#anyway I'm going to sleep its almost 1 am

[axel-tiredstudent]

HI TODAY'S MY BIRTHDAY DAY HERE'S SOME STUFF

Naruto doodle as well :3

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

HEAR ME OUT:

A regretful, jealous Dick Grayson who calls you when hes drunk.

YOU'VE BEEN HEARD, BABE💙

Dial Drunk

Regretful Cheater! Dick Grayson x Reader

Kind of a part two to this fic right here, but it can be read by itself, too!

Don't got much for warnings on this one, mostly just cheating, alcohol, descriptions of being drunk, a bit of suggestiveness going on towards the end

"Can you- hic- Can you come pick me up?"

It's late- far later than you'd usually stay up. For a moment, you almost consider just hanging up as you let out a soft sigh so quiet that you doubt your phone even picked it up. Something about tonight just wouldn't let you sleep; your pillows were too warm, your fan was too cold, you couldn't find a confortable position, then your phone rang. You probably should've paid attention to the private caller ID, but you just thought it was your boss finally locking up for the night and calling to mention you forgot something at work.

"Are you alone?" The question comes out of your mouth so naturally, like you still have no hesitation when it comes to Dick. And, if you're being honest, you don't.

"Yeah..."

"You at the bar on the corner of 5th Ave?"

"Mhm... hic."

You almost consider hanging up for a moment, your finger hovering right over that little red button on your phone screen. But something stops you. Maybe it's the whine in Dick's tone. Maybe it's the way he sounds near tears as he speaks.

Maybe it's the fact that you still care.

Instead, you settle for a soft sigh before glancing at the clock ticking rhythmatically on your nightstand. 1:56 AM. It's unlike Dick to be out drinking so late, especially with just how under the influence he sounds.

"Stay right there. I'll be there soon." You don't even let him answer before hanging up. You really could just make the decision to leave him there for Barbara to pick up, but something tells you that she wouldn't. You're too good of a person to leave him inebriated at night with his inhibitions lowered like that.

It took you only ten minutes to reach him.

You'd have to be blind not to see the lipstickstains covering his neck, collar, and cheeks. Yet something about him just feels so... Off. The Dick you knew last would've eaten up the attention from a pretty girl at the bar within seconds.

He doesn't look at you- not at first, anyway, but you didn't miss the way he perked up at hearing your car door close. It's near silent as you sit next to him on the curb, the music from his favorite bar and the sounds of the city fading into background noise.

"Didn't take you for much of a drinker, Grayson," you try to poke a bit of fun, keeping a bit of distance between the two of you.

"'m not."

The most you really do for a moment is hum in response, the sound nearly drowned out by everything else going on. "Should I be worried about you?" The question doesn't come off as sarcastic as it should, more like an actual concern being voiced.

"Maybe... hic."

Then there's a few moments of silence from both of you. You don't really know what to say. 'I am worried about you' seems too forward, especially considering that you've moved on with a new boyfriend. 'That's not my job' is too blunt, considering just how emotional Dick is at the moment.

"I know I'm not your responsibility anymore... Just needed somewhere to go," is what he says next, finally placing his beer bottle on the curb beside him after contemplating another sip. From the looks of it, it certainly isn't his first one tonight.

"And you couldn't call Barbara because...?"

"Because she won't speak to me. Doesn't want me in the apartment tonight... She told me to find another place to sleep," he pauses before letting out a weary sigh, "I broke things off with her as I left."

Oh.

Oh.

You knew that whatever had Dick drinking like this had to be big, but that is certainly throwing you for a loop. You sit with him in silence after that. The air around you feels heavy, like the city itself is holding its breath. Somewhere behind you, laughter spills out of the bar’s open door. A car honks. You stare down at the glinting sidewalk, flecked with broken glass and old gum, and you think of how easily things crack without anyone noticing.

You glance over. He still isn’t looking at you, just staring out at the street like he's waiting for something to come and scoop him off the curb. His shirt’s wrinkled, half unbuttoned, and the collar clings to his skin where lipstick stains bloom like bruises. But his eyes—his eyes are empty.

You wrap your arms around your knees, leaning in just a little. "You break up with her just before two in the morning, then call me for a ride... not exactly the healthiest coping mechanism, Grayson."

A dry, hiccuping laugh rattles from his chest. "Yeah. Not my finest hour." He tips his head back against the brick wall behind him and lets his eyes drift closed. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

You nod slowly, pressing your cheek against your arm. “Well… lucky for you, I’m a terrible sleeper.”

His lips twitch like they want to smile, but it doesn’t quite land.

There’s another long pause, and then you say it. Quietly, like it might shatter something if spoken too loud. “I broke things off with my boyfriend a few weeks ago.”

That gets his attention. He turns his head toward you, brow creasing.

“We were good,” you continue, gaze focused on the hem of your sweatshirt. “Really good, honestly. Just… not right. Not for me. He didn’t… get me the way I needed. And I couldn’t give him the kind of love he deserved, not with everything still echoing in my head.”

You don’t say his name. You don’t need to.

Dick doesn’t speak, but you feel him looking at you. He softens a little, like something in him unclenches.

“I thought he’d help me forget you,” you admit. “But it doesn’t work like that.”

The confession hangs there for a moment, and then he finally stands. Staggers, really. He almost loses his balance, but you’re up on your feet before you even realize it, one hand catching his arm. His skin is warm—too warm—and you can smell the liquor on him now, bitter and smoky and clinging to his clothes.

“Come on,” you murmur, steadying him with a hand at his elbow.

He doesn’t argue. That’s how you know he’s really drunk—Dick Grayson never lets someone else lead unless he needs to.

The drive back is quiet.

His head leans against the passenger side window, eyes half-lidded as the city streaks past in hazy neon bands. The streets are half-dead at this hour, blinking yellow lights and trash tumbling along the gutters like ghosts. You keep both hands on the wheel. You don’t say anything.

You don’t have to.

When you finally pull up outside your building, he doesn’t move. Just blinks slowly at the dashboard like he’s trying to remember how cars work. You go around and open the door for him because you’ve always been like that—doing things for him without needing to be asked.

His hand finds your shoulder when he steps out, warm and heavy.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “For picking me up. For… everything.”

You don’t respond. Not because you’re cold, but because you know if you start talking now, your voice might crack in a way you can’t walk back.

Your apartment smells like lavender laundry detergent and quiet. The lights are low, just the soft amber of a lamp in the corner and the green glow of the oven clock blinking 3:12 AM.

Dick sits on the edge of your couch with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. You take a second to really look at him—at the disheveled shirt, the way his chest rises and falls too fast, like he’s still catching up to the rest of the night.

“I’ll grab you some water,” you say, already moving toward the kitchen.

He hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t lift his head.

When you come back, he’s leaned back on the couch now, one leg stretched out, the other bent up like it’s holding him together. He takes the water with both hands, like he doesn’t trust himself not to drop it.

You sit on the arm of the couch, not too close. Not yet.

His skin glows dull under the soft light, and that’s when you see just how much of him is marked—lipstick smudges high on his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth, the curve of his throat. You swallow something bitter. It sits in your chest like a stone.

“Hold still,” you say gently, reaching for the box of tissues on the end table. You kneel beside him and he closes his eyes, letting you tip his chin just so. His skin is warm under your fingers. You wipe the red smear from his cheek. Then the one near his jaw. You hesitate at the one on his throat, fingers hovering.

“You can say it,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

“Say what?”

“That I look like a damn idiot.”

You shake your head. “No. You look… tired.”

He huffs something between a laugh and a breath. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

You keep cleaning the smudges, gentle dabs and strokes. He doesn’t flinch. He just watches you with those heavy-lidded eyes, like he’s trying to memorize this—you—again.

“I didn’t want any of them,” he says quietly, just as your hand pulls back. “The girls at the bar. I didn’t… I couldn’t even feel it.”

You freeze, tissues still in hand.

“I let them touch me, let them pull me into pictures, flirt, whatever. But it was like I wasn’t even there. Like I was watching it all happen from ten feet away.” His eyes flick toward the ceiling like the words are written up there somewhere. “I didn’t go out looking for them. I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”

You sit back on your heels, watching him.

“I felt like shit,” he continues. “Barbara and I had this fight—one of those screaming kinds, you know? And she said I didn’t know how to love anyone but myself. That I just used people to fill the spaces when I’m lonely. That I—” He stops, swallows. “That I don’t know what real love is.”

Your chest aches at that. You want to say she’s wrong. You want to say she’s right. You don’t know which one would hurt more.

“Maybe she’s right,” he mutters. “I don’t know. But sitting there in that bar, being everything I hate—being that guy—I kept thinking about you.”

Your breath catches.

“I just kept wishing I’d stayed on the curb longer that night. That I’d chased you instead of letting you walk away.”

There’s a long silence. Not awkward. Just… full. You feel it settle into the space between you like fog.

Your voice is a whisper when you finally speak. “You were drunk then, too.”

“I’m sober now.”

“No, you’re not.”

He lets out a tired laugh. “You always did keep me honest.”

You stand slowly, knees aching from sitting on the floor. “Come on,” you say, voice quiet but firm. “You need to sleep.”

He follows you to the bedroom without argument. You pull back the covers like you’re on autopilot, like this is just muscle memory from a time you both stopped pretending you didn’t need each other. He sinks into the mattress with a grateful sigh, face turning toward the pillow.

You watch him for a moment—watch the way his breath evens out, the slight furrow in his brow even in rest.

You reach over, brushing back a strand of hair stuck to his forehead.

“Sleep, Grayson.”

He murmurs something soft you can’t quite catch. Maybe it’s your name. Maybe it’s just a sigh.

You don’t climb in beside him.

Not yet. Not until hours after he's finally fallen into a sleep that's bound to leave him with a raging migraine.

Instead, you leave the door cracked and turn off the light, letting the quiet take you both.

You wake to the smell of rain the next morning.

It takes you a second to remember everything—why the other side of your bed is wrinkled and warm, why your door is cracked open, why there’s a crumpled tissue box on the living room floor. But then it all comes back in a slow, heavy trickle, like the sound of water tapping against your windows.

Dick.

You push the blankets off with a sigh and pad barefoot into the hallway, your T-shirt clinging softly to your skin from the warmth of sleep. The apartment feels still, muffled in the hush that only rainy mornings bring.

He’s not in bed anymore.

You spot him in the kitchen. He’s sitting at your tiny breakfast bar with his hands wrapped around a mug, shoulders hunched slightly forward like the weight of the night is still sitting there.

He’s wearing one of your old hoodies—the navy blue one with a bleach stain near the hem that's way too large and you keep meaning to throw out. It hangs loose on him, sleeves pushed up to the elbows. His hair is a little damp, like he washed his face but didn’t bother with a towel.

He hears your footsteps and glances up. His eyes are clearer now. Less bloodshot. But there’s something else there too—something raw and quiet.

“Hey,” he says.

You rub the side of your neck. “Hey.”

There’s a second mug waiting on the counter. He gestures toward it. “I didn’t know how you take it anymore,” he says. “So I just… kept it black.”

You move to sit across from him. The stool creaks under your weight. “Still black,” you say softly. “With just a little too much sugar.”

A small smile flickers on his lips, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. He nods once. “Guess some things don’t change.”

You sip your coffee, grateful for the warmth. The silence between you stretches again, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just full—with all the things you both want to say and aren’t sure how to start.

The rain paints long streaks across the window, turning the street outside into a blur of silver and gray. The hum of the fridge is the only real sound, steady and grounding.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, voice quiet but steady. “For last night. For all of it. For calling you. For showing up like that. I wasn’t trying to make you clean up my mess again.”

You stare into your coffee. “But you still did.”

“I know.” He swallows, watching the way his thumb runs along the edge of his mug. “It’s just… you were the only person I wanted to see. I think I’ve known that for a long time.”

You close your eyes for a second, breathing through the ache in your chest.

“I meant what I said last night,” you murmur. “He wasn’t the one. But I still tried. I gave him all the parts of me you didn’t want anymore.”

“I did want them,” he says quickly, then pauses like the truth is hard to get out. “I was just too stuck in the past to know what to do with them.”

You glance at him. He looks older somehow this morning. Not in a bad way—just more worn. Like something’s finally peeled back in him. Like he’s stopped pretending.

“I kept thinking,” you say slowly, “about the day you left. About how you didn’t say anything, you just… disappeared into her like I never mattered.”

“You did matter,” he says, voice tight. “I thought I was doing the right thing—going back to someone who understood the job, who shared the same world. But it didn’t feel like home. It just felt familiar.”

Your fingers tighten around your mug.

“You can’t come back here like this,” you whisper. “You don’t get to show up because she threw you out and I answered the phone.”

“I know.”

“You don’t get to call me when you feel empty and expect me to fill the space again.”

“I know.”

Your eyes lift to meet his. “Then why are you still here?”

He looks at you for a long time. There’s no glib answer. No easy line. “Because I want to do it right this time. And I know that might not be enough.”

You set your coffee down and stand slowly, legs stiff from sitting too long. He watches you as you cross the kitchen, and for a moment, you see the flicker of fear in his eyes—that same look from the night on the curb when he thought he’d lost you for good. You pull open a drawer and grab a clean dishcloth, dampen it under warm water. You move toward him without a word.

He sits still as you reach for his face again. You gently run the cloth along his jaw, washing away what’s left of last night—the faint smear of lipstick he must’ve missed, the last visible mark of where he tried to lose himself in something that wasn’t real.

His eyes stay on you the whole time.

Neither of you speak.

You wipe his skin clean in silence, and in that silence, something soft begins to stitch between you—not forgiveness, not yet. But maybe the space where it could grow. When you're done, you drop the cloth into the sink and lean against the counter, arms crossed.

“You should get some more sleep,” you murmur.

He nods, pushing off from the stool. “Mind if I stay a little longer?”

You hesitate for a brief moment, your heart stuttering in your chest. “You can stay until the rain stops,” you whisper finally

His shoulders drop with something close to relief. “Yeah. Okay.”

He disappears into the bedroom again, and you’re left with the soft ticking of the kitchen clock and the rain whispering outside your window.

You don't follow him. Not yet.

You let the silence sit beside you for a little longer, warm and aching and full of things still left unsaid and feelings left unacted upon.

Masterlist

[sleepylaing]

Énouement

You are something hot on my eternally cold hands. You are the spring morning sun, while I am the fall raindrops dripping down the glass. You are something loving on my eternally cold self. You are something important on the infinitely insignificant me. You are everything, and I've never had much,

which is probably why I want you so deeply.

a/n: it's a fem!reader (disguised as a student furin) × suo. there's definitely a backstory here that hasn't been written yet and I'm not sure anyone wants it written at all. so this is just my OC and her interactions with others. let me know if you want a part two or something. and please don't take it too seriously

ch. 1 — Adronitis.

The classroom door swings open, almost flying off its hinges. Many of the students are distracted from their work and turn to hear Enomoto's booming voice. A silent Kusumi walks to his right and only a grumpy Kaji reluctantly follows.

“All right, you brats, listen up! You're going to clean up the town today, got it?”

A rumble of angry voices spreads through the classroom. “Again? But we cleaned up a few days ago,” someone says, and the rest of the class agrees.

“Shut up, you bastards! Are you men or what? I want every garbage can shining and the streets clean! Kaji will check it personally, won't he, Kaji?”, Enomoto turns to the uninvolved Ren, whose look was anything but interested. He catches his eye, stubbornly for a few seconds, then sighs hopelessly, looks around the classroom with a heavy gaze, and nods in agreement. Enomoto grins contentedly and rests his arms at his sides.

“Mop in hand and get to work! Tsugeura, Sugishita, help us with the heavy stuff, Kiryu, get the brooms, Sakura, you take care of the garbage collection, Nirei, please supervise, the rest of you help those I just named,” the vice captain says, but then his gaze glides over the students until it stops on two specific figures.

“Akashi, stop snoozing and leave Suo alone!” he shouts indignantly, and everyone hurries to turn in the direction of his stern gaze. “Just because you haven't gotten a punch for your insolence yet, doesn't mean you should! You'll soon be glued to each other. Hey, Suo, do something!”

You didn't move an inch and continued to snuggle into Suo's neck. You felt warm, comfortable and good. You didn't want to leave.

But apparently your senpais had other plans for your sweet, long-awaited sleep.

You frowned, picking up Enomoto's familiar timbre through the haze of rapidly slipping sleep. Something about cleaning, mops, and Kaji-kun again. The usual.

Your eyes are still closed. You don't want to get up. Suo's skin was soft — softer than any pillow you've ever laid on, his neck was nice to snuggle against, and he always smelled good: some kind of tea you didn't know the name of, the subtle scent of his cologne, and a little bit of shampoo. It was the perfect place to take a nap, especially when Hayato didn't seem to show his displeasure at temporarily serving as your pillow and held you almost weightlessly, allowing you to lean almost entirely against him.

“It's okay, Enomoto-senpai,” Suo says with an angelic smile as Enomoto's disgruntled look slowly starts to burn you alive. “It's just that Akashi-kun is a bit tired. Don't worry, we'll be right over. I'll personally make sure that he does all the work.”

Suo's expression definitely sounded reliable and convincing enough for the vice captain to calm down a bit and stand behind you. You snorted mentally. Of course Suo's voice would make sense against such an unreliable you. Anyway, you're grateful for the extra minutes of sleep.

Your peace doesn't last long, though.

As Tsugeura walks past you, he grabs your shoulders and tries to pull you away from Suo, whose serene smile fades for a moment. “Akashi-kun, get up now! You'll sleep through everything. I still want to compete with you in paper throwing, but I can't if you're still lying on Suo-kun like that!”

As a tough guy, obviously one of the strongest in the class, he manages to lift you up almost effortlessly, but you're not so easy either: you cling to Suo with a deadly grip and don't want to let go, and you moo long and protesting:

“Noooo... Tsugeura-chan, let go...”, sleepily, unintelligibly, you burn Suo's ear, and finally you struggle to open your eyes. The first thing you see is someone else's red lobe, but you don't dwell on it. “I promise I'll throw papers with you, just don't torture me.”

“What a drama,” Kiryu comments sarcastically as he walks past you.

“Akashi-kun always has a hard time getting up. Especially if he slept on Suo-san before,” Nirei says, thinking he's softening the situation, but in fact it's the opposite, encouraging Tsugeura to pull you down even harder.

“Hup!” he shouts, and in the next moment, you're already standing unsteadily on your feet. Your hands are still frozen in the air, clutching at the emptiness.

At this moment, Hayato finally raises his voice.

“Thank you, Tsugeura-kun, but enough,” he says, and his tone is impeccably warm as always, but you can detect a hint of irritation in it. “We'll take it from here.”

Taiga looks at him for a while, then at you. After he has decided something, he calms down and nods in agreement. “Well, I'll go then, senpais are waiting for me. Akashi-kun, I'll meet you at the dumpster.”

“Thank you Tsugeura-chan, you're such a gentleman. This is a great place to meet.”

“You know why, don't make me look ridiculous!”

“I had no idea,” you smile sweetly at him, and he, accepting the challenge, smiles back broadly as he leaves the classroom.

Suddenly, you turn around from the strange chill at the back of your neck to find a motionless Suo staring at the door. You can't remember ever seeing him stare at anyone or anything like that, but he thaws out after a few seconds anyway. The clinging gaze returns to you.

Suo's smile is infinitely gentle, but you can't help but feel that something is wrong with it.

“Shall we go?” he asks and you nod in agreement.

***

“You're more distracted than usual today,” Suo observes as you yawn again, not even bothering to cover your mouth with the palm of your hand. You've fallen behind the others, so he leans over to you and asks quietly: “Working late again, Hoshi-kun?”

You squint at him. As always, awfully smart.

You never told him that you work nights, too.

That's okay. It wasn't really a big secret. Especially from Suo.

You moo in agreement, lower your head and kick a pebble under your feet boredly. Suo's interested look eats away at your cheek like acid. He's obviously waiting for you to continue. Waiting for you to tell him more. You don't understand why he's so interested, but you give in and answer him calmly.

“I've had to work more lately, but I can't go out during the week because of school. I had to go out at night. So now I sleep when our teacher blinks, when my desk decides to be a little softer than a rock, and when you sit next to me.”

Suo's ruby eye flashes with pleasure at your last words. You don't see it. Too engrossed in the candy store sign with the announcement: 45% off Tuesdays and Thursdays. Too bad it's Friday, you mentally sigh.

“Did I satisfy your curiosity, Suo-chan?” you turn to him. You try again to understand why he was so interested, but trying to understand Hayato Suo is almost like trying to learn every language in the world in one day.

He's an enigma. But who says you're better?

“As much as it raised new questions in me.”

“Оh. Really?” you answer sarcastically. Your short ponytail had become quite disheveled during your nap, so that the blonde strands now fall over your eyes. You wrinkle your nose slightly, but keep your hands warm in your jacket pockets.

“Yeah.”

Someone's warm fingers gently touch your forehead. They tuck disheveled strands behind your ear with precise, careful movements. Hayato's fingers linger on your cheek longer than they should.

He does it quietly, naturally, and you say nothing, content to let the hair stay out of your face.

“Why do you need money so badly, Hoshi-kun?”

The question hits you like a bucket of boiling water down your throat and another bucket of ice water on your head.

“Don't all humans need it?” you laugh softly at the end. “I'm just thinking about my future, Suo-chan. I want to save for college.”

The lie falls from your lips as easily as hundreds of others before it.

The heaviness in your chest wraps itself around another layer. Another one of hundreds of others.

And even if Suo catches you at it, he doesn't say anything.

“You can tell me. I want you to know that I'll always listen to you, Hoshi-kun.”

No, I can't.

I can't tell anyone, no matter how much I want to.

“I will, Suo-chan. You don't have to worry.”

You both know that you are lying again.

Suo lets you do it, smiling brightly.

You don't want to admit — not even to yourself — that your heart trembles as you see his smile. Like he understands. Like he doesn't judge.

Like he really cares.

You find the strength to smile back weakly.

next chapter →

[vivsteria]

⊹₊⟡⋆ passionate duel ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎

⋆｡°✩ a/n: really wanted to make a fic based off this pic, especially with xavi punching poor bunbun in his flower card ㅤpair: xavier x gn! reader

⟢ warnings: just fluff, not beta read, jealous! xavi hehe

xavier had one enemy.

well, one consistent enemy.

the worst factor was that this wasn't something he could exterminate and get rid of; its hard body wouldn't crumple in on itself and fade into sparkles. if anything, its destroyed body would leave a mountain of evidence that it had been eradicated.

xavier had a great day, really. a mission with you as his partner, easy wanderers to handle (though, no wanderer is a match for him), and after filing the reports and all the paperwork for the mission, you and xavier went to the hotpot restaurant that he had a hefty coupon on. not that it mattered since you had xavier's card in your wallet anyways.

no, this enemy was the opposite of a wanderer.

the inside was hollow, most of it being air and fluff. it had no protocore to fuel it.

the skin was flimsy, he could tear it apart with his bare hands if he really wanted to. it was round, not jagged at all.

its face could intimidate nobody.

it even donned a little bow tie like a true gentleman. which it wasn't.

"starlight," xavier is having a hard stare down with it. his tone of voice being that of no-funny-business! you try your best to hold back your laugh, but the lighter lilt at the end of your voice gives it away, "xavi.".

he can hear the smile in your voice, and it almost deters him. almost.

if its dumb stupid face wasn't staring at him right now.

"starlight," he exhales slowly, "i cannot believe you have another man in your bed."

you sit next to him, fingers gently cupping his face to turn his gaze back to you. "xavi.. you're the one that got him for me."

that fact infuriates him more.

he spent quite a few tokens on this limited time giant bunbun plushie. it was basically half the size of you and dominated your bed. it could be mistaken as a pillow if not for the fact that you somehow laced your arms around its wide middle every night. every night. it even had dents and was flattened from how much you handled him!

"is he your bed warmer?" xavier huffs, causing you to gasp. "don't talk about bunbun like that! he's protecting me from the boogey monster every-night that you aren't here!"

"he's still protecting you even when i am here." his face is still facing you, a palm encased your own to press your hand deeper, though his gaze fitted back to the threat at hand. "starlight, you don't need him when i'm here."

you sigh and press a light kiss on his nose, bringing his eyes back to you. "xavi, seriously.. when i hug him at night, i'm reminded of our date, all our good times.. of us.."

you coo softly, "doesn't he represent us?"

xavier's eyes soften into his iconic puppy eyes that drain any negativity from you. ".. i guess."

"let's sleep now, hm? i promise i won't hug him tonight."

he smiles at that. you hold back on rolling your eyes.

he opens the blanket for you to crawl into the bed before following after you. he gathers you in his arms and sighs deeply into your hair, inhaling your scent. you, in turn, press your forehead into his chest. all is at peace.

but he should've known it wasn't that simple.

he feels you shifting, your arm reaching behind you before going back to its natural position. however, instead of feeling the closeness of you against his chest, he feels something plush.

he looks down and sees a regular sized bunbun.

your eyes are closed, but he can still see the smile creeping in. he swears that regular-bunbun is also teasing him.

xavi - 0 | megabun - 0 | ogbun - 1

⟢ wc: ~600 i'm not one who provoke fandom drama, but the people who think xavi is poor and stingy is really disheartening seeing how mischaracterized he is. canonically mc has his card in her wallet. he also donated his money to fix the subway that he blew up, and he donates a lot to his old university. xavi isn't stingy! sorry, small rant over.

[hoshinasblade]

pairing: hoshina soshiro x reader // trigger warning: death (now i dont know if i should still make it as an x reader drabble because well, death)

try as he might, hoshina soshiro just couldn't think that meeting you was a mistake.

he was used to almost always getting the shorter end of the stick in life. though admittedly more privileged than the majority, hoshina will be a hypocrite if he says that he is the best at anything he likes doing - from a very young age he had reconciled in his mind the fact that he is forever going to arrive second in things: just the number two, never the one at the top. i will never be like my perfect older brother, he used to tell himself.

when you came to hoshina's life, he was still a rookie vice-captain who was trying to find his footing in leadership. he was not planning on being in a relationship at all - much less dating someone from the same institution - but love is a difficult opponent to win against, he supposes. and so he let himself fall for you - hard and fast and madly.

you asked him one time why he chose you, out of all the women and men who showed interest at him in and out of the defense force. "i guess it's cause i can be who i am when i'm with you. like i don't have to prove anything." because it's true - with you hoshina soshiro is neither the next in command of the third division nor he is the inferior brother - with you he is just hoshina soshiro, the man.

but being a man does not make anyone a savior. not at all.

there were no last words even as he rewinds the scene on his mind from years ago. he did not have the time to administer first aid anymore and probably at his subconscious he knew it would have been worthless anyway, so after a particularly violent kaiju had use its long, sharp claws to tear your suit and stab on your torso, hoshina watched you bleed to death. he barked orders - begged, even - for the medical team to hurry to your location, wishing and praying that time would stand still so that maybe you would have more moments with him before he loses you.

on your last breath you only smiled at him, cradled in his trembling arms.

when kafka said captain ashiro's first name despite the obvious implications, hoshina had an inkling of what is going on - he had a hunch that there is some history behind the two but he dared not ask. it was not his business, he should not care. but whenever he sees the cadet throw the commander a glimpse, hoshina's memories seem to unreel. he used to know how that feels - love.

"you shouldn't get too close to the rest of the other officers", he told kafka when hoshina caught him at 1 am still buried in books, studying. "in this line of work, something could happen to any one of them at anytime," he added before walking away, not bothering to wait for kafka to respond.

anyway apparently i have 500 followers now but i dont know what to do so i just drafted this short one while im waiting for sleep to come hehe, it's nothing much and i got the whole thing from literally two sentences said by this bowl cut man, hope you guys like it

[hermitsdump]

Sukuna's milk: rewriting the shibuya incident

status: complete [also on ao3]

word count: 8,238

tags: reader is not a sorcerer, fix-it fic, Sukuna & you, pov 1st person (I tried to rewrite in 2nd but it just wasn't as funny that way, we need the idiot narration)

contains: cannibalism, drinking Sukuna's milk, crack taken seriously, maybe technically sfw(?).... violence, but nothing worse than canon, vomit, some character death but it's different than canon, no manga spoilers (I wrote this before reading it).

a/n: the chapters were so short i decided to make 1 post instead of 10. This is the funniest thing I've ever written, I read it several times a year. But not today, I would not have the courage to post it.

Chapter 1

Maybe at first, I forgot to eat. But as the deadline grew nearer, I became too anxious to consider food. And now, it's Halloween in shibuya. I wanted to go out. To do something fun and dress up. Or at least make it home, before the streets were crowded with drunk people. My coworkers have plans, costumes and now distance from this place... 

It's just until I'm not the newest hire. Hazing is only temporary. 

I blast nightcore music in my headphones, pushing away how creepy the Empty office is. Even during peak hours with sunlight, I swear the place is haunted. 

But then again, stress and sleep deprivation can convince anyone of hallucinations. And they'd never speak coherently, anyway. Just lurking, And no one else seemed to notice.

I stretch out of my chair. It's gotten late. And I am desperate to get out of here. I put my headphones away. And i stumble to the first floor. 

As fast as I can. The empty building echoes with. Some strange noise. Like it wants to collapse on me or something. Outside, the air is thick with sulphur and smoke. Are they doing fireworks now?

 No, that's not right. I collapse on the edge of  an alley. The streets are empty too. But there are two creatures very much alive. Attacking each other with flames, like some bizarre night demons. Are they flying? The shorter one keeps getting thrown into buildings. So maybe it is safer to be outside. At least whatever this is has scared the drunk people away and I won't have to worry about stepping in vomit. I'll get out of here soon. Stop being so lightheaded.

 The fight draws nearer. And I can see them closer. The one who is clearly winning this fight… Has four arms. Human? The other one has one large eye and a volcano on his head. I haven't really seen anyone like that before. But if I still have my job after this, I might see him lurking around the corridors or in my peripheral.

They're far enough away that I can't hear what they're saying to each other. But it seems that it's coming to an end. The taller, more humanoid figure stands across from what looks like a pile of ashes on fire. It has the same slumped shape, now only recognizable by silhouette. 

{Why was a curse spirit crying like that, anyway? Sukuna wonders, bored after killing Jogo.}

“Yo, that was sick. Nice,” i say from my spot against a wall, not expecting to be heard by anyone. 

“Yes, thank you. It's good to be acknowledged.” he steps nearer. “But why are you so weak? It's like you haven't eaten.”

“Yeah, maybe that's it.”  my voice is tired and careless, almost completely monotone.

“Well, why dont we cook up some of these arms? It would be a shame to let malevolent kitchen burn empty.”

I shoot him a weird look, uncertain how serious or funny he meant to be.

“Oh, come on. It could make you stronger! Or kill you," his voice sounds like it came from someone else on that last part, then returns to its usual growl. "And I can regenerate. Watch.”

He removes one of his 4 arms, somehow sliced smoothly without a weapon, then tosses it into a fire. “See? There.” it grows back as if he were putting on a sweatshirt and the sleeve had been rolled inside itself. I look down, feeling sicker.

 “Oh well, i tried.” he paces away, glancing up at what's left of the city.

I stare when he steps through flames, reaches for something, and comes out unmarked. He then eats his old arm like a giant turkey's leg at a renaissance fair. 

It actually smells pretty good... at least among the stench of burning rubble. its charred skin even looks edible, inanimate.

“Change your mind? Here,” he rips off a finger and throws it precisely into my hand. I am hungry and in need of food- that could be enough on its own to explain the nausea.  the finger is wrinkled, crispy, and ethically sourced. I try to eat it like a chicken wing. 

It isn't bad, the texture is pretty good and no spices were available. Maybe better if i close my eyes.

Maybe not. My teeth touch bone thicker than a chicken wing would have. I flinch and it slips away. When i catch it the long black fingernail presses against my hand. The feeling of that took it too far. 

my palms collide with the ground, vomit spills between them. When it's done I turn away from the mess, slump into the wall like an alcoholic, the tremors of sickness setting in. i feel so much weaker than before. That isn't good. No one human is here now. only those who are dangerous had the capacity to stay behind. And me. Why me? 

Tears begin to slide down my face. Pathetic. No easy death and no strength for me now. 

“Aww, feeling dehydrated now, are we?” the demon's voice still rough and playful. “Oh, whats this? It seems my chest is crying too. Well, that's odd.”

he picks his half-eaten finger off the blacktop and flicks it away. Then he lifts me up, and when my vision focuses,  I'm on top of a tall, mostly intact building. The orange glows from below outshine the stars tonight. Smoke obscures the distance, blowing least of all where we are.

“Come on now, help me with this.”

“What?”

He sighs and gestures to his chest.  “You'll have to drink this out of me.” he sounds slightly defeated. drops of milk are dripping down from his nipples. 

“That's weird,” i whisper through a painfully dry throat.

He sits with his legs crossed in and pulls me up to sit in that nest. Something about the scent, or pheromones, draws me in, something sweet and promising. Or maybe desperation for a drink. I begin to lick the drops away. 

“I'm guessing it had something to do with you crying. that makes mommy tiddies cry too, right? And maybe you're like my child now from eating that finger… hmm…”

I'm a little surprised that a cannibal’s breastmilk could taste the way it does. Not strong, but sweet and cozy, like some spiced holiday drink. It's good, so i latch on, beginning to suck desperately at his nipple. 

His arms seem to form a cradle, the way they support me. The heat from his body radiates onto my skin and filters down my throat.

“I guess i'll tell you how this works. So I was alive during the Heian era, just as I am now. Ryoumen Sukuna. When that life ended, i had a choice: to have my 20 fingers preserved and hope that some mortal would consume them, and then i could live on in their body. Which is i guess doable, but not ideal.

Option 2 was to become a curse womb, and essentially reincarnate when enough chaos and blood would have spilled in my name. Which, as you can see, is what happened here tonight.

Although I did just kill the curse that seemed to want me here the most.”

i let go of his nipple, and give it one last wide lick.

“Good, now get the other one dry too.” 

i wrap my arms around him and reach for the next nipple. He only has 2 of them, but 4 arms and 2 faces. my mind wanders… what if they were different flavors… but it tastes the same.

Chapter 2

“Well. How do you feel?” Sukuna looks down on me, one of his big hands still spread out, supporting my head.

“Do you think it's also poison?” i ask, remembering that his finger could have given me strength or death, but i threw it up.

He sighs. “Ah, well, who knows? I'm sort of a human-curse hybrid now, so it might not have the same effect as some old relics. But even then, I was the king of poisons as well as curses. So… Poison or immunity to poison? ah, who’s to say.”

“It was…spicy, sweet and warm. I don't seem to be allergic.”

 “I didn't ask for a review. Spicy, sweet and warm? What the hell is this,” his voice trails into a mutter. 

“Oh, uh, i feel better than before.”

“Well, that much is clear.” he stands up. my tremors had faded, but now the autumn night air replaces his body heat, and i fight a shiver.

“Oh! something interesting is happening. Let’s go.” two arms hold my body to his. a blur of black, grey, and orange passes by. It feels like we're flying and falling erratically, changing direction without slowing down. He drops me off next to some guy with spikes of bloody black hair, his head seems pinned to the dented metal door or wall behind him. 

“You stay there,” Sukuna orders, holding a glowing white aura to the unconscious dude, keeping his back to the wall as well. “Watch over him. And don't either of you move from that spot.” 

i sink down next to the guy who's crushed like a bug, afraid to look toward whatever sukuna was keeping in his sight. What could have thrown someone like this? Something worse than the volcano creature…  His clothes are also bloody. No sign of awareness. i reach out and rest my hand on the top of his shoe, then look toward the figures in my peripheral. 

Something like an ancient god, tall and broad, pale and naked with wings for eyes... its attention on someone small, dressed like a caveman with a high blond ponytail and an aura like the stench of dried blood. He tries to run away without grace. A car slams into the ground to block his path. 

“Coward! You've clearly brought this on yourself,” Sukuna scolds.

 i can't tell whether that guy is a curse or a human, the way he's so small and perfectly humanoid, but no less vile. The type that tortures for fun, but can't handle any pain himself. He crawls under the car. 

Sukunas pins the vehicle down with another, then takes the godly fight away from the area.

 i keep my eyes on the cars he threw. No pool of blood spilling beneath them. What if he comes back to kill me, or worse? If i start crying, sukuna might get the signal. Though he went through the effort to not have me ruin his fun with milk-leaking nipples. i feel stronger now, but without concept of what kind of strength, or how to channel it.

Noise from their battle reverberates through what is becoming a wasteland. He's clearly having fun, offering a display of great destruction and power….but also showing distance. 

And speed.

Sukuna returns with a forceful fall, undeniably ending the evil kid with a modern Giles Corey type of death.

 “Hehe,” he grins widely in a squat on the car that's been crushed like an aluminum can. No sign of his godly opponent. 

“What happened?” i ask, remaining in place like he told me to.

“I killed that shikigami. The guy next to you had summoned it. But no one ever subjugated Mahoraga, so…. I'll teach him someday.” Sukuna's explanation sounds vague to someone new to this language, but i get the idea.

My muscles begin to relax. I take two deep breaths.

That's all that Shibuya grants me.

Something percussive and rhythmic knocks against the ground, slow with impending doom, and definitely approaching.

Chapter 3

“Oh, my. What's this?” A slow sultry voice steps in. “Ryoumen Sukuna, king of curses?” Her hips sway obnoxiously in a black evening dress, propelling a single white braid to swing from the middle of her face to either side.  an identical braid down  the back of her head. 

Her heels continue that slow click, that fills me with dread. I try to stop feeling so frozen in place, looking for validation or dismissal from the sorcerer next to me. He offers neither, but looks peacefully asleep. I'm happy for him. Maybe even jealous.

“ If you know who I am, then say it with reverence,” Sukuna quickly responds, looking down on the tall woman, differently than the way he looked down at me. 

“Big sis recognized you! you should be grateful!” A young boy in suspenders follows the woman with a more composed walk, holding his head higher, posture rigidly vertical. Are they performing for each other? So gross.

“Wow, that gave me the ick,” sukuna sounds surprised by his own discomfort.

“Mei Mei,” the woman introduces herself, as if anyone asked. ”Let's say that you and I play a little game. If I win-”

“you'll live. And I win, I'll live.” Sukuna interrupts.

“Fine then,” she accepts, still carrying herself like a thirst trap. "I look forward to the bonus pay."

“Big sis! You don't have to accept someone else's…” The kid whines. They're definitely related. His hair no less white, his clothing oddly formal, like it was chosen for a piano recital.

“Ui Ui. You wait here. Are you ready and willing to die for me?” The boy nods, loudly mumbling “mm-hmm.”

 i feel violently ill. 

“Jesus, I'm going to throw up,” i put my face to the sky. It's hazy and doesn't offer much relief. 

“Well, I can't have my baby crying. Let's make this fast.” Sukuna's voice is still a bit rushed. He can't wait for this to end either. 

Please don't let them notice me. I look to him, but some unusual motion catches my eye instead. The woman collapses as a pile of cubes. Was Sukuna's weapon just a violent look? 

“Noo! Big sis! Come back!” 

“Hey, brat. You should be grateful. She was clearly using you.”

Ui Ui isn't grateful, but demands the same fate as Mei Mei, stomping his foot like a child who wants an expensive toy. 

“Fine, equally annoying brat. Join your sister.” Sukuna's speech slowed to its usual pace. more cubes fall on the pavement, blood pooling under the piles. “What a waste. Can't believe I hope that doesn't happen again.” 

he turns to me, still sat against the dented building. His gaze moves to the body next to mine, beginning to look awake. Sukuna's face lights up. I take my hand off of his brown leather shoe  and fidget with my own.

 “Finally! Show us what you've got!” is impatience contagious? Sukuna sounds excited. Awaiting something as interesting as mahoraga, I guess.

“What the hell is this?” The voice beside me comes out flat, like a telepathic exhale.

Sukuna looks rejected. “I healed you. you owe me that much.”

“Get lost.”  not a morning person.

Sukuna sighs, “i should have made a pact. But you were already half-dead, so it wasn't an option.”

“Oh, wait. it's coming back to me now.” He sits up on his own.  “You've already seen my trump card. So, what's the big deal then?”

“Well… it's kind of a waste of your talents. Don't you think?” 

Bruhhhhh, i throw my own head back into the wall. Why does he want to fight everyone? Dudes barely awake. Grow up. 

“okay. Let's move on.” He's talking to me now. “Shibuya is crawling with the strongest of curses and sorcerers- or, what's left of them, anyway. At this rate, to find a better fight than that volcano spirit, I'll have to heal them all first.” 

The soles on my shoes scrape loudly when i stand up, leaving the now-conscious one space to recover on his own. We didn't say a word to each other. Should I introduce myself? Would I even remember his name? 

It doesn't matter. I've never been or fought a sorcerer or a curse. I'm just a random office worker, just a milk baby. The only reason I'm even in this city... and alive.

 {Megumi goes to find shoko, who was nearby.}

Chapter 4

Walking through the city feels wrong. any of these buildings might collapse and crush me into the street like a fly. 

Sukuna flinches at nothing. no reaction to stepping over a body lying in the street. Blood poured from the side of his head around a sharpened rod. this feels like a suicide.

Maybe he was a normal person like me. It doesn't seem like anyone left alive in shibuya tonight would be caught dead in a stretched out white sweater. 

“Catch up already. We're going underground.” Sukuna says that as if I'm a child watching bugs in a field. His child. 

Our shoes slap against the clean white steps to the station. It's an eerie contrast to be engulfed in the bright light. That's funny. A few hours ago I would have thought nothing of it. Just another late night escaping the office.

And just a few hours ago, the way these walls are cut up, the floors so neatly cut out, would have been a shock. I'll just avoid those big open circles... And whatever made them. 

Someone is here, stumbling away from the wall. Their black hair is styled with thin bangs and spiky space buns. Chains rattle against their heavy black boots, his heavy breath fades, his eyes focus into a determined…almost kubrik stare. 

“I need help for my brother who is dying.” his voice is kind of deep. maybe it's the black line across his nose like a bandaid, but this guy is insanely cute.

Don't stare. I turn to sukuna for an answer. His pointed black nails move like hungry fangs. 

“Oh, really? What would you do for him? Would you risk your own life for a brother?”

“I would.” this dude’s stare could not be any more intense.

“Excellent. Show me what you've got, and maybe I'll heal him!”

“if that's what it takes. Fine then.” 

I grab one of Sukuna's arms, “do you REALLY think we have time for that?” But his squinted smile is so full of teeth that I doubt whether he can hear me. 

The other guy brings his palms together, arms outstretched at eye level. A laser cuts into the stairs above my head and follows Sukuna. 

No, that isn't a beam of light. It's blood. 

“Get back,” the blood manipulator breathes into my ear as he runs past. 

“Where?” I ask, stupidly glancing around. 

He rushes me to the corner he crawled out from, like a shallow closet built into the wall. 

“Wait!” I hold him back and stand in front. Like a mother hitting the brakes of a car. Accomplishing nothing but being annoying.

“What is the meaning of this?” Sukuna growls.

“it means grow the fuck up! You think someone owes you a fight for wasting time and letting their brother die? You make me sick, sometimes!”

He sighs. “Alright, take me to him.”

Chapter 5

I follow, no point in running to keep up with them. We turn by the hall to the elevator and restrooms.

“Who are you?” The blood master asks with no expression, more like a command.

Two teen girls are kneeling on the floor. They don't answer him, but bow to Sukuna instead. The one with light spiraling hair holds a dehydrated finger out like an offering.

“Please,” her voice shakes but not as much as their bodies, “take this finger. We didn't know you were alive already. We can get you one more, too, so please, don't kill us.”

“Get up. You're not worth my time.”

“Huh?” The girl hardly breathes.

“Killing you kids would be like stepping on ants. Save those old relics for someone who cares.” 

They manage to crawl to the wall and hold onto each other. I slide down between them and the others. 

“So that volcano spirit wasn't lying. I didn't emerge from this kid's body because I was already a curse womb… But I will, if someone manages to kill this body! 

Wonderful. But who would have saved my fingers…” Sukuna’s monologue is lost on these guys. 

“Yuuji Itadori. It's your big brother, Choso Kamo. I'm sorry for what happened.” 

“The residuals tell me you did this.” Sukuna reaches out with a white aura, ignoring Choso’s glare. 

Yuuji Itadori looks at least half dead. Covered in blood, head hanging. I turn away to face the girls.

“So… What were you doing here?”

“We were told that when he eats enough fingers, Sukuna would come out. But he never did.”

“Still, it was our only hope to save Geto. We had to try.” the girl with straight, dark hair continues.

“What do you mean, to save Geto?” Choso demands.

“The man in Geto’s body is not him. He lied to us.” 

“With stitches in his forehead?” 

“Yes.”

“He deceived me, as well. And he will pay for making me try to kill my little brother.”

“The stitches man. He's powerful?” sukuna’s priorities remain. 

“He took Geto's body for the technique. Curse manipulation.” 

“take me to him.” 

“let me attack him. Can we wait until my brother wakes up?” 

“I'm awake. Todo?” Yuuji mumbles, “when did you get here?”

“Not Todo, it's Choso. Our parent pit us against each other. And for that, I will kill him.”

“Hm… You're not really making sense. But I'm going after patchface.”

“Mahito? He's below us with a stock of transfigured humans.”

“I know…what i have to do,” yuuji's arm, limp at his side, draws into a fist.

“I'll stay here. you guys don't have to wait around.” I can see they're impatient and I'm over it. 

“please! Kill the man inside Geto, but bring him back.” the blonde girl calls after Choso and Sukuna. 

“So… Who are you?” Yuuji's words slur. 

I give him my name. Not sure what else to say. 

“That's weird, we haven't heard about you.”

“I'm only here by coincidence.” 

“I'm nanako, and this is mímiko. But I'm not sure if I believe you. Coincidentally walking by his side? That doesn't happen.”

“I don't get it, either. It's like some weird biological tie…” Please god let this turn into a gossip session, I cannot tell anyone that I've been drinking cursed tiddy milk after throwing up a cannibalized hand…. But I'd do it again. 

“So…what did those fingers taste like?” 

“Just like soap.” Yuji answers with no hesitation.

“Oh dude, I'm sorry. Soap is disgusting.”

“Why the hell are you guys eating soap?”

Mission accomplished. I can admit to eating soap as a child and finding that honey scented soap is somehow bitter. That's normal. 

But the chest milk… I hope I get to drink that again. It was like a baptism. Like it brought me back to life. 

Maybe that's what sukuna is - a walking baptism. He healed me without looking for a fight. Or maybe my fight was to survive his finger… And the rest was out of his hands. 

But it got he into his hands, and that... Was worth it.

Too bad for him though.

Chapter 6

To descend the stairs is to enter a deeper level of hell. But I can't put it off forever. 

Mimiko and Nanako asked for my help in seeing that Geto comes back. So I have to try. No one else has the balls or the luck to influence Sukuna's whims.

Yuuji leads us down. His confidence is convincing- the only traces of his brush with death are stains and holes in his school uniform. 

When the three of us are in the safest, most hidden spot with a view, I nod to Yuuji. He mirrors me with a serious expression. I almost pity the curse he's jumping the stairs to beat.

No one paid him attention - though I have a feeling that Choso noticed. He's facing away from us, pinning someone against the wall- a man with long hair in monk's robes. That must be Geto… I  can't see the stitches from here. 

Sukuna sits high on a pile of debris, looking down on them with his head resting on one arm. Amused and unbothered. 

A muffled choking reverberates around, with no movement to match it. 

“Where is that coming from?” I barely whisper.

Mimiko points at Geto's head. His body seems to be turning off.

Choso gathers blood into a small blade and cuts away the stitches. 

A brain jumps against the top of the skull, desperate to eject as soon as the gap is big enough to let it through. 

Geto's body slumps to the floor. Choso watches the grey blob run with homicide in his eyes. The brain has a foul mouth of long flat teeth, and limbs grown out of it. Arms or legs, they splash against the floor with dripping brain fluid. 

“That is so gross,” i mutter. 

Choso stalks it with hovering orbs of blood. I think they're going to catch up with Itadori.

Nanako and Mimiko run out, stopping a couple of meters away from Geto's body.

“What's happened to him?” Nanako asks, nervous to confront Sukuna, nervous about the green and purple spidery lines that splinter over Geto's head and spread down his neck.

I close the distance and they hover behind me. 

“I had him grow a brain. But it's disappointing.

Sorcerers in this era not building immunity to poison.”

“You poisoned him?” Nanako almost yells through her shaking voice.

“I don't recall you having a better idea to remove the parasite,” Sukuna counters quickly. “But I suppose we could try a remedy. Think you can find some ingredients?” 

The twins run outside. I find a stack of clean napkins and a paper cup of water, then stay with Geto, as if I know how to treat superhuman illness. He seems to be in some kind of fever dream. Breathing, rapid eye movement, that's good right? Though his skin is clammy and damp with sweat and brain fluid. I pour the water on some napkins and clean off his face. 

“So… Does he have a chance?” I ask, afraid that Sukuna just sent them out to be left alone. 

He sighs. Glances off like he's bored.

“Hey. Poison me the same way.”

“What, are you suicidal?”

“I just want to see if it works.”

“Hm… Fine.” 

Sukuna pulls my chin up, away from watching Geto's skin and trying to determine whether the effects are spreading or receding. He drags a nail down the side of my face. I feel a warm drop of blood slide down. Sukuna watches me intently, his grasp on my jaw won't let me turn away.

Maybe it's the stare of his extra eyes, but my blood runs cold. Skin like a pond frozen over in winter, alive underneath but wintering. The feeling sinks stranger and deeper, stranger and deeper, then disintegrates to memory. 

The blood in my veins is no longer hollow, but warm, normal - although the contrast makes me appreciate the sensation of normalcy.

My vision focuses before I realize it had been taken away. His eyes are still on me. He looks intrigued, satisfied, and finally he lets me go. 

“So that's it?”

“Yes. it seems I've granted you immunity to poisons.”

Suddenly it feels like I've asked for too much. It was lucky that for whatever reason, the heightened emotions or risk to my life, Sukuna's chest is ready for the harvest. 

He sits next to Geto with his legs like a nest, his four arms waiting to take me in. 

I really…I don't know how boobs work. I hold the cup close to his nipple and grab around it.  

My head twitches and eyes squeeze shut on their own. A few stray drops came out, but not in the right place. I wipe the milk out from my eyelashes and try again, spreading my hand over his tiddy and massaging toward the center. 

“This is going nowhere. Just use your mouth.” 

He's right. Even if we had a breastmilk pump, i wouldn't know how to use it.

So I reach out with my mouth, taking two euphoric swallows without remembering why I'm here. It takes a conscious effort to keep Sukuna's milk in my mouth, then drop it into the cup.  

I reach over to share it carefully with Geto. 

Sukuna takes it in his spare arm. We fall into a system where I suck on him, he brings the cup back, and I fill it. 

“Go meet those kids,” he puts the cup down. I keep the last mouthful for myself and get up. 

The twins race over, gasping for air. “Is this enough?” 

“Yeah, it's good,” i tell them. 

Sukuna begins to crush and flame herbs before dropping them into the cup or placing them across Geto's forehead. I think he's playing pretend with them.

“You spilled some on yourself,” mimiko blurts out and covers her mouth as fast as possible.

Sukuna and I make eye contact. His face tells me not to dare. 

I hold back a laugh, as if I would anyway. 

“Hey, I'll get you some drinks. What do you like?” 

“i like peach or mango,” Nanako answers first. 

“Um, watermelon or pear... But anything's fine.” mimiko’s face is a bit red.

“Hey. What about you?” I ask Sukuna.

“You decide,” he glares up at me. I'll look for a black tea then. It feels the safest.

I run off to the vending machines and totally forget who said what. So I come back with all 4 of their choices.

“Ryoumen Sukuna? Well, this is a surprise. Though I seem to have access to kenjaku's memories as well as my own, so more sense will be made with time.” a weak voice rambles.

“Geto!”

“You're okay!” The girls hug him. 

I set down their drinks. 

Sukuna looks relieved. I imagine he's ready to see what lurks below us. 

“Alright, what's next?” I hold out the tea and invite him away.

To give them privacy, to see that Yuuji and Choso are alive, or emboldened by the milk - I turn back and wave to the twins, but have no reservations about continuing to the next level of hell.

Chapter 7

The sorcerer from before glances into my eye as he runs past us up the stairs. He's with an electrified bird and a giant frog. They carry burn victims that I don't recognize. 

Sukuna lets out a single laugh with a slight, closed smile. We continue ahead, toward ashes and scorch marks. 

“Oh, how polite. They left me a snack.” Sukuna approaches the biggest charred form- it looks like nothing to me, an eroded statue after a volcanic eruption. I continue on without hesitating to leave him behind.

From a different angle it occurs to me that that was a man, with an arm severed before the fire. 

“Jogo! Thank you for the meal,” Sukuna growls as I pass by. 

Not my circus, not my monkeys. 

Milk blood gets me stupid reckless. Maybe I should compensate for that. Take my time and be observant. 

The patter of grey matter, the slicing and splashing of blood. Only two audible entities on this floor. 

Choso has been taking his time with the brain. It's clearly a personal grudge, but…how is that thing a parent? Either I'm misunderstanding the whole thing, or Yuuji equally lost. He's not even here. Neither is a patchface. But some dreadful feeling seems to rise like smoke from below the floor. 

“Hey, you! What did I miss?” Sukuna jumps over the railing, his kimono flowing gracefully in the descent.

“Oh, what took you so long?” I ask as his feet land in perfect balance.

“No one tastes as good as me!”

I stare up into his four eyes blankly. What.

“I had to start another fire just to get the taste out. Old men are disgusting.” 

“yeah,” i agree, and turn back to Choso and Kenjaku. This time I won't get in his way. Not like I even have the chance to.

He has it cornered, pinned to the wall with a long pole of blood. Then over and over with more needles, like a dart board. Bloody grey bits gradually crumble to the floor. I pass by quietly, giving him space and time to sort that out.

It's funny how seeing Choso in that state, I'd still feel safe with him. Maybe it's a shallow attraction to the way he dresses. Or that he took a risk to protect me.

But I get a really bad feeling about floor B5. Anything feels safe compared to that.

Sukuna wraps two arms around my shoulders. “Aw, come on. You scared now?” he teases. But I take what I can get and pull him in by the waist. But we don't stop walking.

Chapter 8

Sukuna looks down with a grimace. My fingers are tightly intertwined in his. Fuck. How did that happen? I release him and back up into the wall. 

Yuuji and Mahito are insane. It sounds like a horror circus down here, faces stretched into giant clay blobs of green, blue, pink, yellow, teal, etc etc. I don't like it.

I consider retreating to infringe on Choso's emotional breakdown. 

The noise dies down, the patchface laughter cutting through, an identical copy of that sound drifting down the stairs. There are two of them, running toward each other. 

A girl with strong eyes and copper hair chases after the second patchface. She has to be crazy strong. fearless. 

“Kugisaki! Run!” Yuuji's voice strains in desperation. 

The curse Yuuji was fighting runs toward her. Both laugh maniacally.

I pull up a piece of clay off the ground by my feet. it's heavy like a person. I swing it around in a throw at the spirit. A voice seems to slip out of it, the mass slips from my grasp and doesn't reach as far as I meant to. But the humanoid does trip with its face skidding onto the floor, and Kugisaki uses this chance to run off. 

“YOU!!” Mahito growls, his face of madness piercing mine. I freeze and death glare at him, the only action I can will my body to take. 

“Resonance!” Kugisaki’s voice drives across B5, followed by the collision of hammer and nails. 

The curse in front of me spurts blood, fighting to stumble and take me down. It's enough to break the trance.

I run past a clay train with open faces. anywhere to put distance between us. But that instinct is trapping me on the lowest level.

Mahito's clone is riddled with nails. She goes at him with a wide smile that could rival Sukuna's.

“Kugisaki!” Yuuji calls, “keep doing that! No one else's technique works on him. We have to hurt the shape of his soul.”

“Yeah, I know! And don't let him touch you with his hands. Anything else?” metallic clashes over her words.

“Um, no! I don't think so.” Itadori takes a guardian stance.

I look behind us. The main body is rising with demonic contortion, and arms grow in its open mouth. Am I…seeing that right from here?

“Domain expansion… Self-embodiment of perfection!” Mahito strains to pour out his remaining strength into something that cannot be good. 

Darkness and grey giant hands swell around us. Don't touch the hands?? They're bigger than all of us! 

In the dim void, Sukuna's white kimono, eyes and teeth reflect light with no source. He's elated. he makes a simple hand sign.

“Domain expansion. Malevolent shrine.”

A red light filters over the grey. Fires light the hands like candles and melt them down to ash. The clone body twitches and stays lying down. 

Sukuna steps closer to the main body, savoring the moment, keeping his gaze steady.  unaffected by the way that Mahito is still coughing up blood. 

“Hey, Itadori… What did I miss?” Kugisaki's voice wavers for the first time. 

“Oh, Um… You know, I'm not really sure either.” He scratches his fluffy pink hair that took on a bright, slime-like glow from Sukuna's domain. How does this guy sound so casual? 

Sukuna looms over Mahito and tries to provoke him into a better fight. The curse whimpers and splits into snakes, slithering away from each other and toward us. 

“Hey, itadori… We're okay as long as he doesn't have hands, right?” I ask.

“Yeah. only his main body should be able to distort the shape of a soul.” the three of us keep our eyes on the approaching snakes, or maybe they're more like worms... Ugly, with stupid faces, no scales, fluffs of hair for whatever reason. It's enough to trigger my fear of puppets. 

Sukuna flicks his fingers and they slice down the middle, with effortless symmetry. Like an arcade game he's beat on every level, and is no longer fun except to show off. 

The ones that remain squirm away faster. 

I have a suspicion that he knows where the main body is, and is saving it for last. 

Several of them burst into flames. Two at a time, until one remains.

“God, you're so boring, Sukuna groans. “I'll let you touch me one time. So give it your best.”

The last puppet worm shifts and grows into Mahito's usual humanoid shape. “Idle transfiguration!” He reaches out to Sukuna, and freezes on contact. 

“no way! I can't…” he shifts into a sort of bird, stuttering and crying, thrashing ashes at Sukuna, who just watches and chuckles. Letting this drag on is some psychological torture.

“so, this means you aren't Sukuna's vessel, right?” Kugisaki asks.

“I guess not,” yuuji answers. 

“Good to know.”

“Um, sorry but, you could be.” I realize he wasn't alive enough to hear us earlier.

“Huh?”

“The fingers didn't activate because his curse womb was already functionally a body. But if he dies, then he'll become you, you know?” God I hope that makes sense. I don't know basic shit about sorcery.

“Oh! So they're just cursed energy power-ups.” Yuuji seems to understand more than me. 

“Yeah, when they're dormant.   but if his current form is destroyed, then we lose you, too. So best to keep him alive.” I get the impression that Kugisaki scolds him a lot.

“It's not like anyone could take him down, right? Except for Gojo.” yuuji turns to me. “How is Gojo?”

“I haven't heard anything.” 

“I guess he's still sealed, then.”

“Ugh. Annoying.” Sukuna waves his hand and Mahito's body splits into cubes. The domain recedes, and purple goo puddles around his grey remains on the station’s lowest floor.

Chapter 9

Kugisaki and Itadori want to free Gojo from the prison realm. I'm not sure what that means, and at this point I'm too afraid to ask.

If Geto had it last, then that's enough to work with.

Sukuna sulks over how pathetic the human / death cursed spirit was. I guess some part of him blames Nobara for taking him down so hard, blames himself for letting her wreck Mahito so badly. But if she's strong enough to defeat that thing, then she has to be on his list of sorcerers to battle. 

As we climb out of the station, Choso's words replay in my head. Mahito? He's below us with a stock of transfigured humans. That explains the awful wriggling feeling, the ghost voices, the tortured faces stretched around those figures that were never clay. If I'd realized that before, would Nobara have become like that? The thought scares me. 

Some leftovers from Sukuna's arm remain on the burnt floor. Its scent lingers with temptation. I could probably handle it now. But that's no way to make friends. I rush up the steps before it can pull me back.

On B3, there is no sign of Choso. A pile of brain dust in that corner, and some prints from his shoes trailing away from it. A pit sinks in my heart. What if I never see him again? Am I simping so pathetically…

B2. I feel relieved to see that none of the drinks remain. So they're fine, just… Somewhere else. 

B1 is empty. The floor hasn't crumbled beyond the clean cut circle. I wonder if Choso is an artist? Engravings, into anything…

“Yuuji. You've eliminated the patchface?” He stands above the entrance like a gargoyle guarding us from outside threats. Relief flows through me at the sight I should have expected. 

“Yeah. Well, no. I gave him some black flashes but it didn't affect his soul. Kugisaki and Sukuna finished him off." Yuuji's voice hangs limp in the night. “I need the prison realm. Have you seen Geto?”

“They went to look for a bakery with crepes. I'll help you find it.” 

Choso and Yuuji walk in front. I fall in line next to Nobara. Sukuna follows like my chaperone. He's been unusually quiet, reduced to quietly observing. Not the god of chaos I first saw him as.

The street is pretty lifeless. A fresh ghost town. The occasional transfigured human wanders aimlessly. Sukuna puts them out of their misery with the slightest finger twitch. He feels like a gentle protector.

“Over there,” Choso directs us to the only business with a glow of intentional light and the movement of human life inside. He opens the door and we follow through it.

 “Suguruu! Try it like this,” a tall man with chaotic white bedhead assembles some cavity-inducing dessert and offers it to Geto with pride. Actually, they're the same height. Geto's baggy clothes make him look short. And I hadn't seen him stand before.

“Gojo! You're okay!!” Yuuji throws his arms around his neck, and they laugh together.

I realize that Gojo isn't bandaged, but wearing a tight black blindfold. Not a single, slight injury on him.

“He's fine, but going for the world's biggest sugar crash,” Nanako comments, hardly looking up from her phone. Its bright green case with bunny ears sticks out. Mimiko curiously samples their creations. A plush doll hangs across her shoulders. 

Geto meets my gaze with soft dark eyes from behind the counter. “Thank you for looking after my daughters,” he says with an even softer voice. I wonder what Kenjaku sounded like from inside his body. “We're just warming up and assembling their leftovers. Can I make you something?”

“Um, whatever is good,” I accept, “just… Not as much sugar as that guy.” 

“Huh?” Gojo's mouth hangs open like a square.

Geto laughs lightly, “I understand,” and steps away. 

“Truly…I love pastries as much as the next bitch, but you take it too far,” Nobara remarks in her chest voice.

“I agree with her.” Someone adds from a dark corner. The guy from before, with the shikigami, at a booth alone with black coffee. 

“Fushiguro! I missed you!” Yuuji slides in next to him.

Sukuna was looking forward to meeting this guy again… Where is he? I look out the front door. He's nowhere.

“Sukuna's sitting on the roof, sniping curses,” Gojo tells me casually.

“Oh… You're psychic?” I guess.

“I can see better than you, even through this,” he pulls the blindfold away and lets it snap back to his face. 

I trade my name for a plate from Geto and sink into an empty booth. The air is warm and smells of sugar. Does he know that he drank milk that was in my mouth? It's like...a violation...but he was dying.

“Hey,” Choso slides in across the table. 

I look up and smile at him. 

“I think… My brother wants to be with his friends right now.” His brows close together as he looks down at the crepe before him.

Choso wants to get closer to yuuji, and I'm trying to chase Choso. I rub my forehead and look past his shoulder. 

“Satoru! Look what you've done,” Geto's voice drifts like a pastel sky, impossibly light and gentle. 

“Oh, my deepest apologies, your majesty,” Gojo jokes, bowing to clean Geto's fingers with his mouth, raising his head to make seductive eye contact with him. 

They're like chaotic high school besties and gentle lovers at the same time. It kind of melts my heart.

“I should go,” Choso states.

“No!” I grab his forearm before he can stand, then pull back. Don't be aggressive.

“Sorry, I spaced out there… It's been a weird night,” i make the stupidest excuse. Like tonight was normal for anyone. 

The door opens. A fluffy black dog leads more people inside. 

“Aww, who's a good boy?” Yuuji calls him over.

“Are you done yet?” Megumi asks flatly, but his dark eyes sparkle. 

Yuuji hugs and pets the dog until it melts down to a black shadow in the floor.

“Aw, come on. You know I don't like you just for them, right?” 

Strange plushies with tufts of hair and uncanny faces stagger through the aisle.

I turn back to Choso. “Um, do you want to sit in that corner?” I nod to the farthest seats. 

There, we sit on the table, my back to everyone else. “Sorry for being so distracted. How are you feeling?”

Chapter 10

“i feel… More alive than before. My parent is dead. I have a living brother. I think I'm connecting more to my human side than to my cursed.” His dark eyes stare into a distance. The darkened skin around them spreads like decades of tear stains.

“Hee-hee,” a childlike giggle jumps onto the bench, the toy's vacant face stares into mine. 

I flinch so hard, my heart practically ejects. The edges of my vision pulse white and aggressive.

I try to orient myself. Focus on breathing. A strong arm holds me back from falling off the table.

“You're okay,” Choso says softly. I'm not sure if it was intended to be a question or a comfort.

“Thank you,” I blush and avert my clearing gaze, “you're always protecting me.”

“Yaga! Contain your corpses!” Gojo yells, throwing that thing to the front of the café.

Then he leans on the table across from ours.

“Sorry about those. Creepy, right?” He asks, leaning his head down like he'd be peering over the fabric but it has no gaps. 

I nod. Choso's hand moves along my shoulder and I lean into him.

“Almost as creepy as this.” Gojo holds a cube up on his fingertips. I can tell my face is as blank as my mind here. He puts it away.

“So… What were you two doing in Shibuya?”

I am relieved to get by with the half-true narrative that I ate a finger. They can think I'm normal like Yuuji.

“Ah. that explains the unregulated cursed energy.” He leans forward. “how would you like a career change?”

“if it means I don't have to work in the same cramped, haunted office every day - yeah, please sign me up.”

“Okay! Good to hear.” He smiles and leans back into the table.

“Choso. I respect your decision, but are you willing to make a pact in order to get in? Our old ass higher-ups might require it.”

“I have no ties to the curses or my father except for my cursed technique and my brother. I would have saved my mother from myself if I could.”

“I see. You have a pure heart. It was pretty funny when Jogo yelled at you for not attacking anyone,” Gojo chuckles. I haven't seen his eyes, but I can feel the eye contact.

“Since you've already graduated, and you aren't even a registered human… We can forge some documents, if you'd like. Anyway, there's an abandoned dorm we’ll set up for you and anyone else in a similar situation. 

Also , I know it's a pain , but try to document anything relevant to tonight's events before it's forgotten. Frankly, I'm just covering my ass to say that. I can't wait for these stupid reports to be over.” I think Nanako’s prophecy is hitting. The sugar crash.

“The cars will be here soon to drive us to jujutsu high. Can I see your phones?”

“I don't have one.” I look up at Choso's face. He isn't upset about it, just stating a fact.

I feel my pockets. I don't have my bag either. Where is my stuff? Burned, cut to shreds, or cast aside in that dreadful groaning building when I clocked out?

“Don't worry! We can get them later,” Gojo says like it's nothing serious. The blood returns to my face.

“Um, what's a pact?” I whisper to Choso.

“It's like a promise with cursed energy, and consequences for breaking.”

“Oh. I'm…not sure how to use cursed energy,” i shift so my legs dangle off the edge.

“It's okay. I can help you.” Something warm in Choso's voice, in his steady hand that never left my arm. 

Headlights on black cars line up outside. A man with short dark hair and small dark glasses stands across from Sukuna, who stands out like a bride in his white kimono. They shake hands while people in black suits stand in front of their cars, recording the event on their phones.

“I believe the pact they agreed to,” Gojo comments behind us, "is that he can go wherever he wants to, but not harm for the sake of it.” 

One of his lower red eyes flicks over and smiles at me.

I wonder if it weren't Halloween night, and if the average population hadn't evacuated, what kind of life Sukuna could have here. Societies tend to group together and judge idiosyncrasies so harshly. He'd be outcast as a monster, no doubt. Unless it's pulled off as a performance art… 

No. He'll get bored anywhere else. 

“Okay, team! Gojo is ready for bed! Let's hit those cars.”

edit to add a/n: there is a sequel which begins immediately after this scene. you can find that through the ao3 link above.

[lostfirefly]

Maybe You're My Enemy (Ch. 4)

I'm going to finish this story anyway :) Sorry, sometimes the mental state is stronger than me. It's been a lot of translation orders and wasn't in the mood to write anything at all. This chapter is short, the next one will be the final one) English isn't my native language. Errors may occur. Fell free to share your thoughts :)

Masterlist is here

Description:

Warnings: Fun, adventure, enemies to lovers vibes in the next chapters.

WC: 1851

Taglist: @mychemicalfalloutpilotsstuff

The title is taken from "Enemy" by Charli XCX.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The sky outside was still ink-dark when your eyes fluttered open. A gull cried somewhere in the distance, but the ship was quiet. No footsteps, no drunken laughter. No Buggy.

You sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You didn’t know what had woken you — a dream, maybe. Or the pull of something… unfinished. 

“Need some fresh air.” 

You stood up, left the cabin and went out on deck. 

The ship rocked gently in the cradle of night. Most of the crew was deep in slumber — limbs sprawled, mouths open, snoring like thunder. Only the creaking of old ropes and the whisper of waves filled the quiet void.

You padded softly across the deck, arms wrapped around yourself for warmth. Your bare feet made no sound against the worn planks. 

Buggy’s ship wasn’t what you expected. It was chaotic, yes — too many stripes, too much color — but it had charm. Flashy carvings decorated the railings, little gold-plated clown faces hidden in the woodwork. A ridiculous chandelier swayed above the mess hall. 

You smiled.

It was loud, even when silent.

You wandered aimlessly at first, touching the polished railings, peeking into quiet corners. The ship felt alive — not just in motion, but in spirit. Like it had soaked up Buggy’s madness and made it its own.

Without realizing it, you found yourself near the captain’s quarters. Your steps slowed. A soft glow bled from the gap beneath the door. Your heart beat faster.

“Definitely captain’s cabin. Shit! Why.. Why am I here?” You didn’t have an answer. “I should thank him. But I already thanked him. But maybe I should.. Yeah, I should. Maybe he's not asleep yet?’

You lifted your hand.

Knocked.

Just once. Softly.

No answer.

“Just a peek,” you told yourself. “Maybe he’s not here. Maybe… What if he's there? What do I tell him? Oh! I'll find out what our plan is. Great idea, Cherry. He’s a pirate. I’m a pirate, after all. Information is survival. Right? Right!”

You turned the knob. The door creaked open.

The room smelled like ink, wax, and spice — cinnamon and old rum. Maps covered the walls, some framed, others pinned with knives. Charts, compasses, trinkets, old masks. There was even a painting of himself. Of course.

Your eyes swept the room, almost reverently. Buggy’s coat was draped over the back of a chair. A half-finished mug of something sat on the table, still warm.

You exhaled. He wasn’t here.

You came closer to his desk. Papers were everywhere: stained maps, scrawled letters, half-burnt to-do lists that probably said something like “STEAL MORE GOLD” or “KICK MARINE BUTT.” She tried not to laugh.

You scanned the desk. 

“The map!” You said quietly. 

There was a slightly open package lying on the table. Its edges were torn and browned like old parchment, the corners curled. Grease stains, faded ink splatters, and the unmistakable marks of saltwater had left it permanently warped. A jagged tear ran across the lower right corner, stitched together with a single piece of waxy red thread.

She leaned closer.

The ink was dark and dense in some places, almost frantic — thick lines that looped and coiled around small islands with names scrawled in sharp, impatient script. Most were crossed out. Others had angry notes beside them in Buggy’s handwriting:

“FAKE!”, “BOOBY-TRAPPED!”, “MARINES CAME FIRST”, “SHE LIED!”

“Who else lied to whom fucking clown

That should have made it easier.” You whispered.

“I'LL BE THE KING OF THE PIRATES!!! Buggy's sleepy muttering came from behind the door.

“Fuck!" You hid under the table. After a bit of rest, you stuck your head out. "Don’t be scared, Cherry. It was a piece of cake."

You knew it was your best hope.

“Maybe not to do this?” You hesitated, getting up from the floor.

Your fingers hovered above the map.

It felt wrong. Like stealing from someone who… who had trusted you. Who had saved you, shared rum and late-night stories and moments where his voice was soft instead of booming.

“I’ll do something nice. In that case he won’t be angry.” You looked around at the chaos. 

You folded Buggy’s notes neatly. Put away his compasses. Even righted the little skull figurine that had fallen over on the shelf. It was a stupid gesture, but it made her feel less like a thief.

On a scrap of parchment, you wrote a shaky message:

“Sorry. I need this. — C.”

You slipped the map under your t-shirt and vanished into the pre-dawn mist.

Buggy woke with a headache and a huff. He shuffled out of the bedroom and into his office.

“Shit, I need a couple of huge espresso shots rig—” He stopped and looked around his office. 

It hit him immediately.

“Clean. Too clean. Why is my office so clean?” He froze, eyes narrowing. Where were the mess, the scrolls, the junk he hadn’t touched in days?

And then he saw it — the empty spot on the table. The missing map. And beside it, the stupid note.

“Sorry. I need this. — C.”

His jaw clenched. He read it twice. Three times.

“OH, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME—!! FUCKING STRAWBERRY!!” His voice boomed through the ship like a cannon shot. He kicked over a chair, threw a quill at the wall, then collapsed into his own desk, gripping the note so hard it crumpled.

“GET UP, YOU LAZY BARNACLES! I WANT HER FOUND!!”

Buggy’s crew scrambled in all directions, still half-asleep, tripping over barrels and belts.

“Search the docks, the taverns, the damn sky if you have to!” Buggy yelled. “If she’s breathing, I want to know where!”

“Thank you for the boat, clown. Just a quick stop,” you told yourself, throwing the oars into a small boat, mooring it at some island. "I'll buy some food and I need to somehow contact the crew. I need to get out of this godforsaken place.”

You didn’t notice the man watching you. Didn’t see him slip into the shadows. Didn’t hear the message, he whispered into the snail phone.

By the time Buggy made it to the island, the marines were already there. His ship hit the harbor like a cannonball. He leapt off the gangplank with fire in his blood and knives on his belt. His crew was close behind — but they stopped when they saw the uniforms. Rows of marines. Guns drawn. Eyes cold.

And standing at the front a vice admiral with a smile like shark teeth.

“Well, well. Buggy the Clown.”

“Vice Admiral Twitface.” Buggy sneered. “You’re on this island right now? Still babysitting docks? Still haven't gotten a promotion?”

“You’re under arrest.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I’m so tired of your jokes, clown. Get him!”

The marines didn’t answer. They just dragged Buggy through the street like a rabid dog.

“Let me GO!” Buggy made sure to scream the whole way. “Do you have any idea who I AM?! I AM THE—ow, hey, watch the nose—THE GREATEST PIRATE SHOWMAN TO EVER—HEY—TOUCH ME AGAIN AND I’LL—!”

They didn’t care. 

The vice admiral stood with a glass of tea in his hand, watching as Buggy was shoved into the office like a sack of trouble.

Buggy’s wrists were shackled in sea stone cuffs, which he deeply resented.

“Ah. The famous clown,” the admiral drawled.

Buggy hissed. “You got some nerve dragging me in like that, Admiral Boringface.”

“It’s Cleanbrace!!” The admiral yelled. 

“My bad.” Buggy shrugged.’

“You’re a hard man to find.”

“I wasn’t hiding.”

“No, you were running.”

“Oh, come on. You think I ran here?” Buggy rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’m here for important pirate business. Your idiot dogs grabbed the wrong guy.”

“You helped a prisoner escape from a government-controlled facility two weeks ago.”

“You mean Cherry?” Buggy froze for half a second. Just a flicker.

“So you admit it.”

“Pfft. Of course I do. Would’ve looked better on camera, though.”

The admiral narrowed his eyes. “She’s young. Dangerous. Too clever for her own good. We should’ve clipped her wings when we had the chance.”

“Yeah. She’s a problem, all right.” Buggy leaned back in his chair, tapping a finger against the table. “Here’s the thing, Admiral…” His voice dropped. “You don’t want another problem. You already have me. And I’m your favorite pain in the ass.”

Buggy leaned forward, elbows on the table now. “Cherry’s small-time. For now. Sure, she’s clever. Slippery. But if you don’t chase her.. if you don’t put pressure on her now… she’ll grow teeth. You’ll force her into something worse.”

“Into what?” the admiral asked flatly.

“Into a legend,” Buggy said with a grin. “And trust me, you don’t want another me on the seas.”

“And your point?” The admiral studied him. 

“I say…” Buggy spread his hands theatrically. “Let’s find her.”

“And why would I do that?” The admiral’s eyes narrowed. “You think I need your help?”

“How much is her head worth now?” Buggy shrugged. “Five million? Ten? You catch her, you’ll get the press, the headlines, the promotion. ‘Admiral captures prison escapee, rising pirate threat.’ Sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I can catch you, too.” The admiral scoffed. “You’re sitting in front of me right now.”

“Fair enough.” Buggy snapped his fingers. “Go ahead. Arrest me. Put me in chains. Haul me up to the gallows. Again. I’m useful. You leash me, you get bait. Chaos. Distraction. While I’m blowing things up and being loud, your boys can sweep in and do the quiet work. See how that ends. Admiral Crooked Face caught the clown again. Blah-blah.”

“It’s Cleanbrace!!!!” The admiral leaned back, eyes narrowing further. “And what do you want in return?”

Buggy’s grin didn’t falter, but the glint in his eyes turned sharp. “Oh, now that’s the question, isn’t it?” He stood, hands behind his back. “First,” he said, pacing, “I want free passage. No blockades, no sudden marine ships swarming me every time I sneeze. I want to sail like a normal pirate with a little extra flair.”

The admiral didn’t speak.

“Second,” Buggy continued, “I want my crew left alone. You harass them, deal’s off.”

The admiral said nothing.

“Come on, dude! Stop being so boring. Or let me be your chaos.” Buggy leaned back. “Your bait. Your cannonball with a face. Give me a long leash, Admiral. And I’ll bring her right to your feet.”

A long pause.

“Tick-tock, Admiral,” Buggy said, spreading his arms. “You’ve got a choice: chase her with me — or spend the next ten years trying to untangle the mess she’s about to make.”

“Fine.” The admiral stood.

“Knew you’d see the brilliance.” Buggy smiled wider. 

“But if you cross me—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Buggy said, turning for the door. “Hang me, quarter me, parade me through the capital. You marines are so dramatic. Better make room in your report. ‘Buggy the Clown – government collaborator.’ Has a certain scandal to it, don’t you think?”

Buggy walked out of the office before the admiral could reply — his boots loud, heart louder, mind racing.

“God help you, fucking strawberry… I’m going to yell at you for making me negotiate.”

[coq-courage]

OKAY

spoilers for Season 6, Episode Revelator after the cut because i WILL be talking about it, keep in mind i saw the Eng Sub last night when i should have been sleeping, so my understanding may be influenced by the captioner's words and my own sleep deprivation

gucci? gucci! lets go

lets get the obvious out of the way, presenting, The Boy!

i am very very glad that he keeps his earrings, he looks a bit more like a matador now than a figure skater but i'm digging it, i love it

look at that fucking 'hawk, that mohawk is a beaut

i almost can't tell thats Marc under there but you know and i know so we all know, that's Marc Anciel right there

i would also love to comment on his civilian appearance but I'm doing this thing called, "I won't comment on a character's appearance unless they appeared outside of the Intro and/or Outro songs. Why? Things change there, and I'm like pretty sure that at least Nath had different appearances in both, so I'm ignoring all Intro/Outro appearances until they're confirmed in the show itself

now...

we were all paying attention that pre-show yeah? the heroes were all trying to evolve their powers so that they didn't de-transform?

did you notice Chat Noir and Ladybug stood side by side? watching the heroes in their cubicles struggle to learn

Chat knows everyone's (but Ladybug's) identities now is basically what I'm saying

the writers CANNOT later in the series pretend that he doesn't know

Adrien is going through season 6 seeing a hero and going "oh there's Mylene, there's Ivan, there's Nath, Marc's over there, allllllll my friends are being heroes except Marinette who I still think made a cute mouse..."

Adrien..... please rub your braincells together.... please

also???? did yall notice that they showed everyone being partially transformed? i went back and grabbed a screenshot of the ONE instance i could find of Marc being partially transformed, and its his hand, just his hand, that hand can be anybody

does this mean he had the easiest time or that the animators weren't gonna bother with him? besides this moment every other instances of Coq Courage being on screen is fully dressed with no partial transformation

aside, did you see Marc Nath and Felix being bros? i love them and I love that they're throwing Felix into the squad with those two, I always knew they would get along

Brooooos

and there's my commentary on the pre-show! yeah that was all right before the opening credits, a few scant minutes

my overall thoughts about the rest of the episode?

hey look there's Maya the girl from Illusthater (adrien i hate your fans SO MUCH)

also mari how did you NOT notice people hating on you and doing graffiti? have you been just that consumed with love that you havent noticed anything else? i get it, i really do

btw this uh Vincent Secrets?

we've seen him before, we know his full fucking name how do i know?

because New Hawkmoth took inspiration from Old Hawkmoth's design for the dude

Revelator

Pixelator

Meet the new design of Vincent Aza (after he finally got a clue and stopped directly harassing celebs, old design below)

i enjoy that he made a comeback honestly and it makes me want to write a fic about how he got here, cuz that was a season 1 episode if i recall correctly

anyway, now Alya knows that Gabi is a bigger dick than originally thought, i still dont think she has the right to tell adrien that but she is right that he should know

the world doesnt have to know, but the world also shouldnt have been lied to that he was a hero when he wasn't

Fury looks great on Rena, it really do and god i love it

it is good to see Alya actually using her journalism skills but i'm still bitter about her never seemingly putting two and two together about Lila after finding out who Ladybug is, but she's def been on the way back up

and now to the big important thing of the episode that i know everyone's talking about instead

Chat Noir can erase concepts, that is amazing, and so useful, and I def predicted that in an unposted story I've been writing but that doesn't matter because i quite like how they showed it in the show, it was lovely and i'm happy for CN, he deserves more powers

now give him the teleporation power from the art book plz

anyway! that's all for now (cuz i realized this was getting looooooong)

[teamaerialcombo]

HI! HI! I'M THE GUY FROM AO3 IF IT WASN'T OBVIOUS FROM MY CRUSH 40 THEMED BLOG!!

(note . i might be reaching with A LOT of this stuff but this is MY special interest and hyperfixation and i get to say what i want. also i think you'd understand what i mean when i say things)

so, let's get one thing out of the way. on it's own, i am all of me is both a v1 song and a gabriel song on their own in my head

^ this, to me, is v1. the "black writing" in my head is directed towards the writings found on the murals of gabriel in 4-3. "unleashed a million faces / and one by one they fall" all the husks and demons in hell being there for who knows how long, before the machines (or in this case, just v1) come around and start killing them all off. in the grand scheme, v1 is the villain in this story (killing the denizens of hell without mercy, even with a reason thats still a villain), the "black hearted evil", but at the end of the day is still the protagonist, the "brave hearted hero"

^ and this is gabriel. it REALLY reminds me of his monologues to v1, but the beginning is what really sells it. those first two lines really encapsulate who he is as a character, or at least who he was before v1 came around- a weapon for the council (who, if you REALLY wanted to reach for it can also be seen as the evil in this case, and these two lines can be seen as him killing the council). "i laugh and watch you fall" can be seen as the fight in 6-2, going from a accusatory anger to manic laughter. and again, story-wise, gabriel is the antagonist, the main person against the protagonist, v1 (and also was the villain of the past lore, killing off minos & sisyphus most notably when they tried to make hell better). but he's the "hero" of this story (if you think more towards just the current part of ultrakill and not the past lore that takes place beforehand), trying to stop the villain, v1.

now, how does this all tie into gabv1el? simple. two different things. one, i like thinking about how those two verses mentioned above would play out if they said these things to one another, especially with gabriel's end. the manic laughter he has in 6-2 is probably one of the strongest forces the gabv1 fanbase has to show the canonicity of the ship, and "i laugh and watch you fall" really reflects there to me

but also the chorus of the song is? very gabv1 in my head?

like this really reminds me of the almost. i don't want to say OBSESSIVE nature of gabv1el since i know they can be a lot more than that but that's definitely slightly part of it. their obsession with each other that drives them closer (pun only slightly intended) to one another. "capture you or set you free" too. it can be seen from either perspective of the two. for v1, kill gabriel like its programming wants it to or let him live. for gabriel it's the same- kill v1 like how he was supposed to although, now he really has no reason to do so), or let it live to keep observing it and watching its movements and actions (which we have slight proof of him already doing! his dialogue in 6-1). you could also see "can you see all of me? / walk into my mystery" as gabriel talking to v1. he knows about v1 but v1 doesn't know about him. as you play the game more you learn about him through terminals, so by that logic v1 ALSO learns as it progress more, or "walks" into the mystery.

this part also applies to what was said above^

anyways! all in all i think this song for SURE is v1 & gabriel respectively and if you really reach it can be gabv1el. there's definitely crush 40 songs that are more gabv1el than this one (like down & dirty or 2 nights 2 remember) but hey. it's a fun challenge to connect just about anything to crush 40 whenever possible :p

hope you enjoyed my deranged sleep-deprived late-at-night rambles LOLL this was a fun one to yap yap yap about

dude i literally need Everyone to see this analysis. it is So Epic. i get you op i rlly do [shakes your hand in being a sonic & ultrakill fan]

[justawrites]

(Wip/Sketch) The Resurrection of a Heretic

You can definitely tell I got really tired after the first few pages but! It's done! Kinda! Pencil and paper sketch but it's done!

It's 3:30 AM so I really need to sleep, but tomorrow I'll add a read-more page by page transcription bc I know my handwriting isn't the easiest thing to read. Heavily recommend viewing in a new tab lol.

Had the Lamb chosen ANY other godless than Wren, and done it any earlier than before Narinder married them, Narinder would have been pissed about this. And unfortunately for Wren, being resurrected while being godless leaves its marks.

Anyway, Lamb stop breaking the laws of Faith for five seconds challenge, level impossible

Transcription below the cut

PAGE 1

Lamb: WREN! Hi! Wren: Hello, Lamb. Lamb, falling back into the water: Baa! Wren: Lamb!

PAGE 2

Wren: You are really bad at getting out of that pond... Lamb: It's the fleece. It's heavy when wet. Wren: Maybe you should forego it when visiting here? Lamb: And not look cool? No way! Wren: Almost drowning in a pool in the spectral plane does not sound very "cool," but to each their own...

PAGE 3 (timeskip, after unseen conversation in which Lamb suggests resurrecting Wren)

Wren: I... am not sure that is a good idea, Lamb. I have been dead for a hundred years now. I am not sure I know how to live anymore. Lamb: It'll be okay- Narinder and I will help you.

Lamb: Since you're not one of my followers, I need your actual body. Wren, as a ghost in the living world: My children will kill you if they see you digging up my grave. Lamb: Don't worry- it's handled!

Elloi (Narinder and Wren's middle daughter, all grown up): Not that we do not appreciate the visit, but our Father is visiting with you...? Kallamar: HAHA I missed my nieces, of course! Kallamar, thinking to himself: You owe me, Lamb! (A small text points to Kallamar, reading " "handling" it")

Wren: I am not sure our brother-in-law is up to that task. My girls are sharp. Lamb, offscreen: I have faith in him. Wren: At least one of us does.

PAGE 4

Wren: Also, uh- a hundred years? My body is nothing but bones and shrouds. Oh, and my death mask... Lamb: That's fine, as long as they're your bones, it will work. Wren: Should... I be worried? Lamb: No, no! I've tested it! Wren: Okay, I'm worried. Lamb: Hey!

Wren: Did you just shove my skeleton in your Crown? Lamb: Well I'm not about to walk out with it in my arms. Your daughters would try to kill me then...

Lamb: Think they'll notice the grave is disturbed? Wren: Minuit visits every morning, so yes. Lamb: Hm. So I should finish this before morning. Wren: If I come back as a zombie, I will bite you. Lamb: Promise? Wren: Lamb! Lamb: I'm kidding!

Lamb: I will miss being able to visit you on a whim, though. Wren: ...

Wren: Well, knowing you, me being alive again will not stop you... Lamb: True. You'll never escape me. We're like- spouse-in-laws or something! Wren: ... Not how it works, but yes, I suppose.

PAGE 5

Lamb: Kallamar is distracting your daughters, but the others should give me enough devotion for this- you know, being gods and Witnesses. Wren: I do not know, no. Lamb: Should I invite Nari? Wren: He will recognize a godless shroud. He might not let you go through with it, if he knows. Not to mention my mask... Lamb: Good point... I'm sure he won't mind if we surprise him!

Lamb: Wait, can you teleport? Wren: I am attached to you right now, so I will be dragged with you. Lamb: Cool....

Wren: I will admit, I will miss floating around like this. Lamb: You'd prefer to stay as a ghost? Wren: Now I did not say that.

Wren: It would take a stronger man than I to pass up the chance to touch their husband again...

Lamb: Oh, I see where your mind is~ Wren: Hold on- get your mind out of the ditch!

Wren: Thank you for not just dropping my skeleton. Lamb: Well, that would be rude. Wren: Kind of like shoving it in a bag... Lamb: It wasn't a bag!

Lamb: I need to put a mark on your skeleton... preferably somewhere subtle. It'll still be visible when you're alive again- any preference? Wren: Not really? Just do not be... weird about it. Lamb: Your hand, then.

PAGE 6

Wren: That is a strange symbol. What is it? Lamb: A modification of an immortality symbol. For my followers, it keeps them from aging- but this version helps me reverse your death. I think it helps meld the body and soul? It's very different from resurrecting my followers...

Lamb: Took me 50 years to think of this... It would not work before that. Wren: You... have been trying to revive me for 50 years?

Lamb: Oh- should I remove your mask? Wren: I would rather not see my own skull. Lamb: You'll be smelling whatever's inside when you wake up if I don't. Wren: ... Yes, remove it please.

Small text pointing to a cloaked Heket and Leshy reads "can't see or hear Wren."

Lamb: Okay! Ready! Wren, just float above your body! Leshy, Heket, Shamura- Witnesses, around the circle.

PAGE 7

Wren: Oh this is weird. Huh...

PAGE 8

Wren, thinking: What do I... do? This feels...

Wren, thinking: strange. Narinder, thinking: Where has everyone gone-?

Narinder: What. Is that Lamb doing now.

PAGE 9

Wren, thinking: It... worked. Wait, how do I breathe-

Shamura, offscreen: Relax.

Shamura: Your body will breathe on its own. Just relax. My siblings and I have been where you are.

Wren, breathing out: Thank you...

PAGE 10

Lamb: It worked! yes! How are you feeling?

Wren: Like I need a bath. Desperately.

Leshy: And clean clothes I bet. Lamb: Yeah, death shrouds a hundred years old is probably not a great feel...

Lamb: Come on- let's get you cleaned up. Wren: Okay... thank you.

text pointing to Wren reads "first bath in 100 years"

Lamb: Quick question- were you... wanting to keep this? Wren: My death shroud?? No?? It is a hundred years old and decaying... Lamb: Just making sure before I burn it.

Wren: I do want to keep the mask, though. Lamb: Got it. text pointing to the Lamb and the shroud reads "sets on fire"

text above the tub Wren is in reads "dunks head"

PAGE 11

Narinder: Lamb, I need to spea- Lamb: NARINDER!

Narinder: Gah! Lamb: Don't come in! You'll ruin the surprise! Narinder: Why are you short-?

Narinder, offscreen: Lamb! We are married! I have seen you naked before! We have bathed together!

Lamb, offscreen: Sorry, Nari- this is a surprise for you, so- please, just wait downstairs? Narinder: Would this have something to do with that ritual from earlier? Lamb: ... Maybe. Narinder: Fine, I will be downstairs. In the library.

Lamb: Hey, got you some robes- Wren: LAMB! Privacy!! Lamb: Relax, you've got nothing I haven't seen before. Wren: I DO NOT CARE- Lamb: You're gonna ruin your hair drying it like that-

PAGE 12

Wren: If you put your symbol on me I will hit you. Lamb: Too late, it's already on your hand. Wren: I meant that triangle thing, actually. Lamb: Oh- don't worry, the robe is symbol-free.

Wren: So this is permanent? Lamb: yeah, sorry- in all my experiments, removing it did... weird things. Wren: How did you "experiment," anyway? Lamb: Let's not talk about that...

Lamb: I think I liked what you wore in the After better. Wren: Mm, but that was a bit... gravity-defying. Lamb: Bet I could figure it out...

Wren: Being alive feels so weird... Lamb: yeah, I get it.

PAGE 13

Narinder: There you are, Lamb. Now, what did you-

Wren: Hello again, love.

Narinder: Wren...? How...? Wren: The Lamb is stubborn.

Narinder: You died... You are godless... The Lamb should not have been able to... Wren: They would not take that as an answer.

Wren: Besides, you have done the impossible before, too.

PAGE 14

Lamb: Soo you're not mad that I went behind your back to revive a godless person?

Text reads "Grabs"

Narinder: Do not ever do that again. ... But no. I am not mad. This time.

Lamb: Well, if Wren died again, I make no promises... but no one else. Not many ghosts with bodies still around, anyway...

Narinder: You are the most stubborn god I know. Thank you...

[oneofthetorturedpoets]

She’s a maneater part 1/?

parings: melissa schemmenti x reader

warnings for this chapter: melissa is a bully

-

you woke up with a jolt as the blanket was ripped off of you for the fifth time that night.

"oh my god, melissa" you groan, turning over, expecting to see her sleeping but shes wide awake on her side, with her head resting on her hand.

"you kept letting go of me and im tired of it." you chuckle slightly, trying to ignore your irritation. you pull her into you quickly, she yelps out. you lean in close.

"a simple ask would do you just fine, my love." you whisper against her lips.

"well, you know me, stubborn as always" she smiles and connects your lips, the domestic nature causing your heart to stutter, she pulls away slowly, her hand coming to your cheek. "I love you."

you and melissa weren’t always this way, it took a lot to get where you are now.

-

you were late your first day, traffic was stressing you out and you struggled to find parking spot in such a busy street, you had to park 5 minutes away. you were rushing into the school doors, through the hallway when-

BAM.

you slam right into the red headed teacher. her papers went flying and so did your ego. the look she gave you might as well killed you.

“i am so sorry-” she immediately drops to the floor, grabbing her stuff. you follow, trying to compensate for your clumsiness.

“why are you running through the doors anyways? if your kid is late then sign the damn tardy slip” angry radiating from her words.

“oh no- i don’t have a kid. i work here. i actually just got hired” her head swings over to look at you. you wish the earth would swallow you whole.

“30 minutes late on your first day” she scoffs. “great first impression, you’ll definitely get along with ava” she storms off, leaving me confused and flustered.

I walk down the hallways to the principals office, Ava is already leaning on the door frame, ready to great me.

"you're late." she says, sternly.

"I know, I'm so sorry, I couldn't find a parking spot so I parked super-"

"it was a joke, I don't care" she walks into her office. "pshhh no one told me I hired another Janine." she laughs, looking at the camera. the guy zooms in on my confused face. "anyways, you're in room 12, just down the hall, where you came in. your kids are currently with ms. schemmenti's class, room 13, you're taking her third graders also. if you talk to Melissa, she'll sort out who's who's." Ava's already on tiktok, laughing about a video before I can respond.

its going to be a long day.

-

I look up at the sign on the door that says room 13, I take a deep breath before opening the door, knocking as I do so. All of the attention is on me as the room goes quite. I look around the room, only seeing the students.

"hey kids! I'm the new third grade teacher that's going to be next door." they all shout hi in return. "where's your teacher?" I ask as the door opens again.

"oh god, not you again." I spin around, seeing the same redhead from earlier.

"uh- hi, im y/n y/ln. the teacher next door" I say, holding my hand out waiting for hers. she looks down at my hand and then back up at me, before rolling her eyes.

"alright guys! this is ms. y/ln, she will be taking half of you's with her, so if you're in third grade, please line up at the door, single file!" the students jump up, lining up in an almost perfect line.

"thank you, ms. schemmenti, if you need anything, ill be just over there." I say as I point towards the wall. she doesn't even look at me so I take it as a hint to leave.

-

three months later

“i’m tired of the new kid, she waltzes in here, all miss clumsy but charming, takes over the kids hearts and everyone loves her” melissa vents to barbra

“remind me again, are you trying to offend or compliment her? she’s been doing everything right, she’s the teacher we’ve been wanting to work here, what do you hate so much about her?” melissa stands up, pacing the 2nd grade class.

“she’s a newbie, and newbies make mistakes that we can’t afford” barbra shakes her head, not believing melissa.

“that’s not the real reason” the bell rings “talk to me when you find out the reason, until then, be nice to the kid” melissa huffs as she sits back down, watching barbra walk out and her kids march in.

-

a/n: first chapter of my new series is done!! this is a short chapter just to get something out there, hope you guys like it!

taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @dopenightmaretyphoon

to be added to my taglist, send in an ask!!

[iivyconfessional]

Wally Clark X Female OC

Okay, I'm still working on a title, but I've decided to post chapter 1 here in hopes of getting feedback before I put a few chapters up on A03. Let me know what you think!

No one knows what to expect when they die, how can you? But dying at school comes with a lot of unexpected surprises, like a support group of other ghosts, some of whom become your friend, some of whom become more.

Author's warning: There are slight deviations from the School Spirits' canon. This is going to be a slow burn, with lots of angst and some in-depth discussions about mental health struggles and how isolating they can be throughout the fic. Anyway, here's chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

I swipe a hand at my glasses, at the water beading on the lenses and the fog disrupting my vision. My ears are ringing, and I almost hear what sounds like sirens from outside. I look up from the floor and see people moving in slow motion. My classmates all look in various stages of shock and horror, some mouths open in screams I can’t hear, some tears welling in eyes, some girls running away like they’re being chased out; our gym teacher pushes her way through them, parting them like the sea, shouting words that don’t reach me but cause them to move farther apart, more girls leaving the room. Coming through the parted crowd next are paramedics with a stretcher, and closely behind them is Principal Williams, her phone pressed close to her ear, her face the perfect picture of stress and misery, so unlike her usual cheerfulness; her kind eyes are stone cold and glassy. 

As the ringing in my ears starts to subside, I push to my feet, pushing my glasses back up my nose, and look behind me to… me. And the blood on the floor and wall. The limp body, my limp body, being so delicately moved onto the cot that the EMTs rolled in. Principal Williams, her phone now back in her pocket, and Coach Chelsie are directing the remaining girls out of the locker room, but they’re all still looking at the shower stall as they shuffle out. Some girls run when directed toward the door, others have to be guided as their eyes refuse to peel away from the scene behind me. Maggie, who’s in the jazz band with me, turns to puke in the trash can outside the coach’s office.

I look back at the shower in time to see my body roll past me. The giant gash on the back of my head is now covered in a once-white towel, and a white sheet has been placed over my mostly bare torso and legs. My hair is still dry in some places but mostly hangs in wet matts over my shoulders and off the side of the cot bed. Subconsciously, I reach up, finding no gaping wounds, and my hair is in its usual state of slightly frizzy waves falling to my mid-back. I try to grab the rail of the stretcher to stop it as it wheels by, reaching out with shaky fingers, but it slips right past me, completely undisturbed by my grasp. I shout at the paramedics as they zip the body bag closed, trying on failing breath to stop them, but no one turns my way. No one is even looking at me. Like I don’t exist. Like I’m not right here.

I start to follow after the stretcher, my legs shaking underneath me, headed toward the exit of the girls' locker room, when I see her. A girl with short dark curls is staring right at me. Not past me to the shower, not staring blankly in my general direction. No, her dark eyes are trained purposefully on me as if she can see me like no one else seems able to.

“It’s no use following them. You won't get far, Cherry Pop.” 

Did she just talk to me? Can she see me? Her dry tone and the way she calls me ‘Cherry Pop’ snaps something inside me, like waking me from a dream when I didn’t know I was sleeping.

“Who, who a-are you?” I hadn’t realized my teeth were chattering until I spoke.

The girl extends her hand to me, “I’m Rhonda.”

I don’t take her outstretched hand, looking from her to the black bag that holds my body, now leaving the locker room doors. “Am I…Did I, did I die?” The question sounds so dumb as I say it, but I can’t find any other explanation for what is happening.

“Seems like it, seeing as you spilled your brain on that shower floor. Do you have any clothes in your locker, or are you an aspiring nudist?” She says that first statement so casually that I almost miss her question that followed.

It’s then that I look down at myself. I’m wearing nothing but my black lace bra and matching black panties. I’d just gotten my schedule changed and forgotten that I had gym class today, otherwise I’d be in much more practical running underwear. I look back at Rhonda as a violent blush creeps up my neck and cheeks, and nod, wrapping my arms around my torso, “I can put clothes on? I don’t have to spend eternity mostly naked?”

She chuckles, shaking her head, “Luckily for all of us, you can put clothes on. Where’s your locker?”

I point to the open one directly across from the shower of horrors when her words fully register, “Wait, what do you mean ‘all of us’? There are others?” I look around, but there are only the cops who came after the paramedics left, taking pictures of the bloodied shower floor.

“Welcome to the Split River Afterlife, Cherry Pop. Let's get you dressed before Charlie’s impatient ass busts in here. You got a name?”

I nod again, “Belle.”

As she grabs my clothes and starts to walk back to me, I notice that my clothes are still sitting in the open locker. I glance back at the heap in Rhonda’s arms, and sure enough, those are my clothes.

“Here. Get changed, and then we can go meet everyone. Mr. Martin sent me to meet you first, and it’s a good thing, too, since you died almost naked. What a nightmare.” Rhonda hands my clothes to me, but my gaze is still on the clothes in my locker.

Rhonda must notice because she says, “We can touch things in the living world, but we can never change them. Your clothes will remain there, but you can also have them here.”

I push my glasses back up my nose and start to shrug on my old Nirvana tee and jean shorts. “I can’t believe I died naked. How fucking embarassing.” I mumble as I bend to grab my shoes and socks from under the bench. Sitting to slip them on my feet, my glasses fall again, the large white frames barely hanging at the tip of my nose, and I realize something horrible.

I bolt upright and gasp, “Oh no no no no no nooooo” I bury my head in my hands as I hear Rhonda approach my side.

“It takes some time to adjust to being dead, but that's what group is for. Mr. Martin will help you work through all the emotions of it. Trust me, I’ve been working on it for a long time.” Rhonda hesitantly rests her hand on my shoulder, obviously not used to comforting people, or ghosts, rather.

“No, not that! I’m dead, what the fuck ever, I know I can’t change that,” I throw my hands up, standing to pace in front of the bench as the last of the police officers file out past me, only one shoe on, my other foot in just a sock. “I left my contacts at home! I missed my alarms and was running late, so I just threw on my glasses and was going to run home at lunch to switch them out! Now I’m going to be stuck with these stupid things falling down my nose my whole afterlife!” 

“Everything okay in here?” I hear a male voice from the cracked door. Rhonda chuckles under her breath as my head snaps toward the sound. An average height guy is standing in the doorway, his curly highlighted hair and soft smile instantly soothe the shock into reserve.

“Sorry for my outburst. I didn’t mean to scare anyone.” I call to him and I sit back down to finish putting my other shoe on.

“This is Charley, the impatient ass I mentioned earlier.” Rhonda stands and comes to my side as I finish lacing my Chucks and stand with her. “Come on, Cherry Pop, let's go meet everyone.”

We walk toward Charley, still standing in the doorway. As we reach him, he sticks out his hand, “I’m Charley. And for the record, your glasses rant is completely valid.” His smile is beaming, and it’s then that I see his glasses, and I smile too. I push my frames back to the place on my nose they seem to have a restraining order against, and take his hand. 

Scanning him up and down, then Rhonda, I notice the obvious differences in their clothes. Rhonda has on pinstriped tailored pants and a hat that looks straight from my favorite thrift store. Charley, on the other hand, has on jeans and a denim jacket that scream vintage. 

“How long have you guys been here?” I ask, looking between them.

“Rhonda was the third one here; she died in the 60s. I came a while later in the 90s. We can get to all the formal introductions and cause of death stuff later. Mr. Martin is curious to meet you, and I think Wally’s head will explode if we don’t go out there soon.” Charley says, turning toward the door before he stops, turns back to me with a wince on his face, “no offense to your recent head injury or anything.”

I stare at him. And then a laugh bubbles up from my chest. A full manic laugh, the kind that overtakes my whole body, causing me to throw my head back slightly to let it all out. “Oh god, you’re funny, Charley. I think we’re going to be friends.” I tell him when I’ve finished laughing.

Charley laughs with me, pulling the door all the way open and motioning for me and Rhonda to walk through. Rhonda goes first, and I follow, grabbing Charley’s arm and hauling him after me. I’m not sure why, but Charley seems like the kind to be fine with a friendly touch. 

As we walk down the locker room hallway, I take the quiet moment to let everything I’ve just learned sink in. I have always been one to take things at face value. My mom called me a “Relentless Optimist” because no matter what, I have always been able to find the bright side of any situation. I think that’s why I’m not a blubbering mess right now. Most people, I would assume, wouldn’t move on from seeing their own dead body and learning they’re a ghost so quickly. Of course, I am shocked. And I’m sure that sadness will settle into me with time. But right now, I have met two ghosts who seem nice enough, even though Rhonda is a little snarky. I can’t change the fact that I died; nothing and no one can bring me back. So I might as well make friends with the people I’ll be stuck with for the decades to come.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts when we enter the main gym. I can hear quiet chatter coming from a group of people huddled by the stage on the far wall. 

“Oh, hello! You must be our newcomer. I’m Mr. Martin, the teacher here at The Split River Afterlife. What is your name?” Mr. Martin, who is a lot younger than I had imagined, stands with his hand outstretched. I notice his thick black glasses frames and chuckle a little to myself as I shake his hand.

“Belle,” I say, and realize he looks taken aback by my quiet laughter, so I quickly add, “I wasn’t laughing at you. I’m sorry.” 

Everyone is looking at me even more than before, but when I make eye contact with Charley, I mouth glasses and he smiles at me, lowering his gaze from the teacher’s worried expression.

To my left, I see a very tall, very attractive man step forward.

“Hi! I’m Wally, class of ‘84, resident jock,” he winks and flexes his biceps, flashing me the brightest smile I think I’ve ever seen, before he drops his arms, extending his hand to me.

Seriously, what is it with these people and handshakes? I feel like I’m at some silent auction for big-time investors or something.

 I can’t take my eyes off this pretty boy, the sleeves of his sweatshirt cut off to expose well-defined, tan arms. I reach out and take his hand, he claps his other hand over the back of mine, and shakes my arm so enthusiastically, I think he might dislocate my shoulder.

“Careful, Wally. She’s not a chew toy, you don’t need to rip her arm off,” Charley says, patting Wally on the shoulder.

Wally’s eyes widen like he just realized he has my hand in a vice grip before he lets go of me and takes a long step backward. “Sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly.

“I’m Janet, pleased to meet you,” the other girl in the group steps forward with her head bowed and curtsies. From the way she’s dressed, I can tell she died a long time ago or while dressed up for a period piece in history class. I smile at her and curtsy back, pretending to hold the layers of an imaginary skirt. I hear Rhonda chuckle at my movement and turn just enough to smirk at her.

When I straighten, I notice a few others standing by the stage or sitting in the chairs arranged in a circle close by. None of them steps forward to introduce themselves, so I give them a small wave and turn my attention back to Mr. Martin, who is looking at me expectantly.

“Well, Belle, you seem to be taking your death incredibly well. Why don’t we go talk some and I can answer any questions you may have about the afterlife.” Mr. Martin says, gesturing towards the circle of chairs. I nod and begin walking toward them along with the rest of the group. 

Mr. Martin takes a seat, and I sit in the chair next to him. Charlie finds the seat next to me, and Rhonda sits on his other side. Janet sits in the last empty chair between the two quiet ones who didn’t introduce themselves, and Wally pulls an extra chair into the space directly across from me.

“So, would you like to tell us about yourself or your death? If not, we can tell you more about us and how we died, if that would make you more comfortable. It’s whatever you want, Belle. This group is designed to help you cope with your death and adjust to the afterlife, and ideally, to help you cross over eventually.” Mr. Martin says, his expression calm and friendly.

“I guess there’s not much to tell,” I say to Mr. Martin, then look around the circle, “ I died naked, which isn’t something anyone wants. I don’t usually wear my glasses during the day, and they mess with my depth perception, so when I turned on the shower, I missed the step out, slipped on the tile, and cracked my head open; now I’m here.” I say with a shrug. If I’m going to be around these people forever, I might as well start with open honesty.

I see a few people wince, Charley trying to hide a smirk, and Mr. Martin nods before he says, “You seem very content with your death. Is there any particular reason you’re so unaffected?” I think he’s weirded out by my casual indifference, but he doesn’t show it in his expression. He just waits for me to speak, calmly analyzing.

“Relentless optimism,” I tell him, a smile and a sigh, “I can’t change what happened, and there are a ton of worse ways to die and places to be stuck afterward. I mean, yeah it sucks that i’ll probably be stuck in my high school for all of eternity,” I see rhonda nod, confirming that there's no chance I’m leaving the school grounds, “but you guys seem like a decent bunch to be stuck with so I might as well accept that now and see this as a fresh beginning.” 

Mr. Martin nods again, seemingly trying to wrap his head around how one can be this cheerful while their corpse is still warm. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Charley speaks first.

“Belle, you do know it’s okay to take some time to grieve your life. We’ve all been there, and none of us will judge if you want to be a Debby Downer for a bit. Please, don't feel like you need to save face for our sakes.” Charley sets his hand gently on my knee and gives me a little squeeze, his warm smile a comforting beacon.

“Thank you, Charley. But really, I’m okay. Like, yeah, I’m going to miss my mom and dad, and Ray. But it's pointless to let that grief take root and eat me alive. Dad always says that the antidote to sadness isn’t happiness, it's acceptance.” I squeeze his hand back, but as I look around, everyone is looking at me like I have two heads. “What? Do I have a hole in my head?” I ask, trying to use humor to break the tension I unknowingly caused.

“No, Belle, that is just a very profound way to look at your situation. Your father seems like a very wise man.” Mr. Martin says, still looking at me like a bug under a microscope.

“Yeah, it took me years to accept my death and look at it without feeling the grief for my old life. The fact that you've only been dead an hour and have already gotten there kind of pisses me off” Rhonda says in that dry tone I’ve started to realize is her baseline tone for everything.

Then Wally leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees, his deep brown eyes boring right into me when he says, “Belle, I think you’re the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

Something about the way he said my name makes a blush crawl up the sides of my neck, and I break my eyes away from him before he can see.

 Looking back at Mr. Martin, I say, “My dad is a psychologist. He used to specialize in grief counseling, but now he is a professor in Chicago at the college where he and my mom met. I’ve spent my whole life being psychoanalyzed, so I’ve gotten good at acknowledging what I'm feeling and why.”

More nodding from Mr. Martin tells me he’s unsure of what to say to that, so I turn to Charley. He seems like the most open of the group, so I ask him first, “When did you die? And how, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He smiles softly before shrugging, “1994. I tried to drown my heartbreak in a plate of cafeteria french fries. They were cooked in peanut oil that day and I left my Epipen at home. Bad day, bad timing.” he chuckles softly to himself before adding “the universe is cruel, making the gay kid allergic to nuts.”

I smile at him and take my turn to squeeze his knee for comfort. “At least you got a last meal. I died on an empty stomach with a muffin waiting in my bag.” I laugh, and so does he. 

“I broke my neck on the 5-yard line in front of the whole school. Took a hard tackle and boom, lights out,” Wally says, leaning back in his seat.

That’s when I realized I’d seen him before. His picture is in a glass case in one of the hallways with all the sports trophies. Looking at him, I ask, “Wally as in Wally Clark? The same Wally Clark the football stadium is named after?”

His eyes light up in amusement as he stands and takes a deep bow, “The one and only,” he chuckles, and sits back down.

Mr. Martin is the next to speak, “Janet and I died in 1958 when a science experiment burned down the chemistry lab. Luckily, the rest of the students got out, but that made Janet and I the first ones here,” he says, gesturing to Janet, who quietly hums in agreement. 

“Oh, that’s unfortunate. I’m sorry to hear that,” I say more to Janet than to Mr. Martin. 

“That’s alright,” Janet offers me a soft smile, “I died doing something I loved. I was never going to college anyway, so I didn’t miss out on much.” 

Something about the way she mentions college makes me want to hug her. She smiles softly, but there is a sadness behind it.

“I was strangled by my guidance counselor, Mr. Manfredo. He was pissed at me for getting accepted into Berkley.” Rhonda says, looking down at her nails to avoid eye contact.

“Oh god, Rhonda. That's awful. Did they catch him?” I ask her, horrified at what she went through. As an empathetic person, other people’s hurt can get to me more than my own sometimes.

“Well, yeah. He died in prison a while ago, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m here.” I can tell Rhonda is still hurt by the actions of a man she trusted, so I choose not to push and change the subject instead.

“So is this everyone?” I ask Mr. Martin, subtly glancing at the two silent members on either side of Janet.

“No, there are a few others. Some of them will join from time to time, others aren’t ready to talk, and group isn’t mandatory.” Mr. Martin clarifies. 

“And there are the band kids stuck looping in the yard. They all showed up the winter of ‘05 after a storm iced the roads and their bus crashed.” Wally says, a bit too cheerfully to be talking about a mass casualty bus wreck.

“Looping? What does that mean?” I ask, wondering if anyone will clarify.

“They just march around playing the same old band songs. They don’t talk, and either can’t hear us or choose to ignore our existence, so don't take it personally if you try to chat and they don't respond,” Charley says, like he can tell I don’t know a stranger and would be offended if they ignored me.

“Oh. Well, note taken, don't talk to the band on the lawn.” I nod to him and mime checking something off a fake list in my lap.

Mr. Martin claps his hands together, and I look to him as he addresses the group, “Well, I think that’s enough introductions for the day. Belle, if you have any questions, I’m always available to talk. Group is here at the same time, every day. Feel free to join us whenever you'd like, and in the meantime, I’d like for you to consider writing your eulogy. It can be very helpful to your grieving process.” 

I nod and smile. Everyone else begins to stand, and I follow suit. 

“Hey, Charley, wait up!” I call as I jog to the double doors at the side of the gym. “I’m not sure what to do now that I’m here forever. Do you, um, care if I hang out with you today?” 

Charley smiles, looping his arm through mine, “Sure, Belle! I was just headed to the library. Do you like to read?”

“Charley, I think you and I are going to be great friends. Do you like dirty romance books?” Charley’s eyes meet mine, and we share matching smiles as we leave the gym and walk down the hall to the library, arm in arm like we've been pals for years.

[socratesgirlnextdoor]

an updated ranked list of the lost characters now that i'm on early season 5 (spoilers)

jack fucking shephard - 8.99/10. insane 180° turn for jack. i spent two seasons yawning everytime he did anything. season 3 episode 1 BOOM smack pow those are the sounds of him beating up his father at an AA meeting in his delusions. season 3 made him one of my favourites, this insane insane babygirl doomed to become his father. oh we like jack now

james sawyer ford - 9.1, my shaylaaaaaaa noooooo he thinks his boyf and girlf are dead AND HIS BEST FRIEND NOOOOOO poor pookie. he finally got that sawyer bitch and it was great. not for sawyer because i dont want him to go through pain but fuck anthony cooper boooo anyways. since s2 he has gotten more sympathetic for sure uhhh shoutout the girl dad confirmation? i like when sawyer loses to hurley at anything ❤

kate austen - 9/10. kate austen pisses me off in parts of season 3 and 4 but she is still the love of my life and honestly that's all okay she's raising claire's baby and had a dream about her so i know some doomed yuri is in the future and im excited

ben linus - 2/10 / 90/10. i hate him so much but after a while i will ask where he is because i love a good freak who talks like that and is always big wide eyes

locke - 3/10, mr clean looking ass

charlie - 7.5/10, charlie devoured his final season. greatest hits is such a beautiful episode and his death is so well executed it increases my opinion of him. too bad he left the ring at the bottom of a crib that would truly disappear soon

hurley - 8/10, he's the cutie patootie! love his relationship with sawyer because at least sawyer doesn't make him do stitches he just makes him do games that he's good at. but poor hurley. though i am sorry but lying about the island is just responsible shut up about it

penelope - 11/10 diva deserves better but also if penelope widmore didn't want this pathetic man with the 8 different backstories she just wouldn't have him so diva deserves whatever she wants

desmond - 7/10, fellas is it gay to name your son after a man fate decided to tie you with

charlotte lewis - 5.8/10 shes cunty and she speaks korean and those are the only two things i remember about her

miles straume - 9.9/10 im obsessed with miles straume

daniel faraday - 8.9/10 who the fuck is this victor frankenstein motherfucker i love him and his little tie

juliet burke - 9.25/10 oh juliet burke the freaky genius girl

sayid - 14/10, obsessed with specifically this grieving serial killer super agent sayid. can one of his wives live please

claire - 7.7/10, LOVED THE GOTH LOOK. also hey why was she in that cabin with her dad

rose - 6.5/10, diva

bernard - 7/10, obsessed with whatever hes got going on

nikki - 7/10, lowkey insane character used a spider on her boyfriend for diamonds and was buried alive

paolo - 7.2/10, because even though he lied she paralyzes him for it so maybe lying was the right call. also hes played by the hot guy in love actually so i love

michael - 6/10 constantly distressed and his ending ending was kind of rushed i prefer the randomness of the season 2 ending where michael and walt just float away

jin - 9.8/10 NOOOOOOOOOOOO JIN JIN NOOOOOOOO

sun - 12/10 she's cunt dracula rn

alex - 8/10 aw man :(

christian shepherd - 30/10 what the sweet fuck is he doing now

vincent - ?/10 is he even alive where is he

tom friendly/beard man - 9/10 unironically. last time i saw him he was with that prostitute and honestly good for beard man. its pride month yall we can not sleep on the canon gays

richard alpert - 11/10 so ageless so odd

frank lepidus - 8/10 almost forgot about the self proclaimed greatest pilot

[bereft-of-frogs]

ok I finished season 1 of The Expanse last night. I wasn't supposed to. I was supposed to finish it tonight per my typical 1 episode a night schedule. But what, was I supposed to stop in the middle of Eros??? This show is compulsively watchable. Twice now I've intended on only watching one episode and been unable to stop myself from watching a second. I am holding off a bingewatch through sheer strength of will (and fear of the resulting crash) alone.

It's...different but aside from one thing I genuinely don't like*, it's settling into this state of....but both are good? Like for example: having a perspective on Earth from the jump. On the show's hand, more Avasarala is always a good choice. Loved seeing Montana, and I LOVED the choice to have the UN still in New York, if nothing else for the visual of the Statue of Liberty sticking out of the risen seawaters alone. (Sorry to the Hague, it's just SUCH a good visual.) I think this is setting up Avasarala's character arc starting from a better place, and setting up the web of conspiracies and warmongering we get in Caliban's War.

BUT on the book's hand: I also really liked how Earth's distance and power ended up feeling in the first book. Earth felt like a sleeping giant no one wanted to wake that still affected everyone's daily lives. Its power and influence were present everywhere, but we didn't actually see any direct actions from Earth until they came out so aggressive when they attacked Mars. Like, we see basically nothing of them except the ripple effects of their influence, and then one wrong move by Mars (accusing them of destroying the Cant and the Donnager), and they blow up one of its moons. Without warning. Wham. It made me really understand why they wielded so much power and control, and especially fear in the solar system.

If you asked me to pick which one is 'better' I genuinely don't think I could. They're both narrative choices that work and that is why it's so fun to have both.

*The only thing I genuinely don't like is how mean the crew are to each other! What the hell guys! People prepared me that there's a whole lot of unnecessary added drama so I was braced for it but it still makes me sad, especially when we lose out on lines like this:

And I have some extremely pedantic things like not liking the change to Alex's backstory, the Havelock subplot, that Holden wasn't there when Shed died because that felt like a very formative moment for them as a whole in the book. With that last one, I do understand why, they want to solve the mystery faster. In the books, no one witnesses whatever happens on the Donnager's bridge, so it takes them quite a while of still believing that Mars blew up the Cant to figure out what data they were trying to get off the ship. It makes sense they wanted a main character to witness that AND we got the excellent Lt Lopez scene, he was stellar, so oh no I've landed myself back in 'hmm but both are good' territory.

Still: stop yelling at each other!! they're being so mean! unnecessary!

I also keep flip-flopping on whether reading the books or watching the show first is better. As I said when I was talking about the Mars subversion, I almost want to say show first because I'm so obsessed with how well the production design played with the audience's expectations. If you go into it knowing Mars was being framed, I'm not sure it has quite the same impact, though I'll never know since I cannot, sadly, erase things from my brain to experience them for the first time again. No matter how much I wish I could. But then I watched the episode when they find the Anubis, and watching that knowing the protomolecule feeds on radiation, while the characters don't know that fact yet made things SO tense. The second Amos asks if he should turn on the reactor I was like nooooooo bb don't do it!!! That episode was so stressful.

Anyway, that is the update on my Expanse journey, starting season 2 tonight ✨

[izels-writing]

r. lupin — strange [1/2]

Pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

Summary: you meet remus lupin, who is different than you expected

Warnings: a little fast-paced, confident and blunt reader (?), awkward remus (?), that’s all tbh lmao

PART ONE, PART TWO

you know the saying 'don't judge a book by its cover'? you hadn't ever taken it seriously. not really anyway. you never really judged people, but you assumed things about them just by appearance. usually, you happened to be right about people.

so, you never took the saying seriously, who cares? you surely didn't, because you were right almost all the time and it was like heaven to your ears being told so. you had formed your own opinions on everyone, and your own assumptions on everyone, thinking you were right.

that was, until you assumed things about remus lupin, who undoubtedly was the most attractive and brilliant boy in your year.

——

"come on, y/n! you've got to come to the game!" your best friend, y/f/n, groaned. you shook your head, taking another bite of your breakfast.

"too loud." you managed to say through your chewing.

"you're too loud with your obnoxious sleeping! you say things about beating up your grandma and hexing your cousin!" y/f/n exclaimed, rolling their eyes.

you huffed, swallowing your mouthful of food, and looked up at y/f/n. "fine, i'll go, as long as we root for gryffindor." you said. why gryffindor? just to fuck with y/f/n honestly.

y/f/n hesitated for a moment, before sighing loudly and nodding.

you grinned, finishing your breakfast in peace.

——

time of the game had arrived, and you were sitting in the stands, watching as the ravenclaw captain and gryffindor captain, james potter, shook hands. y/f/n sat next to you happily, marveling at the game about to commence in front of her.

you didn't really like coming to these games, because it reminded you that while you enjoyed quidditch, you weren't any good.

also, it was really loud.

"and the game begins!"

"more like my headache begins..." someone mumbled from your other side. you glanced at them, quickly realizing it was remus lupin, a boy in your year.

he was the notorious bookworm and sane prankster in his little mauraders gang. he was quiet and smart, but if needed, he could easily use it to his advantage. you could tell by the way he'd whisper things to james potter or sirius black. they'd use any information to get the better of anyone. but really, it's most of what he was. prankster, smart, bookworm, quiet, and good.

you chuckled, "yeah, same."

he smiled at you, before turning to the game in front of you. you did the same, resisting the urge to glance at him.

after a moment, he started speak again.

"so, which team are you rooting for?" he asked, his eyes following james potter, who was diving for the quaffle.

you were doing the same. "gryffindor. same as you, i suppose."

he nodded, "yeah." he chuckled.

james dove for the quaffle, but before he could reach it, the ravenclaw chaser threw it to another ravenclaw chaser. marlene was closer, and she dove for it, but james started to too.

"no! get near the keeper post!" you and remus shouted, which was directed at james, despite it being drowned out by the chatter and cheering everywhere else.

you turned to each other, smiling. "you're into quidditch?" you both asked. you laughed and nodded.

"yes, i am." you both synchronized again. he laughed, and shook his head slightly.

"wow, that was creepy." he remarked, glancing at the game for a moment. you nodded, laughing quietly.

"yeah...by the way," you said with a small smile, "i'm y/n. y/n l/n." you extended your hand politely.

he took it, shaking it politely. "remus lupin." he replied, smiling softly. you could've sworn your heart skipping a beat, but you being you, you ignored it.

"so, when did your obsession for quidditch start?" you asked, smiling at him. he thought for a moment.

"when i was around four or five." he replied, smiling back at you too. you nodded, taking in his words.

it was likely he liked the sport but wasn't any good or was unable to play.

"wow, mine started when i was actually introduced to the sport. which happened to be around eleven or twelve." you said.

he grinned at you, "you're a muggle-born?"

you nodded with a small smile, fearing he'd somehow make a rude remark. though, you knew he wouldn't, but it was weird...he was getting harder and harder to read.

"awesome! my mum's a muggle." he added, resting his gaze over the field. james was now throwing the quaffle to marlene. the seekers were zooming around. the beaters were doing their usual business.

"so, if you like the sport, why don't you play?" remus asked. you blushed a little but laughed quietly.

"because i'm absolutely horrid at it. no doubt that i'd fall off my broom if i tried to." you replied, shaking your head. remus chuckled.

"wait, so you've never actually played?"

"no, and i don't plan to."

——

"and gryffindor wins!"

the statement had almost flown past you and remus. the two of you were so into your conversation and getting to know each other, that it almost seemed that everything else was gone. it was only the two of you.

that was until y/f/n started screaming and cheering.

"oh! we won!" remus exclaimed. your eyes widen and you both shot up, cheering loudly. not that it was any difference to the rest of the stands, minus slytherin's and ravenclaws.

everyone quickly returned back to the castle, but a lot of students started toward the gryffindor common room, as they team had announced a party to celebrate. y/f/n being one of those who wanted to go, they was trying their best to convince you to go.

"please! please! please!" they pleaded, batting their eyes at you. you shook your head.

"what's this i see? a girl doesn't want to come to our party?" a teasing, male voice said. you and your friend took quick notice that it was sirius black, who was strutting toward you two. not only that, but potter, pettigrew, and remus were following quickly behind. you felt your heart skip a beat when you saw him.

"yeah, black! you've got to convince my poor friend to come! who knows how insane she'll get all alone?!" your friend said dramatically, causing a blush to grow on your face from embarrassment.

"wait, you're not coming?" remus asked, looking at you directly. you met his eyes, now noticing how warm and welcoming they were.

"well...no. i had enough noise for today." you said, chucking nervously. james and sirius scoffed.

"nonsense! c'mon, l/n, join us at the party. i'm sure an old soul like you can keep remus company." sirius joked, nudging remus. he got nudged back even harder.

"see, y/n! c'mon!" your friend begged. you went to object again.

until remus spoke.

"yeah, just join for a bit, y/n. like sirius said, you could keep me company. if it gets to be too much, i'll escort you back myself." remus suggested, "deal?"

you tried to hold back your smile, but seeing him smile proudly at himself for having come up with the best suggestion, it happened anyway. finally, you heaved a 'tired' sigh.

"deal." you replied, sticking out your hand, shaking his.

y/f/n, black, potter, and pettigrew all looked at you and remus in shock. but neither of you noticed. you were slightly focused on each other.

"alright! well, it's done then! c'mon moony, we've got things to do before they join us." james said, winking at both y/f/n and you. remus nodded, smiling at you one last time before disappearing with his friends.

y/f/n turned to you with a smirk, nudging you teasingly.

"so...remus huh?"

"shut up."

——

you were right. it was awfully loud. the only thing keeping you sane right now was drinking firewhiskey slowly. remus sat with you, taking notes from a book. why? you had no idea. how he worked in such noise? again, you had no idea.

"how are you doing that?" you demanded as nice as you could, gesturing to his note-taking. he chuckled and shook his head.

"when you dorm with sirius and james, nothing fazes you anymore." he replied, closing his book and turning to you. both of you were sitting on the couch, with you holding your cup in one hand, and the other arm resting on the top of the back rest. he was now facing you, grinning at you.

you laughed, "and that...does not surprise me. it's like dorming with me."

remus furrowed his eyebrows, "oh yeah? why's that?" he asked, taking your cup and taking a sip. you grinned, biting your lip in amusement.

"well, according to y/f/n, who is probably over there grinding with your mate black right now, i like to say things in my sleep. like beating up my grandma and hexing my cousin type of phrases." you confessed, giggling quietly.

truth be told, you were quite the assertive person.

remus let out a laugh, throwing his head back. you grinned even wider, feeling a sort of pride knowing you made remus lupin laugh.

"what've you got against your grandma?" remus asked. you shrugged, "who fucking knows. give me a sip?"

he brought the cup to your lips, tilting it upward so you could drink, before finally bring it back down. this had to be at least your second cup, but you were never exactly a lightweight.

"how are you so far? with all of," he gestured wildly around him, "this?"

you shrugged. "it could be worse. i'm just waiting for y/f/n to get tired so we can leave."

remus nodded, his face falling slightly. idiot! you thought, he probably thinks you don't want to be here with him!

"but being here with you, pretty much makes this whole situation even slightly tolerable." you said with a smile.

his happy demeanor quickly returned.

"so? how are the lovebirds?" james' teasing voice asked. you laughed as remus rolled his eyes and glared at james.

"oh!" james glanced down at the cup in remus' hand, "you're even sharing drinks. that's quite intimate! you are using protection, right?" he winked at remus.

"fuck off, prongs." remus huffed, making james' smirk grow.

"only joking, moons. say, y/n, accompany me to dance?" james asked, turning to you innocently.

remus shifted uncomfortably.

you glanced at him before looking back up at james. "nah. thanks though, potter. i'd definitely try your luck with lily though." you replied.

james smiled at you. a genuine, happy smile. one that you rarely saw on him unless he was with the mauraders or lily evans.

"don't mind if i do. take care of mooniekins for me, will you?" he said. you smiled lightly and nodded.

"of course, potter." you replied. remus smiled at you, though you hadn't noticed it.

james strutted off, toward a certain head over heels redhead.

"hey lupin?"

"yes?

"how's about we get out of here?" you suggested, winking at him. he smiled, "alright, l/n."

——

you two had walked down corridors together, talking about anything and everything. it was the sort of thing that happened once in a lifetime. when two people just...clicked.

you figured now would also be a good time to make connections. life-long ones perhaps. given that it was your seventh year and your only life-long friend was y/f/n.

"so, remind me again why your cousin thought it'd be a good idea to throw a plate at your head?" remus chuckled. you narrowed your eyes at the memory.

"because they're a bloody bitch. that's why." you grumbled. remus laughed and ruffled your hair, considering how much shorter you were compared to him.

finally, you stopped by a statue, spinning around to look at remus. he looked amused but stayed quiet.

"so, this is bold, but i feel like we've connected quite a bit." you said. he nodded, patting your shoulder awkwardly, "agreed."

yeah, he is definitely awkward when it comes to connections and feelings, you thought.

you took a step toward him. "well, you're interesting, 's all i wanted to say, i guess."

he smiled and looked down at you. you just now realized how close you were, feeling his breath on you.

this was definitely a different type of connection.

you both started to lean in, but then he stopped, and pulled back. you furrowed your eyebrows slightly, looking at him concerned. he fidgeted with his hands before finally meeting your eyes.

"i'll—i'll see you around." he mumbled, walking off quickly.

you stood there, frozen. you had almost kissed the boy you had connected with more than anyone you had ever met. he wanted to kiss you too, but he suddenly pulled back. you had tried to think of words to describe this. but their was only word you could think of clearly.

strange.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

[multif0rmed]

Wrong Side of Heaven - Chapt. 1

Rating : T (mostly for Xehanort, really)

Summary : During that year Ventus had been apprentice underneath Xehanort. Follow both of them as they navigate throughout this time - as their relationship starts off strong and eventually deteriorates. Presented as snippets within the year.

Brings in Dark Road elements, along with BBS, because we've never gotten the mix for the two.

Will be posted here as well as on ArchiveOfOurOwn.

Index HERE.

Chapter 2 - HERE.

Chapter underneath the Read More.

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions .... Or ...as they always say.

---

His eyes snapped open.

Such light ... It tickled him. Sun poured in from the cracks in between the curtains, prompting him to immediately shut his eyes once more. A groan slid out from his mouth as he shifted underneath his sheets to face away from the intruding light. Tan fingers pulled the soft blanket up, their owner wondering if he could just get a couple more hours. It'd be incredibly nice ...

The dreams still whirled within his consciousness, their presence persistent. They always were, especially these ones. Yellow showed itself again within the atmosphere as it looked at the clock on the nightstand nearby, its displaying imposing.

How dreadful. It was only 8:16 AM. A grunt now escaped from the recesses of his throat , as he turned away to be on his back. The cervices on his ceiling seemed interesting, as if it could truly distract him from his dreams ...

Dreams about his friends decades ago.

From another life.

Jarring -- they hadn't appeared in his thoughts since about a decade ago, so why now?

It's not like I can find them.

A certain pain jutted itself within the bounds of his heart. With that thought, he shoved away the material from his body. Yeah, he wasn't going to get anymore sleep.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

The abrupt startle nearby almost caused his keyblade to appear within his fingers, if he did not realize what had happened.

Eyes of blue stared right into his yellow.

A young boy had poked his side, his fingers still lingering within the air. “So you're not dead, mister?” His form hadn't been more than seven or so years old.

Eyebrows ticked down. “No, some of us like to sleep,” the elder replied groggily, sand still clinging to the corner of his eyes. As much as he disliked the current situation, he couldn't help but to focus on the other's hues. It reminds me of … His thought trailed off, as he picked out the boy's non-verbal ticks. They, also, were familiar. Curious, relaxed, the older male noted.

It didn't deter the younger. “I'm Alexander,” the boy belted out, only pausing briefly, “.. Who are you?”

All too innocent, much like … What had been the blonde's name within his dreams? “Xehanort, lad,” Xehanort revealed, a halfway forced smile dancing across his features.

“Do you --”

“Alex, don't bother the old man,” a chiding voice came upon the scene. Like a hot knife to butter, the conversation got sliced in half, leaving a mess in its wake.

Alone, all over again, but unsurprising. The old master really did just end up keeping to himself over the years .. He preferred it anyways; things presented themselves less messy that way. Safer. It allowed his heart to keep pure as possible – keeping outside influences away – for when the time would come to open Kingdom Hearts. An ambition that could be finally fulfilled. Being alone – he had long since burned any bridges with other keyblade masters and even with his best friend, his lover.

Necessary, Xehanort harshly reminded himself, though the pain from such decision always burned within the back of his mind. Besides, the other master had never seen his view on things.

And that hurt.

But he had to press forward.

Yet, while he watched the crowds on the streets, the wonderment poked at him. A clean slate – Hopefully it would also provide a shorter opportunity, a shorter connection. What if, what if he were to have one of those friends by his side as he carried out his plans? Or more than one?

How ridiculous.

Even he couldn't control such an emotion, despite closing off majority of his heart.

Disappointing.

His gaze tore away from the multitude of people, and he shifted from laying down on the wooden planks to a better position. It started to hurt. Like a bolt of lightning, a pain shot through his knee as he swung his feet back down to the ground. Annoyance intermixed with the coldness that always presented itself within his expression – and a harsh frown drew at the corners of his mouth.

I am not getting any younger, am I?

A vessel – a subject that flowed through Xehanort's mind more and more as of late. He flexed his leg, testing the joint. It popped, but fortunately, the usual small pains presented itself. A test of his other joints started – little jabs of pain throughout various points of his body. Even his fingers … He held up a hand, hues studying it. More than proud of being a master of his art …

One of them could be a new vessel, couldn't they?

Assuming that they could be found.

… The one I like the least would be a vessel.

Amusing, wasn't it? A little laugh left him, as he settled carefully against the back of the bench, his leather coat crinkling.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

The dreams persisted over the next couple of weeks, tirelessly prodding at his emotional walls. Trying to rip away at them. Laugh, mock. There had even been instances of his friends from his time at Scala Ad Caelum intermingling with them ..

It became harder and harder to dismiss such thoughts from crawling into his mind during the day.

Remnant feelings were trying to be shaken off one morning as the bald male popped out of a dark corridor right out in front of his two-story house - a home that stood proudly in between the residential and commercial area within Twilight Town. Immediately, laughter could be heard off to his left ; children were running around. Their footsteps pounded heavy against the pavement, making it hard for those near to simply ignore them and their activity.

“Tag, you're it!” One of them yelled.

“Aw, man!” The other complained.

While mostly unfazed, Xehanort still stared towards them, drawn to such energy.

I have to solve this. I refuse for this to control me for any longer …

Where can I find potential answers?

Pushing himself forward, he allowed the portal from behind him to fade into nothingness. His hand lifted – coming out from its usual spot and waved in front of the front door to his home. The dark magick that clung to the surface scattered, and he could hear an audible click. In an instant, the elder master entered the building. A semi-organized living room stood before him - a couple pile of books and the art pieces lining the walls were the most defining features. A half – finished plate of food sat on the nearby coffee table had caught his attention, and he scooped it up. Hey, he could still find motivation within the small things … despite their ultimate insignificance.

I'll get to it later, a thought showed itself as he placed the plate within the kitchen sink from within the adjacent room. He swept his attention away to getting some Maple Vanilla tea prepared, hoping for it to calm him. To bring back focus. To let him be back in control – its calming properties always managing to work their magick on him.

Like a filing system, memories of the past were carefully sorted as clinks and clangs filled the air. Regardless of any small aches, he flowed around to make sure everything would be perfect. The pleasant smell wafted up and out of the room, letting the house feel far more inviting than previously. A grin couldn't help but to fall onto his face – one of his favorite rituals to partake in. Stopping – it would only occur once he had set the tea tray onto his kitchen table. “At least,” he said outloud, fingers running over his empty teacup for a moment, as a detail leaped out at him. Narrowed eyes. A chip? No, several, he corrected himself. Shame. He couldn't afford such luxuries, anyways – despite this having been his favorite designed set.

Tea poured into the cup, its steam rising and looping through the air. Having an eye for artful detail, he studied the little design lining the top of the teacup, fingers working to get a good amount of sugar cubes from storage all the while. There were little leaves, and little branches intermixing into a fantastic design – a blend of browns and greens.

One, two, three .. five sugar cubes had dropped into his cup, splish-splashing the flavored water nearly out of its bounds.

I had gotten these in …

Memories were still correctly sorting themselves – as he let that thought be unfinished for now. He took a sip, mm'ing from the all-time-best flavor. Fingers found a cookie as well, but before he could enjoy it something suddenly clicked.

Of course.

Dawrf Woodlands.

Relief – no, success. He could easily start there.

Once he had finished his tea, he scooted his chair out and dark wisps started to gather within the atmosphere beside him – a Corridor. His environment soon abruptly changed – pulling him into the familiar dark surroundings. The pull felt a touch overwhelming, but that had been all but expected with the recent thoughts and feelings as of late. Nothing to be concerned over – mastery over the element had been accomplished a long time ago. Each step carried the elder steadily through the void and they soon let him pop easily out on the other side in less than a minute.

No harm done.

The sun cracked down harshly onto his skin as it soaked up the new presence, causing a malformed shadow to appear behind him. He squinted his eyes. Birds chirped and leaves rustled – an essential part of the scenery that had painted itself to be quite beautiful through its many colors. A smile smeared across his face despite knowing his upcoming task – and one color struck him all of a sudden within his view. Red. A rose poked its head out along the dirt path leading up to the bridge – wanting attention. His fingers briefly cupped the small flower, prompting a small thought of potentially paint something later to float through his consciousness. Maybe plants. His vision trailed upwards, eyes following along the wooden planks of the brigde and beyond. His goal … Yellow stopped onto the pointy architecture along the horizon.

The castle.

The flower bobbed lightly as he moved away, the gravel crunching underneath his boots. Trees watched him as he passed by and eventually he had stopped, nowhere close to the castle. His neck stretched as he peered towards the sky through a clearing. A hand rose, palm up and fingers stretched.

“Come out and play,” he commanded, as a portal spun open, its colors seeming hypnotizing as it came to life. Dark blobs erupted forth, splotching and contrasting with the environment. They fell, confused – their yellow eyes staring up at whoever had summoned them.

But he was already gone.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ Darkness fell from Xehanort as he found himself within the castle walls – the situation outside them dwindling even further with each passing second. A smug expression remained on his face as he hid behind one of the walls, simply waiting. From the voice past the walls, it seemed like several guards were already out there – their frantic voices trying to make sense of what exactly had happened.

One, two .. five ..

There should be one more …

The keyblade master had about peeked around the corner to visually check – but as soon as he heard footsteps against the cobblestone he moved back into position.

“Hurry, my Queen!” The guard exclaimed, racing out in front of her.

“I am, only if you were patient,” she cracked out, a mix of concern and detachment within her voice. She slowly made her way down the steps, wanting to remain graceful despite all that had been happening around her. “Has there been any damage to the castle?”

“N-No, fortunately ..” The guard sounded relieved. Anything for his Queen – even if it would cost his life. He swallowed thickly. “It seems like the strange creatures are more interested in us ...”

A sigh. “How tiresome.” Her robes dragged on the ground, as she made more of her way towards the castle's gate along the side of the other.

Time to deal with the mess – a fine assortment of magick was at her disposal.

A few dark wisps and Xehanort disappeared – as if he hadn't even been there. The instant he stepped out into the room from the Corridor, a rush of nostalgia had washed over him. His eyes adjusted to the light within the room, and he tossed his head off to the side, overlooking his shoulder. He and Eraqus stood there, right past the steps … Vor had gone with the upperclassmen.

To go seek, to discover.

And yet, she had returned …

He turned his head sharply away, letting them to fall onto the Magick Mirror – the mask stoic as ever. His steps scraped forward – and he stopped right before the steps, eyes curious.

“What wouldst thou know?” The neutral voice boomed.

A little smile played onto his face, as he gestured off to the side. “Do you recognize me?” No doubt that it did. No reason that its power would have changed since then, or ever.

Simply, it replied without skipping a single beat, “A young boy then, now a man grown. Fewer hairs grace thy head, but you are known.”

A little laugh – a reminder. To keep pressing forward no matter what – Despite Eraqus. It always trailed back to his love … his old friend. His hand lifted, letting the thin leather brush against his head. Cleanly shaven too, not a single hair. “A demonstration of my resolve.”

“What else wouldst thou know?” It inquired, non-judgmentally.

His eyes snapped open – that had always been a nice change of pace. He moved his hand back down to his side. “Over the years, I have lost many comrades. Some passed on --” A jab at his heart, even if as a brief flickering of emotion. “-- while others chose a different path.” Another.

Xehanort shut his eyes again, gently guiding his hand back up – but it stopped and rested right where his heart was. Brief images played behind his eyelids. “... However, there will always be a special place in my heart … for those friends I never met save in my dreams as a young lad.”

Notes of silence soon followed – and the Mirror patiently allowed it as the elder stepped closer.

“Alas, my efforts to find them have been in vain. I don't even know their names. But I can see their faces still.” He bowed his head, while threads of sadness weaved themselves within his cold tone. His hand remained gripping his shirt's material. He'd test the Mirror – but he hardly thought it would be necessary, the threads of paranoia weaving themselves even into such a genuine conversation.

His eyes flickered up onto the Mirror – deciding to look at it head-on now.

“I ask you: did they ever exist, or were they merely a figment of my imagination?” He finished, feeling the shift into a somewhat more rational state as he let his hand fall away from his chest.

The Mirror remained impassive, answering, “Much lies beyond our world, even more beyond our time … Some in this world reside, their toll has yet to chime.”

Beyond time … It knew. And yet – more information had been needed. “How can you be sure?” He demanded. Another step, his coat swaying. He became less relaxed – placing a hand directly onto the Mirror itself. “Without even their names?” This is hardly rational .. analytical ..

So much for its test – so much for coldness.

“Your heart speaks more clearly than your words,” it bluntly pointed out.

A small scoff left him. How dare it? He couldn't be angry; it spoke of the truth. “Where are they now?” He asked, grateful that his tone crawled back to its usual state of coldness.

“Where, indeed? Amongst an ocean of keys on a vast barren land --” Xehanort listened carefully to its words, anticipation building. “-- a boy bearing great light and darkness doth stand.”

Realization hit him, and excitement coursed through him. “The Keyblade Graveyard!” He exclaimed, now turning away to go to that specific world. He paused however, turning halfway back towards it with a grin. “You are thanked.” Dark wisps swirled nearby to form a portal.

Time to visited the fated place.