Which way did she go?”

“Yeah, sure! She went that way, and, oh yeah, she took our vending license with her! Do you think she could have gone to City Hall, maybe…?”

It was unlikely. City Hall was in the other direction, to the north-east; and according to Rei, Y/n had ventured south. The only thing there was lower-class common folk and the city gates, meaning the only conclusion he could come to was that she needed to verify her legitimacy in order to continue business, or she needed out.

After questioning some guards under a guise of glamour and shade (which was necessary for...private reasons), he was at last directed to a middle-aged man who claimed to have allowed the girl to leave some three to four hours ago. Before they could get an answer out of him as to why he wanted to know, Han vanished into the shadows like a thief in the night, slipping through the straying crowds towards the nearest alleyway, where he plopped down, zipped below, and popped right back up on the other side of the great city wall.

Removing his hood, he looked around, scanning the area for any clues of Y/n’s whereabouts. But, of course, nothing.

Dammit, it was getting late! It was already late!

Han bit his nails, fuming. Pacing. He was going to be in so much trouble if he didn’t…!

...Sigh. Screw it all. He’d just have to look for her. If he found her fast enough, he could come up with some plan to make it back to Everain before sunrise.

He began his search heading South, into the clamour of trees. Past one tree, two, five, twenty. Deeper and deeper he traveled, gradually becoming one with the earth and expanding his search among the elements. Beneath the earth, brushing against roots of trees and flowerbeds, he could “see” everything-- as far as a twelve mile radius. 

His shadowed extensions stretched over the land, covering all ground within reach like the hands of a clock, time traveling faster and faster until…!

...He found it. Er, her. His senses zoomed in on a house, caved in from years of age and resentment, crumbling to dust even now outside the confines of Y/n...and……someone else…

...Someone he knew.

Out of breath, he nearly choked in the enclosure of his own realm, eyes wide and heart frozen stiff. It took every last bit of strength to push himself free, for he couldn’t escape fast enough; not when a demonic witch like her was around. 

Except...he’d started to run the wrong way. And then he stopped entirely, unable to move.

He hated that decrepit old hag. After everything that happened...the magic, the sorrow, the black fires of hell...he wanted nothing to do with her. He’d sworn that the moment he saw her again, it would be too soon. The witch that had taken his humanity.

It was she who had cast them all to hell in a handbasket, after all.

Standing there beneath the blotted night, gentle caresses of wind cascading and percolating through strands of brown and blue, he looked down to his bare hands, setting focus to the rivets of small scars where rivers of shadow flooded his veins.

A knock at the door. A sneer. A warning glare.

He tightened his grip on the air, so free and billowing carelessly in contrast to him.

A push. A harsh remark. A confident smile.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Anger… Resentment… Fire…

And…then…

He gasped for air once more. Not now. Now was not the time to think. He needed to act, to push all of this past him. It was the only way to break the curse and save Hyunjin, and in return, himself. The entire palace of Everain— the whole city, perhaps— was counting on him.

...Shadow. The only thing I remember...is black.

 Cringing, he threw caution to the wind, where fear was meant to reside with the birds.

- ❧ -

The house was as old and vile as the woman who lived there. Vines snaked and slithered their way around the entire enclosure like a brood of thorned vipers, between cracks in the wall panels and over the steps leading to a gaping front door, just asking to trip its prey into it’s dark clutches. Into her clutches; those wrinkled leathered hands dripping with metaphorical blood and darkness.

Han hated all of it. He’d known about the Witch’s home for a long time, but he refused to ever step foot on her accursed soil (...until now, that is). The problem was, her biome was always changing, shifting and teleporting all over the place. Few unlucky souls who had survived to see it dubbed it Howl’s Moving Castle.

That title entirely ruined the book for him. Not that he particularly enjoyed reading, anyway; but he refused to lift it or so much as look at the book’s spine resting in the lavish, dusty library back home.

“Hey,” he called, marching right in. There wasn’t time for cold feet or second thoughts; if he didn’t have Y/n, there would be no point in going back. Returning without Y/n meant certain death via Hyunjin, but going through the Witch’s Biome meant likely death via whatever disdainful plot the Witch could come up with. At least facing the Witch’s path, he had a slim chance of making it out alive. If he were fast enough.

He’d thought about it on the way over: before, he had no powers to speak of. He’d been a regular, average teenage boy just trying to make it up and through adulthood, figuring out what he wanted to do with his life. But with the Witch’s curse, all that changed; he was essentially one with the darkness; and darkness was everywhere. Especially here. 

Assuming Y/n was conscious and able to move, he calculated that with high enough confidence and self-esteem, he should have no problem distracting the foul old hag long enough for his last hope to escape. (And Lord knew he had plenty of that to go around...)

Darkness clouded the entire room, choking out all light save for a few small rays of moonlight. The temperature seemed to be dropping 10 degrees every second. “Hello?” He tried again, checking left, right. “I...I know you’re here. Witch.” He was already beginning to seethe. “Come out. Where is Y/n?”

There was no response. Nothing creaked, no one croaked. Not even the wind outside made a sound.

Then something darted behind him, to the right, and he parried the opposite direction, biting his lower lip. Here it came. The worst part.

A single field mouse made its way into the faint slivers of rooftop moonlight. And there it sat, perched on its hind legs, whiskers twitching and tail dancing rhythmically across the uneven floor.

“How do you like?” came a creaky frail voice from beyond. Her voice was a sour note to his ears.

Han gritted his teeth, tasting blood on the horizon. “I’m not here to rate your latest experiments,” he spat. “That better not be Y/n. Show yourself, now.”

A lingering moment passed before the fleabag chuckled, stepping ancient bones into the small pool of light. “Alright, alright,” she said, in a mockingly chiding tone. “No need to get so angry. That’s what got your friend into so much trouble, after all. And look what it did to you.”

Two minutes in, and she was already hitting a nerve. Nerves that needed to remain untouched were his plan to go smoothly. “Don’t tell me what to do. I don’t take orders from you. You already ruined me. What more could you possibly do?”

A dark foreboding thought brewed up a storm in her eyes, just lingering on the edge of sanity. “Believe me,” she rasped, “I showed you both mercy.”

Han flinched. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to explode, yet cower in terror, all at once. He was livid, yet terrified-- anxious-- and a little sick to his stomach. “Give me Y/n. Right now. I didn’t come here to chat.”

The old woman smiled. “I can’t,” she simply stated, not moving an inch.

“Why not?!”

“Because you’re standing on her.”

Horrified, Han shot his gaze downward. Corsarn, he didn’t think he’d been standing on anything but the…!

But there was nothing but paled wooden planks. The Witch laughed. “Ahahah, not physically on her, dear. Though this house is so old, you may as well be...I’m surprised the floors haven’t caved in to match the roof.”

After holding her gaze a moment too long, he took a step back, flitting his eyes between Witch and supposedly underground wardrobe. “Open the door. Slowly.”

“Oh, so now I’m supposed to be taking your orders?” She scoffed, sighing at the end. “My, how times have changed…”

“Just do it!” he ordered.

The Witch gave a stern, slight scowl. “Oh, fine. I’m out of enough magic to put another curse on you anyway,” she muttered. Tapping her ancient walking stick once, twice upon the rotting floors, something clicked below, and the square space where Han had been standing swung open. “Just so you know,” she added, “I took the liberty of having a little fun, as you probably already guessed. She’ll be out for a few hours, but I don’t foresee death in her future; at least, not in the near one,” she chuckled.

“You--!” ...Rrgh. He still had to bite his tongue. His lip was already going to be busted and sore tomorrow. 

Trotting down steadily with caution, before the gaze of a putrid old smile he descended the hidden staircase, never once letting his guard down. The girl he sought was safely snoozing in one piece, lying like a waking dream...other than being unconscious.

He gathered her up, using shadow to cross the room, just in case a trap was lying dormant on the way over, and with Y/n in his arms, he almost thought about attempting to drag her into the Shadowworld with him, just so he didn’t have to face the old has-been again and make a clean getaway.

But it was too risky. And likely, it wouldn’t work; so carefully, he placed one nimble foot in front of the other, across the blank room, up the stairs, and into the familiar darkness from moments before. The Witch was still waiting for him, still as a statue in the exact location she had been. She followed him all the way to the door, tittering at his suspicion of the whole thing. 

She then watched as they made it off the porch. “Here,” she announced, sensing his urgency; for he’d just been about to make a run for it before she called him.

Nervously, he turned around halfway, holding Y/n tighter.

The bat continued her chuckling. She scooped down surprisingly swift, tossing something gray and furry into the air. It landed haphazardly onto his arm, clinging for dear life to his sleeve with a faint squeak! before scampering up to his shoulder. “Take him,” she said, making a shooing motion with her hand. “I have no need for the pitiful thing. He can keep you company on your way back.”

Company? Oh, no no no. He didn’t think so. He wasn’t stupid; Han knew of her tricks. The rat was probably a spy, or some kind of ticking time bomb. Forcefully, he shifted his grip on the girl, snatching the creature from its place--

...Except, he meant to throw it back. He did. He would have tossed the wretched thing to the ground and stomped on its brains without a second thought.

But it’d cried. Shrieked. Wailed. He knew the sound of terror when it howled.

Glancing up, he saw that it was crying. Actually crying.

Something was off. It had to be human...or at least, have some sort of intelligent wit.

Loosening his grip, he allowed the creature to squirm and wiggle its way free, scampering up his arm and tucking itself fearfully in the pouch of his hood with a nosedive. Sensations of trembling fell against his upper backside.

“Take care on your way home; you may need it.” 

A twisted smile. Tch.

Glowering amongst the laughter, he left the darkness behind him.

| Four ❧

“How may I assist you, dear?” The old woman asked.

Your eyes scanned the area, dilating and adjusting to the faint light. “I’m sorry,” you began, giving a small, polite bow. “I didn’t know anyone was home.”

“Oh, now, that’s alright~” The woman insisted, beckoning you farther in. “Come, come, sit! Make yourself a home. I’m the one who invited you in, yes?”

“...” Carefully you nodded, moving with caution to take a seat at the dusty worn table. 

“Now,” she said, popping joints as she settled across from you. “What can I do for you today?”

“...Do for me?”

She chuckled. “Yes, yes…” Her eyes were impenetrable, boring into yours. You had trouble looking away. “No one comes here without a purpose. There are no happy accidents.”

“......” Again, you found yourself hesitating, having trouble forming the right words. Words were becoming a limited resource all of a sudden. 

“Well~?” the woman pressed.

“...” You swallowed dryly. Something just wasn’t right; but who were you to lie to an old woman? In her own home, nonetheless. “I’m looking for someone...my horse, actually.”

“Hmm, I see…”

“She wandered off...well, no, that’s not true.” You sighed. “I left her by accident. I abandoned her without meaning to, out front of Westwind city. We’d woken up late, my friend and I, and in our hurry and a near-death experience thanks to someone, I ended up forgetting all about her. When I went back to fetch her and bring her home, she was gone.”

“Oh, my…” The old woman was still smiling. “That sounds like some adventure the two of you had! Though, tell me…” She tilted her head. “Who is this “someone” that got in your way?”

“Hm? Oh,” You sighed, again. “Some strange boy that just showed up out of nowhere and offered to help me move the cart downhill. He’s no one special.”

The woman chuckled. “Well, he must be to have stepped up and offered you assistance in this day and age,” she replied. “What was his name?”

There was an intensity you didn’t like. As if she were interrogating you for answers. 

Dryly, again, you swallowed.

“Han-something, I think. Han...Jisung.”

That’s when it had been over. But you hadn’t known that; not yet.

“Han Jisung…” The woman repeated. She was clearly searching the archives. 

Then she found what she was looking for, and curving crooked fingers skyward, she beckoned your hands to be placed atop of her on the table.

“Give me your hands, dear. I know just what it is that you need.”

If only you hadn’t listened to her… 

- ❧ -

You were no fool. You saw what the witch had done to you, just before falling unconscious.

Stirring now, you curled into the weight of something dark and soft, something sheltering and warm against the cold night air. Whatever it was held you tighter, the world slowing down.

“Y/n? Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

Ow. Yes.

One of the side-effects must have been a splitting headache…

“Yes...I can hear--”

Rrpt! Hold on a second. You knew that voice…!

In all haste you shot upright, only to collide foreheads with Han Jisung, the both of you growling in pain. Your headache just got ten times worse.

“Ow…! Sh*t, of all times and places…” After counting one, two Mississippis for the pounding to decrease, you sent him a glare, blurry vision mixed with clouded judgement. “What are you doing? What’s going on, where are you taking me?!”

The foolish boy snorted, ignoring you to continue walking. As your eyes cleared of drowsiness, you could see the two of you were alone, out in the middle of the forest. “A simple thank you wouldn’t hurt, y’know. I did just finish saving your life a few hours ago.”

“You…?” Hesitantly, you looked around again, pressing a hand to your forehead in feeble attempt to decrease anymore throbbing heartbeats. “...Where are we? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Put me down this instant.”

“You sure do ask a lot of questions for someone who was just cursed and knocked out.”

“I said, put me--! …” 

You paused. The whole world seemed to.

Carefully, slowly, you turned your face back towards the sunlight. “...Wh...What did you say?” 

Han snorted. Again. “You heard me. You waltzed right into the Witch’s Biome like an idiot, and now you’re one of us. I don’t know what I’m going to tell Hyunjin…”

...You’d stop listening towards the end. Everything just naturally tuned out, your eyes falling aimlessly to stare vacant holes into the dimensional rift of the traveling space around you. 

“In case you’re wondering,” Han’s voice cut through, calling for your attention once more. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m taking you to my friend; well, he’s really more of my...uhm…”

You waited vacantly for an answer.

“...Uhhh…”

You didn’t have time for this. Not that anything mattered or made sense anymore. Still, you weren’t going to idly sit here and listen to Tweedle Dee make dumb noises the rest of the night. “He’s what?” you pressed, aggravation clearly showing. “Is he your master or something?”

Han Jisung nearly dropped your hungover cursed arse. Which told you you were right, even if he kept insisting you were wrong. It was pretty funny to see him fuming and hot under the collar the rest of the walk.

Speaking of walking, you had fidgeted and demanded to walk by yourself, but after nine nos and a tenth yes, you found you had absolutely no strength in your wobbly, jelly-like legs. Resulting in Han carrying you like an unfortunate groom once more.

Yes, you’d argued for him to take you back. But no, he refused.

Which meant he had to be that kidnapper the city guard mentioned after all.

This lead you to be afraid, and rightly so; what if Han killed you?! What if he actually was dangerous, and he had been lying to you from the start. Nothing he’d been saying up until this point made sense anyway; and just look at the way he was dressed. Only crazy people wore such strange, unusual attire, so futuristic and bizzare-looking. 

And, you noticed, the closer you got to...wherever he was taking you...the more and more his appearance changed.

It was gradual, slow at first; just a random strand of hair, a speck of color in his eye that hadn’t been there before. Then, out of nowhere, it was like time sped up around him, and his eyes became a solid, bright blue, his hair a darker contrast, and that lone earring he wore shimmered with a paradoxical bright darkness, like shadows giving birth to light.

It was...insanity. Yet, regrettably, you had to admit he’d grown incredibly attractive. 

Han didn’t speak much the second half of your trip, and neither did you. You were too busy trying to process what was happening, and he was lost in his own world, eyes never leaving the road ahead except to occasionally check on you. It was a nonverbal communication: Are you still doing okay? / Yes, I’m fine. Quit staring at me. / Yeah, okay, you’re welcome.

About two hours later, the two of you arrived at the gates of an old, rustic castle, and a city that looked all but lost.

| Five ❧

Your headache had at last subsided by the time you arrived at Everain Palace. ...Or at least, that’s what the sign said it was called. You were barely able to read it through the layers of rust and vines, however. “This is the place?”

“Yep,” your entourage announced, setting you down beside him. “It’s been a few hours now, so you should have the strength to walk again, at least to your room. But I’m sure I can get some lackey somewhere to carry you the rest of the way if you can’t manage.”

“Hold on...what?”

“What?”

He finished setting you down, and you wobbled your way back a few steps, leaning against the gate’s archway for support. “I’m not staying here. I can’t. I have to get back to Rei and find Carrots, my stupid horse. Then, I’m renaming her Dumdum and we’re sweeping all of this under the rug.”

Instead of laughing, or perhaps getting a little angry even, Han Jisung stared at you with the most pitiful glance anyone had ever given another human soul. It was dreadful, but soft, somewhat loving, and oozing with regret.

And then he said those abysmal words you were scared of hearing all along.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. But I’m afraid you won’t be traveling anywhere anytime soon.”

You stared at him dumbfounded. This was it, you thought. The truth revealed. He really was a kidnapper; and now, you were his next victim. The whole charmingly dopey and idiotic act had been just that: an act. And you’d fallen for it.

So you did the next thing you could think of, seeing as fighting and running away were out of the question in your weak and disoriented state.

“KIDNAPPER!!!” You screamed. “THIEF! HUMAN TRAFFICKING!! HELP!!!”

But soon you remembered your surroundings, where you were at this time: a rundown city that appeared to have been abandoned for years, closed off in an eternal slumber. Everything was covered in vines and dust, and hardly anything made a sound.

You were doomed.

Han rushed over quick to keep your mouth shut while sweating at the seams, but a chomp to his hand did him right good, and while he was bouncing around and airing out his hand like a blubbering buffoon you tried making a run for it. Keyword: tried.

In the end, you only made it as far as the circle of trees isolating this town before something pierced the back of your neck, and you were a prisoner of sleep all over again.

- ❧ -

You aren’t quite sure; perhaps you slept for eight, nine hours. All you knew is that when you awoke, there was sunshine pouring through the curtain-laced window like the brightest waterfall.

A...curtain-laced window...and silk sheets… … … 

You hopped to it the next second that thought circled your mind.

No. Oh, no…

...This certainly wasn’t your room. Your room was with the stars, the ocean, the grassy plains and trees, Rei at your side. This was an actual room, complete with a bed, canopy, dresser and wardrobe, a nightstand, and an additional table with matching chairs, four to be exact; two large windows, standing side by side at opposite ends of the room to your left. One beside the table, one near the door.

There was a note left for you on the nightstand (to your left) as well.

Y/n -

I’m sorry I had to knock you out like that. But you’re one of us now, and I can’t afford to let you leave. It’s important. Lives are at stake. You have to trust me, please.

There’s someone I’d like for you to meet. More like I need you to. I’ll explain more later, when you’re awake. If you read this and you still don’t feel well, feel free to take another couple of hours to yourself, to get your bearings; but don’t sleep for too long. I’ll wake you when we’re more pressed for time.

Again, I’m really sorry about all this. I hope you can find it in you to forgive me, but I get it if you need more time. Just promise not to take it out on Hyunjin, if you happen to run into him first.

Signed, Han, your kidnapper

There was an additional piece of paper that fell from behind the original.

P.S. - That was just a joke. Don’t freak out. I’m not a bad guy, really. At least, not as bad as you probably think I am.

…

You didn’t know what to think of anything anymore. This was all just too much. What on earth had happened to you? How did you get roped into all of this? ...You’d just wanted to find Carrots, and bring her home so Rei wouldn’t be sad and you wouldn’t feel guilty and the two of you could save the trouble of having to buy a new horse, train him, yadda yadda yadda. Instead you stupidly and ill-fatedly stumbled upon the home of an actual witch, walked right in, and told her things you probably shouldn’t have. You didn’t like the way she’d looked at you when you mentioned knowing Han Jisung.

The Mark of the Rose, the witch had slurred, eyes wide with a sinister grin. A blessing, and a curse.

Then she’d spouted some sort of riddle:

When sunrise comes and all is lost, Look upon the oldtown cross There you’ll find just what you seek This aging woman’s prophecy But if yet still you manage to bend And find and seek what storm’s may rend May fortunes smile and bring you light For the many remaining days of your life

...She hadn’t told you what the heck any of that was supposed to mean. For one, how could plaguing you with a mark from some wicked sorcery be a blessing?! And, what’s more...how was it a curse…? ...Her strange chanting hadn’t made any sense, though that last part had sounded nice...maybe that was the blessing?

Something made a skittering, scuffling sound. Turning to your left, something small and fuzzy caught your eye, climbing up a chair leg and coming to rest on the cushion above. It was...holding a crumb of cheese. Sitting there like a person, flat on his bum.

It was some kind of rodent.

You bristled all over, hair standing on end. “A RAT!!!” You shrieked, leaping from bed to dresser. Thankfully it had been bare atop the surface, minus the unlit candle and some kind of ornate mirror, which was an unfortunate accident. Seven years of bad luck was just what you needed, on top of everything.

The moment you let out a cry of alarm, the mouse similarly screamed-- possibly louder than you-- spasming out of the chair and running in circles with sweat flying from its brow until it ran into another chair leg and clocked out, rolling into the path of sunlight.

You’d been about to grab that discarded candle as a weapon until the room became incredibly bright. Clouds parted from outside, sunlight magnifying to flood the whole room. 

And then, when the sunlight narrowed to pierce the unconscious vermin straight through its heart, he became a boy. 

Hair the color of sunset and cheeks flushed rosy pink, full of freckles scrunched his nose, squinted, and wearily stared back at you, upside down. Prayerfully, by some miracle, he was still wearing clothes.

That didn’t change the fact that you had no idea what to make of this sudden development. You stood there, hunched frozen atop the dresser, candle half off the floor and jaw nearly there.

“Hn-- nnnngh…” he groaned, sitting up with a hand to his head, much like you had leaving the Witch’s Biome-- that’s what Han had called it, right? “...Ouch...that’s the last time I go exploring on my own…” He glanced at you over his shoulder, giving a kind, tired smile. “Thanks for turning me back! I’m sorry I scared you, Y/n.”

Your candlestick went flying across the room. 

“OW!!!”

“WHO ARE YOU?! HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!” you yelled. An accusatory finger followed. “This isn’t funny, and I’ve been through enough now! I’m sick of playing games, give me an answer right now or I’m throwing this broken mirror next!”

The door burst open. “What’s going on in--?! …”

Han Jisung was staring at Mouseboy curiously at first, widen eyes unblinking, you on the dresser second, a careful blink there...but the moment his eyes landed on the cracked mirror, he fell to his knees, hands in his hair.

“OH SH*T!” He shrieked, panicstricken all over. His voice was more pitched than (should be) possible. “What the hell did you do?! Who did this?!?”

Innocently, Mouseboy pointed to you, as if he had any right to be part of the blame game. “It was an accident, though,” he vouched (like that was supposed to make it better!). “I did the same thing when I woke up and saw myself an hour ago; you should have seen it, I broke five of those things! Talk about unlucky!”

He laughed. Han screeched, looking like The Scream. “YOU DID WHAT?!?!”

There was going to be a river running through the room by the time he finished sweating, pacing all over the place while nearly showering the floor and furniture with strands of blue hair. Mouseboy scratched his speckled-cheek, shifting to rest on the calves of his brown-clad work pants (He’d obviously been some kind of farm or errand boy before all this). “S-Sorry about that...it was an accident, really…” He bowed his head. “I-I can maybe get my boss to cover any property damage, but man, I’ll be working forever to pay it off…”

He sighed. You almost (almost) felt bad for him. But it was gonna take a lot more than just looking cute and pitiful to sway your emotions.

When at last he’d finished his...episode...Han stood from where he’d kneeled in prayer on the pinewood floor, swiping a hand over his face, shaking it off, and placing determined hands on his hips. “Okay,” he declared. “It’s alright. I’ll just have to convince Jeongin to pull an all-nighter and fix everything. Good thing he knows a thing or two about craftsmanship!”

Jeongin? …

You faltered, repeating the name curiously as you hopped off the dresser, now that the vermin crisis was over. Thankfully, your absent-mindedness didn’t cost you any cuts or bruises, seeing as there very well could have been shards of broken glass on the floor…

Han smiled your way, nodding. “Yeah, that’s right. We have a lot of introductions to get out of the way, so if you’re ready...well, you might want to get dressed first.”

Even more curiously, you looked down to examine yourself.

An eggshell, lace nightgown greeted your eyes.

… … … 

Who changed you...?!?!

| Six ❧

“Right, so,” said Han, pointing to each stranger in a misfit-lineup. “This is Seungmin, Jeongin, and...Felix, right? ...Yeah, okay, Felix.” He smiled, gesturing to you next. “Family, this is Y/n.”

Everyone either waved or bid you their own form of greeting, some shy, others more open. Now dressed in a sea-green gown with white-lace trim and possibly the most gaudy over exaggerated bow in the back (smaller, matching ones on your shoes and hair), you did your best to curtsey, though it was awkward and embellished to say the least, and really you’d just used it as an excuse to hike up your quarter-calf socks that refused to stay put. “Yeah, alright...nice to--”

“And this...is Hyunjin.”

The air got a little colder all of a sudden; both metaphorically and otherwise. You glanced up from rebuckling the annoying Mary Jane’s on your feet. Froze.

A tall, slender man stepped forward from where he’d been leaning against the wall beneath the cloak of shadow in the hallway. Now, stepping forward in the light of a grand, deserted chapel, his dark hair combed back by rough fingers pressed for time, he was…he was… 

He was staring at you as if you’d hung the moon in the sky. His eyes were so round and...big. Practically moons themselves.

“......” Han cleared his throat, voicing everyone else’s discomfort. “Yes, well...okay, then. This is great! See?!” He motioned to you as if you were some kind of showcase prize. “I brought her back, just like you asked! Now there’s no need to do anything rash or bloodthirsty! Hahah…hah…! …”

Everyone was strangely silent. Looking at each face in turn, though many were staring at you, none could look you in the eye; and no one dared to so much as peek in this Hyunjin fellow’s direction. In fact, the red-headed boy, Jeongin, seemed...almost...rather afraid.

“Hang on,” you interjected (though there was nothing but silence for sometime now). The gears in your mind cranked back to the letter folded messily on the nightstand: Lives are at stake. I need you to meet someone. “So you’re saying you brought me here because...your friend wanted me here?” You huffed. “I don’t understand. You said that lives were at stake. Who’s dying?” 

Quiet. A somber aura fell over the small gathering; maybe that had been a little brash of you to ask outright…

But you needed answers! Why were you here? What was going on? “...Han,” you said, and instantly the boy looked up at you. “Why did you bring me here? What’s going on? …” You scanned the other four faces of boys around you. “What did you mean when you said...I was…” You shook your head. Doubts were flooding in like a dam had just snapped. “This better not be a set up.”

...More quiet. Han cleared his throat once more, stepping back in line. He had no answers to give; his features only hardened. The other three boys in line were looking anywhere else-- the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Oh, look at that beautiful glass window up there. And look at that one!

Hyunjin just kept on staring at you as if staring right through you; like he couldn’t comprehend your existence. He was completely locked in a trance.

After you’d carefully righted yourself, and had just begun turning away to get the heck out of Dodge, it was Seungmin that spoke next. “You’ll have to forgive him,” he called, scratching his head. You turned around. “It’s been a while since any of us have seen another human being before, nonetheless one that isn’t cursed--”

Han flinched, just out of the corner of your eye. Twitch. “...Oh, you mean…”

Your eyes locked with Hyunjin’s, still stuck in outer space. Seungmin nodded. “Yeah...and as for him--” He flicked his eyes on Han. “He’s just stupid.”

“Hey!” The man protested. Seungmin simply rolled his eyes. 

“Well it’s true! I bet you failed to explain anything that’s going on to this poor girl. Just look at what you made her wear!” He gestured rather violently to your ridiculously (somewhat childish) outfit. “She looks like she stepped out of a dollhouse. The cheap, tacky kind they used to sell down the street at Aunt Marie’s.”

“Um, actually…” You scowled. “I dressed myself. There wasn’t much to go off of in the closet other than old-era gowns and...well, that was basically it. Speaking of which, though…”

You stomped forward. Everyone (minus Trancy) jumped. 

“Which one of you changed me before?! I don’t recall wearing or even owning some fancy nightgown before getting the lights shot out of me.”

Seungmin’s jaw slacked. “You drugged her too?!”

“Only because she was trying to escape!” Han griped. “I didn’t want to have to shoot her! Besides, it wasn’t like I used anything heavy…”

“Still,” Red-headed Jeongin said, siding with his buddy. “What would Hyunjin say if he weren’t lost in his thoughts again? And did you even consider Y/n?”

Han scoffed. “I brought her back, didn’t I? I’m pretty sure that’s all that matters.”

“Regardless,” Seungmin spoke, “You still basically brought her here against her will. That’s kidnapping. I’m pretty sure the curse isn’t going to--”

“Hello?!” you yelled, waving your arms. “I asked you all which one of you changed--! …”

Your eyes landed on Felix. The boy blinked, innocently processing, then bloomed another shade of rosy pink. “O-Oh, no…!” He waved his hands. “It wasn’t me, honest! I’ve been stuck as a mouse since last Tuesday! A-Also, you were already...I-I mean, I suppose if it wasn’t you, someone else had already…”

His voice trailed off; too modest, and he had a solid alibi. It couldn’t be him. In the background, Han and Seungmin were still arguing, with Jeongin occasionally chiming in to support Seungmin’s case.

“Let me guess,” Seungmin mused, arms crossed. “You probably stole them from Lady Verena down the road.”

Han made an urk! sound. Seungmin sighed.

“I knew it...no wonder she’s dressed so gaudy…” He and Jeongin turned to you with kind eyes. “Listen, Y/n. We’re really sorry about all this. If you need anything, from now on come to me or Jeongin. We’ll be sure to take care of you. Heck,” he grumbled, “even the new guy Felix could have done a better job…”

Felix smiled awkwardly. You and Han both fumed; for different reasons. “That’s not what I--!”

A low growl cut through the lowly-chaotic atmosphere. Everyone ceased their bickering.

The assumed head of the palace had awoken.

- ❧ -

He walked circles around you. Circles and circles and circles… 

You were starting to get more than a little dizzy.

“Fascinating…” Hyunjin mused. It was as if he were the only one in the room, and you were merely a lifeless figurine on display. While he spun himself into further insanity and far too strong curiosity, Seungmin and Jeongin both sent you sympathetic looks to “hang in there” and “just go with it.”

But you didn’t want to go with it. You wanted to go out-- away-- back home to the caravan, to the wagon that had Rei and Carrots and all your useless junk people gave life to, and you a profit. “I’m sorry,” your voice cut the mostly vacant air, save for the headmaster’s mumbling and strangely heavy breathing. “Am I missing something here? If you like or...don’t like my outfit, just tell me and I can either say “thank you” or change and we can all move on to more important topics, like, say...why I’m here? What’s going on?!”

Hyunjin froze a quarter of the way to facing you from the left, his brown eyes strangely wide (though really, everything about this man was strange). In the back, Seungmin and Jeongin once again made faces attuning to the atmosphere; in this case, nervous frowning.

They were all treating Hyunjin like some sort of ticking time bomb. Han obviously feared and weirdly resented him, it was plain and simple on his face, and even Felix was picking up something about this guy that you couldn’t sense. When he wasn’t distracted by colorful art or the dirt under his nails, he was sending highly strung vibes his way.

...In all honesty, you weren’t sure why you didn’t just walk out. Nothing was stopping you...really. There was a clear path from here to the great big hallway Han had escorted you down, Felix in tow, and from there a million other doors, all leading to someplace that had to be better than here. One of them-- at least five, or ten-- had to lead to some winding hallway that would take you to the great outdoors.

Just when you’d thought to inquire further on that, Hyunjin finally began speaking, and not mumbling. “You appear to be real…but…”

He closed the (little) distance he’d given you in a single stride, and without warning placed both his hands on your shoulders...very...tentatively. Then, he trailed his fingers up to your cheeks.

You latched onto his wrists, on instinct. A synchronized gasping chorus filled the room like a daytime tragedy soundtrack.

But Hyunjin did nothing, if not for widening his eyes yet again to stare into the depth of your face like he was amazed at your reaction. Like it wasn’t normal or something.

“Hyunjin,” spoke Seungmin, “perhaps it would do you well to give the girl-- Miss Y/n-- her space. She is a human, just like the...er...ahem.”

...That was a sour note.

“Actually…”

All eyes were on Han except yours. Even Hyunjin snapped out of his trance to glare skeptically with concern, with Seungmin having to carefully pull him away so you could stop smelling his pungent breath.

“...Ahaha...ahahahahaha…” ...Han wilted. “I sorta...maybe...well, okay, I didn’t do it, but--”

“What did you do?” Hyunjin spoke. All eyes flew to him, then back at Han in anticipation. Like some sort of thriller novel. The daytime tragedy continued. Maybe you were in a tragic play of some sort, and there was a hidden audience just waiting to jump out and announce that you’d officially been pranked.

“………” He took a breath. “TheWitchcursedhertoo…!”

And then he covered his mouth, wincing moments too soon. 

The decaying chapel gasped. Hyunjin’s face turned hard, then slowly, bewitchingly, menacing.

“She did what?!”

Jeongin’s eyes went wide. “Y-You’ve been cursed too?” he asked, mournfully, almost with pity. Everyone appeared to display a sadness teetering on the edge between fear and hopelessness.

It was insane how quickly the airspace had shifted; though nothing normal had happened yet, everything had at least been more or less steady. Now, it was as if the room had been thrown off its hinges at the mention of the woman...the Witch. Which you were hoping had been a dream, but seeing as Felix was here, and Han bringing it up...definitely not.

Han whimpered; actually whimpered, like a child being scolded for breaking a vase. “I-It was an accident, honest!” He begged. “She didn’t know she was headed into the Witch’s Biome, and I lost track of her! BY ACCIDENT! When I found her, I swear I did everything I could to protect her, honest! Th-That’s where I met Felix, though I didn’t know he was really human at the time...and I brought them both back here.”

Seungmin made a curious face of urgency, almost seeming to sweat as he crossed diagonally forward to move you back, even going so far as to stand in front of you as a shield while Jeongin took care of Felix, tugging the mouse-turned-boy’s twine-sewn sleeve to take shelter behind some discarded pews.

What happened next wasn’t a dream, but surely a thing of nightmares. Right in league with the Witch’s hideout.

There was a swirling mass of black and deep red as something foreign and sinister took hold of the feared so-called Master of the House. Hyunjin began to grow bigger. Sharp, pointed fangs protruded from tight chapped lips pulled back in a snarl. His eyes told of hunger, bloodshot. Pitched daggers made of shadow and bone formed and crystalized along his fingertips.

You lost your voice. You could barely breathe. You weren’t even sure how you were able to stand.

“Hyunjin,” Seungmin warned, a sternness to his voice. “Think about what you’re doing. Y/n is here.”

Hyunjin growled, no longer a man anymore but some sort of...foul, hideous beast. He bore murderous eyes at Han. “I don’t care,” he growled, “I’m going to—!”

“You’re scaring her.”

… … …

That seemed to get his attention. Though the same couldn’t be said about yours; for though you stood still, frozen in time and space, your wandering mind was making a break for recalling the nearest exit. An empty, dizzying numbness choked your thoughts.

Hyunjin...if he could even be called that anymore...glared at you with wide, mournful eyes. Eyes full of fear and insecurity. Doubt. A horrible realization.

In the blink of an eye-- for you literally just had to blink-- he was back to normal. He stood apprehensively still, the rage and miasma gone, staring a hole into your Mary Janes. Perhaps staring at the reflection back at him.

Though he stood impossibly still, his voice gave him away in slight, wavering cracks. “...Forget what you just saw. It was merely an illusion. A trick of the light.”

“Uuuuh,” Felix interrupted. “P-Pretty sure that wasn’t-- mmph!”

Jeongin gave him a silencing, terrified eye. “Shhh!”

“......” With a passive grunt, Hyunjin continued. This time his eyes were directly on you; a wave of nervous energy pooled over your skin. “Dinner is at six p.m. sharp.” he said. “You will be there. ...We will have an encore of introductions, no...an entire reestablishment.” He turned his head viciously over his shoulder. The boy his eyes landed on squeaked. 

“Han,” he uttered. The said boy bit his lip. 

“Y-Yes…?”

Hyunjin deadpanned, in the most unamused, lifeless way. “Come.”

“Ahahahah, a-actually-- whAAA!”

A vase at the far end of the room shattered. Literally exploded, a few shards lodging themselves into innocently bystanding portraits and landscapes. When your attention strayed back, you could see Hyunjin had thrown something.

Han quickly bowed, visibly starting to sweat all over again. After a tense moment he stood, saying in the softest voice, barely a whisper, his agreement. 

Then, wringing the rings on his fingers, he nervously followed him out.

| Seven ❧

Dinner was set to be at six p.m. Attendance was apparently a requirement, given the formal invite Felix slipped beneath your door, turned back to a mouse once more (something about moonlight turning him into a...weremouse? ...The rules of his curse were rather complicated).

However, that didn’t mean that you had to be there.

“...And so that’s how I became a real boy again!” The mouse cheered, setting off a small party steamer Jeongin had granted him to lift his spirits. His tiny rodent eyes crinkled in delight as he beamed up at you from the dining table of your guest room, where the two of you were currently seated. You twitched your nose in timing with his, having stared at him and his life-story-since-last-Tuesday for far too long.

You shifted your weight to the other cheek. “So, really, all you had to do was make contact with sunlight. But you were too scared and kept to the shadows all this time.”

“Precisely! At least, I think that’s how it works!” He plopped down, digging some...cheese crumbs out of his coat. “That, and the old hasbeen wouldn’t let me leave every time I tried. Do you know when the last time I saw the sun was?! Go on, guess!”

“...Last Tuesday?”

He looked at you with wide-eyes, paws shoved up his piehole. He took a few minutes to chew and swallow. “...Oh, you’re good. No wonder you’re the chosen one to break everyone’s curse!”

You huffed, snorted really, leaning back to cross your arms in thought. A movie reel spun its way around your brain, projecting the late afternoon’s events on a white screen:

…Hyunjin’s retreating figure left some sort of impression in your mind, and Han seemed to vanish like ink washed off of a page. The moment they’d both gone, your knees buckled beneath you, hands hitting the cold pavement. Seungmin was down to your level in an instant, with Jeongin and Felix scurrying around pews, bits of rubble and broken glass.

“Y/n, are you alright? …” Seungmin asked, reaching out to you. He paused briefly to think. “...I’m going to check your pulse,” he announced.

As his fingers found their way around your wrist, Jeongin flanked to your other side with a first aid kit he’d salvaged from who-knew-where. Felix kept his distance, wringing his cap the way Han had wrung the rings on his fingers, but one look at his face told you he was just as concerned for your health as the others…he simply didn’t know what to do.

“Here, put this on her!”

“I’m alright,” you mumbled, pushing away an ice pack with sloth. Jeongin gave you a distasteful glare of sorts. 

“But you nearly fainted--!”

“I’m fine...really.”

“......”

Everyone laid off after that. 

Which you took as your cue to exit. In your retreating haste, albeit, you failed to see the sorrowful eyes that followed your fleeting back; but you could feel them, and it wouldn’t be long until they found a voice to stand upon.

“Come on, Felix,” you said. “I’ll see what I can do to get you home. I don’t know where you originally came from, but if it’s anywhere near Westwind, my friend and I can give you a lift.” ...It was the least you could do, after all. Felix hadn’t done anything wrong; he wasn’t the one that kidnapped you, or put a “curse” on you, which you weren’t even sure was real, by the way. Sure, some crazy stuff happened, but you didn’t feel any different. What if Han and the Witch and that Hyunjin guy were really all in kahoots, and this was just some kind of crazy...outrageous propaganda stunt?

Jeongin continued to stare, now in an incredulous manner. “Y/n…”

“Let her go,” Seungmin insisted, lowering Jeongin’s hand. The boy grasped the air weakly, the pulsing of his fingers mocking his faintly beating heart, breaths shallow and longing, feebly succumbing to trembles. It would have been painful to watch, had you known him better.

Felix, keeping a low profile as best he could in such tense situation, removed the beret he’d just finished placing back on his head, squeezing it before him. “...A-Alright,” he agreed after a moment. He paced over gradually at first, then broke into a nervous, jagged jog as he scuttled to your side. “Thanks…”

You smiled to hide the fear and insanity of what you’d just witnessed before. A man turning into a beast— a boy becoming like a shadow— everything that had happened up until now; it was just a dream, Y/n. A bad propaganda stunt. “Don’t mention it.” You turned over your shoulder. “...It was nice meeting you.”

Seungmin smiled, bitterly so, as Jeongin closed in on himself. “Same to you. Please, take care. I apologize for any trouble we caused you.”

With a nod, your footsteps echoed into the once-lavish corridor, Felix trailing nervously behind you. But then…

Those sorrowful eyes found their voice. “Wait, Y/n! Please, don’t go yet!” Someone was running after you. “Please stay, just for dinner at least! Please!!!”

...Your footsteps faded. Waiting.

“Please, Y/n…” Jeongin paused some ten feet away, falling to his knees to beg. “Cursed or not, only you can break the spell. I know how this must look to an outsider like yourself, but what Han said to you before in his letter...I’m sorry but I pried before he left it. He’s right. You’re one of us now. But you’re also you. And only you can save him. We…” His voice trailed off, eyes following, focusing on something in his hands...a locket of some sort? “...We gave up on ourselves a long time ago. But as weird and annoying and frustrating as he is, we made a promise to never, ever give up on Hyunjin. Like it or not he’s our boss, and our dearest friend. He’s been good to us for so many years...after all he’s done, we at least need to save him!” His eyes searched for yours, gripping his hands tightly, pleading, crying out with anguish and hope. “It might be too late, but we have to try! We can’t do anything like this...only you can save him. Please, Y/n…”

You’d been paying attention this whole time, but it was just now that you were starting to see: something dark and lively wrapping its way around Jeongin’s neck, then his right cheek. It was like a tattoo, only...alive. And moving. Black vines with thorns and heart-shaped leaves mapped their way across half the boy’s face, finally tangling into his bright, unnaturally red hair that sploched into ebony black, the color of Rei’s hair, only darker maybe, and then…

He began to fade. “...Please help him. He’s not as bad as he seems, honest! Please say you’ll stay and save him!”

...After that, Seungmin ran over and gave Jeongin some kind of shot that turned him back to normal and stopped him from disappearing, but…

What were you supposed to do when he started crying like that?! You weren’t expecting the waterworks…

Because you were both nice people, you and Felix hurried back to help, too, though all the two of you could really do was run circles around each other and agree to stay for just a bit longer. Just until dinner, you’d repeated. So we have the strength to travel.

...You would go to dinner. Really, the plan had been to just send Felix down. That wouldn’t do, though, now that you thought about it... Well, then, you certainly weren’t staying; you’d simply pop in to make sure that Jeongin kid was still alive, grab a roll or two, and then you’d be off to the nearest motel or campsite, because you certainly weren’t spending a night here. Come morning, you and hopefully Felix could hurry back to Westwind and after you took the boy home, or someplace close, you could get back to a normal life traveling and selling wares and running away from fate and customs.

“I’m pretty sure it’s just Hyunjin I’m supposed to fix,” you mumbled, getting back to the small conversation. You never thought in a hundred years you’d be sitting down in some old castle out in the middle of nowhere, talking to a rat (that was really a person, but still). Your eyes scanned the window beside you, out into the foggy gray beyond where nothing but trees and old abandoned buildings greeted you, lifeless along the horizon.

Mouse Felix was still stuffing his face with crumbs of cheddar and swiss. He seemed to have found some bread crust to pair with the former ensemble. “I mean, I guess. I think I heard that one guy, Seungmin, mention something about it being for everyone though? Or I could have just been hearing things…” He swallowed, stacking another small tower. “Wow, I’ve never had such an appetite until last Tuesday…”

“......” You rolled your eyes, counterproductive to your set jaw. How the heck were you supposed to save anyone? Why you, of all people?

That annoying chant the Witch had said replayed in your mind...maybe, if you could decipher it, you’d have some answers...how did it go, exactly…?

When sunrise comes and all is lost, Look upon the oldtown cross There you’ll find just what you seek This aging woman’s prophecy

Sunrise. So when the sunrise came...but, lost? What was lost?

A cross? You surveyed the area, but you didn’t see anything like that.

What you seek...was this you, or was you someone else? What was it you, or they, were looking for? You just wanted to go home…

...All you got from the last part was that this witch was crazy. Then, the rest went something like… But if yet still you manage to bend And find and seek what storm’s may rend May fortunes smile and bring you light For the many remaining days of your life

Okay, seriously, what were you bending?! This had to be metaphorical. So bend...what, your will? Heart? Find a loophole somewhere?

Were you finding what was lost? Would you find it if you found a loophole? Or had a change of heart?

Fortunes would smile upon you...something good would come.

For the rest of your days…

…You smacked your head against the table, startling poor Felix. Who were you kidding?! You’d already decided, that old hermit in the woods was crazy. Trying to translate some old ramblings was a waste of time…!

...And effective in giving you a headache. You groaned, massaging your temples as Felix detangled himself from your locks to scamper a safe distance away. 

“Y/n? Are you alright?”

“...Yeah. Fine.”

“...You don’t sound fine. You sound like Chan when he’s had a long night working on a new project and drank more coffee than he got work done. And I don’t think he even likes coffee.”

You turned your head. “Who’s that?”

Felix smiled. The only mouse that knew how to. “My boss, sort of. We both work for an entertainment company, at least...I did, before this happened.” He regarded himself sadly. “Ever since last Tuesday--”

You groaned again. “Urgh, I know, I get it already! Last Tuesday may as well be your catchphrase at this point.”

“...Sorry.”

“......” You peeked back at him, flicking a crumb of cheese his way. It seemed to take away all his problems like a one-way train. You sat up, grinning just a little at how cute he looked, nimbling innocently. The only rodent you’d ever find to be cute. “...Tell me more about it. About Chan, was it? And this entertainment company of yours. I honestly thought you were a farmer.”

“A farmer?” He thought. “Oh...yeah, my clothes! I grew up on a farm, and our company is relatively small. I just threw those on when I went exploring the woods.”

“And what were you doing exploring the forest on your own?”

“Uh...well,” he blushed. “I’ll tell you about Chan and the company first.”

His small, yet surprisingly bass voice carried on into the dimly-lit atmosphere. Maybe you just needed to take your mind off things. You were getting too wound up in something you weren’t even committed to being a part of. Once you saw Jeongin was okay, you’d be forgetting all about this place. So for now, you just needed to relax.

And who knew mice told such fabulous, intricate stories?

| Eight ❧

“Hyunjin, please…!”

Crash!

Another mirror. Terrific.

After their departure from the old art gala, Hyunjin had led the two to one of the many old studies that lied grungy and muted like the rest of the palace. In the circular room resided one dusty old curtain over a weathering window, a few bookshelves chalked with books likely to never be read again, a small table with various junk, a chair, another chair, a small loveseat, a slightly larger small grandfather clock...and a calendar with much angry scribbling, stains, and tears.

“Hyunjin, Jeongin can only fix so many mirrors at once...you know how this all works…you break a mirror, something in the castle vanishes. Then I take the heat for it!” 

The beast growled. “You don’t think I know that? Are you talking back to me right now?”

Han flinched. If he were human, surely he would have died from a thousand ulcers and the tight sensations of horrid anxiety by now… “N-Not by any means...Hyunjin,” With gritted teeth, he bowed his head. “Please, listen to me for a second. Let me explain.”

“Oh, that you will,” the beast grumbled. He gracefully spun himself into a red velvet chair, lifting another looking glass from the small table beside it in order to glare at himself broodingly. It made the small hairs of Han’s neck stand yielding, doing a little dance of anxiety. 

“V-Very well,” He said, standing back up straight. He gave an awkward glance at the broken mirror shards before deciding he’d better start talking his way out of another beating, and clean up later. “Our journey begins in the outskirts of Westwind city--”

Hyunjin raised his right arm, the mirror held precariously in the balance. “Too far.”

“NO DON’T!”

...Phew.

Removing the handheld treasure from the prince’s hand, his shadow took a few steps back, peering into it. Watching the door and bookshelf behind him, as shadows had no reflection. “...I traveled around...out yonder, just as you asked. Just like I said I would. I let the wind and my intuition, my hope, guide me, and within less than a day’s travel I came upon Westwind city. That’s where I found her, just outside the gates...she was accompanied by another, a young woman of close age. They looked too different to be related, so I assume it was a friend, or maybe a distant...distant relative. Anyway--”

Hyunjin sighed.

“...Anyway, I--”

“How did you know she was the one? And so close? So close to our village...it seems too good to be true. And I thought you said she was lying dormant somewhere.”

Han blinked, eyes flitting forward. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face. It took all his willpower not to flinch or show anymore signs of weakness. “W-Well, yes, she was, but uh...she escaped?”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. And so, I put her to the test.” 

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes. “You put her to the test? What does that mean?”

“I quizzed her. I knocked on the door of her heart...and she ignored me quite a few times, but eventually, I got in. In exchange for a favor.”

“What favor?”

Han smiled with pride. “I’d saved her friend’s life. Or...distant, distant relative. After that, I asked her carefully, very seriously, of her thoughts.”

“...About…?”

“The curse.”

“You told her outright about the curse?!”

Seeing as Hyunjin was near fuming, Han turned on the sprinklers, fanning his arms about. “No, no! Not outright! I was very tricky! I used lots of metaphors and figuratively-speakings! She had no idea to the core of the matter, really!” ...And anyway, did it even matter anymore? Y/n was well aware by now she wasn’t exactly in Kansas anymore...

“......” Hyunjin relaxed back in his chair. “So, what did she say?”

Han searched the dusty floorboards for a minute, before slowly twisting the mirror 180 degrees. “Well, sir, it was what I said first. I asked her…”

- ❧ -

“A man, or a beast? As individuals, do we have a choice?”

“...I’m sorry...I don’t understand the question.”

“Hmm…” Han thought. “...Imagine you were put under a...spell. A spell that turned you into a hideous monster, with fangs and claws and fur in places you’d never imagined...but it comes and goes, this curse of yours.” He tilted his head. “Are you still human? Or are you now a beast? Well?”

“...I...I don’t know,” you confessed, listing your gaze aside. “I really have no idea where you got such a crazy idea from.”

“Okay...then let me ask you this. I’ll help you out.”

He leaned forward this time. “Do you think we have a choice? Is it possible to define ourselves as one or the other?”

“Well...yes, I would think so.” Your eyes met his. “We all have a choice— to be monsters, or men. It is not a matter of blood, or a spell, but a condition of the heart.”

- ❧ -

Hyunjin leaned forward in his chair, eyes wide as saucers.

This time, he knew it, too. But he didn’t care how he must have looked. That fear died a long time ago, having stared at the many faces of Hwang Hyunjin over the years.

He simply couldn’t believe it. It really was true, then. It had to be her. The girl that would solve all his problems…!

...For the record, one should never put all their faith into one person in regards of “solving problems” or “fixing them,” but this was different. In this case, this girl really was the answer to lifting the curse plaguing his home and body for so many moons, so many long, hard-watched seasons…

And she was going to be having dinner with him. Not only that, but he only had a handful of hours left until it was all over, and everything set into stone.

The door behind Han slammed open, Seungmin entering the stage and stealing his spotlight like he normally did. Even before the curse, the boy who’d been his father’s auditor-in-training was always bursting in to bask in the limelight with his savvy knowledge, goody-two-shoes this and boring document question that.

He swears this was never the case, but Hyunjin knew better. “Do you mind? I’m having a discussion with--”

“Not now.”

“Excuse me?” Seungmin was rummaging around the room, spreading knick-knacks around, tossing books off shelves after quickly examining covers or flipping through a few pages, even going so far as to demand that Hyunjin stand so he could upturn all the seat cushions. “What are you doing?”

The boy genius frowned. “Jeongin had an episode after Y/n almost left. He—”

Hyunjin found himself shaking the boy in the next second. “Did he stop her?!”

“...Shouldn’t you be asking if he’s alright first?”

Hyunjin just continued to stare. Seungmin rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I was going to say, he managed to stop her. I did say almost left. By the way, Jeongin’s in peril right now, so if you could be so kind as to release me, I’d like to get back to ensuring his safety as soon as possible.”

As soon as Hyun dropped him, the boy got right back to work; tearing the room apart. Han pursed his lips.

“He had an episode? Did you give him a shot?”

The boy sighed. “Yes, but I’ve told you both before they’re only temporary. I’m looking for lavender oil, and the vine clippers. I don’t remember the original recipe to stop the ebb and flow, but I think I can make a close replacement from what I’ve read in the past.” He glanced over his shoulder a moment. “What were you getting so hot under the collar about, anyway? Is this about Y/n? Being cursed?”

Shoot, by the day, that was right. He was still angry about that. What if Han had blown it? What if this Y/n was defective now because she’d been touched by the Witch’s mad hand?

Oh, he was so going to get it if…!

“Eeek!” Han shrieked, already knowing what was to come. “Dammit, don’t remind him of that! I had just managed to get on his good side!”

Seungmin rolled his eyes again. “You’re never on his good side. All you two do is bicker and fight and run from or after each other until you’ve become one with the walls and he passes out from anger or resentment or both. ...Ah!” He smiled. “Found the clippers. Now for that oil…”

“Forget the oil!” Hyunjin roared. “We don’t have time for this! Ahh…!” He gritted both hands in his hair, looking out the window, up at the old miniature grandfather clock. “Time’s running out. Since she’s the one, we may still have a chance. Cursed or not we only have three days...two days…!”

It was at this point that Seungmin made a quizzical expression, pausing in his endeavors to pace rather calmly over to the calendar, checking the date. “...The anniversary of your curseday isn’t until next month. You have a whole season, almost.”

A...season?

“Let me see that,” Hyunjin demanded, shoving the kid aside. He peered anxiously at the line up, the rows of weeks in the calendar month that said… … …

Seungmin was right. He’d misread the date, in all his anxious spite.

He had until the next season. Until the first snowfall. Starting tomorrow, his clock would begin.

...Oh, who was he kidding?! His clock started tonight; with dinner.

In a tizzy, his whole attitude changed. No longer was he a grumpy, repulsive, bitter soul trapped in a cursed body. Mindlessly resenting his father, his past actions, the old beggar who’d shown up on his doorstep. He was a nervous young man about to have his first date in what felt like forever, because truthfully, it had been. “What am I going to wear?! ...Oh my gosh, she saw me transform…!” Horror filled his lungs with a ragged breath, hands flying to sunken cheeks. “I can’t let her see me now! But I have to! I have to break the curse...I mean, she has to break the curse! But what if--!”

“Hyunjin!” Han clamped his mouth shut. A bold move for someone that was normally terrified of him. “Calm down! I think that’s step one!” He looked around while Seungmin continued his search. “Step two would be...uh…”

“Finding an appropriate outfit?” Seungmin offered. Han beamed.

“YES, finding an appropriate outfit! Genius!”

Again, the boy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, who would have thought…?”

“C’mon!” The two flew past him, Hyunjin too preoccupied with his previous behavior, overwhelmed by too many truths, to even-- …

He rushed back into the room. “Did you say Jeongin was--?!”

“Let’s go,” Han ordered, yanking the househead by the collar. Leaving Seungmin alone to his bumbling foragery.

My, how times quickly changed.

| Nine ❧

Another spaghetti noodle found its way into Felix’s hair, alongside a half-eaten slice of garlic bread. 

In the great dining hall, chandeliers hung like clouds in a desecrated chamber, all covered in dust and cobwebs. A long, very long table stretched from one end of the wide room to the other, all set with dining ware meant to feed the entire Royal Family and their second cousins. A rainbow of food covered the crimson-draped platform, starting with English scones and biscuits on one end and ending with an Italian pot of gold on the other, complete with pastas, pizza, and a basket of garlic bread nestled to Felix’s right, who was seated at the table’s end. All along the walls sat candles lit with a hazy tint, casting shadows like lingering ghosts, light dancing across the faces of those present.

You slid your hand down one side of your face, safely hidden amongst the confines of two large chambers doors with one slightly askew. Good grief. You were simply waiting on Jeongin to show, to ascertain he was alright; until then, it was Felix’s one job to stall. What on earth was that foolish mouseboy doing shoving food in his hair?!

Seungmin, seated to the absent head’s left, and the only other soul in the room, cleared his throat loudly enough to be heard over the cultural expansion of what was meant to be one supper. “Felix!” he called, “Might I ask why you’re storing food on your persons? You’re...not a mouse at the moment.”

Unfortunately it didn’t reach far enough, as Felix continued to store and gobble down food. “Mm… What’d you say, cuz?”

Seungmin frowned. “I said,” he repeated, raising his voice, “you’re not a mouse anymore!”

Felix blinked, pausing red-handed while sliding a breadstick into his shirt pocket. “...Aren’t I?” He examined himself. “...Oh.” He blushed. “I suppose you did give me one of those fancy needles, didn’t you? I’m not used to being a real boy at this hour.”

Seungmin sunk back into his seat; a sigh.

Oh, but for Pete’s sake, where was Jeongin?! Seungmin could at least mention his current condition, so you could skedaddle your way to the nearest exit with a salad to-go. Better yet, some pasta and a pound of those chicken tenders sounded all the better…

No, no Y/n! Now was not the time to be thinking about food...even if it’d been a while since you last ate...more like a day…

...Ooooooh...pizza and...shrimp cocktail…

A pile of desserts rested center stage. Was that German chocolate you were seeing...?

“So,” Seungmin called. “Will Y/n be joining us this evening?”

Your attention snapped back to reality. Felix shook his head alongside tearing into a drumstick. “‘Fraid not,” he replied.

“Mm…” the other boy nodded. “...May I ask why? Is she feeling alright?”

Felix paused again. Forgetting the pasta and German chocolate, you pressed yourself against the closed door in order to be as close as possible, ear resting just next to the shaded chandelier and candlelight. 

Just like we practiced, Felix. Come on, just like we rehearsed.

“Uuuh,” Felix stammered. “Th-That’s…”

His head listed aside in thought. Ugh! No, what was he doing?! 

Felix chewed much longer than he needed to while racking his mouse-sized brain for an answer. Your fingertips pressed into old polished wood, silently begging the boy to remember what you’d just discussed twenty minutes ago.

Remember...think, dang it!

Suddenly, he swallowed. “Oh!”

Seungmin shook his head, as if waking up from a trance. “Yes?”

Felix grinned, probably with salad or something stuck in his teeth. “Y/n will not be attending this dilatory gathering due to a symptom...of her curse, that makes her quite drowsy at this late hour!”

Chink...! That was the sound of your hope cracking like a broken mirror. That sounded totally rehearsed! The lie was supposed to be that your curse made you tired and you didn’t want to be disturbed. It was perfect, since you knew one of them would insist on butting in to see for themselves, but surely would respect a young lady’s wishes to be left alone…

Though it was hard to see that far, Seungmin appeared to be grinding gears in his mind to make sense of such a suspiciously wordy sentence when, heaven’s to Betsy, the door at the far side opened, and in came a blue-haired shadow. It was the only way you knew how to describe him; he was simply put, like ink off a rain-washed page… “Wassup?!” He announced, swinging out the right-side chair.

Seungmin deadpanned, appearing to squint just slightly. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Ink-boy dropped a handful of rolls onto his plate. “...Like wha— oh!”

He leapt for the door again. Seungmin rolled his eyes (something he seemed to do a lot), dabbing the sides of his mouth before placing the cloth back over his lap. “Yeah. Oh.”

At the far end of the room, Han held both hands raised, as if he were a magician about to reveal a magic trick. “May I present to you, Felix, His Royal Highness, Prince of Everain Palace, Ruler of Finance, Master of Trade, Prosperer of...prospering, President Hwang’s birthright successor of the greatest industry of all time, Hyun— …”

Crickets. 

You couldn’t visibly see it, but you knew it was there: a single drop of sweat that rolled down the side of Han Jisung’s face, as he stood frozen, one hand hovering over the engraved door handle.

“Ha...hahaha…” He did his best to smile. “...Wh-Where’s Y/n?”

Felix bobbed his head, holding up a finger while finishing off a bite of lasagna. “Mm...one second mate…” He dabbed the corners of his mouth like Seungmin had done, taking his time to tuck and fold the elaborate cloth upon his lap. 

Han twitched. Felix surely smiled, taking a painfully slow inhale.

“Y/n will not be attending this dilabitory...dilatory gathering due to a...symptom?...yeah, a symptom of her curse, that makes her quite drowsy at this late hour!”

… …

“She whAT?!?!”

You sighed. While Han had another spastic encounter with the dust-coated floor, Seungmin hollered and tried beating the boy out of it with various hard-mattered foods, the two falling into the same bickering as they had before. Felix continued to happily stuff his face like nothing was bothering him. And you, idly residing in the cold hallway, still had no idea how Jeongin was. Not a word.

Sliding your back down the door, you pursed your lips, lightly smacking two fingers over your wrist; better check yourself before you wreck yourself, just in case.

Fifty-eight...fifty-nine...sixty. Yep, normal.

But the marking on your wrist wasn’t. 

You jumped back, hitting the door and causing the noise outside to dip for a moment before returning to...what was currently normal. You covered your right wrist with the opposite hand. Held your breath. Counted to three.

Removing your fingers, slowly, something sinister stared back at you. Something...elaborate, foreign, but distinguished. Some sort of...strange dome shape, a mark made of...ink, maybe, resembling a chapel window. Or a door, perhaps?  

Upon closer inspection, in the faint light from the other room, it seemed to pulse with...some kind of...energy… … 

...When sunrise comes, and all is lost… Hmm… 

Fwoosh!

You snapped your head back, peering through the sliver of dancing light. The far door ricocheted against its adjacent wall; an ambrosial aroma wafting through the air. The candlelight...illuminated...

...A beastly man with silky black hair.

- ❧ -

You’re pretty sure you heard a noodle slip off the fork wound tightly in Felix’s hand, who nearly dropped it all the same. 

There he was; the man who’d become a monster and nearly murdered Han just hours ago, right before your eyes. The black and red miasma, honed claws, sharp teeth; all of it came flooding back to your mind like a tidal wave. 

The sudden drop in temperature made you long for candle warmth, yet flee farther into the shadows of the empty hall. Seungmin paused with a scone held once proudly and threateningly in the air, now placed delicately on his plate as he nervously slid back into his seat. Han, once choking on a fistful of salad mix, managed to wash it down and did the same, quickly and quietly so after pulling out the beastman’s seat.

Hyunjin sat down with vigor, the legs of his chair scraping harshly to the floor. He made a peculiar face, something like embarrassment albeit just a second, before hiding it behind the fluffing of his napkin and folding it onto his lap. Then he made a fleeting...was that nervous?...glance straight head, to the far opposite end of the table.

The candlelight seemed almost hesitant to cast it’s erratic glow upon the prince’s face. When his eyes met a head of orange hair, he froze, glaring. Hotly. “Where is Y/n?”

“The million dollar question,” Seungmin mumbled. It managed to echo, along with the kick beneath the table and following hiss escaping his lips a moment later. 

Hyunjin snorted, turning his gaze back to Felix. “I said,” he repeated. “Where is Y/n?”

“Yes, I heard you loud and clear, cuz,” Felix replied with an OK sign. “Gimme just a sec...ahem!”

You (silently) banged your head against the solid matter before you. Oh, sweet stars, please no…

“Y/n will not be attending this—”

“She’s not feeling well, Your Grace,” Seungmin interrupted. Phew. “Apparently she’s rather ill as a side effect from whatever curse the Witch gave her. She’s resting in the same guest room upstairs.”

Yes! Now, someone mention Jeongin’s name so you could leave with a clear conscious!

Hyunjin blinked. “Go get her, then.”

… Huh?

Seungmin nearly swallowed wrong, apparently thinking the same thing. “I’m sorry?”

Hyunjin, again, snorted. “I said, go get her. It’s rude to keep everyone waiting, especially royalty.”

Felix, who had long started his meal prior to anyone’s arrival, stopped and hurriedly shoved any evidence under a spare napkin from the empty seat beside him. “Ahaha, yes, right! Waiting…! …” 

He awkwardly wiped his hands clean. Seungmin frowned. “Hyunjin…”He placed his fork down. “She’s sick. Resting. And after today, I don’t blame her for wanting to be left alone right now…” He eyeballed Felix a moment, leaning in with a hushed voice. “Remember, you have more time now...it’s better to be patient. Let her adjust first.” He turned back toward his meal. “I got the hint from Felix’s message, she wants to be left alone. Everyone’s already started eating, anywa—”

“That’s enough!”

The room swiftly grew colder. You shivered, ducking your head even if you technically weren’t present in the dining atmosphere. Oh, greif.

Hyunjin slammed his hands on the table, rocking himself upwards. “If you’re just going to back talk and give me excuses, I’ll get her myself!”

He made his way toward you, crossing the dining room on Han’s side in angry strides towards the vaguely slitted door.

Gasping, you bit your lip hard, frantically searching for a place to hide; but there was nothing. No furniture or randomly placed junk littered the path leading to the great hall. Could you outrun him, maybe? Would it make a sound? How good was his hearing? Did beastmen have the same sensitive hearing capabilities as a wolf, or a fox?

“Pardon me!”

You whirled around, witnessing the brave, possibly last, antics of Felix the Mouse...boy. His whole aura radiated positive, jittering energy, hopping lightly from one foot to the next as he put his old entertainment skills to use, all for your sake.

Hyunjin grunted, having been stopped in his tracks. He glared down heatedly. “What is it? You’re in my way.”

Felix saluted him. “Right on, bro! ...Except, that…”

You held your breath. Put on a good show, Felix. Or, better yet, ask him about Jeongin. That’s all I need to—

“...I need to pee. Mind showing me where the bathroom is?”

… … 

Oh…he just had to...go… 

You deflated like a popped balloon. Of course.

After staring almost incredulously at Felix, like trying to understand his existence, Hyunjin made some sort of irritated noise you assumed all beastmen made, shoved him aside, and continued his striding. 

You made it as far as a few paces from the first available turn before a cold voice stopped you.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

Urk! … 

...You really should have just looked for Jeongin yourself.

| Ten ❧

“Where’s Jeongin?”

The room had long ago settled into an uncomfortable silence. Bitterly, you shoved a stuffed olive into your mouth, letting the salty tang of the brined fruit coax over your tongue before shivering from the sensation.

You were getting drowsy. But that also could have been from the wine Han insisted on pouring for you, and you being stressed and unsure if an evening around a beastman would be at all possible without the effects of alcohol, accepted.

You were seated across from the beast now, in Felix’s place. The boy being forced to your right...until the effects of whatever had made him a boy again wore off. As of ten minutes ago, he was a rodent yet again, nested happily in the garlic bread basket. You squinted eyes at him over your wine glass.

You totally failed the mission. Be grateful I’m having a hard time staying mad at you. And that you can safely ingest garlic.

“Why do you wish to know?”

Hyunjin’s voice boomed across the grand hall, in no more than a calm rejoinder. How he could speak so lowly and yet fill an entire hall was beyond your drunkenly buzzing comprehension.

“I just want to know,” you simply replied. “Where is he?”

Hyunjin didn’t respond. Instead, Seungmin cleared his throat, excusing himself from the room.

“Wait,” You stood. “Where are you going?”

The boy awkwardly shifted his gaze from you to the door. Hyunjin suddenly stood as well. “Why do you want to know? Why are you asking so many questions?”

“Okay, okay,” Han dabbed at his face, easing the beast back into his seat, and motioning for you to do the same. “Everyone take it easy. Y/n, please excuse Seungmin, he has many responsibilities here. Hyunjin...Your Princeliness,” he corrected, “why don’t you have some more wine? I think we all just need to have a nice long drink and—”

“Be quiet,” Hyunjin ordered, scooting himself in. His shadow didn’t need to be told twice, turning back to his dinner with a small eye roll.

Steadily, with caution, you lowered yourself back into your seat, only able to watch as Seungmin gave a brief bow to you before disappearing behind closed doors. “Please excuse me,” his voice trailed behind him.

Great. He was likely the only one who’d have been bold and honest enough to tell you anything. Now you were stuck with a beast, a shadow, and a mouse that’d fallen asleep in the bread basket.

...Then this happened.

“Ahem,” Hyunjin swallowed a swish of sweet, fermented grape juice. “...T-Tell me about yourself.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said…” He swallowed again, for no particular reason this time. He kept a staring contest with his steak. “Tell me about yourself. What kind of...stuff do you like?”

“What kind of...stuff?”

A stifled noise came from Han’s lips, as he did his best to hide a smile. He spared you a polite grin before quickly whispering something to Hyunjin, like a lawyer to a client. “...Never mind!” The beastman awkwardly bleated, to which crimson coated his cheeks. He angrily picked at his plate, and the room once again fell into silence.

That was weird. Switching gears, you glanced down to your wrist. The mark from a bit earlier was still there, now lit up beneath the flickering light. Tentatively, you slipped a spare napkin, rubbing at the ink.

It didn’t budge. You tried wetting the cloth with a bit of wine when the others weren’t looking; thankfully, Hyunjin was too...enthralled in his steak, or something, and Han was too busy whispering to him.

The ink didn’t smudge, either. It was as if the markings were a part of your skin.

When sunrise comes, and all is lost… 

“What do you do for fun?”

“Wha?!” Your head shot up, focusing to see all four eyes on you. Han and Hyunjin glaring at you expectantly. You gulped, taking a deep breath to clear your thoughts. You just couldn’t get that old bat’s wacky slogan out of your head… “...What do I do for fun? Is that what you asked?”

Han gave a single nod, encouraging another conversation attempt. You lowered your head, thinking. It couldn’t hurt to participate in mindless chatter. Just until I get the information I want.

“I like...selling things. And making people happy.”

Hyunjin’s eyes grew just a little. “Is...that what you do for a living?”

“Mm-hm.”

Both men were silent. Hyunjin, in particular, looked like he may have been experiencing indigestion of some sort. Then he scowled. “Shouldn’t you be home with your parents? Taking care of them? Doing something more decent?”

You scoffed. What the heck? Where did that come from? “This is how I take care of them. Almost all the proceeds go back to them. What do you mean, more decent?”

Hyunjin had opened his mouth to speak when Han cleared his throat, jumping in on the conversation. “Does your friend work with you? Her name was…”

“Rei.”

“Yes, Rei! You both sell artifacts and collectibles, right?”

“That’s correct.”

Hyunjin blinked. “Oh…” He relaxed, indigestion cleared.

Placing both hands on your lap, you sat up a little straighter. “So where’s Jeongin?”

The beastman’s face resembled one of annoyance and grief. “Why do you keep asking about him?”

“I…” You took another swing of wine, swirling the contents afterward. Watching as your reflection altered. “I’m just curious is all. Is he doing okay?”

Something like...jealousy?...resided among the beast’s brow and set jaw. “He’s fine. Quit asking. I want you to tell me about yourself. Where are you from? How old are you?”

It was at this point that you’d at last had perhaps one too many swigs of sweet relief and numbness, for you placed down your glass after chugging the last bit. One out of...how many refills of this stuff have you had? “Can’t,” you stated, standing. “I got what I came here for. Now I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?”

Hyunjin...the beast, regarded you incredulously. “Yes, leaving…” You giggled. “Leaving. Leeeeeaving… Like leaves blowing in the wind, leaf-ing.” It was a hop, skip, and a jump to the door some ten or whatever paces away. “I know that Jeongin is okay now...er, wait.” You frowned. Turned around. “How do I know you aren’t lying to me?”

A brow was raised. “You think I’m lying? About my Jeongin?” He snorted. “Why do you care so much about him? Do you know him from a past life? Was he your lover? Do you like him now?”

“Hyunjin…” Han muttered, glaring. “Cool it...please.”

“I will not!” He rose to his feet with twice as much vigor as before, chair flying backward. Han eep-ed. “This dinner is supposed to be about you, and me. Why do you keep bringing up my blacksmith? Tell me!”

Because you were already pretty numb (good gravy what was in the wine?), you just laughed at the fact a beast was getting this angry over something so trivial to you. “Why do you care so much? Do beasts always get this angry?” You groaned, like it was all such a bother. “If you really wanna know, he had a nervous breakdown or something and begged me to come to dinner. But he got all weird...like...there were these moving images, and he started vanishing. I could see right through him!” You sighed, making your exit again. “I just wanted to know if he was alright. Turning into air like that can’t be healthy.”

“Absolutely not.”

You chuckled, nearly at the door. “Exactly, that’s what I’m say—”

“NO!”

Boom! Chik!

...You flinched. Gradually, bit by bit, you inched yourself to partially facing the dining hall.

A chunk of the table was missing. A decently-sized, pretty big chunk, torn right off the left corner. Han, on the opposite side but right next to the disaster, was twisted up like one of the noodles that’d been trapped in Felix’s hair, his face ghostly white.

Hyunjin was seething. “You are not going anywhere outside the confinements of these walls. That is an order.”

Han coughed, waving away dust and floating wood chips with minimal effort so as not to draw too much attention. “O-Okay, easy there, Hyunjin…technically…” He smiled. An apologetic one, voice skittishly squeaky. “Technically, you can’t order her to—”

“I’ll do whatever the hell I want!!! This is my manor, my life, my curse!!!”

“That doesn’t give you the right to order me around!” You screamed. “How dare you raise your voice to me! Over something so stupid and absurd!”

His eyes narrowed to slits, head twitching aside. “What did you just say?”

You mirrored his image. “You heard me. Don’t pretend like you didn’t hear. Surely, as a beast, your hearing is as good as a dog. Or a bat. Or some kind of vermin.” Pushing open the door, you whipped your head around. “I said, I’m leaving.”

Hyunjin’s eyes went wide...then nearly vanished behind a curtain of vexed, enraged brows. “You wanna go so badly? Fine! Get out of here! Go to your room!!!”

“Who do you think you are, my father?!”

“Obviously, running amuck from your parents has left you with a lack of discipline.”

Your jaw went slack. “What did you just say?!?”

Hyunjin smirked, a sarcastically snobbish and mocking tone to his voice. “You heard me. Don’t pretend like you didn’t.”

“Uh!” You raved. “Whatever! I’m going to look for Jeongin myself, since I can’t trust that you’d tell me anything sincere. Then, I’m out of here.”

“What does that mean?!”

“It means I can’t trust anything you say, because you’re a monster!!! Then, I’m going home!”

You couldn’t quite see it, but there was a hint of pain in Hyunjin’s eyes, mixed with scars and years of regret. But everything quickly flooded back to anger and bigotry before you could count to three. “...Get back here! You’re not allowed to leave the manor! I forbid you to go anywhere except straight to your room! Do you hear me?!”

“No!”

“Yes!!”

“No!!”

“FINE!!!”

“Fine!!!”

…Slam.

| Eleven ❧

The rain coming down that night was the only thing stopping you from leaving. Not that you were afraid of a little rain by any means; no, not in the slightest. Rather, it was that you weren’t going to kill yourself over a stupid argument just to get away from a beast. You couldn’t risk catching pneumonia or a silly cold and leave Rei to handle taking care of you and the fort. Plus, there was the matter of Felix...you’d be responsible for him as well. You already told him you would.

...All of that, and it was raining pretty hard.

So here you sat, out in an old web-infested barn, slack atop a stack of hay a few feet away from the open barn doors, just watching the rain fall. Praying it would let up so you could escape. Praying no one would find you here, out in some shabby old building behind the kitchen. And what a nightmare that had been, by the way.

From your left shoulder, Felix did a nervous little jig, spinning in circles twice before bridging across your back to the other side. “Y/n…I don’t know what happened, cause that cheese and wine got me pretty good, but…” He heaved a small mouse-sigh. “...Do you think you maybe overreacted? You don’t seem like a person who gets worked up so easily.”

You scoffed. Wasn’t that right. “Yeah...you’re right. I’m not.”

“Then what happened?”

“......” It took you a moment to gather your thoughts. What did happen? Why did I get so worked up like that? Sure, there was the alcohol. That definitely had an effect. But it wasn’t everything, because now that it was wearing down, now that your mind was clearing and you’d had some time to settle down, to breathe in solitude, you...knew it was something more. There was truth in the midst of all that anger.

Felix was waiting for an answer. So were you.

“I—”

Chunk! “Y/n!!!”

You took a startled breath, turning toward an old door you could have sworn was sealed shut. “Jeongin…?”

It was Jeongin. The red-haired reason you’d decided to stick things out, albeit a little longer. The boy greeted you with flushed cheeks and a lazy smile; he still didn’t look all that well. “Y-Yeah...I came because I heard...you…”

He hunched over, out of breath. The face of another appeared behind him. “Jeongin! I told you to slow down, you’re in no condition to be running around like…” He stopped, blinking into the darkness. “Y/n? Why are you here?”

Brown hair, matching eyes. Mr. Excuse-Me-From-This-Horrifically-Awkward-Dinner. You just smiled, lazily in response. “Hello, Seungmin.”

The young...caretaker nodded, acknowledging you before being swatted away by his patient. A flash of vacancy lit up the night sky as you turned the opposite away, facing the other two in a triangle. Jeongin hustled to shut the barn doors despite Seungmin’s protests, and pretty soon the three...four of you, with Felix taking a nosedive for the hay, sat in awkward silence.

It was almost an encore of dinner not but twenty or thirty minutes ago, though not as worse. It was obvious the two of them wanted to say something, but neither wanted to be the first to speak. Finally, after twenty-odd seconds of nose scratches, unnecessary shifting, and forced coughs, the only employee with a braincell sat up a little straighter.

“Listen,” Seungmin began, using his hands to speak. “About Hyunjin—”

The beast. No thank you. You swatted your hands before you. “I do not want nor need to have another conversation about that ill-mannered buffoon.”

“...I’m pretty sure this is the first one.”

“Second,” Jeongin inquired. “...Right?”

“I’m not counting the first encounter,” Seungmin...countered. “Those never count.”

Jeongin nodded. “Yeah, I can see why—”

“Enough!” You yelled. “...It doesn’t matter if this is the first or second or even the tenth time. I can tell you one thing, it’s definitely the last.”

Seungmin gave you a pitying look. “We all have to walk on eggshells around him.” His voice sounded pleading, borderline apologetic, and all-over exhausted. “...It gets rough, I know. I understand he’s not the easiest person to get along with. He’s very different and outcast and behind the times. But if you could just hear me out for—”

“Hear us out,” Jeongin corrected. He gave you the cutest, saddest smile a boy of his caliber could possibly manage. It made your heart melt; it didn’t help that he was still ill to boot. “I heard what you did for me, Y/n. I really appreciate your concern. No one has ever stayed, especially when one of us...has an...episode.” 

His gaze grew sad and distant. You could feel your heart sizzling in a pool of pity. “...This has happened...before?” you whispered.

Jeongin nodded, Seungmin averting his eyes. “...Yeah.” He said. “Twice to Jeongin, three times to Han, Hyunjin too many to count...and uh…” He scratched his cheek, holding up an index finger. Eyes peeking shyly under the hood of neatly-groomed bangs. “...Once I may have...had a bad day.”

“Wow…” Felix mumbled, head sticking out of the hay barrel. The boy looked like a stray whack-a-mole project. “That sounds rough. Been there done that.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving him down with two fingers. He let out a muffled squeak on the way down. “So…” ...You sighed. “...What is it that you wanted to say, then? This is the last time I’m listening. I only went to that banquet to make sure Jeongin was okay.” Another crack of lighting pierced the sky, followed by the ominous rumbling of thunder. “You have maybe ten minutes, since the storm isn’t letting up anytime soon. But after that, I’d like to be left alone in peace until I can leave this joint. Go.”

Seungmin nearly beamed nonexistent sunshine. “That’s plenty of time.”

“Get to the basics. Just the essentials.”

“The company fell under a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry?”

He huffed, running a hand through his hair while Jeongin glanced nervously at the door. “The company, this place. The first thing you need to know about Hyunjin is that he wasn’t always this way. And I’m not just talking about the curse. He’s the son of a wealthy businessman; this is his estate. He owns the whole town...or at least, he did.” His eyes scanned the walls and dusty interior, as if checking to see if someone else was watching. As if taking in the entirety of the estate. “...Now it belongs to Hyunjin. Everything.”

You crossed your arms. “I could have put that together myself. He’s obviously a rich, spoiled brat.”

“There’s more. The people that know him personally know him for who he really is.”

You huffed. Unbelievable, really. “And what would that be?” You pressed. “A monster?”

A bitter silence flushed the room. You instantly felt a pang of resentment at that remark. Perhaps...again, that was a bit too harsh. 

“...I’m sorry.” Your arms laid in surrender across your lap. “Please continue.”

“......” Seungmin glanced to his left. “You wanna pick up from here?”

He leaned back, Jeongin lifting himself to take the lead. “...Hyunjin is a pain in the ass. He’s a pain in the morning, we basically play rock paper scissors to see who has the unfortunate task of waking him up and handling his breakfast, and to decide who’s turn it is to do laundry and lunch we place bets on when he’ll randomly combust in a daily rage or which book he’ll throw across the room first.” He counted on his fingers, listing them off one by one. “For dinner and his bath we usually draw straws or play an old board game, but Han often cheats, so…”

...His voice trailed off, eyes intently examining his mental checklist. You frowned. “...What does any of this have to do with…” Shook your head. “What are you saying again?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” he bowed. Cute. “What I meant to say was that deep down Hyunjin is actually a very kind person, but...I just ended up making him sound like an overly-dependent...man...child.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, twirling a piece of hay around your finger. “Well he sure does seem like it. His manners at the dinner table were atrocious and incredibly beast-like.”

“But you don’t know him like we do,” Seungmin insisted...then smiled, apologetically so, sitting up straight again. “...Forgive me. But what we’re trying to say is, Hyunjin is really a nice guy, he’s just...stuck. You definitely didn’t help with that daily ledger,” he scolded beside him. Jeongin bowed again.

“Well, sorry, I was just trying to—”

“Stuck?”

That lone word rang out like a gunshot. Seungmin and Jeongin both turned to you with sour eyes, the former swallowing a bit uncomfortably. “...Yes, stuck.”

“In what? Time? Space? Adolescence?” You tilted your head. “Because he never learned to grow up?”

“Exactly! ...Sort of.”

You glanced down to the hay-riddled fabric adorning your lap. It’d never really occurred to you to analyze or care anything for Hyunjin’s personal life, mostly because you weren’t planning on staying and the moment you saw him transform, you didn’t want to know. Your instincts told you to run, to flee, to flood your system with a coping-mechanism gene and forget and ignore what you just saw. You wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but you were scared...and who in their right mind wouldn’t be?

...But hearing this now...even given the smallest sliver of insight…

...Well, your mother had often scolded you for being nosy. “So you’re saying he never learned how to...grow up.”

Both boys nodded. “That definitely can be said.”

“And so, that’s why he acts out.” You looked around, questions popping up about the hedge maze in your mind from every direction. “How long has he been alone here? Where are his parents? …How old is he?” Your eyes focused on Seungmin. “What happened to him, exactly?”

“......” Seungmin and Jeongin shared a look. It all but drove you crazy how long it took one of them to answer. “...Do you have longer than ten minutes?”

| Twelve ❧

“Hyunjin was born to a wealthy mother and a poor, impoverished father in the year XXXX. No one knows where or how they met; Hyunjin is very selective and quiet on the matter. However, documents of his mother’s family buried in one of many attics claim they met at some time around the Summer harvest festival, an annual event that used to take place here in New Amber.

“It was the responsibility of noble families to uphold the annual harvest ceremony at the start of the season. As a part of tradition, many noble families and a few middle class families with connections to noblemen and their wives would use this great gathering to announce engagements and arranged marriages, in order to shift the power to new families and invite a sense of balance to the community. Hyunjin’s mother was reportedly sixteen years old at her time of arranged marriage, to the wealthiest family in New Amber next to the king; a family called the Song’s.

“The Song family oversought all affairs in the king’s absence; which he was absent a lot, given his aloof nature and uncaring attitude towards politics. The Song family basically ruled the city with an iron fist; many offers came to them from pushy mothers or greedy fathers who wished for their sons and daughters to tie a knot to the family name, connecting a chain to their own. A man by the name of Yun Jeongsun, Hyunjin’s grandfather, was one such parent. He weaseled his way into the Song’s good graces, and they offered their youngest son to be wed.

“Hyunjin’s mother, Yun Haerin, was against the marriage from the start. She had no interest in marriage, and instead wanted to craft her own trade to be of use to society. She wished to work alongside the Song family, rather than become one herself. As you can imagine, this angered many people; not only did it go against protocol at the time, but refusing an offer from the ruling family was considered a huge offense. And the Song family took it that way.

“As she was packing to leave the city one night— as she’d decided to melodramatically run away from her problems— she was met with Hyunjin’s father, a dirt-scratcher named Hwang Jihoon. The Hwang family had fallen on hard times ten years prior when their oil company snagged a few false investments, and the company went bankrupt and fell under. Having learned to fend for himself and adapt to life on the streets, Hwang Jihoon saved Yun Haerin from some typical back alley bandits, and finding her fancy offered to escort her to her new life outside of town.

“As you can probably guess, the two fell in love during their travels, and settled for a simple life outside of New Amber. However...Hwang Jihoon wanted more for his family. 

“No one in the Hwang family ever forgot or gave up resenting the hardships they faced. And no one especially more than eldest son Jihoon. To summarize and keep this short...Hwang Jihoon became a tyrant. He used Haerin’s maiden name to forge a new path for the Hwang’s, and eventually, the nameless city they had escaped to fell flat. It couldn’t withstand the intense amount of economic tyranny and inflation. The taxation without representation. Hwang Jihoon had swindled his family to the top and drained the entire community dry.

“So they went back to New Amber. For stability. For revenge. Now having the security and stability he needed, which he stole from others, the Hwang family came back with an iron fist of their own. Due to a current drought and a bad economic year, not to mention the king up and abandoning his people, not even the Song family could stand up to them. And promising a new resurrection of New Amber, Hwang Jihoon took the throne.

“He crowned himself King of New Amber and tore half the city apart drilling for oil. As luck would have it, the community had been sitting atop a natural oil reserve that flooded the country back into promising times. Things were actually quite peaceful for the first five years...until they ran out of oil. Taking the snag in stride, however, Jihoon used his deceit and backhanded tactics to manipulate the economy, trading and stealing from other cities. Because he was so crafty, no one caught on until it was too late.

“Hyunjin had been born just a year before. Upon his birth, Haerin and Jihoon began having marital problems, according to a diary entry by Haerin. In it she claims to have regretted her choice in marrying Jihoon, and that she’d fallen out of love with him. She claims that his only interest was power and revenge, tearing down the social hierarchy to make everyone pay— and the unfortunate effects it was having on everyone. 

“In her last entry, Haerin claimed to fear for her life. She wrote that Jihoon had violently threatened to forfeit her life if it meant continuing his reign. She was never seen or heard from after that…”

...Seungmin’s voice grew faint for a while. Tension in the air rose higher, the thickness suffocating.

You couldn’t believe such a tragic and long-rich history had occurred in such a wasteland. It obviously had fallen eventually, but…

You needed to hear more. “...So he killed her? Then what happened?”

Seungmin nodded, slowly. “It likely wasn’t him. Due to his constant appearance in the public eye, it’s more probable to say he hired someone to do the job.”

You shivered. How awful. 

As Jeongin fished out and dusted off an old blanket for you, his light coughs echoing around the barn, Seungmin continued. “With Haerin gone and the Yun family name no longer needed, Jihoon continued to thrive and plunge the city to new heights— and a harder fall. He manipulated the economy to continue spinning in his favor; meanwhile, as years flew by and he became older, he began having thoughts of the future, and who would succeed in his place. Because he was a man with no trust in anyone but himself, he summoned his only son— Hwang Hyunjin— to be molded in lessons of business and trade. How to lie, cheat, and steal.

“Supposedly the brainwashing began around the age of nine. Hyunjin had been a clueless child sent away to be cared for by a few nuns from the community in a remote location before; he’d grown up without any friends, never knowing the love of a mother or father. Only the required care provided by the Sisters of the Church. However, that does not mean he was never unhappy; the sisters did a fine job of raising him, and they truly did grow to love Hyunjin as their own.

“Of course that all changed when he was taken back to the palace. From then on Hyunjin spent his days locked away in the estate’s highest tower, like a prince out of a fairytale; forced into the education of topics he could scarcely fathom. Another maid who kept a journal of her own reported the occasional, almost frequent scream coming from the prince’s tower. She noted them as punishments for incorrect responses and behavior.

“Hyunjin was fourteen when his father died. Five years of torture and humiliation, along with a healthy dose of effective brainwashing, formed him into an angry and bitter soul. Originally, he wanted nothing to do with his father’s company. He wanted nothing to do with the position of king; but being outnumbered and powerless against the force of countless impoverished civilians forced him to make changes. 

“...I did the best I could to help him. As an advisor in training to Jihoon, I truly did what I could. Honestly, seeing him that one day...the day of his coronation...it fascinated me. There, I thought. Up there on the highest balcony. That’s the boy rumored to be the source of the screaming at night. That’s the boy who is Jihoon’s only son. His flesh and blood. The son of the late Haerin, a lasting survivor of the Yun legacy.”

Seungmin took a deep breath here, sighing out into the open space between you. Watching him flashback nearly took your breath away.

“...And so it came to be that Hwang Hyunjin took the downfall of his father’s handiwork. The moment he sat down at the throne, all the lies his father weaved came unraveled. All the shortcuts and manipulation tactics came back to haunt him. All the stolen time and resources were forced to be paid back in full. Hyunjin could hardly bear the weight of it all; the toll was almost too great. Many people saw him as cursed, and up and fled the palace to be with their families in poverty. But they hadn’t seen anything yet...”

“So…” You hesitantly reached a hand forward, then flinched, retracting it. “...I’m sorry to interrupt. But how did he...um…”

Seungmin gave a bitter half-smile, nodding. “Yeah. I’m almost there.

“One night at the head of a harsh Winter, an old woman showed up seeking shelter. Hyunjin was out stalking the palace halls lamenting his position, and upon answering, turned her away.”

Your eyes widened. “She was...the Witch of the Biome. Er, whatever her name is…”

Seungmin nodded. “Yes, that’s right. The Witch revealed herself to Hyunjin, and put a curse upon all who were present within these walls. At the time that was...well, there were a few others, but before you ask about them...they’re gone now.”

You listed your head a moment before realizing what he meant. “...O-Oh...I’m so...sorry…”

The advisor shrugged. “It was a while ago. There was nothing we could do about it. It was their choice…”

Sniffling filled your ear from down below. You bowed your head to find Felix with tears in his eyes, turning to you in need of comfort. Gently, you lifted him onto one leg, hovering cupped hands around him. “And then?”

“Then...well…” He gestured around him. “Here we are today. After the people saw what he had become, families and villagers left, some in hoards, others more sparingly. But eventually the whole city was left to erosion. Hyunjin couldn’t hide his curse forever; and neither could we.” 

He stood suddenly, dusting stands of hay and a few piles of dust from the atmosphere away from him. Outside, the sounds of clarity of nightfall graced your ears.

“So now you know. This is Hyunjin’s story...and our own.”

“So then, why am I here?”

This question seemed to catch Jeongin by surprise; but Seungmin smiled as if anticipating the notion. “The Witch tends to spout riddles about how her curses can be broken; it’s like some weird tick or bad habit while she’s casting them. Or maybe it’s just the incantation itself; no one really knows. However…” He scratched his cheek, looking to Jeongin for confirmation. The red-head nodded. “We were hoping you would be the one to break the curse. You see, the incantation, according to Hyunjin, went something like this:

“Lips to lips and mouth to mouth Calls the speaker of the shrouds Summon forth your courage and might In order to love and end within night But yet if still ye cannot fathom Ending here the chilling anthem Suffer still and face your demise For all the passing days of sunrise.”

The smallest gasp escaped your lips. Sunrise...sunrise. When sunrise comes, and all is lost...

“...Hyunjin sort of lost his way after the curse was cast. Well...no. He’d lost his way a long time ago. I guess what I’m trying to say is, he never found his way to begin with. So he really lost it after the curse hit, and he was forced back into hiding. He didn’t know what to do with himself. Everything was so...messed up. It was just a mess. His whole life had been a dark, night-infested wasteland...much like this town, almost...and then it was like someone came and dropped a hedge maze over it. He didn’t know where to go or what to do. He was already lost. So he just...screamed. And cracked. He broke, like many of the mirrors you’ll find around here. Covering it up with a delusional fantasy. That’s why he acts the way he does; sort of like he’s just existing, and nothing is really wrong. Inside...it’s chaos inside his mind. Just an ill-chosen coping mechanism to disguise the front of war. So, Y/n…”

You flinched at the mention of your name, sitting up straighter. Seungmin looked down upon you with an intense fire.

“Now that you know the story, what will you do? I didn’t tell you all this to guilt you into staying, so I hope you don’t feel that way. Nor did I tell it to scare you. You have nothing to fear but fear itself; something we’ve been trying to teach Hyunjin for a long time…” He sighed.

You glanced around the worn-down barn. At the empty hay barrels, the decaying wood structures, the various puddles of rain seeping in. What were you going to do? It was a tough decision to make...and a lot of information to process.

Your eyes traveled down to the lone marking on your wrist, now appearing to have settled into something bolder. It was definitely a petal, or an ambrosial symbol of some sort. The Mark of the Rose… 

You swallowed hard. It would seem your destiny had led you here. Even if it was a sudden destiny, a fate you never asked for. If you were going to get your old life back, well, it looked like you were going to have to take a detour. “I think...I’m going to do what I have to.”

At the other side of the barn, Seungmin blinked, remaining ever calm and collected since the moment you first met him. Jeongin, on the other hand, bore his eyes into you as if waiting to hear the climax of the story. “And what’s that?” Seungmin asked.

You stood, placing Felix on your shoulder. “You’ll see. Just watch me.”

| End Act One ❧

ღ Stray Kids M.List | M.List ღ

 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

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[sideblog-666-thousand]

Euronymous Interview in Decibel of Death, ‘87. English Translation. Ft. Euronymous’ depraved torture fantasies involving Coca-Cola.

‘Decibel of Death’ was a French fanzine from the 80s. It’s first issue was released in ‘86, and by the summer of ‘87, it switched over from French to English-language. This has been my favourite interview of Euronymous for a long time now, so I decided I’d translate it to English so that other, non-francophone, people could enjoy it too. This issue in particular is from February of ‘87, and was their fourth issue overall.

I’ll add a link to where you can find this, and other D.O.D scans, below. If anybody wants me to translate more French, or Russian, interviews, feel free to PM me.

Note: NDLR is the editor’s notes. Any commentary or context by me will be in bold and in parenthesis, so feel free to totally ignore it. If something is between “« »” it’s because it was already written in English to begin with.

Disclaimer: if some of the sentences sound like the energizer bunny is hooked on an iv rig full of pure meth, don’t blame me, I did my best. Take it up with Euronymous himself. Also, I’m not excusing Euronymous’ poor behaviour, I’m just saying his poor behaviour is kind of entertaining.

Without further ado...

D.O.D: And once again, here’s Norwegian Mayhem. If you remember, we presented them to you back in the May issue of D.O.D. Since then, they released a new demo titled “Death Crush”!! Because of this event, we decided to ask the guitarist of this rather sinister band a few questions.

D.O.D: Okay, there’s been more than a few line-up changes in Mayhem. Can you tell us what the current one is?

Euro: Alright, there’s me on guitars, Manheim on battery, Necro-butcher on drums, and our session vocalist, Maniac.

D.O.D:  And what is the medium age of the group?

Euro: We are all 18 years old.

D.O.D: How long has Mayhem been around for?

Euro: Mayhem has been around since August of ‘84 with this line-up, before that, I played in another shitty metal group that was also called Mayhem. The other members also played in a crappy band before we all met.

D.O.D: How would you describe your music?

Euro: Ah, well, it’s like a wall of sound played at extreme speed all mixed with the sound of a chainsaw!!

D.O.D: In your opinion, who are the biggest posers on this planet?

Euro: That definitely has to be the Swedish group ‘Europe’. «Fuck them!!» I hate this band!!

D.O.D: Ha ha, what would you like to do to make them suffer?

(This is the exact moment where the interviewers realize that Euronymous is literally fucking insane. The editor censors some of the things Euronymous says because he has a very vulgar manner of speaking, so, brace yourselves. To make it abundantly clear— I didn’t censor any of this, if it was me, I’d let him continue swearing ‘til next year if he wanted to. Take it up with D.O.D!)

Euro: First of all, I’d cut them and make them eat their own (bleep)!! Then, I’ll fuck them in the ass with an empty bottle of Coke, and if they’re still alive somehow, I’ll drown them in their own piss!! (NDLR: I’d do the same to a few guys in Germany and Switzerland!!) But all of this is reserved for their guitarist, drummer and bassist, I have a far crueler torture for their singer, for him, I’m simply going to break his mirror and steal his perfume!! Haaaaafuckinghah!!! (NDLR: ahahahaha, this is so much fun!!)

D.O.D: Okay, Euronymous, onto more serious topics, who composes the most in Mayhem?

Euro: It’s me and Necro, but sometimes Manheim comes up with good riffs, he actually wrote most of P.F.A (Pure Fucking Armageddon)

D.O.D: I believe thrashers reacted pretty well to your first demo, right?

Euro: Despite the zero sound of this demo. It's true that it's actually the hardcore thrashers that appreciated it, although it was the others hating it that gave us an enormous promotion like with 'Metal Forces'.

D.O.D: Has there been groups that have influenced you?

Euro: Of course, early Venom has really inspired us, although we don’t sound like them in any way. We’re also influenced by bands like Hellhammer and Sodom.

D.O.D: Mayhem is a common band name, what do you think of other Mayhem (such as NYC Mayhem, Mayhem (WC), Mayhem (Oregon))?

Euro: NYC Mayhem* are excellent, I adore them! (NDLR: me too!!) and they call themselves NYC Mayhem. But as for the other Mayhems, they stink, «fuckin’ shit»,  like the Mayhem that’s on Metal Massacre VI*, they really stink, their music isn’t destructive like ours is at all, they don’t deserve this name, I hate them!!

D.O.D: I heard you guys played a show, how did that go?

Euro: It was really «cool», it was at a small rock festival that had around 3-400 «discofucks» (NDLR: this is the censored translation) and when we went on stage with our first session vocalist “Messiah”, we broke a bass over their mouths!! We gave these idiots hell!! Ha ha!! (I’ll link the show he’s referring to below)

D.O.D: And how did your other gigs go?

Euro: For now this has been our only show!! And we don’t know how the crowds will react at the prospect of future gigs.

D.O.D: Fair. Since we’re talking about future gigs, what will those be like?

Euro: They’ll be full of occult things, we’ll play in complete darkness and there’ll be red blood spots, chandeliers, smoke, and pig heads on stakes, it’ll be totally thrashing!!

D.O.D: How’s the Norwegian thrash scene? It’s pretty dull, no?

Euro: Right now, «it sucks», there’s no audience, but it seems to be going in the right direction with bands like Vomit*, Septic Cunts, Decay Lust, and Flowers in The Dustbin.

D.O.D: And what kind of things are your lyrics about?

Euro: depravity, like tearing someone’s (bleep), eating worms, and all those fine things!!

D.O.D: What are your favourite bands?

Euro: Really hard question, there’s so many good bands coming out but I think the bands I like the most are old Venom, Deathchamber, Sodom, Necrophagia, Destruction, Death, Kreator, Poison. (No, not THAT Poison)

D.O.D: Do you ever listen to hardcore?

Euro: «Yeah» I like Chaotic Discord, Septic Death, UK Subs, and others. It hasn’t been that long since I went to see Disorder and it was awesome!!

D.O.D: Are you considering going on tour?

Euro: No, not exactly. But soon we’ll play at a Norwegian thrash festival. We’ll also play at a thrash festival in Copenhagen, and probably do a few shows with Kreator/Necrophagia in ‘87.

(No, this isn’t a typo on my end, it actually says ‘87. There’s two reasons why this might be the case. One, it could be an error on the part of the editor, who deserves an interview of his own, or two, it could be an error by Euronymous himself since the interview might have been conducted in January. Euronymous could have mixed the years up as one sometimes does. However, ‘Death Crush’, the demo, actually came out in March of ‘87. What the interviewer and Euronymous are referring to as ‘Death Crush’ is likely ‘Death Rehearsal’, which is exactly what it sounds like, and was taped back January of ‘87.)

D.O.D: I heard you guys are recording a new demo, is it ready?

Euro: We just entered the studio to record the second “Death Crush” demo, but at the moment, we only have three songs. I’m also unsure of whether or not we’ll have enough money to record anything else, and the vocals still haven’t been put to music!!

D.O.D: There’s some rumours that you guys were contacted by certain record labels, is this true?

Euro: It’s true, we got a letter from Axe killer records saying that they were interested in us but they never listened to our music and I also sent them our demo tape but I don’t believe we’ll be receiving any letters from them now!!

D.O.D: Do you have anything to add?

Euro: Of course, «fucking ARGHHHH!!»

There, that’s all :)

If you’re interested in some of the asterisks I put in, here they are in order of their appearances:

*Unlike most of the bands Euronymous named in this interview, NYC Mayhem (and later as Straight Ahead) never released more than a few demo. They were a straight edge band from, you guessed it, NYC— Queens to be exact. Despite never releasing a full album, their sound inspired some grindcore and death metal bands, notably Carcass. They were also straight edge, which makes Euronymous’ mental breakdown over the Mayhem that was on Metal Massacre very, very ironic. Especially considering he was pretty straight edge himself, especially back in 1987– outside of maybe smoking some pot.

Here is their 1985 demo, https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=t-3geR1JbY4

*Metal Massacre is a series of compilation albums starting in 1982, released by Metal Blade records. Typically, these were independent and unsigned bands. Some notable ones include Metallica on the first edition with ‘Hit the lights’. Slayer in ‘83 with ‘Aggressive Perfector’. The ‘84 edition had Voivod, Overkill, and Hellhammer.

The one which Euronymous is referring to, however, is the one from ‘85. Here it is, the timestamp is 14:19 https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=HqwfsLvLvuY

It’s really not that bad— certainly not worth the double exclamation points.

*If you don’t know who Vomit are, you must not know much about early Mayhem. They were another thrash band who shared rehearsal space with Mayhem. Torben Grue and Kittil Kittilsen (what a sad fucking name) were also ‘in’ Mayhem at some point. Kittil once shaved off his eyebrow, but I don’t know why. Here is a picture of the dork:

The show Euronymous is talking about: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=mjay2Lmj9C8 yes, this is the show where Euronymous flashes his ass. I think it’s funny because he talks big but he seemed very hesitant to do it, and practically ducked backstage afterwards. Necro, on the other hand, was very proud to have broken his bass.

Well, that’s all I have. If you read this far, I hope you enjoyed the additional notes I left. Outside of a few more interviews of Mayhem, I also have a few obscure Emperor interviews that were posted to the internet in late 90s. There’s an especially funny one where Faust is allowed to interview Ihsahn and Samoth from prison. He’s sarcastic the entire time, refers to the readers as ‘morons’ and proclaims everyone should all die in a nuclear war with the same energy you cross yourself with. Overall, it’s a funny read. I also have one where he interviews Varg, and Euronymous (separately) for his own ‘zine back in the early 90s. Actually— I have A LOT of interviews of Faust for some reason, including two where he’s actually on camera. I might post them if I feel like it, or if somebody wants them. Is anyone here an especially big fan of Faust?

Last but not least, here is the link to the ‘zine:

http://france.metal.museum.free.fr/revues/fanzines/decibel_of_death/04/page_03.htm

#euronymous #mayhem #interview #black metal #true norwegian black metal #I typed this out so it’s mine #Euronymous interview #gee I really hope nobody else posted a translation of this because it took forever #can we make haaafuckinghah a thing?

[sugarandspice-games]

{NSFW} Soft Dom!Lucifer with Inexperienced MC

Yay, baby’s first NSFW imagine! Sugar helped me on this a lot, since I do smut best with a writing partner to bounce things off of. This one is gonna be censored a lot sooner than most of them since it gets racy kinda quickly, and obviously MINORS DNI. Otherwise, I hope the rest of you enjoy this!

[No content warnings were deemed necessary for this, but if anyone would like a warning here, please feel free to ask]

How did this happen?

Your wrists, pinned to the bed by Lucifer’s pale hand, his long fingers gripping you so hard that you could feel your blood pulsing against your veins, between your legs, and in your lips where he kissed you with scraping teeth and a curious tongue.

He jammed his knee against you as he mouthed at your neck ferociously... Your face burned, and you buried it in his shoulder, letting out the softest, most frightened little squeak.

He paused, lifting himself away from you as he looked down in confusion.

“What is the matter, MC? You’re shaking like...”

Like a virgin on their wedding night, he wanted to say, and then it dawned on him.

“You haven’t done this before, have you?”

You thought your face couldn’t get any hotter. You were wrong.

It was true... When you kissed Lucifer, it took every last shred of your resolve to do so. You had never kissed anyone before, not even his brothers, or any of the sweethearts from your teenage years. But it was your last night here, and the feelings for him that you had restrained all along came bursting forth like a tsunami just after it retreated into the ocean... You couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

Especially not as he gazed at you with those sad eyes... even as he smiled, his eyelids drooped when he asked if that was all you wanted. 

Of course, it wasn’t. 

Before your mind even had the chance to scream at you to stop, you yanked him forward by the lapel of his jacket and kissed him with everything you had because if this was it... Well, you would lay all your cards on the table. 

You would show him just how much you cared and how much you wanted him with every single atom of your soul...

And by the sudden fierceness of your actions, Lucifer had assumed you were experienced in the pleasures of the flesh, had assumed this was what you had planned all along...

But by the way your pupils darted around nervously and the tears that started to build up behind your lashes as you nodded, confirming his suspicion, he had assumed wrong.

It seemed a different approach was needed.

“Come here, love,” he purred to you softly, sitting up on his knees and pulling you into his embrace.

You buried your head into his shoulder, but he gently lifted you up, placing a finger underneath your chin.

“None of that... I want to see that lovely face of yours, MC. Now, tell me... Is this your first time? Have you ever even gone further than a kiss before?”

You shake your head and bite your lip, eyes cast down toward the mattress. 

“No, I... I haven’t but...”

Your bare naked body felt so vulnerable... But Lucifer held you so delicately, spoke to you so sweetly. He could be domineering and threatening, but this side of him was different... so different from the Lucifer you had come to know, even if you saw the kindness and adoration for his family and his people behind the veneer of intimidation.

“That was... my first kiss, actually.”

His eyes widened at that, and it was his turn to blush.

You had never even been kissed by another? And he was about to pounce on you like a starving jaguar... 

He really needed to be more observant of you.

His shocked expression gradually turned into a smile as he leaned down to nuzzle your neck gently, peppering small kisses until he reached your jawline.

“You’re... not disappointed?” You murmured, shivering and digging your nails into his arms slightly because of the little arcs of electricity travelling up the notches of your spine. 

“Of course not. How could I ever be disappointed by you?” he breathed, sending a warm gust of air across your cheeks before planting a kiss right below your eye, “And now, I know that you’re mine in body and soul... I’ll have to make your first time special, correct?”

He smoothed his hands down your shoulders, slowly easing you back down onto the bed.

“Do you want this, MC?”

Your skin pricked up with goosebumps against the cool, silky bedsheets and you licked your trembling lips, feeling the beat of your heart in your ears as you paused.

“I..”

You were aching and...

“I want you, Lucifer.”

Lucifer inhaled sharply at your answer and he leaned down to whisper into your ear.

“Then... Just relax. Tonight is all about you... and I’m going to make you feel pleasure that you’ve never felt before. Know that I want you too, MC.”

Lucifer kissed your body all over, sucking gently and rolling skin between his teeth to leave behind marks, so that when you got dressed each morning in the human world you would remember what it was like to have him on top of you. 

He listened to your noises, how your muscles trembled, and the way you clutched him, pulling him closer and drowning him in your presence while he explored every inch he could with his hands and mouth until you were the one asking, quietly, if he could please fuck you.

How could he resist you when you sounded so... lovely and ready to be devoured?

He kissed you again and again wherever he could, smoothing your hair away from your face and taking in your moans before he eventually went down on you, making eye contact with you when you cried out. 

His tongue swiped against your most sensitive spots and made you quiver. He nudged your leg until you had one over his shoulder and he eased a finger inside of your needy entrance.

Another came... then another and even though the prep hurt, the pleasure from his mouth against you ebbed some of the pain away.

Even though you whined and squirmed in discomfort, you would need the preparation for his own throbbing sex because you could see how it twitched and leaked and...

Lucifer wasn’t small in any sense. It’s no wonder that he walked so stiffly sometimes, since he was packing that titan in his trousers.

“Lucifer...”

Lucifer wished he had a mirror so he could show you just how delicious you looked, but... you were already shy and flustered enough. 

That might have to wait for another night.

When he finally entered you with a thrust, letting out a quiet moan of his own right in your ear, you couldn’t help but cry out and cling to him. 

Each buck of his hips, each whisper of your name, each desperate, low breath that came from his throat, all of it silently said “Mine, mine, mine”. 

You were his and his alone, his to mark, his to hold, his to ravish...

His to love-- he would tell you that someday when he didn’t have to say goodbye... And he was yours.

Yours, yours, yours...

He waited to come undone, teeth sinking into his lower lip, until you could barely hold your orgasm back, shaking and panting as the paroxysms of bliss built up in your nerves. 

“MC... Let me see you.” 

You came together. The pleasure splashed over your sweat-slicked bodies, and Lucifer collapsed beside you, nuzzling into your neck and kissing you lovingly.

“So good for me... Giving me your first time, showing me who you really belong to.”

Even if you had a pact with the others, and even if he couldn’t tell you the extent of his feelings just yet... you had given him something of yours, and he could be content with that.

You snuggled up to him in the afterglow, floating and happy.

“I do... I belong to you. Luci.”

He wrapped an arm around you to pull you closer.

“I love you.” You whispered sleepily.

And he vowed he would spend the rest of the night holding you, talking to you until the sun rose as his heart hammered behind his chest.

He wanted to keep his promise to spend the rest of the night with you alone, and to bask in the privilege that was your half-lidded eyes and quirked lips... And even if he couldn’t give you the night of pleasure he boasted about, he would rather have the intimacy of your sated, heavy body snuggled into his chest than have you completely worn out.

But once you had gotten used to the idea, he had many more things he wanted to try with you. Especially once you returned to the Devildom, and to his loving arms.

#obey me #obey me imagines #obey me: one master to rule them all #lucifer x gn!mc smut #obey me lucifer #lucifer obey me #spice writes #sugar writes #sugar and spice collab #imagines

[wanderinginksplot]

Soft Fic: Tup + Teaching Mechanics

This is a fic I wrote a while ago for this post, but I realized in a conversation with @asiamnow that I never posted it! So enjoy!

---

“And that is how you fix a LAATi’s main motivator drive,” Tup finished, tapping at the freshly-repaired mechanism. The ring of his gauntlet striking against the hollow metal made you wince. You didn’t know much about mechanical things and, from everything he had just shown you, neither did Tup.

“Very impressive. Do you want to get something to eat” you asked, steering him gently toward the mess hall at GAR’s headquarters. While you walked, you made a mental note to send one of the engineers to check out the motivator drive before the ship was cleared for use. “Where did you learn to do that?”

As you both stepped into the mess, Tup scrubbed a hand over his scalp, the movement dislodging his hair from where it had been confined in his neatly-tied ponytail. “Err… I mostly taught myself. You don’t get many chances to cross-train out here and I never got the chance to be in the mechanic corps. I was marked for infantry since I was decanted.”

Well, there was certainly a lot to unpack in that, but now you didn’t feel like you could order him not to fix anything in the future. “Do you want to learn about mechanical processes? It may not be how you want to spend your leave, but I could get you a shadow day or two with some of the mechanics.”

“Really?” Tup asked excitedly, piling his tray with more food than you had ever seen anyone eat in one sitting. These troopers and their enhanced metabolisms.

You shrugged a bit at his question. You oversaw most of the GAR’s administrative tasks on Coruscant, but you were still low-level enough that you knew a few of the mechanics. They liked to chat for a bit when you gave them the lists of work orders for ships that needed repairs. “Probably?”

“I would love to do that!” Tup grinned, and the conversation paused as you both took your trays to a table and settled facing each other.

You ate in silence for a few minutes before Tup gave a small, almost self-deprecating smile. “I mostly work on electronics now, but I really want to learn more about mechanical things.”

“Electronics?” you asked, perking up a bit as you stirred at the soup you had chosen for some reason. It was always awful, but you got it every now and then to see if it had magically improved. “Do you think you could you fix my comlink?”

He seemed bewildered by your question, the blinking he did accentuating both his long lashes and the teardrop tattooed under one eye.

Your face heated a bit. “Sorry, that was a weird thing to ask. It’s just been shorting out lately and repair shops charge so much-”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Tup hurried to say. “I know a bit about comlinks from when I’ve had to fix them in the field. I’d be happy to take a look. Do you have it here?”

“It’s up in my office, actually,” you explained. "Maybe I could run up and get it?"

"I'll come with you," Tup offered, standing from the table only a moment behind you.

"No, you should stay here and eat," you told him. “I’ll be right back.”

"I'm already done," he said, taking a bit of a piece of fruit. Startled, you glanced down at his plate. Where it had been absolutely piled with food only minutes before, it was now empty. The fruit Tup was holding was indeed the last thing left from the plate.

While you were staring at the lack of food on his tray, Tup had been eying your barely touched soup. “Do you want to bring that with you? I’m sure they’d have a container for it if you want…”

“Nah, it’s terrible,” you said with a laugh.

“It always is,” he agreed, smiling so widely that his eyes crinkled at the corners. It warmed your heart to see it and you were a little sad when he turned toward the administrative offices.

You followed Tup, amused to see where you would end up, but he led the way unerringly to your office.

“How did you know where this was?” you asked. “You’ve never been here.”

“Oh, uh… Well, you know troopers,” he hedged. “We all talk, share information. Some of the guys have been here, so I know where it is.”

You frowned, trying to think of a single time when a trooper had visited the admin offices, but nothing came to mind. Too bad, because it certainly would have made your day more interesting. “When did-?”

“Now, where is that comlink?” Tup asked loudly.

“Uh, right over here…” you said slowly, pulling open a drawer and bringing out the malfunctioning piece of equipment. “It’s just having trouble making outgoing calls.”

He hummed a bit, turning the comlink over to study it, then shrugged. “Easy enough to test. Let me put in my frequency and try to make a call…”

Tup typed in a code and his wrist comlink chimed right away. One of his eyebrows shot up and your face heated again. It wasn't as if you had made up a broken comlink in order to get Tup's frequency, but it probably looked that way to him.

"Let's try one more time," he suggested. You nodded, grateful that he wasn't going to start teasing you.

You didn't think you had ever hoped for a comlink malfunction before, but stars, it would really be great if Tup could see the problem with his own eyes.

He typed in the number for his frequency again, hit the button to connect, and nothing happened. At least, nothing happened for a split second before his comlink beeped at him.

Tup grinned and you braced for a teasing comment, but he had stifled the expression only a half-second later. “Well, that’s strange. Maybe it’s fixed?”

You frowned at the odd behavior. Most of the troopers never hesitated to mercilessly tease someone, and Tup was no exception. You had seen him absolutely roast Hardcase about his new relationship with an administrator aboard the Resolute only last week, so the fact that he wasn’t teasing you was a cause for concern.

“It really is broken, though,” you insisted.

“I believe you,” Tup said quietly, without a trace of the grin he had worn only a moment before. “You have no reason to lie. But I’ll tell you what: you have my frequency now. If it keeps giving you problems, use a working comlink to call me. If I’m planetside, I’ll come take another look at it, okay?”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you,” you agreed, still on-edge. You never thought you would have wanted to be teased, but this was strange behavior.

“And…” he cleared his throat. “And if you ever want to call for another reason, even if you just want to talk, you can. I’ll pick up. I’d be glad to listen to you.”

You stared at him, knowing your eyes were bulging like a particularly deranged mynock’s. “You would?”

“Of course I would,” Tup’s blush at the admission showed even through the smooth brown of his skin. “I always like talking to you."

"I like talking to you, too," you replied, feeling a bit dizzy at the conversational turn. "You're probably my favorite person to spend time with."

"Really?" Tup asked, perking up a bit. "Then… do you want to come to 79s with me? Maybe tomorrow night?"

"79s is a dance club..?" you guessed slowly, trying to remember what little you knew about the place. You weren't really the clubbing type, but for Tup? You would gladly try to be.

"Yeah! A lot of us clones go there. Some guys won't go anywhere else," Tup explained. "Do you want to come? No pressure…"

"Of course I will!" you insisted. "Are you sure none of the others will mind me tagging along?"

Tup blushed a bit, rubbing at the back of his neck. "There, uh, won't be any others. It'll just be you and me. Like a… a date. It is a date. I mean, will you go on a date with me?"

You had been putting so much effort into following Tup's train of thought that you stared at him for a long moment after he had finished speaking. He stared back, dark eyes intense, and you snapped back to the moment.

"Yes!" you agreed loudly, winced, and corrected yourself to a more natural volume. "Yes. Tup, I would be thrilled to go on a date with you."

Tup looked so excited that you forgot to apologize for shouting in his face a moment before. "That's great! I'll come get you here- I don't have a speeder. I can meet you here and we'll go together? Or I could just meet you there, or-"

"Let's meet here," you offered.

"That seems easiest," Tup agreed gratefully. With a shy smile, he said, “Thank you for agreeing to go. I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time.”

“I would have said yes months ago,” you admitted before you could censor yourself, and felt your face grow hot.

Tup’s eyebrows shot up his forehead at that, then a wicked smile spread across his face as his eyes heated. In a voice that was a full octave lower than you were used to hearing from him, he murmured, “Sounds like we need to make up for some lost time, then.”

You nodded breathlessly. You didn’t know where that sudden wave of confidence had come from, but it was a good look on him.

“Seven?” he asked.

“How about six,” you suggested.

He grinned and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “It’s a date.”

You watched him leave your office, an unfamiliar swagger in his step. You shook your head and smiled, cheek still warm from his lips.

Six couldn’t come soon enough.

---

A/N - thanks for reading this silly little fic! I'm still taking requests, so feel free to request something or see similar works on my masterlist.

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #tup x you #tup x reader #tup #clone troopers deserve better

[asilcorner]

Don’t mind me, I’m just writing down all the little things I know, noticed or keep quoting after my rewatch of the Animaniacs, as well as games and comics. I literally can’t hold in my excitement for the reboot in for more than 10 minutes without bursting into tears.

Apparently the Warners were born/drawn on the 30th of March at 2.43 in the morning in the year 1929. Later they change it to 1930.

1934 the Warners are deemed dangerous and too zany, so they get locked into the water tower for 60 years.

However not consecutively, they do escape whenever the tower is in need of cleaning (they mention termites)

The years they escaped were 1945, January 21st 1968, 1977 and November 1989. There are no other mentioned, but there probably were

Yakko is 14, Wakko is 11 and Dot is 10 years old and they haven’t aged a single day since their creation

Yakko is lactose intolerant, but it’s not clear how bad it actually is, while Wakko has hyperglycemia

Wakko is apparently absolutely terrified by clowns

Dots real name is Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the third

Yakko in the comics has a second name, which makes him Yakko Alvin Warner and I am still laughing about it

When also asked in the comics about their gender Yakko answers with male, Dot with female and Wakko with other, he’s non-binary now, I say so

While the Warners usually do stuff together, they do split up and have alone time; Yakko for example loves to play with paddleballs or does read in his free time

Wakko is the quiet one, usually also called the dumbest; however, he has a very impressive talent in building Rube Goldberg-nesque machines that take a lot of mental gymnastics and math

Dot in the meantime loves to write poetry and recites it in front of audiences

In episode 99 is a footnote for ep 100 that there will be a new episode, we just need to wait and wait and wait! And it wasn’t a lie

One episode was called “The final space cartoon, we promise” since they overused the trope, and now I hope they make another one, calling it “Sike, we lied, another space episode”

Yakko calls the others “siblings” or “sibs”, sometimes even “sister/brother-sib” or other nicknames like “garbage disposal” or “princess” and it makes my heart melt

There are very seldom times where the Warners are at a loss about what they should do, but when it happens, it’s always Wakko and Dot looking at Yakko to come up with a plan

In the same breath if he gets stuck, he does rely on them and usually asks for “Uhhhhhhhhh, a little help here, please?”, which makes their dynamic absolutely precious to me

Yakko’s also usually the one they cling to or hide behind, while he’s the one guarding them or acting as a wall; we stand big brother/step-up dad Yakko in this household

Quotes that won’t leave me alone

Yakko (Y), Wakko (W), Dot (D), Scratchy (S), Other (O)

(S) “You will learn the meaning of futility, even if it kills me!” (W) “…It’s your funeral…”

(W) “Maybe we are dogs? Cute little dogs! With ears! Woof woof! And little tails that we can wag!”

(Y) “There is no time like the present!” (W) “Is the present for me?” (D) “If he gets one, I want a present, too!” (Y) “Aren’t siblings the worst sometimes?”

(D) “The reception’s as bad on these as it is in the states.” (Y)“Technology makes the world smaller every day”

(W) “The sense of smell is the way you tell that you need to change your socks!”

(S) “How do you feel?” (Y) “With my hands”

(D) “I’m mad, I’m mad, I’m really really mad, you poked me with your elbow in my side!” (Y) “No I didn’t!” (D) “Yes, you did! You did! And I’m just a little kid...”

(Y) “This may be a silly question, but why does he want to eat us?” (D) “Fad diet?” (W) “’Cause we kinda taste like chicken?” (Y) “How would you-… Nevermind”

(Y) “You know this means war!” “-ner!”

(W) Theres a sense of pride, that you have deep down inside (Y) When you practice a sense of fair play (D) Sense of wonder, sense of beauty (W) Sense of honor, sense of duty

(O) “It says here you live in a tower!” (Y) “That’s right, Ned!” (O) “Well, tell us a little about it.” (Y) “…We live in a tower, Ned.”

(Y) “It’s that time again!” (W) “To make the fox censors cry?”

(Y) “There is something missing…” (D) “You mean talent?”

(O) “I can’t thank you enough!!!” (Y) “You can try”

(O) “I’m Count Dracula” (Y) “Didn’t you use to teach math at sesame street?”

(Y) “It’s a great big universe and we are really puny! We’re tiny little specks about the size of Mickey Rooney!”

(O) “Ah! You must be the smart one!” (D) “I’m the cute one!” (W) “And I’m the psychologically unhinged one”

#animaniacs #I'm just #so excited #my heart is throbbing

[jamestrmtx]

Wish Upon a Night Sky - [Beastars | Various x Reader]

[Female, Sheep Reader | Slow Burn]

Act Six, Scene One | Making Plans

[Act One Link] | [Act Five Link] | [Act Six, Scene Two Link]

You're sitting with Juno again at a lunch table. Your tray's almost entirely empty by now, while the wolf's is barely halfway there. You don't want to be rude, so you try your best to slow down, however difficult it proves to be. Routines were your thing, meaning it's not much of a surprise for you to be looking forward to meeting up with Jack and his friends at the library a second time. It had been one full week since that day, and he'd brought up the suggestion to make it something regular through a phone call. Add in your daily, nightly chats with Juno in your dorm and the fact that Haru seemed okay with your company made you anticipate over finally having a regular routine to hold onto for your last year of school.

"Is there something on your mind?" the wolf asks, grinning at you when you meet with her eyes. "You're spacing out again."

You try not to grow too flustered when she gives you a knowing look, clearly still misinterpreting your actual intentions with the friends you've made so far. Dom and Jack were pretty welcoming and comfortable to be around with, and even the male wolf, while more reserved, didn't seem to mind getting along with you. Haru was a different story, mainly due to your awful first impression, but also for how spunky she was.

"I'm just going to the library later today," you reply, managing a faint smile. "I, um… I'm meeting with Jack, Dom, and Legoshi there after I'm done studying."

At the mention of that last name, Juno's eyes brighten and her tail shakes. It's clear she tries to hide her affection for the owner of that name, yet she fails the second she opens her mouth, her excitement almost overflowing from it, "You didn't tell me you've met that many people already!" She takes a bite from her meal, continuing when she's done, "When did you meet those other two? Did Jack introduce you to them?"

You nod and continue with your meal, still reminding yourself to eat slower when you bring the next bite to your mouth. "I was just studying, but then Jack came around and introduced me to them." Embarrassment makes its return when you look back on that day and how Dom had called you out on one of your choices. While a good seventy percent of the books you were working with were academic, the other thirty had been simply for entertainment. It was unfortunate the peafowl had discovered one of the more steamier reads amongst the bunch. "Everything went pretty well, but... but Dom, he... He found me out with something." 

Hearing your stutter, Juno's grin grows and she emphasizes her curiosity by leaning closer over the table. "Care to tell me what is that 'something'?" Mischief glints in her gaze, intensified when she winks. "Did he tease you like I've been doing?" she taunts, giggling. "Your face right now looks just like the one you make when I start joking around with you!"

It's near impossible for you not to smile with how warm her words sound. She's enjoying herself, no doubt, though based on how she treats you, it's noticeable she means well. "He, w- well…" You breathe in and face down at your tray, needing a moment of distraction. "He found this book hidden with the other ones I had. You excuse yourself for a moment to pick up the books left aside by the floor, a bag holding them all in one place. Meekness overcomes you as you consider the risk of taking the book out in front of so many people, yet one look of encouragement from the wolf and another at how many people are watching allows you to find the needed courage for taking it out.

You act swiftly, handing it to Juno as quickly as you retrieve it.

""Old Friend, Old Soul'," she reads, analyzing the cover. It doesn't take long for her to bare her teeth into another grin, a laugh leaving her when her eyes lower. "'A thrilling romance?'" she asks, in between giggles. "You're so silly, (Y/N)! From what you were telling me, I was expecting a steamy romance, not an adventurous one!"

"Th- There's a difference?" you blurt out, face burning. 

That only makes it worse, seeing her gaze light up more than before. "Did you really pick this one out, expecting it to be that instead?" Juno suspends herself over the table, using her free hand to give your shoulder a nudge. "You sneaky lamb! And yet here I was, thinking you were all oblivious to this kind of stuff!"

"Juno," you whisper, shushing her. "Y- You... People will notice!"

Worries over having attention brought upon you fade away when you see her dissolve into uncontrollable laughter. How honest she's being right now makes you smile back and let your tension go. You fold your hands over your lap and wait, smile tensing when she asks another question, "Be honest with me, (Y/N)," she says, composing herself to stare back at you. "Were you expecting this book to be more… risky?"

You nod once, quickly and hoping it to be enough for her not to notice. Regardless, she does, covering up another laugh. "Even though I've never been in a relationship before, I… I still know some of the basics, but not enough with how much my parents censored everything that had to do with romance or anything similar to it."

"Homeschool troubles rise yet again, huh?" the wolf questions, eyes half-lidded as she rests her chin over her hands. "Want to practice with me, then?"

Your eyes turn round, the bluntness of her question making you take it literally. Though by the time you think over her offer twice and see how she's looking at you, you're able to brush that off as her simply wanting to help you out. "Could you?" you ask, feeling your voice close to shaking. "How... How would we, though?"

"Easily enough!" With that exclamation, she stands up from her seat. A feat similar to when you first had lunch with her presents itself for a second time. "Later tonight, we'll practice flirting at our dorm." She's serious now, eyes narrowed as her lips turn firm. She means business, her apparent expertise over the topic manifesting itself over her body. "I'll be acting as whatever person you're interested in, and you'll be trying to flirt with me." The wolf takes a pause, her tail's fervent shaking lessening when she breathes in and later out. "Then, when that part's out of the way, I'll be flirting with you, to see how you respond!"

Suddenly, a hand's offered out to you, in wait for yours. "What do you say, (Y/N)? Sounds like a plan?" She finally breaks into a smile again, stoicism vanishing from her visage. "You have to promise me you'll put those skills to good use, though. I'm not training you for nothing!"

You stare at her hand, analyzing your options. Nervous, you gulp away your worries and make space for valiance in your mind. Then, you nod once, a more confident smile showing through. "Sounds… Sounds good," you exclaim, shaking her hand. "I'll do it!"

"Good answer!" she says, returning your smile.

• • •

Updates will be twice a week on Wednesdays and Saturdays from here on until Act Twelve, so expect another update soon to make up for last Wednesday’s missed update!

#various x reader #legoshi x reader #legosi x reader #haru x reader #jack x reader #juno x reader #rouis x reader #louis x reader #beastars x reader #female reader #sheep reader #slow burn #romance #mystery #thriller #lgbt #lgbt themes #long fic

[erazonpo3]

Cassunzel Week Day 1 - Homecoming and Reunion

Rapunzel hadn’t thought much about growing her hair out since the first time she cut it herself. Having it short feels freeing; after being tangled up in long, blonde, magical hair for so long, it feels almost rebellious to keep her brunette hair cropped close to her shoulders. Which is why it surprises her to see Cassandra return with hair even longer than hers, brushing the edges of her shoulder and would have been longer still if not for the bounce of her curls.

She doesn’t like it. It’s not that Cassandra doesn’t wear it beautifully, and it truly suits her when she wears it tied back away from her face and up in a ponytail- but it’s not right. While it’s a far cry from the moonstone’s electric blue and the way that shocking colour made looking at Cassandra feel like looking at an entirely different person, but it’s still not the short cropped dark hair that she associates with Cass.

Yet Cass has changed, and it’s plain for everyone to see that it’s for the better; she wears her smiles easier and she’s quicker to let herself laugh, and she carries herself with relaxed, unburdened shoulders. It makes sense that her physical appearance would change too (and Rapunzel doesn’t need to pretend that all the new scars don’t bother her, at least), because she’s a new woman now. A woman Rapunzel doesn’t know anymore- or at least as well as she once did. She hates that her gut would begrudge Cassandra of her right to grow and change and move on, so she shrugs it off as best she can. But she still doesn’t like the new hair.

Cassandra notices the thoughtful frown on Rapunzel’s face when she turns around, and her brow furrows as Rapunzel hastens to pretend she wasn’t burning a hole into the back of her head just moments prior.

“What is it?” she asks, and Rapunzel hesitates before deciding to come clean.

“I just, I miss your old haircut is all. Not that you don’t look great, I just- your old hair was cute,” Rapunzel explains. There. It’s simplifying her feelings to their bare essentials in a way she hopes Cass understands, and it seems to be alright because Cassandra just smiles at her.

“You think it was cute?”

“Yeah! I always did,” Rapunzel lights up.

They don’t say any more on the topic, but that’s fine. It’s not an entire weight off her chest, but Rapunzel is still glad that her feelings are out there, however brief and censored, and that’s the end of that. That is, until tomorrow comes, and Cassandra joins her out on the balcony in the following morning with a pair of scissors in hand.

“What are those for?” Rapunzel asks, setting her hairbrush down.

“I was thinking about last night, and I think it’s time I trimmed my hair back again. So, would you do the honour?” Cassandra asks.

“Oh! I mean- you know you don’t have to do it just for me, or anything,” Rapunzel stresses. Of course the last thing she wants is Cass feeling like she needs to change herself to make her happy.

“I could tell that it was bothering you,” Cassandra grins at her, and she can’t help but smile weakly back. Cass was always good at reading her.

“Are you sure?” she asks, fidgeting with her hands.

“It’s just hair, Raps. I mean, I get why it’s special to you- of course it is. And letting it grow out felt nice for a while, but I’m starting to remember why I liked it short anyway. It’s not my identity, it’s just hair, and it’ll grow again. Here,” Cassandra says with another one shouldered shrug, and holds the scissors out.

“You don’t want to get the royal hairdresser to do it for you?” Rapunzel asks, but takes them from her anyway.

“Nah, I’m sure you can manage. Besides, I’ve got enough curl to hide any jagged edges, so unless you screw up really badly-”

“I’ll be fine,” Rapunzel assures her with a teasing grin, and pats her shoulder. “Let’s go to the bathroom.”

The snip of the scissors is soft, with blades of stainless silver that don’t so much as squeak as they glide through dark hair. The severed ends float to the floor and gather around their feet, a growing pile of black against marble floor. When Cassandra stands up and turns around, Rapunzel thinks she could cry. Of course, she still looks different- the scar crossing the left side of her face isn’t going anywhere any time soon, after all- but it’s Cass. Although she carries herself with more ease and radiates the new calm she’s found on her journeys, it finally feels like she’s looking at her best friend again.

And it was silly, she knows, to think she wasn’t before. Cassandra’s affectionate smile and loving gaze has stayed the same, just as it was yesterday and just as it was years ago. And when they melt into a hug, that’s the same too.

“Your hair was cute in a ponytail too, by the way,” Rapunzel mumbles into Cassandra’s shoulder and her body shakes with Cass’ laughter.

“Oh, now you tell me,” she chides, and Rapunzel just grins back.

#tangled the series #cassandra #rapunzel #cassunzel #cassunzel week #my art #my writing

[time-to-write-and-suffer]

I wouldn't mind that post on VNs!

So I was gonna write three different lists, but then after writing the first part I realized this is very long and takes a while to write and nobody cares anyway so I’ll just post my recommended list only. Well, I mean, you asked, but I doubt you wanted all this lol. Thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about this stuff, though. Hope you enjoy my ramblings!

An explanation for what this list is: Sometimes I know a game isn't perfect in many aspects but I still had a genuinely good time playing it, hence why I'm recommending it. Also I should mention that I could talk for hours about some of these games so if anyone’s curious about more of my thoughts, let me know.

Alright, now that that's out of the way ...

How to Take Off Your Mask / How to Fool a Liar King / How to Sing to Open Your Heart (f/m): This is a trilogy of smaller, single-RO games where you can take one of two routes depending on how you act, and they’re all interconnected where you get to meet and interact with the previous games’ characters in the sequel games. I went into this expecting very little but what I got blew me away with how funny, charming and cute the games were. They don’t take themselves too seriously, at one point an angsty male character monologues deeply about some shit, and another one just slides into frame and starts mocking him. It was so fucking funny, holy shit. Also, a central theme is literally racism against catgirls? Which is monumentally stupid, and probably the games’ main flaw, especially in the final game where it pairs up a catgirl with a catgirl racist, but that one still ends with a literal bisexual queen literally making a man her malewife because she fell in love with his cooking, so like ... It speaks for itself. My favorite game of the three is the second one, where you get to play a punchy fake catgirl and romance a pink-haired prince. And honestly, all the female protags in these games are lovely and a breath of fresh air, and the male characters are fun and not abusive assholes either. There’s full Japanese voice acting, and two out of three female protags are literal catgirls who pepper in “nya” and “mya” into their dialogue, and it’s just treated as a quirk of their catgirl race. I AM NOT KIDDING. Yet somehow it never comes off as cringe, because it doesn’t take it self too seriously. These games are just cozy. That’s the only way I can describe them. Cozy and hilarious. Play them yesterday. Dream Daddy (m/m): Man tumblr did this game dirty. This is just a cute, wholesome daddy dating simulator with gorgeous art. Coming out on Top (m/m): So you know Dream Daddy? What if it was EXTREMELY, MAJORLY NSFW? Though I realize how bad the comparison really is, the only thing these games have in common is that they’re gay dating sims and don’t have an anime art style and oh, yeah, they’re both really well-written. Or at least, extremely funny. COOT (heh) is DDADDS’ horny older cousin, and I first encountered the game on a lesbian letsplayer’s YouTube channel. Yes I watched a lesbian play a gay porn game and it was GOOD. I was there for the cringe and fun and got surprised by how genuinely funny and sometimes actually touching the game was. I can’t give it my universal endorsement because it’s not a game for everyone, as I said, it’s extremely NSFW and the menu theme literally includes the singers screaming “SEX SEX” at the top of their lungs. There’s more to this game than the porn, but there’s just so much porn. It can be censored in the settings but it’s unavoidable. However, I still think it’s worth a look just because of how funny it is and how charming the characters are. If you don’t want to play it yourself, at least watch Anima’s playthrough of it. It hasn’t aged super well in some spots but I still go back to it every now and then. Akash: Path of the Five (f/m): This game markets itself as a more “professionally produced” western dating sim, and that’s accurate in some superficial aspects. The game is pretty poorly written, but it’s absolutely gorgeous and has really good English voice acting by actual professional voice actors. The premise is quite self-indulgent, but I genuinely respect that about it. You play as the only female elemental in a village with only men, and all five of your classmates want a piece of you. It’s clear the writers have put some thought into the lore and worldbuilding of this world, but barely any of it comes through in the actual writing and plot, which is basically just a vehicle for you to get together with your boy of choice. The ROs aren’t very well-developed either, and the plot is the same in every route with only minor variations depending on which guy you pick, up to the point where the protag has the same voice lines in some parts regardless of which guy she’s talking about. It also has one extra half-route that’s so bad and pointless I genuinely wonder why they wasted resources on making it instead of spending a bit more on the writing/adding some variations to the main plot. So why am I recommending this game? Well, it’s pretty, and it sounds nice. This game is a himbo, gorgeous but dumb as rocks. Enjoy it for what it is. I know I did. Get it when it’s on sale, I think if I hadn’t gotten it at half-price I would’ve felt a bit more cranky about it. Also Rocco is bae. Mystic Destinies: Serendipity of Aeons (f/m): Yes that’s the full title, no I don’t know what it means either. You may have noticed how most of the games so far I’ve enjoyed because they don’t take themselves too seriously? Well, this one does. It takes itself SO FUCKING SERIOUSLY. Like, way too seriously. It’s a little embarrassing at points because baby, you’re an urban fantasy dating sim. Calm down. But the game has gorgeous art and 3 out of 5 routes are very good. The last route, the one with your teacher, is both the most problematic yet somehow the one that breaks down the very concept of a dating sim within its own narrative (yes, this shit gets fucking META) and it got so wild at the end that 1) I still listen to the soundtrack for that route and 2) I still remember it to this day despite finishing it ages ago. My favorite route is Shou, he’s a sweetheart, but the mindfuck route is so buckwild that I think the game is worth playing just for that. There’s also a route that’s like a neo-noir mystery? I Do Not Know. This game is many, many things and it does them so sincerely and tries so hard, you can’t help but respect it. It doesn’t always stick the landing but man, just let this thing take your hand and wax poetic at you for a bit. Also get this one at a sale because it’s very expensive to get the full version. I got it for 9 bucks on itch.io and I felt that was a fair enough price, I’d say I wouldn’t have minded paying more for it because there’s a lot of content to enjoy and/or be baffled by. Arcade Spirits: This one’s a bit more weird from what I recall, and I honestly couldn’t tell you much about it, but I remember having a very good time with it and recommending it to a friend when she was going through some tough times and she said it made her feel better. I remember it making me feel better, as well. This is a VN about an arcade and the ROs are wonderfully diverse, with very real human conflicts that get explored in each of their routes. It can get quite existential and heavy at times, but in the end it’s a kindhearted game that I think everyone can enjoy. The main character was also, how you say, mood. It’s a game about getting possessed by a video game and then learning self-love. Ebon Light (f/m): This one’s free/name your own price on itch.io so go play it. It’s a weird plot where you play as a girl who ate an elven relic? And then the elves kidnap you because you’re the relic now. All the ROs are extremely pasty (like, literally white, as in literally the color white) dark-haired elves, except for one, who’s an extremely pasty blond elf, so ... diversity? I honestly don’t know what this game is aside from unique. I used to be a bit put off by the art style but now I think it contributes to the general atmosphere. It’s a weird game that technically doesn’t do anything groundbreaking but still left an impression of “huh. weird” in my mind and I think more people should play it. The ROs are all pretty generic dating sim archetypes but done well, with bonus points to Duliae who’s just a massive creep and I love him, and also Vadeyn who’s the only bitch in this house I respect. The worldbuilding is honestly a bit buckwild and I can’t give enough credit for how unique the elves’ culture is in this game. Definitely give it a go. Hakuoki: Kyoto Winds / Hakuoki: Edo Blossoms (f/m): These two are newer releases of an older Japanese visual novel. I wouldn’t call it a dating sim, it’s ... it’s more of a super depressing historical fantasy epic with some minor romance aspects awkwardly wedged in. It’s seriously some of the heaviest and most grimdark shit I’ve ever played in a VN/otome. I don’t understand why it’s a dating sim, it doesn’t read like one, it’s just historical fantasy based on real world events with characters based on real people, and they kill and they die and they grieve and they suffer. The games are literally about the downfall of the Shinsengumi, there’s no way of avoiding everything going to shit and you get to watch and be in the middle of it all as they struggle to stay alive and relevant in a world that doesn’t need them anymore. And there’s the protag in the middle of it all, being useless and submissive and bland just the way the usual otome protag is. I don’t think these games are necessarily fun, and the romance is certainly a lot more downplayed and deeply problematic just based on the age differences alone with some of the men, but the sheer amount of horror and sadness in these games make them stand out above its peers. It’s like watching a war movie. Since most of the characters are based on real people, they feel like real people instead of the usual otome archetypes, and they are so, SO flawed, it’s interesting to just watch them deal with the shit the world throws at them. It’s an Experience, and if you’re up for it, I think it’s worth the time. Cinderella Phenomenon (f/m): This game is free on Steam so go get it. You play as a really, genuinely shitty princess who gets cursed to be poor and forgotten and she has to help one of the ROs break his fairy tale curse so that she can learn about being a good person herself and return to her normal life. This game doesn’t look like much, but it has a genuinely well-written main character who’s actually at the center of each of the stories and in the overarching plot instead of just being around to make eyes at the real protagonists, aka the love interests. Aside from the main character, my favorite part of this game’s writing is how each route slowly but very smoothly expands upon the overarching intrigue. If you play them in a certain order, you get more and more info revealed to you that you didn’t see in other routes, gaps are filled in as you find out more about what actually happened and why, but every route also stands on its own as a full experience and none is more canon than the rest. There’s also some really heavy emotional parental abuse explored, which I found quite potent at times. The romances themselves were alright, I think Karma and Waltz were my faves.

#eff plays