#we might be without power or water for a week again

[quickestgold]

Still Life: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: Jack always expects the unexpected, both as a doctor and a partner. But when your water breaks during a citywide blackout, the pressure to deliver your baby safely grows with each contraction, trapping you, him and Robby in a single, still moment of life and loss.

Warnings: Angst, as always; Pregnant reader; Features a graphic, traumatic birth > Similar to the birth scene in the show. Pls don’t read if this sounds too heavy for you!! (everyone lives)

Word count: 2.7k+

A/n: Yes, this is a cliché baby-born-in-an-elevator story, but the show gave us Abbot/Robby x Elevator and Collins mentioned getting stuck while giving birth, sooo what can I say, we're here now, aren't we. Something something about the enclosed space being a metaphor for birth etc. I’m also very passionate about raising awareness for birth trauma / birth related injuries + these are my emotional support sad boys, so I had to… Enjoy <3

“I’m not giving my baby an old white guy name” you deadpan, leaning against the nurses' station, glancing up at the board with a playful grin. Ellis and Shen chuckle at your honesty, Princess and Perlah enjoying the show from a distance.

As if summoned, “Oh I know you’re not talking about us” Robby counters, him and Jack suddenly appearing next to you.

“Well I know she’s not talking about me!” Jack adds lightly with that dry humor you love so much.

"All I'm saying is, Frank is a great name for a little boy." Langdon argues from his side of the station, hands on his hips. "Frankie. Frankie Jr., the possibilities are endless..."

You roll your eyes, though you can't help but smile fondly at the camaraderie, a warm feeling growing in your stomach.

Though it might be something else.

"Maybe we should go for a name that doesn't sound like he's already retired", Jack quips, his eyes meeting yours. Something about the way you're leaning against the station, catches his attention, worry flickering in his eyes.

The storm outside has been growing since the start of your shift, a low rumble in the distance interrupts the friendly work banter.

As if on cue, you feel another tightening in your lower abdomen, this time a sharp stab that makes you wince. You brace yourself against the counter, careful not to let anyone notice.

You're 40 weeks pregnant, but you know it's not active labor... yet.

Jack is already so prepared, so meticulous. You don't want to worry him more than necessary.

“Well, my vote’s for something classic”, Robby says cheerfully. “Like, um… Robby. Simple, strong.”

"Good thing you don't get one." Jack raises an eyebrow as he steps behind you, putting an arm around your waist instinctively. With ease he holds up your belly, taking some of the weight off your back. He gently pecks your cheek, whispering into your ear. "You okay?"

You lean into his embrace, taking a breath of relief, as you feel the pressure building inside you again.

Before you can respond, the storm outside shifts from a distant rumble to something more urgent. You hear the first crack of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning that lights up the hospital windows.

“So much for having a quiet night”, Shen laughs.

You instantly shush him, loudly. Everyone's reaction's are instantaneous, Princess and Perlah cursing in Tagalog.

Ellis: "Fuuuck!" Langdon: "You always do this!"

As usual, Shen manages to jinx whatever team is unlucky enough to work his shift.

The elevator doors close with a jarring ding. The tightness in your belly flares again, but you grit your teeth and try to ignore it.

Jack and Robby stand by the doors, arms crossed, like they're guarding something precious.

You lean back against the cold metal walls, the tightening growing again, unable to find a position that's comfortable.

Even in this enclosed space, you can hear the wind howling from outside. The lights flicker, then, without warning, the power cuts out entirely, as the elevator halts to a stop.

You hear Robby curse as the emergency lights turn on, their blue glow casting everything in a surreal light. The elevator now feels even smaller, almost womb-like.

Fuck.

You groan softly, hoping Jack doesn’t catch on.

But of course, he does.

“What was that?” He turns to look directly at you, concern written across his face.

You avoid his gaze. “Nothing, I’m fine."

You say it so unconvincingly, you almost laugh at yourself.

“I can see that.” It's the same skeptical tone he uses with Santos and the other interns. It's charming actually.

“When did you start having contractions?” Robby asks, like he’s already claimed you as his patient.

You hesitate, but there's no point lying. “This morning.”

“You’re joking.” Jack is by your side in a heartbeat, torn between putting a hand on your belly or pulling out his stethoscope. Torn between being doctor, partner or father-to-be.

“I’m okay. Really.” You try to reassure him, gently touching his forearm.

That’s when you feel the warm liquid rushing down your legs, a puddle growing beneath you.

Jack and Robby's eyes drop to your feet, then up at each other. They exchange a look, no words needed. This is happening.

“I- I didn’t realize…” You breathe, dazed.

“You didn’t realize you were in pain?” Jack asks, incredulous.

“I’m always in pain, Jack", you bite back. “Ever since you knocked me up!”

You groan, turning around to lean your elbows against the wall, letting your head drop. Your breath is already ragged.

Jack’s hand finds your back, rubbing slow, grounding circles.

“I’m not having our baby in an elevator…” you pant.

“I’m afraid, we are, love.” Jack whispers gently, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

You let out another sharp groan.

“I need to examine you. Is that alright?” Jack’s voice shifts into professional gear. He pulls gloves from the pocket of his trousers, swiftly slipping them onto his hands.

You nod, squeezing your eyes tightly shut.

He lines up behind you, slipping a hand into the back of your scrubs and reaching down.

Once he’s measured with his fingers, Jack’s eyes flick up to find Robby’s, a mixture of panic and surprise flashing across his features.

Robby reads him instantly. He steps in without a word, steadying your shoulders. His grip is firm and reassuring.

“What?” You gasp.

Jack leans in close to your ear, voice soothing, but urgent. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your already burning cheek. “Honey, listen to me. We’re having this baby now.”

You groan again, louder this time.

Robby’s frown line softens, his lips forming a genuine smile. He and Jack share a warm look, full of excitement.

“No. No!” You shake your head. "Not here."

No prenatal bag. No birthing playlist. No epidural.

“I need to have a proper look, okay?” Jack says calmly, though his hands move quickly.

“Wonderful." You laugh through a groan. "This’ll make a great story for group therapy.”

Nothing says professional boundaries like giving birth in front of your boss.

“I won't look." Robby promises, quickly turning away. "But I am a doctor, you know", he chuckles.

"Not mine, you're not." Your lips form a playful smirk. "This will do wonders for your patient satisfaction scores", you add with a wink.

The air suddenly feels a bit lighter.

Jack kneels down, gently parting your legs and slipping your pants down to your knees.

His eyes widen, before whispering. "You're in active labour, baby", his voice softer now.

Robby doesn't hesitate, rushing to the elevator doors, trying to pry them open. With a metallic screech, they slide just wide enough for people to pass supplies and equipment through. But you haven’t quite reached the next floor.

“Not enough to get her out,” Jack mutters.

You lean forward and peek through the small opening.

Your cervix is probably bigger than that…

“Dana!” Robby yells.

Dana appears instantly, dropping to her stomach to peek inside. She finds you leaning against the wall, pants down, legs shaking. Jack holding you up.

“Jesus. Y’all got terrible timing you know that!”

“We need fresh gloves, blankets, a BOA kit, baby warmer, fetal monitor, anything you can pass through.” Robby orders.

Dana’s already on it, shouting over her shoulder.

Jack turns to you again. “Do you want to sit or get on your knees? What feels more comfortable?”

“I- I don’t think comfortable is the word I’d use right now." You groan. "Feels like I’m being split open front to back.”

“I know. I know." Jack’s hands are already guiding you down. "Let’s get you on the floor okay?”

You drop to all fours.

It’s so goddamn hot.

Your hair sticks to your face, salty water stinging in your eyes, the vein in your forehead threatening to pop.

You tug at your scrub top and Jack understands instantly, pulling it over your head. You sway back and forth, now only in your bra, nothing else.

Groaning. Panting. Cursing.

Jack is beside you, gently massaging your back. He moves with you, trying to match your rhythm.

He’s grateful Robby takes command, barking orders to the team above, in full doctor mode. Focused, clinical.

“You’re doing so good.” Jack whispers.

Another contraction rips through you.

Jack glances at his watch, then over to Robby, who places a surgical blanket on the floor, hooks you up to cables and machines to monitor your and the baby’s vitals.

You curse loudly. “What the hell did you do to me, Abbot!”

“I’m sorry. You can do this.” He takes your hand, squeezes. “Let's meet our boy.”

The next contraction comes fast, stealing your breath. Jack doesn’t need to look at his watch, he knows.

It’s time.

Robby positions himself behind you, breaking his earlier promise. But you forgive him, if it means having your husband by your side and not two doctors competing for who's running this.

“She’s crowning.” Robby announces. His hand applies gentle but firm pressure, to keep the baby from delivering too fast and to prevent tearing.

Jack’s hand trembles slightly in yours.

“Y/N, I can see the head. I need you to push on the next contraction okay?”

You nod your head, almost frantically.

Jack takes a deep breath, for both of you, instructing you to follow his rhythm.

A deep, guttural growl tears from your chest as you push.

And push again.

The sensation overwhelms you. The burning, the tingling, the stinging.

The ring of fire.

“That’s it. Catch your breath before the next one.” Robby's steady but kind voice anchors you. “I need one more big push. Three, two…”

Jack’s voice is soothing in your ear, but you barely register it. You’ve never experienced anything like it.

You’re not even fully in your body anymore.

How long has it been? Minutes? Hours?

You feel another contraction approaching, but Robby suddenly halts you.

“Stop. Y/N, don’t push! Not this time."

“I- I have to.” You groan, almost sobbing.

“No.” Robby's voice is low, sharp.

Jack’s head snaps up.

Something's wrong.

“Baby’s shoulder is stuck on your pelvic bone. I need to release it.”

Jack turns pale, tightening the grip on your arms, preparing for the inevitable.

“I’m sorry,” Robby mutters, but before you can react, his hand breaches your entrance.

The pain is unimaginable.

Is he rearranging your organs?

You scream into Jack’s chest, muffled and desperate. He tightens his arms around you, attempting to ease your pain.

“J- Jack…”

“I know, I know, I’ve got you.” Jack's voice breaks. “Robby…"

“Hang on…” He's still rummaging in there.

"I'm sorry", tears streaking down your face. You look up to find Jack's eyes. "This is my fault... I should've-"

“Look at me. Hey,” Jack says, commanding your gaze. “We’re okay. You hear me? You and me. We’ve got this.”

“What’s going on down there?” Dana shouts from above.

“I need you to lie on your back, Y/N” Robby instructs. But before you can register his words, Jack has already flipped you around. Your bottom lowered against the floor, Jack sliding behind you to brace you in his lap. His arms wrap around your legs, pulling them up and in.

“Lean into me, baby.” Jack’s voice is soft. He closes any distance between you. Practically melting into your body.

“Okay”, Robby breathes, applying suprapubic pressure. “Let’s take a deep breath.”

You feel his hands, firm against your lower abdomen, pushing the baby downward.

“Dana! Call Dr. Ingram, from the NICU, we need him.” Robby shouts towards the elevator doors.

You swallow hard. “Please... Please tell me I'm not having a fucking c-section in an elevator.”

Robby glances up briefly. His voice is low, focused. “Not planning on it.”

He reaches in again, one hand sliding beneath the baby’s head, working carefully to release the shoulder.

Another sharp stab rips through your abdomen. It feels like someone's clawing their way out from the inside, making your vision blur.

“Fuck Robby!" You cry out, voice breaking. "Please stop.”

Though you know he can't.

“Got it.” He suddenly announces. “On the next contraction, you push again.”

Your head feels light, but you know you can’t give up. Not now. Not yet.

3, 2, 1….

You push. With everything. Every muscle. Every breath. Every part of your being.

Until...

A sound cuts through the air.

Crying. Tiny, fragile, crying.

Not yours.

Not Jack’s.

Definitely not Robby’s.

Your eyes snap open. And there he is.

Your baby boy.

Robby lifts him carefully, umbilical still attached, assessing, drying and finally, placing him gently on your chest.

You can feel an unfamiliar but indescribable warmth flood you.

A sob escapes your lips, but this time not from pain.

You've never felt a love like this. Pure and sweet. Instant.

Jack leans in, showering your forehead in kisses, then your boy.

“You did so good, my love." Jack whispers. "So fucking good.” He wraps a blanket around you both, trying to shield you from the cold, from the storm, from everything.

Robby watches the three of you, his own emotions evident in the way his eyes glimmer in the light. He waits a few moments before he's back in professional mode, clamping the cord and letting Jack cut through it.

But they know it's not over. You do too.

You feel another contraction coming…

"The placenta", you murmur.

Robby nods. “One more push for me. Ready?”

He presses into your lower abdomen, a familiar pain ripping through you again.

“There we go." Robby says quietly. "Congratulations mom and dad.”

But...

The moment of bliss suddenly turns into horror.

The world around you starts to fade.

You feel Jack’s arms tense as Robby rips your baby from your chest, passing him through the narrow gap in the elevator doors to Dana’s waiting hands above. You feel the cold breeze against your exposed chest, the loss of warmth from your boy.

What the fuck is he doing? Skin-to-skin is supposed to be longer than this!

You want to argue. Shout at him, but your body won’t let you.

Why are you lying flat on the floor? Where's Jack?

You stare at the ceiling. Your heart starts to race.

You know what this means.

You hear Robby’s voice change. Tighter. Urgent. Then Jack’s voice joins him, both of them shifting into clinical, practiced motion.

Massive blood loss.

If they can’t stop it you’ll need a hysterectomy.

Or worse.

Their words are distant, blending into the chaos of your wandering mind.

“Spike a liter of saline.” “Starting uterine massage.” “Dana! Two units from the blood bank.” "Balloon is past the cervix."

Panic rises in your belly. It travels up to your chest, then your head.

Robby’s movement are frantic now. Jack's too, eyes wide with terror.

Their hands are on you, moving, pushing, pulling, trying to keep you from slipping away.

Jack drops to his knees beside you, instantly at your face, cupping your cheeks with gloved hands slick with sweat and... blood? “Hey,Y/N? Hey.”

You blink slowly, your breath shallow.

“What- what if we name him after my dad?” Jack suggests with an unserious grin.

His deadbeat, boys-don’t-cry, toxic-masculinity-in-person father?

Another time you’d have burst into laughter. And that’s what he’s trying for. A reaction. Anything.

You blink up at him, your lips twitching. It’s a fragile smile, but it’s real.

"Michael.” You whisper.

"I'm here", Robby reassures, working steadily.

No. You gesture weakly. "Th-the baby. Mikey for short."

There’s only one Robby, so that’s the next best thing.

You and Jack want Robby to be the godfather, though he doesn't know yet. He's an important person in both of your lives. And now he's brought your son into this world.

You're glad he's there. For you. And your boys.

Especially if this goes badly...

Jack snorts, but quickly realizes you’re serious. Robby's eyes widen.

“Yeah. I like that.” Jack says softly, nodding, overwhelmed with love and fear.

Jack gently places an oxygen mask over your face, hands trembling as he brushes the soaked hair from your forehead, trying to comfort you in any way he can.

Your eyes flutter open, finding his. Memorizing him.

Jack leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, whispering things you don’t hear.

Then he feels it. The absence of your breath.

The stillness.

A moment frozen in time, reflecting the fragile balance between life and loss.

Jack's eyes shoot to Robby's, desperate.

But Robby doesn’t stop. Not for a second.

He’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back.

Back to Jack.

Back to your boys.

And he wiiilll. As promised, everyone lives. But I had to end it here - for the drama lolz... Pls lmk what you think <3

Part 2: Still Alive

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Till The Water Boils Over Or The Frog Drowns.

Pairing: Yan!Gojo x Reader x Yan!Geto (JJK).

Word Count: 5.8k.

TW: No Curses AU, Dub/Con -> Non/Con (Revoked Consent), Fem!Reader, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Kidnapping, Financial Abuse, Psychological Abuse, Infantilization, Spanking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Forced Codependency. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part Two]

It started the day Satoru first introduced the concept of ‘time out’ to your relationship.

He was immature and you were stubborn. You loved him, but without Suguru’s even temper and calming presence, sparks tended to fly in a way that left you at each other’s throats. With your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes narrowed, you’d watched him sigh, roll his eyes, and storm out of your shared bedroom, slamming the door behind him. You gave yourself a second, then another – sucking in a shallow breath and shutting your eyes, talking yourself through all your usual cool-down methods. You were supposed to go out, tonight, to a restaurant you and Satoru had both been talking about for weeks. You still had about an hour before Suguru was supposed to get home, before you were all supposed to leave together. It wasn’t a good day to fight, even if you knew Suguru would smooth everything over as soon as he got home.

When you were done, you moved to the bedroom door. One hour was plenty of time to talk things out. One hour was plenty of time to kiss and make up, even if you would hold a grudge for a—

You pushed gently on the door. It didn’t budge.

You tried the knob. It turned, but the door still didn’t open.

You pressed your shoulder into the wood, shoving with more force than you ever should’ve had to use. Something shifted – a chair slotted underneath the handle, Satoru’s back leaning against the other side of the thin wood – but didn’t give.

The frustration you’d only just managed to suppress resurfaced immediately. Still pressed against your side of the door, you called out, attempting to keep your tone soft, light. “Satoru? Baby?”

 The sweetness in his voice was equally artificial. “I’m right here, angel.”

“I—I think the door might be jammed.” You tried the knob again, rattling the metal for emphasis. Satoru only hummed in response, and you grimaced. “Are you gonna let me out, ‘toru? I really don’t have time to be—”

“Ninety minutes.”

“…ninety minutes?”

“Ninety minutes,” he repeated. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “After that, we can check and see if you’re still feelin’ so bratty.”

You were almost thankful there was a door between you. If it hadn’t been there, you might not have been able to stop yourself from throttling him. “Satoru, I really don’t have time to—”

There was an obnoxiously loud hum, the sound of footsteps moving down the hall. You groaned, resting your forehead against the cool wood. Whatever. He was being petty, again. You could do ninety minutes. And, even if you couldn’t, he’d probably be back in ten, tail between his legs and pouting for your attention.

You quickly resigned yourself to passing the time as quickly as possible. You laid face-down on your bed, bemoaning your taste in men and picturing all the ways you could break up with Satoru, once he let you out. You scrolled through your phone, spamming Suguru with half-coherent messages and memes from the very depths of your camera roll. You re-organized your closet, sorting your clothes by color and alphabetizing your shoes. You managed to read a full page of one of the bulky historical fiction novels Suguru kept on the bedside table before deciding you’d be better off breaking up with both your current boyfriends.

You checked the time when you were done, and discovered that you’d managed to kill a whopping fifteen minutes.

God, you were so fucked.

Only half-consciously, you gravitated back to the door, slumping against it. You opened your mouth, ready to call out to Satoru and say whatever you had to say to get out, but another voice cut in before you got the chance. “Baby?”

Suguru. He must’ve gotten back early. You let out a shallow sigh, letting your head fall forward in relief. “Right here,” you said, making no effort to hide your exasperation. “Can you open the door? I think ‘toru blocked me in.”

His deep chuckle was muffled, but still clearly audible. “I’m afraid I can’t. He’s still pretty mad, couldn’t stop talking about how you copped an attitude with him.” There was a pause, a shoulder being rested against the other side of the door. “I think he mentioned something about a dress?”

You were glad he couldn’t see you – he would’ve hated the way you grimaced at the reminder. “It’s a nice restaurant. I wanted to dress up a little, but he’s just so immature, and when he saw the dress I wanted to wear—”

Suguru cut in. “The red one, right?”

“Yeah, with the window on the chest.” You sighed. “Please, Suguru? I really don’t want to spend the next hour of my life locked in my own bedroom.”

Another laugh, this one more stifled than the first. “He just knows how pretty you’d look, babe. Probably doesn’t want anyone else to find out how beautiful our partner is.” When you didn’t respond, he added, “Didn’t he just buy you somethin’ brand new? He can’t complain if he’s the one who picked it out, right?”

You pursed your lips. He had – a pure ivory dress, a little shorter than mid-thigh and sleeveless, not exactly conservative, but not meant to show as much skin as you usually preferred to. It’d come with matching gold jewelry, and you’d politely accepted the gift, kissed him on the cheek, and stashed it under your bed to rot. It wasn’t ugly, nothing so expensive could be, but it suited Satoru’s tastes, not yours.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, trying to soften the harsher edges of your distaste. “You know how Satoru is. Everything he picks out is just so—so him.”

“I’m starting to think you both might be causing problems.” You kicked the base of the door, but Suguru didn’t indulge your outburst with acknowledgement. “Just try it on, alright? If it’s that bad, we can always go without him.”

It took another minute or so of condoling, but soon enough, you were slipping into Satoru’s gifted dress, cursing as you struggled with the tiny, finicky zipper and smoothed wrinkles out of abused silk. You pulled your fingers through your hair once before returning to the bedroom door and knocking defeatedly. As if to add insult to injury, the door swung open in an instant, a smiling Suguru waiting on the threshold.

“See? Absolutely gorgeous, as always.” He leaned forward, cupping your cheek. You let his lips brush over your forehead before pulling away. Thankfully, he wasn’t cruel enough to draw it out any longer – his hand falling to yours and taking it up, tugging you gently towards the living room. “Satoru’s going to forget he was ever mad at all as soon as he sees you.”

You didn’t bother responding, only slumping against his side and letting him guide you forward. Distantly, you heard Suguru calling out to Satoru, but you were already busy – too occupied promising yourself that this would never, ever happen again to care what either of them was saying.

You would, of course, be wrong.

~

Barricaded doors quickly became a weekly inconvenience. You and Satoru fought often (never intensely and never for very long, but often), and he owned the apartment – meaning, despite all your whining, you couldn’t exactly tell him that his doors couldn’t all lock from the outside. Your ‘cool-down sessions’ (Suguru’s words, not yours) lasted anywhere from twenty minutes to a couple of hours, and Suguru was always the one to let you out. When you couldn’t be locked up and left to stew, Satoru would take it upon himself to leave the apartment – if only for as long as he thought it would take for you to forget you’d argued at all. You got used to it quickly. It wasn’t fair, you didn’t enjoy it, but you got used to it. You’d always had more patience than you really should’ve, when it came to Satoru’s antics.

And then, Suguru started showering with you.

Finding time to spend together was an ever-present obstacle in your relationship. Satoru alternated sporadically between planning lectures and grading papers late into the night to rolling his eyes at the concept of due dates and dulling out extra credit on a whim, and trying to guess if Suguru would be free was a pursuit in futility – his sermons were scheduled, but he was almost always being called out on some mysterious errand on behalf of one of his countless, faceless apostles. You didn’t work at all, but you went to school, and you kept yourself busy. You’d never be as busy as Satoru and Suguru, but you did your best to keep up with them.

Currently, you were basking in the afterglow with Suguru, your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Satoru was already gone, rushed off to some early-morning lecture, but Suguru didn’t have anything to do, and you—well, you could miss a lecture or two if it meant spending time with him. And, even if you couldn’t, it was hard to imagine tearing yourself away from the feeling of his calloused fingers tracing aimless patterns into the small of your back, of his lips pushing warm, open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your collarbone, your throat. His hands drifted to your hips, grip tightening ever-so-slightly, and you felt a raspy groan reverberate against the side of your neck, Suguru pulling you close as he—

“Save it,” you said, drawing back. He pouted and you grinned, pecking the corner of his jaw and sitting up, letting his sheets pool around your waist. “Just for a few minutes – I feel gross.” A full groan, this time. You laughed, combing his disheveled hair back and pressing another kiss into his forehead, this one lingering just a beat longer than the first. “You’ll survive a shower, Suguru.”

You felt him shift underneath you. Before you had a chance to pull away, he was sitting up, his arms still around your waist – keeping you messily laid across his lap. “I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll wait your turn.” And then, when he only hummed in response, “I’m being serious. Somebody in this relationship has to wash their hair every now and then.”

His face was already buried in the crook of your neck, and he was moving toward the edge of the mattress with your body still tucked against his chest. He was planning on carrying you, presumably. Sometimes, it felt like if it were up to Suguru, you’d never walk anywhere on your own again. “I know.” His voice was still raspy with sleep, his usual articulation weighed down by the fatigue that came with a morning spent in bed. “I’ll help.”

“That’s really sweet, but—” You strung your arms around his neck as he stood up, taking you with him. “—I think I’ll be alright on my own, Suguru.”

For the first time all morning, his eyes flickered open, wandering idly in your direction. He held your gaze for a beat, then another.

Finally, the edge of his lips quirked upward – the sly, knowing grin you’d fallen in love with soon painted across his lips. When he spoke, it was in a tone to match, all confidence and cloying, calculated sweetness. “No.”

You faltered, at that. “…no?”

“Don’t wanna be away from you for that long,” he mumbled, by way of explanation. “Whatever you need to do, I’ll take care of. Don’t want you to have to worry your pretty little head over anything.”

You tried your best to laugh, but it was a weak effort, better left unacknowledged. “I don’t know how I feel about my boyfriend offering to, I don’t know, shave my legs or something.”

He only soldiered on, as if you hadn’t said anything at all.

~

You felt Satoru’s hands on your waist first, then his chest against your back. His mouth found the curve of your throat as if by instinct, teeth grazing against a bruise Suguru had left in the same spot the day before. You felt him lean against you and dropped the knife you were holding onto a nearby cutting board, bracing yourself on the edge of the counter to compensate.

You glanced over your shoulder as his head bowed, face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. He must’ve just gotten home – he was still wearing his sunglasses, only the first three buttons on his shirt undone. You grinned, twisting around just far enough to kiss the top of his head before turning back to your ingredients. “Rough lecture?”

“Grad students,” he muttered, the dread in his voice plainly audible. “One more fucking extension request, and I swear, I’ll fail the entire class.”

You hummed, letting him sink further into you. You might’ve let him stay there, too, if one of his hands hadn’t fallen to your ass while the other slipped underneath your loose shirt. Before he could creep upward, you jabbed an elbow into his chest. “Keep it in your pants. You still smell like a college campus.”

Of course, he didn’t budge. “But I missed you,” he whined, as shameless as he was clingy. “I had to leave so early, and I was stuck in my office for so long, and I’m gonna die if I have to wait any longer. Is that what you want? For me to die?”

“You could always go to Suguru, if you’re that insatiable.”

“But I want you.” You felt a thumb slip below the waistband of your sweatpants (or, Suguru’s sweatpants, technically – he’d been unbearable unless you were wearing his clothes, recently) and batted his hand away. Your efforts were, predictably, unsuccessful. “Please, baby?” And then, after a beat. “You don’t care about dinner more than you care about me, do you?”

You felt something delicate inside of you falter, crack, then fall apart entirely. It was strange – how long you could nurse a wound without acknowledging it existed at all. “It’s not that, I just—” You stuttered, then stopped entirely. You deflated underneath Satoru’s weight, and as if in response, he held you that much tighter, keeping you as close as you could be, lest he carve open his chest and force you into the open cavity. “I… I guess I feel like I haven’t really been doing a lot for you two, lately. You pay all the bills, and Suguru goes out of his way to take care of me, and there just… It makes me feel kind of useless.” You tried to punctuate the confession with a smile, a laugh, but both were hollow beyond the point of recognizability. It would’ve been better if you hadn’t tried at all. “You get it, right? I just—I don’t want to be the only one not doing anything.”

There was a beat of silence. You felt Satoru settle against you, his chest pressing into your back before he pulled away, detaching from you entirely. You sighed, letting yourself relax.

And then, just as suddenly, you were off of your feet and in Satoru’s arm, one tucked under the bend of your knees while the other supported your back. You managed a stammered, half-coherent protest, but if Satoru was listening, he wasn’t bothered.

He carried you out of the kitchen and into the living room, your half-finished recipe forgotten in favor of dropping you onto the nearest couch and kneeling over you, already pulling on the collar of his shirt. “Sounds like our baby’s been thinkin’ too much.” He was grinning, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. “Let me put a stop to that.”

You opened your mouth, but you didn’t have time to respond. His mouth was already crashing into yours; swallowing down anything you might’ve said and replacing it with a breathy moan, a haze over your conscious thoughts.

You didn’t bother trying to talk your way out from underneath Satoru, again.

~

You couldn’t breathe.

It took you a moment to realize what was wrong, another to put together why. You felt the blunt tip of Suguru’s cock hit the back of your throat as Satoru’s chest pressed into yours, the latter pressing the air out of your lungs while the former forced you to choke what little was left up. Satoru had set a relentless pace; his thrusts brutal, his tempo erratic, his hips crashing into yours with enough force to bruise. Two of Suguru’s thick, calloused fingers were lodged between your body and Satoru’s drawing quick, precise patterns into your clit, while both of Satoru’s hands were wrapped around the underside of your thighs, keeping your knees pinned to your chest, your body folded in half and pressed into the mattress. They’d always been taller than you, with Suguru kneeling by your head and Satoru looming over you, they both seemed so much bigger. They both seemed so, so much stronger than they ever had before.

You couldn’t breathe. The lack of oxygen was already rushing to your head, already replacing your sense of logic with a shrill, panicked buzz. Your body hurt everywhere they touched it, the warmth pooling in your core and arousal left behind by previous climaxes not enough to dull the sharp sting of Satoru’s nails against your skin, not enough to soften the harsh edge of the grin you could only barely see spread across Suguru’s lips out of the corner of your eye. It was a struggle just to move your jaw, and even then, any sounds you were able to make were borderline incoherent – your little chants of ‘red, red, red’ so stifled and so garbled by Suguru’s cock that you couldn’t have blamed him for not hearing you at all. It was only when you tried to pull your head back that his eyes fell away from where Satoru’s cock was fucking into your dripping cunt and to your face, tears of distress already beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. You let out one more panicked cry, hoping beyond hope that he’d be able to see the fear in your expression and know something was wrong, but that grin you had loved so much only widened, sharpened. “Like that, princess?” You felt his free hand on the top of your head, fingers carding through your hair while the patterns being pushed into your sensitive clit sped up, intensified. “Faster,” he cooed to Satoru, his voice laced with something vicious and mocking. “If she can still cry, she can still fuck.”

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. Suguru just liked to be mean in bed, and Satoru liked to indulge him. That was the only reason they were doing this to you, that was the only reason Satoru listened; leaning that much more of his weight onto as his cock beat against the walls of your cunt. “Fuck,” Satoru muttered, as Suguru’s cock twitched against the roof of your mouth. “Got tighter when you said that. Is that what you want? For me and him to fuck you unconscious?”

This time, you didn’t try to pull back, you jerked – lurching out of Suguru’s hold, drawing back until you could gasp and pant and fill your aching lungs. “Red,” you half-choked, half-cried. “Red, red, stop, too much, I can’t—”

Satoru cut you off with a throat groan. You felt his form tense against yours, heard a shameless moan spill past his lips, and suddenly, it was like you’d forgotten how to breathe entirely. “Too close for that,” he muttered, his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “You can take it for me, angel.”

You couldn’t, but you didn’t have time to tell him that. You opened your mouth, but all you could seem to spit out was a keening, pitiful whine as you felt something deep in your core pull taut and snap, as your cunt clenched around him and you came undone on Satoru’s cock for the nth time. At the same time, he went stiffed above you, forcing his hips flush with yours and filling your abused pussy with something thick and searing. The feeling was alien, strange. You could’ve sworn he said he would wear a condom, tonight.

It felt like you laid there for a small eternity – trapped under Satoru’s limp body, Suguru still petting idly through your hair. You stared unblinkingly at the ceiling until, days later, Satoru pulled himself upright with a raspy grunt, turning to Suguru. You were vaguely aware of his head being lowered into Suguru’s lap, moving to finish the job you hadn’t wanted to, but that seemed distant, unimportant. The room was too small, too closed-off. You weren’t getting enough air. You were too warm. You were too small. You—

You needed to leave.

Your body was on the edge of the mattress before your mind could make the conscious decision to move. You were shaking, despite the damp humidity clinging to your skin, but you tried to ignore that and focus on getting your feet underneath you, on fishing Satoru’s shirt off the floor and pulling it over your head. You’d need pants, too, and your wallet – maybe you’d still have a little cash stowed away, something from before Satoru insisted you start carrying one of his platinum cards. You’d spend the night in a hotel, or better yet, rent a car – get out of Tokyo altogether. You had a friend who lived outside of the city – or, you used to, at least. You couldn’t remember the last time you talked to someone other than Satoru and Suguru.

You made it to the doorway before Suguru called out. “Going somewhere, princess?”

You froze, but didn’t look over your shoulder. You could barely stand. You needed to go. “I just—I think I need a little air.”

“Give us a minute. Me or ‘toru should go with you.” There was a lull to his voice, an airiness just barely audible over the slick, sloppy sound of Satoru’s mouth moving over his shaft. You could remember admiring that about him, once, constantly thinking about how lucky you were to have such a cool, confident boyfriend. Right now, though, it was hard to think of his unfaltering composure as anything but inhuman. “It just wouldn’t be safe to let you—”

“I need air,” you repeated, because it was true, because you did. Little, black spots were already starting to dot your vision, and it felt like someone was trying to wrap their hands around your throat and squeeze. “I… I think I might be gone for a while, too.”

For all his tenderness, Suguru didn’t sound very concerned. “How long?”

“A couple hours,” you tried, and then, much more quietly, when he let out a disbelieving hum. “…a few days?”

This time, Suguru didn’t have to say anything at all. Leaning against the doorway, Satoru’s cum still dripping down the inside of your thigh, it took less than a minute for you to crack on your own. “I think we… I think I might need a little space.”

There was another beat of silence, occupied only by a soft groan from Suguru, the sound of noisy swallowing from Satoru. Finally, he sighed. You didn’t dare to look, but you could picture him shaking his head, smiling as he rolled his eyes. Acting as if you’d just said the stupidest thing in the world. “What do you think, Satoru? Have we waited long enough.”

“—too long.” Satoru’s voice was hoarse, breathy. In your peripheral, you could see him dragging the back of his hand across his lips as he raised his head. “We’ve had everything ready for months, now.”

That was all Suguru needed to hear. He turned back to you, letting his head lull to the side. “Come back to bed, won’t you, princess?”

You didn’t respond. What little air you still had hitched in your collapsing throat as you attempted to move forward, only for a hand to catch your shoulder and hold you in-place. It was Satoru – now standing less than a full step behind you. He didn’t bother with a warning before wrapping his free arm around your waist and dragging you into his chest and off of your feet. You made a weak effort to thrash, to squirm, to dig your nails into the forearm laid over your midriff, but Satoru didn’t make a sound, didn’t let you go, only hauling you back to where Suguru sat on the edge of the mattress. You shouldn’t have felt as betrayed as you did. They’d both always been able to pick you up and throw you around like a kitten, being carried from place to place by its scruff. It was always only going to be a matter of time before they stopped listening to your half-hearted protests entirely.

“Over the knee,” Suguru said with a sort of flippant, beckoning gesture. “I want to make sure we get off on the right foot.”

Wordlessly, unceremoniously, you were dropped face-down into Suguru’s lap – his thighs pressing into your exposed stomach. Satoru lowered himself to the floor in front of you, sitting cross-legged and reaching out, cupping your face delicately. More out of reflex than anything intelligent, you tried to push yourself up, but a hand on the small of your back was enough to keep you paralyzed. Sometime between the doorway and the bed, the shaking had gotten worse. You doubted you’d be able to keep your legs underneath you, anymore. “Twenty-five,” he announced – an executioner reading out his victim’s sentence. “Fifteen for trying to leave us, and ten more for not listening to me. Does that sound fair, Satoru.”

“So mean, Sugu’,” Satoru whined, but you could already see a crooked smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “The poor thing doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

“Which is why we have to make a strong impression. I want her to know there’ll be consequences for misbehavior.” You felt his hand drifting up the length of your spine, lingering on the sensitive junction between your shoulder blades. “Twenty-five, okay, princess? I’m going to need you to count for me – if you lose track, we’ll have to start over.”

“Suguru, ‘toru, I don’t—I don’t understand what—” You were cut off by a sudden, bruising blow to the plush of your ass – all force, no friction. It took you a second to realize that it was Suguru’s hand, another to consciously acknowledge that he’d spanked you. Like you were some bratty toddler. Like he wanted to hurt you.

It took another lash to know you out of your spell-bound state and send a keening, pitchy cry spilling past your lips. The tears you’d managed to hold back minutes ago were back in full-force, dripping down your cheeks and pooling on your chin, accompanied by the occasional sniffle or ragged sob. Suguru hummed, but any sympathy he might’ve had remained unexpressed, hidden behind a thick veil of strict impassivity. “I need you to count. I know it’s hard, but it’ll only get more difficult if you don’t cooperate.” He paused, clicked his tongue. “We’re still on one. Are you going to be good, or do I have to get the belt?”

“Hurts, Suguru, you’re hurting—”

Another blow, this one to the back of your thighs and twice as harsh as the first two. Meekly, you mumbled a weak “…one.”

You couldn’t see past your own tears by the fifth strike, and by the tenth, you were sobbing openly. Each blow leaves your skin burning and your ass pulsing, but despite everything, he was far from brutal. His pace was measured, precise, and he was strategic – careful to never abuse the same spot to the point of numbness. After the fifteenth, you sniffled and forced yourself to raise your head, meeting Satoru’s eyes and silently pleading for his pity, for his help. Rather than empathy, you found a glassy stare and his hand in his lap, pumping idly over his cock. A few hours ago, you could picture yourself teasing him for not being able to go a full minute without someone touching him, even himself. Right now, the sight alone was enough to make bile rise into the back of your throat.

His thumb ran over your cheek, his palm settling under your chin and tilting your head back. “Don’t give me that look. This is twice as gentle as he’s ever been with me.”

By the time it was over, you were near-inconsolable, every number followed immediately by a string of distorted gibberish, a disjointed plea for him to stop, or be gentle, or let you go. You laid limp across Suguru’s lap as he drew slow, tender patterns into your abused flesh, every little touch sparking a new kind of pain, dragging another ragged sob up from somewhere deep and visceral in your chest. He was talking to you, cooing sweet nothings, but you couldn’t hear him. You didn’t want to hear him. You wanted to leave.

But, you couldn’t, and even if you’d had the strength to try, you wouldn’t have gotten very far. You hadn’t seen him move, but at some point, Satoru must’ve left the room. When your crying began to wane and you could bare the thought of opening your eyes, you found him standing in front of you, holding a glass of water in one hand and three white pills in the other. “Open up,” he said, drawing out each syllable for a beat longer than he really had to. “It’ll help with the pain, promise.”

You pursed your lips, grit your teeth, but Suguru’s thumb pressed into a fresh bruise and fear immediately overwhelmed your sense of caution. Suguru took precious seconds to reposition you – drawing you up by your shoulders to straddle his thigh – and Satoru’s hand found its way back to your cheek, his thumb tapping your bottom lip and slipping onto your tongue as you, reluctantly, opened your mouth. The pills were first, allowed to sit on your tongue until their bitterness reached the back of your throat, then the water, poured sloppily enough for the excess to spill out of the corners of your mouth. The reaction was instantaneous – a wave of nausea, then fatigue, your eyes immediately too heavy to keep open, your body too distant to justify attempting to control. You went slack, falling against Suguru, and he chuckled, bowing his head.

The last thing you felt was his mouth against your throat before everything went numb.

~

You woke up hours later, tucked into a bed that wasn’t yours and in more pain than you’d ever felt before.

Shock and terror startled you into consciousness before you could so much as attempt to fade back into blissful oblivion. You tried to curl up, to make yourself as small and as safe as possible, but your leg caught on something – a leather cuff, discovered after throwing the sheets that’d been laid over you to the side. A shackle, lined in velvet and sitting loosely at the base of your ankle, a silver chain connecting it to an unseen point underneath the bed. You gave it another tug, just to check, and unsurprisingly, it refused to budge. You choose to look away before the pit quickly opening up inside of your chest could deepen any further.

Instead, you turned your attention outward – to the rest of the bedroom. It wasn’t the one you shared with Satoru and Suguru, or the undecorated guestroom Satoru had semi-converted into a home office. The walls were a pale pink, the shelves already stocked with stuffed animals, fairy lights, jewelry boxes that (knowing Satoru) were no doubt filled to the brim. You weren’t wearing Suguru’s shirt anymore, either. Your blood ran cold as you glanced down and found yourself in a pastel blue nightgown – all lace and silk and frills no one could ever hope to actually sleep in. You didn’t know whether to be disgusted that they’d re-dressed you while you were unconscious, without your permission, or thankful they hadn’t waited until you were awake enough to try and stop them.

Seconds seemed to move in thick, dripping clumps. You couldn’t be sure how long passed until your disoriented stillness was interrupted, but by the time the plain, white door (a neat row of undone deadbolts visible above to the knob) swung open, Satoru stepping through with Suguru following shortly behind him. Automatically, you started to move towards them, but caught yourself, pressing you back into the headboard and crossing your arms over your chest, as if that gave you any kind of authority. As if there was any authority you could have, chained to the floor in the bedroom of a pre-schooler.

“You were beginning to worry us,” Suguru started, sitting on the foot of the bed. “But, then again, our little princess was always a delicate one, wasn’t she?”

You stiffened, bristled. You opened your mouth, but closed it as Satoru draped an arm over your shoulders, collapsing next to you. “Here,” he said, holding something out. “Suguru wanted to make you ask, but I’m not that stingy.”

 You attempted to shift away from him, but Satoru had never made things that easy. He clung to you that much tighter as your eyes fell to his hand, finding—

A cup.

A sippy cup, pink and plastic and decorated with little, glittering clouds.

The nausea was immediate, nearly overwhelming. You wanted to vomit. You wanted to throw it across the room. You wanted to do anything but accept it, but your throat was bone-dry, a steady throbbing already begging to root in the back of your skull. Wordlessly, you snatched it out of his hand and (with more than a little strain) pulled off the lid, drinking as quickly as you could. Satoru’s nails scraped against your bicep, but neither of them commented.

Suguru waited until you were finished to go on. “You’ll get used to it, after a few weeks. It’s really not that different from our prior relationship, just a few aesthetic changes ‘toru and I thought a—” He paused, grinned. “—softer environment might suit you.”

“We can be more honest now, too.” Satoru sounded too giddy, too happy. “Those last couple of days practically killed me – having to watch you leave the apartment, acting all independent n’ shit. This way, there won’t be anything stopping us from keeping you all to ourselves.”

A beat passed in silence. It took you a moment to realize you were supposed to say something, and another to actually open your mouth, to find your voice when all you wanted to do was shrivel up and shut your eyes. “I don’t really understand what’s going on,” you muttered, like that would make it true. Like enough stuttering, simpering obliviousness would be what made them change their minds. “When are you going to let me go?”

Beside you, you heard Satoru try and fail to suppress a breath of a laugh, and Suguru’s grin only seemed to widen.

[fashion-runways]

hiii new pinned post again because the last one was outdated, there are links to the previous ones in that one as well. unfortunately there are no real updates re: my dad's wrongful imprisonment. at this point, they might be waiting until the statutes of limitations happen and it's over, i don't know. he has a therapist who's kind of expensive but we have to pay for and he has to go weekly because of all the trauma he has left from being in jail and from losing his job/not being able to find a new one because of this. his health got worse in there, too, so there are a lot of different doctors he has to go to, medications, etc. he's doing better every day, though, but that takes a lot of money of course.

i used to have a redbubble account that helped me get afloat alongside this blog, but it got suspended without notice and never got reinstated no matter how many things i've tried, so... that's another source of income that we lost. i used to make around 30/40 dollars a month there, now i make like 1/2 dollars on teepublic monthly, that's a huge difference. argentina's economy was always bad but it has been an absolute disaster since the current president got elected. prices rise literally on a weekly basis for everything from basic groceries to public transportation, power, water, phone bills, etc. my laptop's keyboard broke at some point and i almost had to buy a new one with money i literally didn't have, just going into negative numbers, but i managed to find a guy who replaced it for as cheap as he could. it was still expensive, but it was better than having to buy a new laptop entirely. would love to get a stable job, but that's always been impossible in this country, even more so lately. for updates on argentina in english, this person on twitter makes very good informative threads if you're interested.

on top of that my dog passed from cancer a few weeks ago, that was really expensive for us too, meds and appointments and special foods and everything that we could do to keep her happy until it was her time to go, and she was. i also started therapy around the time she was diagnosed (thank god) but my therapist had to rise her rates because of the economy mess i already mentioned, so... yeah. everything is exhausting and everything is expensive, and this is literally my only source of income. it's also the thing that i love doing the most and the thing that keeps me sane in all of this mess, so hey, never leaving. in fact, if anything ever happens to this website, you can always find me under fashion_runways on twitter or probably anywhere else. some of you guys mentioned not seeing my posts lately too, so if you can/want to, you can turn notifications on!

anyway yeah, all that to say i love this blog, i love fashion, and i love showing you guys new cool things and giving you guys ideas for art, or writing, or your own style, or just interesting stuff to look at. so if you can donate any money, that would help me more than you think. even a single dollar can change what i can do with my day sometimes, i swear. as usual, my kofi link: https://ko-fi.com/fashionrunways and my teepublic link: https://www.teepublic.com/user/dinah-lance. thanks for being around and sharing and reblogging my posts, thanks for asking questions about fashion, and of course thanks for helping to the ones who can, and thanks to the ones who can't too, i know how that feels like, don't worry about it. i love you 💖

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[Spoilers below cut]

I'm absolutely terrified, it's not even funny. I can't even click it. But I have to... for the LOREEEEEEEEE... okay, let's-a go....

(The following is my live reaction:)

ay the TADC plug, of course

"Born to shit, Forced to wipe" - not smg3

wise words Three

also, the Ferris Wheel and rollercoaster thing is still there in the background (Ferris Wheel wedding, my beloved...)

I knew someone was going to bring up Meggy and her disappearance

LEGGY! MEGGY, WE'LL RESCUE YOU I PROMISE!!!

THANK YOU THREE for asking the right questions here

oh... not what I expected. at least the crew knows this is obviously Mr Puzzles

NAME DROP

OK, a LOT to digest here:

These are all the possible minigames that we might see in WOTFI. Well, at least all the attractions we could see...

a Mr Puzzles Chonk plush (in the bottom right)

a Tunnel of Love attraction... hmmmm.......

Huh, I didn't know this was by the coast of the Mushroom Kingdom. Or it could be an island/peninsula.

The what now, Leggy?

YEP I knew that once they found out, they would want to leave

...and of course, Mario wants to stay

Yeah, Luigi said it himself

but also, look at the Mr Puzzles cardboard cutout in the back, he's wearing Meggy's cowboy hat from Western Spaghetti

Alright, but before we go in, we gotta have a buddy system, guys

All these critiques are going to make Mr Puzzles lose himself even more than he already is

I think I saw someone posted about submitting a water gun game so congrats for getting in!

Leggy Plush!!

also spider-man plush... symbiote... venom... GOOP!4????

...Once Upon A Perfect SMG4?

[*points at Four and Mario*] The sillies

ok, but like, why is Three smiling like that while everyone else looks so disappointed?

They did the buddy system!

Bob: "Those dumbasses will see ANYTHING and get excited."

I feel seen and I don't like it.

I don't like this either. I already know this is a trap but like noooooo

Three just standing there like a dad watching over his kid

Someone else also submitted a mini-game involving a ducky fishing game

GOD DAYUM.... why did you have to pose like that, Three? You're not beating the allegations, huh.

Aw, Three really wanted to enjoy a carnival if Mr Puzzles wasn't involved (writers, write that down + carnival dates)

OK NOPE WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE NOW

🫵 🏳️‍🌈⁉️

oh c'mon now, it's just plainly obvious. Not that it should be surprising, everyone's part of the skittle squad (tm)

STRONG WOMEN we love to see it

...that can't be a real thing... can it?

same Luigi same

YES PLEASE CAN WE?

sorry dude, they really locked in

also what the hell is that building in the back?

Luigi (or rather the SMG4 fandom): "See? I can handle this! I'm not afraid anymore! Do you hear me? I'm not afraid-" [*horror jumpscare*] [*scream*]

NOT EVEN MELONY'S GOD POWERS COULD HELP US, WE'RE FUCKED

NOOOOOO NOT KAREN AND SAIKO

THREE WE NEED TO LEAVE NOW

NOOOOOOOO THREEEEE I THOUGHT HE WAS GOING TO BE THE LAST ONE TO MAKE IT OUT

[*sobbing*] he sent one last text to warn them :( he really does care

AND HE SENT IT TO FOUR [*head in hands*]

the contact names they have for each other.... (I'm not well)

WE GOTTA GO [*runs*] GET OUT GET OUT

Leggy... why did your face change like that?

WHAT WAS THAT CRYPTIC CAPTION?!

Mario, please don't sacrifice yourself... oh, thank god! They really are having me panicking for the smallest things

wait... OMG THEY SAW MY SUBMISSION! THEY SAW IT!

the mini-game challenge that I submitted:

Pop & Whirl: Everyone gets a bag of popcorn. The winner must keep all of their popped kernels in their bag, without dropping a single one... while being chased around the carnival by a collapsed Ferris Wheel (Professor Layton style)!

I DON'T CARE IF IT DOESN'T HAPPEN AGAIN IN WOTFI, I'LL TAKE IT. But if it does happen, I'll draw lawyer Meggy with a redesigned Ace Attorney-esque outfit (somehow)

please don't tell me the green pipe is also a trap...

...the exit door from TADC?

oh god, why does this remind me of the dark web?

and the eyes on the mushrooms... [*IGBP flashbacks*]

heh heh, funny mirrors... AH SHIT PUZZLES, DON'T JUMPSCARE ME LIKE THAT

actually, now that I think of it, Mr Puzzles hasn't revealed himself this whole time...

THE DIDNEY ENGINE ROOM?!

...holy shit

so was I right about us getting to see Mr Puzzles' "truest form" and the whole "Eye of Ra" thing?

are those his arms? and the circle things, it could be part of his cyborg texture but they also look like eyes.

the fog part is really interesting because they could've gone with any "spooky" color but they chose this. It's the creative vision, the one Didney had in this room.

This really reminds me of the goo from IGBP and Wren's wire simulation in Western Spaghetti, but also from this angle, a bit of Zero's "no legs" body design.

"His obsession becoming his identity" - Puzzles connected himself to the single star Didney had. You got it right, past Ink.

HUH?! YOU CAN'T END IT THERE

AND THEY GRAY-ED OUT OUTRO, NO MUSIC! IT'S ABOUT TO GO DOWN, GUYS

also congrats to Nikej1708241 for making it to the credits 🎉

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

That was a pretty solid episode ngl. Probably not as "plot twist-y"

(i know that's not a word) as the previous episode but my spaghetti gods, it delivered! Not Marty again, we may have to rethink this one.

Ok, I've made a list of all the attractions and mini-games there are in the carnival grounds in Puzzle Park:

Ferris Wheel

"Tender Tunnel" (Tunnel of Love attraction)

Merry-Go-Round carousel

Basketball arcade game

Hammer game

Bumper Cars

"House of Crazy" funhouse (also that fits Mr Puzzles somehow)

A spooky cart ride

Water gun game

Rocket ride

Arcade (just flat-out an arcade)

Clown Ball Game

(There's apparently a cafe???)

Ducky Pond fishing game

Pizza shop (....marty?)

It's probably not all of them, we would just have to wait and see, but if you submitted a mini-game that involves any of these, congrats, you likely got in!!!

I still very much enjoyed this episode and some of what I theorized could possibly come true. And some didn't, which is totally okay with me. I'll cherish the Ferris Wheel chase scene regardless :)

We still have to wait for a trailer or a special video in regards to WOTFI, which I will have to analyze and see what's to be expected. From the looks of it in this episode, it seems like it's up to SMG4 and Mario to rescue their friends one by one by completing the mini-games. The more people they rescue, the more help they can get to complete the games. And that includes saving Meggy at the end.

Now, personally, I don't want Mr Puzzles to die. Not yet. There is still a lot of potential that could go for him. A similar redemption arc just as Three went through. Puzzlevision 2. Goop!4. Marty. Anything could happen. Then again, he could die.

Now you might think he might not die because he has a plushie, but there's literally merch of Axol and Desti and they're dead. Puzzles isn't safe from this possibility.

Put in your final bets, my dear fellows, because nothing will ever be the same again...

[joelssimp]

STILL | CHAPTER 18

CW: alternating pov, food and drink consumption, smut (MDIN) use of spanish the way is supposed to be used, fingering, little overstimulation blinkandyoullmissit, unprotected p-in-v, creampie birthcontroldoyourmagic. Soft Pedro, and fluff.

6.1K words

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18 - Sweet Spanish

I didn’t want to leave his apartment.

Not because it was some five-star place—it wasn’t. It was just warm, familiar, smelled like his shampoo and the cinnamon/apple tea he kept buying for me even though I never asked. And it felt safe. Or maybe he felt safe. But the minute Franklin showed up on set with his perfectly timed power play, I knew I had to give Pedro space to deal with whatever storm was brewing on his end.

And now, here I was. Key in the door, gear bag slung across my aching shoulder, box with my new lens tucked like a fragile secret under my arm.

Right back at the flat I share with Kate.

I took a breath before opening the door.

The light in the kitchen was on, soft and yellow. It smelled like microwave popcorn and lavender oil, the kind she uses when she wants the good sleep. Kate was at the counter, hunched over her laptop, hoodie pulled over her head. When I stepped in, she glanced up but didn’t say anything.

I shut the door quietly and crossed to the hallway. My bedroom was only a few steps away, but even the floorboards sounded louder than usual, announcing how awkward our interactions have been lately.

“You haven’t been around much,” Kate said, not looking up.

I stopped, turning halfway to face her. “Yeah. I crashed at Pedro’s for the week, it’s closest to the studio.”

There was a pause… Just long enough to sharpen the silence between us.

“Right. I’m going to…”

I let the word hang for a second before heading into my room. The door clicked shut behind me, and I exhaled through my nose like I’d been holding my breath the entire way back home.

The lens box felt heavier now.

Not physically, but in meaning, and in the way he saw me. The feeling was new, being taken care of was never easy when it comes to me. And maybe it wasn’t even my fault to begin with. It was the way I had to grow up, the way I knew Matt was the older one by minutes, but I was the one taking care of him. 

I placed the box on my desk like it might burn me. Because I knew what Kate saw on set: Pedro giving me something beautiful, expensive and personal. And she didn’t know what it had cost me to accept it. She didn’t know what I had given up—my savings, my plans, the future version of me that dreamed in gallery walls and portfolios—a version that longed for a brother who still hadn’t opened his eyes as himself to the world again.

I sat on the bed, kicked off my shoes.

Through the wall, I could hear Kate’s keyboard. Clicking even faster now.

We hadn’t talked since the morning where she threw a jab with her own words and I hadn’t quite caught it, just threw one right back without thinking. A sharp exchange that felt wrong.

I missed the ease we had in the beginning of all of this. The way she made me laugh when I was homesick, or the nights answering emails and editing pictures over a bottle of wine… That instant bond that felt like it was made of steel and shared ambition of two photographers with dreams big enough to fill up the empty spaces.

But now, it felt like we were orbiting the same place on different planets.

Later, when I went to get a glass of water, she was still there. Same position and that same energy.

“You gonna show it to me?” she asked, not looking up.

I blinked. “Show what?”

“The lens. Pedro’s gift. 15-35mm right? That shit is expansive as hell…”

I leaned against the fridge, the cool of the handle grounding me.

“It’s not… It wasn’t planned. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“I’m sure,” she said, and the sarcasm was so faint I almost missed it. “He must really like you.”

My stomach twisted. “Kate��”

“I mean,” she continued, finally glancing up, “I guess that’s what happens when you sleep in the boss’s bed. You get upgraded gear.”

It landed like a slap.

I stared at her, stunned into silence for a second. Then I straightened. “You don’t know anything about what’s going on.”

“I know enough,” she shot back, eyes hard. “And it’s not just about you anymore, is it? You’ve got Franklin sniffing around set, Bella acting weird, Pedro distracted—”

I cut her off. “My brother relapsed in a fucking hospital.”

That shut her up.

“My savings? The ones I had for the lens? They’re gone. I gave them up so Matt could move into a place where he might actually get better. So yeah, Pedro bought me a lens. But only because I gave up everything I had to help someone who wouldn’t survive without me.”

The silence that followed spoke louder than anything she could ever say. The kind that pressed against your ribs and made it hard to breathe through the fact that she just pointed out that she thought I was sleeping with him to get something in return.

Kate looked away. Embarrassed, and even a little guilty.

“I didn’t know,” she muttered.

“No. You didn’t. Because you didn’t fucking ask.”

I left the glass of water on the counter and went back to my room. Couldn’t look at her anymore, my heart thudding loudly inside my chest, hands sweating like crazy. I hate this, all of it.

Outside my window, the sky was starting to shift—dark blue giving way to the palest edge of morning. The end of night shoots meant daylight again and maybe a new rhythm.

I didn’t change out of my clothes.

Didn’t brush my teeth. Didn’t even bother to pull the curtains shut.

I just let the weight of everything — the lens, Kate’s eyes on me, Matt’s silence on the other end of the country, Franklin showing up — drag me beneath the duvet like I was disappearing into the ocean floor. Cold sheets, one pillow, blackout brain. Sleep took me the way a wave takes driftwood: no fight left in the wood, just surrender.

I don’t know how long I was out. I drifted in and out a few times, heat sticking to my back, breath caught in my throat. The first time I woke up to the sound of some light rain, sun was still out in a golden glow, maybe late afternoon? I drifted. Then again, woke up to a dream I couldn’t quite keep hold of, something heavy but not important enough for my brain to hold on to, it was dark outside, my vision was blurry. I drifted again. And for the last time waking up, it was because of my stomach growling like it had been empty for days.

I didn’t fucking care.

It was the first two full days off work after the night shoots ended, and my body felt like it had given up. Like it didn’t want to be here unless it was behind a camera or in Pedro’s arms. Nothing in between made sense.

I must’ve slept nearly twenty-three hours when the ringtone echoed off my nightstand. It felt like a bolt of electricity in the dark room. I groaned, dragged my hand across the mattress, and blinked blearily at the screen.

Pedro P.

My stomach flipped. Two more rings, and I accepted the call.

"Hi," I croaked. My voice sounded like gravel.

“Hey, baby,” he said softly, his voice still thick with sleep too. “You okay?”

The knot in my chest loosened just from hearing him again.

“I’m… I’m just tired,” I whispered.

“Yeah, Mandy said she texted and didn’t hear back. Your dad called too, I’m just checking in. You ghosted the whole world, cariño.”

I smiled a little looking up to my ceiling. “Didn’t mean to.”

“You’re allowed to,” he said. “I just… I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone in the dark with it all.”

I could feel his warmth through the phone. Like he was right there, in the room with me, his thumb brushing my cheek instead of the screen. That made my chest tight, and I had to close my eyes.

“I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

“I’m not anyone,” he said, quietly.

I opened my eyes with that. “I know.”

There was silence for a few seconds. He was measuring his words carefully. Caring in a way he knew how to.

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Water?”

I shook my head, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “No.” It came out low.

“Okay. Can you do something for me?”

I hummed in response.

“Go brush your teeth. Wash your face. Drink a full glass of water. And then, if you want, you can go right back to bed. I just need to know you’re not disappearing completely.”

The lump in my throat was too real now.

“I already fucking miss you,” I said, quieter than I meant to.

“I miss you too. So much.” A pause. “I’ll come by tonight, if that’s okay. Or I can pick you up, take you back to my place.”

“No,” I said quickly. “Let me come to you.”

Another pause.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Late afternoon?”

“Yeah. I’ll be better by then.”

“You don’t have to be better,” he murmured. “You just have to show up. I’ll take care of the rest.”

That quiet promise made it all worth it for me. We stayed on the line just a few more seconds before he said goodbye.

My body was heavy, I sat up in bed, dizzy from the sudden movement, like my brain forgot how to function with gravity again. I had to take a moment to just adjust.

But I got up.

I brushed my teeth, washed my face, drank a glass of cold water from the tap.

Kate and her judgement stare were still asleep in her room. I made some breakfast and went back to my room to work on some of yesterday’s pictures.

Franklin waited just long enough to make it feel like a trap.

He didn’t come in hot. Didn’t shout or wave his arms or do the usual agent dramatics. No, he just stood there for a second, hands in the pockets of his tailored pants, looking between me and her like he was watching a car crash in slow motion.

And I saw it. That flicker, the disapproval was like a goddamn reflex.

So I kept my arm around her a little longer.

Let her smile, let her hug me again for the lens, let her go off a minute later with that look in her eyes that made me forget the talk I need to have to set on my own boundaries. And when she disappeared behind the trailers, I turned to him.

“Let’s take a walk,” I said.

We didn’t go far. Just enough to get out of earshot, out of line of crew sight.

He didn’t waste time.

“You know this isn’t a good idea.”

I folded my arms, stared out toward the empty parking lot. “I’m not interested in what’s a ‘good idea’ to you, Frank.”

“You really want to do this right now?”

“Seems like you do.”

He scoffed. “Look, I’m not here to police your personal life, Pedro, but this — this is messy. She works on the same set and she’s way too young—”

“Don’t.” I turned to face him fully. “Don’t give me the script. I’ve heard it. I’m older, she’s on crew, it’s unprofessional, it could look bad… Blah blah fucking blah.”

“You’re not seeing the bigger picture—”

“No, Franklin. You’re the one here not seeing the bigger picture.” My voice came out low, but firm. “Because the only people whose approval I give a damn about when it comes to who I love? My family. My people. And guess what? They’ve met her. They’ve seen us together. And they’re all in.”

He looked like he’d swallowed something sour and I kept going.

“Lux said she hasn’t seen me like this in years. Bruno and Pedro adore her, Bruno is even taking photography classes because of her, and my mom—” My chest tightened, that ache slipping in. “Javi said our mom would’ve loved her.”

Silence.

“You’re thinking about press, headlines, and all the fucking narrative.” I took a step closer to him, not a threat, just a warning. “I’m thinking about the girl who gave up her savings to save her brother’s life when he needed her the most. The same girl who falls asleep with her camera next to the bed because she doesn’t know how to exist without seeing beauty in everyone. That’s who I’m talking about.”

Franklin exhaled slowly. “And what about when it goes south?”

“Then I’ll deal with it like an adult,” I said. “But right now? I’m not giving this up. You got me?”

He studied me for a moment. His eyes were sharp, mouth in a straight line, and then, finally:

“You really are in it.”

I nodded.

“Don’t let this get messy, keep it clean, keep it out of the frame. In the quiet, and if she truly likes you, then she’ll understand.”

I didn’t promise anything. Just turned, already pulling out my phone. Already missing her.

Because I knew she’d be gone to her place this morning, back to face Kate’s cold stares, and back to a place that it’s not my arms.

And I didn’t want the space. So the next morning I called to check on her, after too many worried messages from Mandy. She was deep in a wrong darkness that was slowly trying to catch up to her, so I offered to go to her or to pick her up.

There was a plan: An easy night at my place. Food and good company.

I lit up a candle. Not because I’m fancy — I just knew she liked the smell of apples and a little cinnamon, so I found one on sale that morning when I ran to get fresh bread.

And garlic. She said garlic makes a place feel alive, so I chopped way more than necessary. My fingers reeked and I didn’t care. The pasta was boiling, sauce ready, and Bella was on their way down with a bottle of something red that someone from the crew recommended. I didn’t catch the name — just nodded and told her, “Bring it. We’re drinking like artists tonight.”

I kept checking the clock. She was supposed to come by around six. I told her earlier, “Don’t overthink it. Just come. Let yourself be taken care of for a night.”

And I think she really needed that. I think she needed not to plan. Just walk into a space and be wanted there.

I hear the knocking five minutes early.

She always knocked. Never let herself in, even after all this time.

I opened the door and she was already smiling at me — hoodie sleeves pulled over on one of her hands, hair kinda messy from the wind outside, and a just little color back in her cheeks.

“Hey,” I said, grinning just from looking at her.

“Hi.” Her voice was quiet, eyes scanning behind me. “Smells like… something’s burning?”

“Shit—no. No, that’s just the bread. Hold on.”

She laughed, kicked her shoes off and followed me into the kitchen, where I dramatically fanned smoke out of the oven, and took the garlic bread out, just a little burnt.

“Real chef behavior,” she teased, hopping up on the counter like she lived there.

I couldn’t help it. I stepped between her knees and kissed her, slow. Mouths parting just enough so I could slip my tongue inside hers for a little moment, tasting her sweet mouth on mine one more time, like we got all the time in the world.

“Hi,” I said again against her lips.

She whispered it back.

When Bella showed up ten minutes later, they found us dancing like idiots to whatever old reggaetón playlist I had playing.

“Oh my god,” Bella groaned, walking into the apartment with a wine bottle in their hand. “Am I third-wheeling this domestic fantasy again?”

“You were invited,” I called over the music. “Which makes you our responsibility now. It’s like you’re our child.”

“You love me,” They replied, deadpan, already heading toward the kitchen like they lived there too.

Both of them got along like really good friends. It wasn’t slow, seemed like something about them just clicked.

Dinner was good. I mean, the pasta was probably overcooked, but she made all the right noises. Bella rolled her eyes but went in for seconds. The three of us crowded around my tiny table with legs that still squeaked, lit by that one flickering candle I forgot to trim.

“Do you remember the sound of the guy who dropped the boom mic on day two?” Bella asked, mouth full of garlic bread.

“Oh my god,” she groaned. “Like a dying goat and a drunk chicken had a baby.”

I laughed so hard I almost snorted wine.

And that’s when she said it.

She leaned her cheek into her hand, looked across the table at Bella — squinting at her with pretend judgment — and said, “Mira esta… little puta.”

Bella choked on her wine.

I blinked.

She just grinned. Proud, the pronunciation was just too right, I could tell she’s been practicing.

“You did not just call them that,” I said, pretending to be scandalized by it, but the truth was: I was amazed.

“Lux has been teaching me a little,” she shrugged “and that was the first thing I remembered.”

Bella looked between us, delighted. “What does that fucking mean?”

“Okay, well—” I started, shaking my head. “Great. Now my girlfriend is fluent in spanish insults.”

She leaned forward, eyes dancing. “Not just insults. I’m getting better at all of it. Soon I’ll be able to tell you off and seduce you in Spanish.”

Bella held up their wine glass like she was toasting a national holiday. “To whatever the fuck that was.”

I tapped my glass against both of theirs. “To the most dangerous trio of little putas in Alberta.”

That brought a real laugh. And she laughed so hard, she nearly fell off her chair.

The rest of the night passed us by in a simple warmth I hadn’t felt in a while — The low hum of leftover music, the warmth of food, good and funny company, and safety. No talk of agents, or money, or jealous best friends, or even brothers in hospitals. Just full bellies and flushed cheeks and maybe too many half-finished wine glasses scattered on the counter.

I locked the door after Bella left, turned the music down low, and came back to find her in my kitchen, rinsing the wine glasses from our dinner. Her sleeves were rolled up, shoulders a little more relaxed than from when she came in, and there was something about the way she moved — like she could finally exhale.

I leaned on the doorframe, watching her with that soft buzz in my chest that only she could bring out in me.

“You always clean up after seducing your man with your Spanish?” I teased, and she didn’t turn around, but I could feel her smile.

“I’ve been taking lessons from Lux now and then. Her Spanish is way better than anyone I’ve seen”

“And she taught you that little puta is like a love language?”

She laughed, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “I used it correctly, didn’t I?”

I walked up behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and pressed my mouth to the shell of her ear. “Very correctly,” I murmured. “And dangerously cute.”

“Dangerously?” she breathed.

I nodded, kissing down the line of her neck, slow and warm. “Eres tan hermosa que me olvido cómo hablar inglés.”

She froze, and I could feel her smile. “That sounded... intimate.”

I turned her around, her back against the counter now, her hands still wet from the sink. “It means,” I said softly, brushing some of her hair back around her left ear, “you’re so beautiful, I forget how to speak English.”

Her eyes searched mine, with that little spark again.

“Oh,” she whispered.

I dipped down and kissed her — soft, just for a second — then leaned back and whispered against her lips, “Ven a la cama conmigo.”

Her brows arched, impressed. “I understood that one.”

“Yeah?” I asked, brushing my knuckles along her jaw.

“You just asked me to go to bed with you, right?”

I grinned. “Correct again.”

She pulled away, slow, biting her lip, got off my grip and walked backward toward the bedroom. “Well then,” she said, lifting a brow, “you better show me what else you know how to say.”

I followed her like I was bewitched.

She pulled her hoodie off, and left it on the chair. My shirt followed. We were slowly stripping down our own clothes until we were in my bedroom and then the lights were low, the sheets cool, her skin warm under my hands. Her laughter melted into soft gasps as I kissed down her stomach, letting Spanish fall out of me like I’d never forgotten how to speak it.

“Quiero saborearte,” I whispered, and she shivered. “Cada parte de ti. Cada centímetro.”

“Say it again,” she breathed, nails dragging gently over my shoulders.

I obeyed, slower this time. She didn’t understand, but caught the meaning in my eyes even if the words came too fast. And when I came back up to kiss her — all tongue, teeth and full of want — she whispered back as soon as we stopped to take a breath:

“Soy tuya, Pedro.”

I paused.

She blinked up at me, cheeks flushed, lips puffy and parted.

“Where’d you learn that one?”

She smiled. “I have my secrets.”

“Mi amor,” I groaned again, eyes closed and my forehead resting against her shoulder. “I’m so fucked.”

She laughed under her breath, her hands still tangled in my hair. “I know what mi amor means.”

I smiled, lifted my head but my eyes were still closed for another second, just trying to restrain myself — her heartbeat was against my chest, her scent all around me, the heat radiating from her skin against mine. She was real, right here, under my body.

I was slowly pulling her out of the darkness, and proud to be able to do so.

My head went back a little more, eyes open this time, just enough to look at her. “Say it again,” I murmured. “I like how it sounds coming from that mouth of yours.”

“Mi amor,” she whispered, testing the shape of it on her tongue.

I kissed her hard for that alone. Then I said quietly, “It’s not just a phrase for me.”

She blinked at me, something soft stirring in her eyes.

Her hand slid along my jaw, fingertips slow. “Then what else are you saying when you say it like that?”

I exhaled, letting my thumb trace her cheekbone.

“That you’re mine,” I said in a whisper. “That I care more than I know how to explain. That I’d break every rule I’ve ever followed just to keep you close.”

She didn’t look away. “What was the other thing? Right before mi amor.”

I chuckled. “I said I’m so fucked.”

She grinned. “That part I understood.”

But then her voice dipped, quieter now. “What else do you say when you lose yourself like that? I want to know. Teach me.”

I swallowed hard — she had no idea what she was doing to me.

“You sure?” I asked, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.

She nodded. “Tell me what it means when you say things like... like before. Like quiero saborearte.”

My breath caught.

She smiled, a little crooked, and a little mischievous. “I remember how you said it.”

I looked down at her — flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes full of fire and affection — and nodded.

“It means,” I said slowly, brushing my lips along her collarbone, “I want to taste you.”

“Oh,” she breathed deep.

“Cada parte de ti.” I kissed the curve of her shoulder so slowly. “Every part of you.”

She swallowed, fingers tightening on my back.

“Cada centímetro.” My mouth grazed her skin again, a little lower. “Every inch.”

“Pedro…”

Her voice cracked, and I felt her pull me in. Her hips shifted beneath mine, slow and needy. We were already so close, already so wrapped in each other, but the way she looked at me in that moment — eyes wide, heart open — I had to keep going.

“Tú me vuelves loco,” I whispered against her belly.

She looked down at me. “Say that again.”

“Tú me vuelves loco.” My voice was hoarse now. “You drive me crazy.”

I left open mouth kisses in every inch of her skin, watching how her breath hitched with every single touch, and going even more down with all of it. Even left little bites here and there.

“Quiero hacerte el amor,” I said, going back all the way up to her lips for another kiss.

Her hands froze on my back.

“What does that mean?” she whispered.

I took my time answering — kissed the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her pulse point.

“It means… I want to make love to you.”

She pulled back just a little — enough to look at me. Enough to see that I meant it, meant every part of it.

“Not just fuck?” she asked, teasing but also testing me.

“Not this time,” I shook my head. “Not just that. Not anymore.”

Her eyes softened, then turned molten. “Then do it,” she said. “Show me.”

Something about the way she said it — no fear, just quiet challenge wrapped in trust and lust — hit me low and hard.

I didn’t answer her with words. Not yet. I only nodded, and kissed her.

Slowly.

Deeply.

Like it was the last kiss I’d ever get, or maybe the first one that truly mattered in our relationship.

She parted her legs beneath me — no hesitation, just this soft, aching surrender that made my chest feel like it might break in half.

This wasn’t about need anymore, or heat, or any of the things we’d already indulged in over the last few days. This was different.

I wanted to worship her.

Her skin, her voice, the way her fingers curled against my shoulder as I kissed the edge of her breast like I’d never tasted anything better. 

“Tan hermosa” I said, dropping my mouth against one of her nipples. Her back arched into me.

My tongue circled it slowly at first, and I felt it coming alive inside my mouth. She moaned my name and my hand found the other one. The tip of her nipple in between my thumb and my index finger, I rolled it more than once. Her hands found their way up my neck into my hair.

I sucked, nibbled a little, and licked. Her hips rolling against my tight making me growl against her skin.

“Just like that” She said breathless.

I was painfully hard, and she could feel it with every roll of her body. Her right hand left the base of my neck, and came all the way down to feel me a little more. I gasped when she cupped and made the perfect pressure.

“Is this because of me?” She asked, trying to sound innocent, and I just nodded.

Told her she was beautiful — not in some throwaway compliment, but like I meant it. Because I did. God, I did. I’d never wanted someone like this. It was an overpowering feeling.

Every sigh that slipped from her lips felt like it belonged to me.

Every soft curse, every plea, the way she said my name like it was the only thing she could remember in all of this — all of it only made me want to give her more.

I moved down slow, steady — like the world had narrowed down to just this room, this bed, this moment.

My mission was to make her come at least once before I could think of myself. So I hooked my fingers on her underwear, slipped it down and went to work on giving her the best orgasm she could have.

She was dripping. I slipped two fingers against her folds and they came out soaked.

We locked eyes and I slowly sank two fingers right inside her tight and warm hole. She was already clenching when I started to fuck her with those two fingers, applying just the right pressure to her clit with my thumb.

“Voy a destrozarte” I said low, nuzzling just below her ear “Gonna wreck you, Cariño” She gasped — a sharp, guttural sound — as my fingers worked her open, slow but relentless. One hand fisted the sheets, white-knuckled, the other tangled in my hair like she needed to anchor herself to something real.

“Sí,” she moaned, breath catching on the edge of it.

God, that sound — that one word — went straight through me. I curled my fingers just right, found that spongy place inside of her and her whole body arched, hips bucking, thighs trembling around my wrist.

“Say that again,” I growled, low and hungry, watching her fall apart.

And she did — barely coherent now, that sí spilling from her lips in broken rhythm, each one softer, wetter, more desperate than the last. My name came next, raw and unguarded, dragged from somewhere deep inside her, and each one in a higher pitch than the last.

It was more like a plea as I continued fucking her with my fingers, hitting the same spot over and dragging that orgasm as long as I could.

I only stopped when she was writhing, crying out, her legs shaking around my forearm and her hand trying to reach for mine as she shattered, undone and so damn perfect.

She collapsed beneath me, breath hitching, body still twitching with the aftershocks. I didn’t move — just leaned in, pressing the side of my face against hers, my lips brushing the curve of her cheekbone as she trembled.

“Tan jodidamente perfecta,” I whispered, my voice hoarse in her ear. “So fucking perfect.”

She whimpered — soft, helpless — and I felt her smile through it, a little too gone to come back.

I kissed her temple, went down to her jaw, let my nose skim along her cheek as I whispered again, slower this time.

“Siento todo de ti. I feel everything.”

She turned her head toward me, found my mouth with hers — barely a kiss, more like breathing the same air together. Her fingers slipped into my hair, tugging gently, grounding herself.

“Pedro,” she breathed. Just that. Just my name.

I eased my hand from between her thighs, kissed the damp skin of her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone, savoring the quiet shudders still moving through her.

“Estoy aquí,” I murmured. “Contigo. Dentro de ti. Pronto.” (I’m here. With you. Inside you. Soon.)

Then I lifted my head, let her see everything on my face as I moved over her, slow and certain.

Because there was no going back. Not after all of this.

And when I finally sank into her, she gasped my name like she was feeling it for the first time — like it didn’t belong to me anymore. I stilled, buried to the hilt, both hands gripping her hips as she fluttered around me, all heat and heartbeat and barely-contained sound.

I stayed there, deep, still, letting her body take me in, inch by inch, like we had all the time in the world. Because if I move too fast, there’s no way in hell I’m lasting.

Her eyes didn’t leave mine. They burned into me, wide, open and glassy. Daring me to move while I was buried so goddamn deep I could barely breathe.

She didn’t move — not right away. She just clenched around me, slow and deliberate, and I had to close my eyes for a second to stay grounded.

“Fuck...” I groaned, jaw clenched tight. “Just, wait—fuck baby” 

She smiled — just a flicker. A quiet fuck-you kind of smile, and then her hips rolled up, meeting mine like a challenge.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered slowing my heart just enough so I could fuck her properly. “I’ve got you, mi amor.”

And then we moved.

There was nothing gentle about the way she pulled me in. Nails dragging down my back, thighs locking hard around my waist like she needed me deeper, closer, until our bodies stopped being separate things.

We found a rhythm — unhurried but relentless. That push and drag, skin to skin, every thrust pressing a sound out of her I wanted to memorize.

I swore under my breath — all in Spanish now — things I’d never said out loud to anyone before. Things I didn’t even know I felt until her body gave them permission.

“Hermosa… preciosa… mi vida… mírame, no pares…” (Beautiful... precious... my life... look at me, don't stop)

Halfway through, her mouth crushed into mine — not a kiss so much as a claim. Teeth, tongue and breath — all of it shared. All of it messy, hot and all ours.

I was lost in my own feeling and her body clenched around me so tight, sudden and sharp — a tremor I felt all the way through my spine. She gasped my name again, but this time it was broken — like it came straight from the part of her brain that didn’t have words anymore.

And I followed, helpless against it. Buried deep, mouth open on her shoulder, a groan ripped from somewhere low, rough and so honest. My body was shivering, and pumping her so full, I felt her third and short orgasm be triggered with my cum.

It was more like a silent surrender on her part, and she was done. So done, she couldn’t move properly.

So we didn’t move too much.

Her fingers threaded into my hair. My arms were locked around her like instinct. We stayed like that — no shift, no reach for the covers, no need to say anything. Just the sound of us catching our breath and slowing our heart rate down to an acceptable rhythm.

My body fell by her side, my — now soft— dick slipped free, and we just stayed.

I didn’t ask if she was okay, not like I had to, she was floating on my bed. Her hand moved lazily across my ribs, drawing shapes she wasn’t thinking about. Her face stayed tucked under my jaw, lips parted against my throat. I could feel the heat of every exhale.

I ran a hand up her spine — slow, gentle. Felt the last of her shivers melt into stillness.

I’d had sex before. More times than I could count. Intimacy, even. But this wasn’t about any of that. This was... intense, and it felt like staying and not pulling away. 

I breathed her in — her skin, her hair, that stubborn soap she carries everywhere in her camera bag. The smell of her was already a memory. Already my memory to keep.

She shifted, barely. Just enough to rest more of herself on top of me and to put her legs in between mine. A sigh slipped out of her, like her body had finally relaxed enough to stay unguarded.

Then I felt her smile against my skin — the soft curve of it against my neck — and I knew she was still awake. Or at least trying not to fall asleep.

“You realize what you did to me back there?” I murmured, voice still low and lazy, and mind still half-drunk on her.

She didn’t answer — not out loud. Just nuzzled in closer, smug as hell.

“That Spanish?” I said, brushing my lips against her hair. “The sí, the way you said my name, like you’d been practicing how to ruin me?”

Her laugh was a warm breath on my chest. Quiet and dangerous.

“I’m serious,” I said, feigning offense. “You knew what you were doing.”

“Lux is a very patient teacher.”

“Yeah, well—” I leaned in, kissing just under her ear, the same place I’d started earlier. “Whatever she taught you? It worked.” I bit down, gently. “You wrecked me.”

She shivered — pleased, smug, so soft I wanted to start all over again just to watch her unravel.

“I should call her,” I said, mock-serious. “Tell her she’s banned from teaching you anything else.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“No?” I brushed my lips against hers, slow. “She keeps giving you vocabulary like that, I won’t survive another week.”

She smiled against my mouth. “Then you better keep up, mi amor.”

I groaned, pulling her tighter. “God help me,” I muttered. “I’m so fucked.”

[system-to-the-madness]

Heart Aflame (3/3) - Zuko x Reader

Word Count: 3 901 Warnings: kidnapping, slavery, human trafficking, colonialism, mentions of: torture, physical violence, death Summary: You learn about a camp where your kidnapped sister might be held, so Zuko and you head out to find her   A/N: Part 6.3 of the series Perfect (10 times Zuko thought you were perfect and the first time he told you)

Part One - Part Two

There was the cell you had been looking for. And the door stood wide open.

Your heart, one minute ago still beating wildly, suddenly sank. You were too late.

Nonetheless, you stepped forward to look into the cell. It seemed smaller than the other cells, darker, wetter. And it looked like someone had lived here for a while. A blanket was bunched up in a corner on the cold stone floor, a tray with half eaten porridge stood in the middle of the room, a wooden cup with water had fallen over and spilled across the ground.

Taking a step into the cell, you picked up the blanket. It was still warm. Whoever had been in here had been taken only a few minutes ago.

“They knew we were coming,” you realized, turning to Zuko who stood in the door, his expression clearly displaying his frustration. “How did they know?”

“I have no idea. But we need to find Xiang,” Zuko decided. “Come on.”

Stepping forward, he grabbed your arm and pulled you to your feet. “Maybe they moved her to one of the offices on the second floor. Some of them have special rooms to interrogate prisoners for information.”

And just like that you were running again. The air was burning in your lungs, but you were grateful to be able to move. It helped with the nerves and gave you a little more time to think. How had they known you were coming to find Xiang? Had it just been a coincidence? Xin Yan had said they didn’t know where Xiang was kept. Maybe it was normal for them to move her around. Had it even been her cell you had found? And how was it possible you hadn’t seen them on your way in? Was there another way out of the Mould?

Before you had been able to answer any of the questions for yourself, you had already reached the staircase, and taking two steps at a time, you raced upstairs, back out into the hall and straight into a group of guards.

You stumbled to a halt, making Zuko almost run you over as he came sprinting out of the door right behind you, and you couldn’t help but miss the irony of the situation from before having been reversed. You running into him vs. him running into you. Nobody being where you had expected someone to be there vs. too many people being where you had expected nobody to be.

The guards raised their weapons against you threateningly and without thinking, Zuko pushed you behind his back, summoning his fire.

“I am Prince Zuko, son of Fire Lord Ozai,” he declared, his voice having taken a sinister tone. “You will lay down your weapons or suffer the consequences of disobeying your prince!”

“A banished prince,” one of the guards mocked. “You have no power here!”

A blast of fire hit the guard straight into the chest, making him collapse on the ground.

“Lay down your weapons,” Zuko repeated, his voice nothing like the hesitant, almost shy tone you had gotten used over the few weeks you had spent with him. Instead, it was the voice of a leader, the voice of the fire lord, a voice that tolerated no objection.

The guards started hesitating. That was the difference between a normal military post and this prison school: usually the imprisoned students would probably submit to the threat of violence. But Zuko and you were different. He had received special military training, was a Fire Bender and had spent years of his life fighting real fights like most of the guards had probably never experienced before. You had none of that, but your own life mattered only little when it came to saving your little sister.

A motion behind the guards drew your attention towards it. It was Guo, there was no doubt about it. Had she been the one who had alarmed the guards? Had she recognized you, and made the connection that you were here to break out Xiang? But she wasn’t alone, you suddenly realized. She was dragging something along… someone.

In that moment, the thin, weak voice of a little girl tore through the tense silence.

“Nene!”

It was just two syllables, but that was all it took to tear your heart in two and make you forget everything around you.

Nene, the nickname your sister had always called you. A toddler-version of the local dialect for ‘big sister’. It had been one of her first words, right alongside ‘mama’ and ‘dada’.

She was here. Xiang was right here with you. And she was being held prisoner by the one person who still haunted your nightmares even years after last having seen her.

Not giving the guards or Zuko or anyone else a second thought, you jumped forward, past the spear tips pointed at you and pushed past the guards.

Guo stood in the door to the yard, a wicked, satisfied grin on her bony face as she watched you race towards her. One of her skeleton-like hands was wrapped around Xiang’s little arm, and in the other-

You came to a slithering halt as you recognized the blinking metal in her other hand as a knife.

“Don’t hurt her,” you screamed. Your vision blurred, everything seemed out of focus except for the woman and her weapon in front of you. “Don’t hurt her, please.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you,” the old hag sneered. “This brat here-” she shook Xiang, so her small body was thrown around violently, “is just as much trouble as you always were. Did you really think you could just waltz in here and get her back to your barbaric earth kingdom ways?”

“She’s more Fire Nation that you! It’s in her blood,” Xiang spat, her voice brave even though she was being treated so harshly.

Behind your back, Zuko took out the guards, but you didn’t even notice the noise and heat of the fight, only focused on Guo.

“Did you really think, after all the trouble you always caused, I wouldn’t recognize you? I’ll admit, I was uncertain last night, but the sunlight left no doubt, not even in your pathetic disguise as Fire Nation. You’re disgracing the royal colours,” Guo went on. “And the guards: when you were running around down there, didn’t you once question why there were no guards?”

She was right you realized, as heat begun welling up in your stomach. Even though the cells had been filled with students taken prisoner, there had been no guards around. You had been so focused on finding Xiang, that you had ignored all the signs that you were too late. The heat of embarrassment and shame, fear and desperation begun spreading from your stomach down your legs and into your arms.

“You cheated,” Xiang suddenly screamed. “You built the secret passageway and tried to outsmart Nene, but she’s still better than you! She found me and she’s gonna take me home!”

Xiang started struggling against Guo’s harsh grip, but the old woman just yanked her back. The heat that had taken over your body seemed to flow into your hands, making your fingertips tingle almost painfully.

“Stay still or I’ll cut you,” she threatened.

“Don’t hurt her,” you repeated, staring like hypnotized at the way Guo brought the knife closer and closer to Xiang’s skin. Your hands felt like they were aflame.

In hindsight, you weren’t sure what exactly had happened. The moment Guo had moved the knife to Xiang’s arm, you had taken a step forward, reaching out as if you could cross the distance still separating you with the reach of your arm to stop Guo from hurting your little sister. In the same moment it felt like an electrical discharge connected Guo and you in the same way Sokka had described lightning to be created by immense tension between two electrical charges. This was the feeling that raced through your body, accompanied by a feeling of almost relief and the fraction of a second later, a red burning spear made of fire lodged into Guo’s arm.

Her scream echoed back from the tall walls of the hall, and she dropped the knife from her injured hand, letting go of Xiang in favour of clutching the burned stab wound where the spear of fire had disappeared into nothingness.

“Xiang,” you shouted for your sister, who perplexed watched as her tormentor was sinking to her knees, still screaming.

“You’re a Fire Bender,” she wailed accusingly, directing her little bead-like black eyes to you. “You’re a Fire Bender. Traitor! Traitor!”

“Xiang, come on,” you raced forwards, grabbing your sister who was turning to stare at you wide eyed, before snapping back into the moment.

“Behind you!”

One of the guards seemed to have evaded Zuko and was coming straight for you. He was only a few meters away, his sword already up in the air to strike you down, you who was weapon less and defenceless against him. You lifted your hand again, feeling the same relief of the discharge as before and a moment later, a spear of fire bore through the guard’s leg, and he stumbled to the ground.

“Let’s go!”

Zuko came running over, his eyes only scanning over the quickly dissolving spear of fire before he grabbed Xiang, lifting her into his arms effortlessly, and running out into the yard.

You followed him, still feeling the heat in your fingertips. Zuko was running fast, even while carrying Xiang, who helplessly clung onto the young man’s neck. You almost dared hoping you would make it out of the school the way you had gotten in, when suddenly soldiers came swarming into the yard. Not just guards but actual Fire Nation soldiers.

“We need Appa,” you called, catching up with Zuko.

“Not in here. He’ll get captured,” Zuko refused, firing a blast against the soldiers who had closed in from the left. “Let’s take the main gate!”

You changed directions, following Zuko. The soldiers were approaching you fast. They would have caught up with you before you had reached the gate. And even if you made it. The gate was closed. You’d be trapped.

“We’re not gonna make it,” you shouted to Zuko, whose eyes were stubbornly focused on the gate, his expression grim.

“Keep going,” he told you, and you had no choice but to trust him and follow him.

From the right soldiers were catching up to you, and for a third time you allowed the strange sensation of the discharge wash over you, firing not one but several speers in quick succession at your pursuers, who fell back at the threat of getting impaled by fire. A few meters later, you reached the iron wall of the gate. The metal was warm under your hands from the mid-day heat as you pressed your palms against it.

“What now,” you asked as Zuko sat Xiang down.

“I’ll melt the lock; you keep the soldiers in check!”

“How do you want me to do that,” you asked, in a mixture of anger and amused disbelief. You had no weapons, no shield, nothing but the clothes on your body. If it were just your life on the line, you might have been able to think more clearly, but it was also him and Xiang who were depending on you.

“Use your fire!”

The reply came in two voices, the voice of the boy who had already pressed his hands over the lock to melt it, as well as the small, high-pitched voice of your sister.

Not questioning them, you took a protective stance between them and the soldiers who came to a slithering halt when they saw you assume the same pose you had always seen Fire Benders assume in battle. Your heart was beating in your ears and your whole body felt like it had to be bursting into flames.

“No step further,” you warned them, but your warning seemed only to encourage them, as a few began edging forwards.

With a flick of your wrist, you drove a fire spear into the ground in front of one of the soldier’s feet. He gasped out in surprise. For a moment all of them seemed to hesitate, making a feeling of relief spread in your chest. But the relief was only short lived as a second later they all sprung forwards at the same time. This time it was no spear that shot out from your hands, but instead a wide fire blast, erecting a wall of flame between you and your attackers. Behind your fire they were screaming commands at one another, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying over the sound of blood rushing in your ears and the hissing of the flames.

“I got it,” Zuko shouted, grabbing your arm and pulling you backwards.

The moment he touched you, the wall of flames died down, but you had no time to worry about the state of the soldiers, as the gate swung open and Zuko pulled you along with him, having Xiang already lifted into his arms again. The high-pitched whine from Aang Sky Bison whistle sounded in your ears, and hand in hand Zuko and you sprinted down the road you had seen the day prior.

Behind you, the soldiers had already started to pursue you, and even though you had escaped the school, for the first time it felt like you had nowhere to go. If Appa didn’t make it in time, where were you supposed to go? The island was tiny, you’d be caught in no time.

But your thoughts got wiped out by the shadow suddenly covering the sun from above, and a second later Appa touched down on the ground before you.

In one swift motion Zuko all but threw Xiang onto Appa’s back, jumping up with little to no effort as well, before he turned around and offered you his hand. You had barely grabbed it, when he already yelled “Yip yip” and Appa begun floating away from the ground.

Your feet were dangling in the air, but Zuko pulled you into Appa’s saddle with one strong pull, causing you to stumble over the edge and right into him, causing him to fall backwards, with you on top of him.

For a moment, you just lay there and breathed. Sweat was running down your face, your legs hurt from running, your arms and hands felt so sore you could barely move them. The world seemed to be spinning, and black dots were dancing in your vision. But Zuko’s body underneath you was warm and soft. His breaths came in irregular pants and his hand, still closed around yours made you feel safe and comfortable.

It was only a moment later that something heavy and soft plummeted into your side, causing you to roll over and off Zuko. Xiang had launched herself into your side, wrapping her thin little arms around your middle and burying her face in your stomach.

“You came for me,” she cried, her small body shaking with sobs as she pressed closer to you. “Everyone said you were dead, but I knew you’d come and find me.”

Suddenly it felt like you couldn’t breathe. You were still panting from the chase, but your throat closed up and tears sprung to your eyes. For over a year you had dreamt of this moment, of finally holding Xiang again. You had lost count how many times you had seen her die in nightmares, how many times you had pictured getting to see her again, and now she finally was back where she belonged, back with you.

Through tears you looked up to Zuko, who had sat up, leaning against the wall of the saddle. His eyes were soft as he was watching you hold your sister tightly, and you knew that he didn’t need you to say out loud how grateful you were for his help.

-

The flight took several hours, and by the time the sun started setting over the sea, Xiang had told her story to Zuko and you. Trying to offer you some privacy, Zuko had moved to Appa’s head, letting you talk by yourselves, but now, as the sky turned pink and orange, you had asked him to join you back on the saddle. Appa would find the way on his own; he always found Aang without even trying, and you were worried Zuko would fall asleep and fall off Appa. After all, it had been a long journey.

Xiang had calmed down a while ago, clearly exhausted. Now you and Zuko sat opposite one another in the saddle, Xiang cuddled into your side and covered by the jacket Zuko had stolen for himself in the laundry room. (He had insisted on using his jacket as a blanket for Xiang, not wanting you to get cold in the cooling evening air.)

After a while of silence, he eventually spoke up.

“I didn’t know you were a Fire Bender,” he said, closely watching your reaction.

It took you a moment to process his words, before you slowly looked up at him.

“I’m not,” you disagreed.

“You clearly are. You created fire spears and a whole wall of fire back at the school. That was some quite impressive Fire Bending.” Zuko reminded you. “Not something Non-Benders can do.”

“But I’ve never fire bent before,” you shook your head. “I’m not a Fire Bender.”

“Maybe you’ve just never tried,” Zuko offered, “or been in a situation where you needed it. But I’m sure you’d become a great Fire Bender if you were to train a little.”

“I don’t want to become a Fire Bender,” you replied, your answer harsher than he had expected.

Zuko hesitated for a moment before asking: “Why not?”

“All they’ve ever brough my family was pain and suffering. I don’t want to be like them.”

Zuko ignored the painful stab in his chest at your words. But it made sense, he guessed. Your family had been torn apart by Fire Benders. He had been your friend for less than a month. He couldn’t expect his friendship with you to be able to change your perspective on a whole group of Benders overnight.

“Even if your fire had the power to save her,” he asked carefully, nodding towards Xiang. “If you hadn’t used Fire Bending multiple times today, we would be prisoners of the Fire Nation now… or worse.”

You looked down to where your sister was sleeping in your lap, and slowly brought a hand up to her hair, brushing your fingers over it.

“I’m scared of hurting people,” you admitted. “I don’t want to cause pain and suffering, too. I know, I already did today, but…”

“Fire can be more than just a weapon, you know,” Zuko offered. “It can be used for good, too. To light up darkness, to create warmth in the cold. It can even be art. When I was little, we’d have these dancers come to visit the palace sometimes, and they’d dance at night, using their flames to paint patterns and sceneries into the dark. You don’t have to use your fire to fight, but I think it would be better if you learnt how to handle it, otherwise you might end up hurting someone by accident.”

You bit your lip and looked down at your hands.

“Just because I summoned it today, doesn’t mean I’ll be able to do it again tomorrow,” you told him. “I haven’t been using Fire Bending for more than fifteen years, didn’t even know I could. For all we now, it might take me another fifteen years until I can use it again the next time.”

Zuko sighed. “That’s not how bending works. Listen, I’m not trying to talk you into doing something you don’t want to. I really don’t but… The access to your bending is… like a jar of jam.”

Irritated you looked up at him, an amused smile tucking at your lips.

“A jar of jam,” you asked, making him shrug, but he couldn't deny the pride in his chest that he had gotten you to smile.

“Like a jar of strawberry-peach jam,” he agreed. “You know how when you first open a new jar, it’s so hard, almost impossible to open? But once you’ve got it open, no matter how hard you try to screw it shut, it’ll always be way easier than when you first opened it.”

“If my bending runs out as quickly as a jar with strawberry-peach jam, I got nothing to worry about,” you joked, making Zuko sigh.

“That’s not- that’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

For a while you sat in silence, Zuko keeping a close eye on you, as you were running your hands through Xiang’s hair, detangling her locks. It was awfully obvious that she had been neglected over the past weeks, if not months. Her small body was too thin and light for a child her size and age. Her face, that was supposed to be childishly round, had fallen in cheeks, and dark circles were painted under her eyes. Her hair was matt and matted, her skin pale and littered with scraps and cuts. Whatever they had done to her, Zuko doubted there was a punishment fitting for those responsible. Now Xiang was resting her head in your lap, her small hand curled around the fabric of the Fire Nation uniform you were still wearing, her tiny frame covered by Zuko’s jacket. His eyes wandered from her to you, the way your hands kept busying themselves with her hair or readjusting the jacket around her shoulders as if to make sure she was still with you. Or maybe you were trying to distract you from the fire your hands had summoned just a few hours ago. You looked tired, Zuko thought, but also happy. It had to have been like torture, knowing your sister was out there and being unable to help in the slightest. And now the relief of being reunited with her? Zuko couldn’t imagine how that had to feel. He was just glad he had gotten to help you.

“After the war…” Zuko perked up at your voice. “Promise me we’ll go back there and help these kids find their families again?”

Zuko stared across the small distance, at the way the setting sun was painting your features in warm golden. Did you have any idea how perfect you were? Not just beautiful and sweet, but also courageous, unapologetically gentle and still one of the fiercest fighters he had ever met.

He nodded. “Of course, of course we will.”

You smiled to him and nodded back before closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Thank you,” you whispered over the rushing of the wind. “And Zuko?”

He hummed in reply, signalling he was listening.

“Will you teach me Fire Bending?”

He watched you for a moment, watched how your features seemed to relax. But when he answered with a quiet ‘yes, I will’, a small smile spread over your lips.

Soon the sun had sunken behind the horizon and the stars took over the sky, but Zuko couldn’t be bothered to tear his gaze away from your sleeping form and kept wake all the flight until you had reached Ember Island again.

Tags (it seems like some of the tags aren't working, sorry...):

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[out-there-tmblr]

Wip: Zaundads2EB (10)

***

Vander,

(That's how Silco's letter starts. Not with any fond endearment, no. Just Vander's name. Like he's woken up in the middle of the night and started complaining about Vander stealing the blanket.)

I've traded rations for paper and pencils. I don't yet know how I'll get this message to you, but writing this gives me the illusion of being able to do something, so I'll work that out later.

I'm in Stillwater for minor theft, apparently. No one can tell me how long I'll be here or if there's any way to dispute my sentence, so it's not greatly different from working in the mine. Do as you're told and be thankful for something to eat and somewhere to sleep.

There seems to be only two divisions of prisoners here: those who haven't attacked guards and those who have. The latter are kept in the lower floors, in solitary stone cells until the guards decide they've learned their lesson. The rest of us sleep four to a cell, in metal bunks that feel very familiar.

There is a small yard with high stone walls and smooth walking path worn into the bedrock. In fair weather and foul, we're left out there for two hours a day with nothing to do but walk in a circle, or stand against a wall and marvel at the colour of the sky. This island must be as elevated as Piltover. On a sunny day, the sky is the brightest blue imaginable. In bad weather, the clouds are so dark it feels like home, but when the rain falls, it's clean enough to drink.

(There's a line on the page, maybe two words long. Then the letter starts again as if Silco came back to it hours or days later.)

You might be amused to hear there's no washroom here. When I asked about it, my cellmates laughed. That does explain the smell of the other prisoners and the state of their clothing. We are fed once a day, stuck in cells that leave the four of us absolutely no privacy, with no better entertainment than to watch a square of sunlight pass across the floor, but I could accept all of that if we were simply given the opportunity to bathe. I have started hoping for rain.

(Vander has to stop reading. He can hear Silco's voice in the words. He knows the sour glare Silco would aim at the page as he wrote. There are still more pages to go, but Vander takes a moment to let the tightness in his chest pass, the ache of missing Silco sharp and brittle. He wanders over to the doorway, peers around to check that Felicia's handling everything, and then leans against the wall and keeps reading.)

I hope you found my notes and followed them. I would remind you that the Tensheer (Damacian wine) and Dauntless (sugar, flour, salt) are arriving next week, but I doubt this letter will get to you before they do. You will either manage without me or you won't, and there is nothing I can do from this cell to influence that.

I have started rationing how often I write to you. A paragraph a day seems miserly but it gives me something to think about as I wait for time to pass. Hour after hour, and there is nothing to be done. If I did not share this cell I would pace back and forth like a caged animal – but surviving such close quarters is only possible when we all avoid annoying each other.

I hope Connol has managed to divert the water to the Lanes by now. I hope he managed to finish the boiler design. By all accounts it should be fairly simple to run pipes to each house once there's water flowing to the Lanes. My dearest wish is that by the time I return, there will be the possibility of washing with warm water in our own home.

I do think of that bar as home. As ours. It's not the first place we built together and it's still not finished, but I find myself thinking of it. Thinking of our bed. Thinking of you. Of us still there, years from now. With power and water. Perhaps with big glass windows and daylight. It sounds foolish – and I have no idea how we'd ever manage it – but I have nothing else to do here but daydream.

I suppose it's too much to hope that you've finally put the sign up for the bar. It needs a name, Vander. Just because everyone thinks of it as 'the bar' doesn't mean it should be left half-finished and unnamed.

Success! It rained today! So I am now wet and cold and half-dressed, but I was able to rinse my clothes out and wash the dirt off my face. I have hooked my clothes from my bunk and am waiting for them to dry, wrapped in a sheet like it's the highest of topsider fashions.

I've worked out how I'll get this message to you. All I need is someone about to be released who will go close enough to riverside or the mine to take this to you. The difficulty with that is that most of the miners and fishermen in here are like me: arrested with no set sentence and no way to know when we'll be released. The topsiders know their dates but the chances that any of them would go to the Lanes for a few bronze… Still, now that I know how to do it, I simply need to wait for the right opportunity.

I find myself wishing that there was hard labour to be done here. At least the hours would pass faster. Even in the foundling home, we had chores and study to complete. I have grown to hate sitting on my bunk and staring at the slats above my head. I feel that Benzo and Felicia would laugh at me, at the poetic justice of being forced to do nothing when they both claim I do nothing but work. If I ever get this letter to you, you should tell them. Let them laugh at my expense.

I dream of you. More often than my pride wants to admit. I miss you. I miss you snoring beside me. I miss your hands on my skin. I miss how you always pour me a glass of the best whiskey we have, even though it should be kept for paying customers. I miss your smile and your laugh. I miss the way you curse when you burn your finger and the tunes you hum when you're cleaning up the bar and the ridiculous faces you pull at Violet to make her giggle. I miss you like I lost a leg or a hand, survivable but a constant loss I can't ignore.

I miss you and the worst part of it is that I'm sure you miss me too. There was a time, when we first shared a bed, when I was sure this would end in heartbreak, that you would lose interest and find someone easier to be with. Someone new and fun, less angry at everything. But I know that won't happen now. You don't want someone simple and light-hearted. You're as angry as I am, as dedicated and willing to work for what we deserve. You're mine as much as I'm yours, and being apart doesn't change that. I'm sorry, Vander. I'm sure it would be easier for you if it did.

There's a sailor getting out of here next week, traveling back to Bilgewater. With a little luck this letter will be in your hands by the end of the month.

No one from the undercity receives visitors but occasionally care packages get through. Talk to Babette, ask one of her customers to send it from Piltover. The package will be checked by the guards and anything valuable will be taken before it gets to me, so don't send currency or alcohol. The food here is passable but jerky and ship's biscuits might be good to trade. Matches and candles. Dice. Cards.

Any messages are bound to be intercepted so don't bother writing a reply.

Silco

***

[marlinspirkhall]

The Un-Maker

To the uninformed, you are nothing more than a necromancer. You wear their sigil on your chest; the chief mage insists on it- after all, he can read magik better than most. He is the first to discern the true meaning of your gift, years before even you do.

His own magik is significantly strong- though, like him, it has withered with time. By and large, the other mages ignore you. After all, you are only a svvein.

The first time you leave the magery, he gives you a cloak. It's dark purple- the robe of a novice- which is a generous assessment at best. You can barely resurrect a magefly.

His eyes sparkle, then grow serious. “Take it,” he insists. “It will help you blend in.” Of course, you take it only to humor him- blending in comes naturally to you. It might be your only skill.

You perform small tasks in the village, basic magecraft which is little more than a conjurer's trick. You un-break a wheel. You un-graze a knee. When you pass, the best blacksmith in the village watches with baited breath.

You un-forge his sword.

•

While hiding from the smith, you crouch behind the stables. You won’t realise for many years, but the gate you closed on the way in prevented the escape of a horse. The horse- who dreams of the apples in the nearby grove- snickers sadly to herself.

There is a boy at the magery who wears red. Red, the robes of a master. He holds himself with the confidence of someone older, but both of you are five-and-ten.

One night, he lifts a heavy staff above his head, and performs a summoning spell: the most powerful of all magecraft. In an instant, the sky trembles, and rolls with dark clouds. The old masters rejoice, and sing his praises in the downpour, of a boy so powerful that even lightning obeys his command.

You shelter at the edge of the courtyard, and watch without envy.

He's the first to leave, when the war comes.

•

In the coming weeks, you wander the village. You are the only teenager left now that the others have gone, but there are still children to babysit. There are still bloody noses and scraped knees to un-attend to. By now, the villagers know your gift well- that strange, backwards magik you perform without intention. When your mere presence stops an axe falling on his head, even the blacksmith learns to forgive you.

But then, the war comes for the innocents, too.

Families flee Vale-Meg'ed with oxen, horse and handcart. The mages buy them time, and instruct you to leave with them.

“I want to help,” you say.

“Svvein-”

“Perhaps I can un-make the war!”

The chief mage smiles a grim smile. “It will not obey you.”

“But we haven't tried-”

“No.” He wheels on you, his eyes fury and fire. “Take this, and flee.”

It's his first-hewn staff: a spindly thing he carved as a mageling. It's little more than a bolt of wood, but you feel its weight when you touch it. Your hands tremble, and the old mage drives it into the ground afore you.

Sparks flicker.

“Go!”

When you stumble, the staff catches you.

You flee. You trip on your robes, drive the staff into the path, and watch dust fly where sparks ought to instead. You drive the staff down again and again, but it leaks no more magik.

In the distance, storms rage over Mages' Hill. Thunder crackles, and lightning flickers back and forth. Two dark clouds loom beside each other, fighting for dominance.

•

There's a body on the road out of Vale-Meg'ed.

You can't help but slow down. You've seen dead bodies before, of course– they used them for practice at the magery, even those that you couldn't resurrect– so you know what they look like.

For the first thirty seconds, this person is definitely deceased. Then, they gasp, and sit bolt upright.

You scream, and they do too.

Once the shock of not being dead has worn off, they cough soundly, and offer you a swig of water from their flask. Not knowing what killed them, you shake your head.

They down it, then cough some more. “Young svvein. You are but a novice?” They say, seeing your simple robes.

“I–” you say. “I didn’t–”

“Why, magikst most powerful!” They declare, as they check their wounds. “I thought I was going to lose my leg.”

You stare at them in silence as they reach for their purse. “Svvein, I know not why you've saved my life- and I have few coins to give- but accept my thanks.”

You take their silver, if only to preserve your cover, and help them to their feet. They accompany you to the end of the road, where the path splits. Then, they give thanks, and head towards Mages’ Hill.

It’s silent now, but the fires are still burning.

You turn away, and touch the embroidered sigil on your chest: the necromancer’s coil. You wonder if the chief mage knew more than he let on.

•

True necromancing is a complex task, often requiring a pack of mages. Death has compounding interest. The more injuries, the more mages are required. The longer dead, the longer the spell must prevail. Ordinarily, necromancers work long, arduous hours to resurrect a single person. Those who have an understanding of the mage’s art are shocked to see only one of you.

“Where are the others?” someone asks, as you pass them.

“They... Went to lunch,” you say.

“That's unheard of.” They stretch, and crack their back. “The first thing they do is always to collect payment.”

“This isn't your first time being resurrected, is it?” You realise, with a sinking feeling.

They grin toothily, and accept a discount, in exchange for not asking too many questions.

•

In the coming weeks, you un-kill many people along the battlefield. The bodies you pass wake up more often than not, always coughing and spluttering. That which once was jarring becomes routine. Some scream in fright, others clutch at long-healed wounds. Others jolt at the sight of a mage, and cower in your presence.

“Get away, get away!”

Beside them, a cracked mage-staff lies in the mud, snapped cleanly in two. You decide to forgo payment.

You make a living this way for a while, drifting from battle to battle like a vulture. It pays little- the soldiers that die are never the best-equipped, and you get there long after the looters do. Still, those who find themselves alive are invariably grateful to do so, and reward you as well as they can. It's enough to buy you board at the tavern most nights, if not a meal, too.

With time, the war moves on from the valley, though it rages in the distance. You are older now, broader of shoulders, and the First-Hewn staff is older, too. It grows brittle in your fingers.

Before long, it is broken.

You stare at it for a long while, for you are not in the business of breaking things. Still, breaking is a kind of un-making, you suppose. It falls to pieces with nothing more than a whisper, and you mourn it: the First-Hewn staff of an elder holds great power. That it is freed from your possession is a bittersweet relief.

For the first time since the war came, you think of the man who forged it. They say in the early days of war, Mages' Hill was razed to the ground. You haven’t returned to Vale-Meg’ed since.

That night, you rent a room at the tavern, and weep.

•

It's impossible to blend in without your staff, so you attempt to carve your own. For seven suns and seven moons, sparks fly, and lightning pummels the forest. You abandon the task.

The trees are scarred and pockmarked, and the ground will never be the same, yet not a single beam struck you.

For a week, you remain in the valley, but your purse-strings are tight, and the taverns are fit to burst. With little choice, you venture out into the marshland. You out-grew the purple robes years ago, and you’re dressed simply: in a linen shirt and trousers. For now, you are simply a traveller, and you don't intend to continue your grift. Without a staff to speak of, you hardly look the part of a necromancer anymore.

•

Battle does not suit the marshland. It makes the swamp reek worse than usual, and the reeds are soaked with blood. When you trawl for treasure, you find bodies instead.

Bodies who wake up confused, and ask you what's going on.

You sigh, and help them out of the mud.

You wade through the bog for a while, stepping on stones where you can. There's a strange smell in the air; acrid, like burning. The tips of the reeds are signed.

A soldier lies in the dirt, facedown. You roll her over so she doesn’t choke when she wakes, and begin to move on your way.

Her dark eyes open, looking up at the sky. She coughs, and you offer her your water-skin.

She refuses to take it. “I have nothing with which to pay you.”

“The water is a courtesy.”

“And the undying?”

You shift your feet. “That wasn't me.”

She leans back on her arms, and peers up at you sluggishly. “You have no staff.”

“Well-noticed.” You offer a hand.

She doesn’t take it. “There is one other mage who summons without a staff. This war is his design.”

“I am no summoner.”

“Yet you summon the dead.”

You watch her mutely.

“Have I revived you before?” You say at last.

“No, but I've heard of you. You travel alone, and revive villeins when others raise kings.”

You bristle, and take a step backwards. “Your payment is commuted,” you say, and retreat as fast as the mud will allow.

It is not fast at all.

“Wait!” She curses, and coughs furiously. There's a rending, and the slap of footsteps.

You turn. This time, when you offer herr water, she drinks.

“I'm Merra.” She hands the skin back, and wipes her mouth.

“I'm no-one,” you say, which is true enough. You fasten the skin to your belt, and, again, walk away.

Merra keeps pace with you. “I heard you were once a Svvein.”

You remain silent, heading back across the marshland to see how far she will follow. This is the path you cleared earlier– free of bodies– and you retrace your steps where you can. Merra follows all the while, and her sword creaks at her belt.

“Have you no business to attend to?” You say, at last.

“No more than you,” she says, with a smile in her voice.

“I have my living.”

“Then attend to it,” she says. “You think I haven't noticed you're avoiding the dead?”

“Necromancing is a hallowed ritual,” you say.

She scoffs. “Which is why you perform it in galoshes.”

You look down. “There's nothing wrong with my galoshes.”

“Most mage-shoes are hidden by their robes,” she muses. “But I'd imagine mage-shoes are made waterproof by enchantment.”

“That would be a waste of enchantment.”

“And what of your robes, or lack thereof?”

You grunt. “The war destroyed Mages' Hill.”

“Yes, many years ago. But I have seen robes since, and mages too.”

“And what of their magikal shoes?” You ask.

She purses her lips, and surveys the landscape. “There were bodies here, Necromancer. Did you resurrect them all?”

You say nothing.

“It's just past noon,” she reasons. “And this swamp was full of the fallen. How did you recall them all in one morning?”

You glance at her. “How can you be sure I revived you on the same day you fell?”

“As surely as I know there are no maggots in my mouth and nose.”

“Perhaps you have them on the brain.”

You spy the valley up ahead, and slow your pace. You're not eager to return to the villages, with their heroes and veterans and small opportunities; but you can't cross the marshland with Merra- there are too many bodies. Tentatively, you turn onto the village path.

“What killed you?” You enquire, as you walk along.

Merra gives you a look.

“It must have been significant,” you say. “For not all undying know they are so.”

She falls silent, and so do you.

•

You encounter a body on the way into Vale-Egar.

It's a maimed thing, old, bloated, and past its prime. Ordinarily, you wouldn't worry about it- you never seem to wake those who are too far gone- but, today, you pass it with a kind of trepidation. When nothing happens, you let out a breath.

“He looked like a noble,” Merra says, as you hurry past.

“Nothing noble is found in Vale-Egar, especially not by the side of the road.”

“Is that why you won't resurrect him?”

“No,” you say. “It's because he won't come back.”

•

The next body you stumble upon is more intact: a young man with a gaunt face who might as well be sleeping. He's hunched over and leaning against the wall, a tin clutched in his frozen hand. You don't wonder how it stays there- you know better than anyone that rigour mortis begins in the fingers.

As you pass, some colour returns to his face. You hurry Merra along.

The next person you pass is alive, and welcomes you to the village with a smile.

You have no coin with which to pay, but it's no matter. The presence of Merra's sword is payment enough, for there is a bed for all warriors in Vale-Egar.

“That explains why it's so crowded,” you say, as you untie your shoes and leave them at the foot of the bed. You offer to sleep on the floor, but Merra won't hear of it. Apparently, she's got it into her head that she owes you a life-debt. Tonight, you are too tired to argue, so you lay down beside her.

For a long while, she watches you.

The room in this upstairs tavern contains five beds, all of which are crammed with people. You lie on your back and listen to their breathing. This is the closest you've been to the living in a while, and so many, at that. You recall the last time you were around people, of the dormitories on Mages' Hill.

You can feel Merra's breath on your cheek.

“You said not all undead know they are so,” she says.

“Yes,” you murmur.

“So, that beggar outside-?”

“He was merely sleeping.” You move to roll over, but she catches you by the shoulder.

“Credit me some intellect.” She peers down at you. “It was fast; faster than any magecraft I've seen. How did you do it?”

The others in the room are all sleeping soundly.

“I know not how,” you say, in a single breath.

•

In the morning, you leave the village.

“You have no staff,” Merra says, again.

You watch her for a moment. All these years, the staff was your only companion, and now, you have another.

“I haven't the skill to make one,” you admit.

“So, you are no mage.”

“No.”

“And yet you raise the dead.”

•

Over the coming days, Merra accompanies you across the marshland, and the dead spring up in your wake. There's no coin to speak of, but the soldiers pledge fealty to you. You tell them you already have a knight, and a fine one, at that. Merra smiles, as a knight clad in well-made plate armor shakes his head and walks away.

“Have you seen her fight?” Asks another, dressed in mail.

You bristle. “No, but neither, sir, have you.”

He offers her his armor, but she won't take it.

“I travel light.”

•

As you traverse the valley, the marshland turns to grass. You encounter fewer bodies, and those you find are too degraded to wake.

The horizon alights with a flash, and Merra freezes. Thunder roils over the hills.

“You never did tell me what moved you to fight,” you say, quietly.

“I had a quest,” she says, simply. Her hair whispers in the wind, and you nod.

“Then you are bound to it.”

She looks at you with pleading eyes. “But I was dead.”

You shake your head. “It doesn't work like that.”

Thunder resounds.

After a day's travel, the once-lush grass turns to scorched earth underfoot. You stop in your tracks.

“This is Vale-Meg'ed.”

•

Amongst the rubble, there is but one field undisturbed by ash. It's the stable where you hid from the blacksmith all those years ago. Most unusually of all, the gate which you closed has since remained intact.

The horse stands alone in the field, her tail flicking back and forth. She's much older now, and has a grey streak on her nose, but you'd know her anywhere.

“You survived the war,” you comment, as you reach for her mane. She huffs, and hoofs at the dirt. You raise an eyebrow, and turn to Merra. “Could you open the gate?”

She opens it, and the horse races through the ruined grove. You follow behind.

Merra gasps. Right before your eyes, the charred treetops flourish and bear fruit. The horse gallops towards them, and you sprint to catch up.

You chuckle, softly. “Do you forgive me now, mare?”

The horse scarfs down her apples, and allows you to pet her mane.

•

You sleep in the rubble of the magery, and Merra takes first watch. The next morning, you are woken by the sun.

“You didn’t wake me,” you say.

“No,” she says, as she watches the sunrise.

You fall silent. This is her quest, not yours.

•

You spend the day on Mage’s Hill. Merra prepares barricades, and whets her blade. Somehow, you feel as if you've known her a lifetime.

You search the ruins one last time, and are not surprised when you find it, in the remains of the novice quarters.

It is a first-hewn staff. The wood crackles beneath your fingertips.

The ruins are painted orange by sunset.

•

Past nightfall, you remain alert. You sit a few paces from Merra, twisting the staff in your hands. There's a familiarity about it you cannot place, a raw power which stings you if you hold it tight.

The wind picks up suddenly. Too suddenly.

“This is magewind!” She yells.

You jump to attention. It's been many years since you've felt anything like it, but it chills you to the bone. All you can picture is that night on Mages' Hill, on the eve of war: a staff, held aloft as red robes billowed in the breeze.

Tonight, a mass moves upon you: denser than storm itself.

“Merra!” You cry, as the gale sweeps her aside. She catches hold of one of the barricades; hefty chunks of stone which buckle under the pressure.

You run for her, but the wind picks you up like a ragdoll. You fall, and scrape upon every rock as you’re dragged dowhill. You are drowning in wind itself, the breath rivened from you faster than you can draw it. Your clothes tear, then your flesh. You thrust the staff forwards, blindly, and puncture an air pocket. You push down, and pressure slaps you back. You tumble again and again, until at last you make contact with the ground.

You lie, spread-eagled on the floor.

A numbness overtakes you. You grip the staff so tight that it flares with energy.

The sky above you dances. Merra lunges at clouds, and purple lightning arcs around her. A shadow flits through the smog, impossibly light and fast.

The shape moves upon you: dark, tattered robes, deeper than blood, deeper than red, but unmistakably the same robes from all those years ago, held together by magiks. His boots- made of a fine, red leather, have similar weatherproofing, and your eyes dart to Merra.

“Face me,” says the storm.

Your head tilts back to observe him. It hurts to watch, this splicing-together of mage and fury. You try to turn away, but the wind holds you fast. You see Merra from the corner of your eye, silhouetted against the storm.

The Summoner moves upon you slowly, as if he isn't used to walking. “You’re no mage,” he says, at last.

On the hill, Merra drives her sword into the clouds, but The Summoner ignores her. He circles around you. Far too slowly, the feeling returns to your legs.

“Years ago, when the battle was won and there were less bodies on the battlefield than there should be; I heard the strangest whispers from the valley.” He speaks in a low voice, barely above a whisper, but the breeze carries every word. “They spoke of a novice, who summoned the dead.” He turns his attention back to the top of the hill, where Merra is fighting shadows. “You have resurrected one of mine.” He raises a hand. “It’s time to correct that mistake.”

Lightning connects with the tip of Merra’s sword, and the flash lights up the mountainside.

“Mer…” you twitch.

Soil cascades from the heavens, and you hold the staff aloft. “Heed me,” you say. “Heed me!”

It might as well be a twig.

The Summoner laughs. “You cannot resurrect ash.”

You roll onto your front, too weak to stand. For the first time in your life, you attempt to use your powers with intention. You draw runes in the dirt and chant long-forgotten spells, as The Summoner watches with cold amusement.

“You don't know our craft. The magik you do have is little more than a parlour trick.”

“I knew enough to thwart you,” you wheeze.

“Can you undo this, Pretender?”

He unfurls his palm, and the storm rages louder than before. It howls and howls, and lightning blasts the ground until Mage’s Hill is cratered.

Earth is loosened. Stones and rocks turn to vapor, and become part of the storm.

You crawl towards the place where Merra was standing, though you know it is useless. You might as well be crawling through mud in the swamp where you found her. There's an uphill climb past jagged rocks, and another fall would kill you. You have never had to un-make your own death. You wait, as the land continues to slide.

The hill remains un-mended. This cannot be undone– but you can still fight.

“This staff was yours,” you whisper. You haven't seen it since you were three-and-ten, but you recognise it's power.

“Yes.” He holds out a hand, and it flies to him. The staff cracks with energy, and he weighs it in his palm. “I have surpassed the need to bind my magik to the physical realm. But you… You cannot even cast an illusion.” He tosses the staff back to you, and it lands in the dirt.

You make no attempt to pick it up.

“You saw that first summoning spell on Mages' Hill, and were powerless to stop me then. What makes you think you can stand against me now?” His hand forms a fist.

For the first time in your life, lightning makes no effort to avoid you. It arches out of the sky, and bears down on you again and again. You lie in the dirt. You know there is no escape, for this is the mage who commands the four winds as he pleases.

You should be dead, like Merra.

The Summoner’s voice booms, magnified tenfold by the storm. “All that I call for comes to me but The Dead. You have hidden that power from me for too long!”

You open your eyes. A flash of silver runs down the hillside, too small to be lightning. You steady your breathing, and fix your gaze on The Summoner.

“You are no chosen one,” he bellows, as the light flashes again.

“No,” you gasp. “But she is.”

He turns, as Merra strikes true. It's a killing blow, perfectly aimed for the heart, but the storm coalesces around him, and the sword is ejected from his chest. Red blood whips around him, the same colour as his robes, as the heavens bend towards Merra. With a yell, she drives her sword into the ground, and the sky detonates. The energy flows through it once more, illuminating her skeleton, but she stands strong.

She grabs The Summoner with both hands, tearing his robes. He holds out a hand for his magestaff, and you close your fingers around it. It drags you through the dirt until you fall beside him, and you grasp his foot.

You have never needed to fight before, and you're not suited for it. Your attempts to trip him are met with a single kick to the forearm, as the wind tears at you. The lightning which rains down upon you hits all three of you indiscriminately, but The Summoner only grows stronger from each strike. He holds his arms out, bathing in it, as Merra wrenches her sword free.

The blade swings in a wide arc. It hits him at the same moment the lightning does.

For a moment, they are bound together; Knight and Summoner both. They fall as one unit, and crumple to the ground.

Merra smoulders. You struggle towards her. Your back stings; patches exposed to the open air as rainwater falls into the cuts.

Though it feels like an age, you reach her. The Summoner lies mere inches away, motionless.

You place your hands on either side of Merra’s head, and call on a power you have no control over.

With surprising strength, her hands push yours away.

“You must leave this place,” she whispers. “Leave, or he'll never die.”

You grasp her hands with your own. “But you will live.”

Her laugh is a death rattle. “He has killed so many. What's one more?”

You shake your head, and force yourself upwards. Your arms tremble with effort; your legs won't respond.

The Summoner does not stir.

“Leave,” Merra utters.

You fall at her side. “I cannot.”

•

You're not sure for how long you lie there. It could be days, it could be mere hours.

The storm passes on, though the skies remain grey.

The horse trots towards you, and, at last, you find the strength to sit up.

“Merra,” you say.

She looks up.

The two of you struggle to stand, sliding in the mud as you do.

You stroke the mare. The grey streak has disappeared from her nose, and Merra notices it too. She scratches her ears, and you let out a breath.

“A fine steed,” you say, “For an immortal knight.”

She looks at you with wonder. Neither of you know if it is true.

No one has ever died in your attendance before, and you've yet to see if it's possible. As you leave the crater which was once Mages’ Hill, ash falls upon you, followed by light rain. Merra tenses, but says nothing as she climbs onto the horse. She helps you on, and the horse moves in a direction of her choosing.

Neither of you turn to see what becomes of The Summoner’s remains, but the rain doesn't follow you for long. There begins a light sunshine, and the horse gains to a canter, as Merra hugs her mane for balance, and you cling to Merra for yours. She laughs, and spurs the horse onwards with a shout.

The three of you ride towards Vale-Egar.

[siily-vinceeeee]

Okay but Jercy brings me so much joy and heres why.

First of all, they are such a power couple. Like think about it. Percy could literally suck all the water out of you, can blood bend, all that cool stuff. Since we already know that Percy is insanely overpowered lets talk about Jason because he has so much potential. Most decisions, most thoughts, most movements and most pains are caused by electrical currents going through our nerves. Jason can manipulate that. Jason can basically control minds. He could manipulate your every thought, every decision, every function, and you might not even know. He could cause you an excruciating amount of pain within seconds and you would be powerless to stop him. He can also control the wind/air, which is a lot more powerful than people think. He could suck all the air out of your lungs, out of your bloodstream, he could even trap the air in your lungs and choke you with it. Also think about air pressure. Maybe I'm pushing it, but with the way he saved Piper in Tlh makes it seem likely that he could control air pressure pretty well. So imagine how much potential Percy and Jason have together. Not only that, but they're both well trained and know how to use their powers, they just don't know the full scope of their abilities. Percy spent five years sword training and going on dangerous quests and is the best swordsman there is and one of the most powerful demigods from the last century, and Jason spent his entire life at a military camp where he was trained to kill things with no mercy, no remorse, and is also one of the most powerful demigods in the last century.

Second of all, the chemistry and dynamic is just perfect.

These are the kinds of words Jason uses when protecting/defending Percy. They mean so much to each other it's almost unbearable. While I will always stand by the fact that Grover is Percy's best friend and always will be, these two bonded insanely fast and it's clear they have a very deep connection. It was rocky at first, but I think it was more out of jealousy then a genuine disliking for each other. Percy spent all his life trying to be a "good kid" just to get swapped places with someone everyone finds important and that everyone looks up to. Jason has trained non-stop to become the best he can, just to get swapped with a guy who was deemed extremely powerful his first week into being discovered as a demigod. So then when they met, they clashed a lot, but then realized they were less jealous and more a little bit in love. They quickly became really close and cared a lot about each other, had spend a lot of time together, and had bonded a lot. And then the quest was over. They had defeated Gaea. It was over. But then Percy and Jason didn't get to see each other a lot, and instead of growing apart, missed each other. Percy was busy with school, Jason was busy worrying about Leo and school, everything was a mess. And then Jason died. Percy still can't talk about it without crying. When he found out that Jason died over the phone with Annabeth (in the end of MCGA), he cried. That was the only time he had ever cried in the entire series. He didn't even cry when his own mom died in front of him. He was sad about it for half a chapter and then moved on without mentioning it ever again. But with Jason, it affected him greatly. He didn't even get to say goodbye. He didn't even get to attend the funeral.

And that, my friends, is why I ship Jercy.

I could sit and talk about these two for hours and hours but I don't really feel like it. So. Bye.

[maraudereestauderelb]

What are the Chances I (Troy Otto)

Some more writing I found somewhere in the depths of my drafts and figured, I might as well put it out there...

Let me know if you like it and if you want to be tagged in future parts!

Masterlist

"I'm so hungry, Y/N!", Leona whined on the passenger seat and added: "And thristy! What did you say? How many days can a human live without water?" 

They had run out of water supplies the day before and currently they were running very low on gas as well. "You still got enough power to complain so you're good." 

They had only started their drive towards the Mexican border four days ago. It had been a week since society had collapsed completely. Back in the area close to Los Angeles they had tried to collect as many supplies as they could and had stuffed all of them into Leona's old Jeep. Besides supplies they had been on the hunt for weapons. Neither of them had any experience with them but so far, they had somehow managed to protect themselves against the undead.  

They were careful. Very careful. The living being more of a potential threat than the dead.  

"Maybe you can check the map again? I think we should be close", Y/N asked her friend and pointed at the glovebox. Back at an abandoned rest stop they had found a map of the area they were heading for. 

When things had turned bad in Los Angeles they quickly had decided that trying to get back to their hometowns across the US was a stupid idea. They had no idea how things were over there, neither did they believe they'd get this far on their own. They actually were quite surprised they had gotten this far in the first place.  

Luckily the younger one of them had a thing for crazy conspiracy theories and just happened to stumble across a commercial of an elderly man advertising some sort of survival buckets and his ranch where they were preparing for the fall of society, when she had been watching one of these rather questionable tv channels in the middle of the night. And also, she was lucky enough to remember at least vaguely remember where said ranch was. And that was exactly where they were heading. 

When Leona was trying to locate them on their map Y/N suddenly saw a truck standing on the side of the street they were driving on. Really, she didn't want to stop right here in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in New Mexico, but a gaze at the fuel gage told her she had to at least try and find out if the Militia truck had some gas left, they could use for themselves.  

"What are you doing?", Leona asked surprised when her friend slowed the car down. "Might get us some gas", she answered.  

"You think this is a good idea? I don't think this truck's going to help you? Either someone left it here because it ran out of gas or I bet the person who drove it is still close." "I know", she sighed: "But I think we'll have to risk it or we'll soon have to walk." 

Y/N slowed down the Jeep and checked if anyone was sitting in the Truck before she got out of the car, carrying a hose and a small revolver, which she stuffed in her back pocket. 

It was silent and nobody seemed to be close. Neither living nor dead. Now all there was left to hope for was that the Truck had some gas.  

She had just inserted the hose all the way in the Truck when she suddenly heard steps behind her on the dry ground and Leona's high-pitched voice from the Jeep by her side: "Watch out!" 

With her heartbeat immediately pumping fast she turned around and pulled out the revolver. The young woman pointed her gun right at the two men, who were both wearing military uniforms. Her hands were shaking. 

"One step closer and I'll shoot!" 

They definitely were armed but instead of raising their rifles at her or trying to subdue her, they both raised their hands. 

"We're not doing anything, okay? Just put that gun down."  

But instead of that Leona now slipped out of the car, carrying a gun as well.  

"What do you want?", Y/N asked and tried her best not to shit her pants. 

"I'm Troy and this is Mike and we simply don't want you to steal all of our gas." 

"Well, but we'll take it anyway." "No, you won't", Troy said again seriously. "And how are you going to prevent that?", Y/N wanted to know and pointed her gun straight at him.  

"You've never used one of these things have you?", Troy laughed amused but although the two girls must have seemed like they had no clue what they were doing, Mike obviously wasn't as relaxed as his friend. "Man, I think we shouldn't test them." 

"We'll...uh we won't take all of it. So you can still get away from here", Leona offered stuttering. 

"I have a better idea", Mike said calmly: "You two take these things down and we'll take you with us." "With you?! Hell no!", Y/N took a step forward which didn't seem to scare Troy at all.  

"Nonono!", Mike said quickly: "Not what you think! I promise! We're living on a ranch. We're building something there. You'd be save. Let us help you." 

It wasn't hard to see that Troy wasn't too keen on that but really caught Y/N's attention. 

"Broke Jaw Ranch?", Leona asked with big eyes and hope in her voice and lowered her gun. "Why are you asking", Troy wanted to know curiously so Y/N answered lowering her gun as well: "Because that's exactly where we're heading." 

Part II

[junkiefox]

Teen Wolf "Green Creek au"

Part 2 | Part 1

It was a strange thing to think about Theo Raeken as an omega. Okay. It was expected, Theo was a loner. The one of a kind. The first Chimera. He was selfish, bitter, didn't care for anyone. But Liam was stroked by a feeling of wrongness when he saw Theo's eyes. Purple, so, so purple.

Because Theo was selfish, and bitter, and didn't care for anyone, but Liam didn't believe that they were all true. He was all those things, but he was also the boy who fought with him. Who decided Liam was enough saving or didn't see enough on himself to save. He was the boy who didn't know how to take someone's pain away because no one had taught him. The kid who was manipulated into thinking that to be powerful, he couldn't trust anyone.

"His leg is going to be okay," Deaton said. "It's going to take longer to heal, at least longer than it should for your kind."

Liam was stroking Theo's head, his fingers moving as if it was an instinct. He wasn't awake, Deaton had given him a sedative so he could close his wounds, and stop the unstoppable bleeding. "Why? Silver shouldn't work on him. I couldn't smell any poison. So, what-"

"He's an omega, Liam. Have been for a while. The Dread Doctors have created a perfect imitation of werewolves, even on this thing."

"He didn't have a pack before."

"Didn't he? They could be dysfunctional, and wronged, somehow, but they were all he had. A family born into that mess, or, at least, something he could rely on. He was with ten for what, ten years? They might not had the strongest bond, but they were all he had. And then, well, he had you to rely on, I suppose." Liam felt out of breath for a second, his hand stopping its movement before he relaxed, letting his hand rest on top of Theo's head. The thought was too close to saying Liam was Theo's anchor.

"How long?" was all he managed to say. "How long is going to take to heal?"

"It's not so easy to guess, but I'd say a week. He's not eating properly, nor drinking water, it's not only he being an omega that's doing this."

Liam worried his bottom lip, eyes focused on Theo's fur "I'm going to take care of this."

"Liam-"

"He can't go back to the woods. He's hurt, and he's going to be vulnerable. He can't go back. Theo is my responsibility, I'm taking care of him."

"I can't tell how long he has shifted, Liam. He- an omega can be dangerous, they can go feral. He's been missing for what, one to two months? He can be in his wolf form since then. This, combined with him being omega is dangerous. He's unpredictable. Theo might be too lost in his wolf. Besides, we don't know when he actually became an omega and how this works, since he is a Chimera."

"Exactly. We can't tell when he became an omega. Deaton, Theo was unpredictable before, and I chose to take him as my responsibility. I'm choosing again."

The vet sighed, shook his head, and pitched his nose before he looked at him again. "Call Scott. He'll want to know what his beta is doing, and why my clinic smells like Theo. Call him as soon you can."

"Yeah. I will." Liam hadn't thought about that.

Nor had he thought how he was going to hide a huge wolf in his room without his mother finding out.

He ended up sat in his bed looking at a still-asleep black wolf. His bedroom smelled like a hospital, a slight smell of blood. But it was combined with citrus and rain, caramel and lightnings. It made his stomach twist.

Theo was an omega, and I felt wrong. Because Theo deserved a pack, a second chance, and happiness. He was eighteen and was caught up in a mess when he was nine. They had promised him that he would be powerful, he wouldn't need to feel insecure or afraid, and what kid would deny that? Theo was a kid when they came, he had been manipulated and used and Liam felt nauseous.

And then, he was ignored by Liam's pack. They had been betrayed before, they had forgiven those. But they ignored Theo. He was left in the woods, they were happy that he was missing —even if Liam said it wasn't true, that he had to hold himself so he wouldn't go searching for him, he never did, so it didn't matter. They didn't care Theo was still a kid, a kid who was brought up in a broken place.

They had failed him. Liam had failed him. He was his responsibility, after all.

And Liam got it, okay? Theo had destroyed their trust, he almost destroyed them. But now, he was an omega, he had shifted into his wolf form because feelings were easier like that. And even then, he couldn't imagine how lonely Theo must have felt. Wolves weren't meant to be alone.

Liam felt sick.

He needed to call Scott, but he wanted to scream at him, even though it wasn't his fault. He never asked anything to them. However, Liam wanted someone to blame and the Dread Doctors were dead while Theo was still suffering.

He inhaled slowly. Citrus, rain, caramel and lightnings filling his lungs. His eyes were on Theo, his wolf form occupying half of his bedroom.

Liam was going to take care of him, at least until his leg healed. He wasn't going to let him alone, not again. Everything was going to be okay, somehow.

He needed to call Scott.

[half-of-a-gay]

Armor Between Us

Knight!Sevika x queen!reader

When political corruption, forbidden love, and an old enemy threaten the realm, Sevika must navigate her loyalties, her growing feelings for the princess, and the ghosts of her past to protect everything she holds dear.

(A/N: Hi guys! This is the last chapter of this story 😩. I'm planning (and hoping) to post an epilogue next week. I hope you liked it and I'm relly thankfull for all the love in the comments... Also I got another rugby Sev request so I'll get on than as soon as I can, fear not. I just really want to finish this story before starting anything new since we're so close. I also got an Ambessa request that I'll also do, so if you'we got any ideas for our favourite mucle mommies don't be shy, my asks are always open.)

Masterlist

Chapter 12

The Queen’s Will

In the aftermath of Edric’s death, the Queen acts swiftly - with calculated grief and political poise. In a court that once doubted her, she now stands alone. And none dare look away.

-----------

Sevika stared for one heartbeat more. Then she moved.

Without a word, she was at her side, reaching out with shaking hands. She tugged the robe closed around the queen’s trembling body, covering her with a gentleness that broke something inside her.

Fingers still slick with blood, Sevika smeared her own hands across the stained silk deliberately, pulling the crimson onto her skin, staining herself without hesitation.

“Sevika-” the queen rasped, voice frayed, finally coming back to herself.

“Hush.” Sevika’s voice was rough, low. She lifted the queen’s face by her chin, to meet her eyes briefly, searching her for wounds, for anything left broken. Finding none, she turned back to the body.

“You’ll say it was me,” Sevika said, already calculating. “I’ll take the blame. I’ll-”

“No,” the queen whispered fiercely, grabbing Sevika’s wrist, grounding her. “You won't.”

Their eyes locked - Sevika’s burning with reckless loyalty, the queen’s shining with something colder.

She had made her choice the moment the dagger slipped between her fingers and into Edric’s heart. There was no undoing it. No fleeing from it.

“This was mine to do,” she said, voice iron now. “And it will be mine to answer for.”

Sevika’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing more. She only stood closer - shielding her with her body, ready to take up arms the moment the world outside realized what had happened. Her hands still flexed uselessly at her sides. "Then what? What do we do?"

The Queen drew in a slow, steadying breath. It was time to finish what she had started.

"We’ll use the truth," she said. "We’ll twist it in our favour just enough to save us."

Sevika frowned, confused. The Queen moved past her to the corner of the chamber, where a pitcher of water sat untouched. She poured it into a basin, scrubbing her hands roughly, as if she could wash the night from her skin. After the water had turned murky with the blood she dipped a washcloth into clean water and wordlessly moved to Sevika. She took her bloodied hands in hers and tenderly cleaned the mess from her hands as well. Her voice stayed steady, quiet, her hands still softly griping Sevikas, as she spoke.

"Months ago, before the wedding, there was an attempt on my life. You remember."

Sevika's fists tightened. "I remember."

A ghost of a smile flickered across her face. While the event itself might have been bleak, what followed was remembered with fondness. That was the beginning of them.

"And now," she continued, "we tell them it was Edric. We tell them he tried again tonight. Drunk with ambition. Enraged at being denied. A wounded man, desperate to hold his power."

Sevika's mouth parted in stunned silence.

"It’s not a lie," the Queen said, voice low and cutting. "Not really. Only a slight… realignment of the story. The truth twisted in the way the court understands best: fear, scandal, outrage."

Sevika still hesitated, anger and fear flashing in her gray eyes. "And if they don't believe it?"

"They will," the Queen said, with the certainty of someone who had been raised in a viper’s nest.

"They need a villain more than they need the truth.

They need to feel safe. And a mad king, slain by a valiant Queen in self-defense, is a much more comfortable story than a sovereign murdered in his marriage bed."

After a beat she added “They have to,”. Her voice trailing off as if she was trying to convince herself, not only Sevika.

Sevika's throat worked around a hard swallow. "And me?"

"You," the Queen said, stepping closer, her fingers brushing Sevika’s cheek in a fleeting touch, "will say nothing unless spoken to. You will stand witness, nothing more."

Sevika caught her hand, pressed it to her own armor-clad chest. "I should protect you from this."

"You are protecting me," the Queen said, fierce now. "By surviving it with me."

A beat of silence stretched between them—heavy, aching, filled with all the things they couldn't say aloud.

Then the Queen straightened, her voice going cold and clear once more.

"Now," she said, releasing Sevika’s hand. "Fetch Sir Veyric. And two others you trust. Quietly.. No banners. No noise. They must find us like this."

Sevika nodded once - sharp and reluctant - and turned to go.

As the heavy door closed behind her, the Queen exhaled and wiped a smear of blood, that she had missed, from her mouth with the back of her hand.

Her legs trembled briefly beneath her, but she forced them to hold.

There would be time to fall apart later. Tonight, she was a Queen. And Queens survived.

—

Sevika moved through the palace like a shadow.

She returned within minutes, two trusted guards flanking her - Sir Veyric, gray at the temples but loyal beyond question, and young Ser Hale, too green to doubt the chain of command but steady enough to trust with his life. They hesitated outside the Queen's chambers only briefly, exchanging uncertain glances before Sevika opened the door for them.

The Queen was waiting.She sat at the edge of her blood-soaked bed, a study in devastation.

Her silk robe clung to her skin, heavy with drying blood. Her hair was disheveled, strands sticking to the sweat and gore along her neck and shoulders.

The dagger - still stained red - lay on the bed sheets where she had dropped it.

At the sound of the door creaking open, she lifted her head.

Tears streaked her cheeks. Fat, heavy, unashamed. They caught the light as they fell, glinting like broken glass.

"My lords," she said, voice raw and trembling. "He… he tried to kill me."

Sir Veyric took a step forward instinctively, hand on the hilt of his sword. Young Ser Hale blanched at the scene, his mouth opening and closing uselessly.

The Queen rose on shaky legs, swaying slightly for effect, one hand clutching at the blood-slick robe to cover herself. She stumbled forward, and Sevika was there immediately, steadying her.

"I tried to reason with him," the Queen choked out, her voice breaking. "But he - he was not the man we believed him to be."

Her knees buckled. Sevika caught her under the arm, lowering her gently back to sit on the edge of the bed, void of tenderness - careful not to draw suspicion to their touch.

Sir Veyric knelt before her without hesitation, bowing his grizzled head. "Your Majesty," he said gruffly, "tell us what you need."

More fresh tears welled in the Queen’s eyes. "My husband…" she whispered. "First my father… now this. I have no one left." She pressed a hand over her mouth, as if stifling a sob. Her shoulders shook. "He said I was an obstacle to his ambition. That I had to be… removed,”

She looked up at them then - eyes wide, shining, utterly broken. Her voice dropped theatrically for her next word, making sure they would not be missed.

“He said he will not fail at it again.”

"He tried to kill me," she repeated. "So I… I had no choice."

Sir Veyric glanced back at the blood-soaked bed, the sprawled body of the dead traitor king, the dagger glinting underfoot. He drew in a slow, grave breath.

"We will see to it, Your Majesty," he said, his voice like iron. "The court will know the truth."

The Queen allowed her lip to tremble just a little more. Allowed a fresh tear to track down her cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, my lords."

Sevika stood silently behind her, every line of her body tense and coiled, her jaw locked tight. But she kept her eyes down. Let the story take root.

It was done.

The Queen bowed her head as if in grief - but beneath the curtain of her bloodspattered hair, her face took on the barest expression of a relief. The kingdom would mourn its dead king. The court would rally around its wronged Queen. And the real war - the one for her freedom, her future, her love - was finally hers to win.

The Queen barely heard Sir Veyric’s firm orders as he motioned for the younger knight to fetch more witnesses, servants, and members of the clergy to tend to the grim business left behind.

Sevika helped her rise without a word. She barely met her eyes - knew she couldn’t. Not yet. Not with blood drying on her robe and a dead king cooling on her marriage bed. The Queen let herself saginto her knights' strong hands, just for a breath. But it could not last.

No longer than a heartbeat. A queen did not break when the world was watching.

Within minutes, her ladies-in-waiting rushed into the chamber, pale and trembling. They swept her up in a flurry of low gasps and murmured reassurances, bustling her away before she could even steal one final look at Sevika.

The door closed behind her.

Behind it, the knights remained, overseeing the grim task of dealing with the body of their once-king. Sevika among them - silent and unmovable.

The Queen was hurried down the back corridors, wrapped in a heavy cloak to hide the blood, to the smaller, private bathing chambers reserved for the royal family. There, steaming water was drawn, fragrant oils poured into the basin, and the Queen let her handmaidens undress her with gentle, reverent fingers.

They said nothing of the blood. They only scrubbed it from her skin with soft cloths and murmured prayers for strength and forgiveness.

The Queen stared ahead, unmoving, as her body was washed clean.

She had made her choice. Now, she would see it through.

--

At dawn, the bells tolled again - not yet for death, but for summons.

The council convened with grim faces and heavier hearts. Whispers filled the halls as news spread: the young king was dead. The Queen, widowed and wounded, had survived by the gods' mercy.

Some among them still wore mourning black for the old king. Others, the ones Edric had raised to power, wore only suspicion.

The Queen entered the council hall draped in black, head bowed.

Only when she reached the carved seat of power, at the head of the long table did she lift her chin - and the full force of her gaze hit the gathered men and women like a blade drawn in daylight. A veil shaded her features, but even so, they could see the redness around her eyes, the hollow exhaustion painted on her face. It was a performance she’d mastered by now, but none were as important as this one. She must make them see a mourning widow. A wronged woman. A queen surviving betrayal. If not she might have doomed herself and the woman she loved most.

Sevika stood just inside the great chamber door, polished armor, helmet hiding her expression4, sword gleaming at her side. Silent. Watching. Waiting.

“My lords,” the queen said, her voice rough from disuse and grief, but clear enough to carry. “You know by now the tragedy that has struck our court.”

She let the silence stretch, heavy and funereal.

“I stand before you not only as your queen - but as a woman who has survived betrayal most foul.” Her hands clenched at her sides. “My husband - your king - sought to end my life.”

A gasp rippled through the chamber. One of the elder councilmen - an old ally of Edric’s - frowned deeply but said nothing.

The Queen pressed on, weaving her sorrow into strength. “I have come to learn that this was not his first attempt,” she said, voice tightening. “The assassin who sought my life many moons ago-” she paused, letting the memory stir among them “-was sent by Edric. I only learned the truth on the night of his death. He confessed, proud of his cruelty. He told me it was necessary - to clear his path to an uncontested throne.”

Murmurs now. Disbelief. Fear. Calculation. “He admitted more,” she said, her voice lowering to a dagger's edge. “He claimed to have hastened my father’s death as well. Poison, he said, masked as illness. My father, who fought death with iron and fire for decades, felled by betrayal within his own bloodline.”

She let her hands tremble slightly. Let them see the fury and heartbreak battling beneath her composure. “I did not wish to raise my hand against him,” she said. “I loved him. I would have forgiven much. But when he sought to take my life that night - to erase me as he had erased my father - I defended myself.”

Her voice broke perfectly, naturally. Tears slid down her cheeks. The chamber was dead silent.

One of the Edrics old allies shifted uncomfortably. Another leaned forward, calculating, already turning the tides in his mind.

The Queen bowed her head, her voice barely a whisper now: “I only wish… it had not come to this.”

When she lifted her eyes again, they gleamed with grief and steel. She pointed her gaze at every person filling the chairs around the table. Advisors, generals, magistrates - old and new.

Around her, the chamber buzzed with tension. It was a Lady who had been brought in by Edric who spoke first. Lady Meris.

“Your Majesty,” she said, her voice cool, measured, “we grieve with you. Truly. But what you are suggesting is…” She paused, as if searching for a gentler word, then chose not to. “It is treasonous. To accuse the king of attempted regicide. Twice.”

The Queen’s eyes didn’t flicker. “I accuse him of nothing that he didn’t confess with his dying breath.”

Another one of her late husbands allies gave a humorless chuckle. “How convenient, that the only man who could confirm or deny such a claim lies dead by your hand.”

There was a murmur through the room.

The Queen lifted her chin. “Need I remind you it was his hand that reached for the blade.”

“And yet you survived,” the Lord countered. “With no wounds. No struggle. Just a dead king and a dagger left behind in a pool of blood.”

At that, Sir Veyric, a knight loyal to the Queen’s father, stepped forward. “She was not alone in the aftermath. I saw the scene with my own eyes. The queen was in shock. The king’s blade lay drawn at her feet.”

The Lady who spoke first didn’t flinch. “And we’re to believe the man who once served the tyrant king has no personal interest in this outcome?”

The Queen cut through the noise. “You think I wanted this?” Her voice rang sharp now - not trembling, but hard, controlled. “You think I wanted to murder my husband in my bedchamber, to soak my wedding sheets in blood? I would’ve given anything for peace. I would’ve done anything to rule beside him… But he made that impossible.”

She rose slowly from her seat, letting the weight of her grief and fury ripple through the room.

“Edric was not the man we believed him to be. He played his part well, yes - all the way to the end. I have nothing to gain from spinning fictions,”

A pause.

“Unless, of course,” she added softly, “you would prefer I hadn’t fought back. That I had let the knife take me, as he intended.”

A longer silence now. Several councilors shifted uncomfortably.

The Queen’s eyes swept the room. “The man who murdered my father. The man who tried to silence the only rightful heir left in this line. That is the man you chose to back. And now he is dead.”

She let the silence stretch.“You may grieve for him,” she said. “But I will not die for your loyalty to a mask.” Then she sat again. The silence that followed her words was thick as smoke. No one dared to meet the Queen’s eyes. She remained seated now, spine straight, hands folded calmly before her — but her voice, when it came, was fire.

“I see the hesitation in your faces. I see your doubt. But make no mistake—this council was not convened to debate my word. This is not a trial. The traitor is already dead.”

Lady Meris narrowed her eyes. “With respect, Your Majesty, if we are not here to weigh truth, then why summon the full council?”

The Queen’s gaze locked onto hers. Cold. Regal. Final. “To see who still dares to question their Queen… You stood by Edric as he sowed fear in my father’s court. You whispered your loyalty into his ears while he slipped poison into the veins of the king who built this realm with blood and iron. And now, after all that, you sit here and accuse me of dishonor?”

The Queen looked to her captain of the guard, stationed silently near the chamber doors.

“Remove them,” she said, voice sharp as steel. “Lady Meris. And any other heart that still bleeds for a dead usurper.”

There was a sudden movement - a rustle of armor - as loyal guards stepped forward. The Lady Meris rose in protest, but it was too late.

“You cannot-!” she began.

“I can,” the Queen said. “And I have.”

Guards seized the armrests of her chair, guiding her back from the table as other Lords shouted over them.

“This is madness! You need a council to rule! You can’t cast out half the crown’s advisors and expect the realm to stand behind you!”

“I don’t need advisors who betrayed my house,” the Queen said calmly. “And the realm has always stood behind me. Not because I asked for it. Because I was born to it.” Her eyes never left them as they were dragged out.

The chamber door slammed shut behind them. Then the Queen faced the others - what remained of her council. Many sat stunned. Silent. Others already began to straighten, recalibrate, align themselves anew.

“Let us not pretend Edric’s reign was legitimate,” she said, tone cool again. “We allowed his crown out of mercy, not law. And that mercy expired the night he tried to take what was not his.”

She stood by the head of the table again. “I will give this council one chance to swear its loyalty - not to a husband, not to a dynasty stitched by marriage - but to your Queen. The last of her line. Daughter of the king you swore oaths to.”

She let her voice drop low. “Swear now, or walk out with the traitors.”

A long silence. Then Sir Veyric moved first. He stepped forward, sank to one knee, and bowed his head. “To the Queen.”

One by one, the others followed. When the last voice had echoed through the hall, the Queen simply nodded. She did not thank them. She had nothing to prove to men who had just remembered where their loyalty should have been all along.

Only after the room quieted did she glance toward the chamber doors - and for a brief, private moment - wished she could run to Sevika. But first, she had a crown to secure for both of their safety.

The chamber was still. The Queen’s decree had fallen like a blade across the room - Edric’s supporters cast out, their titles and fates now her playthings. Then, from the far side of the table, one of the older lords - Lord Tharyn, fat with faded legacy and too many opinions - cleared his throat.

“If it pleases Your Majesty,” he began carefully, “it is… unusual, for one to rule alone. Without a husband, or an heir. Without… guidance. A ruler’s burden is heavy to bear alone.”

A pause. Eyes flicked toward her, full of veiled hope. The dogs, she thought. All wagging their tails. She tilted her head, lips parting slowly, thoughtfully.

“You’re right,” she said at last, voice smooth with syruped venom. “I am without a husband. And I am alone.”

She let the silence bloom again - just long enough. “I should have a Hand.”

They straightened. A ripple of anticipation ran down the table like the quiver of a net just before it’s pulled.

“To advise me. To stand at my side. To help carry this burden you speak of.”

They nearly leaned in. Every man at that table saw himself in her shadow. A whisper in her ear, a finger on her crown.

She turned. And her gaze found Sevika, standing tall in the shadows behind the guards - still helmeted, still silent.

“I name Sir Sevika my Hand,” the Queen said, clear and cruel as steel.

Gasps burst through the chamber like cannonfire. Sevika didn’t move. Not at first. Then, with rigid slowness, she raised both hands to her helmet.

Metal scraped softly as she lifted it free. Her face was unreadable - stunned, unsure, still catching up with the room around her.

The Queen held her gaze. “Come forward knight.”

Sevika obeyed - steps heavy, echoing like drumbeats on the stone floor. At the foot of the table, she dropped to one knee, armor groaning under the weight of it.

“I shall serve, your royal Highness.” she said hoarsely.

The Queen didn’t offer her hand. She only nodded.

“She serves as hand,” she said to the room, “because she was there when no one else was. While the rest of you hedged your bets and kissed Edric’s ring, she stood by me. Silently. Steadily. Even when it was thankless, even when it meant death…”

“I name her my Hand, because she did not need power or fear to be loyal.”

Sevika turned, full height now, full glory.

“So she will serve as my Hand. And I -” her voice sharpened “-as your Queen. I will rule alone,” she said. “With my sword in its sheath and my Hand at my side.”

And this time, the silence was reverent. She had not asked for permission. And no one dared to offer it.

----------------------------

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[yoomiwrites]

Salty Rush⁴

Summary: Some time ago, Reader was a partner of Akainu, a comrade he could rely on. Reader betrayed the navy, became part of a pirate crew...And finally the two face each other again.

Note: Next chapter after 20 reactions or at friday next week!

The silence between us was suffocating, broken only by the distant drip of water echoing in the cavern. My legs ached, and every step felt heavier than the last. We had been walking for what felt like hours, maybe even days, though it was impossible to tell down here. My stomach twisted with hunger, my throat dry, but it wasn’t the physical exhaustion that weighed on me the most.

It was the silence.

The tension between Sakazuki and me was a palpable thing, a wall of steel that neither of us dared break. I didn’t even want to look at him anymore, but his presence was inescapable, looming beside me like a shadow. And every time I stole a glance, I was reminded of what he had become. Of the man I had once known, and the man standing beside me now—cold, distant, and ready to kill me the moment we escaped this place.

We finally stopped, coming across a small, open pocket in the cavern. It wasn’t much, just a break in the suffocating rock around us, but it was enough to sit. My legs gave out before I could even think to stop myself, and I slumped against the cool stone, the weight of everything crashing down on me.

I couldn’t keep walking forever. I wouldn't be able to hide my pain for much longer either.

Sakazuki remained standing for a moment, eyes scanning the darkness like he might find some hidden path out of here. His body was as rigid as ever, the military posture unyielding. But even he was exhausted—I could see it in the slight slump of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw. He wouldn’t admit it, of course. He never would.

Eventually, he sat too, though he made sure to keep a distance between us. I wondered if he thought he was guarding himself from me, like I might attack him in his weakened state. As if I ever could, even if I wanted to.

I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to keep the cold from settling into my bones. The air down here was frigid, and my body was starting to tremble from the chill. The only warmth came from the small flickers of heat that occasionally radiated from Sakazuki, though it felt distant, like the dying embers of a fire long extinguished.

Without a word, he raised his hand, and the temperature in the cavern shifted. Heat rippled through the air, subtle at first, but then stronger, warming the cold stone around us. He didn’t look at me as he did it, and I didn’t thank him, but the warmth was welcome all the same. It was such a small act, but it felt like a brief, fleeting connection—a reminder that, for all his coldness, there was still something human buried beneath all that steel.

But the silence couldn’t last. It never could with us.

"Why do you fight so hard for something you don’t believe in?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, my voice quiet but carrying in the stillness of the cave.

Sakazuki didn’t respond, didn’t even glance in my direction. His face was as stony as ever, his jaw clenched in that familiar way I had grown used to over the years. But I kept going, the weight of everything too much to hold back.

“In war, men fight battles that aren’t theirs,” I said, my voice growing stronger with each word. “For reasons they don’t understand. And you know that. You of all people know that.”

I saw his fingers twitch, just slightly, the only sign that he was listening at all.

“You could change things, Sakazuki,” I continued, feeling the frustration bubbling up inside me. “If you truly wanted to. You have power. More than most. You could make a difference. But instead, you fight for a system that’s rotting from the inside.”

He exhaled, sharp and controlled, but still refused to meet my gaze.

I couldn’t stop now. “You’re not blind. You’ve seen what happens. The innocents who get caught in the crossfire, the corruption, the way the Marines are used as puppets for people who don’t care about justice at all. You’ve seen it. And yet you keep fighting for them. For a cause that doesn’t care about you.”

Still nothing.

My voice trembled with frustration as I pressed on, the words spilling out like a flood. “You could walk away, Sakazuki. You could change things if you wanted to. But you won’t, will you? Because you’re too scared of what that would mean. Of what it would cost you.”

That finally earned a response, though it wasn’t what I expected. His eyes flicked toward me, hard and cold, but beneath that… something else. Something buried deep. His lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke, his voice low and controlled, the heat in the cavern suddenly feeling suffocating.

“I do what must be done.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with finality.

I shook my head, disbelief rising in my chest. “You tell yourself that because it’s easier. Because it’s easier to pretend that duty is everything. That you don’t have a choice. But you do. You always have.”

The heat around us flared for a moment, a sudden pulse of tension, before it settled again, simmering beneath the surface.

“There is no choice,” he said, his voice barely more than a growl. “Justice is the only path.”

I scoffed, pushing myself up to face him more directly. “Justice? Whose justice? The Marines? The World Government? The ones who decide who lives and who dies based on what serves them best? You know damn well that’s not justice.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, something raw and unguarded. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the same cold, unyielding mask.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” he said, his voice like stone. “You walked away. You ran from your duty.”

“I didn’t run,” I snapped. “I left because I couldn’t keep pretending that what we were doing was right. I couldn’t keep pretending that the lives we destroyed were worth it.”

He turned away, the line of his shoulders tense. “The world is full of sacrifices. Someone has to make them.”

“And you think that someone is always you?”

He didn’t answer.

I shook my head, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me. This was pointless. He wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t listen. His sense of duty, of justice, had consumed him to the point where he couldn’t see beyond it anymore.

But I wasn’t done. Not yet.

“You’re not a monster, Sakazuki,” I said quietly, and this time he flinched, ever so slightly. “You want to believe you are because it makes the things you do easier. But you’re not. You’re just… lost.”

His eyes snapped back to mine, and for a split second, I saw something flicker in them—anger, maybe, or pain. It was gone before I could understand it, but it was there.

“You know what the real crime is?” I whispered, leaning forward just slightly. “It’s that you’ve convinced yourself this is the only way. That you’ve given up everything—your humanity, your heart—for a cause that doesn’t deserve it. You could change things, Sakazuki. But you won’t. Because you think that this—” I gestured vaguely to the cavern, to the world we had fallen into, “—is all there is.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t say a word. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut, the heat of his power still warming the space around us but now feeling oppressive. His eyes were locked on mine, dark and unreadable, and I could almost feel the storm raging inside him.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“You’re wrong.”

The words were soft, almost too quiet to hear, but they carried with them the weight of everything he had never said. Everything he refused to admit.

“You’re wrong,” he repeated, his voice harder this time. “Because the moment you start questioning, the moment you let doubt take root, is the moment everything falls apart. The world is built on sacrifices. And if you’re not willing to make them—if you’re not willing to do what must be done—then there’s no justice left. Only chaos.”

I stared at him, feeling the full force of his conviction, the sheer intensity of his belief. And for the first time, I understood.

He wasn’t just following orders. He wasn’t just a mindless soldier. He truly, genuinely believed that what he was doing was the only way. That sacrificing everything—his emotions, his relationships, his own soul—was worth it if it meant preserving order.

But in the end, what was the cost of that order?

I turned away, exhaustion tugging at every part of me. I didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. And deep down, I knew it wouldn’t matter.

Sakazuki would never change. Not because he couldn’t, but because he had convinced himself that he shouldn’t.

And that, more than anything, was what broke my heart.

When I woke, the air around me was still warm. I blinked slowly, groggy from exhaustion, the events of the day sluggishly piecing themselves back together in my mind. I had fallen asleep. The cave was silent, the weight of the world pressing down on me as usual.

But something was off.

I stretched my stiff limbs and pushed myself upright, glancing around the cavern. It was still dark, still cold save for the lingering warmth in the air. But there was no sound, no movement.

No Sakazuki.

I stared at the empty spot where he had been sitting before I’d drifted off. My first instinct was to be relieved—maybe it was better this way. Maybe this would be easier without him looming nearby, his presence an ever-constant reminder of what we’d become. Alone, I could think clearly. Alone, I didn’t have to worry about his cold judgment or that looming threat of what would happen once we found a way out of this hellhole.

I sat there for a while, trying to convince myself that this was fine. That I didn’t need him. I had survived this long without him, hadn’t I?

But as the minutes—hours?—ticked by, a creeping unease settled in my chest.

How long had it been? An hour? Two? I couldn’t tell anymore. Time had no meaning down here in the dark. I didn’t even know which way was forward anymore.

And where had he gone? He wouldn’t just… leave, would he?

No, that wasn’t him. Even now, even after everything, I knew that much. Sakazuki wasn’t the type to leave loose ends. And that’s what I was to him now, wasn’t I? A loose end. Someone he had to deal with, one way or another.

But then why wasn’t he here?

The silence was too heavy, pressing against my chest until I could barely breathe. I didn’t like this. I didn’t like being alone in this place, the darkness pressing in from all sides, the only sound the steady drip of water somewhere in the distance.

I pushed myself to my feet, my heart beginning to race with a sudden panic I couldn’t quite control. What if something had happened? What if the ground had collapsed again, and he was trapped somewhere?

I shook the thought off. This is Sakazuki, I reminded myself. He wasn’t the type to get himself into trouble so easily. He was probably just scouting ahead or doing whatever the hell it is he does when no one’s watching. Cold, calculated, always in control.

Still, I couldn’t sit still anymore. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or the panic that had begun to seep into my bones. I had to find him.

“Sakazuki?” I called, my voice echoing slightly in the cavern.

Nothing.

I swallowed, the silence growing louder. “Sakazuki!” I called again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

Okay, okay. Don’t panic.

I started walking, retracing the path we had taken before stopping here. My footsteps echoed against the stone, and every now and then, I called his name again, louder each time. The sound bounced off the walls, amplifying, reverberating, until it felt like my own voice was coming back to mock me.

Where the hell was he?

I was starting to feel a sharp edge of panic. The darkness felt thicker now, more oppressive, and the longer I walked, the more the walls seemed to close in around me. I couldn’t help but quicken my pace, my breaths coming shorter and faster as I strained to hear any sign of him.

“Sakazuki!” I yelled, desperation leaking into my voice.

Suddenly, a loud, sharp crack echoed through the cave, followed by the sound of rock shifting, crumbling. My heart froze in my chest. The ceiling above me groaned, and before I could react, the ground beneath my feet shook violently.

I stumbled, trying to regain my balance, but the ground was breaking apart, chunks of rock falling from the ceiling. I instinctively raised my arms, preparing to shield myself from the debris—

But then I was yanked back, hard, a strong arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me out of harm’s way just as the rocks crashed to the ground where I had been standing.

The world spun, and when I finally steadied myself, I was pressed against a wall, Sakazuki’s body pinning mine to the stone as he shielded me from the falling rubble. The heat of him was overwhelming, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe. I stared up at him, my heart racing in my chest, his face inches from mine.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he barked, his voice low and rough. “Do you not understand that loud sounds in an environment like this are dangerous?”

I blinked, still trying to process what had just happened. His grip on me was tight, his face twisted in anger, but there was something else beneath it. Concern? No, that wasn’t possible. Not from him. Not now.

I opened my mouth to respond, to explain, but instead—

I laughed.

I couldn’t help it. The absurdity of the situation, the sharpness of his tone, the way he still, even after all these years, sounded exactly the same—like the young, intense man I had trained with all those years ago. It was ridiculous. I had nearly been crushed to death, and he was lecturing me.

The laughter bubbled out of me uncontrollably, and I tried to stop it, but the more I thought about it, the harder it was to contain. I leaned back against the wall, my shoulders shaking with silent laughter, while Sakazuki just stared at me, utterly confused.

“What’s so damn funny?” he snapped, pulling away slightly, but he didn’t move far, his arm still braced in front of me.

I shook my head, trying to catch my breath between the laughter. “It’s just—” I looked up at him, wiping at the corner of my eyes. “You haven’t changed at all. You’re still lecturing me like we’re back in training.”

For a moment, his expression faltered. I could see it—the brief flicker of something in his eyes, something almost like embarrassment. It was gone in an instant, replaced by the usual hard edge of his gaze.

“We’re not in training,” he muttered, his voice stiff, as if he didn’t quite know how to respond. “And this isn’t a game.”

I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. “I know that. But for a second… it felt like we were back there again. You and me. Training. Arguing.”

He stared at me, the silence stretching between us. I could feel the tension in the air again, but it wasn’t the same as before. It wasn’t as sharp, as hostile. There was something else there, something softer, something that reminded me of the Sakazuki I used to know.

But just as quickly as the moment had arrived, it passed.

Sakazuki pulled back completely, his face hardening once more as he turned away. “We need to keep moving,” he said gruffly, his voice colder now, more controlled. “We can’t waste time.”

I watched him for a moment, feeling the distance between us grow again. Whatever had been there a second ago was gone now, buried beneath his iron will, his unshakable sense of duty.

But still, for that brief moment, I had seen it. The part of him that still remembered. The part of him that wasn’t just the stone-cold Marine.

I pushed myself off the wall and followed him, my heart still pounding in my chest, the warmth from his touch lingering long after he had pulled away.

Maybe, just maybe, there was still something left of the man I had once known.

[blacklegsanjiii]

First of all im so sorry for the long askbut!! New parent idea 💥💥 i present to you: King

Now hear me out, you might be thinking ‘really??? King from wano the bird guy?? Why tf’ but my good sir there are multiple reasons

1. Fire! King is from a race called lurarians (he’s infact the last of his people because theyre world wide known as beautiful because of their white hair, dark skin and beautiful black wings) lurarians are also known to be able to set themselves on fire! So that fits prettyyy well with sanji

So if we take pt 1 with us and expand it...

2. Test subject ✨ we all know Sanji is judge 3rd expiriment and also that vegapunk has made the seraphims of the warlords combined with kings lurarian DNA to make very strong clones. Judge and vegapunk were also in a science group together so they might have some shared notes and materials...

So that brings me to the parent King au...

What if vegapunk and judge kept in touch and decided to keep King in germas dungeon for the foreseeable future because its very well guarded etc etc so he is essentially both vegapunk and judges labrat

And when judge is busy with Sora and Reiju he notices that while reiju hasnt failed his expectations for power, he can always do better so with the quadruplets he also decides to mix kings lurarian DNA in for even stronger child soldiers (so 1234ji have 3 bio parents lmao)

Maybe this alters their appearance also a bit? (Mini baby wings 🥺 that they hide becausd its a weakness maybe 124ji got them amputated later in life while sanji ofcourse kept his hidden)

But anyway canon continues and sanji gets thrown into the dungeon with his mask... Here he meets a huge winged man. First days maybe weeks they dont really talk but sanji is a child and starts talking to king because he's lonely

They startbonding and in the next almost year that sanji is stuck there they really learn to love each other and sanji shows king his baby wings and king just decides 'yup thats my kid' teaches him to groom and how to fold/hide them without being in to much pain

But then vegapunk and judge fight and split up, king was originally vegapunks labrat so he is also taken from sanji.

Canon continues with them both respectively escaping,king tried to find sanji but couldnt bc germa is very stealthy and nobody knows where they are so he joins kaido etc etc

And then they meet again in wano.

Thoughts :0?

I had to double check King's age to make sure this is plausible and yeah, he's 47. He can fully adopt Sanji. I support this fully, fire boys unite! Also imagine Heterochromia!Sanji, one blue eye and one red.

King who is Vegapunks labrat being experimented on for a good while before Reiju and the quads come along, hell, even before Sora coming along. Captured as a teenager and being held captive and tortured for years. Eventually he's locked in the dungeon and left there to rot even after Vegapunk leaves to focus on other things but leaves him in Germa. No one really interacts with the Lunarian except to bring him food and water to keep him alive in case they do decide they want to do something with him again. What it could be he doesn't know what more they could do.

Judge however has gotten married and had a daughter already but notices her flaws and while she's not a full failure, he could do better. So he infuses the Lunarians DNA with those of his coming sons, despite his wife taking that poison she won't be able to do much to get rid of that at least. He can deal with the other failures she causes later but right now he's unworried. Even when the children come, the third one is wrong, he's blond instead of darkhaired, he's easily bruised. Unfortunate really. He had high hopes for that one particularly, for the stealth instead of brute force the others were for.

He sees the wings and knows he still at least has the Lunarian DNA, he might still have some use. Maybe.

He's not and it's clear by the time Sanji is six. Weak and crying and frail compared to his siblings. He has a full range of emotions which even Reiju doesn't have. Disgusted Judge throws him in the dungeon, a metal cover his head and unconcerned if he dies down there, Sanji screaming and crying for him to come back. Apologizing to his father over and over again as if it will change anything. It doesn't. He's trapped alone in the cell but there's someone down here with him. There's a man, tall with white hair and black wings like he has, only a few years older than his mother. He's telling Sanji to quiet down, no one will come get him. Sanji can't stop crying so he apologizes and sits in the back of his cell. King gives his real name to the kid, introduces himself as Alber to the boy, he is a boy after all, small and frail and so utterly broken and too young to be there. He knows what it's like to be a failure after all. It takes all of a day for King to see the small black wings the kid has. His wings are in awful condition: Bald spots, cuts, bruises, broken feathers. King remembers what that was like, the uncomfortable feeling and itching, those wings are from Lunarians though, so this kid has his DNA or there's another Lunarian here possibly. Both are bad options, no one should be forced to live as he has. No one.

They're together for a year and some change and in that time 124ji find out about Sanji and King almost burns the little princes for what they're doing. They have wings as well, atrophied and unworked like his are. He can only stretch his so far in this cramped cell. He hears the crunch of bones in the younger's cell. He throws fire at them once and is doused in water unforgivingly. They're incredibly close, King hasn't told the boy this where his wings come from and Sanji asks if he's where his red eye comes from and King says probably, albeit he's confused about that, he's only seen the blue one.

He teaches Sanji how to preen and hide his wings more comfortably and for protection. King tells him they will be his pride and joy and he will be able to fly with them. Sanji says he hopes so. They've been together for a year and some change when they take King away from Sanji. They tranquilize him and the last thing King hears is Sanji screaming and begging for them not to take him. He wakes up to Vegapunk telling him it's time to continue their work. King stays for a year, working on getting his wings back to functioning, preening and carrying for them. Then he escapes. It's a mess getting out but he needs to get out. Needs to find Sanji, his son. He will find his son.

So he breaks out and goes hunting for Germa but hears the kids saying Sanji better be dead since he's out of the dungeon, which means he escaped. As relieved as that makes him it means he has more searching to do. He looks and looks for years and years. He doesn't find him though and ends up in Wano under Kaido, working his way up to becoming an All Star. He hides who he is and decides he'll wait, maybe Sanji will pass by.

Sanji on the other hand is going through canon mostly normally, I think having King there would partially impact how he views woman but also for as much flirting as he does he doesn't actually sleep with anyone. Zeff found out he has wings while on the rock because he's crying about how fucked they are. Zeff is staring at the black wings attached to this kid and helps him hide them when they're saved, threatens the doctor to keep quiet.

Zeff helps Sanji rehab them before Baratie opens and after it does he lets the boy fly to his heart's content. Patty and Carne will save him if he falls in the water, he can still swim but his wings are not made for water. Is he still amazing at it? 100% but like, he's not a duck or a penguin. He's part Lunarian. He wears coats like the vice admirals and admirals do. Off his shoulders to hide his wings, to keep them safe as he goes about his day. He doesn't really over heat thanks to his Lunarian traits but when he gets cold, it's so fucking cold to him.

When he joins the crew everyone thinks he's kind of prissy with the full suit+extra jacket thing he has but...he's illegal. He's an illegal race and if he gets found out he's fucked. Drum island is when Luffy and Nami find out. Sanji is begging for Kureha and Chopper to not tell anyone which they assure they won't. Kureha does tell him he's lucky he only broke his back and not his wings. Chopper says they're in desperate need of preening and Sanji admits he hasn't done it since he left the Baratie because he didn't want to get caught. He mumbles it all of course but Nami and Luffy are looking at the black monstrous wings as they unfurl and Chopper is amazed at them. They're huge. He has to have a ten/fifteen foot wingspan(if not more but anime logic) and Luffy asks how you preen wings and Chopper shows him despite Sanji insisting he can do it himself. It's too late and Chopper and Luffy are preening a wing and it feels good. Zeff didn't even preen him, not unless Sanji asked and Sanji was too proud to ask normally. Even Nami touches them and is surprised how soft they are.

They leave with Chopper and make it off Drum island and to Alabasta and meet Ace. Sanji is fine in the heat, he's in so many layers though it concerns everyone but he waves them off. He's sworn Nami and Chopper to secrecy but not Luffy because he bought his silence with meat. Sanji is so lucky he didn't inherit more traits from Alber because that cigar marine is tailing them and here and if it wasn't for these covers over his wings h would put to death immediately. Even as they take Alabasta back he doesn't uncover his wings. Not until they leave again and Nami is getting upset with him saying they need preened and that she'll do it while he's on watch. Nico Robin has joined the crew and he doesn't trust her that much and he'd rather not trouble Nami at all but she basically throws him to his knees and starts preening. If Sanji moves to help she threatens to raise his debt which he doesn't understand.

Robin probably knows but no one has else finds out until post TS. He can sill sky walk, he still learned it and to keep his secret. But no one else knows, not until WCI/Wano. Sanji notices his brothers wings are gone and Sanji is the only one left with them. The black wings he cannot cover with his red cape so at least one is always showing as well as his red eye. It has wigged some of his crew out until he showed both eyes at the same time and Robin called him interesting in the way she does some poneglyphs or rituals she reads about.

It made his stomach turn. Just as it is now as he's being called interesting again and Pudding is saying their kids have wings like he does. Big Mom says she thought Lunarians are extinct and Judge says they are. The quadruplets are only infused with the DNA, not actually Lunarian. Sanji wants to vomit.

He'd claim to be an illegal race than to be a Vinsmoke. So during the escape he claims it. He flies and it's awkward so it's a combination of sky walking and flying. Carrying Luffy and Nami to safety. His bounty skyrockets as they head to Wano. It's higher than Zoro's as Nami preens his wings and Luffy coming to help after he's had a nap and some food that Sanji made. He's wanted dead or alive with Vinsmoke as his last name unfortunately and being Lunarian added to his list of crimes.

Everyone seeing his wings in Wano is new and he asks everyone not to touch them. Zoro is confused because the fuck cook? I'm your rival? And Sanji shrugs because he doesn't know what else to do. Then fights keep happening. He uses the raid suit a couple of times, the second time is the worst. He's fighting Alber, he's sure of it. He's so fucking sure but he's drilled through buildings and he's certain Alber is going to kill him for this.

Maybe after the raid Sanji finds a moment alone before Zoro and Luffy wake up. Maybe King the Wild Fire finds him and they talk and catch up. Maybe King preens his son's wings like he always wanted to. Maybe King joins the crew.

Maybe King went to the East Blue, found the Baratie, met Zeff. They would bond over the Eggplant. Sanji's second place in the bounties. When he gets to Egghead he has no sympathy for Vegapunk, he does for Kuma and Bonney but for what he's done to his family? Never. He will never forgive him.

[kiwi-luminaryofthestars]

02/20/2025 “Fiction and Feast” Progress Update:

Eyyy we finished editing section two of the first chapter. One more to go! We're at about 11K for the first chapter right now, anticipating maybe close to 13K for the final. Then the whole two-shot will likely be about 25K-ish in total. Certifiable yapper, that's me!

Was not feeling well and ALSO both of my eyes started to swell (love it so much, thank you body!!!!!!) so I ended up staying home from both jobs. Off-days are always a love-hate relationship for me, because on the one hand, I'm like "Yes! More time to write!" and on the other hand, I know I should probably actually rest lol. So I tried to do both: slept for a while; read some mutuals' fanfics (still making my way through Poor Unfortunate Souls and my my my I didn't know how much I needed a mermaid AU in my life until now); theeeen I wrote, hence the finished section.

Void journal time lol. Shut me up, honestly, what am I even talking about half the time. Today it's writing-related, though, so cool!

It's been raining the majority of the day (which isn't abnormal, it's the season) but it got me reminiscing about childhood writing days. As I've probably made abundantly clear, fanfiction is new territory for me, as is ao3, tumblr, and really everything else lol. But I have always always always loved to write. Writing has been a beacon of light my entire life. I used to carry a notebook around everywhere I went from elementary school all the way up to high school just writing what I saw. My favorite place to write, though, was inside a pink-roofed dollhouse in my mom's backyard, and it had such a distinct sound when it was raining. I've learned as an adult it was just the sound of hollow plastic, but I always think about it when it rains like this.

Short stories are my forte; I've written a lot of them. This is the first time I'm diving into long, complex stories, and I think one of the consequences is I try to have a lot of things happen in the narrative all at once. You don't get a lot of time to establish a world or characters or really anything in a short story; you gotta throw yourself right into it. So I apologize if much of the Phantom Thief AU feels like it's moving so fast, at least in terms of Shuichi and Kokichi's relationship developing. I say slow-burn, and I do mean it, but I think this slow-burn is more "slow-burn toward the relationship where lies stop happening".

Sometimes I feel like I'm a bit too self-indulgent when I reveal things like that. Know I don't consider myself a fucking fantastic writer by any means, probably exactly the opposite lol. I'm always desperate to improve. There are some fics I've read these past few weeks where I both SQUEAL at how well it's written, and then despair because hot damn I wish I could write like that. I haven't finished reading this one yet but an example is "so tonight that i might see" by avii, a komahina fic about Nagito waking up from the Neo World Program without any memory of it. And just what EXQUISITE prose this person has, oh my Lord. I'd like to include a snippet from the third chapter that just GETS me:

"[Nagito] watched the way the water pushed and pulled in upon itself. He listened to the waves grow and collapse. He was not the most symbolic of men, not by a long shot, but he thought the ocean must be the greatest thing to ever exist. It was hauntingly beautiful, but not only that, it was powerful. What else could have the might to all at once be so destructive, and yet stand so serene? It blanketed the planet, even dying as the planet was, expanding out to the very edges of its reach. So shallow, and yet so deep. If he were to walk in, breathe that water in, and let it carry him out, he'd never be found again. It would be thrilling. It would, in a way, maybe even be poetic."

Just... WOW. So lovely. Eat me up and chew me out so I may be branded with this level of talent. I want to describe everything so beautifully like that.

Anyway, sorry this one's long again. Ahhh but you should expect it from me by now. Everything is long with me, it's just how it goes.

I hope you have a lovely night. And I HOPE my eyes stop swelling tomorrow. This weekend will not be super open for writing (ugh) but I will still try to get this silly thing done by then so you can read my intensely experimental vampire saiouma fic. Uhhh hopefully it's a good experimental?? We'll see, we'll see. Either way it's been fun to write, so that's all that matters.

[mierins]

did we drink the poison, or just a placebo? // geto x reader, chapter ii

Despite the rocky start, you've got a date set-- oh, wait. It's not a date (and other famous last words).

x Masterlist x

< previous chapter | next chapter >

Rating: M Word Count: 3.4k Warnings: Geto-typical fantasy racism, Hidden Inventory/Premature Death Arc Spoilers, depictions of PTSD, mentions of child abuse

Geto Suguru, was, in my estimation, an absolute and complete asshole.

I had an ugly bruise climbing up my side to prove it. The girl running the infirmary-- (seriously? I was trusting the wellness of my body to a chain smoking 18 year old. Where were the adults here?)-- had frowned when I had staggered in, scowling furiously and throwing myself down on the nearest cot. Her frown only deepened when I mentioned the culprit, and the absentminded scritching of her pen on the clipboard, writing out an incident report for me, hesitated briefly before continuing.

Really, after that, it was just a little bit of what the sorcerers called the Reversed Curse Technique before I could turn my body to the sides again and move without a limp. But as easy as it was to get a fix for the physical ailment, my pride was still pretty sore.

At least, I tell myself, I’m never going to have to see him again. There was no way our disaster of a sparring session will lead him to genuine interest in bonding me as his Goei-shi.

Famous last words, really.

Because a week and a spar with Gojo Satoru that somehow wound up even worse than the one with Geto Suguru on account of him refusing to deactivate his Infinity cursed technique later, Kusakabe-sensei tells me that Geto Suguru wants to meet with me again so we could properly introduce ourselves, become more acquainted with one another. I passed some kind of esoteric test of character that I’d previously failed for Gojo, and Nanami. But now apparently Geto and I had levelled up to the “talking stage” before I was supposed to become his Goei-shi.

Kusakabe-sensei says it like it’s a good thing, as if Geto Suguru didn’t sic a curse on me and then kick me when I was down just because I managed to land a decent hit on him.

Sharing slivers of our minds, sharing our powers and strength, letting him compel me with some of his will over mine-- all of those were aspects of what the Goei-shi would be expected to do. Therefore, it stood to reason that we would only choose someone we possessed a particular closeness to-- such as Rei with her younger brother, or Ijichi Kiyotaka’s aspirations to get close to the school’s student medic. Familial, or platonic, or romantic, whatever feelings existed prior, the bond would need to be built off of a base foundation of mutual respect and trust.

In which case, I was absolutely at a loss for why Geto Suguru would try to seek me out of all people.

Potential pettiness aside… the practical concerns I had far outweighed any sort of brief satisfaction he’d get from making me subject to his will and spiritually obligated to be his meat shield.

Did a Special Grade really need me, of all people there to guard him? Wouldn’t I function more as a burden than as a helper, even though I heard through the grapevine of Jujutsu gossip that we had him and Gojo to thank for this new program in the first place? He might look like he hadn’t slept in days and would burst into flames if he stepped outside into direct sunlight, but I was pretty sure he was too egotistical to want to die. Especially not suicide by incompetent guard.

(Not that I was incompetent, I was damn well capable of holding my own, thanks-- but at the side of a Special Grade, I became just another body for them to look out for. Gojo Satoru had told me as much, after I’d exhausted myself trying to breach Infinity during our sparring session and gave up, storming off to get water instead.)

I find my new potential-other-half lingering by the practice field as Kusakabe-sensei runs us through our morning drills, and as our eyes meet, his posture seems to shutter off completely-- hunching in on himself, turning his face, stalking away with broad steps as if he could disguise the fact that he was watching us-- who else at this school was as tall, dark-haired, and dour as he was?

I forgo water, grab my towel, and jog to catch up to him. “You want to talk? Let’s talk, then,” I say tersely.

Geto scans my form-- sweaty, flushed, rather unglamorous in general-- and his lip curls slightly in the ghost of a sneer as he grunted in response. I scowl back.

“We’re going to the new bakery down by the station at three-thirty,” I tell him, wiping off my forehead. “Let’s meet by the school gates and walk down together.”

Without giving him a chance to deny it-- why would he? He was the one who gave Kusakabe-sensei the go-ahead on advancing in the Goei-shi process, I leave him, jogging away-- and then I turn back, calling to him, “Oh! Also, you’re paying.”

(Another similarity between us of the Goei-shi and the Jujutsu-shi like Geto: I am not getting paid until I’ve been bonded and complete my first successful mission. My student stipends cover just room and board and uniforms.)

Come three in the afternoon, I’ve washed, showered, and picked out a reasonably decent outfit that I’d brought with me from home-- not that I’ve had much time to act or dress like a civilian since fall. I study myself in the mirror, and with a last sweep of confirmation over the clothes to make sure they’re neither dirty, nor wrinkled, I shoulder my bag and leave the dorms to get to our meeting spot.

Something about this whole thing (not the meeting we’ve set, more the general Goei-shi process) feels vaguely analogous to the dating scene I’d barely managed to brush my shoulders against in high school before I had been vaulted headfirst into this life.

What if I say something wrong? What if some miniscule tic of mine snowballs into a major annoyance in their head? What if my hair looked weird, what if my outfit was sloppy, what if I weren’t always some cobbled-together version of my best self in front of them and the flaws peeking through were enough to drive someone away?

What if, what if, what if.

I tell myself that it’s different, because I wasn’t looking to impress Geto Suguru here. I had hoped my fist to his face last week was sufficient to have taken care of that.

I waited for him outside the school gates, and to my utmost surprise, he actually firstly, showed, and secondly, looked rather cleaned-up from his usually morose state. No longer a drowned rat in his baggy uniform, he wore a long coat, a scarf, a white collared shirt and black trousers. His hair was in a low ponytail now, and his hair and clothes both smelled more like soap in the sharp chill of the air, and less like the sourness of cigarettes that always clung to his every step.

Still gaunt, still dead-eyed, but like this, without the usual distaste marring his features, he was almost presentable. Almost handsome, I thought, and then shook the idea away.

We fell into step silently. I nodded my head in acknowledgement, he grunted a greeting back.

Wow. We really were a match made in heaven-- just look at us. A whole conversation without meaning to kill each other.

Though the sun was out, the weather was still rather chilly, on-par for February. I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat, mirroring his motions.

He clears his throat around the halfway mark down the mountainside. “Have you ever been?”

To the bakery, I infer. I shake my head. “I just heard from Rei-san that it was good, so I thought I’d make you take me there,” I tell him.

“Ah.” He tucked the lower half of his face into his scarf, gaze downcast as if mulling over something. “Haibara’s sister?”

Did he not know? I wondered. Was he that above it all as a Special Grade, that he couldn’t even remember the name of his kouhai’s older sister and warder?

“Yeah,” I nodded curtly. She made us corn porridge, you ingrate.

Silence once more. Then-- “I remember. She was a good cook-- the porridge was nice.” He spoke haltingly, almost mumbling, as if he’d forgotten how to do so with another person, or if he were afraid or ashamed to admit it. And then I remembered that from what Yu had told me, he and Gojo Satoru would really only hang around each other.

(But, Yu told us trainees in a hushed voice, that was before the incident.)

He must have spoken with other people at some point. Once in a while. But when the primary recipient of your social interaction, the only other surviving compatriot who experienced such a thing-- when that source is slowly dammed following a traumatic event…

I don’t think I would have fared much better in his shoes.

“I’ll have a zenzai,” I decided as I peered up at the menu, cradling a tray in front of me laden with pastries and breads for my classmates. My mouth waters and my chest warms at the thought of a hot red bean soup with sweet mochi. My cheeks had chilled from the cold on our descent, and now inside the golden warmth of the bakery, my face had rapidly reddened as the blood came back. “Rei-san said that was good.”

“Hm…” he said, looking up as well. He pauses. “I’m all good. Get what you want,” he says tersely.

“Not big on sweets?” I asked. He seemed even stiffer than usual since stepping into the bakery-- because it was the afternoon, and the weather was cold, there were not a small amount of people around, but in places like bakeries, where people were happy and full and the air smelled sweet, curses usually didn’t find a welcome home.

He shook his head.

“Bread?” I gestured to the rows and rows of loaves, rolls, buns, golden and gleaming with butter-brushed tops. “Are you sure you don’t want any souvenirs to bring back with you?”

Geto looked at me for a long moment, and then he nodded, proceeding to skulk around the display cases for one of the trays.

I exhaled, inching further up the line as I waited on him, though I still kept an eye on him in the meanwhile, watching him stride through the aisles of bread and pastries, occasionally picking one or two for his own tray.

Despite his slouching posture, there was a certain poise to him-- but then again, Jujutsu sorcerers were trained to be thus, fast on their feet, with physical capabilities extending beyond that of a normal human. I had found this to be the case during our fight as well, and something about the lean, tense lines of his body put me in mind of a tiger or panther, with a kind of liquid grace that could be unwound to strike at a moment’s notice.

He moved with a kind of confidence as if he had been born to this: to Jujutsu, even though I knew beforehand from my classmates that he was actually from a non-sorcerer family, as much as I had been.

I wondered at it-- were his parents still alive? If they were, what did they know of this shadowy world he had crossed over into? How did he first find out he was different from everyone else?

Was it like me? Seeing ghosts and curses in the corners where no one else could? Waking up from a silly nightmare of failing a test or coming to school without homework only to find ghastly figures grinning at me from the corner of my bedroom?

Someone behind me clears their throat, and I jolt back into my own consciousness, face reddening slightly in embarrassment at holding up the line as it moves forward a bit more.

Geto joins me soon after, sidling into the line at my elbow with a now-familiar scent of his soap, and a whisper of his cigarettes. “We should eat outside,” he murmurs to me. His body was tense, practically to the point of humming, something I could feel despite the foot or so between the two of us.

I had to agree with that-- I had rather us talk openly in the cold rather than have to fight to be heard in a crowded cafe. I nodded assent, lapsing back into silence as we moved up to the front of the line.

After he pays for our pastries, my red bean soup, and a matcha for himself, we step off to the side, holding onto our bags. Luckily, the bakery was quick with the orders, and soon, we step out into the cold weather again.

The paper bags marked with the bakery’s logo swing from his elbows now, my hands occupied with a spoon and a plastic takeaway bowl of my red bean soup.

He takes a sip of his matcha. “What’s your deal, then?” he asked once we were back on the trek towards the school, away from the crowds near the station.

“How did I become wrapped in this life?” I asked him, gesturing with my spoon in a circle at him, at myself, and in the general direction of Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. I shovel a spoonful of red bean and mochi into my mouth, and chew thoughtfully.

“Well, I was able to see curses by the time I was in fifth grade,” I shrugged. “My elementary school was filled with them. The school was built on top of an old graveyard.”

I still shudder, thinking of it sometimes: aside from the leering curses, the students didn’t take kindly to fearful girls that jumped at what they only thought was her own shadow. “I was bullied pretty badly there too,” I sighed. “That continued into middle school, when I learned to control my reactions better.”

He frowned slightly at that, but didn't say anything further. Our pace slows as we meander up the foothills.

“I really thought, you know-- for so many years I was going insane. That I deserved what I was getting at the hands of the bullies,” I muttered.

“My parents--” I aggressively shove more red beans into my mouth. The sandy texture turns my tongue dry, and I swallow around the lump in my throat. “They thought I had something wrong, you know,” I moved my spoon to one hand, drew circles to the side of my head, a universal gesture for madness or eccentricity. “They tried a lot, really. Shoved me into a dozen different extracurriculars to busy my mind. Everything short of getting me to a shrink for it, because it’s bad enough to have a daughter who’s not all there, but worse to get the official diagnosis slapped on me to haunt me the rest of my life,” I shrugged, stabbing at my food.

I didn’t dare watch for his reaction. Was he going to pity me? Or would he be apathetic? Or worse, would he have lorded his much better sense of control over his curses over me?

I continue on. “Lectures became beatings. That’s how I learned to hide so well. So when Kusakabe-sensei found me last summer, all I thought was that I couldn’t wait to get away from them, with no remorse, really,” I said plainly, staring fixedly into the murky depths of my zenzai. “I haven’t returned to them since.”

We had come to a small overlook that provided a view into the heart of Tokyo, and Geto nudges me towards the benches. I sit on one; he sits at the other end of it, the bakery bags in-between us.

I sigh. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this-- you told me to straight-up leave this school after we sparred,” I scoff ruefully.

The white twirling clouds of steam from his matcha and my red bean soup dissipate in the February cold. The sun peers at us from its position in the winter afternoon sky, as if not yet decisive about its daily descent. We fell into silence once more, and I became almost certain that he was waiting for me to become impatient and change the topic before he spoke once more.

“I wanted to know why you’d choose this,” he says finally. “The life of a jujutsu sorcerer. I’ve been thinking about it in these terms right now-- it’s like a marathon. At the finish line, what do you think you’d get?”

“I’m not an optimistic person, Geto-san,” I replied, addressing him by name for the first time. “I just-- found that this life was better than a life hiding and trying not to go insane from everyone telling me I was.”

“Really?” he’d turned towards me, though I was still gazing out over the landscape. For the first time, I felt as though my words had properly piqued him in some way they hadn’t before. “Is a mountain of our comrades’ bodies truly comparable to being able to live in comfortable ignorance?”

I stir the dregs of my soup. “I’m not an idealist, either,” I retort. “So I won’t give any answer about not wanting to be a bystander anymore. I don’t have any particular protective instincts for you, either, at this point in time,” I shoot him a sidelong glance. “I’m only eighteen. Of course I don’t know what I want out of life.”

Strangely, his usual dead-eyed expression has been replaced by something more keen. Almost thoughtful. “So you’d kill yourself for a cause you don’t believe in,” he muses.

How different was it from joining the army to fight in some useless war and kill people overseas? At least curses aren’t human. “I believe in the fact that there’s curses that need to be exorcised. And for whatever reason, I was born with the ability to see them,” I shrug.

“Sounds pretty idealistic to me,” he observes, leaning back against the bench.

I scowl at him. “What other life can I live? Is there a regular job that I could hold down while being able to see curses? I’ve already burned all my bridges when Kusakabe-sensei brought me here. You told me to leave, but there’s nowhere I could have left for. This is all I’ve got now.”

I knock back the rest of my red bean soup, and then stuff the napkins and spoon into the takeaway box. From where I sit, the trash bin is about ten metres away, tucked between the sidewalk and the place where the parking lot meets the main road. I aim, throw, and the box neatly slots into the trash bag.

So there, I thought mulishly, crossing my arms over my chest. I’ve metaphorically spilled my guts to Geto Suguru, and if he thinks there’s something wrong with me, there’s his opening to back out of this path we’re going down.

He chuckles instead. It deepens my scowl. “You know,” he mutters. “I’ve been wondering, actually. Whether or not there’s meaning in what we do, when every day there’s more curses, and every day, people die.”

“You’re probably asking the wrong person,” I responded, shrugging again. “I’m not in this for some grand reason either, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he echoed.

I craned my neck towards him then. “Why don’t you leave then? If you’re so against the idea of spending the rest of our relatively short lives watching people get killed exorcising curses.”

He stares at me for a moment, wide-eyed, before bursting into laughter.

For some reason, the sound doesn’t comfort me at all-- it doesn’t sound remotely amused, the sound pitchy and sharp, inhales and exhales mixing in like something akin to panic.

“Hah--” his chest rose and fell rapidly under his scarf, “You’re serious? I couldn’t stand by. I’m supposed to be one of the strong ones-- so why can’t I use it to defend those who deserve it?”

“Oh, you’re the damn idealist here,” I shoot back. A similar giddiness was infecting me-- my words were punctuated by a chuckle as well, no mirth about it either. We were just two kids on the verge of madness over the bad hand life had dealt us.

He shook his head, a woebegone smile still etched into his face. “Not an idealist. Not anymore.”

“Oh?” I raise a brow. “What changed?”

Privately, I wonder if it were the incident that Yu had referred to. The kick that prompted my admittance into this ancient shadow world on the underbelly of the world of commoners spread out below us.

He shook his head again. “I realised that at the end of the day, strength doesn’t matter. And those who are weak-- not all of them deserve to be saved.”