#;;heavy sleeves (inventory).

[ghostboneswrites2]

You Ran

Summary: Your boyfriend is a known abuser but nobody does anything to stop it. (Similar to the Jess situation.) When Daryl goes out of his way to help, you lash out, realizing that he might have helped you for the night, but it would surely only get worse from there. When Deanna makes it clear she has little to no intentions of addressing the issue, you take matters into your own hands.

18+ MDNI || Warnings: Profanity, non-graphic references to abuse, one instance of descriptive abuse (slapping & pushing), description of bruising, TWD typical violence

Part 2: You Were Found

Note: This story may not be suitable for all audiences. It's not intentionally triggering but as a former victim of abuse / witness to the abuse of a parent I did channel a bit of my own trauma into this.

        You anxiously tugged at your sleeves, ensuring the bruising around your wrist would be hidden as you worked your shift at the armory. Usually Olivia would handle the pantry and armory combined, but with rations getting low and runs becoming a more frequent necessity, you offered to help her with one or the other. The Alexandrians were getting antsy, crowding the pantry all hours of the day to try and intimidate Olivia out of extra rations, selfishly complaining that they needed more, regardless of who had to go hungry for their bellies to be filled.

        You had only been at Alexandria for a year, maybe. You and your boyfriend bumped into Aaron and Eric on the road, and he graciously invited you to his home. You often found yourself missing what you had with him on the road. He never hit you or raised his voice. He was always tender and protective. The only goal either of you had was to see another day together. Somehow, though, when you arrived here, everything changed. It was like the safety of the walls left him too much time to recall the horrors of the time you spent out in the open. PTSD ravaged him, and he became a mere shell of his former self. 

        He'd become overwhelmed with rage. He'd shout, break things, attack you.. Truth be told, you changed too. Once the violence began, you became reclusive and shy. You thought if you looked anyone in the eye for too long they'd be able to see your problems at home written all over your face. It wasn't a risk worth taking. 

        The people noticed, too. When you first arrived, you were goofy and talkative, excited for any human contact. You never stayed inside too long. You always offered to help anyone you saw with yard work, hauling, preparing. You'd see the kids playing or hanging out and offer them a drink or ask to join their game of hide and seek. Slowly, though, that changed, beginning right around the time your boyfriend changed.

        See, Ty was the kind of guy to smile at his neighbor and offer a hand in lifting that heavy couch, or ask a fellow passerby how their day was going. He was eager to be given a job, to contribute. It was mere weeks before the depression krept in and stole everything lively about him away, leaving room for the more sinister post-trauma to settle in in the wake of his joy. You tried to pull him out of it. You stayed by his side every step of the way, and at first he was grateful, but somehow he grew to resent you. He felt sick to his stomach at your sweet nature, at how effortlessly you acclimated to any semblance of normalcy. He felt left behind, like you were going to bloom and expose all your petals while he remained shriveled underneath the surface.

        That was when his outbursts began. The damage to your surroundings followed soon after, and that only escalated to violence. It wasn't every day, but it was often. Most people avoided him, and even you, but a select few kept in touch. Mostly Olivia and Denise.

        "It's hot today, love. Don't you wanna take that sweater off?" Olivia asked innocently as he brought in your clipboard. "I did a quick inventory last night, go ahead and check it out again. They should be by soon to check out for their run."

        "Okay." You smiled and nodded, checking off every gun, scope, and round of ammunition. You were quickly bored so you started arranging everything neatly, setting the larger rifles and shotguns on the pegs of the utility wall, carefully laying out each pistol, lining up the mags and ammunition, organizing the sights by magnification.

        "Need a few things." A husky voice startled you. You spun to face him fast, relaxing a bit at the familiar face. It was just Daryl. A lot of people found him intimidating or mean, but you figured he was just quiet. Most people in Alexandria were blissfully unaware of the world beyond the walls and what it could do to a person.

        "Oh, go ahead." You pressed your lips into a thin smile. "Just let me know what you take so I can.." You held up the clipboard. He nodded and wandered around the room, picking up a few pistols and sliding the mags inside, which you had graciously preloaded for them already.

        "Can ya toss me that AR?" He asked. You reached up and lifted it off the prongs, walking it over to him. "Is it loaded?" He wondered as he reached to grab it. His eyes stuck to your wrists, which had been exposed as your sleeves rode up your arm through the mundane tasks you had been performing. You didn't really notice his gaze. 

        "Yeah, I--" You paused as his hand grabbed yours and turned it over, looking at the purple and blue marks littering your skin. They were clearly left from another hand.

        You yanked your hand back and adjusted your sleeves shamefully. Embarrassment encased you. It wasn't that you worried about intervention, perse. The entire community knew what was happening behind closed doors and they all swept it under the rug, not willing to intervene and disturb the peace in their blissfully ignorant suburb.

        "Sorry, it's nothing." You mumbled, brushing your dull hair behind your ear. Funny enough, you were a social worker before shit hit the fan. You were well trained in signs of abuse and malnourishment, in both women and children. Thin, dull hair was often a sign of abuse in the sense that one's body can be in a constant state of fight-or-flight and the adrenaline could take a real toll on someone's health. Usually accompanied by less than healthy BMI, timidness, always looking at the ground when they walk, avoiding eye contact, only speaking when spoken to, the list went on. It was like a sick joke, being a poster child for the textbook signs of abuse, the very thing you were trained to protect and remove the vulnerable from.

        "It ain't." He said quietly.

        "No, really. It's fine." You forced a smile. "Was that all you needed, or..?"

        He studied you for a moment, deciding it wasn't the right time to address it. 

        "Need a scope." He relented.

        "Oh, they're right there." You pointed to the shelf. He nodded and picked one.

        "Just these." He said, displaying his haul. You recorded each item and nodded.

        "Okay. Be safe out there." You smiled. He grunted and walked out. You let out a breath, praying that slip up wouldn't have consequences.

----

        You slowly entered the bedroom where Ty would be enjoying his typical glass of whatever booze he could get his hands on. Recently he even resorted to fermenting fruit for his own mead. 

        "Dinner." You said shyly, setting it on the end table beside the bed, knowing better than to interrupt him too much. 

        "It's about time." He slurred. "I'm starving."

        You hung your head low as you scurried out of the room, gently pulling the door shut behind him. If you closed it too loud, he'd think you slammed it, and that was sure to trigger a response.

        You sat down on the couch downstairs, picking at your food in an attempt to grow and appetite. You had a knot in your gut all day after the encounter with Daryl. You had this nagging feeling that it was sure to turn into more than an awkward interaction.

        And you were right.

        Knock knock.

        A casual double knock wasn't typical around there. Most people, if they dared to stop by, tapped lightly and persistently. You set the food on the coffee table and pulled the door open.

        "Oh." You blinked at the quiet huntsman. "Don't do this." You pleaded, just above a whisper.

        "Do what?" He shrugged. "Just came to drop this off." 

        He was nonchalant, but you both knew what he was doing. He held out a bag with some rations.

        "We usually get rations at the pantry." You said apprehensively.

        "Mm. Decided to drop by after we unloaded." He explained absently, more focused on the house behind you as he searched from the doorway.

        "Well, thanks." You reached for the bag but he seized the opportunity to grab you hand again and pull your sleeve up.

        Carol stepped into view from beside him. She was hidden from your sights before that, right beside the front door. She looked down at your wrist then back up at you.

        "Enjoy the rations." Was all she said as she walked away. Daryl brought her along to judge the situation. Given both of their pasts, he thought there'd be no better duo to help.

        You snatched the bag back and eyed Daryl. 

        "What's this?" Ty asked from behind you, empty plate in hand. His eyes lingered on Daryl and flashed with jealousy.

        "This is Daryl." You stepped to the side.

        "I know his name, damn it. What's he doing here?"

        "Just dropping by with some food." You explained hurriedly attempting to avoid any kind of confrontation.

        "The pantry out of commission or something?" Ty asked suspiciously, stepping toward you.

        "No, they just--"

        "Just stocked it up. Olivia asked me to drop some things off for (Y/N)." Daryl spoke up.

        "Huh." Ty hummed, looking Daryl up and down and decided it wouldn't be a fair fight. "Thanks." Was all he said before he shut the door in Daryl's face. He watched the door as he listened to Daryl walk down the steps before his eyes found you. You gulped.

        "Just some food." You mumbled, extending your arm to show him the bag. He snatched it and you jumped. He looked over the contents inside. Typical things like canned goods and bread. "I needed some--" 

        You began to formulate an excuse to keep his rage at bay, but he cut you short with an open handed slap across the cheek. 

        "I told you no guests." He seethed.

        "I didn't know they were coming." You whimpered, hand holding your throbbing skin as your hair slipped over your face.

        He shoved you into the wall and the impact knocked a picture frame down, shattering all over the tile.

        The door swung open just then and Daryl's stocky figure hurdled at Ty, taking him to the ground. 

        "Ya like beatin' up on little girls?" Daryl seethed, straddling Ty and landing two punches across his face. "Huh? Why don't ya pick on somebody your own size, ya prick?!"

        Daryl had walked down the steps loudly to trick Ty, then he waited for any sign he needed to intervene. Carol went to get Rick. It was all planned.

        You scrambled away from the scene, stunned. You couldn't watch for very long before you felt compelled to intervene.

        "Daryl.." You pleaded, trying and failing to pull him back. Daryl punched Ty over and over.

        "Answer me, ya sick fuck! You like beatin' up on your girl? It make ya feel big and bad? Huh?!" 

        "Daryl!" You pleaded.

        That was when Rick rushed over with Michonne and Carol in tow.

        "Daryl, stop!" Rick ordered. Hesitantly, Daryl stood up to his feet and Rick stepped in front of him. Rick took in the scene of your bloodied boyfriend writhing on the ground, you cowering away. "What happened?" He asked you. You couldn't speak.

        "Bastard's been hittin' her!" Daryl spoke up for you, still pacing and circling like a  hungry predator.

        "That true?" Rick asked you. He noticed your red cheek and your generally timid nature. You didn't answer, but you didn't need to. Rick nodded and looked back down to Ty. "Alright. Michonne, help me get him to the cell. We can try to explain this to Deanna tomorrow."

        Rick and Michonne dragged Ty away as you stared at Daryl bewildered. Suddenly, a flash of rage washed over you.

        "Do you know what you've done?!" You shouted through tears. "It's only gonna get so much worse now!"

        Daryl was stunned. He took offense to the fact that he went out of his way to defend a stranger only for them to turn around and lash out at him, as if he had wronged her.

        "It was only gonna get worse if I didn't do nothin'!" He defended.

        "You don't get it! He'll be home tomorrow and it'll start all over again, only worse this time!" You sobbed. "You should have just left it alone."

        "He ain't comin' back here."

        "Yes he is! Have you ever seen anyone be punished here? Do you see any laws posted? Did you get a handbook when you arrived?" You tried to explain. "Deanna will let him out tomorrow and everyone's just going to pretend like it never happened; like nothing is wrong. That's how things work here."

        "Well then pack up and go. Get outta here 'fore he comes back." Daryl shrugged. You scoffed. 

        "And go where? I barely know these people. You think Deanna's just gonna give me a whole house to myself? Even if she did, how long do you think it'll be before he shows up at my door? Are you gonna be there to save me then too?"

        Tears were still streaming freely down your cheeks. Your voice cracked and trembled with fear and rage.Daryl was speechless. He didn't know what to do to help you. He wondered if you were right, if he should've just left things how they were and minded his own business. Maybe he was fool to think he had any right meddling in your life just because he had been through similar things.

        "Can't just let ya sit here and get beat." He finally spoke. You scoffed and shook your head, running a hand over your flustered face.

        "Well you don't really have a choice. I have nowhere to go." You said, holding your arms out and gesturing around you. "This is where I live, this is where he lives, and this is my life now."

        "Nah. Rick's gon' talk to Deanna. He's gon' fix this."

----

        The next morning, Rick and Daryl showed up at Deanna's bright and early, with Michonne and Carol in tow. 

        "So you attacked him?" Deanna asked, eying Daryl. He scoffed.

        "After he beat up his girl, again. And from the sounds of it you all know exactly what goes on over there and don't do a damn thing to fix it!" Daryl spat. He was frustrated with the entire situation, but more so with the lack of action from the community or its leader to protect all of its citizens. Rick held his hand out to Daryl and gave him a look, silently asking him to calm down. Daryl began pacing.

        "We don't know for sure that anything like that was happening. We can't act on suspicion alone--"

        "We saw the bruises." Carol cut Deanna off. "All around her wrists, where someone grabbed her."

        "And I heard him throw her into the wall." Daryl added, straining to keep his voice down. "Waited on the porch 'til he thought I was gone and heard it all."

        "Her face was red too." Michonne spoke up. "When we got there. The whole left side was lit up."

        Deanna looked to Rick, who nodded in confirmation. Deanna pondered for a moment.

        "So then what do you suggest I do? Leave him locked up in a cell underneath my house?" She asked rhetorically. It was clear she had no intentions of facing the issue. 

        "What ya do is tell him to get lost." Daryl said as if it was obvious. To him, it was. No room for abusers in a functional society.

        "What Daryl means to say is maybe you van give him an ultimatum. If he can't keep his hands off people, then he has no place here." Rick tried to smooth out the situation. Deanna was already more focused on Daryl attacking Ty than he was on the year-long assault Ty waged against your body.

        "I can't just start throwing threats around and --"

        "You need to protect your people." Michonne spoke slowly. "That means not leaving one to suffer just to keep everyone else comfortable."

        "This isn't a comfortable world." Carol added meekly, maintaining that denmother persona she played so well.Deanna sighed.

        "Suppose I give him this.. ultimatum.. Then what? What happens when he hits her again?" Deanna asked. Daryl stopped pacing and stared at her, arms hanging down at his sides. He was baffled.

        "Then ya stand on what ya said and throw him out." He deadpanned. 

        "And what do I tell my people?"

        "The truth!" Daryl threw his hands up in frustration.

        "Okay, Daryl, maybe you should take a minute to cool off." Rick sighed.         

        "No need." Deanna held her hand up. "I've heard enough. I have a lot to think about."

----

        You had cleaned up the house the best you could and worked hard to make sure food was ready on the kitchen island for when Ty came home. You were sure nothing would contain the rage he'd feel, but you hoped you could butter him up enough to avoid his fist.

        Someone knocked just as you were setting the tray of lasagna on the counter. You rushed over to answer, surprised to see Deanna.

        "(Y/N). Have time to chat?" She smiled. You stepped aside and let her in, crossing your arms over your chest as she strolled past you and stood facing you. "I've been thinking a lot about your situation."

        "Oh...?" You raised your eyebrows.

        "I don't believe it's in the best interest of the community to blow this out of proportion." She began. You rolled your eyes and focused on a random tile on the floor. You already knew where she was taking it. "I've heard the testimonies from Rick, Michonne, Daryl, and Carol. They can all confirm that maybe things aren't the most peaceful for you here."

        "Huh." You hummed.

        "The thing is, I can't just leave Tyler in a cell, or kick him out of Alexandria. That would cause fear. People would be wondering who's next, or what simple mistakes could end up getting them banished." She went on. "I have a duty to my people."

        "Am I your people?" You asked suddenly. You didn't mean to say it, but you did mean it.

        "Well -- Yes." She stuttered, caught off guard.

        "So then what does that mean for me? The need to keep everyone comfortable trumps the need to keep one person safe from another?"

        You didn't want Ty to be banished or to be imprisoned. You just wanted a safe way out. You loved him, of course you did. He was good once, but that part of him was gone.

        "That's not what I'm saying." She insisted.

        "Then what are you saying?"

        "I'm saying that I'm not sure what to do to keep you safe." She admitted. "At least not without--"

        "Without making the others feel uncomfortable. I get it." You summarized.

        "Right, well... I just need more time to think it over, to speak with people I trust to make the right judgement here. I will figure this out for you, (Y/N)."

        You didn't believe her.

        "When are you letting him out?" You asked. She didn't seem to understand. "Of the cell, I mean. When are you sending him back here?"

        "I'm not sure." She said quietly. 

        "Right. Well I have a lot to do before he gets here, so if you don't mind..." You nodded over to the door. She gave a quick goodbye before she left, and you took some time to think. Maybe nobody else could help you. Maybe you just had to take matters into your own hands.

----

        The wall was menacingly tall. You stared up the height of it, gulping, adjusting the straps of your backpack as you did. You had seen Enid climb it before, so you were sure you could do the same. With a deep breath, you hoisted yourself up the steel beam and climbed with all your strength, dropping down on the other side once you had reached the top. You quickly grabbed the biggest kitchen knife you could find from your bag and tucked it into your belt, before digging for the loaded pistol you stole from the armory and sliding it into the back of your waistband.

        You double checked that you had food, water, and a change of clothes in the large part of the bag. You checked the front pocket for all the first aid you could fit. When you were satisfied, you tossed one last glance at the walls of Alexandria, and you ran.

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[chubbyreaderwriter]

Too Long

Yondu Udonta x Chubby/Plus Size Reader

Imagine: You and Yondu used to date when Peter was first taken in onto the ship, but things didn’t work out after you left the Ravagers, but when Peter finds you again on a mission, he makes it his goal to get the two of you back together.

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: None

Masterlist

(Takes place after GOTG 2 but Yondu lives obviously)

You stopped unpacking your latest shipment of inventory when the chimes rang on the front door to let you know you had a new customer, “Just one second!” You called out as you hurried out of your stock room and behind the counter where you saw a very familiar face. You gasped in shock, but smiled nonetheless, “Peter? Is that really you?” The boy- no man now, nodded his head and opened his arms, an invitation for a hug which you gladly accepted. You held him tightly, “Look at you! You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you, you’re actually taller than me now.” Peter grinned, “It’s awesome right? Oh right, let me introduce you to my..crew, this is Gamora, the purple hothead is Drax, the tree is Groot, the trash panda is Rocket and that’s Mantis.” You smiled and waved at them all, “Hello, nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N), I’m surprised Peter managed to make some friends with that big head of his.” Peter rolled his eyes, “So how’s business here? You still keeping in touch with Yondu?” You glanced at the people watching you and Peter, watching as they all awkwardly turned away as you replied to Peter, “No, we uh, we haven’t talked ever since I left.” Peter furrowed his brow in confusion, “What? But you guys were together for like...forever, why not?” You sighed, “Sometimes things just don’t work out and if it’s alright with you, I’d rather not have this conversation right now.” Your eyes darted towards his friends as an explanation. Peter sighed, “Fine, then will you meet me on my ship tonight so we can catch up? I’ve missed you mo- (Y/N).” You smiled, it was softer this time though, it had been a while since you heard Peter call you mom. You gently swiped a little bit of dirt from his shoulder, “You can still call me that if you want honey.”

After a little catch up before Peter had to leave, he gave you the directions to his ship and told you to meet him there at 6pm. He had called out “See ya later mom!” as he had left which put a smile on your face for the rest of the day. You were looking forward to catching up with Peter, he seemed different to the little boy you used to take care of but still almost the same in a way too. At five o’clock, you closed your shop and headed home to get ready to meet Peter. You took a shower and got dressed in black leather trousers, a long sleeved dark blue shirt and black boots, complete with a leather jacket. You put on a bit of light makeup, still wanting to look nice since you didn’t really go out much anymore. It took you a little while to find Peter’s ship but you got there in the end, finding said man standing looking at his watch, knowing you were rarely late. His ship was much bigger than you were expecting and you were proud of him for that, he must be very successful in whatever he does. You were sat down on a padded bench of some kind listening as Peter rambled on about one of his adventures to you when you heard heavy footsteps, “Boy! What have I told you about touching my controls!” You froze in your seat and Peter shrugged, “Oh no.. I must have forgotten to tell you that Yondu is with us. Oh well.” You glared at him and got up, planning on leaving but your body didn’t move as you saw someone walking down the stairs and familiar blue skin when he turned around and came face to face with you. An awkward silence filled the air as the two of you looked at each other. For the both of you, it was as if the rest of the world didn’t exist anymore, you could see only each other. Your heart was pounding in anticipation and you felt your mouth go dry and your palms turn sweaty.

Yondu was speechless for once in his life. He had never expected that he would be able to see you when he woke up this morning. Of course, a day never went by when he didn’t think about you but to actually have you in front of him was a whole different story. The others grew uncomfortable with the silence until Rocket made it worse, “Well this isn’t awkward at all,” Peter jumped onto his feet, slinging his arm around you, “Look who’s here, and she’s single.” You turned to glare at Peter, before walking away, “I should go, I need to..” you didn’t finish your sentence as you rushed down the stairs and out of the exit, about to hurry home. You had barely taken two steps outside when a hand yanked you back around to pull you against a hard chest. You gasped in shock as you looked up at Yondu, “Seven goddamn years you’ve been gone and now you show up, don’t even say nothin to me, seven years without a word.” Your eyes prickled with tears but they were a mix of sadness and anger. You pushed yourself away from him, “You don’t think I wanted to?! It was horrible being away from you and Peter, I loved you both so much you have no idea how much it hurt to leave.” Yondu wasn’t backing down, not that you expected him to, he had every right to be angry after you left without saying goodbye, just a note with an apology written on it. He grabbed your wrist, getting in your face, “Why did yer leave in the first place, you could at least have the decency of telling me that.” You sniffed back your tears, you weren’t going to show your vulnerability so easily, “Because the crew told me that Ravagers aren’t allowed to be in relationships and that you could’ve lost your title if word got out. It would’ve been too hard to stick around and seeing you every day if we broke up so I left, I’m sorry. I did it for you!”

Yondu loosened his grip on you and you took a step back, wrapping your arms around yourself in a pathetic attempt comfort yourself to stop the tears rushing to your eyes, “Those days on the ship with you and Peter were the best I ever had. It broke me to leave, but I didn’t want to risk your position, I know how much being a Ravager means to you and I wasn’t worth jeopardising that.” You looked down at your feet and after a few moments of silence from Yondu, you moved to leave, only to once again be pulled right back into that same hard chest. This time, Yondu wrapped his arms around you, holding you close and you couldn’t stop the sobs coming out your mouth, your hands balling up into his jacket.

Yondu hesitantly raised a hand to gently stroke your hair, waiting for you to calm down before he spoke. “I obviously wasn’t a very good boyfriend if yer thought I would’a chose being a lonely Ravager over having yer by my side.” You sniffled and felt your heart break all over again, finding out you put yourself through all that misery for nothing, though you still would have felt unmeasurable guilt had you been the cause of Yondu being stripped of his title. You wiped your eyes carefully, trying not to smudge your mascara even more than you were sure it had already. “I’m sorry Yondu. Will you ever forgive me?” Yondu scoffed, his blue hand coming up to cup your cheek, “Only if yer forgive me for not coming to find yer and haul yer back to where you belong, baby.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from crying once again, but your sadness disappeared from Yondu’s next question, “Have you really been single all this time? A fine woman like yerself?” You couldn’t help your smile as you traced your fingers over his collar, “I’ve had a few offers..” Yondu instantly tensed and you saw anger in his eyes as you riled up his jealous streak, “Offers huh? Did you take em?” You rolled your eyes at him, “Of course not, no matter how long it had been, a certain blue whistler kept the key to my heart.” Yondu frowned, “Good, yer my woman, always have been and always will be.”

You couldn’t help the warmth that rushed through you from his possessive statement as you but your lip, “Oh yeah? Prove it.” Yondu grinned wide, his crooked teeth exposed as he did. “Gladly babe.” He placed his left hand on the back of your neck as he leaned down and kissed you with a familiar passion it felt as though no time had passed at all. His right hand placed itself on your wide hip, using his grip to pull your body flush against his. You’d missed the feeling of his body against yours. Your mouth opened into a moan and Yondu wasted no time in letting his tongue inside your mouth, deepening the kiss. Your hands came up to rest on his shoulders, feeling his broad muscles once more. Yondu released a soft groan as he tightened his grip on you, “Hey get a room you two!” You pulled back to see Peter hanging out of the ship’s window and once he caught your eye he motioned you to come back on board. Yondu ignored his adoptive son’s exclamation and made a move to start kissing down your neck. You stifled a giggle from how ticklish his stubble was against your sensitive skin as you lightly pushed on his chest to get him to pull away.

“Come on, I wanna spend time with our son and his new friends.” Yondu scoffed and huffed in annoyance but you could tell it wasn’t real anger, he was just annoyed to be cockblocked. Yondu leaned down to speak in your ear, “Fine but yer spending the night with me, yer got seven whole years to make up for darlin.” You blushed as you started walking in front and let out a small squeak as Yondu’s hand sharply connected to your plump rear as you walked up the stairs. It was amazing how quickly you fit in within the group and you loved seeing Peter so happy with Gamora, happy to know that he had found someone. You only wished that Peter had stumbled across you much much earlier.

[mononijikayu]

only fools — fushiguro toji

In that fleeting moment of intimacy, time seemed to stand still, the world around you fading into insignificance as you lost yourself in the warmth of each other's embrace. It was a kiss filled with promise, a silent vow of love and devotion that echoed in the depths of your souls. Over and over again, you smiled against his lips and he smiled back. It was contentment, it was everything.

GENRE: Pre-Hidden Inventory Arc, 1990s - 2000s;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Friendship, Romance, Star-Crossed Lovers, Emotional Hurt, Mentions of Character Death, Mention of Grief, Mention of Mourning, Mention of Alcholism, Mention of Death, Depiction of Physical Touch, , Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining;

masterlist

kayu's playlist, side 400;

listen: only fools (cover) by bts rm and jungkook

note: this one has a bit of connection to us and them, as my ocs were heavily featured in this!!! i went back and forth with how to write this. but this is what i came out with. its lent and the holy time for many christians and muslims, so i thought writing about something this long. i wanted to cut it even more but well, i thought whatever i wrote is more genuine. if i cut it, i feel like it would lose the genuinity. so here it is!!! enjoy it, i hope you have a good holiday, i hope you all rest up and hydrate!!! i love you all!!! <3

YOU WERE BOTH SO YOUNG WHEN ZENIN TOJI MET FIRST MET YOU. In the expansive grounds surrounding the Zenin manor, amidst the towering trees that seemed to stretch towards the heavens, your presence stood out like a delicate bloom in a field of thorns. Zenin Toji couldn't help but notice you, a small figure nestled among the dense foliage, almost like a forgotten relic of a bygone era. You were like the little geisha dolls Genmei carries around with her, long black hair falling over your knees, dressed prim and proper like a proud and noble lady. Toji was used to seeing girls like you around Zenin manor. But rarely did he ever see one in such a state like you. 

If uncle Naobito’s wife saw you, she would have smacked your head up and down. But she was not and Toji was never going to tell. Not that he needed to. You were no Zenin. You were someone else. It was intriguing to watch you, how tightly you rested your head against the bark of the tree. How deeply your kimono is tightly pressed against your body. You were cocooned in your own touch, as though protecting yourself from the world beyond. Despite the grandeur that existed about your presence, you appeared diminutive and unassuming, as if time itself had overlooked your presence.

Your posture, huddled against the chill of the earth, spoke volumes of your resilience and quiet strength. Even as your elegant sleeves trailed along the ground, gathering flecks of dirt and grime, you seemed unconcerned with the state of your attire, your focus directed inward rather than on superficial appearances. It was a stark contrast to the lavish gatherings and opulent displays that often characterized life within the Zenin estate. The last place for such a fine little noble lady should be this edge of the Zenin estate. Not even servants dwelled here.

Toji couldn't help but be drawn to you, the embodiment of serenity amidst the chaos of their world. As he approached, a sense of familiarity washed over him, as if he had stumbled upon a kindred spirit in the midst of the vast wilderness. This shared affinity forged a connection between them, bridging the gap between two souls seeking refuge from the pressures and expectations of their surroundings.

In the tranquility of that secluded spot, Toji couldn't help but sense a shared need for sanctuary, a desire to escape the relentless demands of their respective worlds. He understood, perhaps more than most, the weight of expectation and duty that rested upon your shoulders. It was a burden he bore himself, one that had been ingrained in him since they had concluded that he was useless to them. Despite being the son of the previous clan head, Toji was relegated to be as lowly as servants. The name Zenin did not mean anything, if he didn’t have powers. The good will of others was what let him remain untouched. Well, untouched enough not to be beaten.

Toji's mind drifted to his cousin Naoki, a constant presence in his life and a rare source of solace amidst the turmoil of their upbringing. Naoki had always been there for him, offering companionship and camaraderie when the weight of their responsibilities threatened to crush them both.If anything, cousin Naoki was the only one that ever truly felt genuine to him in this house. Together, they sought refuge in the simple pleasures of childhood, finding respite from the rigid expectations of their noble lineage. As he had gotten older, he was more a brother to him than Jinichi ever was. Toji supposes he likes it that way. He felt a little bummed out that he was forced to meddle about with those high rise pricks from the other clans. But that’s his duty, as uncle Naobito’s eldest son, after all. 

As he observed you from his vantage point, towering over you with a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, The young Zenin man couldn't help but wonder about the young beauty before him. He wonders about what’s there behind the serene facade of your silk fabrics. He had many questions for you. How had you stumbled upon this hidden sanctuary? What trials and tribulations had led you to seek solace among the trees of the Zenin estate? Most of all, where were your shoes?

Yet, despite his curiosity, Toji remained silent, content to observe you from afar, his gaze silent. As though he was trying to figure out the puzzle in his head before he even dared approach you. He had to be careful. None would perhaps mind if it was another Zenin he was meddling with. But it’s quite obvious that you were not Zenin. You were in fact another clan child. And if he doesn't thread carefully, then the clans may end up with animosity. He did not want any trouble, that was pointless. And even then, that would be another headache for Naoki. He couldn’t give more trouble to solve. In that moment, surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft whispers of the wind, you were a mystery waiting to be unraveled, a puzzle whose pieces he yearned to uncover.

The three big clans always came together in these little clique circles, echoed in the small bubble that existed between each and everyone of them. In truth, no one wanted to be here. None of the big three ever liked each other. Yet it was more pretense than anything else. Whoever plays the best, becomes the face of their world. No one has ever liked the bullshit of it all. Not his cousin Naoki, not his daughter, not even Toji himself wanted to be here. And so he escapes as often as he can. He goes to the farthest echoes of the manor, on this tree and lays here, wallowing in the world he builds underneath the shades of the tree.

Seeking solace from the stifling atmosphere, Toji made his escape, slipping away from the confines of the courtyard into the relative sanctuary of the surrounding trees. It was there that he encountered you, the sight of your expensive attire contrasting sharply with the disheveled state of your posture. Your kimono, adorned with the finest silks and threads, hung loosely on your frame, creased and crumpled from your slouched position against the massive tree trunks.

Toji couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance at the sight. What a waste, he thought, observing the careless disregard with which you treated such exquisite garments. With a resigned sigh, he crossed his arms over his chest, knowing that he couldn't ignore your presence any longer. As much as he longed to bask in the warmth of the sun and enjoy his peaceful afternoon uninterrupted, he understood that he had to address the situation at hand.

As Toji prepared to address you, his words poised on the tip of his tongue, he was taken aback when you suddenly lifted your head, tears streaming down your face. The sight of your tear-streaked cheeks and brimming eyes hit him like a physical blow, leaving him momentarily speechless. Your eyes, wide and doe-like, held a depth of grief that struck a chord within him, stirring a pang of empathy in his heart.

In that moment, all of Toji's intentions to reprimand you dissipated, replaced by a profound sense of compassion. He found himself unable to speak, his lips pursed as he took a hesitant step back, overwhelmed by the raw emotion emanating from you.

As you continued to cry, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at your display of vulnerability in front of a stranger, Zenin Toji felt a surge of discomfort mingled with empathy. He watched as you wiped your tears away with your silk sleeves, your sobs muffled against the fabric, your words lost amidst the tumult of emotions.

Toji's voice broke through the heavy silence, surprisingly gentle as he approached you cautiously. It shocked him too. Not even to little Genmei. So, he supposes he wasn’t accustomed to sounding so gentle, but maybe his body was being courteous for once. "Hey," he began, concern evident in his tone. "Are you alright?"

You sniffled, glancing up at him with tear-stained eyes, your expression a mixture of embarrassment and anguish. "I... I'm sorry," you managed to choke out between sobs, your voice trembling with emotion.

Toji's lips tightened in a line, his initial irritation melting away in the face of your distress. "No need to apologize," he reassured, his voice softening as he crouched down beside you. "I just didn’t expect to find anyone here, that's all. What's wrong? Did you get lost?”

You could only shake your head at him, unable to form coherent words as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you once more. That was not the answer Toji wanted or needed. It seemed like a lie that you did not get lost. But he doesn’t speak just yet. Letting you cry as you do.Pushing would just give him more of a headache. Instead, you buried your face in your hands, your shoulders trembling with the weight of your grief. Toji was at a loss. He’d never had anyone cry to him like this. Not even Genmei. She cries and then hits him profusely, like the little brat she was. He’d never had anyone be this emotional. Not even his mother was this emotional.

Toji hesitated for a moment before tentatively placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "It's alright," he murmured, offering what little solace he could muster in the midst of your tears. He wasn’t accustomed to comforting anyone. If anything, what little he knew of it came from cousin Naoki. But Zenin Toji felt rather uncomfortable with this explosion of empathy. He wasn’t used to it at all.

He waited patiently, allowing you the space to compose yourself, the sounds of your quiet sobs filling the air around you. The wind blew against your pristine long hair, the edges dancing against its blow. After a moment, you lifted your tiny head, wiping away the last of your tears with a shaky breath. Toji couldn’t help but think it was a pity you were crying. You were really pretty. Not like some of his Zenin cousins. They’re rough, too rough and edged bluntly. Genmei was more like a Mikoto in her beauty, she did not count. You felt like a small beautiful flower, one that needed sheltering. You were out of place here.

"I'm sorry for intruding," you whispered, your voice still raw with emotion, lips trembling. “I’m sorry for causing your annoyance too.”

The raven-haired young man sighed, rubbing the back of his head. You’ve apologized enough for his liking. "It's alright. You're not intruding. If I were here in the Zenin manor too, I would weep tears too.”

You paused, uncertain whether to trust this stranger who stumbled upon your moment of vulnerability. It was wise to be cautious; after all, you knew nothing about this young man. He appeared rough around the edges, far from the picture of gentleness. Yet, despite his outward appearance, there was something in the calmness of his voice and the sincerity of his gaze that put you at ease. He seemed to understand, at least to some extent, the turmoil you were experiencing.

"What's wrong?" Toji's gentle voice pierced the heavy silence once more, his concern evident in his tone. "It's okay if you don't want to share everything."

Taking a deep breath, you mustered the courage to speak. "My mother... she hit me," you admitted, your voice trembling under the weight of your confession. Toji regarded you with newfound insight, recognizing the resemblance to Lord Kamo's brother. You must be Kaiko's cousin, the one often seen alongside Genmei. You were one of those Kamo girls he occasionally encountered.

"Just because I sat improperly at the table," you continued, your words laced with sadness and frustration. "She called me a stupid girl and said I'm not at all a proper lady."

The emerald-eyed man's expression darkened at your words, a mixture of sympathy and anger flashing in his eyes. It saddened him deeply to see someone belonging to a prestigious clan endure such treatment. He knew all too well the coldness and cruelty that could lurk within those esteemed families. Having lived through it himself, he harbored a profound hatred for the lack of warmth and empathy that often pervaded such environments. 

And as he looked into your eyes, gleaming with bitterness and sadness, he sensed that you shared his disdain for the oppressive traditions of your lineage. You were all just pawns, little toys to the powerful. If the powerful were the oppressive gods, both of you, many of you, were just the mindless little monkeys that they could play around with. And he hated it. He hated it ever so much.

"It's not your fault," Toji asserted firmly, his voice carrying both reassurance and conviction. "You don't deserve to be treated like that. You're not a stupid girl. And you are a proper lady, no matter what anyone says."

You huffed in response, frustration evident in your tone. "You don’t even know me," you retorted.

Toji chuckled softly, his amusement tinged with a hint of bitterness. "No need to know you to recognize the truth. We're both nothing but pawns to our clans. I understand how you feel."

Your eyebrows furrowed at his words, a mixture of surprise and curiosity flickering in your eyes. "You do?"

Toji nodded solemnly, his gaze distant as if lost in memories of his own struggles. "Yeah, I do," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. "I've seen enough to know how it goes. The expectations, the pressures... It's suffocating."

As you looked at Toji, a wave of gratitude washed over you, accompanied by a newfound sense of respect for the young man kneeling beside you. Despite the initial wariness you felt towards him, his kindness and understanding had softened your heart. In a world where every interaction seemed transactional, where people often looked out only for themselves and their own interests, encountering someone like Toji was a rare and unexpected blessing.

His rough exterior belied a depth of character that took you by surprise. Beneath the stoic facade lay a compassionate soul, willing to lend a sympathetic ear and offer comfort without judgment. It was a revelation, a reminder that humanity still existed amidst the harsh realities of their world.

For the first time in a long while, you didn't feel quite so alone in your struggles. The simple act of sharing your burdens with Toji, of knowing that someone else understood your pain, lifted a weight off your shoulders. It was a fleeting moment of connection, but in that moment, it felt like you had found a kindred spirit, a companion in the darkness who offered a glimmer of light and hope.

"I'm sorry," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to burden you with my problems."

Toji shifted his sleeves to the side. "Don't worry about it," he said plainly. “It’s nothing.”

As you sniffled softly, a sense of vulnerability washed over you, prompting you to confess your earlier deception to Toji. The admission hung heavy in the air, accompanied by a blush of embarrassment that colored your cheeks. 

Toji's response, a hearty laugh that echoed through the tranquil surroundings, caught you off guard. His laughter was infectious, and despite your initial indignation, you couldn't help but find yourself chuckling along with him. It was a moment of unexpected levity amidst the weight of your shared troubles, a brief respite from the seriousness of your conversation.

However, as your laughter subsided and you attempted to regain your composure, Toji's teasing remark caused your blush to deepen once more. His playful jab at your earlier statement about being a lady caught you off guard, and you shot him a playful yet reproachful glare.

"That's not funny," you protested, your tone laced with propriety’s indignation. "Laughing at a lady—"

“I thought you weren’t a lady.”

Toji's mischievous grin widened as he observed your playful indignation, finding amusement in your reaction. He recognized your beauty, undeniable even in the midst of your embarrassment, but there was something more to you that intrigued him. Unlike many of the beauties he had encountered within the prestigious clans, who often seemed devoid of personality or charm, you possessed a spark of vitality and spirit that set you apart.

In that moment, as you exchanged banter beneath the shade of the tree where you had first met, Zenin Toji couldn't help but feel a sense of appreciation for your authenticity. There was a depth to you that went beyond mere appearances, a complexity that intrigued him and drew him in. And as he teases you playfully, he finds himself enjoying the lively exchange. It’s more anyone of those clan ladies can offer him, he thinks.

“But I am a lady!” You insist on him, standing up to face him and stomping your feet. You looked so small to his bigger figure, you looked exactly like a doll. “You ought not to laugh!”

As Toji's laughter subsided, he met your indignant gaze with a calm yet playful demeanor, his emerald eyes sparkling with amusement. Despite your insistence on your ladylike status, he couldn't help but find your defiance endearing, a testament to your spirited nature.

"Toji," he corrected you gently, his tone soft but firm. You blinked in surprise, absorbing the simplicity of his request. "My name is Zenin Toji."

You paused, momentarily taken aback by the informality of his address. It was unusual for someone of his status to discard the formalities associated with his surname. Nevertheless, you nodded in acknowledgment, offering a shy introduction of your own as a member of the Kamo clan.

"N-nice to meet you, Lord Toji—" you began, only to be interrupted by his gentle interjection.

"Just Toji," he reiterated, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. His demeanor was relaxed, devoid of the pretentiousness often associated with those of noble lineage. "The Zenin part doesn't matter."

You felt a warmth spread through you at Toji's casual demeanor, a stark contrast to the rigid formality you were accustomed to within the confines of your own clan. His easy nonchalant nature had put you at ease, allowing you to shed some of the layers of formality that typically accompanied interactions with individuals of higher status. It didn’t feel stifling to stand beside him, to exist beside him like this. Zenin or Kamo, it didn’t matter. 

"Alright, Toji," you replied with a shy smile, the sound of his name rolling off your tongue feeling strangely liberating. "It's nice to meet you too."

Toji nodded in response, a snicker appearing on his lips. “Nice to meet you too, little doll.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, its golden hues painting the world in a soft, ethereal light, you were drawn to the serene connection that had blossomed between you and Toji. It was a sanctuary amidst the chaos of your clans' expectations, a tranquil haven where the weight of tradition melted away.

Beneath the comforting shade of the ancient tree where your paths first crossed, you and Toji nurtured a bond that defied the confines of lineage. Here, amidst the whispers of nature, you found solace from the rigidity of societal norms, basking in the freedom to simply exist as yourselves.

You looked at him, as he watched the sun sleep.

For the first time in your life, you had a friend.

And so you smiled, finally ever so genuinely.

YOU ALWAYS WANTED TO SEE HIM AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. As time flowed onward, your excursions to the Zenin Manor alongside your cousin Kaiko grew more frequent, granting you ample chances to cross paths with Toji in his customary haven beneath the ancient trees. Though these visits were not formal arrangements, they became a welcomed routine, a quiet understanding between you and your cousin, Kaiko. 

When you expressed your desire to reconnect with the friend you had made at the last clan gathering, she embraced the idea with enthusiasm. Without hesitation, she incorporated you into her entourage. None can stop her. There was no other heir to the Kamo. No son can rival her strength and so she was free to do as she wished. In that power, she grants you the freedom to pursue your own interests while she pursues her own amusements, often joining the Zenin heir's child in their playful antics. For that, you were delighted.

As time progressed, your interactions with Toji blossomed from mere pleasantries into meaningful exchanges. You often found him diligently serving the Zenin heir, Lord Naoki, as his trusted aide. Lord Naoki was a figure constantly in motion, overseeing every aspect of the manor's affairs. Once his duties in the field were fulfilled, he would immerse himself in the endless paperwork, particularly those tasks neglected by his father, Lord Naobito. Toji revealed to you that the elder Zenin had little interest in anything beyond his indulgences, leaving the responsibilities to accumulate unchecked until Lord Naoki intervened, assuming his father's duties and restoring order to the estate. 

Before his current role, Toji had been relegated to menial tasks among the ranks of the servants, a position considered beneath his station as the son of a former clan leader. It was a stark reminder of the disdain harbored by Lord Naobito's cronies, who deemed Toji unworthy of the Zenin name due to his lack of cursed techniques. Despite his lineage, they saw him as a stain upon the clan's reputation, dubbing him a ‘useless monkey’ in their disparaging remarks. Meanwhile, Lord Naoki was absent from the Zenin manor, accompanying his wife on a journey to Hida to pay respects to her family's lineage.

Upon Lord Naoki's return, his fury knew no bounds. Toji recounted the scene with a mix of awe and trepidation, describing how his cousin's usually composed demeanor had been replaced by a seething rage unlike anything he had ever witnessed before. In a violent display of retribution, Lord Naoki exacted vengeance upon all those who had belittled Toji, leaving them bloodied and broken in his wake. He even dared to confront his own father, defying the authority of the patriarch in defense of his cousin.

Witnessing this ferocious loyalty, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude that Toji wasn't alone in his struggles. He had someone in his corner, just as you did with Kaiko. In a world where alliances were crucial and loneliness loomed like a specter, the bond you shared with Toji deepened as you both found solace in each other's company, united by the shared experience of feeling marginalized and underestimated by those around you.

As time passed, your visits to the Zenin Manor became more than just occasional encounters. They evolved into cherished moments of respite from the rigors of clan life, offering you an escape into a world of serene tranquility alongside Toji. The towering trees of the manor's grounds became your sanctuary, a haven where you could seek refuge from the chaos of your respective families.

In these quiet moments, you found solace in the gentle presence of Toji, his silent companionship offering a soothing balm to the wounds inflicted by the harsh realities of clan politics. Together, you would while away the hours beneath the shade of the familiar tree, lost in the pages of a book as you read aloud to him. Toji, reclined against the sturdy trunk, would listen intently, his emerald eyes tracing the dance of sunlight filtering through the leaves above.

For Toji, the spoken words held a melody that transcended mere literature. He was never that interested in literature. Not even when his cousin Naoki would insist on him reading the classics—that Toji admits without shame. Yet when he encouraged her to continue reading, he had that tender look in his eyes. Ones that she could never read. They were a symphony of solace for the soul. Words that weave a tapestry of comfort and understanding that enveloped him in a cocoon of peace, at least that's what you hope. He rarely spoke, content to let the beauty of the natural world and the soft cadence of your voice wash over him like a gentle tide.

In the tranquil embrace of Toji's company, you discovered a newfound appreciation for the beauty of silence. In contrast to the rigid expectations of the Kamo clan, where silence was enforced as a virtue and communication often felt stifled, the quiet moments shared with Toji felt liberating. There was no pressure to fill the air with meaningless chatter or conform to the expectations of societal norms. Instead, you found freedom in the gentle cadence of shared silence, where words were unnecessary and understanding transcended verbal communication.

With Toji by your side, the silence became a sanctuary—a space where you could simply be yourself without fear of judgment or scrutiny. It was a welcome reprieve from the cacophony of expectations that surrounded you in the world of the clans, offering a sense of peace and tranquility that was both rare and precious.

As you reveled in the simple pleasure of each other's company, you found solace in the serenity of the natural world around you. The rustle of leaves in the breeze, the gentle hum of insects, and the distant song of birds formed a symphony of tranquility that enveloped you both in its embrace. In those moments, the unspoken understanding that bound you together felt palpable, weaving a tapestry of connection that defied words.

Indeed, there was a time when silence unnerved you, when the enforced quietude of the Kamo clan felt suffocating. But with Toji, silence became not a source of fear, but rather a source of comfort and warmth. It was a silent language shared between kindred spirits, a language that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. And in the presence of Toji, perhaps there was never a need for words to describe the depth of your connection—it was simply understood, felt deeply in the quiet spaces between conversations.

In the quiet moments spent together beneath the sprawling branches of the ancient tree, you discovered subtle ways to bridge the gap between you and Toji. Whether it was through shared moments of silence or simple acts of kindness, you sought to connect with him on a deeper level.

One day, as you noticed the frayed edges and worn fabric of his shirts, a determination stirred within you to mend them. Toji initially protested, insisting there was no need for such fuss. But you persisted, your fingers deftly weaving delicate stitches to mend the fabric with care. Despite his reluctance, Toji eventually relented, allowing you to tend to his clothing with quiet determination.

As the days passed and your visits to the Zenin Manor became more frequent, you couldn't help but notice the state of Toji's shirts. The fabric was worn and frayed, with small tears marring the once pristine garments. Each time you saw him, your heart ached at the sight of his tattered clothing, a stark contrast to the polished appearance expected of those belonging to prestigious clans.

Unable to ignore it any longer, you approached Toji one afternoon as he sat beneath the familiar tree, his shirts displaying signs of wear and tear. "Toji," you began, your voice soft but determined. "Your shirts... they're torn. Let me mend them for you."

Toji glanced down at his shirts, his expression unreadable. "It's fine," he replied dismissively, waving a hand as if to brush off your concern. "I can manage."

But you refused to be deterred, your determination unwavering. "Please, Toji," you insisted, reaching out to gently touch the torn fabric. "Let me help. It's the least I can do."

There was a brief moment of hesitation before Toji finally relented, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of gratitude and resignation. "If you insist," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew you would not budge on it. He’d rather take his losses—and his wins.

With a soft smile, you started to question him about all the things that were broken in each article of clothing he owned. You kept asking him one after the other. He was stingy for money, you didn’t ask why. But being a favorite of his cousin, he would have been handsomely paid. You wonder why he hoards old clothing and wears them consistently. But that didn’t matter. Perhaps those lessons with your nanny finally worked out for you. 

For a while, the only sound that filled the air was the quiet rustle of leaves overhead and the soft hum of your needle weaving through the fabric. You both were sat by the tree again — the tree you had both become ever so fond for. It was a peaceful moment, one that allowed both of you to simply exist in each other's presence without the need for words. Having a day out was nice, with the weather being calm and the wind being cool. You had him carry all the things that needed repairing in a basket and marched on to your tree. 

As you worked, you stole glances at Toji, studying the lines of his face and the way his brows furrowed in concentration. There was a vulnerability in his demeanor, a rare glimpse beneath the stoic facade he often presented to the world. You think he was intrigued, seeing someone do something for him, without any expectation nor without any exchange. But you think, a Zenin might think that. It was hard to find anyone with genuine intentions here.

Eventually, you finished mending the last of Toji's shirts, the fabric now restored to its former state. With a sense of satisfaction, you held up the garments for him to see, a small smile playing on your lips. You looked so proud, somehow as though this was your best achievement in life. There were stars practically beaming in your eyes. 

"There," you said softly, a hint of pride in your voice. "All done."

Toji's gaze softened as he examined the repaired shirts, a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. "Thank you," he said quietly, his voice laced with genuine gratitude. "I appreciate it."

You nodded, a warmth spreading through your chest at his words. In that moment, beneath the canopy of leaves, you felt a connection deepen between you, bound not just by the threads of fabric you had sewn together, but by the silent understanding and companionship you shared. By the time you had finished this other shirt, you were due to return home with the rest of the Kamo retinue. You promised to come back and finish them as the days passed. 

That you did. With a small smile, the days continued and you would not say a word. You would gather the necessary supplies and set to work at any new little article of cloth that needed mending. Toji would watch as your nimble fingers carefully stitched one of the torn fabric back together. He would tell you to be mindful not to hurt yourself, to be slow and think about your hands. Each reminder is softer than the next, mellower than before. You could not help but feel your cheeks warm at each reminder. He was such a huge man, one that frightened even those who looked down upon him. Yet he was so gentle, so wonderful. 

As you worked, you couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that you were able to offer Toji a small gesture of kindness in return for the quiet companionship he had provided you. You worked hard because you think he deserved to have someone care for him. You stole glances at Toji's stoic expression, noting the subtle shift in his demeanor as he watched you mend his shirts. Though he remained ever so silent, stoic as a statue, you sensed a silent appreciation in his gaze—a recognition of the care and effort you poured into each stitch.

When you presented him with the final fixings, Toji accepted them with a nod of gratitude each and every time, his expression softening ever so slightly. From that day forward, he wore the shirts you had mended with unwavering dedication, despite their outdated appearance or the judgmental gazes of others. 

Toji understood the significance of your efforts, recognizing the depth of your kindness and devotion in each carefully stitched seam. And in his silent acceptance, you found a connection that transcended words—a silent understanding that bound you together in quiet companionship. And that perhaps is all that mattered to you.

In the tranquil embrace of the natural world, enveloped by the gentle symphony of rustling leaves and distant bird calls, you and Toji discovered a sanctuary away from the tumultuous demands of your respective clans. Beneath the canopy of green above, time seemed to stand still, allowing you to savor each precious moment spent in Toji's company.

With each passing day, your bond with Toji deepened, weaving together threads of understanding and mutual respect into the fabric of your relationship. In his presence, the burdens of duty and expectation that once weighed heavily upon your shoulders dissolved, leaving behind a sense of liberation and lightness.

Every shared glance, every soft smile exchanged between you carried with it a silent promise of companionship and support, a reminder that you were not alone in navigating the complexities of your world. You found solace in the simple joy of being together, of basking in the warmth of his presence and the quiet strength that emanated from him.

As you lay side by side beneath the verdant canopy, watching the shifting patterns of light dance across his features, you couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the moment. With Toji by your side, the world felt like a place worth living in, filled with endless possibilities and untold adventures waiting to be discovered.

And as you gazed upon him, his eyes closed in serene contentment, you felt a swell of affection and admiration in your heart. In that fleeting moment, you knew that there was nowhere else you'd rather be than here, with Toji, sharing in the quiet splendor of nature's embrace.

The serene melody of birdsong filled the air, a symphony of nature's chorus that seemed to resonate deep within your soul. Nestled side by side beneath the expansive canopy of the ancient tree, you and Toji found yourselves enveloped in a tranquil oasis, far removed from the bustle and chaos of the world beyond.

The soft blades of grass beneath your backs provided a gentle cushion against the earth, inviting you to surrender to the soothing embrace of nature's embrace. Above, the vast expanse of the sky stretched out like an endless tapestry, its azure hues mingling with the ethereal wisps of cotton-white clouds that drifted lazily across the heavens.

In this idyllic sanctuary, time seemed to stand still, allowing you and Toji to bask in the timeless beauty of the natural world around you. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant murmur of a nearby stream, and the distant calls of unseen creatures all combined to create a sense of serenity that washed over you like a gentle tide.

As you lay together beneath the sprawling branches of the ancient tree, the worries and cares of the world melted away, replaced by a profound sense of peace and contentment. Here, amidst the harmonious symphony of nature, you found solace in each other's company, sharing in the quiet beauty of the world around you.

Lost in the tranquility of the moment, you turned to Toji, a curious glint in your eyes. "Toji, what's your dream?" you asked softly, breaking the peaceful silence that surrounded you.

Toji's brow furrowed slightly at your question, his gaze fixed on the expanse of sky above. "Why do you ask?" he inquired, his voice quiet but thoughtful.

You shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Just curious, I suppose," you replied. "Everyone has dreams, don't they?"

After a moment of contemplation, The green eyed young man turned his gaze back to you, his expression thoughtful. Slowly, he raised a hand to gesture towards the vast expanse above. As though he was trying to reach for the sky, for the birds that fly ever so freely above the wide blue deep. 

"I suppose... I'd like to feel what freedom actually feels like," he confessed, his voice tinged with a hint of longing. "To live, to breathe, to love without constraints."

With a gaze that conveyed both comprehension and compassion, you regarded Toji, sensing a kindred spirit in his yearning for freedom from the burdens of obligation and societal norms. It was a recognition born from your own experiences, from the weight of expectations placed upon you by your respective clans, and the longing to break free from those constraints.

In Toji's eyes, you saw the echo of your own desires, mirrored in the depths of his gaze. The shared understanding between you transcended mere words, an unspoken bond forged through the silent acknowledgment of each other's struggles and aspirations.

Together, you existed in a realm where the burdens of tradition and duty held no sway, where the pursuit of personal freedom and fulfillment took precedence over the demands of society. It was a sanctuary you had created together, a space where you could share your dreams and aspirations without fear of judgment or reproach.

"And what about you?" Toji asked, his gaze searching for yours. "What's your dream?"

A wide smile spread across your face as you met his gaze. "Funny you should ask," you replied, a playful twinkle in your eye. "Because I think we have the same dream."

Toji's lips quivered upwards in a rare display of warmth, a genuine smile gracing his features. "Is that so?" he remarked, a hint of amusement in his tone.

You nodded, your smile widening. "Yes," you affirmed. "And I hope we can make it together."

A softness settled over the two of you, the weight of unspoken hopes and shared aspirations binding you together in silent understanding. "Me too," Toji murmured, his gaze fixed on the horizon, where the promise of freedom beckoned on the gentle breeze.

The way he looked at you, it burned you.

And as you smiled, you know he felt it too.

You wonder if it was safe to say those words.

‘Ah, is this what it is? Is this what love feels like?’

HE STILL THINKS ABOUT YOU OFTEN, MORE THAN HE’D LIKE. In the quiet solitude of his drunken reverie, Toji's mind often drifted back to the memories of you, like delicate petals carried on a gentle breeze. It wasn't just nostalgia that drew him back to those moments; it was the profound impact you had made on his life, an indelible mark etched upon his heart.

He remembered the way you would smile at him, your eyes alight with warmth and affection, as you made your way to that sacred tree—the tree that had become a symbol of your shared bond. In your presence, Toji felt a sense of peace and acceptance that he had never known before, a feeling that he longed to hold onto with every fiber of his being.

Your touch was like a balm to his wounded soul, soft and comforting, as though you could heal the scars of his past with just a simple caress. In your embrace, he found solace from the storms raging within him, a refuge from the harsh realities of the world outside.

And when your lips met his, it was as though time itself stood still, suspended in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss. In those stolen moments of passion, Toji felt a connection so profound, so intense, that it transcended the boundaries of time and space.

But as the years slipped by, like grains of sand through an hourglass, Toji found himself haunted by the memories of what could have been, the dreams that had been shattered by the cruel hand of fate. He mourned the loss of the future he had envisioned with you, the life that had slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.

Yet even in his darkest moments, amid the haze of alcohol and regret, there remained a glimmer of hope—a hope that one day, he might find a way to reclaim the love that had been lost, to build a future with you that defied the constraints of time and circumstance.

And so, with each passing day, Toji carried the weight of his memories like a burden, a constant reminder of the love that had once burned brightly between you, and the promise of a future that still remained within reach, if only he dared to reach out and grasp it.

But despite his yearning for what once was, Toji found himself trapped in a cycle of self-destructive behavior, drowning his sorrows in alcohol and reckless pursuits. He sought solace in the fleeting distractions of the world, hoping to numb the pain that gnawed at his heart like a relentless beast.

Yet amidst the chaos of his existence, there remained a flicker of the man he once was—a man who had loved deeply and dreamed of a future filled with happiness and purpose. It was this spark of humanity that kept him tethered to the memories of you, reminding him of the love he had lost and the person he had once been.

In his darkest moments, when the weight of his regrets threatened to crush him, Toji would close his eyes and summon forth the image of your smile, the warmth of your touch, and the sound of your laughter echoing like a melody in his mind. It was these memories that kept him going, fueling his determination to someday find his way back to you, no matter the cost.

But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Toji's hope began to wane, replaced by a bitter resignation to the cruel twists of fate that had torn you apart. He cursed himself for his weakness, for his inability to protect you from the fate that had befallen you, and for the pain he knew you must be enduring without him by your side.

In the quiet depths of his thoughts, Fushiguro Toji often finds himself contemplating the bittersweet truth of your relationship. To him, you were like the sun—bright, radiant, and unattainable. And he? He was but a mere moon, destined to orbit around you, never truly belonging to your world. Yet, despite the inevitable distance that separated you, his love for you burns steadfastly, unwavering in its intensity. 

When he made the decision to depart from the Zenin clan, he understood that it meant leaving behind any chance of ever crossing paths with you again. Still, the memory of you lingers like a haunting melody, weaving its way into the fabric of his existence. Though you may never belong to each other, he carries you in his heart, a cherished remnant of a love that was never meant to be.

Toji's heart shattered into a million pieces when he had to leave you behind. And now you were forced to be engaged to his brother. You cried for help, you did. That’s what everyone said. You called for him and asked someone to look for him. It was a betrayal of the highest order, one that threatened to tear apart everything he had ever hoped for. The thought of you being wed to his older brother, Jinichi, filled him with a rage unlike any he had ever known.

For years, he had harbored dreams of returning to the Zenin clan, of freeing you from the suffocating grasp of your lineage with Naoki's help. Naoki had the ear of all clans. He could make something happen. But now, those dreams lay shattered at his feet, crushed beneath the weight of cruel reality. The mere thought of you being subjected to a marriage of convenience, forced to spend your days with a man who could never appreciate the gentle soul that you were, filled Toji with an overwhelming sense of despair and helplessness.

Driven by a blind fury, he had once entertained thoughts of storming into the Zenin manor, of whisking you away from your fate by force if necessary. You were alone, there was nothing left for you in the Kamo clan. How long can your cousin protect you from what the clans expect of young women like you? He couldn’t take it. He wanted to leave. Storm back there. But Naoki, ever the voice of reason, had intervened, urging Toji to reconsider his reckless actions. He told him to wait, that he had a plan. That it will all work out. 

And so he let himself wait and wait.

Drink after drink, to let his anxiety hurl.

Yet not everything does work out.

No matter how drunk he got at each round;

He would never end up finding you in this life.

Zenin Naoki found his younger cousin Toji in the dimly lit room, his figure slumped over the rough wooden table, an empty bottle of sake clutched tightly in his hand. He could see the anguish etched into Toji's features, the lines of pain and sorrow etched deep into his brow. He was too drunk, Naoki knew. But the moment he would speak those words, he knew that his cousin would be wholeheartedly sober. He didn’t have the heart to say it.  

Naoki’s weary palms sharply echoed into fists. He takes the steps toward his little cousin. Naoki lets one fist unclench and open, grabbing an empty chair for himself and taking to sitting. His lips pursed as he moved closer towards his cousin’s bed. His eyes waver, as though giving away all that he was about to say.

"Toji," Naoki began cautiously, his voice soft but firm. "There's something you need to know."

Toji's bloodshot eyes lifted to meet Naoki's gaze, filled with a mixture of desperation and despair. "What is it?" he asked hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper.

Naoki hesitated, knowing that his words would only add to Toji's suffering. "It's about her," he began, his voice heavy with regret. "Your Kamo flower."

Toji's grip on the bottle tightened, his knuckles turning white with the force of his emotions. "What about her?" he demanded, his voice trembling with barely contained rage.

Naoki took a deep breath, steeling himself for Toji's reaction. "She's... she's married," he confessed, his words hanging heavy in the air like a death knell.

The color drained from Toji's face, his eyes widening in shock and disbelief. "Married?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "To who? I thought the engagement would be broken—"

"To your brother, Jinichi," Naoki replied, his heart heavy with guilt. "It was rushed. Father wanted to strengthen the alliance between our clans. The Gojo clan….had gotten strong recently. As soon as I arrived, it was different. They bypassed me. The marriage already took place."

Toji's world shattered in an instant, the pain of betrayal and loss consuming him like a raging inferno. He felt as if the ground had been ripped out from beneath him, leaving him to plummet into an endless abyss of despair.

But deep down, Toji knew the truth of Naoki's words, and it tore him apart like nothing else ever could. He just couldn’t register how no one could let her free. How no one could help her. Genmei, her cousin Kaiko, his cousin Naoki. There were so many people there. How could none of them have been able to do anything?  In that moment, he felt as if he had lost everything—the woman he loved, his dreams of a future together, and the very essence of his being.

"I don't believe you," Toji spat, his voice laced with venom. "She would never agree to such a thing. She loves me, she always has. She would never....."

"Not in her own will." Naoki agreed quietly, leaning back exhaustedly. "But now she has no choice. Once it is done, it is done."

As the reality of his situation sank in, Toji's mind began to unravel, consumed by a maelstrom of rage and despair. He cursed the gods for their cruelty, cursed himself for his weakness, and cursed the world for its injustice. And in that dark, lonely room, Toji wept for the love he had lost, for the dreams that lay shattered at his feet, and for the woman who had stolen his heart and left him to suffer in silence.

‘You can't risk your life like this. Please, Toji,’ Naoki had pleaded, his words echoing with a painful truth that Toji was unwilling to accept. When he cried, when he beat Naoki down, when Naoki didn’t fight back. All he could hear was those words over and over. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Little cousin, I am sorry."

In the end, he saw the wedding photos. That bastard Jinichi had sent them all clans, including the Mikoto — to announce the marriage far and wide. You were miserable beside his brother. Jinichi stood over you, as though he now owned you. As though you were his to tarnish, to harm, to brutalize. Toji’s blood boiled over and over. He screamed over and over. He threw beer bottles over and over. In the end, all Toji had left was his tears, swallowing his own grief over and over. He let himself drown his sorrows in a sea of alcohol and vice. 

He couldn’t stop. The bitterness of his betrayal festered within him, consuming him from the inside out. But not at you. Never at you. At everything, at everyone. Toji was angry, for a long long time. All he could think about was how you suffered all these years. And how he could do nothing. He had absolutely nothing.

Each day was a struggle, each night haunted by visions of you suffering at the hands of a man who could never hope to understand the depths of your gentle spirit. Toji's anger burned like a raging inferno, fueled by the injustice of it all.

But deep down, beneath the layers of resentment and despair, there lingered a flicker of hope—a hope that one day, he might find a way to free you from the shackles of your unwanted marriage, to offer you the tenderness and love that you so rightfully deserved. Until then, he would carry the weight of his failure like a heavy burden, a constant reminder of the cruel twists of fate that had torn you apart.

“You know, I always wanted to have my own family.” You whisper to him out of the blue, the corner of your eyes looking at him. He looks at you with a curious gaze, a grin on his face. 

“Oh? A big family?”

You shake your head. “No, I have enough siblings as it is. One, two at most.”

“Hm, a boy or a girl?”

You smiled at him tenderly, your hand brushing against the edges of his lower head, your fingertips meeting the dark raven hair over and over. “It doesn’t matter. As long as they’re healthy.”

“Hm, but if you have to choose?”

“A girl would be nice as the eldest.” You tell him softly. “A warm elder sister to welcome her little sibling to the world would be most tender.”

Toji's gaze softened as he listened to your words, a faint smile gracing his lips at the notion of starting a family. "I want that too," he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. "A family of my own, someday."

Your heart swelled with warmth at his confession, knowing that you shared this cherished dream. "I've always dreamed of having a family," you confessed, your voice filled with quiet longing.

Curiosity sparkled in Toji's eyes as he turned to you, his hand reaching out to gently intertwined with yours. "If you had a child, what would you name the girl, if you had her?" he asked softly.

Without hesitation, you smiled and replied, "Tsumiki." As you spoke, you traced the characters for each letter onto the palm of his hand, the strokes delicate and deliberate. "It means 'haven of beautiful chronicles'.”

Toji's eyes met yours, his expression reflecting a mix of awe and tenderness. "It's a beautiful name," he murmured, his thumb brushing over the characters etched into his skin. "For a beautiful future."

Toji's words stirred a tender warmth within you, melting your heart away to be his. His vulnerability echoed your own desires, creating a connection that transcended the boundaries of words. As he expressed his longing for a family, you couldn't help but feel a deep resonance within your heart, a shared dream that bound you together on purpose.

Toji's reaction was one of gentle reverence, his thumb brushing over the characters etched into his skin with a touch of awe. As you traced the characters onto his palm, you infused each stroke with the depth of your love and hope for the future.

In his eyes, you saw a reflection of your own dreams, a shared vision of a future filled with love, warmth, and possibility. And as he spoke of the beauty of the name you had chosen, you felt a sense of gratitude wash over you, knowing that in each other's company, the seeds of a beautiful future had already been planted.

“I see the regular life everyone has, though.” Toji whispers to you as he moved closer to you, his arms on your waist. “I see swimming pools, living rooms. Those little airplanes, the toy ones.”

You giggle against him. “The little house on the hills? Just enough for us. Walls with children’s names, their height.”

Toji hummed at you, placing a small kiss upon your head. “Quiet nights with those ice and those booze, when its just.”

“Yeah,” You say to him, meeting his eyes. “I want that.”

“With me?”

You smiled widely, nodding. “Yes, with you.”

As the tender moment lingered, a soft breeze stirred the leaves above, casting dancing shadows over your intertwined figures. The air was charged with an electric anticipation, the warmth of Toji's presence enveloping you like a comforting embrace.

With a gentle lean, Toji closed the space between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss that spoke volumes of unspoken emotions. It was a moment of pure vulnerability and trust, a silent affirmation of the deep connection that had blossomed between you.

As he pressed his body against yours, you felt the weight of his presence grounding you in the present moment. His touch was both gentle and passionate, igniting a fire within you that burned with the intensity of shared desire and longing.

In that fleeting moment of intimacy, time seemed to stand still, the world around you fading into insignificance as you lost yourself in the warmth of each other's embrace. It was a kiss filled with promise, a silent vow of love and devotion that echoed in the depths of your souls. Over and over again, you smiled against his lips and he smiled back. It was contentment, it was everything.

And as you surrendered to the sweetness of the moment, you knew that in Toji's arms, you had found your sanctuary, your haven of beautiful chronicles, where love knew no bounds and dreams were born anew with each tender caress.

In the end, these memories wilted little by little.

But he couldn’t let his brain forget who you were.

He never allowed himself to let your smile die out.

You were his drug, one that kept him moving forward.

A gun on his head, your smile on his mind, he pauses.

Tears poured over and over, like  it was the first time again.

IT WAS ALL TOO EARLY FOR THIS. Fushiguro Toji, now a widower after losing his wife just a year ago, was caught off guard by the unexpected knock on his door. Opening it, he found Kamo Kaiko standing there in her sorcerer uniform, hand in hand with a little girl who appeared to be about three years old. The girl wasn't very tall, her brown hair tied in a ponytail, her eyes bright amber-brown. She had an innocence about her, like a little doe, yet there was a warmth in her gaze that seemed to suggest a familiarity beyond their meeting.

Despite his initial surprise, Toji couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort at the sight of the smiling girl. There was something about her demeanor that put him at ease, as though she already knew him, as though they shared some unspoken connection.. 

“It’s been a while, Toji.” Kamo Kaiko says to him, a wave of her hand and a charismatic smile. She hadn’t changed. He wonders if that smile of hers will ever be genuine. 

“What are you doing here?” He says roughly, his body resting against the door frame. “Who knows you’re here?”

“No one.” She tells him, her eyes narrowing confidently at him. “You ought to believe me. I’m good at covering my tracks.”

Toji felt exasperated by her words, as much as this early morning has. He rubs his eyes. He opens the door wide. “Come in.”

“Thank you very much~” Kaiko says as she comes in, taking off her shoes. “Mimi, say the same thing!”

The young girl let out a sound, as though she had forgotten. The girl bows politely and smiles at Toji warmly. “Thank you for letting us in!”

“Come, Mimi! Here’s the tiny indoor shoes for you~”

“Thank you, Kaiko-san!”

Toji thinks he should have not opened the door.

Toji's apartment was in disarray, a tangible reflection of the turmoil that had engulfed his life since his wife's passing. Clutter littered the floor, and the air felt heavy with the weight of grief and solitude. However, Kaiko didn't utter a word of reproach or judgment. She knew all too well the challenges of single parenthood, having navigated them herself in the past.

The young girl, full of curiosity and innocence, caught sight of Toji's son nestled in his crib and couldn't contain her excitement. With wide eyes brimming with curiosity, she asked if she could see the baby. Kaiko's smile softened, and she nodded warmly, reminding the little girl to be gentle and careful with the fragile infant. Toji didn’t mind. It was better that someone was looking after Megumi, even for a little while. He’s absolutely exhausted.

As the children played, Kaiko and Toji settled down to talk, the weight of the conversation heavy in the air. Kaiko offered her condolences on his wife's passing, but Toji's impatience cut through the pleasantries like a sharp blade. "Cut to the chase," he demanded, his tone curt and brusque.

Kaiko's expression turned somber as she delivered the heartbreaking news. "I came to tell you... she's gone," she uttered softly, her voice laced with sorrow. "You lost her at childbirth."

Toji's face contorted with a sudden wave of anguish. His mouth went dry as he anticipated the words he dreaded to hear, yet yearned to know for certain. "Who?" he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You know who," Kaiko replied gently, her gaze unwavering.

"I know," Toji acknowledged, his eyes trembling with emotion as he stared at Kaiko. Despite knowing the answer, he still needed her to say it aloud, as if hearing the confirmation would somehow make the pain more real.

Kaiko's lips tightened as she observed the man before her, grappling with his own torment. She knew that this news would shatter him, just as it had shattered her. With a heavy heart, she spoke your name, the weight of the words hanging in the air like a dense fog.

"It was... a bad situation," Kaiko continued, her voice laced with sorrow. "There were numerous stillbirths and miscarriages. This last one—"

"And none of you stopped him?" Toji's voice cracked with a mixture of anger, anguish, and disbelief. The news of Megumi's mother's death had devastated him, but the thought of you suffering and ultimately losing your life in such a tragic manner ignited a firestorm of emotions within him. His hands slammed down on the table with a force that reverberated throughout the apartment, his eyes narrowed with fury as he confronted Kaiko. "None of you had the courage to intervene? To protect her? You let her die. You let her die at the hands of that monster?"

As Toji's anguished cries filled the air, baby Megumi's response was almost immediate. His tiny wails rose in crescendo, mingling with his father's tumultuous emotions, creating a symphony of sorrow that seemed to echo off the walls of the apartment. Toji's heart clenched at the sound, each cry a painful reminder of the fragility of life and the weight of his loss.

But just as despair threatened to consume him, a figure emerged from the shadows, a ray of hope amidst the darkness. The young girl with doe-like eyes approached with a serene smile, her presence a comforting presence amidst the chaos. With delicate hands, she reached out for baby Megumi, enfolding him in her arms with a tender embrace that seemed to soothe his cries.

"It's okay," she whispered softly, her voice a gentle lullaby that seemed to resonate with the infant's distress. In her arms, Megumi found solace, his sobs gradually subsiding as he nestled against her, finding refuge in her comforting embrace.

Toji's tumultuous emotions seemed to subside, if only for a moment, as he witnessed the touching scene unfolding before him. The sight of the young girl cradling his son and humming a gentle melody cast a tranquil spell over the room, momentarily quelling the storm raging within him. He found himself entranced by her soothing presence, his troubled thoughts momentarily quieted by the tender moment.

As he watched the girl, a flicker of recognition sparked in Toji's eyes, a distant memory stirring within him like a long-forgotten dream. It was as if he could see glimpses of you in her, the way you used to comfort him with your gentle touch and calming voice. His hands trembled with emotion as he turned to face Kaiko, his heart heavy with the weight of grief and regret.

Kaiko met his gaze with a sorrowful expression, her eyes filled with remorse and longing. "I'm sorry, Toji," she murmured softly, her voice laced with emotion. "I couldn't save her from her fate. I couldn't save you from this pain."

Toji's heart tightened at Kaiko's words, the weight of her apology settling heavily upon him. Despite the sorrow in her voice, there was a hint of resolve, a determination to honor a promise made long ago. "But I wanted to keep a promise," she confessed, her gaze drifting towards the young girl who now cradled Megumi in her arms. "At least one more."

Toji's eyes followed Kaiko's gaze, settling on the girl whose presence seemed to bring a measure of solace to the room. A question lingered on his lips as he turned back to Kaiko, his voice barely a whisper. "What's her name?" he inquired softly, his heart heavy with a mixture of curiosity and longing.

A sad smile graced Kaiko's lips as she met Toji's gaze. "Her name is Tsumiki," she revealed gently, her voice tinged with emotion as she spoke the name that carried both sorrow and hope. “Just as she always wanted.”

Toji's heart ached with a mixture of sorrow and gratitude as he gazed at Tsumiki, his tears mingling with Kaiko's. The realization that Tsumiki was the living embodiment of his lost love washed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him feeling both overwhelmed and strangely comforted.

Kaiko's words pierced through the haze of his grief, her voice gentle but firm. "They don't know that she's alive, Tsumiki," she explained, her own tears betraying the depth of her sorrow. "Genmei arranged it all. They wouldn't look for her now."

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, leaving Toji grappling with a torrent of emotions. "Why?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. "Why are you...?"

Kaiko met his gaze with unwavering resolve. "This is what my cousin would have wanted," she replied softly. "You were the only person that truly did love her. Tsumiki would be safer here. She would be loved and..."

Toji's voice trailed off, his eyes fixed on Tsumiki's innocent face as he wiped away his tears. "I didn't notice," he murmured, his words tinged with regret. "How much she looked like her mother."

"Spitting image of her," Kaiko agreed in a bittersweet tone, her gaze filled with a mixture of sadness and fondness.

Toji's fingertips grazed Tsumiki's silky hair, the soft strands a poignant reminder of the gentle touch he had once known. As he watched her tender care for his son, a bittersweet ache tugged at his heartstrings, stirring memories of you and the warmth you had always exuded.

In Tsumiki's innocent gestures, Toji glimpsed echoes of your compassionate spirit, a fleeting reflection of the love and kindness you had bestowed upon him. The sight filled him with a mixture of longing and gratitude, a silent tribute to the precious moments he had shared with you.

Struggling to articulate the depth of his emotions, Toji's voice quivered with unspoken sorrow as he whispered his thanks to Tsumiki. His words hung heavy in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the comfort her presence brought amidst the tumult of his grief.

As Tsumiki cradled his son with unwavering tenderness, Toji felt a flicker of hope stir within his heart. In her gentle embrace, he found solace and strength, a beacon of light illuminating the darkness of his sorrow and reminding him of the enduring power of love.

For the first time in a long time, he felt alive.

He felt alive having known that he has you.

You were always with him, you always loved him.

Years later, Gojo Satoru stood before him, watching.

He could only smile, feeling the chasing sunset.

Two fools would be together again, after all this time.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Mint Reviews: Huckleberry

This is a review for Huckleberry, a Wyrd West RPG by Steven Alexander. I received a copy of the Early Access version of the game in exchange for a review.

Huckleberry is a game about the dark and weird parts of a fictional Wild West, in which gunslingers and outlaws roam freely, supernatural creatures haunt the desert, and gold is earned through feats of derring-do.

The Setting

The game begins with a legend that appears to be inspired by Navajo mythology, including a reference to the myth of Spider Woman and a world that exists beneath ours, closed 30 years ago forever to the inhabitants of the Fifth World, which appears to be the setting of the book. There is a supernatural force of nature called the Wyrd, touching everything around it and corrupting it. This dangerous element of the surrounding environment has made living difficult and dangerous, with palatable drinking water hard to come by, hoarded by water barons.

Your characters are occult bounty hunters called Mavericks, earning a living (and access to Cool Water) through hunting supernatural monsters. Because of the pervasiveness of the Wyrd, you characters might also be touched by the supernatural, giving them special abilities that help them survive in the harshness of the desert.

The Rules

Huckleberry uses a combination of dice and cards to represent obstacles and conflict resolution, as well as a player resource called Aces. The dice vary in size, and will increase or decrease to represent competency or difficulty. The cards are primarily used to determine the kind of challenge will face the player, but the suits of the deck are also thematically tied to character abilities, as well as potential effects from attacks coming from monsters.

Similar to what you might find in traditional roleplaying games, Huckleberry expects players to make both skill checks and attribute saves, representing a game that’s about combat and conflict with the world around you. Your character will have skills and attributes that can be mixed and combined however you like, reminiscent of the way you combine two stats in Chronicles of Darkness to give you a dice pool. Your character will also have a Wyrd die, a d10 that can be optionally reduced in size to re-roll checks or saves.

Additionally, characters have the ability to earn Aces, tokens or some other physical counter that can be spent in order to Sweeten the Pot (improving a potential success) or Sleeve the Ace (saved for later). A Sleeved Ace can be spent to add positive modifiers to your rolls, thus increasing your chances of success. Most of the time, in order to gain an Ace, your character will need to play according to type, but Aces can also be gained as bonuses when using certain abilities or special items.

Your character is built out of Attributes and Skills, but also a series of Traits that tell us something about their relationship to the occult, their personality, and their job. You also start with a special piece of equipment called a Big Iron, which is a legendary weapon with special abilities. You can modify your Big Iron over time, giving it mechanical bonuses that make them easier or more efficient to use, typically in combat. Your non-weapon items are represented by Kit, which is a limited inventory meant to represent the scarcity of the world you live in, and your wealth is abstracted to Wyrd-touched Chips, which also double as your XP.

The Gameplay

Huckleberry moves between two phases of the game, called Drives and Pastimes. Drives are investigative and action-heavy phases, often missions that the players will choose and then have to finish in order to get paid. Pastimes are moments of downtime, where players can heal and pursue advancements for both themselves and the town that they build as their home base.

One unique element of Huckleberry is the way the card deck is used in the Drive phase, especially during combat. When it is time for the GM to respond to the actions of the players, they do something called Ante Up, which involves drawing a card from the deck. The suit on the drawn card determines something about the upcoming obstacle, and also defines associated Attribute required for the challenge. Face cards are especially lethal, reflecting a consequence inflicted by the word. The Ace & Joker cards represent a moment of reprieve, with the Wyrd acting in the character’s favor, and dealing each player a Sleeved Ace or an increase to their Wyrd die.

Sensitivity

Thematically, the setting plays up the tropes of Western fiction while including specific references to groups of people who live in the areas that are often referenced in these events. This includes the Hopi, the Diné/Navajo, the Nʉmʉnʉʉ/Comanche, and the Gáuigú/Kiowa peoples. There are references in the book to creatures and imagery that may have originated in these people’s mythologies, although I think that many of the common names have been changed or replaced with autonyms in an effort to respect the people who claim these stories. I’m personally impressed that the author has made an effort to recognize the authority and autonomy of the peoples whose stories have often been mangled or poorly represented by Western media.

I do not know if the author is Indigenous nor, do I know if they have hired a sensitivity reader for the indigenous themes in this book; a sensitivity editor is named, although the specific areas that the editor was responsible for are not made clear. The book does come with a land acknowledgement of the Amah Mutsun Tribal Band of Popeloutchom, where I assume the author resides, as well as a public acknowledgement of the harm the mythologizing of the American West has done to indigenous peoples and other people of colour. I’m not Indigenous myself, so I’m curious about how some of the subject matter within the book would be received by members of the Hopi and Diné tribes.

Summary

Huckleberry embraces the harshness and fickleness of the setting by using a randomizer like a card deck to determine the specific challenges and benefits that come the players’ way, while still ensuring that at some point, the players will come across a challenge that suits them. The book gives the reader a taste for the setting and then moves on to explaining how to play and how to build a character, leaving plenty of the story-crafting up to the group.

The playing cards are exceptionally thematic, as are the mechanical terms used to describe different actions in the book, such as Ante Up, Sweeten the Pot, and Sleeving an Ace. Combat is definitely the most fleshed-out part of the book, with various kinds of injuries and ailments that can negatively affect your character’s skills and abilities, and a drawn-out health track represented by Scars. I can see a lot of similarities between this game and Blades in the Dark, such as the phases of the game, the Deal with the Devil (free healing at the cost of agreeing to a bargain), and forcibly retiring your character should they take too many Scars.

That being said, I don’t think this a Forged in the Dark game in the slightest. The different dice sizes feel more akin to 24XX and the Wyrd die reminds me of the Plot Die in Rotted Capes. This game feels like the designer has taken some of his favourite pieces of various different games and combined them to deliver a Wild West experience that embraces unique, dynamic characters and dangerous bouts of conflict.

Pros

The game understands and resonates with much of it’s source material, and knows exactly what kind of experience it wants to deliver. Fans of the Wyrd West will probably find a lot to like about this game.

The game provides structure in the phases of play, which I find can make it more approachable to players who don’t know where to start. A straight-forward mission/downtime cycle can give the group a good idea of where the story is going next.

The Sleeved Aces give the players a unique resource to help them give them a better chance at rolls that mean a lot to them.

The card-drawing mechanic in conflicts changes the role of the GM a little bit; they are less of a movie director and more of a game facilitator. Adding a form of chance when it comes to determining what exactly is challenging the players means that the GM doesn’t have to plan quite as much, and also reinforces the wildness of the Wyrd.

Cons

There’s a lot to keep track of. The consequences that can be inflicted upon your characters all work slightly differently, and there’s different categories. I'm slightly worried that a lot of play time might be eaten up by having to reference the book multiple times to look up different ailments and how they affect your character.

The unique language also requires some acclimation to a new system, which (to be fair) is a common struggle for someone picking up a new game, but I found myself having to re-read special mechanics more than once to understand what they were used for.

My biggest struggle has to do with understanding a specific ruling in the part that talks about Sixes & Sevens, which is meant to be the combat part of play. Sixes & Sevens is meant to make the game-play feel “cinematic” and therefore is meant to streamline combat. However, in Ailments & Inflictions, the writer recommends that the game should remain in Sixes and Sevens while the Mavericks still have life-threatening ailments. I’m curious as to how you would narrate a play-by-play of someone struggling with an illness and still keep the gameplay ‘cinematic”.

If you want a game that demonstrates a lot of love for the Weird West genre, you enjoy games that can beat your character up a little bit, and you like the thrill of not knowing what’s coming up next, then you might like Huckleberry.

You can check out the early access version of Huckleberry on DrivethruRPG.

[gothgoblinbabe]

Marlboro Red 100's (pt.1)

Daryl Dixon x FemReader

Modern/no apocalypse/no walkers AU

Word Count: 3765

Warnings: Mentions of smoking, fluffy-lovey-dovey crap, suggestive-ish, swearing, mention of slight age gap but no ages specified

(Pt.2)

A/N: This is like my second ever one shot I've posted to Tumblr pls enjoy and don't rip me to shreds <3

-------------

1:30 to 2:00

2:00 to 3:00

Then 3:30 to 4:00

4:00 to 5:00

5:00 to 6:00

Your shift dragged on and on the more you glanced at the clock, watching the hands circle around and around, painfully slow. Six more hours. You could do six more hours of this, right? Monotonously scanning items and cashing out customers, fixing displays, cleaning spills, scrubbing toilets, checking inventory; all the wonders of being a minimum wage employee at a gas station corner store. Overworked and underpaid, a sentiment shared by many.

There’s handfuls of regulars at any retail store. Some are pleasant and will make small talk with you, asking about your life or commenting on the weather. Others, not so much. Men can be creepy and some people will share every detail of their life with you, whether you want to hear it or not.

There’s rare times, though, when there's a customer that you actually have genuine interest in talking to. Like today.

The door chime rang out through the desolate store, causing you to repeat your usual “Hi, how’re you?” and turn your gaze from your shift paperwork up to the front door. 

There stood a man, broad shoulders and shoulder length, dark hair. He wore dark jeans, heavy-looking boots and a leather vest over a flannel that had the sleeves torn off. His tan, muscular hands and arms were covered in what looked like motor oil. He wiped them on a red rag he took from his back pocket, shaking his hair out of his eyes. 

“Hey,” his voice was low and gruff with a bit of a southern accent, “you got a bathroom I could use?”

He raised his arms, showing you the mess on his large hands.

“Yeah, uh, right in the back, to the left.” you stammered, gesturing towards the back of the building.

You’d probably die before you told anyone this, but the whole hot mechanic look some guys came in with really got you going. Not often is there a good looking guy that comes in that you drool over, but every now and then there would be a mechanic or a construction guy or a painter who just looks dirty and you wanted them dirtier. It was weird, you didn't know why, but maybe it was just the idea that they weren't afraid to get their hands dirty, literally.

You watched this one walk to the back, eyes on his biceps. Oh, how you’d like to be nearly crushed between them. 

Seriously, being here so long with so little to do makes your mind wander just about anywhere and everywhere and half of what you did during your shift was daydream.

When he disappeared into the men’s room, you leaned against the cigarette wall behind the register, eyes scanning the parking lot outside the window. It was almost abandoned, except for an older man pumping gas into his Subaru and a worn-looking Harley Davidson motorcycle propped up out front.

“Of course he rides a motorcycle,” you mumbled to yourself, shaking your head with a little grin. He definitely seemed the type.

“Say somethin’, sweet ‘eart?” his voice startled you from your thoughts, noticing he’d already washed his hands and was now standing up against the counter.

You couldn’t help the light blush creeping across your face at the nickname, shaking your head and pointing outside, “just sayin’ I like your bike.”

You blinked at him from behind the register, watching his eyes almost light up at the mention of his prized possession. You could feel your heart beating faster at the scent of his cologne mixed with a little gasoline.

“Ain’t she beautiful? Just got done workin’ on ‘er, made a mess but it’s always worth it.” He grinned, glancing out the window at his bike.

“You new ‘round here? I’ve never seen you before,” you decided to blurt out, “think I’d remember ya’.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Not many new people come through here, is all.” you lied, so many different faces slid through every day, but you’d remember his because you’d think about it later with your hands between your thighs.

“Huh,” he hummed, “can I get a pack of the Marlboro red 100’s, darlin’?”

You nodded, turning around and reaching on your tiptoes to grab the pack of cigarettes from the top shelf. Had you been able to feel the way the man’s eyes traveled down from the top of your head to your heels, you would’ve melted into a puddle right there.

“Anythin’ else?” you asked, placing the cigarettes on the counter top.

“One more thing,” he said, handing you a twenty dollar bill, “what’s your name?”

You pointed to the name tag fastened to your shirt and he read it outloud, erupting butterflies in your stomach.

‘’I’m Daryl Dixon. And yeah, I’m new ‘round here. I’ll be back in though, you’ll see more of me.”

“You gonna be a regular?” you asked, crossing your arms and once again leaning against the wall of cigarettes after you handed him his change and closed the drawer.

“Hope so, only If i see more a’ you.” 

You rolled your eyes and tried to bite down the smile on your lips, failing miserably. 

“Uh-huh, I’m always here, Daryl Dixon,” You teased, letting his name roll off your tongue.

“Then I’ll be back for sure.” He flashed a sweet smile, tapped his hand on the counter and turned to leave. 

Once he was out the door, you watched him mount his bike, raking his hands through his hair and kicking up the side stand. As he pulled away, you felt the butterflies still flutter in circles in your stomach, your thoughts still focused on him.

You would see him again. It would be Daryl’s ritual to come in every Friday afternoon for a pack of Marlboro Red 100 cigarettes and sometimes a lighter. Truth was, even if his pack wasn’t empty yet, he’d still stop in every Friday afternoon just to see your pretty face and to watch you stretch the top shelf, his eyes raking over your shape. Jesus, he wanted you so badly it almost hurt, but he had no idea how to approach you about it, he didn’t even know much about you. Small things, like your family stuff and what you did for fun, but nothing much else. To make matters worse, he had to be at least 20 years older than you. What would you want with an old man like him?  

Was he really old? 

No, but he felt like it. 

Except for when he was lost in conversation with you.

 Every time he saw you, he felt as though there was no divide and you could’ve known each other years before, old friends meeting up every Friday for a couple months straight. He’d ask questions about you, what your favorite color was, your favorite animal, favorite song, movies, foods, anything he could learn about you, he absorbed like a dry sponge tossed into water. You’d always return the questions, ask him the same, and make mental notes of the answers, the same way he was.

On one sunny, dry, hot Friday afternoon, the door chimed and in walked your favorite regular, Daryl Dixon.

“Hey, honey,” He grinned your way, but instead of walking towards the counter as usual, he turned towards the cooler in the back.

“What, no cigarettes?” you pretended to be shocked, hand over your heart.

‘’I’m gettin’ a drink, hot as shit out there,” he replied, shaking his head and disappearing momentarily behind one of the shelves.

You smiled and rolled your eyes just as the door chimed again, another customer walking in. 

He was a short, scrawny guy who couldn't have been more than a couple years older than you. You said your usual greeting and he ignored you, walking up to the counter and simply stating a brand of cigarettes you assumed he wanted. Daryl got in line behind him just as you turned around and bent slightly to grab the pack of cigarettes on the lowest shelf.

From behind you, you heard a whistle.

You snapped back up, looking back and glaring at the asshole. He was chuckling to himself.

“Aw, c’mon, it was a compliment, baby, you got blessed back there,’’ He laughed.

“Fuck off,” you muttered, tossing the cigarettes onto the counter and swiping the scanner over them.

“What was that, babe?” He raised his eyebrows.

Daryl looked like he was about to explode, piping up from behind the guy, “you heard what she said, why don’t ‘cha? Fuck off.”

He nearly spat his words, seconds away from stepping between this douchebag and the counter.

“I ain’t gonna let no bitch talk to me like that,” He snarled, swiping the cigarettes off the counter.

‘’Alright, that’s it,” Daryl placed his drink on the counter and slid it to you, “hold that, sweetheart, okay?” before turning to the other man.

‘’Fuck you think you are, talkin’ to a lady like that? She ain’t no bitch, that’s you. Get the fuck on outta’ here.” He spat, roughly grabbing the younger man by the collar of his t-shirt and shoving him towards the door.

‘’She ain’t no lady-” the guy started, back to the door, but Daryl cut him off.

“She’s every bit a’ one, now get the hell out and leave ‘er alone before I kick your fuckin’ teeth in.” 

The guy tried to walk forward, but Daryl shoved him out through the door, onto the pavement. He scrambled up, seemingly too embarrassed to walk back in, and sped off. Daryl picked up the cigarettes from the floor where the guy had dropped them when he was shoved the first time and gently placed them onto the counter.

‘’You alright, honey? I’m sorry ‘bout him, fuckin’ asshole.”

You were just about breathless, a pit in your stomach and a tingle in your chest. You’d hate to admit it to yourself but the way he had defended you turned you on to almost no end. Your heart was beating a million times a minute, deafening in your ears as you blinked at his baby blue eyes.

You almost couldn’t speak, “ ‘m fine.”

“You sure?”

‘’Y-yeah, thank you.”

“Ain’t gotta thank me for nothin’, I’d never let some prick talk to ya’ like that.”

“Daryl?”

You had a bad idea, it was definitely bad and there's no way he’d say yes but your tongue was on a route that your brain couldn’t stop.

“Mhm?” he hummed in response, leaning on his forearms on the counter, so engaged in anything and everything you had to say.

Which made things so much worse for you.

“What are you doing tomorrow night? Are you busy?” you blurted.

Oh, this could be so, so bad.

“What?” He replied, steading himself to stand straight. 

Okay, yeah, bad.

“Nevermind, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I-”

“No, no, sorry for what? I ain’t busy tomorrow night, what were you gonna say?”

Daryl looked intrigued, if not a little confused.

“It was stupid, I was gonna ask if you, um, If you’d wanna maybe have dinner or somethin’. Like a date.” You managed to get out, picking at your fingernails with anxiety.

“I ain’t too old for ‘ya?” was the first thing from his mouth after a moment of tense silence.

“Too old?” you questioned, tilting your head, “I’m an adult, Daryl. You can’t be too old for me.”

He sighed, grinning and rubbing the back of his neck as relief filled his body.

“When you want me to pick you up, sweetheart?”

You smiled wide, feeling giddy like this was your very first date all over again.

“Let’s do six o’clock? Here, I’ll give you my address,” you find a piece of a scrapped receipt and scribble your address and phone number, handing it over to him.

He gladly accepts it, folding it and placing it in his jeans pocket.

Before you know it, it’s six o’clock the next evening and you're focused on yourself in the mirror. You’d worn your favorite outfit and done your hair, waiting anxiously for the doorbell.

At five minutes past six, it rang.

You excitedly scurried to the door, opening it to see a slightly nervous Daryl Dixon in his leather vest and flannel button down. 

He shook his hair out of his eyes to get a better look at you, making note of every curve and dip that made his head spin.

“You look…real, real pretty,” He managed to mumble out, having a hard time keeping his eyes on yours.

“You do, too,” you teased, stepping out into the evening air and closing the door behind you.

You followed Daryl to his motorcycle, your stomach turning with nerves.

“So where we headin’ off to?” you inquired, watching his broad shoulders in front of you.

“ ‘s a surprise. Figured I outta’ do somethin’ special for a girl like you.”

You blushed, shaking your head and only giggling in response.

“You alright gettin’ on the bike?” He asked sweetly, placing a gentle hand on your elbow.

You could melt under his calloused touch, instinctively leaning your body towards him.

“I should be alright, I think. Just never been on one before,” you caught your lower lip between your teeth.

He noticed the small nervous gesture, reaching over his bike and handing you the single helmet.

“You’re safe with me, alright? Hold on real tight and don’t let go, trust me, ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you,' ' He reassured you.

You hesitated for a moment before tugging the helmet on and letting Daryl help you on the motorcycle behind him. You wrapped your arms tight around his abdomen, leaning your weight on his back.

He was glad you were behind him so you couldn’t see the shade of pink his cheeks had turned or the way he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face even if he tried. You were significantly smaller in stature than he was and he adored the way your smaller arms wrapped tight around him.

“You ready, honey?” He kicked the side stand up, rearing the engine of the bike.

“Sure am, sugar,” You shot back.

His smile grew wider as you both started forward, wind through your clothes sending a light chill through you. The hum of the bike filled your ears as you watched your shadows dance upon the pavement, cast by the late afternoon sun.

Before you knew it, Daryl slowed the bike to a stop and turned to speak to you.

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Nah,” you tried to act nonchalant, though your heart was beating like crazy as you handed him the helmet back, “it was fun.”

“So you’ll let me take ya’ out on it again?” 

“Well, I’ll have to if we’re gonna go on any more dates, huh?”

Daryl smiled at your quick response, hopping off the bike and helping you do the same.

You checked out your surroundings, a green and desolate park, open lawns with freshly mowed grass and large oak and willow trees.

“You take me here to kill me?” you joked, watching a dragonfly hover over the cement near your feet.

“Nah, cmon,” Daryl chuckled, waving his hand to motion you to follow him, “got somethin’ set up for ya’. Hope you don’t think it’s stupid, I ain’t ever really…’guess I’ve never been on a real date before, so I, uh…I don’t know, hope you like it, is all.”

His nervous babbling as you followed in his direction into the field of grass made you smile wide. 

“I’m sure whatever you got up your sleeve is -”

Words failed to form as you saw what he was leading you to. A blanket was laid out under the shade of a beautifully full weeping willow tree. Containers of all sorts of delicious foods were spread out along with a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

“Oh, Daryl, you did all this? For me?”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to kiss him right there for being so damn sweet.

“Of course, for you,” Daryl smiled, taking a seat on the blanket and tapping the empty space next to him, “what other sweet lady would I do this for?”

You couldn’t hide the large smile spread across your face as you plopped yourself down next to him, taking in the array of foods.

“Wow, this is…you really out did yourself. This is perfect.” you assured him, taking note of the way he was scanning your features to see what you thought of his gesture.

“Think so? Just wanted to make it ‘nice as I could.” 

“Perfect, all of it.” You smiled and opened a container of strawberries, popping one in your mouth and offering some to Daryl.

He took one appreciatively, doing the same.

You had a mischievous idea and picked up a strawberry, offering it to Daryl, “Now is this the part of the date where you feed me strawberries like in the movies?”

You thought he’d laugh, shake off your joke in slight rejection and change the subject.

Instead, he gently took the fruit from your fingers, hovering it in front of your lips.

‘’Yeah? Go ahead.”

Your stomach did back flips and you could’ve sworn it tied itself in knots at his words.

Daryl was glad you didn’t seem to notice the way his hand started to shake.

You leaned in, slowly, and caught the fruit between your teeth. You kept your eyes on his as you bit down, pulling away to wipe the juice from your lips.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) for him, that was one of the hottest things he’d ever experienced in his life and he immediately went for the wine to calm his nerves. 

You watched him uncork the wine in his lap, noticing the slight bulge in the front of his jeans as he tried to hide it with the bottle, though it didn’t do much.

The way you had to do almost nothing but exist in his presence to make him excited had you biting down a smile, watching his hair fall in front of his face as he finally uncorked the bottle. As he poured your glass, you reached a delicate hand forward and brushed the hair from his face and tucked it behind his ear. His eyes shot up to yours, lost in the way the sun hit them and made the color even more stunning.

You were beautiful, ethereal, an angel on earth he had been blessed to be touched by.

And you made him spill the wine.

“S-shit, sorry, I shoulda’ been lookin’, too distracted,” He laughed a little, glancing at the stain of red wine on the blanket.

‘’Distracted with what?” You teased, grabbing the bottle from his hands to pour him his own glass.

“How am I supposed to pay attention when there’s a pretty girl like you lookin’ at me like that?”

“Like what? I’m just lookin’ at you!” You giggled, going to hand him his wine glass.

“Like that!” he exclaimed with a smile, gesturing with his free hand as he took the glass from you, “with them beautiful damn eyes and that pretty smile and that gorgeous face, drivin’ me damn near insane.”

“Oh, please, you say it to flatter me,” you shook your head and laughed, taking a sip from your glass.

  “Nah, but if you wanna feel flattered, I’ll sure keep tryin’,” He said, doing the same, “but it ain’t flattery if it’s true.”

You playfully rolled your eyes and had another snack. Daryl sat back against the tree and watched you intently, your lips, nose, jaw, hair, hands, every bit of you. 

“You wanna know somethin’?” He said, gaining your attention.

“Hm?”

“I don’t really go through a pack of smokes a week. I just come in every Friday to see you. I like seein’ your pretty face and I like seein’ you reach up to grab ‘em from the top shelf. It’s cute.”

It felt like he knocked the wind right out of you. He really was too damn sweet.

“And I like talkin’ to ya’, like knowin’ more about ya’. Could talk to you for hours.” he added in admission, smiling in adoration at you.

It was almost too much. 

“Daryl?”

He sat up, leaning towards you, “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I want you to kiss me,” you sighed, watching his eyes change, “please, kiss me.”

He wasted no time in placing a gentle hand on the back of your neck and connecting his lips with yours. His lips were soft against yours and tasted of strawberries and wine and cigarettes. His breathing was soft against your cheek as he deepened the kiss, placing his other hand on your waist and absentmindedly tracing circles with his fingers. Your hands were both in his hair, twirling his locks around your fingers. You both eventually broke apart to gaze at each other, breathless and giddy like teenagers.

“I like you a lot, Daryl.” you admitted, again playing with his hair. He leaned into your touch.

“I like you more.” He smiled, fingers still tracing patterns on your waist.

“Oh, you wanna start that fight?” you teased.

“Only if we can make up at the end,” He smiled.

You kissed him again, this time adjusting yourself to be nearly square on his lap. His breathing hitched and he gazed up at you, swiping gently at the hair that had fallen in front of your face.

“Show me how much you like me.” Was all you had to say to have Daryl’s tongue in your mouth, swiping lovingly and softly. 

His hands caressed from your shoulder blades down your back to the sides of your hips, kneading your thighs while you tangled your fingers in his hair. He pulled away just an inch to kiss along your jaw and down your neck, biting and sucking softly, earning small mews and moans from you. You mumbled his name in ecstacy, making him groan against your neck. He continued to kiss back up your neck and jaw to once again meet your mouth, using one hand on the back of your neck to keep you as close against him as you could get.

When you two finally broke away from each other, reluctantly, neither of you could wipe the smiles from your faces.

It was no surprise then, when he dropped you home later and walked you to your door, that you both agreed to a second date.

-------------

wooooo pt2 coming eventually!

[ms-nesbit]

Empire records (jason todd x reader)

Rating: 18+ (minors, fuck off)

Warnings: masturbation, reader is female, reader is bisexual, Jason Todd is not red hood, plus size reader

Summary: Jason is a cam model and is killing it, so he heads to the record store where he sees y/n.

Notes: honestly, i loved the idea of this one. Let me know if you want me to continue with an additional chapter or something.

ao3

“God…” Jason exhaled, a slow flow of cum spurting from his cock and onto his hand. Breathing labored as he came down from his orgasm, Jason revealed the mess he made to the webcam. “Fuck, that’s so much cum.” he spoke half-heartedly, the tone masked by faux sensuality and confidence. “What do you want me to do next, hmm?” he sat up in his computer chair and bit on his bottom lip. “Let me know, Babe. I’ll be here again next week. Till next time.” Jason ran his fingers through his hair, his tricep exposed to the camera. He flashed his signature winked before ending the livestream, shutting off the comment section and logging off from his administrative account.

Wiping his hand clean on a nearby napkin, he remained silent, his presiding persona crumbling with each minute after the stream ended. Jason hadn’t bothered to glance at the comments - only the tips, which he gratefully appreciated; they accounted for his rent and utilities, above other expenses, including the impromptu trip to Vanity Records he was getting ready to make.

After a quick shower (graphic details spared) and his skincare routine consisting of serum and spf moisturizer, Jason adorned his already-attractive figure with dark washed jeans and a simple black tee, which was layered by his black and red-striped leather biking jacket.

Once he tied his boots, he set out the door to the record store, walking to the parking lot - riding helmet in tow - to his motorcycle.

—

“I’ve told you how many times that we don’t carry that bullshit?” y/n spat into the landline phone, wrapping her cord around her finger. “Seriously, Joe, I don’t give a rat’s ass that your old town carried Tom Petty. We don’t do campy bullshit. Got it?” Before she gave the voice on the other end to even respond, she abruptly hung up, rolling her eyes and wiggling her finger free from the twisted cord.

She crossed her arms and sat back in her velvet mustard lounger behind the register, pulling an inventory sheet from the cluster of papers scattered on the surface. Clanging of bells attached to the entrance door temporarily distracted her enough to drone, “Vanity Records: if we don’t have it, your music taste sucks.”

“Well, I hope it doesn’t. Do you have Foo Fighters?”

The voice was sardonic, but it didn’t stop y/n from giving a judgemental look to… a tall man whose black tee matched his (mostly) black hair, the white patch in the front pairing fondly with the low white collar on his leather jacket. He awaited her answer with playful eyes, though they seemed heavy. “If you’re talking about Nirvana, yes.” y/n began, crossing her arms in front of the keyhole cutout on the chest of her long-sleeved black blouse, which was coupled by black and red plaid pants, and a scowl on her face. “If you’re talking about the Louise Post-worshipping Foo Fighters? Also yes.” she stood from her seat and leaned over the clutter of paperwork, ignoring it completely in an attempt to flirt with the handsome stranger. “But if you’re talking about the mock-punk, dads-in-a-cluttered-garage-with-a-pipe-dream Foo Fighters? We don’t carry it.”

The man smiled down at her. “Could you show me?” he tilted his head ever-so-slightly, as if he wasn’t a regular customer already.

With a click of her tongue, y/n left her station, showing the man to a collection of vinyl organized alphabetically. She scanned at the waves of albums, distraught by the poor penmanship of the poor schmuck who had a stroke labeling the aisles, but made her way to the ‘dad rock’ section, reaching over and thumbing through different albums behind a poorly-enunciated letter ‘F’. In between all this, she failed to notice the man - who had been walking behind her - ingesting her outfit, and how the blouse accentuated her.

“Ah! Here we go.” She pulled out a plastic-slipped album titled The Colour and the Shape, and handed it over to the man, who grinned at her. “Anything else?”

Biting the inside of his cheek to prevent him from commenting anything creepy, he chose safer words instead. “Is there anything you recommend? I’m kinda new here, and I don’t really know what to listen to.”

Y/n pondered for a moment, before asking a series of questions: “What do you like to do on a Saturday afternoon? What’s your favorite comfort food? Do you have any siblings? And…fight or flight?”

The man was taken aback by the questions, confused by the randomness of the inquiries. As he thought carefully about his answers, he zoned out, unaware of the chewing of his lip that allowed a dimple to present itself to y/n. If she wasn’t committed to her shrewd demeanor, she would have swooned. “If it’s sunny, I like to watch tv, but if it’s raining, I’ll read and take a walk; I fucking love an unhealthy amount of baklava, but I will settle for eclairs if necessary;” the man began rambling, passion strong in his voice, “I do have adopted siblings, but no blood relatives that are living, and; I suppose fight. I don’t really know when to quit.” the man smiled embarrassingly at his own confession.

Responding with a hum of affirmation, y/n skimmed over the vast selection in the compact shop. She then briskly walked to a middle aisle, dusty tile floor scuffed by her combat boots, before stopping at an unmarked section, fingering through the untouched vinyl. She pulled one out and whipped around, presenting the album cover to the man on the other end of the crates. “Human Bloom. They are fusion jazz from Chicago, but have a nice tone to it. I would give them a try if I were you.” she handed the man the record. “Need anything else…?” her question hung on a cliff, dangling in hope for a name.

“Jason.” he replied, “and no, I think that’ll be all.” he tried to look for a nametag, but found a newfound attraction to chest-placed keyhole cutouts instead.

“Y/n. The checkout is something I’m supposed to take care of with a register, not with you and your eyes.” she admonished, quirking a brow before heading back to her post behind the counter, hips swaying with each step she took.

Jason watched, unable to speak by the way he was called out. He took larger steps to the checkout, head down as he did so. “Yes. Right. Sorry.” he stammered when he finally reached the register, patting his jacket pockets for his wallet before finding it in his pec pocket (or, as he calls it, tit patch). “How much would those be?”

Y/n clacked at the old register buttons, its labels washed out from abuse. “$52.75. Cash, card, or number?”

“Pardon?” Jason opened up his wallet.

“Y’know, you could tender with cash, a credit or debit card, or your phone number.”

Jason smiled widely at y/n, finally acknowledging her forward attempt at flirting. He set his wallet down on the counter and asked quietly, “Can you do that here?”

“For you? Sure.” y/n remarked, her ‘sure’ accompanied by a survey of Jason’s tall figure with her eyes. She tore a piece of paper and opened a drawer by her hip, grabbing a pen and jamming it shut before sliding the pair to Jason.

Pen in hand, Jason jotted down his number and passed it back to y/n, who already removed her phone from one of her pockets and entered the number into it. Jason watched her every move, impressed, albeit flattered, by her determination; until, of course, his phone vibrated in his back pocket. He checked it briefly: new text: you are as tall as you are hot, buddy.

Jason gaped at the text before looking at y/n. “I must be pretty short then.” he snickered, earning a scoff from the woman on the other end of the counter.

“Short on time? Patience?” she dipped her voice an octave. “...Self-control?”

Before Jason could respond, y/n’s coworker, Jade, greeted him. “Hey, Jay! How was work today?”

Jason stopped in his tracks. Y/n dropped her seduction tactics, returning to her guarded expression. “Yes, Jay, how was work today?”

Both employees stared at Jason with terribly different intentions, one with genuine curiosity, and the other with vehemence. “It was okay, I guess. Made some tips, so that’s why I’m here.”

“Good.” Jade chirped. “I would have stopped by on the livestream, but I dunno…camwork really isn’t my thing. Wish you all the best though!” She finished with a beam before walking away from the counter and to the back of the store, away from whatever tension she sensed.

“I can explain-”

“Over breakfast. Tomorrow.” y/n decided Jason’s fate for him, which he was happy was spared. It was rare he was forgiven for white lies, something that he was awfully rung out for. He accepted his dues with a nod and snuck out of the record store with his tail tucked between his legs.

—

Jason and y/n exchanged details on their confirmed date, so it was rather disappointing to Jason when he arrived at the Gotham Diner to…nobody. He checked his phone when the waitress seated him at a booth, and again after she poured him a cup of coffee. Nothing.

“Good morning, Jason.” y/n greeted out of nowhere, bringing Jason’s attention from his desolate thoughts to the woman now scooting herself on the abrasive booth cushion. He must have smiled, because y/n added, “Got your uppers for today?”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Good to know your chipper attitude isn’t just your customer service voice.” he critiqued, to which y/n stared at him. “You look nice today.”

“Thanks. I think I stepped on dog shit on the way over.” she glanced underneath the table at the underside of her boot.

The silence between them was too agonizing for Jason to handle, despite it being short. “So, about yesterday, I didn’t really mean to lie like that, and I just wanted to say I’m-”

“Seriously don’t worry about it, man. I like that you’re not put off by me, y’know? A lot of guys are; usually it’s the chicks I hit on that admire my decisiveness.” y/n tore open a few packets of stevia, shaking its contents into her coffee before stirring it with the wooden stick. “Jade gave me intel on your job though.” Jason frowned, awaiting the imminent rejection he expected with the acknowledgement of his unconventional line of work. “I’m all for sex work, dude, so don’t sweat it, but camwork? Really? Isn’t that, like, outdated now?”

Jason allowed his shoulders to slouch as his nerves settled, pleasantly surprised by y/n’s reaction. “To be honest, I know a lot of people do shit like modeling, but it feels so…forced.”

“And camwork is different? I’m not sure how it is for guys.”

“No, you…you have a point.” y/n saw through him, and saw something he hadn’t quite noticed in himself; it was, to a degree, a facade. He didn’t want to jeopardize his vulnerability to the dark caves of the internet, so he simply hid behind something he wanted to be, rather than completely himself. Perhaps that was why he admired y/n so much, despite knowing so little of her.

The pair was interrupted by a waitress, who took their orders. “An egg-white only omelet, please.” Jason politely asked.

“And could you get me a large stack, please? With extra blueberries on top.” Y/n asked with wide eyes, clearly ecstatic by the antioxidant properties of the garnish.

After the waitress left, they returned to their conversation. “I do pretend to enjoy some of the stuff I’m requested to do, but I dunno.” Jason hid behind his cup of coffee, an absurd sight for y/n seeing a tall, broad figure hunched over. “To be honest, I’m kinda turned on by the idea of someone watching me. Plus it pays the bills.”

Y/n mirrored Jason’s shrug in rapport. “I see what you mean. If I had the body, I think I’d do the same, but there isn’t much of a market for stocky punk chicks.” she stated, a sliver of disappointment in her voice.

“I’d watch.” Jason blurted, before covering his face with his large hand. “Sorry, I-”

“One omelet, egg whites only.” the waitress returned, huge tray balanced in her palm. She distributed the plates and utensils. “And a large stack for y/n, our favorite regular.” the waitress beamed at y/n, who returned the sentiment. “Hope you two enjoy.” she left with a wink.

“Thanks, Wanda!” y/n called from her booth, giddily dancing in her seat when returning her attention to the stack of round, golden pancakes in front of her.

“You come here often?” Jason inquired skeptically, offended that she hadn’t indulged him in the information prior to their scheduling.

Y/n nodded and gave a “mmhmm” that was muffled by pancakes in her mouth. “You know, I used to come here in my college days.” y/n explained once she swallowed her first bite of the delectable breakfast treat. “I’d stop by with my study group - which was usually just me - and I’d sometimes order a few rounds of the stacks. Wanda there joked that my veins are probably pumping syrup more than blood, and I’m afraid I have to agree with her on that one.”

Jason let out a chuckle while cutting his omelet with a knife and fork with minimal scraping. “At least the vampires will get a tasty dessert if they bite you.”

“Maybe you’re right!” y/n stifled her laughter. “Maybe they’ll pour my blood over some waffles or something.”

Hand over his mouth to prevent omelet from flying all over the table and y/n, Jason chortled and mocked Dracula, “Mmm! ‘Vou must try this breakfast! Ze blood is vunderful!”

Y/n gasped jokingly. “How dare you mock vampires? They don’t all sound like that.”

They each took turns smacking the table and giggling, exchanging niche vocal impressions until Wanda returned with a warning. “You two are causing a distraction to some of our other patrons here. Try to keep it under control, okay?” she gave them a lambasted look. “Here is the check, since I know you two will probably want to continue your date.”

Date. Y/n blushed at the word. “Thank you, Wanda. And tell that rigid couple in booth twelve that we’re sorry, and we’re not real vampires.”

“But we will bite if needed.” Jason added with a cheap smile.

Wanda sighed and walked away, murmuring something incoherent.

As Jason was about to snag his wallet, y/n slipped a couple of bills in the receipt card. “I’m holding you hostage, so I’m paying. Don’t worry, pretty boy.”

Though the action was assurring, it was confusing when paired with y/n’s nickname for Jason. He found himself amused at the woman, and had to ask: “What are your answers, by the way?”

“Hmm?”

“Your answers. To the question you asked me yesterday. You never gave me yours.”

Y/n grinned innocently, sincerity splayed across her face. Jason wished he could have taken a photo of it - her eyes were just pretty. “Gimme a sec to think,” she sat back in the booth, head hitting the backrest with a thump. “So I usually don’t do anything except listen to music and read, I have two siblings - but three if you count the imaginary turtle I had when I was six, I love a good bowl of soup and some tamales, and I’m not wearing any.”

Jason cocked his head, perplexed by the final answer. “Not wearing any? Any what?”

“Underwear.” y/n blinked innocently, despite being well aware of her suggestion. “You asked if I’m wearing underwear, right? I’m not.” her smile grew bigger with each word, and her eyes dimmed darker with lust.

So did Jason’s. “Oh, uhm.” he was indecisive, unable to choose how to respond. It wasn’t that Jason was inexperienced the art of flirtation, it was that he hadn’t quite been this interested in someone in a long time, and it showed by the way his cheeks reddened (and cock hardened in his pants) at her reveal.

He refused to indulge, his pride in the way. “Thank you for this.”

“No problem.” It wasn’t the reaction y/n was hoping for, and her tone fell with it.

They stood and exited the diner together, loitering in the parking space where Jason had left his motorcycle. Jason noticed that y/n’s spark died off when he hadn’t taken her bait, and although he felt guilt, he knew he wanted to explore the relationship more prior to sleeping together. He feared that y/n took it personally;

She did. “I’ll text you.” she said, backing away before she gave a brief wave of her hand and disappearing into the crowd of Gothamites.

—

“Jesus, what is wrong with me.” y/n sighed when she re-entered her loft, littered with old clothing on the ground, and walls decorated with mismatched posters. As she untied her boots, she replayed the rejection in her head: Jason’s nose twitching, eyes shifty, and mouth open, pausing to choose whatever denial he believed was appropriate.

Her phone chimed in her pocket, but she neglected to check it; instead, she hovered to her bed on the other end of the studio flat, and tumbled onto it, her sheets making a punched ‘oof’. Deep breaths calmed her worried mind buzzing with defeat, and she wondered if perhaps she was, in a word, bamboozled.

It didn’t make sense: the flirting beforehand, way his eyes wandered too freely on her body like a dog to a treat, yet he rejected her…why? Was it what she wore that day? The borderline offensive vampire impressions? Or was it, in the end, her determination that hammered the final nail into the coffin of the potential of their relationship?

Heels digging in the sand, y/n set off on her research, beginning with Jason’s business venture. She sat up in her bed, fixing the pillows to better suit her needs, and reached over for the laptop on the ground. Y/n opened it and waited for the startup operation sequence, the fan vibrating over y/n’s lap as it whirred.

“Alright, Todd, let’s see what camwork you’re doing.” y/n murmured as she entered the site info, creating an account to access the lewd media. “A $7.99 subscription? I didn’t know these cost money nowadays.” she chortled at the virtual pricetag while entering her card info, reluctant to provide sensitive information on her archaic device.

Upon granted access, y/n’s eyes widened, blurred images revealing themselves to her, and she was, well, intrigued, to say the least. The first uncensored media on the site feed was Jason in a public dressing room, unclothed; his hooded eyelids and smirk enhanced his smitten look; his chest was naked, gleaming from the shop lights, and his shoulders were broad, leaned back into the wall of the dressing room; his torso was chiseled, the contour of his muscles shaping into a v near his pelvis, almost as if they were a sign from god for y/n’s eyes to point to his carefully trimmed pubic hair, which failed to hide the base of his thich, uncut cock.

Y/n hadn’t even looked at the caption, so when she finally managed to strip her eyes away from his holy figure, she grinned at the words, “Imagination - life is your creation, Doll.”

A fucking Barbie reference, and she dropped the ball? Y/n scrolled to drown her distraught, searching for a video she could watch.

A notification popped on the page: Robin Hood started a livestream. Click to join. Y/n scrambled to find her dreaded wired headphones, shoving the plug into the jack on the side of the laptop. She then clicked on the notification, instantly refreshing the screen to bring her to a livestream starring the man she had just joked with about Transylvanian vampire genitalia.

The irony. “This is unreal.” y/n muttered to herself as she stared at the tall man sat back on his bed - different than his usual post in his computer seat - as he flicked open a cap of lube, applying it to his hand before he spread it on his erection. He exhaled as he did so, toned chest rising as his fingers moved along his sensitive flesh.

“Fuck, this feels good.” Jason moaned, hips bucking into his hand as his eyes remained closed. Y/n rubbed her thighs together at the sight. “I’m already so close. I wanna come so bad.”

Y/n let out a low moan deep in her throat, mouth watering at the filth transmitted through her earbuds. She watched as Jason’s hand moved from the base of his cock to its head, his wrist twisting. He searched for a speed, but was indecisive with the way his hips shot up sharply, thrusting into his hand. The wet skin sound filling y/n’s earbuds was fucking dirty, and she knew she had to shower right after finishing the livestream - she wanted to see him come, hear the euphoric, obscene noises leaving his mouth.

“Fuck” Jason grunted, holding his cock with one hand, and the other roaming his torso and thighs. “Oh, shit, you feel amazing.” his words were so intent, sincere, as if he imagined someone actually riding his cock - or it was y/n who was projecting her desires onto him, wishing she could straddle his lap and be the source of his pleasure, bouncing on his dick until she milked him dry.

“Oh,” Jason barely pushed through gritted teeth, “Keep going, y/n” he whispered, brows furrowing. Y/n stopped and blinked at the screen, doubting what her senses told her she heard. “Please, please, y/n…” he said it again, this time in a plea that sent y/n’s mind reeling into another dimension as she wanted to touch herself, but wanted, more than anything, to drive Jason over the edge.

His breaths fell staggered, jerking at his cock hard as his bottom lip trembled. “God, I wanna come. Your pussy is so good,” he admitted, eyes screwed shut, “so fucking good.” his speed became erratic, frantically searching for God in a moment’s release, and y/n was right there with him, her panties soaked from the heavenly torturous sight in front of her. She wanted to tell him to come, tell him how good he feels driving his cock into her, continuously, and how badly she wanted to sit on his pretty face until she screamed.

“Shit! Oh, fuck, god.” Jason exclaimed, profanities slipping him like a ghost leaving his vessel as spurts of cum erupted from his cock, body stilling. He thrusted into his hand once more before finally relaxing, catching his breath in a laugh. 

He looked down at the mess of cum he made on his pelvic bone and torso, a splash landing all the way to his neck, and he shook his head. “Wow. Hadn’t had that much in a long time. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. See you later.” Jason smirked, propping himself on his elbows and biting his lip before the livestream ended.

Y/n sat in front of the computer screen with glossy eyes. She was his spank bank. She was. The reality set in, and it finally clicked.

But before she could allow herself to feel relief, free from the shackles of rejection in which she imprisoned herself, y/n quickly moved to her feet and grabbed her phone from the other side of the room to check the notification she dismissed earlier:

Jason. Hey, I hope I wasn’t too rude, but I don’t want to pursue any- (½) Y/n opened the message, careless of the read receipt that would be sent to him. -anything sexual, since that’s my job, and I’ve been used before. I hope that doesn’t ruin anything with you, because I do think you’re special, but I understand if it does. I’m here if you want a second date.

Y/n skimmed over the text, and reread it to check if her senses failed her once more. I hope that doesn’t ruin anything with you, she repeated. I do think you’re special. Y/n smiled widely as she opened up the keyboard to reply:

I thought I was too much. Usually am.

She rested her back against the wall, waiting for a response. Already, it shown as read, and the bubbles appeared at the bottom of their chat.

It’s not your fault, I should have clarified from the start. Are you free this weekend?

Y/n felt the melting of the glacier in her chest, and the cooling of the heat between her legs. She gathered her thoughts for a response:

I think I am on Sunday. 

Jason’s reply was instantaneous, and y/n was thankful games were off the table for them.

Meet me at the Gotham library?

Y/n smiled. Fuck yeah.

It’s a date. Jason replied, the three words launching y/n into orbit.

So much of an orbit that she hadn’t proofread her response. Btw, saw your livestream.

Y/n regretted it instantly, eyes blown wide and apprehension rising in her.

The bubbles came up on the phone screen before disappearing, then reappearing again. Y/n cursed to herself as she waited. Finally: Good. You looked absolutely stunning at breakfast. Wanted to eat you instead of the omelet.

Maybe y/n could get used to this, after all.

[itsyagurlchip]

٠ ˚ ※ ๋࣭  ᯓ⚝ ⋆ .˚✰Video Game Lover 💜٠ ˚ ※ ๋࣭  ᯓ⚝ ⋆ .˚✰

✰⋆⁺warnings: cussing(!) slight existential crisis(!)

✰⋆⁺Sorry this took so long to come out- I had a hard time figuring out what kind of game I wanted this to be. I also changed the pov to 2nd person bc 1st person is starting to make me a bit uncomfy- Much trial and error. Enjoy this chapter!!

✰⋆⁺ Chapter 1: Welcome to the Underground! Sike-

(Prologue) | (chapter 2)

(...)

(...)

(...)

(-!)

fjkl;tredhiajwbwuahjal-

(...)

PROGRAM LOADED, START? (?)

YES NO (ok then)

{ enjoy your experience dear player :] } (WAIT! )

You couldn't tell where you were, and you could swear you could hear dying by omfg playing somewhere in the back of your head. Or was that all around you? All thoughts were interrupted by that trashy music.

Speaking of, your head really hurts.

And so you took a moment to gather yourself before you looked around your environment. and oh dear

Everything was either bright or pastel (you're pretty sure you wouldn't be able to see once you got out of here) and the build of the place reminded you of something from mario's 3D world.

Your Utah Aunt's baby shower could never.

You were in the forest, and in the near distance, you could see blocky-like hills. The grass underneath you was a sea green, and then you saw your feet underneath your knees.

you were pixelated... Which you found odd, the environment around you was round and 3D, but whatever.

You were in a royal attire, which made you question your lack of shoes.

Reaching for your hair you felt a metal through your tufts. A crown? You took it from its place and inspected it. huh, it was increased with a heart shaped gem. Underneath it, it was encrested with the words 'Our Majesty' Which made you do a double take.

where you a royal? Alright then. About time! You deserved this for a long time damn it!

Placing your status jewelry back on your head, you turned back to the world around you...how were you gonna get back? If this was really a video game, how many lives did you have? Were you...ever going to leave?...

What would happen if you ran out of lives?

A lot of it was cutesy in a way, something that you would've decided to play with your cousin- but knowing that your life could potentially be on the line...

Well now isn't the time to start that pissy crying now! If you're in a game, the only way to progress is to keep moving forward. In this world, time would wait you for, making your leave unnecessarily prolonged. You had to keep on moving.

You were currently in front of a rushing river, speeding as one would do when you're in a court case involving your kids. It didn't look safe to cross, so you didn't.

You looked around once more, seeing a long tree trunk conveniently placed between two branches. It also looked more like a plank now that you looked at it.

Either this game was trash, someone granted you a gift, or this was a coincidence. Either which way, you weren't gonna slow this journey. Rolling up your ridiculously puffy sleeves, you stretched and began to prepare yourself before you gripped onto the plank.

Oddly enough (what wasn't odd about this place?), the item wasn't heavy at all, but it held against the currents of the water.

You thanked the stars as you walked across your makeshift bridge to find out it was very much stable.

You marched deeper into the other side of the woods, hearing a ping above your head. You looked up to see a...?

A white check mark? Welp, you did something right in life, even if it was virtual.

You press onto it, the sign stretching out into a screen. Like a small laptop. It lowered down in front of your torso, with the screen black, and the words in purple pixelated text. There was 3 pages, each labeled stats, traits, and inventory.

Stats

Lives: 1

Death Count: 0

Health: 30/30

Attack 2/20

Traits

Perserverance: 5/20

Kindness: 0/20

Charizzma: 0/20

Intelligence: 5/20

Shadow Phase: 20/20

Inventory (1/5)

Extremely sharp knife

That sucks, you could only hold 5 things! And you weren't even gonna acknowledge the traits. And you were wrong...The wingdings didn't read 'One shit', the game is called 'One Shot'.

Which means anything with more atk damage would easily kill you, even if it took some time.

Underneath the stats read a note. It would be crazy if this was written by some gnome.

Welcome my Liege, this is Nigel the Gnome, your previous caretaker, and now lost friend! If you are reading this, I am dead.

'Well damn'

I warn you: Someone of non-royal status is going to dethrone you! Maybe even going as far to assassinate you. I am unsure. All I know is, you have to be careful on this journey. Ever since you left for the expedition, this forceful tyrant has only started his progression.

'i just got here bro-'

He's taken control of the capital, placing a bounty on your name.

'you just had to think something didn't you'

I yearn for this to be another life, but this isn't the case. Your Majesty, there is something about you no one has ever known of. Your legal guardians have entrusted me with this royal government secret, and now is the time to bestow the same upon to you.

You, my dear child, have the power to manipulate and phase into shadows. Apologies for not explaining this sooner, but here is some information you may want to get familiar with:

You can change the shape of shadows, you can travel through them as well as see through them, and you are able to make shadows, as well as your own, physical enough to defend and offend someone.

Bad news is, the only drawbacks you get is your body phasing in and out of the shadow realm, and tiredness. The best part is that only happens when you make the shadows physical.

I am running out of paper, so I have one last thing to say.

You only have one shot.

With the love, determination, and care I can give to you,

-Nigel Gnomaly

the world zoomed in around you, giving you tunnel vision. 'oh dear stars-' The world around you turned black.

GAME LOADING

LEVEL ONE FINISHED

{ Keep on going, the journey hasn't even begun :] }

fjkl;tredhiajwbwuahjal-

(๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و tags: @kittykittyanon @radicallxser @oleander-nin @towomatos @thealphagirl @ziipzeepzop-eez @amorvincitomnia-14 @spongejuice @valen-yamyam16. if you would like to be added, check my blog.

[the-forests-blessing]

Chapter 2

Lukas’ morning begins with rain. 

     Our pensive little writer stands at the window of his room, peering through the glass up towards the dark gray clouds in the sky. He hadn’t expected rain to roll in so soon after a day as bright and sunny as yesterday was. He can’t help but frown with disappointment. I guess I won’t be heading to the forest, he decides begrudgingly. He stares outside for a little while longer, listening to the rain patter against the glass and watching the droplets drizzle over the long, expansive grassy field that lay between himself and the dense woodland. So close, yet so far, he sighs. Turning away, he ponders how to spend his day. Well, the library isn’t that far down the street. 

     Lukas walks over to the coat hanger on the wall near the doorway and grabs his heavy brown jacket, pushing his lanky pale arms through the sleeves, then adjusts the rest of it over his body. He gives himself a quick look-over in the tall mirror on the wall, examining his dark pants and his dress shoes, assuring everything is nice and neat. Then, he reaches up and grasps the collar of his orange turtleneck sweater, giving it an orderly tug. He turns his head, looking over his hair one last time to make sure it's styled properly. He must ensure his hair maintains that clean, glossy look. Even if BeaconTown is in its own disheveled state of untidiness, Lukas won’t be caught dead with his hair looking like a mess around these people. 

     When he decides all is well and good, he turns to Dewey. The ocelot currently munches on his breakfast in a bowl on the floor beside the bed. “I’m gonna go out, Dew.” Lukas approaches and kneels in front of his feline companion, peering down at the almost empty bowl. “It’s rainy out, so I doubt you’ll be wanting to join me.” Dewey lifts his head up, gives his lips a few licks before responding with one single nod, then returns to his meal. Lukas smiles, lingering just a moment longer to appreciate his little spotted companion before he’s standing and heading out the door. “Hold down the fort for me while I’m gone!” 

     Lukas mulls over yesterday's first impressions as he makes his way down the steps from his room to the inn’s foyer. It was already pretty late, with evening just beyond the horizon when Lukas finally made it to town. His wishful thinking wanted to believe that time of day had to do with all the sourness in people's attitudes, but he’s got a hunch that that won’t be the case. 

     Exiting the BeacInn, Lukas is greeted with mostly empty streets, save for two people huddled close beneath an umbrella walking by. The smell of rain hits him instantly, enticing him to draw in a deep breath. Lukas’ gaze flicks left and right, really taking in how desolate it is here. It’s… sad . He can’t help but feel a ping of sorrow slip through him, yearning for the lively town he’d been eagerly anticipating so long for. 

     He digs into his inventory, grabbing his own umbrella and opening it up. Immediately the rain dribbles against the protective barrier. Lukas holds it firmly over his head as he walks down the steps and begins his stroll towards the library. In weather like this, one of his favorite things to do is find a nice cozy spot by a fire and read while listening to the rain patter against whatever roof he’s settled beneath. 

     Thankfully that old man from yesterday was right. The library is in close distance to the BeacInn. It would have been miserable walking back and forth from one side of town to the other just to get here. Lukas ascends the steps of the library and approaches the tall dark oak doors. He closes his umbrella and shakes it off before tucking it back into his inventory. Grasping the handle, Lukas pulls the door open and is immediately greeted with a heavenly sight to behold. 

     The library itself is rather dim. The only natural lighting comes from the massive skylight window that’s built into the ceiling of the library, filtering through and bathing the study area that sits in the middle of the room in delicate light. To his right is the check out area with no staff in sight. Row after row of shelves labeled from nonfiction to fantasy and many other genres surround the study area on all sides. Lukas steps in further, feeling a little more comfortable when he glances around and notices a few lonesome people residing within these quiet walls. He clutches the strap of his satchel and ventures forth, feeling at ease within this literary setting.

     He walks towards one of the isles, reading the sign on the end cap that says “environmental literature”. Lukas draws in a deep breath, bathing his tongue in the refreshing scents of the bibliosmia in his surroundings. Nothing brings his spirits up more than the smell of old books! Lukas adjusts his bag and dips into the aisle, taking in the numerous options. 

     “Hmm…Philosophy, cultural geography, archeology,” Lukas mumbles to himself as he draws his fingers down the differently labeled shelves. “Ah, here we go! Ecology. Perfect.” The blond reaches into the shelf and spends ample time dissecting each one for the most beneficial reads that pique his curiosity. Sitting criss-cross on the old carpeted floor, Lukas scours the titles and summaries of each book before deciding on six hefty novels. Each one weighs heavy with knowledge, inciting a peppy mood for the experienced novelist. 

     He carries his findings to the nearest table in the middle of the room and sets his stack down with a light ‘thump’, drawing the attention of a lone scholar sitting by himself at a different table a few blocks away. Out of the corner of his teal eye, something catches Lukas’ attention. He turns his head slightly, reading the “History” sign on one of the end caps in the back. How he noticed it? He’s not sure, because the section is wedged deep in the back where the books lay most dusty and untouched. 

     He stares for a few moments, looking back down at his choices, then glances back up at the nestled isle. Naturally, his curiosity flares like a cats. He hesitates, debates for a few moments, then sighs audibly. I told myself I wouldn’t do this. 

     Lukas approaches the back wall now, eyeing the sign with rising skepticism. Strange. In almost every library he’s ever been in, the history genre is usually somewhere close to the front with easy access. Lukas looks behind his shoulder once before he enters the aisle anyway and finds… quite the disappointing discovery. There’s only a meager three books back here. Lukas gawks at the empty selection, absolutely floored at the amount of dust collecting on the spacious divides. The books here are old, so much so that when Lukas reaches for a novel with dark leather binding, its pages sulk when being held up straight. 

     “Oh no...” Lukas frowns, his heart torn in two at the state of this book. He can smell the chemical breakdown emitting from the old, worn out sheets. He rests the book down onto the shelf delicately, lifting its cover and finds— Lukas blinks. Confusion makes him surge through the pages until he finally stops and processes. “This is a book of Redstonia’s history.” Lukas flicks his eyes to the other two books currently rotting away against one another. He grabs one, gives it the same attention and– “BoomTown?” 

     The last one is the most worn out, the hard cover has withered away after so long that it's no longer attached to the pages inside. Lukas always hates this part. With deep remorse, he peels the novels binding away and flips carefully through the tattered pages. This novel is much shorter than the others and mentions the name of a town he doesn’t recognize.

     A small town in the center of numerous biomes with a population of just a measly two hundred thirty-seven civilians. He gives the book a thorough look over, reading a few of the intelligible passages that haven’t been water damaged or had parts of it torn out over the years. What he gathers is the town was peaceful and known for holding fun festivals that attracted people from all over. But it’s strange… This town doesn’t appear on any of his maps, and Lukas has a lot of maps. 

     The real head scratcher here though is where on earth are the history books on BeaconTown itself? With a town as famous as this one, you’d think this section would be loaded up with informative works on the history of the town, its people, and the heroes that brought it all together. 

     “Whatcha lookin’ for?” 

     Lukas nearly leaps with surprise. If he had an ocelot tail, it would most definitely be bristled with shock. Lukas whips his head towards the source of the voice. Oh, it’s that young lad from earlier. The scholar who was sitting quietly with himself at his own table. The man before him dresses in a shabby green hoodie, paired with a yellow sweater beneath it. His dark hair is sleek and glossy in the front, giving his bangs a dangly kind of style that bounces whenever he turns his head. The blond peers down at the rest of him, eyeing his blue jeans and clean work shoes. He looks tired, but giving his dark rimmed glasses a quick adjustment, the man straightens with a soft smile. 

     “Uh. I was just checking out what the history section had to offer but–” Lukas gestures with a useless wave towards the empty shelves. 

     “Ohh…” The other male leans in, eyeing the shelves before falling back on his feet and looking at Lukas. “Yeah, we’re pretty lacking in that department.”

     “ Lacking is an understatement. I mean,” Lukas expresses annoyance in another gesture towards the blank shelves. “This is BeaconTown. You’re telling me there’s no history books here?” He scoffs, cocking his head to the other male expectantly. 

     The stranger merely shifts on his feet, gazing down at the carpeted floor awkwardly. “Well… no. I suppose there isn’t.” 

     Lukas narrows his eyes on the boy beside him, suspicion rising within. A moment of silence befalls them both, one that draws Lukas to look back at the shelves with a sigh. 

     “I always thought this town was a utopia of peace. A place where people would come to make friends easily and to build and craft freely. But everything I’ve seen so far?” Lukas shakes his head, raising his hand to gently grasp the shelf. “I don’t know. Makes me think that all that stuff was led on by false rumors and it all turned out to be just some big myth to draw in tourists .” 

     “Nonono!” The man beside him pleads, stepping closer to the blond. “No you mustn't ever believe that! BeaconTown was… It’s-” The boy pauses.

     Lukas stares at the man in shock. “It’s what?” He flinches when the stranger slaps a hand over his mouth, then begins to randomly start backing away. 

     “I-I— I said too much!” And just like that, the man bolts out of the aisle, scurries his way down the open room, yanks his books from the desk and hightails it out of here. Lukas watches, completely taken aback by the absurd display. 

     “You barely said anything at all…” Lukas mutters, watching the heavy front door close from his spot all the way on the other side of the library. He lingers here for a few moments, then glances back at the shelf one last time before he inevitably leaves the cubby and returns to the table with his books once again. 

      That was really weird. Said too much? All he said was…

      “Don’t believe that BeaconTown has always been like this…?” Lukas whispers, drawing his hand over one of the ecology book covers. 

      Okay. So… Then there really is something wrong here. Lukas needs no more evidence to draw to that conclusion. There’s already so many mysteries to investigate here, and while Lukas is quite drawn with curiosity as to what they may be, he knows better than to go sticking his nose in business that is not his own. It’s like that lady at the front desk said. It won’t be a mystery at all if he asks the right people. But it’s kind of hard to want to approach anyone with questions when everyone around here looks like they want to sucker punch him in the gut. 

     Lukas sighs, debating on what to do next before he lands on a decision. 

     As much as he would like to sit down and enjoy his time in a quiet, public space, there’s just no predicting what else might happen. Instead, he’s going to get these books checked out and head his way back to the hotel for some quality time with his latest literary adventures. Lukas picks his books up and carries the stack over to the front, chimes the bell on the counter, then waits… and waits. He spends a good three minutes standing there before he’s being approached by a short-stack woman with glasses. 

     “Erm… what are you doing?” 

     Lukas turns to her. “Oh finally. Here, I wanted to check these out.” He says with a smile, giving the books a good couple pats.

     “That won’t be necessary here. There’s no staff to do that.”

     “...What.” 

     “Nobody checks out books anymore. People just come in, take what they want, then leave.”

     “ What?” Lukas looks like he’s just been slapped across the face. “But without the proper organization system established, books will go missing or–or get stolen without anyone knowing,” he says in a rather fearful tone.

     “No one but regulars swing by here nowadays.” She shrugs. “You’re the first new face I think I’ve seen in months. Just bring them back when you’re finished like everybody else.” The woman turns and walks away, leaving an offended looking Lukas to stand by his lonesome once again. 

     Lukas leaves in a rush. The words that woman spewed out of her mouth nearly made him sick. “That is appalling,” he growls under his breath, becoming increasingly disgruntled with the town he’s about to spend the next three months in. “What is wrong with this town? Griefers, armed weirdos, and this unethical system I just cannot understand. Seriously. Not even Norfairian’s were this weird, and they live in the Nether.”  

     “Weird?” A voice behind him speaks. 

     Lukas turns, staring at a short blond girl and… that same guy from earlier! The two stand together side-by-side beneath an umbrella. 

     “You say we’re weirdo’s yet you’re the one talking to yourself in public, brah.” The girl says in a slow, lazy tone. The scholar from earlier stands tall beside her, but keeps silent. 

     “Hey, it's a force of habit. No one usually listens to me.” Lukas defends himself whilst an embarrassed blush spreads over his pale complexion. 

     The girl chuckles, waving off Lukas’ worries. “Chill dude, I ain’t grillin’ you. Just find it ironic is all.” 

     Lukas raises a brow at her. He’s vaguely familiar with the slang she uses in her wording, but can’t quite put a pin in the map from where it's from. From her laid back demeanor, she seems somewhat harmless. The shorter blonde’s cheeks are lightly freckled, her bleached hair braided and decorated with beads here and there. She wears a tank top and shorts despite the cold, rainy weather. She’s even sporting some flip flops too. 

     Compared to the other civilians walking the streets here in BeaconTown, these two seem the most… friendly. Lukas allows himself to relax, straightening up to address the two strangers with a firm nod. “Okay…” Lukas then turns, unsure of what else to say to them. He can’t tell if she was just making a comment, or wanted an actual–

     “Hey! Where are you going?” The male beside her asks.

     Lukas turns back to them, giving the two a puzzled look. “Back to where I’m staying. Why?”

     “You should, like, totally come with us for a sec.” The girl suggests, though it’s going to take way more convincing for Lukas to agree to an invitation so vague.

     “And why would I do that?” Lukas asks further.

     The two strangers glance at one another with a knowing look. Lukas quirks a brow, his suspicions only increasing. The taller male steps forward, easing himself out from under the safety of his shared umbrella to lean closer to Lukas. He puts his hand up, covering his mouth to whisper, “ we can’t talk out in the open.”

      Lukas’ eyes widened. Okay. Now we’re on to something.

     “You two aren’t going to take me into some dark alleyway and mug me right?” Lukas puts it plainly, earning a soft chuckle from the blonde girl and a nervous frown from the man. 

     “No, no, I wouldn’t dream of it. Just follow us, but try not to look suspicious. Hunter’s are always watching from all angles.” The male tilts his head in a gesture to follow, then begins walking away with his friend. 

      Hunters? Lukas wonders to himself. What does that mean? 

     Lukas peaks around, finding nobody else in sight. Just the constant downpour of rain pelting the stone brick street, filling in the broken cracks and puddling in the deeper divots. Lukas draws in one long breath before sighing heavily. He picks up his feet and follows, now finding it harder not to be glancing into every alleyway or the nooks and crannies of empty shops. Always watching, Lukas thinks to himself. 

     He ends up following the two with a couple blocks of distance between them. The taller of the two glances back occasionally for what Lukas can only guess is to make sure he’s still following. Lukas still can’t help the anxiety forming in his gut over the decision he’s just made. Should he stop and turn back now or…? This might be his one chance to get some actual information on the town. What the young man said earlier suggested he knew more than he was letting on. That he’d said too much. 

     Lukas is eventually brought back down the same path towards the BeacInn. For his second day in town, he certainly isn’t doing much sightseeing. They bring him over to a house, one that’s in pretty good condition. It’s nestled in behind a vendor’s stall though. A little brick path snug between some grass has Lukas feeling a little more comfy, enjoying what little nature there is in the heart of the town. Approaching the house now, the girl drops her umbrella and shakes it out before stepping up the staircase to the front door, the man following close behind. 

     Lukas takes one last look over his shoulder. His last moment to decide his fate. Leave? Or trust these two strange individuals? He looks around the lawn a bit, finding the flowers growing here a bit more comforting and helping him to ease the tension in his limbs. Okay… Lukas closes his own umbrella and follows the two up the steps. The girl holds the door open for them both and seems to notice Lukas’ weariness. 

     “I swear we aren’t gonna hurt you, dude.” She reassures with a lazy smile.

     Lukas gives her an odd look, then glances away. “Sorry it’s just… weird to have people who actually want to speak with me. Everyone else around here usually interrupts me mid sentence or just flat out ignores me.” He explains with a somber tone. 

     “Yeahh..” The young man speaks quietly. “That’s how it is now. Best to keep to yourself. Oh! My name is Radar by the way.” Radar reaches out, inviting Lukas to shake his hand. Lukas nods, taking his hand and shaking it firmly, executing peak professionalism. 

     “Nice to meet you, Radar. My name is Lukas.” 

     “And I’m Nell,” Nell says, earning a curt nod from Lukas.

     “Pleasure.” He shakes her hand accordingly, then draws away, shoving both hands in his pockets and looks around. The house here is ocean themed, something that immediately clicks in Lukas’ mind with greater understanding towards Nell’s tone and style of speech. He’s been to numerous oceanic towns and met the people living there, some of which speak similar patterns to what Nell has. Very kind and laid back people, perhaps she is one of the unfortunate souls who came to BeaconTown in hopes of a better life too? Regardless, he is very fond of the decor, especially the basket of seashells and sand dollars on the coffee table in the living room. The interior of this home is small with the kitchen, bedroom, and living room all crammed into one space from the looks of it. 

     “So… uh… Sorry about earlier. I didn’t want to get into any trouble for speaking about this where someone could hear us.” Radar speaks up. Lukas turns his attention back to the man, noting how nervous he seems. “You were searching for BeaconTown’s history? …Why?” he asks carefully. 

     Lukas quirks a brow, puzzled by the question. “Well, I can’t help but find it kind of strange that the world famous city known for its kindness and generosity has turned completely upside down. I mean-” He reaches into his coat pocket and holds out his postcard. “I mean this is the BeaconTown I was looking forward to. Not–” He allows Radar to gently take the postcard from his hand, then gestures to his surroundings, “all this craziness.”

     Lukas pauses when he sees the other man's lips tremble when staring down at the postcard. A feeling of oncoming dread seeps into his body seeing those eyes glisten with untold emotion behind those dark rimmed glasses. Lukas frowns, but says nothing as the two take their time to examine the image on the card. Something seems to have stricken a cord within them both, especially Radar. 

     “Wow. It’s been so long since I’ve seen it like this.” Radar frowns deeply, and with great sorrow. 

     “Yeah man… Brings back memories.” Nell laments softly. 

     Lukas scratches awkwardly at the back of his head, feeling uncomfortable in his position. “I– I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-” 

     “No-no, don’t be sorry.” Radar assures, offering the postcard back to Lukas. The blond takes it and offers a gentle “thanks” in return. “You’re right. BeaconTown is way different than it once was. That’s why I was so surprised to see a new face open the library doors. No one who enters BeaconTown these days usually comes to the library of all places.” Radar sighs, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “I mean, it used to be one of the hottest spots in town. Now it's-” Radar stops there with an indifferent shrug and glances away.

     “I was so totally stoked when Radar came and told me a new guy showed up in town that didn't look like a total whackjob. We couldn’t help but wonder what the heck brought you here of all places?” Nell says, looking at Lukas curiously. 

     “Well I'm relieved to hear I don't look like a whackjob,” Lukas chuckles softly, “but anyways, my reason for visiting BeaconTown is that I’m actually an author. Well, I’m trying to be. I’m currently in the middle of writing an extensive biome encyclopedia that goes in depth about each and every biome. I’ve been working on it for the last five years! Hoping to finish it by the end of this year.” Lukas smiles.

     “Oh wow! That sounds super-duper exciting.” Radar expresses with an honestly intrigued grin. Nell on the other hand doesn’t seem as enthralled with the idea. 

     “Sounds like a loooot of moving around from place to place, huh?” She asks, a bit turned off at the idea of doing that much traveling. 

     “It is,” Lukas nods proudly. “I’ve been all over the world, and here I am, BeaconTown being one of my last stops before I settle down… uh… somewhere , and finally finish my draft and move forward to finalizing, then publishing!” Lukas’ eyes glimmer with excitement under the dim torch light. He always gets so worked up talking about this stuff, it makes him all sorts of giddy. 

     “Wow, that’s honestly amazing. And you’ve been doing it for five whole years? Jeez, talk about serious dedication. I’m totally inspired! Although I’m not sure what to do with that inspiration.” Radar smiles sheepishly. 

     “Heh, thank you. And hmm… read more books? Can never go wrong using your inspiration to make room for new knowledge,” Lukas suggests with a shrug.

     “YES!” Radar exclaims. “I like that idea a lot. Maybe I’ll do more environmental studies! Gosh, it’s so nice having someone friendly to talk to.”

     “Totally. I look forward to, like, totally vibing with you and stuff,” Nell projects an invitation for a future gathering session, the idea making Lukas’ heart relent, quickly withdrawing from the idea.

     “Oh well I-... That's awfully nice to hear, really, but I've got business to attend to on the outskirts of town for most of my stay.” Lukas awkwardly confesses. He's not sure he's ready to hang out with Radar and Nell. He barely knows either of them and the idea of subjecting himself to social gatherings when he could instead be using his precious time to broaden his research; well, let's just say ‘vibing’ won't be a part of his extremely tight schedule any time soon. 

     Radar is taken aback by this, blinking, then narrowing his gaze. “Outskirts where, exactly?” 

     Lukas lights up, instantly. “Oh, the-”

      Knock knock knock. 

     “Radar! Nell! Are you two in there?” A loud shout booms on the opposite side of the front door, causing everyone in the room to flinch with surprise. The strength of the knocking is strong, but pretty obnoxious in Lukas’ personal opinion. Is it the guards?

      “Oh crap!” Radar hisses, turning to face Nell who looks back at him with a mutually worried expression. They don’t linger on one another for long; Nell quickly rushes to Lukas’ side and gives the confused author an urgent push. 

     “You’ve got to get out of here, like, now Lukas-dude.” Nell presses.

     Lukas sputters his confusion- “Wha-? Why? What’s going on? Am I in danger?” 

     “J-Just a second!” Radar shouts towards the door, then rushes towards the back wall of the single room home. On the wall is a tie-dye tapestry, its colorful pattern draping long and low to the floor. To Lukas’ surprise, a door is revealed behind the decor as Radar grabs it and pulls it back. “Here! Leave through here and don’t let yourself be seen,” he says in a hushed tone. 

     “O-okay,” Lukas replies with uncertainty, then takes his steps towards the door. Confusion and concern tread the shallows of his mind as he’s ushered out the back door, the blond considering the worn out wooden steps before stepping down them and entering the grassy lawn behind the home. The moment he looks back, the door is shut. Lukas is left alone and most certainly bewildered by the moment. Who was on the other side of that door? The two of his newfound … acquaintances, seemed genuinely frightened by the voice on the other side of the door. Radar said not to linger though, so Lukas quickly takes a look around and departs from the home, heading into a nearby alleyway that eventually leads him out to BeaconTown’s mainstreet. 

     The rain continues to pour, forcing Lukas to break out his umbrella once again. The umbrella keeps his now partially drenched form from getting any worse than that. He looks around, noting that he’s found himself on the other side of the street from that coffee shop from yesterday. He recalls that threatening looking group that had settled down there before, although the shop is free of their hostile presence today. Well… He’s not sure what else to do as of now, so maybe a cup of cocoa will assist in helping him mull over the minor discoveries he’s made this morning.

     Settled down at one of the booths inside the coffee shop, Lukas keeps his hot chocolate close, warming his cold hands while he watches the rain outside. As much as he’d like to indulge in thoughts revolving work, he can’t help but find himself lost within the mystery this town holds. He adds a bit of vanilla creamer for extra flavor, stirring, then takes a sip of his warm brew as he fishes his notebook out of his inventory. The old thing is gently set on the table, its bindings worn with use. Anyone who takes a look at the journal could tell it’s well-loved. Lukas’ eyes narrow down at the empty page he’s flipped to, contemplating the blank lines before flipping through a few more pages, skipping ahead of his previous notes. At the top, he jots down “BeaconTown” in professional cursive, then continues to describe his findings. 

     The disorienting revelation that BeaconTown, the world renowned city of heroes, has no documented history to its name, is one of the many things he logs into his research. Tapping his quill against his chin, the author hums, scanning the pages before writing into it, “as of now, I’m uncertain I want to get involved in any of BeaconTown’s secrets. I suspect many dangers hidden between the lines; I’ll only discover trouble if I continue to step into places I’m not welcome.”  

     Lukas takes another sip of his cocoa, sighing with satisfaction at the flavors melting on his taste buds. He’ll need to take his compliments to the brewer, as this is one of the best cups of cocoa he’s had in months. After another ten minutes of sipping and note-taking, Lukas’ mug is empty and he is thoroughly pleased with himself. He takes his empty mug back to the counter, gaining the attention of the single person behind the register. He smiles kindly, then takes out an emerald and sticks it in the ‘tips’ jar. “Thanks for the cocoa, it was delicious,” he says as he then turns and begins his exit from the establishment. The middle aged gentleman behind the counter sputters his surprise, then offers a rushed “t-thank you, sir!” as the door creaks open. “You’re welcome!” Lukas says and departs from the shop.

     Despite the exterior of the building’s messy state, Lukas finds himself making a mental note to return here in the future. So far that was the best thing BeaconTown has had to offer him. 

     After Radar’s handful of indistinct warnings throughout the short time Lukas spoke to him, our author finds himself walking at a fast pace to get back to the Inn for the rest of his afternoon. The warnings that linger in his mind keep him anxious and fidgety, peering between every other building or checking behind his back to make sure some shady eyes aren’t following him. Hunters were one of the other perplexing things that kept Lukas on high alert and cautionary. Does he mean trophy hunters? Bounty hunters? Or just your classic hunter who ensures the town is fed throughout the changing seasons? 

     Lukas grips his umbrella’s handle tighter, determined to learn more on the subject matter. He recalls that group of unfriendly-looking people wielding swords and arrow baskets. Armed and dangerous all while sitting outside of a public cafe. They didn’t wear armor at all similar to what the town’s guards wore, but Lukas couldn’t get a good enough look at them to tell exactly what they did wear in terms of protection. He wonders if these people are the hunters Radar warned him of. Lukas glances behind his back as he approaches the inn’s front doors, giving the wet street one last look over before entering the safety, more or less, of his temporary housing establishment. 

     Lukas collapses backwards against the bed in his hotel suite. He’d hung up his coat, laid his satchel and books out on top of the clean, sleek writing desk in the corner, and of course greeted Dewey before he finally became one with his bed once again. Dewey trills happily whilst he bounces up onto the bed and joins Lukas. Pleased his caretaker has returned, the ocelot clocks on and begins making biscuits in the blankets of the bed. Lukas smirks, listening to the deep rumble of his spotted companion. Dewey’s purrs always help soothe his anxious thoughts. 

     Lukas turns his head, looking at Dewey as he reaches out and scratches the ocelot just beneath his jaw, but right above his orange bandana. The ocelot purrs louder and leans into the gentle affection. Lukas huffs out a soft, tired laugh. “It’s nice to see you again, buddy.” Even if it were only a few hours, it's not often the two separate. Dewey sits down and gives one agreeing nod. “I learned some new things about BeaconTown while I was out, but I have to admit, it’s all still very confusing.” Lukas turns, rolling over onto his belly. “I met two strangers earlier, a skittish guy named Radar, and a relaxed girl named Nell. They seemed friendly enough to trust, so I ended up following them back to this small house where they confirmed with me that BeaconTown truly wasn’t always like this…”

     Lukas’ eyes flick up to the large windows looming in front of him. The rain has since calmed, it is now nothing more than a gentle drizzle outside. The dark, brooding clouds in the sky now pale as the sun begins to break through their thick barrier. Lukas gazes for a few moments, his mind drifting…

     Dewey perks up and watches his blond owner move off the bed and return to one of the windows. Here Lukas rests his eyes upon the forest once again. The expanse of grassland between him and the higher altitude forest will probably take a few minutes to walk through, which is just more time spent admiring the tree line while he gets closer. “I’m really hoping this rain stops by tomorrow morning. It would be fun to start the day with an adventure, right Dewey?” Lukas turns, looking at his biscuit kneading ocelot. Dewey flicks his tail in acknowledgment to what Lukas says, but offers nothing more.

     Lukas turns back towards the dense woodland with a hopeful glimmer in his oceanic eyes. 

     Morning couldn’t come any sooner.

[sillyrabbit81]

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part Fourteen

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Fourteen Summary: Lori spends time with Mike and shares a meal with the Brothers.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 3.3k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Fourteen Warnings: slight angst, some fluff, mild violence, mild smut (kissing)

Authors Note: Thanks as always to my lovely BBFs (Best Beta's forever) @henryobsessed and @nashibirne .

I tested positive to covid yesterday so I'm feeling a little foggy in the brain, so forgive me if this chapter is poorly edited (well worse than usual 🤣)

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors. (see above!)

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Thirteen Part Fifteen

Lori

After eating a simple lunch of sandwiches with Geralt, I spent the afternoon with Mike. His room was the polar opposite of Marshall's tidy minimalism. It looked like a college dorm room, an overfilled, yet organised den of nerdom. He had a desk filled with what looked like a custom PC and several monitors while vintage consoles and games were organised in shelving around the desk. His room was fairly dim with most light being emitted from LED strips along the corners of the ceiling, but there was enough lumination to see his closet seemed to have more clothes on the floor than hanging on the coat hangers or folded and his bin was overloaded with empty wrappers and soda cans.

I loved everything about it.

“Uh, so, this is me.” He must have noticed my inventory of his room because he looked away as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

I leaned over to kiss his cheek and said grinning, “I'm digging the ‘King of Nerdom fantasy’ aesthetic you have gone for here.”

Mike rolled his eyes then grabbed me around the waist, fingers digging into my sides as he tickled me and made me squeal. I slid from his grasp and ran around the bed. My heart was pounding, adrenaline was surging through my veins making my hands shake as I couldn’t stop giggling as he continued to stalk me.

“Think you can run, huh?” he asked, grinning as he kept advancing on me.

The low light in the room seemed to perfectly enhance his already far too attractive face, highlighting the strong cut of his jaw, the dimple in his chin and the model-like bone structure in his cheeks. Despite being smaller than the other Brothers, he was still a very large guy. I could see how broad his shoulders actually were and I noticed the way his arms stretched the sleeves of his t-shirt.

Trembling and giddy, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to make him chase me or if I wanted him to catch me and throw me on the bed. My eyes darted to the door and I thought maybe a bit of a run might be just what I needed.

“Don’t even think– Hey!” Mike called, but I was already throwing open the door and running down the corridor.

Giggling as I ran, I turned my head to find Mike tearing down the hall after me. I yelped and ran faster, determined to take him for as much as a run as I could before he inevitably caught me.

I ran further into the clubhouse, down a hall I hadn’t been in before, noticing a few rooms that had doors which appeared to be holding something valuable behind heavy duty doors. As I turned a corner I quickly realised I had gotten myself trapped. I was on the verge of trying to open one of the doors to find a hiding place when I felt my arm being yanked and I was hoisted into the air and thrown over Mike’s shoulder.

“Gotcha!” he cried, triumphantly.

“Put me down!”

Mike laughed and started to run down the hall while I screamed, kicked my legs and flailed my arms in a weak attempt at getting him to release me. Truthfully, I didn’t want to be put down. Mike’s spontaneous, freely given affection and his chaotic, bordering on juvenile behaviour was what I adored most about him.

It’s what I needed most from him.

Suddenly, Mike came to a stop and I felt the muscles in his shoulder tense under my weight. I peered around his body as best I could and saw Walker with a rifle in his hands pointed directly at Mike’s head.

Holy shit.

“Were you born a fucking idiot, Mike, or did you have to practice?”

Mike slowly lowered me to the floor. I had to avert my eyes from Walker. Despite the seriousness of the situation, I felt like I was about to burst out laughing.

“Shit, Walker, we were just–”

“Running around making the girl God damn scream? Like she was being attacked? During a fucking protection operation? The fuck, kid?”

It wasn’t really funny anymore as I raised my eyes and looked at Walker. His eyes were narrow and his lip curled into a snarl. He wore dark denim jeans and a plain white wife beater which clung to every muscle and the hair of his chest peaked above the low neckline. I knew he would be fit like the others, but fuck he was jacked and unlike his Brothers, I couldn’t see any tattoos on him.

“Shit, I didn’t think–”

“You better start fucking thinking or one of these days you’ll end up–”

“Walker,” I interrupted sharply.

“What?” he snapped as he whipped his head towards me.

I gasped. I had expected to see his face twisted in anger and it was, but that wasn’t what made me suck in a breath. It was the other emotion that warped his near perfect features, the same one that had his chest pumping and his nose flaring. 

Walker was scared.

He steadily and slowly lowered his rifle as his face seemed to drop and in the snap of a finger his momentary look of vulnerability was replaced by his usual sneer.

“This is Club business, princess. Stay out of it.” Walker growled.

“I’m fine though,” I said softly. “Nothing happened. I’m okay.”

Walker continued to glare at me. I wanted to raise my hand and touch his cheek, to reassure him, to comfort him. My arm was halfway there before I realised what I was doing and forced myself to lower it to my side.

“Get the hell out of my sight,” Walker spat, and he turned his grim look to Mike, “Both of you.”

I swallowed as Mike silently put his arm around my shoulders and led me back to his room. I couldn’t stop myself and looked over my shoulder to see Walker looking down at the dark grey low pile carpet of the hallway shaking his head. He glanced up and our eyes met. His face momentarily appeared pained, his brows furrowed and raised, then they lowered and his lip curled.

I quickly looked away.

Mike set me up at his desk then laid on his bed, watching some tv. The mood was a little sombre as I started perusing my go to sites that had next day delivery. I found it difficult to concentrate at first, the run in with Walker played on my mind. As did his unexpected reaction.

Had he truly been afraid when he thought I was being attacked? I found it hard to believe considering the position he had in the club. If he fell to pieces at the outset of a life or death situation, there’s no way the others would have put him in charge.

The only other explanation - and it seemed too far-fetched - was that he was afraid for me. 

Maybe he had been worried something had happened to me because if he lost a client, the Brotherhood’s reputation would be tarnished. On top of that, I don’t think Sy - or the other Brothers for that matter - would easily forgive him and it may even threaten his position as President.

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense and I was able to concentrate on my orders.

I found a way to actually make the shopping enjoyable. Still angry at my Nate, I didn’t hold back and ordered what I wanted without any consideration of cost. That $200 pair of jeans? Add to cart. That $150 bra and panty set? Quantity two. Add to cart.

Was it childishly passive aggressive of me?

Absolutely.

I almost decided to really take the piss and order myself a couple of cocktail dresses, but I figured the cost of what I actually needed was punishment enough. I did order a few skin care products that were usually too expensive for me to afford and some workwear and steel-toed boots for when I spent time with Geralt.

When I was finished and just messing around looking at pretty and impractical shoes, I started to wonder what Mike knew about the pact. I spun around in the gaming chair at his desk and decided to ask him about it.

“Mike?”

“You done?” he asked, sitting up and grinning with his usual puppy-like enthusiasm.

“Yeah. I want to talk to you about something.”

“Sounds serious.” He grunted and raised his lip in a mock look of disgust.

“It's about the pact.”

His eyes widened with an exaggerated look of innocence. “What pact?”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t bullshit me.”

He downcast his gaze. “Shit, I’m s…” he shook his head and when he looked back at me his face set in a grim determination, “No. I’m not going to apologise for it. I was frustrated when I thought I had missed my chance with you, but when G told me what he, Sy and Marshall had agreed to, I was in. Maybe we should have discussed it with you first, but I wasn’t going to let another chance with you slip through my fingers.”

I looked down at my jeans and picked off a piece of fluff while I tried to take in what Mike said. He moved across the bed until he sat on the edge and grabbing the armrests of the gaming chair, he rolled it close until I was nestled between his legs.

“Hey, I don’t want things to get weird between us. I meant it when I said ‘no pressure’, okay Babycakes?” He lowered his head until his eyes caught mine, and he smiled gently as he cupped my cheek with his warm hand. “I’m just happy you’re here with me. Even if we’re never going to be more than friends. I just want to be around you.”

“You really mean that?”

He nodded, solemnly but then his grin turned mischievous and he added, “Okay, maybe I’ll be a little disappointed if we don't kiss again.”

I laughed and lightly punched his shoulder. “You’re such an ass.”

Mike chuckled a little, but grew serious. “How do you feel about it? The pact I mean.”

I took a deep breath, giving myself a moment to really think about it. “I was mad when Marshall told me. I yelled at him and stormed out.”

“That explains his shitty mood this morning.”

I shrugged. “I’m not mad anymore, but I don’t know how I feel about it.” 

Mike pulled me onto his lap as he nodded. “Took me a bit to get my head around as well. Then I realised a couple of things. First, you being with my Brothers doesn’t change the way I feel about you, Babycakes and the second is that I know they all feel the same way about you as I do.”

I laid my head on Mike’s shoulder. His arms went around me, drawing me closer to his body as he bowed his head.

“Have I said too much?” he whispered, his lowered, serious tone made him sound older than he usually seemed.

“No,” I whispered back. “I think I needed to hear that.”

He hummed softly and lifted his head just enough to kiss my cheek. I raised my eyes and met his; they were wide, brows pinched and raised in a charmingly gentle invitation as he licked his lips. My breath came in hard and heavy while a torrid tempest surged through my chest and settled firmly between my legs.

Mike’s finger twisted around a stray lock of hair by my ear and he smiled shyly, “Wanna watch a movie and make out?”

“Forget the movie,” I breathed and pressed my lips against his.

I was on fire as he took us to the bed and split my thighs over his hips. His lips were forceful, parting me until his tongue brushed over mine. He moved beneath me, hips lifting and creating a subtle friction that was nowhere near enough to satisfy my searing need.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he groaned.

His tongue continued its urgent exploration of my mouth until it felt as if no part of it was untouched. I would have thought such a kiss was one of inexperience if it wasn’t so hungry, dominant and such a fucking turn-on.

“I haven’t gotten the taste of you out of my head since yesterday,” he murmured into my mouth, “How do you taste so fucking good?”

I smiled, feeling my cheeks warm and Mike dropped his head onto the bed and closed his eyes. His hands squeezed my ass, fingers digging so deep that I could feel the pressure of his nails even through my jeans. I laid my head on his chest, the side of my face pressed against his sternum, the sound of his heart beating was as loud as thunder as it echoed in my ear.

“You ok?” he asked. His fingers slid into my hair, combing through its length as his heart slowly fell back into its resting rhythm. 

“Yeah,” I said, wistfully. “You?”

“Yeah.”

“You stopped.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

I felt him take a deep breath, my head lifting as his lungs filled with air. “Because this is nice. I like this.”

I smiled as I shifted my body until I was laying beside him and settled beneath the crook of his shoulder. I lifted my head and kissed his cheek.

“I like this, too.”

When it was time for dinner, Mike led me past the kitchen and into the common room and through into another smaller room. I pulled up short in the doorway, surprised by the scene before me.

Mike had taken me to what appeared to be the Club meeting room that seemed to double as a dining room. On the table were a number of dishes including what looked like a creamy mushroom pasta, a rocket and pear salad, grilled pork and some roasted vegetables and a couple of bottles of wine and beer littered the table.

Each of the Brothers stopped talking as I appeared and each one turned their attention to me. It made me want to shrink in on myself, I was not prepared for this.

“Oh,” I murmured, “Do you guys always eat dinner together?”

Mike nodded, “Yeah. And while you’re here, you can join us.”

As if to support Mike’s invitation, Geralt stood and waved his hand over the empty seat next to him. I swallowed hard and tried not to look at either Walker or Marshall as I took my seat. 

It did not surprise me that Walker sat at the head of the table. Geralt sat on his right hand side, Marshall on his left. Mike sat next to Marshall which left me sitting next to Geralt.

“Do you always eat like this?” I asked, “I mean, this looks really good.” It really did. Nothing like this went on at my Brother’s club. Most of the members didn’t permanently live at the Clubhouse, they had families to live with and most ate at home. The ones that stayed, either permanently living there like Nate or Hustle, or crashing for a party or to get away from the Missus, generally lived off take out or two minute noodles. 

“Thank you,” Walker smirked. 

My eyebrows shot up. “You made this?”

He nodded.

I glanced around at the others, nothing in their faces gave away any sign they were playing a trick on me. I turned back to Walker, who only grinned wider and more mockingly.

“Do you cook every night?” I asked, still incredulous.

“I’ll cook tomorrow,” Geralt said, “We take turns when we are here.”

“How very democratic of you,” I said, addressing my sarcasm towards Walker.

Something in what I said seemed to tickle him and his jeering smile became a sardonic chuckle.

“Here,” Geralt rumbled roughly, holding the tray of pork towards me and shooting a stoney glance towards Walker, “Eat before it gets cold.”

The meal started quietly, but as the alcohol flowed it quickly became lively. Even Marshall seemed to lift his gloomy disposition as he told a story about a prank Geralt and Sy played on Mike last Fourth of July.

“So, Sy and Geralt got together and modified a couple of Roman Candles–”

“Modified?” Mike cried, “Turned into a fucking bomb is more accurate!”

“You squealed like a six-year-old, dropped the thing and ran,” Geralt chuckled, “I still don’t believe that you didn’t shit yourself.”

Marshall started snickering, even Walker had his lips pressed into a tight line as if he were holding back his own laughter.

“I almost lost a hand!” Mike protested, his voice breaking and letting out a little squeak.

The other Brothers glanced at each other and all at once they lost their composure; all three breaking out in simultaneous raucous laughter. 

“Oh sure,” Mike said, folding his arms across his chest, “Pick on the fucking New Guy as always. Why don’t we tell her about the time you tried to pull a wheelie and ended up letting go of the bike and it crashed into Sy’s truck?”

“What?” I looked at Geralt, his face was grim and I burst out laughing.

“Or the time Marshall ate a jalapeno thinking it was a pickle?”

“Oh my God!” I shrieked, “you didn’t?”

“Or the time Walker—”

“Mike!” Walker thundered.

His cheeks were flaming and I couldn’t stop laughing no matter how hard I tried. Tears rolled down my cheeks as Mike mouthed across the table, “I’ll tell you later.”

“You tell her anything and you’ll shit teeth for a week,” Walker growled through gritted teeth as both Marshall and Geralt joined in the laughter.

Walker looked around the table and our eyes met, his eyes dark as a thundercloud rolling across the noon sky. But then, they softened and I saw it again; I saw his facade slip a moment before his guard shot back faster than lightning.

He stood quickly, his chair scraped loudly on the polished timber floor and the laughter trailed off.

“Mike, you’re on clean-up. Princess, I need to see you in the morning.”

I opened my mouth to ask why, but he was already walking out the door.

“Why does he need to see me?” I asked Geralt.

Marshall answered, “We’ve been digging into a few things. He’ll want to talk to you about what we’ve found.”

“About Jake?”

He nodded.

“Can’t you tell me?” I asked.

“I’ll be there in the morning too,” Marshall said reassuringly, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“I’m—” I slammed my mouth shut as I looked at Geralt and Mike still sitting at the table. I stood up. “I think I might go to bed.”

Geralt stood too and rested his hand on my shoulder and exerted the smallest amount of pressure until I sat. 

“No. Stay for a bit,” he said to me. Then he addressed Mike as he started to collect empty plates, “Come on, I’ll help you clear the table.”

Mike gave me a short dip of the head and a smile, but didn’t say anything as he gathered as much as he could and followed Geralt to the kitchen.

I glanced at Marshall. He was sitting with a hand on a glass of wine, his long fingers twirling the stem.

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat before I spoke. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

Marshall shook his head. “You don’t need to apologise.”

“I do. I was confused and angry and took it out on you when you were the only one who actually came out and told me what was going on. I reacted badly and I’m sorry.”

“No harm done.”

I looked down at my hands, the fingernail of my index finger picked at the polish on my thumb. I forced myself to stop and stood up.

“I think I will go to bed,” I said, “it’s been a long day.”

Marshall inclined his head and stood. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

[whump-me-all-night-long]

The Kind Commander

AI-less Whumptober Day 2: Exhaustion

Masterlist

TW: military whump, power dynamics, multiple whumpees, lex is a fucking dumbass that's what

---

Lex Winch groaned as he slowly rose to consciousness. Confused as to what had awoken him, he sat up wearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a frown. 

As soon as he sat up, though, his memories came flooding back to him. 

The recon mission. The ambush. The death of his squad. The capture of the remaining two. 

Of his half-dozen member squad, only Lex and his friend, Isaac Lidgett, had been able to stay alive. And even then, Lex couldn’t decide whether their dead squadmates were the luckier ones. The Skoaxians were infamous for their brutality and poor treatment of their prisoners. Especially those under the command of Captain Ulysses Hawk.

Sighing, Lex stared up blankly at the muddy green of the tent fabric above him, wondering, not for the first time, just how exactly he had ended up in this situation. 

One day,  he was only a few months away from getting his masters in Ancient and Classical Literature, and then the next thing he knew, Skoaxia had attacked and Nascines had been forced to retaliate, never mind the thousands of innocent Nascinites who had been drafted and sent off to die.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Lex forced himself to take an inventory of his surroundings, the phantom voice of his old commander, Vyctore Bray, barking orders at him. Of course, Bray had been blown to smithereens right in front of him a few weeks back. Still, he had taught Lex valuable survival skills.

Keep an eye on your surroundings at all times. Make sure you see what’s around you, not just from your perspective, but from your enemy’s too.

Don’t play the hero. Heroes die. Painfully. Be a survivor. That’s the best way you’ll be able to help anyone.

Don’t be stupid, Winch. You hear me, boy? You’ve got a mouth on you and that might just end up getting a bullet put into your skull one day.

Looking around, Lex saw only the dark green of the thick tarp-like fabric, the two wooden poles holding it up, and battered dirt beneath it. A thick steel chain connected both of Lex’s ankles to the base of one of the poles, giving him just enough leeway for a couple teetering steps but nothing more. The other pole had an identical chain leading into a crumpled pile of dirty and torn up fabric.

Swallowing, Lex whispered, voice hoarse and raspy, “Lidgett, is that you?” 

The pile of fabric twitched, moving slowly into a slumped, sitting position. Through the grime, Lex was able to make out the startlingly pale green of Isaac’s eyes and the coppery curls that bounced down his forehead; although, now, his eyes were darkened and swollen, heavy bags hanging underneath them, and his hair was stained darker with blood—both his and others’—and the curls were tangled and limp.

“Winch?” Isaac answered, before dissolving into a violent coughing fit. Lex frowned as he saw what looked to be dark spots appearing on Isaac’s sleeve, before he wiped his mouth and it disappeared. “What happened?”

Lex sighed, pulling his knees close to his chest and leaning back against the thick wooden pole. “We were ambushed, remember? Everyone- everyone else is dead.”

“Shit,” Isaac sighed, letting his head thump against his own pole. “I was hoping that was just another shitty nightmare.”

The two slipped into a precarious silence, neither knowing what to say to the other. The obvious hung in the air around them, heavy.

They only need one of us. Two is more liability. 

Lex was just starting to try to figure out how to broach the topic when footsteps sounded from outside the tent. One of the tent flaps swished open, momentarily blinding Lex with the sunlight, before it fell closed again.

There was now a man standing in front of them. Lex knew immediately, without having to hear a single word, who he was. Those gray eyes, so dark they appeared black, and that black hair, buzzed low and neat, were the elements of horror stories around Nascinite fires. More than anything, though, it was the scar, long and unnaturally straight, cutting down against the outer corner of his left eye, running the length of his face that gave the man away.

Captain Ulysses Hawk.

Judging by Isaac’s sharp inhale, he also recognized the man standing in front of them.

Captain Hawk smiled, humorless, showing teeth just as straight and neat as his hair. “I’m assuming you boys recognize me then.” Lex didn’t even bother getting annoyed at his use of ‘boys’; despite the fact that he couldn’t be more than ten or so years older than them, the experience that Hawk had made them seem like utter infants compared to him.

“What, uh, what do you want?” Lex asked softly, hating the way his voice trembled. “Sir?” he added on belatedly.

Hawk narrowed his eyes, gaze slowly scanning up and down Lex. “Private Elexandyr Winch, I presume.” Not bothering to wait for confirmation, he squatted down in front of Lex, nose wrinkling at the dirt, mud, and dried blood that caked nearly every inch of him. “You, as well as Private Isaac Lidgett-” his eyes darted towards him before refocusing on Lex- “are now prisoners of the Skoaxian army. I, as I’m sure you’re well aware, am Captain Ulysses Hawk.” He smirked. “Welcome to Camp Ironglass.”

Isaac muttered something—either a curse or a prayer—under his breath as Lex’s stomach sank. Ironglass was the most infamous of all the Skoaxian camps, partially due to the cruelty of Captain Hawk.

Swallowing, Lex looked up into Hawk’s eyes, feeling as though, if he looked for too long, he could get lost in that inky abyss. “What do you plan to do with us? Sir.”

Letting out a soft chuckle, Hawk reached forward to capture Lex’s chin in an unbreakable grasp. Instinctively, Lex flinched back, too slow, and he had no choice but to allow Hawk to slowly move his head, studying him intently. Finally, he spoke: “I am going to do whatever I please, Private Winch. And there is nobody in this camp, not you, not the other prisoners, not even the other officers, who can stop me.”

A chill crept down Lex’s spine and his breath seemed to freeze in his lungs as Hawk slowly released his chin and stood up, still maintaining unwavering eye contact. Finally, he smiled again, turning away from them. “I do hope you boys enjoy your stay here.”

Then he was gone.

---

Taglist: @ailesswhumptober @theelvishcowgirl @misspelledwitch @i-eat-worlds @shywhumpauthor @the-dump-of-whump

[toxicanonymity]

The Dark Path (Rock bottom Ch 4)

6k | Corey x Michael, Michael x Reader. NSFW

Something for everyone! Pt. 1: Beefcake Corey pumps iron. Pt. 2: Corey & Michael kill Mulaney. Michael on Corey. Pt. 3: Michael fucks (Y/N). Corey can't contain himself.

Rock Bottom Index - All Chapters

If you don't want gifs, you might wanna read on AO3. Throw me kudos for being a slut while you're at it & subscribe to get the next chapter a lil early.

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Ch 4 Part 1 

Outside (Y/N)’s house, Corey walks around to the backyard.  He bends down to pick up his heavy wrench from the dying grass.  The cold metal slides and clinks into place as he moves.  He imagines what it would have been like to kill the sad sack if Michael hadn't gotten to him first.

He goes to collect his backpack and sees a shape in the  woods.  His heart skips a beat.  It feels like Michael is close.  The shape walks in the opposite direction.  

Corey gets on his motorcycle.   His huge hands make it look like a toy bike from certain angles. He cranks the gas with a twist of his thick wrist. It’s a cold ride, and his large knuckles turn red and white.  

Instead of going home, he rides to the Allen family’s abandoned mansion.  He keeps some things hidden there for whenever he needs to get away from Joan. He puts on clean underclothes and takes a nap before work.

His day goes by in a haze of want. His clothes are clean, but he can still feel the essence of Michael and (Y/N) enrobing his cock.  

-

At work, he's distracted and lets the hood of a Buick slam on his masculine hand.  It doesn’t hurt, but the shock of it makes him yell.  Ronald is worried about him - he's barely been coming home lately.  

Corey is assigned scrap duty for the rest of the day.  He heads behind the shop to their secondary scrapyard with a clipboard.  He trudges through a sea of  cars, most of them with no tires, parked on white granite rocks that gleam and blind him and crunch under his boots.  Hoods are open, doors are off.  A lot of models are from the 90s or 00s but some are older.  He updates the part inventory as he walks. It’s boring.  

Corey prefers challenging manual labor to tedious paperwork.  Being a mechanic lets him use his engineering knowledge and curiosity while getting to touch and explore and fix things. He’s very good with his hands, and his hands are made for the job. 

Doing inventory is mind-numbing.  He has too much pent up energy and has to pass the time.  At the back of the scrapyard, there's a bumper leaning against a 90s Saturn.  He puts his clipboard down on the seat of a picnic table in the shade and takes his sleeves off, tying them around his waist.   His nipples say it's too cold for this, but he doesn't feel it. 

He hauls the bumper on his sculpted shoulder with one massive hand bracing it.  He mounts the table, ass-first and his thighs and groin press up into the fabric of his jumpsuit as he scoots back and stretches out into place.  He lays back and rests the car part on his sturdy chest.  He spreads his thick fingers to get a good grip, then bench presses it.  

His stamina is impressive and it takes a minute to even feel the burn.  It starts in his hard pecs and spreads to his thick arms.  As the bumper grows heavier, he breathes harder, winces, and his feet start to move.   His white undershirt rides up and he can feel the air on his lower abs and V.   He pauses at the top to steady his arms and breathe, his cheeks puffing out with air. He does a few more reps and discards the bumper.

His biceps bulge out of his white sleeves. The sleeves have ridden up to show his paler skin.  He takes a rest then grabs a tire.  The veins in his hands pump.  

He firmly plants his feet in the gravel and sticks his glutes out for proper form. He holds the tire in front, bracing it with his large hands on each side, his hard triceps flexing.  His empty jumpsuit sleeves loosen around his hips as he squats, but the pants are held up by his ass. His quads burn as he digs his boots into ground for leverage and continues squatting. 

From the shop, he hears, "Corey! Lunch is here!" He sets down the tire with a thud and lets it roll away.  It comes to rest against a Ford Bronco. 

Corey pulls on his sleeves and goes to the office.  He devours a footlong meatball sub, holding it with both hands, bracing his elbows on the break room table, his forearms flexing, mouth full, jaw and Adam's Apple moving with each bite. 

He spends the rest of his break in the garage.  He sits with his big legs spread, an elbow braced against his knee and curls a heavy tool box with just three fingers because the handle isn't big enough.  He squints with every bulge of his bicep as he pumps, until he realizes his glasses are fogged and his armpits are damp all the way down the sides of his jumpsuit.  

After lunch, at the back of the scrapyard, he does lunges, holding a tire.  He lunge-walks down a row of cars, turns the corner and comes back through another row.  His jumpsuit strains at the seat each time he comes down.  He keeps going until he feels his lower back sticking to his jumpsuit with cold sweat, potentially drawing attention to his prominent glutes.   

His face is hot.  His curls are damp and matted to his forehead.  A bead of sweat rolls down his thick, tan neck.  He catches his breath and picks up the clipboard again.   

-

After work, Corey goes home and instantly regrets it.  A few days ago when he didn't come home, Joan was beside herself.  This time,  she's unhinged.   Her northern accent intensifies into a monologue that doesn't end until Corey leaves.  

"Who's been taking advantage of my baby boy?! Who?! I can smell her on you, Corey.  She doesn't love you! You know none of them care about you, Corey. You're handsome. You're sensitive.  They should be so lucky.  Your mother loves you, Corey! Come home to your mother! What's happening to my baby boy?!" 

His deep, gruff voice interrupts her painful whine.  "I'M FINE, MA," is all he says.  

"OH MY GOD, COREY, YOUR NECK!"

Corey opens the fridge. 

"OH, COREY, I'm so sorry.  Let me go buy you some chocolate milk! I’ll be right back, you stay right here." She grabs her wallet and nods to herself like that’s going to fix everything.  Then she remembers,  "Oh, you know what? Do you want some custard? There's some custard in the fridge!"  She puts her arms on his hulking back and arms. 

So now boys who keep secrets get custard.  Too little too late. “No thanks, Ma.”  She grabs her keys off the wall, distressed.    

Corey goes upstairs to wash. He plugs the drain and turns on the water.  He looks in the mirror as the bath fills. His jumpsuit hugs his broad shoulders and chest. He peels it off, followed by his soaked undershirt.  His muscles are still pumped up.   His neck is still red from Michael choking him.  

His large fingers graze the marks on his neck.  It turns him on, but he's saving himself, and he can't relax with Joan like this.   (Y/N) hadn't even mentioned his neck.  She must have known.   His eyes well up as her essence fades away in the bath.  Being inside her felt like being sucked by an angel.  They’ve barely explored each other.  The things they could do. 

When Corey pulls the plug to drain the bath, Joan yells right outside the door, "COREY?! Are you alright?!"  

“I’M FINE, MA,” he says again.  He changes into jeans and a button-up shirt.  The stairs rumble as he lets his weight carry him down.    

"I've gotta go, Ma." Joan grabs him and forcefully kisses him on the lips as he leaves.  It's like she's afraid it's the last time she'll see him.  Maybe it will be, he thinks. 

-

Corey picks Allyson up on his motorcycle.  Her small arms wrap around his ample torso.  Part of him would rather feel Michael’s bulky arms, just to know what it’s like to feel small.  

Corey didn’t have a dad growing up.   By the time Joan met Ronald, Corey was becoming a man.  It was all handshakes and pats on the back, an occasional brief hug if he needed one.  He’s never known the true embrace of a man’s strong arms. 

Being close to Allyson reminds Corey of what he likes so much about her.  She has the energy of someone who has lived through hell.  She's experienced Michael Myers in spree killer mode.  It's clear she came away changed in some way.  She must have a dark streak, Corey knows it.  He just has to tease it out.  The tinder is there.  He just needs to light the match.    

Allyson's arms feel good around him. He wants to have her as his own, but he also wants to feel understood.  It’s not possible for Allyson to understand him the way (Y/N) does.  The way he thinks Michael might.  If Corey can tempt Allyson onto the dark path, she’ll understand.  Then he can have it both ways - someone of his own, and someone who understands.   

He  longs to bring Allyson over, but the notion also feels dangerous for Michael, and therefore Corey, thanks to Laurie Strode.  Laurie is Michael's most dangerous predator.  

-

At the diner, Corey pretends to study the menu, but he always gets a cheeseburger and a chocolate milkshake.  What he's really doing is weighing his options with Allyson. 

Aside from the threat of Laurie, monogamy is Corey's other point of hesitation.  He assumes Allyson would expect it.  A few days ago, he would have expected it.  He would have embraced it, loved it.  It was his natural inclination.  But now, he doesn't know if he can help himself.   

It's not just Michael that he wants to stay open to.  The idea of not being with (Y/N) again is physically painful. He's thinking about her more than he expected. Corey still wants Michael to own him – if that's what it takes.  But Corey loves pussy, too.  Why can't he have it all? 

Corey wasn’t like this before, or if he was, he didn’t realize it.  He certainly didn’t act on it.  This uninhibited appetite all started with Michael's hands around his neck.

When Corey first met (Y/N) in 2019, that was almost a year after the botched transfer from Smith’s Grove, so she already knew Michael.  Michael already knew her.  For all Corey knows, she was a choir girl before Michael let her survive. 

Corey decides he'll give Allyson a tour of the dark path, and whether she stays on it is up to her.  He starts by baring his soul as they eat.  He shares enough of his darkness to intrigue her and be truly vulnerable.  His dark eyes fill with genuine tears.

He devours his burger, grease dripping down both of his strong, sculpted hands. He listens to Allyson, and she seems to feel the same.  He sinks his teeth into the despair that underpins her story.  Haddonfield has chewed them up and spit them out.  As he slurps the last of his chocolate milkshake, things seem to be coming together.  

They each have their own reasons, but it seems like he and Allyson want the same thing, in principle: to burn it all down.  Destroy the town that destroyed them.  She may not realize what this looks like to Corey, but it’ll come with time.   He’ll make a bad girl out of her.   

-

When Doug Mulaney tries to start some shit at the diner, Corey knows what he has to do, but he’s tempted to take him on man-to-man right there.  

Corey’s always been equipped to handle himself, but there was a terrible irony. Before the accident, he never really needed to defend himself.   Afterwards, he did, but he couldn’t risk appearing aggressive or even capable of harm.  

Post-accident, he would cower all the time, and when he got bullied or roughed up, he’d take it like a punching bag.  He was afraid of hurting anyone.  It would feel bad and also be the talk of the town.  Things would get even worse for him. 

Physically though, he was always more than capable.  God gave him a sturdy frame, and on top of that, he works out. 

For as long as he can remember, he's been starting his morning with push-ups just to feel the burn in his pecs, then he flips over and brings his fingers to his curly hair and does crunches. 

He has a pull-up bar on his bedroom door.  He can watch an entire episode of the Regular Show while doing pull-ups and chin-ups.  He doesn’t even keep count.  

He likes to feel his shoulders and triceps harden; his biceps and forearms bulge.  He bends his knees and crosses his ankles behind himself to fit in the door frame.  Then, for a different burn in his ample thighs, he brings his legs in front. 

He spends his downtime working out, and  sometimes he doesn't even realize he's doing it. It feels good and it's an escape.  

Doug Mulaney, on the other hand, looks like he probably sits in his patrol car all day.  While Mulaney is eating donuts and writing tickets,  Corey spends his work day lifting heavy objects and using industrial sized tools.  His hands and arms are so powerful that he can lift a tire overhand, palm-down, like a tote bag.  Doug needs a gun to protect himself.  Pussy. 

Corey could absolutely take Doug Mulaney one-on-one, but he has to resist.  He’s been looking for prey to bring Michael, and he found it.  

He drops Allyson off at home.  They share a steamy kiss that makes Corey hard.  She’s obviously keen to get him into bed, but Corey is too focused.  Another dose of the warm and fuzzy hormones will help bring her over where she needs to be, but not right now.   

Ch 4 Part 2

Mulaney makes it too easy by tailing Corey on his way home.  It will take no effort at all to bait him into the lair. At the very least, Corey will get to watch Michael even closer.  If Corey is really lucky, maybe he'll get the (Y/N) treatment - pinned to the wall by Michael's most precious weapon. 

Corey is still trying to wrap his head around Michael as a sexual entity.  If the kill is what turns him on, Corey needs to be the closest person in vicinity when he kills. He parks his bike under the overpass.

Corey baits Mulaney through the encampment and toward the drain and visualizes what the kill will be like.  He reflects on Michael’s last kill - the one he witnessed - and realizes Michael never even stabbed the guy.  It was boss the way he strangled him with the floor lamp, but when he finished him off from arm’s length with a single slash, Michael almost looked bored.  

Watching Michael kill was exhilarating, but watching him really come to life and stab someone, blood splattering on Corey’s neck – the thought of it hardens him more.  With Corey bringing the prey, surely Michael will let him participate in the kill.  

Mulaney follows Corey through the sewer, into the cavern, searching with his flashlight and taunting Corey out loud.  The bright light lands on devious Corey. 

Michael emerges from the shadows but doesn’t pounce.  He looks feeble, almost confused, like Corey is interrupting his nap.  Or maybe, he's letting Corey take the lead. 

Corey has never felt so alive as he prepares to slash with Michael.  He weakens and disorients Mulaney, incurring only a bloody nose and mouth in the process.  He’s tempted to go all-in, but it's Michael’s turn.  Michael moves slowly.  Corey can’t wait to see him work. 

Michael’s shrunken posture makes Corey look even larger.  He urges, "Get up, get up, GET UP!"  Michael pulls a rusted knife from the wall and  Corey's body tingles with anticipation from his nipples to his groin.  "Show me how," he says.  "I need you to show me!" There are so many things he wants Michael to show him.  

Michael swings.  Mulaney stumbles back against Corey's broad chest.  They fall to the ground, Mulaney’s weight spread across Corey’s sturdy body.  Michael lunges toward them.  Corey curls his big arms under Mulaney's, which are thin in comparison.  He braces for impact, breathing heavily as he watches the Shape’s every move.  

Michael wields the old rusted knife like a dagger.  He raises the blade then plunges it into Mulaney's chest.   Corey feels the tense body relax into dead weight in his arms.  Corey breathes heavily and rapidly, spellbound.  He doesn't take his eyes off Michael as the blood drains from their prey. Michael yanks out the knife, splattering blood across Corey's face.  His arousal swells.

Something comes over Michael.  He tenses and adjusts his grip on the knife. The black holes of the mask seem to look into Corey like the first time they met.  Corey understands. 

He braces Mulaney against his chest, and Michael thrusts the blade into him again.  And again.  Corey's eyes follow the blade.  He savors the vantage point of Michael shafting into him.  It has the same energy as Michael’s final thrusts into (Y/N).  Every time Michael plunges the blade into Mulaney, Corey's solar plexus shoots rays of pleasure into his whole body. He could not imagine a more erotic experience.  

Michael takes one step back and slowly stands up straight.   Corey lets go of Mulaney and the dead weight slumps to the ground.  Corey's jeans tighten with desire.  His ass tingles.  His chest heaves and he wipes saliva and blood from the corners of his mouth as he watches Michael.  Corey's cock is throbbing.  

Michael rolls his shoulders back and seems to reach an even darker frequency.  Corey's eyes gravitate to Michael's crotch, which appears to bulge, just as Corey expected.  It's not just his crotch, though.  His muscles appear to pump, too.   

Michael's arms and shoulders flex and he begins to quiver with energy.  The tired old man from moments ago is a distant memory.  Corey takes in Michael's entire form.   His sculpted arms are visible through his sleeves.  The stabbing has reanimated his truest self. 

Corey aches to be filled. There's a space deep in his core that can only be filled by Michael.  He flattens his massive hand against his clothed erection and winces while he waits for Michael's next move.  The base of his shaft contracts and a wave of pleasure blooms deep in his core. He's afraid he might come in his pants, but he's not ready. 

The last time Corey was in the sewer, the mask penetrated his eyes.  Michael injected something intangible and indescribable into him that day.   Corey, who was on the verge of disappearing, was transformed instead.  Now he’s dying for Michael to penetrate him deeper. Turn him darker, freer.  He can almost feel it happening.  

Michael turns his head slightly.  The fingers of his free hand twitch.   Corey tries not to take his eyes off Michael as he begins to unfasten his own belt, thrusting into his own wide wrist as he does it.  He's so hard.  

Michael steps closer.  His breath is loud behind the mask.  He raises the knife. Corey reflexively scrambles to his feet and  backs away until his back is flat against the wall.  His unbuttoned jeans are held up only by the excruciating swell in his briefs. Michael raises the knife to Corey's sculpted throat and closes the distance between them. 

Michael presses the side of the cold metal blade against Corey's thick neck, from his Adam's Apple to his jaw.  It’s angled upward, with Michael’s large, leathered hand near Corey’s ear.  The blade follows the hickey-like bruises from Michael's fingers.  Michael takes a final step, and his foot is between Corey's feet.  

Michael's sturdy thigh presses into Corey’s rock-hard, pulsating arousal.  Corey can't help but thrust against him.  Michael presses the knife harder against Corey’s throat, making him cough.  

Corey feels something move against the bottom right edge of his abs.  He's overcome with arousal to realize it’s Michael's cock, straining the leg of his jumpsuit, spanning from Corey’s lower abs to his thigh.  It's thick and hard, like a warm lead pipe.  Corey thrusts his aching bulge into Michael's thigh and Michael further presses the blade. 

Corey feels a sharp pang of pleasure in his taint.  He dares to grind his hip into Michael's engorged length, but Michael presses his own hip swiftly and firmly against Corey so he can no longer move. Corey is aching for relief. If he hadn't come so much in the past day or so, he's certain the sight of Michael's bulging jumpsuit would have made him come already.  

Michael shows no signs of wanting his own release.  Maybe it’s true what she said, that Michael loves pussy, but that doesn’t mean anything, because so does Corey.  And what’s more, here’s Michael pressing an enormous erection into Corey’s body. 

Corey tries again to press his body into Michael’s arousal.  He wants to feel its warmth, feel it move.  Michael’s hardness grows and his body stiffens further.  Corey tilts his pelvis in a few small pulses to create friction and stimulate himself.  His pre-cum soaks through Michael's jumpsuit.

A car horn blares outside.  Michael looks down and away then relaxes the knife slightly, but keeps it against Corey’s skin. With the knife relaxed, Corey gasps and catches his breath. 

Michael steps back, separating his jumpsuit from Corey's jeans and observes the wet spots on both of them.  Then Michael looks away slightly.  Something is distracting him.  He sniffs the air. 

-

Dread sets in.  What was Corey thinking?  Michael let him live and was letting him get close.  He trusted Corey, and Corey betrayed him.  He must know it.  Michael growls almost imperceptibly, as though in agreement, and steps back into him.  

Corey feels the blade of the knife rotate and dig in beneath his jaw.  Michael could kill him with the flick of his wrist, but he holds it steady. Then, the sharp blade begins to drag slowly, very slowly, but lightly, along Corey's jaw.   Corey feels a hot, thin line of blood separate into multiple narrow streams and stream down his neck.  This is real.  

Corey pleads "no, no, no, not yet" and grinds into Michael’s hard-on as though to show what he can offer.  He wants to become one with Michael before he dies. 

Michael pauses.  

A knock on the drain pipe echoes through the cavern.  Michael jerks the blade, slicing Corey's neck as he flings the knife across the cave. Blood oozes out of the slit.  It's more than a trickle but doesn't gush. It missed the jugular. 

(Y/N)’s voice echoes through the drain pipe.  “Are you in there?” 

Michael releases him.  Without looking back, Michael walks with a purposeful, upright stride to the drainage pipe, then drops to his knees and gets in.  It’s the first time he’s seen Michael on his knees, which does something to him.  Michael’s lumberjack body fills the drain more than Corey’s, despite Corey’s broad, muscular stature.  

Corey suddenly feels cold and unclothed without Michael against him.   He listens to the echo of huge, heavy knees on the metal as Michael exits the drain.  

Ch 4 Part 3

Rather than follow Michael out of the drain, Corey quickly fastens his belt and tiptoes across the cavern.  He hides in a crevasse. Water plinks down from the ceiling.  His hard-on is still raging.  He’s so high on the kill that he wonders if he’s dead.  He can’t believe how well this night has gone, even with blood running down his neck.  

Corey killed with Michael.  He awakened a higher energy in Michael.  It’s nothing compared to the transformation Michael gave Corey, but returning the favor to some small degree makes Corey feel even closer to Michael.   Michael not only choked him tonight, but sliced him.  Then, astoundingly, pressed his warm, lethal cock against his body.  

Corey was lucky.  Michael may not have sensed his betrayal after all.  The  sense of relief dissuades him from pressing his luck any further tonight.  He shouldn’t have gotten greedy.  He can always see if things escalate next time.  Before things go south, he needs to leave.   

- 

Corey can’t exit through the main pipe or he might run into them.  He doesn’t know what (Y/N) would do or say.  He’s almost more afraid of her reaction than Michael’s.  If she can’t play it cool, Michael will know.  

Corey surveys the dark cave for any sign of another exit and makes his way down the main hall, pressing his wrist against his zipper against his aching want.  He considers stopping to jerk off but doesn’t. 

He walks quietly but briskly to the end of the cave.  He approaches the area with Mulaney on the ground.  It looks like a dead end, but once he’s all the way at the wall, a very faint, dusty beam of light catches his eye to the right.  He goes through the crevasse with the soft blue light, and sees that it’s a grate up above, not an exit. 

Moonlight shines down through the squares above, illuminating a  round room.  There’s a fire pit and a huge, iron spit in the middle. Bones are stacked up around the edge of the room.  It’s like a catacomb.  Many of them look old, almost dry, but a few look fresh with bits of tendon clinging onto them.  Corey walks around the perimeter.  There’s a bone saw against the rock wall and a tin of matchbooks.   

He approaches the middle of the room.  The fire pit is round and made of smooth, pale stones.  The spit has scraps of burned meat stuck to it.  Corey steps closer.  It smells like barbecue. He looks down into the fire pit.  Those aren’t rocks, they’re human skulls.  The blood drains from Corey’s face.  His heart races and he stumbles backwards but catches himself.  This is Michael’s Ossuary and Grill. 

Thumping and dragging noises begin to echo from the drain pipe.  The thumps are irregular.   A faint light  begins to bounce around the cave.  Corey scrambles to find somewhere to hide as the thumps get louder.  He finds a nook between the ossuary and another room in the cavern.   He can still see into the ossuary.  He hopes the ossuary can’t see into him.  The echoing thumps stop. 

The artificial light brightens. Footsteps start, and the light moves in rhythm with the steps.    There are two sets of footsteps.   She asks, “Should I call it in?” Silence.  Footsteps.   Her voice is getting closer.   “Okay.  Hey, it’s okay. I just wish I knew who killed Nelson.”  The vagabond, Corey realizes.  He’s lying dead with a flashlight right outside the tent. That was part of his trap for Mulaney. 

The lighter footsteps stop.  “Wait, there’s already someone here,” she says.  Corey’s heart races and he holds his breath.  He can’t see them. He doesn’t know how she knows. Maybe she heard him breathing.  Shoes scuff the ground and there’s a rustling sound.  

“DOUG MULANEY? Jesus Christ, Michael.” Michael never stops walking.  “I don’t even know what to say.” Corey exhales.  The lighter footsteps quicken to catch up.   "Did he find you?" They're very close. 

Corey can see two shapes enter the ossuary, the huge one carrying another figure over its shoulder.  Michael's breath is audible.  There's a rustling and a loud thump.  Duct tape rips off loudly, echoing through the cavern.   Corey tries not to look, lest their light catch the reflection of his eyes.  The light turns off.  

He hears the snap of a match and the wind of a flame.  A whoosh followed by crackling.  The ossuary is gradually illuminated with a warm, flickering, orange light.  It’s quiet for a minute.  Too quiet for Corey to move. The warmth of the fire barely reaches Corey but is welcome.  The room starts to smell like barbecue. 

***

(Y/N) is sitting on the ground against the wall, catching her breath.  Out of view, there’s a drag of metal on rock, probably the bone saw.  She groans in disgust.  "Yeah, think you’ve got this,” she says. “I should get going.”  

The saw clatters to the ground.  Heavy footsteps cross the room.  Michael bends down and grabs her by the throat, then drops to his knees in front of her.  He still towers over her, even with his knees spread over her legs. He doesn’t pick her up.  Instead, he uses his other hand to jerk her toward him.  With the hand around her throat, he forces her back onto the ground. 

She chokes as he drags her closer, by the throat.  Her torso comes to a stop between Michael’s knees.   She manages to sit up on her elbows.  She reaches out hesitantly, like she’s trying to catch a wild animal.  Michael lets her touch his chest.  His grip loosens and she gasps for air. 

He sits back on his gargantuan haunches, which puts his clothed erection against her yoga pants.   She gasps and looks straight ahead.  The blood drains from her face.  She reaches for his crotch as if her eyes deceive her.  She runs her hand down the fabric, feeling his entire length.  It must be the size of her forearm.  

“Holy shit,” she says.  Corey wonders if he's responsible for Michael's enhanced arousal.  Blood rushes to his groin. 

Michael cages her to the ground and yanks down her yoga pants.  She looks apprehensive.  She reaches for Michael’s chest.  His hand snatches hers and brings it just below his upturned collar.  

He slowly pulls down his zipper with her little hand.  Corey's heart races.  She tries to stop it but is no match for his strength.  He grabs the sides of his upturned collar and thrusts his massive chest forward. The collar and jumpsuit fall back and a more precise silhouette of his back and arms emerge.  He lets the long sleeves hang to his sides.

The firelight isn’t great, and the angle isn’t perfect,  but from what Corey can see, Michael wears a dark, almost too-small t-shirt.  His muscles are utterly unreasonable.  His arms are the size of her thighs.   

Corey looks around frantically but doesn’t find a better view.  He desperately wants to see everything, but this is also his best chance to escape. 

Michael's expansive back and empty sleeves obstruct the view of his crotch, but his back in itself is a vision, even under the dark t-shirt.  He yanks the rest of her pants off and nudges her legs open with a giant knee, making space for himself.  

Finally, Corey catches a glimpse of that monster cock.  It’s commanding. Michael lowers himself over her before he can see it in more detail.  She moans at the feeling of his naked girth hard against her.   She rolls her hips.  She must be so wet. But as Michael begins to position himself for entry, she begs, “please," she squirms, "it’s too much.”  

Corey reaches for his pants and palms himself desperately with his massive hand.  He shifts slightly toward the exit of his nook just in time to see her back arch as Michael shoves himself into her.   She groans loudly and his enormous hand grabs her throat. His hulking muscles move gracefully under his shirt as he begins to fuck her.  Corey can’t pull himself away. 

Michael pushes slowly at first, like he’s letting her accommodate his even larger-than-usual size.   She cries and paws at his chest.  Every thrust is so powerful.   Her legs are spread wide with her knees up.  Michael never takes off his mask. 

Her face hotly twists in pain.  He persists.  With time, her cries turn into soft moans and occasional gasps.  She reaches up to his chest as she stares into the mask holes.  His large hand swallows hers.  They’re both sweating by the fireside as Michael's hips powerfully meet hers again and again.  

Corey tries to ground himself.   If he has any hope of moving things forward, he must make it out of this cave tonight.  He backs away slowly.  His arousal aches terribly, but he can’t indulge it, not right now.  He needs his wits about him.  

Michael just barely grunts, and it stops Corey in his tracks.  It’s the hottest sound he never thought he’d hear.  He steps back to where he was.  He has to watch, come what may.  He makes himself a deal.  He can stay a few minutes if he doesn’t touch himself.  Corey wants Michael, but he also wants to be Michael inside of her.

Michael grabs her hips and pulls her into him harder.  Her feet come into the air and wrap loosely around him.  Her legs are so small against Michael’s body. His rhythm quickens and he leans down closer.    

Michael’s arms glisten and bulge out of his short sleeves. His strong forearms slide under her.  With an emphatic thrust, he pulls her against him and scoops her up.  He sits back on his haunches and holds her tight against himself.  He grips her by the waist with her legs draped over his hips and continues to pound into her cunt. 

He moves her rhythmically against his lap, jamming her down around his cock every time he thrusts.  Her feet stick out behind him and bounce in the air each time she comes down on his shaft.  She gasps throatily.  Michael’s hands dwarf her. She looks like a doll getting bounced around.  Michael breathes heavily and wraps his arms tighter.  

Corey wants to fuck her like that.  He also wants Michael to wrap his arms around him like that.  He feels pre-cum seeping into his jeans.  His cock twitches desperately.  

Michael moves his hands to her ass and she hangs on around his broad neck, her arms grazing the bottom of his mask.  He pulls back his speed, fucking her slower but with just as much power and pipe.  After a minute, he slides his hands up her sides to her armpits.  His thumbs cross her nipples, palms engulfing her breasts.  He brings her down hard on his cock and Michael Myers audibly moans.  

It’s too much for Corey.  He brings his wrist down to his pants, unsure if he’s trying to stop it or get it over with.  At the slightest friction, his cock empties itself in dramatic pulses.  It feels like it happens in slow motion.  A small gasp escapes his mouth. 

She looks in Corey’s direction and her eyes widen just as he steps out of view.  Michael keeps fucking her, unaware.  Corey's heart pounds. His briefs feel full and warm. 

-

It’s a challenge for Corey to move quietly. He's a big, burly guy.  Every step he takes is heavy.  He tries his best to silently slink  toward the drain pipe.  Sounds of animalistic fucking echoing through the cavern, masking his footsteps.  

He hears breathing. Groaning. Rubber soles squeaking against wet rock.  Fabric scraping the ground.  She wails, he grunts.  

Corey reaches the pipe and gently crawls into it.   He goes very slowly, one big knee at a time, his large, filthy hands spread out in front of him.   His knuckles are white.  Moonlight is visible ahead.  In the distance, behind him, he hears a whine, a choke, a slap, and a scream. 

Then, he hears traffic from the overpass and feels cool, fresh air against his face. Just a little further and he steps out of the tunnel and collects himself.  He uses his massive palms to brush off his knees. He jogs out of view of the drain.  He sees the red truck, and has the passing urge to get inside and wait for (Y/N).  But after such a close call, he's committed to not sabotaging himself, at least for now. She'll be sore anyway.  

Continue with CHAPTER 5

______________________________________________

[peppapigvevo]

STYLISTA

Guess who got the Bootique Clawdeen.

Let's have a wholly unprofessional and unsponsored review post!

Boring stuff out of the way first; she was on Amazon for $44.99 USD. She's currently on a 7% off sale so you can get the set for $41.85 USD.

The back of the box shows off some styling ideas as well as a little blurb in multiple languages.

The sides have more styling options.

The top of the box has a nifty little inventory of all the things contained within.

I didn't take any pictures of the inside but the doll, furniture and accessories were packaged very simply; the accessories were inside white paper bags, the furniture was strapped in to fit and Clawdeen had her own compartment on the left side. Not a display packaging obviously, since the box itself has no clear portions. On that note, I think the QC for facial screenings has gotten better, since Skulltimate Secrets and now this were packaged with no way to see the doll until you open the packaging. all the Skulltimate secrets dolls and this Clawdeen have perfect faces.

This is how Clawdeen was packaged: wearing her purple jumpsuit, green belt, green earrings and the pink translucent booties.

The doll herself does in fact have the torso joint. The lighting in my room is a little yellow, so you can't see it clearly, but her lid and undereye are lavender, with a magenta crease. Her lips are a much more saturated fuchsia red in real life. her hair is a berry color, with the light lavender color she typically gets. On the subject of her hair...

...I am not an expert, i am just a doll-collecting homosexual, but it does NOT feel like the same kind of hair texture every other Clawdeen has. I can't be sure if its nylon or saran or whatever, but it feels denser and waxier than the polypropolene. It wasn't as tangled before or after a wash, and the ends weren't as frayed.

You can see how it washed. This does NOT look the same as my other Clawdeens I washed, so take that as you will. I still need to reset the curl pattern, of course.

On to the clothing. The jumpsuit is actually a pretty heavy and dense denim, in this purple leopard print with lavender and blue spots, and magenta and black slash marks. It has short, cuffed sleeves and a pointed shirt collar, and cuffs on the hem of the pant legs. the waist has lime stitching and faux pockets.

All of Clawdeens belts have 3 different closure holes, so they can be worn tighter or looser at your discretion. This lime green belt has a skullette buckle and a very long trailing tail.

The booties are a light fuchsia with spikes on the top, and the heels are crescent moons. I know a lot of new MH shoes have interesting detailing on the soles, but these don't, probably because they're clear.

I'm gonna do the outfit pieces in groups. The sweater is yellow, with blue, white and purple circle detailing. The chest has an aqua triangle, the same color as the slash marks. The collar, cuffs and hem are the same blue as the circles on the sweater.

The tank top looked black at first, but it actually has a very subtle bleach dye effect that looks like mist in the dark, it's pretty nice irl. The shirt also has a tri-moon vinyl on it, with a howling wolf on the center full moon.

The green skirt is a lighter weight denim than the jump suit, with darker green spots and a frayed hem under a stitch. The cupcake skirt is in a metallic fabric with a slight blue shift; its really pretty in person. The waist is black elastic and the skirt is covered with criss-crossing claw marks.

The dress is a one-shoulder thigh length ruched number. Because of the design, it doesn't look like much on a hanger but it sings on the doll. The dress is blue with purple and pink leopard spots.

The scarf is hot pink with gold metallic flecks. The stole is a softer pink.

If you're insane like me and already have Skulltimate Secrets Clawdeen, this bucket hat should look familiar. It's the same mold in a periwinkle blue, sans the leopard spots. The canvas and stitch molding is REALLY nice.

I thought the boots had layers of fur, but theyre actually molded to look like slouchy fabric boots, with a repeating skullette pattern. The heels are lined in spikes, and theres a tie molded at the top.

The lime sneakers are the exact same mold as Ghoul Spirit Clawdeen, but in a solid green.

The set also comes with 5 hangers for extra outfits. They're kind of swirly and dainty looking, more like g1 Catrine. They come in pink, lavender, purple, blue and green.

Our girl comes with a lot of accessories! The lime green necklace, again, is the same mold as one that comes with Skulltimate Sectrets Clawdeen. Its a short chain with three dangling crescent moons, with a longer rope chain under that. The magenta necklace and choker are recast from her g3 signature; a circular moon pendant on a crescent moon chain, paired with a star choker.

The gold fur bangle is reused from her Ghoul Spirit doll. The magenta spiked cuff and purple cuff are new though. The magenta one is a simple spiked band while the purple has teeth detailing all around it, I did a terrible job photographing these so if anyone wants any clearer pics just let me know lmao.

The glasses are her signature glasses, in black. The magenta comb is a tiger-striped crescent moon with a studded handle.

The long gold piece is a hair barrette that says MONSTER. The long purple piece is a three-finger ring with the triple moon motif on it.

The black earring is a double crescent moon. IIRC this appeared first on Ghoul Spirit from this gen. The blue hoop with the dangling moon is also from Ghoul Spirit.

I didn't take close up picks of hem, but the green earings are a spiked hoop and a triple moon, recast from her signature earrings.

The gold belt has a double crescent moon buckle, mimicking the Gucci logo:

Finally, her bag is a large tote or shopping bag, covered in the same skullette molding as her boots. The green "HOWL" is flanked by pink bands with small crescent moons, and the moon shaped handles have tooth details.

The furniture she comes with are really cute and would look ADORABLE with her bedroom playset. The coffin-shaped clothing rack is studded, with the triple moon detail at the top. At the bottom are purple trays, and the lavender wheels do function.

The moon vanity has a circular mirror with two small shelves, a moon phases detail on the faux-drawer, and a moon shaped foot.

The pink stool has a starburst on the foot and the seat is molded to look like its padded or has draped pleats.

Final looks and thoughts in the next post!

[comatosebunny09]

You've been putting off that oil change for far too long, sis.

You can't ignore that angry, red oil lamp leering at you from the dash much longer. So, you call a mom-and-pop shop to schedule an appointment for an oil change. And to your surprise, they have an opening right now!

Sure, you don't want to shell out the coins to keep your car running. Rather spend your money on booze, food, and whatever other oddities get you through the weekend. But you're an adult now. You've got 'sponsibilities. You want to trade that car in for a Mercedes someday.

Right?

You whip down the sunny highway, weaving through traffic. Pull up to the quaint repair shop you'd phoned earlier, still wearing your uniform and smelling like the struggle—it's inventory week. Lots of heavy lifting, sweating, and hating your life. 

It's surprisingly clean inside despite being low-key. Freshly painted, ivory walls. Glittering tile floors. Smells like bubblegum and lemon interweaved with motor oil. Warm and homely in contrast to the biting cold outside.

A neatly-arranged lobby sits on your left, two rows of chairs flanking the wall-mounted T.V., abuzz with the weather. Ceiling high windows permit sun rays to shine through. To your right is a marbled counter with a black top, unmanned, tidy stacks of paper, and intricately arranged business cards adorning it.

The door behind the counter is cracked open, a conglomerate of drilling, whirring, and shouting over heavy machinery pouring in. You ring the bell perched on the counter's edge to get serviced. Wait a few beats. Convinced no one will hear you over all the ruckus going on outside, you turn around to lean against the counter, thoroughly engrossed by your phone.

You don't notice when he sneaks in. Situational awareness has always been shit despite your profession. Hear him before you see him, his tone like static tearing into a quiet room. You flinch, spinning around to face the room's new occupant with squinted eyes.

"Good morning, Miss!" says this blond mountain of a man, throwing you off kilter. "How may I assist you?"

He's all teeth and sunshine, this guy. Towers a good foot over you. He wears sandy skin stretched over sharp features. Wiry, dark brows. Freckles stipple his nose. Dimples crater his cheeks. Wheat-colored hair bleeds into a deep crimson on his shoulders and frames his jaws. His face is smudged with what you assume is oil. But it does nothing to detract from how incredible he looks.

You can make out the virility of his body through the confines of his royal blue jumpsuit. Arms lean and bulging with veins pouring from his rolled-up sleeves. Homie clearly works out. He drums his thick fingers on the countertop. You gnaw on your lip, unconsciously imagining them wrapped around your throat...

Despite majoring in linguistics, you've suddenly forgotten how to speak. Mouth gaping like a fish. Eyes blinking rapidly. Your heart is pounding over time in your ears. You're scorching hot.

Breathe, girl.

Breathe.

When you've found your voice again, you clear your throat. Try to act all casual, like you didn't almost wet your panties. "I-I'm here for a nine-o-clock oil change."

"Ah!" he remarks as if you've unearthed the meaning of life. You resist snorting, watching this ball of electricity bounce around and fiddle with a clipboard. He passes it to you, grin never faltering, your nerves slowly draining away. "Please fill out all of the highlighted areas with your information!"

He's intense, sure. Like an ecstatic puppy waiting for its owner to toss a tennis ball. But he gives you good vibes. Smile is infectious. You can't help the ghost of one sliding past your lips as you grab a pen. Feel heat pervading your cheeks, and you glance down to jot down your info.

You slide the beach boy your documents and keys when you're done. He dangles them between you, chuckling at your choice of keychain. A gaudy, fuzzy, pink ball that's been through some things. You're suddenly self-conscious. A little more self-aware, with your hair sticking up at odd angles, your uniform coated with a film of dust, and the laces of your boots peeking out. Though, dude doesn't seem to notice or care.

He tells you to make yourself comfortable halfway out the door again. Motions to the coffee bar nestled beneath the T.V. Flashes you another thousand-watt smile. Says, "my name is Kyojuro, by the way," before going outside to bring your ride around back.

As you plop your weary bones into a chair in the lobby, you can't help wondering how someone that hot ended up working at a place like this.

But dammit, if you don't enjoy having something nice to look at while you wait.

Masterlist

[haakaan00502]

Ghost's Ten Steps to Survival

Longer post than usual, also posting in no particular order. Halfway writing this I realized it wasn't really that much of a Ghost x Soap post and just ended up being the two of them in a recon mission. Basically its not romantic as I thought it would be.

Already wrote it, be a waste if I don't use it. Thanks for reading, enjoy : D

And yes, it says ten steps so expect nine more.

Approximately 2k words.

TW: Gun Violence

Masterlist

Step 3: Self Defense

One… two… five… seven… twelve, In his boot, three in his belt line, some in his sleeve, one on the side of his knee. Ghost was decorated with knives.

Being over prepared will always be better ten times and over than being not, Ghost faces a battle with something constantly changing, with new variables popping up in the least expected times and places.

He’s prepared for something unpreparable, life.

This wasn’t the first time he was overgeared, he had plenty of MOLLEs, and he’d make sure each and everyone of them are used. He has rules, plans in his mind for very specific scenarios, even back ups for events he wouldn’t know what’s going to happen.

His eyes instinctively scanning the nearest exit, his hands always near the most probable environment weapon, he stands no further than six feet away from the door. His age is enough credibility for his experience, he lives in a job that works for death.

It had always been like that, or he now, will always be like that. 

Life wanted him dead, now he lives knowing he’ll die. 

…

The faint sounds of an engine dying gives brief life in the empty urban streets. Ghost shifted slightly, the dust on the floor flying into the air, the sun shining on them, making it look like winter’s first snow. 

“We’ve been compromised Johnny,” Ghost says rather calmly, gathering his belongings he could carry on his body. Doing a quick inventory before looking at Soap who’s slightly hurrying in collecting his own.

“This operation’s been nothin’ but a bust,” Soap sighs as he stands next to Ghost, rifle equipped.

“We confirmed hostile movement in the area, half the job is done.” 

A sound of glass breaking from the distance didn’t startle the two. Soap checks the area outside by the window, as Ghost contemplates their next move. The floorboards he stands on make the slightest squeak with the tiniest movement, he looks around and weighs his choices. 

 “It’ll take them two minutes to reach our floor,” Ghost says to Soap as they both walk towards the door.

Succumbing to old habits, beforehand he memorized the layout of the building. One he found annoying due to its quirkiness. Six floors with two entrances on either side. With there only being a set of stairs on the east side going up to the fifth floor, then the next flight would be on the far west, going up to the sixth. 

He nods at Soap to which he nods back. Ghost opens the door abruptly, they run towards the stairs, jumping off the rails and skipping half the flight.

Not wasting a single second, they start to run again. Going through dust stained floors with chipped paint walls, their boots creating a loud thump with each step. They near the next staircase, stopping when they hear heavy footsteps going up at an alarming pace. 

Quickly they run back, going inside one of the rooms, leaving the doorway wide open. Ghost hid behind the door while Soap is at the side of a cabinet.

Ghost slows his breathing down in an attempt to mask the sound, his rifle pointed directly at the door. The smell of damp wood flooding his nose, his heart rate rising by the drop of a leaky plumbing. 

Trained footsteps walk past their room, hitching Ghost and Soap’s breath. They hear the door adjacent to them open, causing Ghost to tighten his grip on the rifle.

Everything went silent aside from the mental swears he is having. 

Drip.

Drip.

The sound of a squeaking floorboard alerted Ghost, using the door’s eyehole as a guide, he shot through it. The sound of a body dropping.

Swiftly, he grabbed the dead man’s arm and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut. Soap takes the queue and starts pushing the cabinet, blocking the entrance. 

“Insane bastard,” Soap says between breaths as they both listen to more footsteps and chatters outside the door, barely audible.

The two look around for possible reinforcements to give them ample time to think of a plan. Ghost starts looting the body, checking for I.D.s or any sort of identification for evidence. He found only ammo and standard knives. He takes the enemy’s rifle, disassembling it. 

The thumping on the doors gives Ghost and Soap a sense of urgency, they start to speed up their search. Ghost goes through the cabinets and lockers installed through the walls. Soap inspects the walls, checking if there’s parts made out of hollow material and seeing if breaching is possible. 

He checks the desk, going through the drawers to find anything useful. He tries pushing it to provide an extra barricade only to realize it's drilled to the floor. 

Another sound of glass breaking alerts the two, they both look towards the door and see smoke coming out of its gaps. Slowly, the wooden cabinets they used turn against them as they start to catch on fire.

“Can’t this day get any worse,” Soap grunts, unlocking windows to prevent the smoke from filling the entire room. 

“It’s your lucky day Johnny,” Ghost says, pulling out a rope out of one of the lockers.

…

“It’s ye lucky day Johnny,” Soap mumbles to himself annoyed.

“Shite,” Soap says fifty feet above the ground.

Barely half his foot on the ledge, he treads carefully looking for an angle to safely jump down from. He looks down at the ground littered with broken debris and overgrown grass, not necessarily afraid of heights but still enough to break a sweat.

With the rope passing through his legs and over his head, Soap carefully rappels down the building, the rope offering just enough length for a single floor. 

Soon as he secures his footing over the fourth floor’s ledge, he surveys the room. Seeing if anyone is inside before attempting to open it. 

“Ghost!”

“Soap?” Ghost yells from over the fire, looking down from the edge.

“You better get down and fast, I’m breaking the window.” Soap says, holding onto the rope tighter before grabbing his rifle and pointing its buttstock on the window edge.

Ghost makes sure the rope is tied tightly on the desk, tugging it multiple times to check its sturdiness. He grunts as he braces himself before wrapping the rope over his body. Groaning after imagining the rope burns he’ll be getting. 

Soap looks up, making sure Ghost is ready before he smashes the window. Quickly he jumped inside, putting the rifle up to his sights as he began clearing the room. 

Ghost slides down the rope until he is by the fourth level, he reaches by the edge with his foot, jumping over the window sill and firmly lands, crunching the broken pieces of glass. He cuts the rope as high as he could reach and throws it at the corner of the room. 

Soap nears the door, back hunched, each step calculated. He leans back on a nearby wall, placing the back of his hand on the door. Next he touches the doorknob, checking if it is warm. 

He signals Ghost before he starts walking backwards, eyes never leaving the door. They meet halfway through the room.

“Fire hasn’t reached this level yet.” Soap informs over his shoulder. 

Ghost looks at the door, making multiple decisions in a split second before deciding on the obvious two.

“Up or down.” He turns to Soap.

“Up?” 

“Want a party down there? Be my guest Johnny,” Ghost says, starting his move.

“Shot alive, or burned alive, great,” Soap sighs, following.

Ghost goes towards the door, opening it before taking a step back, looking through each angle he could see outside. He steps out, his gun pointed opposite to the door, checking for anyone down the halls. Soap follows, doing exactly the same in a delayed manner, constantly sticking behind Ghost. 

They move down the hall, towards the end while minding their footsteps, avoiding loose boards. Ghost treads forward as Soap walks backwards.

They reach the staircase, hesitating for a moment. 

Ghost takes a breath as if he is about to dive, he slowly creeps towards the staircase, his gun pointed. He sticks to the wall, his eyes directly in front, looking for anything that stands out. Listening for any movement, even checking for the slightest hint of someone else’s smell.

He takes the first step up, pointing his gun up to the middle, turning his body to check the upper floor’s railings. Clear. He takes another step, checks, clear, and another, and yet another, repeating the same movements. Most silent footsteps, the faintest breathing, and a heart so calm so he won’t hear it beating. The only positive thing in this scenario was having someone to cover his six, Soap’s a bonus too, Ghost thinks. 

They reached the floor they were in before, the sound of fire cackling dampening one of their senses. Every second they move and every second they stay is a constant risk, something the both of them cannot wait to get out of.

The two move moderately fast but in a constant manner, keeping momentum. They walk past the room they locked themselves in, the fire seemingly walking on the walls. Soap wraps ripped clothing around his mouth to help with the smoke, but still occasionally coughs.

Ghost shoots the broken bottle a quick glance, seeing the shatter-patterns point toward the direction they are heading towards, confirming that he made the right decision. 

He starts a small sprint, signaling Soap to do the same as the ceilings of this abandoned office building, finally serving its time and starts to give out. Ghost starts running towards the window at the end of the hall, smashing it before jumping out.

He lands at the fire escape, shooting down, quickly killing one enemy camping by the fourth floor fire emergency exit.

Ghost starts going down the stairs, looking behind briefly only to see a fierce looking sergeant on high alert. Giving him a warm and proud feeling in his chest with a strange comfort of safety.

The shots from earlier and clanging of metal surely alerted everyone in the building, they descended as fast as they could without tripping. 

They hear foreign shouts from the windows as they receive gun shots. Hiding below the fire escape, they have to get out as soon as they can before more hostiles show up. He signs Soap to make a run for it, which Soap follows.

Soon as Soap sprints, the gunner from the window follows suit with shots. Ghost aims up, using Soap as a distraction to give him enough time to zero in directly at the enemy’s head before shooting, killing the man instantly.

“Perfect shot L.T.”

“You called it Sergeant-“ Ghost hears gravel move just right behind him, his hand quickly moving to the gun strapped on his chest like it was a magnet.

But before he could even look behind him, he hears a loud thud fall to the ground. 

“Though I think mine’s better.”

Ghost turns his entire body around, seeing a dead man on the ground with a bullet between its eyes. He releases the breath he hitched earlier, releasing some tension from his back. 

“Doubt it,” Ghost said, a smirk concealed by his balaclava, though Soap already knew that look in Ghost’s eyes.

The two jog towards their armored truck parked behind the trees hastily, Soap reaching by the driver’s door first than Ghost. 

“No way, I’m driving this time,” he says as he hopped on the seat before Ghost could protest.

Ghost was about to speak until rounds of fire hit the truck’s rear, making dents on the bullet proof glass, some ricochet to barks of wood. 

“Get in!” Soap yells as he covers fire as Ghost enter the passenger’s seat, grunting.

“Good ol’ boy.” Soap smirks, stepping on the gas as Ghost groans.

[spacedustmantis]

so i've been spending the entire day trying to write, and instead just edited the few paragraphs i wrote yesterday. we haven't even gotten to the point of the fic and i've already given q!charlie trauma! i don't know if i'll finish this fic at all so you can have this now. enjoy :3

"Juanaflippa! I'm home!" 

Charlie set the backpack heavy with today's haul of materials and food next to the door and lifted his arms up above his head in an effort to relieve the ache in his shoulders. In his head he took inventory of his wounds and how critical they were. 

Multiple scratches over his arms, bleeding from at least one of them. A slight burn in his ankle, most likely sprained, not fractured. Sore muscles from taking an involuntary bath in the freezing river. And now that he had arrived home and the adrenaline was wearing off, a previously unnoticed pain flaired up in his left shoulder. Rolling back his sleeve, he found an ugly gash, likely from an arrow grazing him. All in all, not too bad. At least nothing that needed immediate attention. 

Which was good considering there's been an itch in the back of Charlie's mind since he left the house early this morning. The kind of itch that reminds you of old times. The kind of itch that makes you think you'll come home to a bedroom coated in your daughter's blood. The kind of itch that will drive you insane if you give it the time of day.

So he didn't give it the time of day. He kept venturing further out, to where there were still resources left untouched, and he fought back the critters of the night that crept out of cave openings like maws of stone, and he reminded himself of the gun under Flippa's pillow and the look of steely determination in her eyes. 

But since he still hadn't heard any shuffling from upstairs in response to him calling out, and he knew the secret room was not as secret as he wished it was, he didn't want to lose any more precious time. So he kicked off his boots and hurried through the hidden door.

"Hello? Mi hija?" He elected to ignore the worried tremor in his voice, and instead focused on climbing the ladder, rung by rung. His shoulders tense in anticipation, he lifted the trapdoor and poked his head though the opening. He let his eyes sweep across the room. Crafting bench, chest, two signs, bed. And there in the back corner, Juanaflippa, seeminlgy unhurt.

[strikedenko]

The Two Nikos

Chapter 4: Into The Refuge

Summary: The two Nikos reach the center city of the world, though one distinct from the Refuge that Niko had once traversed.

(story under cut)

Squares. The first thing they heard upon passing through the gate, awakening Niko's flight response in an instant.

"Run!" They grabbed their other self by the sleeve and took off, the two rushing up the sets of stairs to escape the anomalies by any means necessary. It was a happy coincidence that their refuge from the corruption happened to be, well, the Refuge.

The two were out of breath, the messiah especially. Taking a moment to regain their exposure, the messiah couldn't help but notice their guide's frazzled expression, awkward posture, and firm grip of their two hands on the catwalk's railing.

"Niko, we're safe... I hope." The messiah's last thought they silently mused to themself.

"I..." Quick and heavy breaths escaped their mouth, still reeling from the adrenaline sparked by the sound of static directly behind. "Sorry, I just..." The grip they held on the handrail slowly loosened, allowing them to lower against the gate's wall. "Squares... no good..."

"...Niko?"

A few deep breaths followed, before the old savior stood back up and looked over to the new messiah. "C'mon, let's go."

Though concerned, the messiah followed along, moving across the catwalks before coming up to another guard robot, this one red.

"Wait." The guard stretched out an arm to block passage up the stairwell. "Before you pass, you must allow me to examine your inventory."

"O-Ok," the messiah stammered, allowing the robot to scan their pockets using X-Ray. All they had on hand was the gilded feather, the amber coin, the sun, the miracle water, the peculiar journal, and...

"You possess an unidentified device." Oh right, the Pocket Machine! "Please display it for further examination." The messiah unveils the purple phone-like device, allowing the gatekeeper to quickly scan through its digital contents.

"....Well, nothing illegal, but you do not seem to possess the seed," the gatekeeper spoke. "It was the duty of the light-bearer to regrow the race of plants."

Niko interjects. "I actually have the seed," they said, before holding up the kernel given to them by Maize.

"Oh, I see. Please allow the light-bearer to regrow the race of plants. Do you understand the procedure?"

Niko half-wanted to say yes, but as they said it was the messiah's duty, not theirs.

"I think Niko will be able to show me!" The gatekeeper accepted this as an affirmative answer.

"Excellent. The plot is north of the Spire. You cannot miss it."

That's good to know. As Niko recalled, there's a solitary empty pot there that requires dirt and the miracle water. While they'll need to find an available bag of dirt, it won't hurt to figure out the route and scope out the area.

The messiah returned the Pocket Machine to its owner as the two marched up the steps to the rest of the area. Squares littered the place, though remained quiet, much to Niko's relief.

Still, it couldn't leave them any less uneasy. Good thing, then, that they never had to get anywhere near the anomalies.

...Wait, where's the Lamplighter? Better question, how are they going to reach the surface? The lack of an elevator left Niko puzzled, though their confusion served as a good distraction from the unsettling geometry.

Well, they'll be able to ask around. The apartments and the cafe were present, at least.

First things first, though; They had to scope out the garden. The robot explained it to be north of the tower, and the pathway extending from the top left of the tower platform led north. That must be it, then.

The two make their way up the wide stairwell going north to come upon a ritualistic platform, one that Niko recognized as the site to plant the kernel.

"This is it." Approaching the pot revealed that... It was already filled with dirt.

Though confused, Niko was relieved to not have to scour the apartments for someone willing to part with their bag of soil. They take out the seed and offer it to the messiah.

"If you would do the honors?"

The messiah grinned and nodded, carefully setting the sun down beside the pot before accepting the corn kernel and burying it into the dirt. They then brought out the tube of sparkling water and poured it onto the surface of the soil.

"It's hard to imagine that it will grow into a person," the savior mused under their breath. Niko, too, struggled to imagine it, though they've since stopped questioning how this world worked.

The old messiah crouched down to speak to the hidden seed. "Grow up big and strong, little Maize." They smiled, eyes drifting to the sun sat up against the pot. "I'll always, always, keep you in my memory."

Niko's gaze shifted up to the starless sky, their warm grin steadily fading as the endless spire served them a reminder of their mission, soon to come to an end.

"Well, let's get moving," they said, standing upright and looking off to the catwalks surrounding the tower. The messiah nodded, reclaiming the sun before following Niko down the steps back to the center.

Perhaps someone in the apartments would know how to reach the surface? The complex was a straight shot from where they stood, so the two embarked towards the entrance.

On their approach, Niko noticed a hastily put up sign above the doorway reading 'Library.'

"...Huh?" They tilted their head, confused. "This is the library?"

Peering inside, the sign proved correct. Scattered shelves of books populated the first room. None of them seemed to fit well with one another, each a different shape and height. Odd...

The next room wasn't much better. A handful of computers sitting atop desks joined in the mess of furniture, with a familiar dice-headed lady hard at work on her own computer.

"Who the hell are you two supposed to be?"

The lady caught wind of the two entering, turning from her busywork to the cat-people. The side revealed to be her face showed two diagonal spots acting as her eyes.

...That was one quirk Niko couldn't help but find themself at odds with-

Though, they digress. "Grown up word," Niko exclaimed, calling out her use of foul language. "We're the messiahs!"

"Oh right," George sighed. "You've got that lightbulb." She stood from her machine and shoved the chair in between the table legs, causing what sat atop the desk to shake for a moment.

"Listen. If you want my help, you need to help me first," George spoke, her tone unbearably stern as if she'd woken up on the wrong side of bed. "Understand?"

All they could do was nod, afraid of drawing further ire from her. Niko knew there were different versions of George, though they never imagined she could be... this drastically different.

"Find me a book I've never seen before. That's the deal," George finished, before shifting her focus back to work.

The messiah let out a quiet whimper, shifting their gaze away from the librarian over to their guide. Niko's view remained hung on George, though noticing the messiah's eyes locking onto them allowed the old savior to pull away.

"...Was she like this?" The messiah asked, a hint of unease in their voice. The guide shook their head, before glancing back at the dice lady.

"She's... strange," Niko said, quiet enough so the irritable librarian couldn't hear. "Each side..." they start, motioning to George's six-sided die head. "...is an alternate personality. It has to do with the 'different worlds' thing, like us." They thought back to their differing ears. Human-like ears for the messiah, cat-like ears for the guide.

"Huh..." The messiah remained confused, but they were able to disregard that for right now. "Well, we do have this." They took out the journal, briefly flipping through the pages to double check that it actually contained text. It did, still in an unknown language. "Will she be interested?"

Niko smirked in a knowing manner. "Let's find out, shall we?" The two reapproached the librarian with the journal in hand.

"What's this old thing?" George spoke, swiping it out of the messiah's hand and briefly looking over the cover. "...It's written in an ancient language." The more she flipped through the pages, the higher her interest rose.

"Guess you are useful," she muttered. "I'll help you with the tower when I'm done with this. It's not like I want to die, after all."

A big yawn is drawn out of the messiah. "I'm sleepy..."

"My bed is my bed," the librarian proclaimed, sparing a brief glance at the mattress over in the corner. "Look somewhere else." Shooing the two off, she then walked back to her desk and sat down to work.

Shrugging, Niko leads them out of the library and over to bed, for possibly the final time in their quest. The city was quiet, barring the soft wind's blow and the footfalls of the two on the catwalks. The messiah set down the sun and got under the covers, their guide tucking them in to allow a good night's sleep.

"Sweet dreams, Niko."

The world, once more, faded to black.

. . .

The messiah shot upright as the world came back to life, breathing heavily with their eyes wide open, alerting Niko.

"Hey, what's up?" They set a hand on the other's shoulder, trying to let them know that they were safe from whatever nightmare had been wrought upon them.

"I..." Of course, the savior wasn't too keen on sharing it. Niko themself hadn't either, around this point in their own journey, though that served little issue as Cameron had shown they could directly see their dreams.

The cat-person held no such ability, though.

The messiah glanced away, slipping a subtle whine. "...I don't wanna..."

"Hey, hey..." Noticing what seemed to be newfound reluctance towards this mission, Niko took to comforting them. "I'll be right by your side, the entire rest of the journey," They spoke, sitting themself on the edge of the bed. "It's only a matter of time until you're back home."

The other sniffled, looking back at their guide. "It's not..." Their voice trailed off, forming a wall of silence between the two. At least, until the growls of the messiah's stomach broke through. "I'm hungry..."

Niko stifled a grin. "We can get you something to eat. There's a cafe nearby, maybe they have pancakes?"

The possibility of pancakes instantly lightened the mood. "Oh, yummy!" They quickly got out of bed and reclaimed the sun. "Where?"

The old savior's grin couldn't stay hidden forever, allowing a few giggles to escape at the same time. "C'mon, it's to the southeast!" Beaming smiles, the two skipped over to the shop.

The familiar waft of brewing coffee brought Niko a sense of comfort, despite not being a huge fan of the substance. They knew the barista would be able to serve something tasty if pancakes weren't on the menu.

"Wait, we don't have any money," the savior realized. It'd slipped Niko's mind as well, calling for a brief moment of unease. "Will we have to... wash dishes, or something?" They seemed particularly disturbed by that thought.

Well, it couldn't hurt to ask. "Excuse us," Niko spoke to the familiar server. "We'd like to eat, but we're short on cash..." The prices on display weren't very high, so they hoped it wouldn't be too hard to earn a meal.

"Well, you're in luck!" Ling spoke, smiling at the two. From his tone of voice, it seemed their concerns were for naught. "There's always a special for the light-bearer at the low price of... free! What can I get you?"

What a relief.

"Do you... have pancakes?" Despite not seeing any on the digital menu up above, the messiah couldn't help but try to fulfill their craving. Judging by Niko's widening eyes and growing smile, they were hankering for some as well.

Ling grinned, nodding. "I do! Take a seat, I'll get you some." He turned to the counter sitting against the wall and began frying up some pancakes. It wasn't long before their snack was served, two cakes each for the pair of cat-people.

"These pancakes are so good," the messiah spoke in between bites. "Thank you very much!"

"No worries!" Ling beamed. "I had to try my best for the saviors."

"Yeah," Niko commented. "Reminds me of what mama makes at home..."

The other cat-person gasped at the mention of mama. "Mama's are the best!" They grinned from ear to ear, reminiscing. "She always adds a hint of moonlight nectar into the batter!"

Niko tilted their head. "Moonlight nectar?" "Nectar from the Moonlight Bloom flowers in our garden. It tastes so good!" The messiah beamed. Niko wasn't really sure what to expect, they'd imagined they enjoyed hazelnut as well. "She always made them when I was feeling sad, or lonely..."

The messiah's voice trailed off with a tinge of sadness, Niko's heart skipping a beat. Their head lowered, closing their eyes and letting a few tears stream down their cheeks. "Mama... I really miss her..."

"Hey, it's okay," Ling said, trying his best to comfort the tearing messiah. "I'm sure you'll see her again after you replace the sun."

They sniffed. "I don't know... Niko told me I would, but..."

"You will," the guide briefly interrupted. "I promise."

"I'm just... worried," the messiah whimpered. "Some have already given up hope, and with the squares we've been seeing..."

Niko hadn't considered what was to be done about the squares in this session. Even yet, they remained confident. "They'll be taken care of, I'm sure."

The messiah sniffled, wiping away their tears. "Okay..." The two continued eating in silence.

"...Want some more pancakes?" Ling inquired as their plates cleared.

"We're okay. Thank you." Filling, for sure. It'll be more than enough to get them through the final leg of their journey. They pushed their plates forward for Ling to collect and clean before getting out of their chairs.

"Hang in there," Ling said, wanting to encourage the two. "You can do it."

The Nikos returned a friendly nod, waving goodbye and leaving the cafe for the library. Within the latter, George stood from her desk with the journal in hand, spying the messiah as they entered the room.

"I'm finished. You're definitely going to want to listen up."

George approached and began to relay the journal's translated text.

"There is an Entity few know about in this world. It has a habit of silencing those aware of it. I'm one of the few still alive. This being is somehow connected to the world. Perhaps, it is the spirit of the world. Just as the light within our world fluctuates, so does the temperament of this being. As the light is now fading, the Entity is now seeking death. Death not to itself, but to our entire world."

It was all very familiar to the state the World Machine had been in during Niko's first couple of runs through the world.

"We must, of course, stop it. When our god and our savior arrive, the Entity will attempt to manipulate them into shattering the lightbulb at the top of the spire. Our god is the only thing this Entity can communicate with; it is through them that the savior will be tricked."

It seems the choice has truly remained unchanged, then. George continued.

"Shattering the lightbulb will return the savior to their home world, leaving ours to crumble. But, as far as we know, this is the only way for the savior to return home. What do we do in a situation like this? Tell the truth, causing the savior to leave? Lie, only to have the entity reveal the truth? We can only hope they will have enough respect for the world they've seen when standing at the top of the spire and judging our fates."

Silence fell between the three.

"You..." The messiah was the first to speak, looking over to their guide. "You promised I would go home, no matter what." Their face expressed a mixture of disbelief, frustration, and a tiny hint of betrayal.

"I know," Niko began after a sigh.

Before they could continue, however, the messiah went on. "Will the world end if I leave? I don't want to do that." Their voice rose, slowly breaking. "I don't want to, Niko!"

All their guide could do was look away.

"...Did you end your version of this world?"

Niko froze. The messiah's question stung, hard. Because, they did. Cameron encouraged them to, and despite their hesitation they carried through. They threw the sun down onto the floor and smashed it, dooming that iteration of their World Machine.

Though everything had worked out in the end, Niko and Cameron reunited for one more run, the one patched with the Author's final update to the machine, the Solstice run. Despite the happy resolution however, the sense of guilt from that ending never fled Niko's mind, always hanging over their head whenever they recalled the events now plaguing yet another one of themselves.

At that moment, Niko swore to right their wrongs; No one else should ever have to live with the guilt of thinking they sentenced an entire world to darkness. No more.

"We're going to save the world," Niko finally spoke. "You and me, we're gonna put the sun at the spire's peak and let this world live." Out from the corner of their eyes, they could see George smile. "And then, we're going to save you from this burden, no matter what," they then proclaim. "Everyone shall live!"

The librarian gave a nod of encouragement. "I like you, kid," she admitted, before turning to the messiah and referring to the journal once more. "'To enter the tower is to leave at the start.' I dunno what that means, but I think you'll figure it out."

To leave at the start...

"One last thing." George pulled out a die with luminescent yellow dots counting the numbers of each side and handed it to the messiah. "Take this."

The messiah, inspired by their guide's words, accepted the final piece of the puzzle, briefly looking it over and admiring its glow. "Thanks!"

"Keep that as a reminder that there are people who depend on you." George took one last look at the two Nikos. "Don't screw up."

The two cat-people nodded, pocketing the glowing dice and turning away, starting to embark on the last leg of their journey.

...!

The lights flickered, just for a moment. Niko glanced back at the librarian, but she had suddenly disappeared. "George?!" Concerned, they rushed over to where she had stood. Not so much as even a trace...

Her desk was beginning to ripple in a peculiar fashion. Nothing sat atop was disturbed, they just... joined in the visual oddity. So too did the walls, then the floor.

Something was wrong.

"Shoot, we have to hurry," Niko exclaimed for the messiah. However, their other self was simply standing there, facing the room's exit. The ripples of the floor appeared to converge at the feet of the still being. "Niko?"

The distant horizon through the windows began to darken, far buildings vanishing at a worrying pace, the darkness fast approaching the library.

"Niko, come on, let's go!"

The messiah was unresponsive, as if the Entity had frozen the world to contact its operator once more. Though, that couldn't be the case this time. No voice spoke to Niko, not familiar nor new.

The catwalks extending out of the building fell victim to the approaching darkness. Whatever they had to do, they had to do it NOW. So Niko grabbed the messiah's hand and pulled them along, towards the exit of the building, towards the darkness.

Then, upon stepping out into the unrendered world, the messiah's sleeve fell out of Niko's steel grip. Their ears then caught a haunting shatter of glass, a sound plaguing their nightmares since their time in the World Machine.

Full of fear, the world's god slowly turned their head behind their shoulder.

And saw the world's messiah collapsed beside the shattered shell of the sun.

"NIKO!!"

In a moment of utmost panic, Niko rushed to pull their other self up and check their pulse, begging them to still be alive. They found two incredibly weak pulses; Still breathing, yet on the cusp of death.

...Wait, two?

"Niko, speak to me. Say something!" Niko pleaded to the other, hyperventilating.

A few seconds passed before the messiah shot awake with a sudden gasp for air, much to Niko's surprise. Though, they quickly shoved themself away from their guide.

"I... No, I don't... Not so soon...!" They quickly muttered, turning away from Niko and inspecting their sleeves.

"Niko, you're alive!" The old savior took a few steps forward.

"NO! STAY AWAY!" The dying messiah shouted. "I can't stop it..." Whimpering, they turned their shaky body around. Their sleeves had fallen down to their elbows, revealing their arms and hands to be exuding some kind of golden dustlike energy.

Their terrified face showed the same, the magnificent glow making it difficult to discern the difference between their yellow eyes and skin. "I-" The messiah found it difficult to speak over their heavy breathing and the building energy. "I'm SORRY!!!"

The ensuing storm of golden rays coming out of the messiah interrupted their final words, forcing their posture straight and arms horizontal. Three intense streams of yellow roared out of their exposed forearms and head, blasting their hat off and forcing Niko to shift their footing to not fall over.

What was going on? What was going to happen to the messiah?!