#Oblivion the Distorted

[trainerlynda]

🐲: Why was I asked to hop on here?

I am... a bit confused.

[oblivionthegiratina]

Greetings all who see!!

My name is Oblivion! However, if that is difficult to remember, Blivie is an acceptable alternative.

My Trainer and adoptive daughter is @trainerlynda. I allowed her to capture me in a master ball so no random 10 year old human catches me, as I have seen it happen before.

I go by He/They/It pronouns, and lead the Giratina of my sector of the Distortion World, they are quite rowdy.

I am mainly here to watch humans interact, as that is one of my favorite pass times. Human culture fascinates me, so I wish to observe those around me without making too much of a stir.

I have appeared on my daughter's account here and there, so this is where I got the idea to make one of my own! Sometimes I walk around in a humanoid form to keep those at ease, which is what my profile picture is!

At least until I get a better picture of myself. Cameras can be quite finicky in the Distortion world… sometimes they function, sometimes they refuse.

//Ask games Blivie has reblogged and that are currently active. Asks directed towards pokemon. Never Have I Ever! Pelipper Mail.

//Ooc more info under the cut!

//This is a sideblog! Unreality. Mod is an adult and goes by she/her he/him pronouns All art I use is my own! I follow from @theshadowqueenofthedistortion, more info about me on my main! Here's some of my other accounts as well!

//Semi-Serious blog, I will participate in active silliness and also write serious stuff. Will sometimes touch on death, abuse and a few other things, I will tag the serious stuff with their appropriate tw/cw tags.

//I will not ship with anyone who isn't my BF, just for my comfort. This universe is a mix of pokemon and abunch of other things, if he goes to hang out with someone they'll likely go there with a portal.

//I am very open to crossover stuff!

//Oblivion will speak in a rather thesaurus heavy fashion most of the time, as he mainly knows big words. Sometimes he will fix his grammar to make himself more understandable, but for the most part he speaks with big words.

//Pokemon in their universe have human levels of sentience, however it is aware of places that have Pokemon that aren't sentient, so he won't find that odd.

//Real life animals exist along side Pokemon in his universe, like divergent evolution (not the pokemon thing, the science thing)

//What the tags mean. //Shadow Mod Speaks: Mod speaking. //Mod Reference: Me and/or Zorana making references for this account //Shadow Art: Art by me that isn't a ref/finished. Blivie's Curiosity: His post/response tag. The Oblivion Ruler: Closed and/or serious RP. I will also use this tag when responding seriously to something. Distorted Musings: When Blivie is mainly talking to himself. Open to responses, but he isn't talking at anyone.

[listenerofpodcasts]

i think gabriel from the mandela catalogue and michael distortion would be buddies

[nightingaletrash]

Raminus, Dagail and J’Skar are probably the only people that absolutely believe in Iriana’s innocence wrt what happened with Traven. Dagail knows she is because of her visions, J’Skar essentially kinda trauma-bonded onto her when she saved him in the Bruma Guildhall, and Raminus interacted with her more than anyone else in the guild so he has a decent grasp of her character and what drives her, so he just knows better.

The rest mostly see her as this haughty altmer who was driven by ambition to reach ever greater heights within the guild despite having been there such a short time. Throw in Caranya’s betrayal, and some wonder just how good a judge of character Traven really is; he meant well, but was ultimately naive enough to unwittingly harbour a necromancer within his inner circle, is it such a stretch to think he’d have chosen to trust someone that was prepared to resort to murder in order to oust him? And ofc this all began to escalate the moment she reached the University, so what if this was all part of her grand plan? Could a single mage really have killed Mannimarco? Was he ever really in Cyrodiil? Did she orchestrate the attack on the Bruma Guild Hall herself?

Raminus does his best to try and keep the conspiracy theories from spiralling out of control, but people really will believe anything they hear if it matches with what they think they know. Once she’s summoned to appear before the Emperor and then is abruptly imprisoned, it suddenly becomes accepted as fact that, yep, she killed Traven, and Raminus isn’t able to ignore the calls for her to be stripped of her position and expelled from the Guild.

So imagine the drama it causes when she walks back in a few weeks later with some books in need of studying and with a fancy new title to replace the old one: the Hero of Kvatch.

[itsswritten]

Threads of Hazel

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: Angst, blood, gore, injuries, hints of death.

Summary: A mating bond can connect those who have not even met, but can it save them too?

All that welcomed you was the cold, splodges of darkness filtering in your distorted vision.

Time seemed to stretch and contract in the void, a dizzying whirl of uncertainty. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? Perhaps even longer.

No one was coming.

Why had you dared to hope? 

It was that gentle hazel glow that danced behind closed eyelids that had stirred within you. A glimmer of something that felt worthy of holding onto. Something to believe in.

But it must have been a trick of the mind, a cruel illusion born from the depths of insanity. 

No one was coming. No one ever would.

Maybe it was time to give up.

Time to surrender to the abyss, to let go of the tenuous thread that bound you to consciousness. As you teetered on the edge of oblivion, a fleeting sensation brushed against your senses, a whisper of familiarity.

You could smell it, faint and distant yet unmistakable. 

Night-chilled mist and cedar. 

It was that scent again. But like a wisp of smoke on the wind, it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving your senses grasping at shadows in the void.

Another wicked false sense of hope. Your mind must be creating delusions as it comes close to its end.

No one was coming.

It was time to let go.

***

This was the last location. And then they’d go home. 

Finally.

Azriel straightened his posture, rolling back his shoulders with a weary sigh. His wings unfurled and then tucked in against his back. He felt anchored, weighed down, by the silent burdens he was carrying. Even his shadows were slumped against him, as if they were also affected by his fatigue.

Azriel was utterly exhausted.

Despite Cassian's concerned pleas for him to stay behind and rest, Azriel couldn't bring himself to heed them. The ache in his bones and the weight of exhaustion pulling at his limbs were nothing compared to the thought of letting Feyre and his brother face this mission alone. 

He was Spymaster of the Night Court, he would fulfil his duties regardless of his own welfare. Regardless of the demons that weighed on him.

But these demons of his, had been plaguing him for months. Clear in the dark offset look of his gaze, and the purple shadows that sat beneath his eyes– he was a tormented soul. 

The aftermath of the war had etched its scars deep into Azriel. It was a sensation he was all too familiar with, the fallout of anguish and slaughter, had always defined his life. But in recent months, his demons seemed to be haunting him more fiercely than usual, their whispers echoing in the silence of the night.

For months, Azriel had been plagued by a recurring dream, a nightmare he assumed. Because as much as he tried he couldn’t recall the details. Each time he would wake from the depths of his sleep, finding himself drenched in a clammy sheen of sweat, his chest heaving attempting to draw in air as though a claw was clenched around his lungs. 

But that is all that would linger.

A feeling, no memory of what had caused this reaction within him. No clue as to why his body shivered in fear when he woke. 

It was a maddening cycle, the dream hovering just beyond the edges of his consciousness. Clearly haunting in nature and yet elusive. Each day felt like a puzzle with a missing piece, the memory of something crucial lurking just beyond reach.

So close, and yet not close enough. And it was driving him mad.

In a desperate attempt to break free from that grip, he tried avoiding sleep altogether. Yet, that feeling persisted. A restless energy coursing beneath his skin. It was relentless, a constant reminder– that he was forgetting something of importance.

And that feeling terrified him. Azriel had always known most, metalicus with his gathering of intel and information. Skilled in deciphering most people and their thoughts. But his own mind had him at a loss. He was no Spymaster of his own consciousness, simply a male who couldn’t sleep because of a nightmare.

Feyre, Cassian and Azriel had embarked on the final leg of their scouting mission. Despite the passing of time since the war's end, new pockets of Hybern loyalists still cropped up. The three of them were tasked with weeding out any lingering enemies. They had arrived at the last location Azriel’s intel had unearthed. A manor house on the skirts of the borders, had whispered rumours to be a base for some Hybern stragglers.

Derelict and crumbling, the building seemed to sag under the weight of its own deterioration, its once-majestic features now reduced to a skeletal framework of crumbling stone and splintered wood. The scars of fire marred its surface, meaning any valuable pieces of information that might have once resided within its walls had long since been burnt. Nothing but charred remnants and ash laid in their wake.

They had been too late, but they still had to check nonetheless. 

"All clear from up above," Cassian announced, his voice cutting through the silence as he landed beside Feyre, who had just reentered what remained of the foyer. She had meticulously scouted the left wing of the building, while Azriel had taken the right.

"Clear here too," Feyre confirmed with a nod, her eyes scanning the dimly lit space for any signs of danger.

Azriel soon joined them. His part of the search had also yielded no immediate threats. Cassian stood beside his brother, kicking some burnt debris with his foot while mumbling that it was a shame Hybern’s men had burnt this place. That it was such a waste. But Azriel wasn’t listening. 

Running his rough hand down his face, he let out a heavy sigh. A very clear tell that he was not okay. Something Azriel never showed. But he could feel it again, under his skin. Pinching at him. Something faint in this chest, weighed and sliced, only to subside to a dull ache.

He felt uneasy, as he had for months but there was something about this place that had shaken a deepness within his gut. Even his shadows fluttered nervously around him.

Maybe he would need to see Madja when he got home. Or maybe even relinquish his pride, and ask Rhys for help.

“Let’s get this checked over quickly, and then head home. It’s been a long mission,” Feyre spoke softly, offering both males encouraging smiles as she gestured towards the back of the building. 

Feyre’s eyes settled on Azriel, giving him a reassuring look. For a moment Azriel almost let her in, he had noticed the concerned looks and touches his family had given him. Growing more and more these recent weeks. Instead though, he nodded softly following the pair into the back room. 

They descended down grand stairs, into the lower levels of the house. Each step he took echoed through the empty remnants of the building, every move feeling heavier and weightier. They were hit with a chill when they reached the bottom. In the absence of natural light, Feyre conjured small orbs of illumination, casting soft, flickering light that bobbed across the dark space. The feeble glow revealed crumbling walls and decaying remnants of furniture, similar to what they had seen upstairs. 

The air was heavy with the scent of decay and mildew, but there was something metallic that lingered.

Blood.

They could smell blood. And there was something else too. Perfumy and chemical.

Faebane. 

Tensions rose as they all hesitated on their weapons, Azriel’s fingers gingerly hovering over Truth Teller as they stepped deeper within the space. Azriel's shadows flickered and swirled around him, their movements erratic and unsettling. They sensed something lurking in the darkness, something that sent a shiver down his spine.

There was this haunting apprehension washing over Azriel as if he had been here before. He couldn’t quite place it, couldn’t quite pinpoint why he didn’t feel like a stranger in this room.

As though he had been here many times before and yet this was still his first time here. That gnawing began deep in his gut again as his fingers gripped at his dagger.

He heard Feyre gasp loudly, before his eyes quickly scanned to see what her light had revealed. 

A figure, barely recognisable in the dim light, hung limply from chains fastened to the wall, body gaunt and ravaged by torture. Steel rods protruded from flesh, each one coated in the deadly poison of faebane, its sickly scent permeating the air.

Feyre's hands flew to her mouth in horror, her eyes wide with disbelief and revulsion. "Is she..." her voice trailed off, unable to voice the question that hung in her mind. She had to stop herself from gagging, as the contents of her stomach threatened to spill up her throat.

Even Cassian, veteran of countless battles and witness to nearly every injury imaginable, could not conceal the grimace that tugged at his lips. They all took a moment to absorb the sight before them, Azriel remaining motionless as he processed the scene. The sensation from earlier still persisted, but now intensifying as Azriel's gaze fell upon the steel rod protruding from the body's chest, a sharp pang jolting through his own.

Azriel staggered, overcome by a sudden wave of agony that seized him, breaths ragged and uneven. Feyre moved swiftly to his side, her hand offering comfort as she implored about his well-being, but his attention was elsewhere.

He wasn’t listening to Feyre, he was listening to his shadows.

Alive.

They were pulsating beside him, waiting for his orders, waiting to be released, begging to be released.

Azriel clutched his chest, mustering his strength to stand straighter, the pain subsiding for now as he took a hesitant step closer, 

Alive, alive, alive.

They whispered frantically this time, their urgency desperate.

Then Azriel saw it. The faint rise and fall of your chest, the subtle rhythm of your heartbeat still persisting against all odds.

Azriel's breath caught in his throat, his mind struggling to process the sight before him.

How? How were you still alive?

He wasn't the only one to notice. Cassian, wasted no time in springing into action, his voice commanding as he instructed them to release you from your chains, to get you the urgent help you needed. Both Feyre and Cassian, mentally calling to Rhys to be ready with Madja.

But Azriel was frozen in place, his senses honed in on the fragile thread of life that still clung to you. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched, his chest constricting with an overwhelming emotion.

He remembered. 

The sight before him wasn’t new. No, he had seen this. Seen you before. Felt this way every night for months. 

It was you whom he had been forgetting when he woke, the haunting echo of your desperate pleas vibrating in his mind. As he watched your body slump to the floor, freed from the chains that had bound you, Azriel struggled to push back the flood of visions that threatened to overwhelm him.

Visions of you, screaming, pleading for someone to help you.

Begging him to come save you.

How could he have forgotten? Your cries had pierced through the darkness, reaching out to him night after night.

A plea for salvation had rippled down the thread that seemed to connect you.

That thread.

That power that had subconsciously been connecting you both for months began to hum. Louder and brighter than anything Azriel had ever felt before.

It was a realisation, a confirmation to what he had been feeling for all that time. The golden warmth finally settled under his bones, consuming all his senses.

The mating bond.

You were his mate.

Something that was supposed to be so cherished, felt incredibly bittersweet as he watched your near dead form be pulled into Cassian’s arms.

He could feel your pain seeping through the bond, in fact that is what he had been feeling all those weeks. Your suffering leaking its way down to Azriel. Your pleas reaching him in the depths of his sleep.

He had a mate, finally.

And yet when he pulled gently on that faint thread that linked you to him, he could feel it fading.

Maybe he was too late.

***

A bright white light filled your vision, its touch lining your body slowly.

It was time. You were ready.

But just as you were on the brink of surrender, a golden warmth surged forth, wrapping around you like a protective shield. It tugged at you, pulling you back, refusing to let you go.

Not now, not yet. It spoke.

You resisted, clinging stubbornly to the edge of oblivion, but the pull of that hazel glow was undeniable.

Let me go. It hurts. I want to leave. Your soul cried towards the glow.

The hazel glow called out to you with a familiarity that stirred something deep within your soul.

I won’t let you go. Not now, not now that I have you. 

You couldn’t understand. You heard no voice, yet you felt every word.

I need you to fight, for yourself, for me, fight harder than you ever have done and I promise, after this, you will never have to fight again.

Why those words had some sway over you, you weren’t sure. But when your senses filled with that comforting scent you had smelt every night for the past months. It tethered you, anchoring you in the physical realm once more.

You could smell it again, night-chilled air and cedar.

You would hold onto it one last time.

***

Agonising screams filled the air as you writhed in pain on the makeshift table. Your body contorting, fingers clawing desperately at the gaping wound in your chest. Even in the dim light, Azriel could see the blood, thick and crimson oozing through your fingers as you had lurched up when Cassian had pulled the poison coated rod from your chest.

They had managed to remove some while you were unconscious, but the pain of this one, deep in your chest, had yanked you awake. How you were still alive none of them understood. Your injuries and body filled with enough faebane to kill a dozen fae. 

Your vision was still distorted. Just one of the injuries that ravaged your body. Only blurry shapes and figures filled your sight, and the lack of that sense only added to your fear. You couldn’t see who you were with, and although they didn’t sound like your captors, you didn’t know them. Didn’t trust them, and they were hurting you.

Even if they repeatedly told you they were helping you, their touch just brought more pain.

Madja flitted around Cassian, her hands hovering over the faebane-drenched wounds in a futile attempt to heal. Azriel stood at the head of the table, crouched down close as he firmly held one of your arms down. His shadows fidgeted uneasily around him, reflecting his inner turmoil. He had witnessed countless horrors in his life, some inflicted upon himself, but seeing his mate in such agony was a new level of torment. 

Feeling the pain trickling down the bond was tearing him apart.

“Stop, stop. Please…” Your plea was raw, your voice strained and hoarse from the agony that wracked your body. Azriel shuddered at your tone, your voice an echo of the nightmares that had haunted him for endless nights. 

He remembered it all now.

Each night, stumbling through darkness, trying to follow that golden bond to you. To your calls for him. And each time, he tried to figure out where you were, how to get to you, how to save you only to forget everything when he woke. His memory of you slipping through his fingers like sand. 

“Rhys, there must be something you can do,” he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation as he looked over your pained expression.

Feyre had diligently wiped the blood from your face, revealing slashes across your eyes. Remarkably, Madja seemed optimistic about their healing potential, though it was contingent upon your survival. He could feel your fear rippling down the bond, how frightened and in pain you were.

“Azriel…my power, I can’t penetrate her mind. The faebane has saturated her body, creating an impenetrable barrier,” Rhys responded. “I’m sorry brother…I’m truly sorry.”

Azriel couldn’t contain the small whispered sob that escaped him, his hand flying to his mouth to stifle the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

When Cassian had carried you from that dark basement, Azriel had acted on instinct, snatching you carefully from his brother's arms and holding you close. He whispered into your ear, a litany of apologies for not finding you sooner, for the pain you endured. He begged you to fight, to hold on for him. And had clung to that faint glimmer of hope as he returned to the safety of the River House.

Rhys had prepared a table for Madja to work on, but neither of them had anticipated the extent of your injuries.

Azriel had laid you on the table, still unconscious as he nervously watched Rhys and Madja try their best. Cassian and Feyre joining them moments later to help. 

It was then they had all realised.

He was fussing over you, whispering frantically and his shadows had been skittishly tracing over your body and injuries. So unlike the usual calm and collected Spymaster.

Rhys had pieced it together first. Simply stating She’s your mate into Azriel’s mind. Although it was clear by the heartbreaking expressions on his family's faces, they were all aware of the significance you held.

Azriel felt helpless, he couldn’t lessen your anguish, couldn’t heal you, couldn’t do anything.

Your sobbing started again, while you writhed under their strong hands. Pleading for release. Instead, they responded with reassurances and hushed whispers, and there was one voice in particular that washed over you in a familiarity you didn’t understand.

You fought against them, resisting their attempts to restrain you, but they were stronger. Another wave of agony rippled through you as they worked to remove one of the steel bars embedded within your flesh.

“Focus, Shadowsinger,” Madja's voice cut through the turmoil, her gaze landing on him firmly.

“The best course of action is to remove these rods and then attempt to drain the faebane from her system. Her resilience is remarkable, but she won’t survive much longer without intervention.” Madja was speaking directly to Azriel now, he took a second to look down at you crying on the table. Cassian and Rhys holding you down, while they calculated removing the next impalement. 

Madja continued, “If you want to help her, comfort her, support her.” The instructions were clear.

Feyre spoke then, glancing between your pained form and then to Azriel. “Use the bond Az, she needs you.”

With hesitation, Azriel’s rough hand found yours. Holding it tightly. Grooves and lines were etched into his weathered skin, speaking of his own past battles. Instinctively you wanted to recoil from the stranger's touch, but as you felt another pull on your torso you clutched down on his hand tightly. Another sob racking through you.

You felt him close to you now, his presence enveloping you as his warm breath brushed across your face. He was close to you. But you couldn’t make out who he was. Only a blurred version of a male with tan skin and dark hair. His other hand grazed your cheek, offering you a comfort you hadn’t felt in months. 

“I need you to fight just a little longer,” the voice was deep and warm, there was something about it or maybe it was the words he had chosen that felt familiar. 

“It hurts..” you whispered, another sob leaving your lips.

"I know, I know it does...but not much longer, okay? And then you can rest, I promise," he reassured you, igniting a flicker of hope within you despite the overwhelming pain.

Then Azriel pulled gently on the bond sending ripples of reassurance and comfort down the link. So much that he hoped to drown any pain out you were feeling.

You felt that golden warmth fill your chest, that same feeling that had pulled you from the white abyss many times before.

"It's you..." Your voice choked with emotion, the realisation dawning upon you.

Azriel stood there, uncertain of how to respond, but he watched as you turned toward him, your brows furrowed in concentration. Though your vision remained distorted, blurred colours danced before you, and amidst the haze of black and deep tan, you saw it—the faint glimmer of hazel.

"You came for me..."

"Always..." Azriel's voice cracked with emotion, his unwavering commitment laid bare.

With the last of the rods removed, your body bled profusely. Madja urged caution, while Feyre urgently advocated to cauterise the wounds. But with this amount of faebane, they grappled with the best course of action. Their voices melding in a flurry of noise.

A soft, sad smile graced your lips, your hand reaching out to touch the figure before you, feeling the contours of his cheek beneath your fingertips.

Blood began to fill your mouth, the red liquid seeping through your smile. The bitter taste staining your words. Azriel began to shake his head, clinging to that fading bond with all his strength. With a pained slowness, he felt your hand slip from his cheek, leaving a blood-stained print upon his skin.

"You were real..." Your voice was barely a whisper now, breaths shallow. "My thread of hazel."

a/n: ngl I don't love this lol, doesn't feel like my best work but sometimes it's better posted than perfect! I had originally planned for this to be longer, but writers slump has me in a chokehold so this is all I managed! Anywho, hope you enjoyed the angst! <3 - Lottie Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

[irisintheafterglow]

smoke his ass! (pro racer!gojo x you)

cw/tags: a lot of swearing lol, established relationship, banter and dialogue driven

note: didn't think this would get too long, but i liked writing this a lot! hope you enjoy :)

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

"that fucker in the ford is going to get smited if he doesn't stop being the ass-est human to ever exist."

"is it smited or smote? smot?" your pit lead shoots you a smirk, absolutely certain of who the 'fucker in the ford' was that was making your driver so infuriated. "i'm not sure smited is a word," suguru whispers through your mic.

"you're gonna be next, suguru geto. burnt to a crisp that would make hell jealous."

"geez, satoru," you mutter, praying that a convenient line of static or the sound of the wheels revving distorted his threats on any live feeds of his pov. "what's got you so worked up?"

"he needs to take me to dinner first before he rides my ass!" the last three words of his declaration blare in your headphones and you wince, already aware of the hearing loss you must experience from being around deafening engines all the time. the engine temperature spikes as satoru flicks the lever up a gear and makes a narrow pass around the second-place porsche. with the ford and the porsche eating his dust, he was able to regain some momentum with such an unexpected maneuver. he's quick to rein in the flare in his temper, though, and he can already predict your protests to pushing the car at an unnecessary time. "i know, i know. that pass was untimely, but i'm mad as hell right now."

"you're about to be madder," you say with no ounce of remorse and automatically tune out the groan of frustration crackling through the line. "i'm pitting you for new wheels and i wanna check your windscreen. that mcclaren crash during lap four probably threw some bad debris your way." his silence speaks volumes, his irritation obvious. yes, the stop may force satoru to work harder on his way back to the podium, but it was necessary to keep him safe for the remainder of the race. his car swerves unceremoniously into the pit lane and suguru's crew make quick work of replacing the tires. you meet his eyes through the window and find them seething, his gloves holding the wheel in a white-knuckle grip. before you could blink, he was zooming away again, adamant on showing the ford driver what the honored one is truly capable of. "you with me, satoru?"

"loud and clear. can i get a 'who's who' on that ford?"

"magic word?"

"i'm in shambles for you," he replies without missing a beat.

"look, you're climbing back to second and he's in fourth, satoru. he doesn't matter-"

"he plays dirty, so he does matter if he keeps trying to flip me into fucking oblivion," he counters and you sigh, defeated. you double-check the roster and see a name you weren't familiar with, someone who must have flown under the radar from the lower circuits.

"fushiguro. fushiguro toji." you watch the ferrari icon next to satoru's name steadily climb the leaderboard as he returns to his spot in third, with the porsche in front of him and the ford on his tail.

"new?"

"to these races, yeah, but it seems that he's dealt with drivers like you before."

"what do you mean, 'drivers like me?'"

"i mean that we've found a more reckless driver than you." the ford cuts a hard left to come parallel with the driver's side, barely missing one of satoru's back wheel wells. "case in point."

"then i think it's time he learned his place," satoru snarls. within seconds, he throws the car into a higher gear and swings wide on the following right turn, accelerating at the peak of his centripetal force and slamming on the gas at the straightaway. "how's that for reckless driving, asshole?"

"take a breath, hotshot," you chuckle and hear him click his tongue in defiance. you're slightly in awe of his move, but you weren't going to tell him that over comms. "you've still got a few more laps to go and you can easily burn out if you're not careful," you remind him but feel in your bones that he's found his way back into his groove, his own little pocket of racing that was created when it was only you on the line, him on the track, and a podium finish in sight.

"stay on the line?"

"i'm not going anywhere, sweetheart." you can hear him smile at the rare slip of affection, something you're very cautious about when you were both in professional settings. while your relationship with satoru was no secret, you tried to keep public reminders to a minimum to avoid overshadowing his racing career. you knew which story the press would choose first between his love life and his titles. "just get back faster."

"i'm trying, but this mercedes is giving me a rough time." you fight the urge to laugh, having seen this sequence play out numerous times in the past. towards the end of races where something threw him off, he tended to lose morale during the last few laps. however, since you became his lead engineer, you've developed the uncanny skill of saying the three magic words to fire him up again.

"you're in a ferrari, gojo satoru," you say. "smoke his ass." like clockwork, the words register in his mind and he finds a new sense of determination, rocketing past the mercedes and over the checkered line for another first-place finish on his shelf. "there you go, there's my speed demon boyfriend," you murmur in his ear when he tugs off his helmet and gloves and holds you close.

"sorry for getting pissy about the ford," he says quietly so that only you can hear it. "i hope i didn't hurt your ears too badly."

"they're still ringing," you joke, "but i'll be fine as long as you aren't arrested for assault on fushiguro toji." a dangerous glint catches in satoru's bright blue eyes, one that makes the corner of your mouth turn down in a scolding frown.

"i'm not doing anything," he sings innocently while you make your way up the stairs to the winners' stage. "not yet, at least. and, for the record, i'm elated that he didn't make podium." before he leaves, he's quick to give you a peck on the cheek that makes your face heat. "and, i love you a lot. i'm gonna go get our trophy now, so wait here."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[bjornbauerart]

Immutable - acrylic on Dibond, 100cm x 70cm

Digital interfaces have a profound impact on our perspective, but even when they are used to skew what we perceive in a certain direction, the truth does not bend. My hope is that we learn to dedicate our use of technology to be more truthful.

Asynchronous Transfer - acrylic on Dibond, 100cm x 70cm

More and more of our communication passes through digital conduits, and this progress is an amazing accomplishment, but it reaffirms the preciousness of human interaction in physical space. It’s harder to talk past each other or maintain an airtight echo chamber when we can look one another in the eye.

Bleeding Edge - acrylic on Dibond, 100cm x 70cm

It’s amazing to witness how far our innovations can go, but at what cost do we keep pushing forward? Who gets cut out in the process? We have to remember that the heartbeat driving us to the furthest reaches of technological discovery is still fundamentally human, and we will only survive if we look out for each other. 

Pulsar - acrylic on Dibond, 100cm x 70cm

What if we could gather up all of these digital spaces that absorb our attention and blow them to oblivion? Would we be able to go back to the way we were before? If we chose to rebuild it all again, would we do it with the knowledge that we must hold our shared humanity sacred?

Torrent - acrylic on Dibond, 100cm x 70cm

There is beauty in distortion. Look no further than what artists create in world of electronic music. Noise can be sculpted into monumental forms. Electrical currents can be pushed into vistas of controlled chaos. But ultimately even these extreme expressions begin to mirror the natural world, like clouds passing through the sky.

These are my thoughts, but part of the beauty of abstract art is its inherent subjectivity. What do they remind you of? What feelings do they provoke? 

Thank you for looking.

https://bjornbauerart.com/

Paintings available to purchase here: https://www.singulart.com/en/artist/bj%C3%B6rn-bauer-16979

[lunarbreaksblog]

Hiiii i really like your spark eater reqs so i was wondering if you could write for (tfp) starscream x sparkeater reader? It’s just that reader recognizes starscream as ‘people-to-not-eat’ more than anyone and tries to show their affection, even if starscream is kind of scared ?? feel free to ignore if this one is kinda odd erm 😇🙏 lov ur writing though pookie keep it up‼️

Note: so sorry for the long wait, I just procrastinate into oblivion

TFP! Starscream x Sparkeater!Reader

You've known the seeker before you become a creature of nightmares. However, when you grew so hungry after the war. The line, between who to eat and who not to eat, began to blur. Your hunger pained and taunted you till you finally snapped.

You remember a person's cries as you tore their throat out. Energon gushing into your waiting hungry mouth, you remember feeling like you were on cloud nine when the energon reached your tanks. You felt good.

But then, the second in command come across your good time and screeched in fear. You were the second in commands conjux, even if you two were close, you never told him about your descent into cannibalism.

You wouldn't dream of eating him, he was the only one that made you feel good as well.

So, you try to show the seeker that you mean no harm— you catch him in your talons, your form distorted. Taller and sharper than the seeker, he was easy.

"Don't worry Starscream" you purr and you snuggle your face into his neck cables, mouth still full of metallic flesh.

The seeker in return just shudders at the feeling of energon dripping on his chest

[aylish91]

Just wanted to say i rlly love the way you write leviathan nightmare sans, i keep going back to reread ur writing about him 😍

Thank you so much Anon!!! This really means a lot to me! Sorry it took me so long to respond. I had a blip in the works I finished just for you! It might be a bit rough though, haha.

There's been intrigued Nightmare and supportive Nightmare. But now we have:

A Protective Nightmare!

TW for very brief mentions of someone being trapped/strapped down.

~ ~ ~

The ocean was becoming more restless, waves crashing hard against the sides of the Ship. You could faintly hear their raging through the hanger’s door. It caused your water to slosh in your tank as you lay on the bottom. 

Tired. 

You stared across the walkway into Cross’s tank, understanding now the reason for several of his scars. You wanted to weep. He had been forced on his back, almost completely paralyzed while they transported the both of you. Straps held him in place so he couldn’t turn over, sockets void but aware.  

So terribly aware. 

You shouldn’t have gone out so far on your own. You shouldn’t have gotten so close to the lagoon. You definitely shouldn’t have ignored Cross when he eventually found you. You didn’t understand the danger.  

He knew better...  

Things shifted as the boat tipped dangerously to the side. Soon after, alarms blared from behind reflective glass when a deep and angry vibration cut through the ship and the water of your tank.  

You lifted your head as much as you could, hope building within your chest. Cross twitched, faint eyelights reigniting to peer down at the large metal door. You both ignored the shouts that could be heard through the walls. 

The vibration came again, stronger and louder until the boat was slammed with a great force. Machinery and tools flew from their spots. You could feel when the vessel lifted, anything not bolted down rolling and tumbling with a crash.  

Water spilled from both tanks to follow the carnage. However, you could finally hear the words rising from the thundering snarled vibrations. 

“You dare to take what belongs to me!! Dare touch what is mine!” Everything jostled, metal folding under pressure. “For your insolence, you shall all face OBLIVION!!! 

You had to cover your ears from all the noise and chaos around you. Metal tore from blackened claws, bent and broke from massive tentacles. The heavy metal door into your prison was ripped away, revealing Nightmare’s constricted eyelight. Rushing water followed.  

 As movement slowed, you gave a weakened cry of joy at the sight of the boys hastily entering around tightening tentacles. Horror was quick to break both tanks, Killer and Dust releasing Cross to drag him back into open water. Horror carried you out, dodging Nightmare's clawed hand when it rent metal. Your last wakeful moments were of the sinking ship being pulled down into the darkness by a raging leviathan. 

~ ~ ~ 

It was warm and heavy when you woke, a soothing thrum trying to pull you back. If it wasn’t for the subtle shifting around you, you would have. Curling into yourself, you carefully stretched in preparation for waking. 

The world around you constricted, quiet words reaching through your haze. 

“My Pearl. I had thought I’d lost you. My light… My treasure.” 

Your soul leapt for joy, eyes opening to the one you had waited for. The one you had hoped for, voice breaking. 

“Nightmare!” 

Unfurling from your living cocoon you allowed the guardian to cup you in his hands, clutching you to his chest. For the first time, his stoic face distorted from emotion as he whispered your name. Tears pooled at the corner of your eyes, as you finally allowed yourself to let go, curling and pressing into his warmth. 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to, to, and Cross!” 

Nightmare held you tighter, safe from all the terrors around you. “Shhhh. All is well. You both are home now. Just, stay with me. I will keep you safe.” 

You clung tighter. “Please. Don’t let go.” 

He sank down into his own tentacles, barricading you from the outside. “Never… Not again…” 

Leviathan Master List Grand Master Post

[skydigiblogs]

pizza.jpeg

[ID 1: A sketch in red digital pencil of Apocalymon of the scene from Digimon Adventure where he claws his shoulders. He is saying the monologue from the Japanese version of Digimon Adventure, which reads: "Just who decided that we were to be deprived of this world and consigned to oblivion?! We wanted to live! We wanted to live and speak of friendship, justice, and love! We wanted to use this body to be helpful to this world! Are you saying that this world has no need for us? That we are meaningless?" The artistic style imitates the serious nature of this monologue, with Apocalymon drawn in proportions akin to the series. He is a humanoid Digimon whose body is distorted and lanky, with long arms and an emaciated figure.]

[ID 2: A chibi sketch of Taichi Yagami from Digimon Adventure. He's an 11 year old boy with messy hair, who wears a headband, t-shirt, gloves, shorts, and sneakers. His expression is startled, and he says nothing.]

[ID 3: The same sketch of Taichi Yagami, blown up to imitate a zoom-in. His startled expression is now concerned, with sweat beads and furrowed brows. He says: "I'm eleven sir."]

[ID 4: A sketch of Apocalymon, rising from the pillar he is fused to, staring with disbelief at the off-screen Taichi. He is now drawn in similar, cartoonish proportions. The text on screen reads: "apocaly.mon has encountered an error and stopped working.]

[thiniceofeternalyouth]

MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER ELEVEN

A RUNAWAY AND A DEADMAN

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

series masterlist

Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology.

Words count: ~14k

⊲ previous

Under the concentrated puffing on the left, you tried to chop the chocolate bar as small as possible. Over the past couple of hours, you and Megumi have identified a not perfect, but decent recipe for chocolate muffins through trial and error. The boy slowly and methodically stirred the resulting dough with a whisk, trying to get rid of any lumps. When you reached for the bowl to taste the mixture for sugar, you received a resounding slap on the hand. You rolled your eyes and continued chopping the chocolate, trying to turn it to dust.

"Maybe we shouldn't be doing this," muttered Megumi absentmindedly, watching the batter drip off the whisk.

You had to strain your ears to hear what he was mumbling to himself. "What if ya add more flour?" you asked uncertainly, looking at the too-liquid consistency.

"I'm not talking about muffins," Megumi snapped. A chill immediately spread down his back, making the boy shiver – it was all the fault of the sharp sound of a knife sticking into a cutting board. With a sideways glance, Megumi caught sight of you leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over your chest and staring at him. "Sorry."

"If it's not the muffins, then what is it?" you asked, peering into the profile of the frowning face.

"I...," he began, hesitating. "I'm not sure if we should put up with her anymore."

"Has your love gone away, too?"

Megumi looked up sharply, and you could see the anxiety spreading across his young face. "Has it gone away for her?"

"How would I know?" you shrugged dryly. "Ya both sitting silently in your corners and ya seem to be hoping that it'll work itself out there somehow," Megumi took a whisk out of the bowl and pointed a finger at it meaningfully. You chuckled quietly. "Dany always loved chocolate muffins. Kudos for volunteering," you jokingly gave a bow of your head. "Still, that doesn't explain your hesitation."

"Well...," the boy started stirring the dough slowly again as if it was a ritual that brought tranquility. "It's just... Does it make sense?" asked Megumi weakly, and you only hummed thoughtfully. "In the end, it doesn't matter how many friends and loved ones we have. We die alone anyway," the fridge started humming twice as loud, except it was a distortion of Megumi's hearing. He could even hear his own heartbeat, annoying and fast, all from you being silent. He coughed and glimpsed at you, making sure you were still standing next to him. "You don't think so?" 

"To be honest, I, uh... I hadn't thought about that at all," you chuckled nervously. "I'm still a little confused... Ya mean that when ya die ya'll have no one around ya, or vice versa, that despite being surrounded by loving people, ya'll go into oblivion alone?"

"Is there a difference?" he asked warily, almost fearfully.

"Yeah, ya right, I guess. There's not much difference," you sighed, scratching your forehead. "Look, Megumi, if ya wanna live your whole life in some small house in the middle of nowhere alone that's fine. If ya wanna live your life surrounded by a bunch of friends that's fine. If ya wanna live your life with only one person that's fine too, but it's all okay only as long as it's your personal choice.

"Fear rarely leaves a choice," Megumi doubted quietly, dumping your previously chopped chocolate off the board into a bowl.

"That's what I'm telling ya," you said, grabbing the cutting board and putting it in the sink. "Ya'll probably have a brick fall on your head tomorrow, and ya'll be lying in a dark alley all dead and alone," even though the sound of water running and a washcloth rubbing against wood was beginning to echo through the kitchen, Megumi could hear you clearly. "Scared to go outside now?" slyly glancing at the boy and seeing him shake his head in the negative, you smirked contentedly. "Ya can be afraid, but don't let something so ephemeral stop ya from living your life the way ya want to. It'll be fun if at the very end all ya have time to think about is how stupid ya were, not that ya're alone. If ya make it at all, of course," you scrubbed the board clean, but Megumi remained silent. Your patience was wearing thin. You needed either confirmation or persuasion. "So," you chuckled snidely. "What are we deciding? No, no, wait, don't say anything!" you turned to him and waved your hands, stopping him. "Ya better do. I'm offering you a choice - either ya keep making muffins or ya can go cry in your room. I'll understand either way."  

Megumi gave you a glare that glinted angrily in the light of the kitchen garland. "You remind me of someone," he hissed, and continued kneading the chocolate into the dough with double zeal.

You watched his eagerness with satisfaction. "That's what I thought. Okay, philosophical musings are all well and good, but let's have a little talk about training and a plan of action," Megumi glowed when you said that. As much as he could, but you hadn't even noticed the change. "I think it's time for ya to learn regeneration."

"Wouldn't it be better to start with rel-"

He didn't get a chance to speak, for you pressed your palm sharply against his mouth. "Nah-uh," you said slowly, shaking your head and looking into his rounded eyes. You didn't immediately realize that you were clutching his shoulder tightly with your other hand. "Ugh," you exhaled, pulling your hands away from him. "For now, forget that word, do ya understand?" you made a grabbing motion with your palm as if taking the word from his vocabulary. Megumi, pressing his lips tightly together for a second, nodded. "Ya'll be relocate with me anyway, so that's not really important at first times, but the thing that will save your life more than once is running and regeneration. But mostly running, of course," you pointed out.         

"I'm used to standing to the last man," Megumi objected sullenly.

"Ya'll wean," you chirped carelessly. "We're not known for heroics."

"And what the hell do I need this training for then?" blurted Megumi in the way he usually did - though his appearance remained calm, steel rang in his voice. "To run away like a coward?"

"So ya won't die," you parried. "How many people will ya save by being in the grave?"

"Will I save many by running away?" he persisted.

"At least ya'll stay alive and learn your lesson," you reasoned, spreading your arms out to the sides. "And if ya learn it right, ya'll be stronger."

"At the cost of the lives of the people I left behind?" Megumi continued to snarl.

"Exactly," you snapped, and Megumi bit his lip without expecting it himself. He was used to you and your perpetually calm and cheerful tone, and the way it shifted at the snap made the hairs on the back of his neck stir. "Ya volunteered, and now ya're my apprentice. I don't care if ya want it or not, but you will obey me now," you spoke coldly and distinctly. Relaxing your clenched fists, you looked at Megumi. His body was still the same size, but it looked like he was shrinking. Taking a mug from the shelf, you started brewing coffee. "The rest of the voidrunners will start evacuating in a couple weeks, we will join them a little later," you announced, softening your tone. "Ya want coffee?"

"Tea."

"Okay," you said, pulling out a second mug.  

Megumi didn't give up trying to protest. "I can start along with them-"

"Ya can't," you replied dryly. "Ya'll only go on raids with me."

"Do you distrust others that much?" the boy asked, raising his eyebrows skeptically.

You shrugged idly. "It just makes me feel better."

"Isn't it the same thing?"

Letting his words pass your ears, you continued your admonition. "When we're in the void, just drop the bags of supplies and run to the nearest rift. If anything goes wrong and we get separated, don't trust anyone, don't look at anyone, don't talk to anyone," you sighed restlessly, pouring coffee into one mug and putting a tea bag in the other. "Ya'll never guess who's standing in front of ya there," you added quietly.

"Don't you...," Megumi's voice came up, hesitating. "Don't you know how to tell the difference?"

You, with a fussy chuckle, began pouring boiling water into cups.  "No, none of the hunters have built-in internal radar, only experience. And experience, as it goes, comes with the years."

"Too long," grumbled Megumi gloomily. "We don't have that much time."

You set the mug of freshly brewed tea next to him. "Ya wanted it all at once?" you teased him, smiling. "Ya gotta pay tribute to dioreacts. They've spent thousands of years learning how to act like humans. They learned not only how to stir tea or blink, but how to perceive our world in general," you circled the space with your hands for extra convincing. "The first dioreact didn't know that all the electromagnetic waves around them were just color to humans because that's exactly our interpretation of electromagnetic waves, and there is no color anywhere in the universe outside of the human brain. Perhaps the dioreacts even now don't know what color is, but just... Uh, I dunno, adjusted? Maybe they can see wavelengths and have memorized that that wave over there is green and that one over there is grayish brown. Hunters used to catch them at it a lot, but the more time the dioreacts spend among us, the more they learn about our perception."

"What else?" inquired Megumi impatiently. Your hand with the cup of coffee froze at your lips, and you stared at the boy warily. "Forewarned is forearmed, no?" he quipped.

You tapped your fingernail on the cup thoughtfully. "Frank used to tell me that hunters used to catch dioreacts at the 'where ya from?' question. The poor things would just freeze in place with their mouths open, unable to say anything. Probably because humans don't have a single word to describe their homelands because we can't have that knowledge," you sighed sadly without realizing it. "Now the dioreacts have learned, and if you ask, they'll tell ya about all the places on Earth they've been, and they'll tell you their family tree too. I'm exaggerating," you added, noticing Megumi squinting at you incredulously. "But ya," you pointed a finger at the boy. "Don't ya dare pry into anyone in the void with questions. If it's a demon, it'll know right away what ya're up to, so it'll either run away immediately or kill ya," you slid an assessing glance at the boy. "In your case, it's more likely the latter. No offense."

You nonchalantly continued sipping your coffee, hoping it didn't hurt him too much. It didn't occur to you that Megumi had gone through similar words and phrases many times before and he hardly paid attention to yours. Why did it seem to him right now that a previously unsuccessfully nurtured stimulus was faintly stirring inside him, though? "Y/N?" hesitantly Megumi turned to you.

"Hmm?" you hummed detachedly.

"Is Gojo okay with that? Well, that you're training me."

"Yeah," you sighed, setting the empty mug back in the sink. "He grumbled a little, though... But he couldn't just throw ya into the basement with chains with a shout 'I won't let anyone have you'."

"Well, actually he could," Megumi muttered, wrinkling his nose squeamishly.

"But he didn't," you quipped.

"Yeah, he didn't," the boy agreed with you. "Thank you for that."

"I had nothing to do with it."

"That's what you think," the unfamiliar slyness in his voice sent shivers down your spine. "I talked to others, so... You know, we've decided that if we ever move out, you can keep him."

"Thanks," you snickered, and Megumi was already grinning openly. "Go ahead and make the muffins. When ya're done, I'll go over to Dany's and then we'll practice tonight."

Megumi turned sharply toward you. "What?" he blurted out grumpily. "What do you mean 'I'll go over to Dany's'? What about me? Is this some kinda joke to you?" glaring angrily at you, he pointed at his clothes that were almost completely covered in chocolate mixture.

"Ya're not much of a diplomat," you teased, making a face at him. "I gotta feeling her out first, and then ya can talk without me. Now let's get to work," you nodded toward the bowl of dough. 

You stood under the boy's angry gaze for a few more seconds before he went back to making muffins in silence. It was a good thing Megumi was silent, because if he'd said a word, the laughter you were carefully suppressing would have burst out. 

It was a cute yet funny picture of Danielle weeding in the afternoon sun. The girl kept straightening the straw hat that had fallen off her head with her hands smeared in the ground – almost the same color as her bright sparkling hair.

You stood outside the backyard entrance, hesitant to open the wooden gate. Your hand clutched the package of homemade muffins - small but tasty - tighter to your chest, and the thought slipped into your head that if this treat won't help you, nothing would.

You opened the wicket with a deep breath, and Danielle reacted instantly, raising her head. Her hat flew off her head, and the girl, trying to steady it once again, stiffened in surprise. The hoe Dany was holding in her other hand fell to the ground along with the hat.

"Hey there, bun," you said, waving awkwardly at Danielle. "Before ya chase me away, I brought something in my defense," you informed jokingly, covering yourself with the treat package.

Maybe it was the physical exertion, but you wanted to believe that she did feel better. You wanted to squeeze her ruddy cheeks because in addition to the flushed red color, they had gotten a little chubbier. "Hey," you missed that kind tone and the way she was striding toward you to meet you. "I hope it's something edible," she whimpered, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

Relief spread through your body as Danielle held out her arms to you. You gladly hugged her in return. "Like I don't know ya," you whispered into her hair and heard a soft giggle. "Let's sit down," you suggested and pulled Dany by the arm toward the garden bench that stood neatly against the wall of the house. Barely dragging her feet, Danielle made her way over to the bench, leaning her limp body against the wall. You sat down next to her and put the package on her lap, but she didn't move, half lying there with her eyelids closed. "Frank forced ya into?" you asked sympathetically.

"Yeah," Dany exhaled exhaustedly. "But there's an upside to it!" she braved it cheekily, as much as her strength allowed. "While ya're doing all this shit, all ya can think about is that ya can't wait for it to be over," Danielle said before she could finish - a laugh forming on her lips, and you chuckled in unison with her tired but still gleeful laughter as you admired her.

"He forced me too until I was about twelve," you smirked.

"How did ya get to escape this plantation?" inquired Danielle enviously.

"I rioted," you said belligerently, and the two of you giggled again. "I ripped up everything that was growing in the beds and stomped on it. Frank was so mad," you said, sucking in air through your teeth.

"How did ya even stay alive?" worried Danielle. 

"Shaya saved me," you said, getting nostalgic. "She hid me behind her while Frank threatened to whip me."

"And Shaya didn't do anything to ya?" asked Dany incredulously.

"Nope," you shook your head. "She took me to my room, and when I asked what she was gonna do to me, she said I'd already punished myself," you exhaled convulsively, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I spent the whole night agonizing and thinking about her words, trying to figure out what she meant. I didn't realize until this morning. I was the one sowing and weeding those damn beds," Dany opened her eyes slightly. She was watching you from under half-open eyelids - at the way your gaze roamed the garden across from you. The girl rarely heard the longing in your voice, and every such moment returned with an unaccustomedness in her heart that made it beat faster. "I want ya come back home with me," you asked quietly.

"I want it, too," Danielle muttered in embarrassment, closing her eyes again.

Her desire was reflected in your phone. Not a single call, not a single message. "Why don't I keep ya as a garden slave for a couple more weeks?" you blurted out indignantly. "It gives ya a zeal, I see."

With eyes already wide open, Dany jumped up. The box nearly flew off her lap. "No!" she begged, looking up at you and clutching the package back to her.

"If ya want something, you have to say it," you muttered indignantly. "Ya'd better open it," you said, nodding toward the box. "Ya were hungry, weren't ya?"

With a hesitant nod, Danielle slowly unwrapped the package. She didn't know whether it was the sight of the ridiculous chocolate muffins or the tart but sweet smell that clouded her mind faster. She grabbed one and swallowed it whole, oblivious to herself or her own name. You mentally thanked Megumi for his decision to take the smaller baking dish.

You coughed meaningfully, slyly examining your nails in the sunlight. "Ya know, I didn't actually make them."

"What?" she whimpered excitedly with her mouth full. "I said I'd come back, but I didn't say anything about a relationship with Megumi-"

"Yeah, yeah," you sarcastically interrupted her, carelessly waving her words away. "Sure."

[June 19, 2020; 01:23am; hunters' hq]

Feeling the warmth of the couch was all your back had been asking for lately, and you'd been obediently fulfilling your body's desire despite your own. Your head rested peacefully in Kyle's lap, your eyes roaming the news feed on your phone.

You didn't notice how restlessly you fidgeted with your legs from time to time, not even the annoying sound of the soft material rustling could quiet you. Every time you fidgeted, you felt a soft scratching at the back of your head as you turned from one side to the other.

"What's wrong?" asked Kyle puzzled as you rolled over once again, sighing irritably.

"Everything's fine," you waved it off indifferently.

"Ya have a disgruntled face," he remarked, grinning.

You pulled yourself up and sat down, leaning back against the couch. "Rach only brought out two people," you rambled worriedly. "Only two, Kyle," you shoved a hand in his face with your index and middle finger raised. "That's an incredibly bad start."

Kyle intercepted your palm and kissed the pad of your finger. "Oh, come on," he laughed, looking at your perplexed face and releasing your hand. "It's a good start. She brought your new acquaintance out with her, by the way," he reminded you reasonably. "And Issu might bring more people out with him."

You turned and stared at the infirmary door, remembering the way Doc had slammed it shut in front of you and Kyle. Doc was an irritable, taciturn man, but the thought of how much work he'd have to do in the next few weeks made you shiver.

"...to the previous news. The incident that occurred in April this year in the nightclub N..."

Even though you were in your own thoughts, your skin began to itch painfully in places. You wanted to catch a glimpse of Nora, or Rachel, or that old lady whose name you couldn't ask - the old woman who'd come out of the void unconscious and ended up in the infirmary.

"...contacting the police station. Now, the police have suspended the investigation for unspecified reasons. In the following footage you can see a protest organized near the police station by the parents of the missing as well as concerned people..."

"Hey," Kyle called softly, tugging gently on your earlobe. You stirred, tore your gaze away from the infirmary door and dropped your head back into his lap. "Don't distress yourself. It's gonna be okay."

"I know," you exhaled gloomily. "It's just that I'm freaking out about being banned from the void and there's no way I can check to see if everything's okay."

"Oh, what bad guys we are," Kyle drawled sarcastically, pinching you again. "Taking care of your health."

"That's not what I meant," you muttered, waving his hands away. "Ya remember what Rach said after she came out of the void?"

"Yeah," Kyle nodded briefly. "That people are afraid to come out. They don't even believe Jonah."

"Exactly," you said. "Do ya remember any of this ever happening?" you tried to speak calmly, but you were out of breath.

"I'll still go on the raid after Issu, and I promise ya, I'll figure it out," he assured you softly, stroking your forehead with his thumb. "Don't worry."

"...at least twenty people. To date, eighteen of the missing have been identified..."

From the TV screen, neither pictures nor photographs looked at you. Ghosts. They wandered, hovering around you, but they dared not touch you. Against your better judgment, you felt their presence, felt their stares, felt even their silence. It felt like a dark silent whisper on your skin as if the ghosts were breathing right next to you. "Twenty-three," you said in a mesmerized whisper, looking at another picture of familiar features on the screen.

Kyle glanced fearfully at your face. It seemed pale in the light from the TV. "What?" he asked perplexedly.

You lifted yourself up again and sat up, tucking your legs under you, but you didn't do it as quickly as you had the first time. "Kyle, I haven't told ya everything," you said, guiltily hiding your gaze from his. "I think there's a diomorphea in there."

A second long silence made you look up. "Why didn't ya... Why didn't ya tell me at once?" there wasn't an ounce of accusation in his voice. Rather, a genuine misunderstanding of your disbelief.

"I was afraid ya'd tell Rach," you justified, looking at him dejectedly and shaking your head. "Ya know her, she would have just stormed in there and god knows what would have happened. Either she'd be dead, or a bunch of demons and with them the ones we're trying to save. Or both of it. I'm sorry," you shook your head harder.

Gently wrapping his arms around your shoulders, Kyle pulled you against him. "What did I promise ya just now?" he asked, leading you to think.

You rested your head on his shoulder, but you didn't dare take your eyes off the pictures. "That ya'll figure it out," you exhaled. "Kyle, ya can't keep fixing our fuck-ups forever."

"I'm your big brother," he grinned, stroking your back. "That's my job."

Wrapped in a blanket of warmth from a loved one, you couldn't help yourself. These people were still here with you, even if they didn't realize it. They were staring at you, drilling you, making you grit your teeth. You couldn't even cover your eyes because you'd just thought the russet-haired girl looking at you from the screen had blinked.

[June 20, 2020, 20:01, Tokyo, Tokyo Prefecture]

As you made your way along the roads of the busy evening city, you kept looking at your phone, for only maps helped you not to get lost in the stone jungle. Even though there were signboards at every turn, all those bright colors combined with the abundance of symbols and running from side to side to avoid hitting anyone in the crowd of people made your head spin.

You couldn't count the number of crosswalks you'd crossed, you didn't want to think about how many of them you'd crossed for nothing. Your desperate attempt to find a nightclub had taken you to unfamiliar places, and you stopped and sighed disappointedly, staring at your phone again, completely oblivious to the people you might be interrupting.

Disappointment was immediately replaced by bewilderment when a name popped up on your phone instead of maps. "Yeah?" you said hesitantly, bringing the phone to your ear.

"I can't leave you alone even for a minute, huh?" resented Gojo. "Where did you go?"

"I...," you started in confusion, looking around. "Uh," you muttered, turning around the other way, looking for clues. "I think I'm somewhere in Tokyo's downtown, but I'm not quite sure."

An irritated tongue cluck was heard on the other end. "What do you see?"

"Hmm," you pondered, continuing on your way. "I see a dental clinic," you looked over the hospital sign and cast a glance back over your shoulder. "Behind me is the Minami Hotel, I guess?" puzzled, you stopped at a crossroad. "There's something else around the corner that looks like a park and playground-"   

Someone's arms went around your waist. "Boo!" they shouted in your ear, but you didn't even flinch, just squeezed your eyes shut at the loud sound. "Hey, you could at least look scared," came a cranky voice from behind you. 

You tilted your head up, and instead of an offended face, you were met with a bright smile. "What, in public?" you asked hesitantly.

Gojo rubbed his nose against your forehead. A brief gesture that sent warmth through your limbs. "I'm not shy about expressing my lo-"

"I mean about the teleport," you interrupted quickly.

With an irritated snort, he let you out of his arms and you moved forward. "So where are we going?"

"To a nightclub," you replied carelessly.

"At your age?" resented Gojo, wrinkling his nose. "It's a little too late for that." 

You paid no attention to his words, just continued to look around at the signs, completely oblivious to the fact that you now had a tour guide beside you. "Ya wouldn't happen to know anything about what happened at Nightclub N, would ya? It's still on the news, even though it happened back in April."

"Oh," stunned Gojo. "I was there day after, but no curses or cursed energy was there." 

"And ya didn't tell me?" you huffed, glaring at him judgmentally.

"I didn't even think about it," he admitted honestly, shrugging his shoulders. "And you weren't back then," Gojo glanced at you, and seeing no anger or disappointment on your face, he exhaled in relief. "So what are we doing?"

"It would be a good idea to start by talking," you reasoned, looking ahead. "I had Meg do some snooping, and she found out that it's not just visitors who've been hit, but employees too. One, at least."

"So-so information," he grudgingly opined.

"Maybe," you agreed. "Better than nothing, though."

Surprisingly, things did go faster with Gojo, and you didn't feel so lost in the dust of the big city. You'd been wandering around that nightclub all this time, but for some reason you'd ignored the turn into the courtyard. He took your hand in his and led you to the right place in a few minutes - the best guide ever. 

You pulled a wireless earphone out of the case and put it in your ear. "Meg, turn it off," you had only one answer to Gojo's questioning look. "Cameras," you explained with a shrug.

Nothing stands out - your first thought when you found yourself at the front doors. There weren't even any neon signs in this place - a simple gawker would easily miss a place like this in the night. While you pondered, Gojo walked to the door. Opening it, he gestured for you to come inside. 

The first thing you encountered as you walked down the hallway dotted with plastic vegetation was the hostess desk. A woman in a white dress seemed to be filling out something, paying no attention to you. "Ahem," you coughed quietly, stepping closer to the counter.

The girl raised her head. "I apologize," she said sincerely, bestowing a welcoming smile. Her gaze focused as if she had just been pulled out of her thoughts. You nodded understandingly in response.

The hostess stared at you for a second, then looked behind you. Her eyes widened in surprise for a moment, and a blush appeared on her snow-white cheeks. It was obvious without words who she was admiring. "I apologize," she repeated, barely moving her eyes to you. "We're only open from ten p.m. onwards. Would you like to make a reservation in the VIP area?" she handed you one of the sheets she'd just filled out. "You can look over the seating and choose the one that best suits you."

"That's not why we're here," you said quietly and the corners of the woman's lips slowly but surely crept down.

She glanced furtively toward the dance area, which was behind a decorative grid. The grid was covered with flowers, but you could see the bar, where someone was already standing and looking in your direction. "If you're journalists, just go away," she whispered anxiously.

You took the sheet from her hands, and began to pretend to consider the seating plan. "Ya misunderstand," you assured her. "I'm a private investigator, I was hired by one of the families of the missing," the hostess shifted a concerned yet questioning look to Gojo. "Don't worry, it's just my comp-"

"Her husband," he stated, putting his arm around your shoulders. "Just family business."

"Well, or so...," you muttered, sighing. 

"Mochi, have you already chosen where we're gonna sit?" his voice was already too ringing at times, but this time it was as if Gojo was deliberately speaking louder than usual. "Smile," he addressed the girl, and in contrast, his words sounded very quiet. You glimpsed again at the bars - it seemed that those who stood there had ceased to be interested in you.

She put on a duty smile. "Reservations are optional if you want to visit the dance area," she said in a minted but sweet tone.

You pretended to stroke Gojo's forearm that wrapped around your collarbones. In one deft motion, you pulled the picture from inside pocket, placing it under the sheet you were holding. Placing the paper on the counter, you tapped a random spot. "I think we'll sit here," you pushed the sheet away. "Do ya know her?" your quite question caused the girl's ribcage to begin to heave heavily when she saw the russet-haired girl. You mentally scolded her for potentially attracting unnecessary attention. "She worked here." 

"Did her parents hire you?" the hostess fought her inner emotions for an outward smile. "I don't know," she whispered fearfully, though she was still smiling full-mouth. "I really don't know anything," her eyes glittered dangerously, and you carefully covered the picture with the paper. "Please, go away."

"Thanks," you said loudly and cheerfully, backing away from the counter. "See ya later," you nodded her goodbye and took Gojo's hand, and you headed toward the exit. 

Barely waiting until you were on the other side of the glass doors, he stopped right in front of you. "So that's it?" he lamented. "We're just gonna leave like this?"

"No need to draw unnecessary attention. She was scared enough. I thought she was about to cry," you sighed doomfully. "But I left her phone number on the back of the picture."

"Okay," he drawled, smiling slyly. "Now what?"

After sneaking through a narrow alleyway and soiling your clothes in wet dust, you wandered around the back of the police station. Stopping at the wall of an adjacent building, you decided to exhale and think. Why was the hostess so scared? If it wasn't the employees at the bar, then who was standing there during off hours? Moreover, why did the girl only shake harder when she saw the picture?

From Gojo's perspective and in his opinion, you looked suspicious - two subjects loitering in the back of a police station. What was he supposed to do when he heard the back door click? Nothing but that - that's how he reassured himself as he pressed you against the wall. "Just play along, 'kay?" he whispered, facing your panicked incomprehension - you'd been pulled from your thoughts too abruptly. 

You nodded hesitantly, but you weren't reassured by his plan or his actions. For the moment Gojo cupped your cheek, you felt that his fingers trembled. "Have you ever kissed?" you couldn't hear the inherent curiosity in his voice, the only thing you could catch among the words he spoke was sincerity. "Take it off," he demanded, leaning his forehead against yours. "Take off your mask," his words and actions became more insistent - his hand pressed you against him with such force that it was physically hard to breathe. 

"Hey!" a sharp exclamation gave you the strength to push him away from you. "Girl, are you okay?" the police officer asked, flicking ash off his cigarette.

"Yeah," you assured him. "W-we just... Uh, we just forgot ourselves a little. I'm sorry," you said, taking another step away from Gojo.

"Kids...," the officer muttered. "You should go home and do this sort of thing," he admonished. Taking one last puff, the policeman put out the cigarette butt, tossed it in the trash can, and went inside.

"Uh, well," you sighed, making up for the lack of oxygen. Looking around the wall of the one-story police station, you noticed that there were two windowless passages - probably one of those rooms was what you needed.

Carefully making sure no one was looking in your direction from the windows, you moved closer to the wall, Gojo's confusion replaced in an instant by a prick of anger. He was immensely resilient, but even he was beginning to tire of your behavior. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

"And how would we get there?" you muttered to yourself, squinting at the brickwork.

Of course, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to tease you. It was beyond him. "What, are you out of energy because of your shaky legs?" he asked in a teasing tone, coming up behind you.

"No, it's just that I can't teleport to a point I haven't seen before," your seriousness made him roll his eyes so hard he could have sworn he saw his own brain. "There could be anything in there, after all. A box, another wall, or an iron pole. And I don't really wanna become a part of that."

"What a weakling you are," Gojo grimaced, grabbing you under the armpits and lifting you into the air. When he released you, you were already standing on the floor. Indoors.

It was dark here - not a single light bulb shone, but even so you could make out a bunch of metal lockers against the walls, a few long benches, and some scattered things. Locker room. No hits. Next room across the hall, then.

You went to the door and stood still, listening. There were no voices, no footsteps, no rustling. You gripped the knob and pulled gently, turning it. When the door wouldn't budge, you applied force and pulled a few more times. Nothing.

A tired, condescending sigh came from behind you. Gojo grabbed your shoulder and pulled you aside, then grabbed the handle of the door and opened it with a quiet crack.

In the darkness, you met only his arrogant smile. "Congratulations," you said sarcastically. "When they see this, everyone will realize someone's been loitering around here." 

"And this is your gratitude?" whispered Gojo indignantly. 

Instead of answering and bickering, you grabbed his hand and dragged him as quietly as possible down the hallway in the right direction. When you came to the next door, he moved you into the room without thinking or warning.

That's what it took to get to the evidence room, but it didn't look the way you'd imagined. The shelves were more for show, for there were boxes and packages scattered carelessly on them, just as there were on the floor.

Gojo picked up one of the clear bags, and after looking it over, handed it to you. You grinned approvingly when you saw the date and place written in black marker. 

You silently began to scour the shelves and floor in search of at least the year you needed. The place was a mess, but systematicity still seemed from around the corner, slyly peering at what you were doing. You had already made it to January, and not wanting to miss anything, you took your time. "What makes you think demons are involved here anyway?" asked Gojo, setting another box aside. 

"I saw them," you replied, scrutinizing the dates. "I saw those people right before I came out of the void."

"That's how," he replied, catching a glimpse of you. His tense shoulders relaxed every time he saw you start to put on weight. He'd already gone through almost the entire March, and after tossing aside a few more unwanted plastic bags, he got to the right one. "Hey," he quietly called out to you. "Is this it?"

You took the box in your hands.

#413091

April 6, 2020

Tokyo, Tokyo Prefecture, Nightclub N

Sealed

"It is," you answered without much joy. As you weighed the box in your hands, you looked up at Gojo with a puzzled look. "What kinda mockery is this?" you asked warily, setting the overly light box on the floor. Breaking the seal and opening it, you pursed your lips in frustration.

There was almost nothing, just a few cigarette butts with lipstick marks, a couple of bottles, a folding knife, bloody napkins, but, remarkably, one bag of white pills. "Not only did the police shut down the investigation, but the club was still working while the investigation was ongoing, now there's no evidence. Who's protecting them?" you wondered, reaching for the bag of pills.

"Probably the one who dragged people into the void," Gojo suggested, trying to find anything else on the bottom. 

"Well, or at least someone closely associated with them. It wouldn't be a bad idea to find the owner of the club," you considered the pills, but there was nothing remarkable on them. Just a pure white color. "If the owner is aware of what's going on and he isn't a fool, there's probably some subsidiary company attached to the club, followed by the parent company, and the real names in that holding company are no longer to be found," you opened the bag and held it up to your nose. Nothing. Frowning puzzled, you slipped the packet to Gojo. "Smell anything?"

As soon as he brought it to his face, he immediately pulled it away, pinching his nostrils. "God... The smell is nice, but it's so pungent that...," he stammered, wiping away the tears that came to his eyes. "Put that away," he said and threw the bag at you.

You caught him deftly, and you and the pills stared at each other. The gears of your mind whirred again. You knew of only one demon capable of such brazen machinations right in front of everyone's eyes. If the pills contained black orchid that didn't bode well because in small quantities it was like a drug that induced a state of euphoria, and judging by the number of pills, the demon was obviously not alone in that club.

You glanced at the broken seal - eventually they'd find out that someone had been digging around here. The question was whether they'd find out who it was. "Let's get out of here," you said to Gojo and was about to move towards the door, but with the edge of your thief eye you caught a shine. "O-oh, what do we have here," you drawled mesmerized, reaching for the sealed bag containing the necklace. 

"Are you crazy?" blustered Gojo, intercepting your hands. "We're not stealing evidence!" you snorted meekly but grudgingly, wrenching your hands free and quickly hiding them in your pockets, which made him squint his eyes suspiciously. "Empty your pockets," Gojo demanded in a commanding tone, to which you only flinched. "I said empty them!" he exclaimed, and despite your resistance, he did find what he was looking for, but not under the right conditions. A pair of gold rings. Gasping with indignation, he tossed them farther into a pile of boxes. "We're not stealing evidence! Geez, adults once told me not to get with the wrong crowd, but here I am," he whimpered, running a hand through his snow-white hair. 

As he lamented, you couldn't stop the process - thoughts raced, each one trying to overtake the other. You couldn't hear the key turning in the locks or the quiet footsteps because of the silent noise. "Hands up," you raised your head, only to be met with an unfamiliar face and a gun pointed in your direction. "I said hands up!"

"Hey, hey," you justifiably rambled, raising your hands. "We can explain-"

"We?" barked the police officer. "Girl, are you out of your mind?" You barely had time to turn your head back before you heard the safety click, but even that couldn't alarm you as much as the realization that there was no one behind you. "Face the wall," the officer ordered, muzzle pointing at the wall.

You went obediently to the wall, and when you were almost there, you were pushed against it. Holding you by the neck with one hand, the policeman snapped your arms, and there was a clinking sound. Handcuffs.

If someone asked you at the beginning of the day how you'd spend your evening, you could list a bunch of options - watching a TV show, meeting with insiders, chasing the next artifact, sitting around a campfire with Kyle or Rachel, having a cup of tea or even a glass of wine - but you'd never guess how you'd actually spend it.

Part of your evening consisted of traveling to the holding cell at gunpoint.

When your handcuffs were removed, your phone, belt and earrings were taken away, the bars slammed shut behind you with a deafening clang. You pressed your face between the steel bars. "Hey," you called out to the departing cop. "I'm entitled to one phone call."

"Why don't you get a lawyer, too?" snickered the duty officer.

"Preferably. But ya'll need it if ya don't let me call," you said nonchalantly, keeping a friendly attitude.

Of course, you could have vanished from the cell as soon as he left, but you didn't want to be known as a fugitive on news programs across the country.

The man paused for a moment, thinking about something, and then turned back to you. With his piercing gaze boring into you and his hand on his holster, he handed you the phone, and as soon as you picked it up, it rang.

You shrugged your shoulders and backed away from the bars to avoid having it taken from you. "That'll count as your call," the man warned you.

You brought the phone to your ear, mentally preparing yourself for what awaited you. "Say please," Gojo scoffed from the other side. "Come on," he coaxed, taunting you. "Say please and maybe I'll get you out." 

"I hope ya're pleased with yourself," were all the words that you could muster, stepping over your pride. "Please."

You heard neither confirmation nor another round of teasing; only short beeps. Despondently, you handed the phone to the officer, and as long as you had strength left, you clung to the iron bars and listened to every action that took place. The police officer seemed to be watching something, and every now and then, you heard the clatter of a mug against the table.

It seems like five minutes or fifteen have passed - you can't count in a cramped cell without a clock. The front door slammed, and loud footsteps sounded. "Please excuse my wife," a familiar chirp tickled your ears. "She's having a seasonal exacerbation."

***

You had already traveled a great distance, leaving the police station behind, but you hadn't said a word, which amused Gojo and worried him at the same time. Anyway, you still let him hold your hand, which meant you weren't that angry.

He was annoyed that he couldn't read your emotions because half of your face was hidden - it was like ripping half of a book out before he could read the rest of it. The question was no longer whether you were angry or hurt, but did you feel anything at all? "Well," he began slyly. "Are you gonna sulk like that?" 

"I can't believe it," you said reproachfully, shaking your head. "Ya left me. Ya left me, abandoned me, humiliated me-"

"Is that how you talk to the man who bailed you out?" laughing, he stopped and stood right in front of you.

"It was a bribe!" you retorted indignantly.

"I'd do it again," he admitted solemnly, looking haughtily and cheerfully into your eyes.

"I know," you whispered. "But I thought we were best friends," he didn't notice the triumph replaced by panic the first time he saw your wounded gaze.

"No, no," he rambled anxiously, gently cupping your cheeks. "It's just a joke, really, I was just kidding-"

"I would never do that to ya," you managed to say, swallowing the lump in your throat. You wrapped your palm around his - the one that pressed harder against your face. You bit your lip in frustration. "I would never leave ya," seeing the glint in your averted gaze made everything inside him flip - from his soul to his organs. That wasn't the kind of glint he wanted to see. "I know I don't act the way ya'd like me to sometimes, but- Oh," your face changed immediately, from sadness to pure curiosity, and you let go of his hands and stepped around him, heading somewhere.

He was one-step away from bursting into tears himself, but your actions have left him stumped. After a moment of standing as if you were still here, he turned around. You were striding briskly toward the huge red glowing sign that read 'Spicy Dumplings'.

One might have thought that this was not enough to stomp on his heart, but then, as luck would have it, he thought that it had become too light in his pocket. His purse were missing. "Seriously?" he sighed, throwing his head back and staring up at the night sky covered in light noise. "There are so many people in the world, why her?" the stars were hidden - the stars were silent.

Megumi had seen his reflection in the mirror countless times and just as many times he'd experienced nothing - a man like a man, a person who didn't stand out, but now, as Kyle walked around him in circles with a measuring tape around his neck and pins stuck in his shirt, the boy felt genuinely excited.

Even though Megumi felt like a mannequin being abused, occasionally getting needles under his skin by accident, he still thought it was worth it. Megumi glanced at the mask made for him. Even without filters, it looked heavy, but the precise curves of its rigid material made it somewhat dangerous.

The boy jerked when Kyle once again grazed the skin on his shoulder with the pin. "Sorry," Kyle muttered. "I'm not very good at this."

"Then why don't others do it?" grunted Megumi, staring at himself in the mirror again.

The man only chuckled - no offense intended. "May I remind ya," he began softly in between. "Ya don't have to do this."

"I know," Megumi replied stubbornly. "I don't know how to do anything else, though."

"Do ya?" wondered Kyle sincerely. "What, no hobbies?"

Megumi looked at Kyle as if he was hearing those words for the first time. The man pressed his lips together understandingly and continued his tailor's work. Seeing another section of loosely dangling fabric, he pinched it down the boy's body and secured it with a pin. "Ya know, when ya get back, we can go fishing with together," he suggested light-heartedly, pulling out the now unnecessary needle and, finding no better option, jammed it between his teeth. "Or I could teach ya how to play the guitar," as Kyle cheerfully enumerated, Megumi only frowned his eyebrows harder. "In a pinch, we can weave beaded bracelets with ya," he laughed and his soft, deep voice floated around the room. "Okay, well, try this on," Kyle said, handing him the mask.

The mask was a little heavier than it looked, and Megumi held it for a moment before taking a deep jagged breath and leaning it against his face. The mask, making a clicking sound, sat perfectly. "How's that? Fine?" inquired Kyle, not giving up on trying to get Megumi to talk.

"Yeah," Megumi replied indifferently, and his voice came strangled and mechanical, but Kyle was used to that. "Just hot in this uniform."

"That's what ya saying now," Kyle pointed out. "Ya'll thank me a hundred times in the void."

"You?" the boy asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

The room went up in flames in an instant as if everything was lit up in red flames, but barely had the flash subsided when Megumi saw that it was Kyle's hands that were burning. "Me," Kyle said cheekily but still jokingly. "I'm the one in charge of thermoregulation here."

Megumi stared mesmerized at the man's hands - a second ago, they were still burning, burning as bright and hot as his disheveled gut. "I want that, too," the boy muttered quietly.

"Too, huh?" Kyle smirked meaningfully. "So ya okay with everything else?" turning away in embarrassment, Megumi tried to pull the mask off, but it wouldn't budge. He kept tugging at it while Kyle watched his desperate attempts. "Lemme help ya, you're gonna rip your face off," the man offered. "There are buttons on the sides," he informed, pulling the mask off the boy.

"You couldn't tell me before, could you?" an indignant Megumi panted, rubbing the line of his chin.

"My bad. Sorry," Kyle couldn't help it - the smile wouldn't leave his face. "By the way, uh… How's it going... with Dany?"

Megumi hated it when someone poked their nose into his life, much less his personal life. Shutting down, withdrawing into himself was the first reaction brought on by years of building up an internal psychology, but now that Megumi saw the unfamiliar warm gaze, he was glad that there was at least one person who was genuinely interested in his inner state. "I don't know, she doesn't talk to me," the boy said sullenly. "It would be better if she just told me she doesn't like me anymore," he added quietly.

"And how is that better?"

"Then I'd know for sure I don't stand a chance anymore," Megumi despaired. "I've been trying to catch up to her in training, but she's even running faster than me. I can't look for her in these damn woods," Megumi muttered, pulling off the top of his uniform and handing the fabric to Kyle.

Kyle knew that he shouldn't laugh at problems - neither big ones, nor small ones, nor their description. He was trying his best to remain silent now, only nodding significantly. "Well...," he drawled. "So there's definitely motivation to train even harder now."

"People have their limits," Megumi frowned, tugging on his home t-shirt with a jerk. "I think I've reached mine."

"Ya'd best remember well what ya just said," the man said sternly. "Remember it well and forget it. Otherwise, if I hear ya say that again, we'll stop training ya."

"And I'll continue without you," Megumi stubbornly persisted. "I may not be in control of it yet, but with or without you, I can still walk into the void."

"And die," Kyle finished for him, though the boy's sentence didn't require it. "Ya know what that's called? Cut off nose to spite face," seeing Megumi's haggard face, Kyle softened. "Come on," he paternally patted the boy on the top of his head. "How about this. When ya get back, I'll set up a rendezvous for ya and Dany."

Megumi hummed incredulously, shifting from foot to foot. "Can you really make it?"

Kyle didn't know what he was signing up for. Persuading a stubborn girl and trying to change her mind was a deep hole that couldn't be climbed out of with walls or even a ladder, but when he saw the faint smile flash across Megumi's face, he knew it was worth it. "I'll try."

You were already cooing with the waiter when you'd been apart for a minute – that was what Gojo saw in his mind, distorted by an unknown feeling. When the corners of your eyes crinkled once more, he felt an unfamiliar tingle under his ribs. It was directed, burning. 

In two strides, he'd covered the distance from the front door to the table you were at and plopped down across from you. "Baby, could you not run away from me like that anymore?" shifting his gaze from you to the waiter, it went from soft to steely, all the blue was gone. The waiter was embarrassed by his direct gaze, and after glancing at you and seeing your nod, he hurriedly retreated to the kitchen. "So much for service," he muttered, looking after the waiter. "I didn't even order anything."

"I ordered ya mild shrimp dumplings and two cheesecakes," you said, looking at his profile - something in the air felt spicy from more than just the smell of the local sauce.

He didn't realize whether he liked it or not that you knew him well, the only thing that bothered and hurt him was that he didn't know you. Not even that. He knew something about you, but only from other people's words and among them was none of yours. "Well?" he inquired, finally turning in your direction. "What's next?" 

"Cholesterol plaques," you chirped in pleasant anticipation. "I've been eating nothing but soup and porridge for weeks now, one more day like this and I'll hang myself."

"I'd look at that," Gojo drawled detachedly.

"Is something wrong?" you worried. "It's like ya angry."

He was silent for a few more good moments, staring out the window and tapping his finger on his chin. "Frank told me you've been missing for three years. What have you been doing?" you swallowed all the words out of surprise and stared at him stunned. "What?" asked Gojo indifferently. "You know everything about me, I know nothing about you. That's not very fair." 

"It's not like I have a choice," you tried to gently remind him.

"Really?" his voice remained calm, but it still made you want to squirm in your seat. "My negligent students tied you up and made you listen to all the facts about me?"

"It's dif-"

"Different, yeah," he interrupted, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair - away from you. An inner voice yelled at him to shut his mouth, too bad Gojo was deaf at that moment. "Tell me, what does human meat taste like? I heard somewhere that it tastes like chicken, is that true?" your heart was definitely tied with fishing line and started to squeeze, and if not, why did you feel like blood was dripping off it? "Oh, come on," he laughed, seeing the subtle change on your face. "Well, you ate a couple people, who among us is not without sin?" 

You looked around, almost unable to see anything through the haze, but there didn't seem to be anyone near you. "If we don't shut this down, I'm gonna eat ya too," you tried to guffaw, keeping your face straight. "Alive."

"I'm just trying to get to know you better," Gojo stared at you, trying to catch everything he could - gestures, facial expressions, anything. Every time he caught something he wanted, satisfaction involuntarily spread through his body. Paradoxically, the thought of enjoying it made him sick, but he couldn't help it - your hypocrisy was wearing him down. You were the one who'd first said you'd never revisit the subject, and yet every day with every unspoken word, you reminded Gojo that you didn't trust him. "I get that you're trying to seem mysterious, but have you ever wondered how it looks?" he chuckled sarcastically. "You look like a wretched runaway," you sat up, listening and memorizing every word. "Maybe I should tell you what happens to people who don't open up to anyone?" he leaned closer to you as if he wanted to tell you a secret that was known only to him. "Let me better demonstrate, though," Gojo got up from the table, and still looking at you, distanced himself a couple steps away. "Look at that," he snapped his fingers, pointing to his now empty seat and grinned contentedly. "You're all alone."  

Gojo didn't try to get to know you better because then he could have asked you what your favorite color was, or movie, or music, but no. He got under your skin. Deliberately and painfully, choosing words that scratched and bit, and you didn't even have time to ask 'why' because his back, which had already disappeared behind the front door, would hardly have answered your question.   

[June 30, 2020, 23:14, hunters' hq]

[10:59pm] You: We are going on a raid in an hour

[10:59pm] You: Megumi will text ya when he gets back

This message, like the previous ones, remained delivered but unread. Looking at it again, you went back to your routine. Books, lots of medical supplies, and more dry rations were what lay on the table. You and Kyle spread it all out into gym bags as compactly as possible, good thing you could carry twice as much into the void this time - thanks to your new apprentice.

Worries and doubts scrabbled at your mind as you put another packet of ibuprofen in your bag - did you tell Megumi everything you wanted to? Had you conveyed everything to him? Did he understand everything? The only thing you knew for sure was that you couldn't let him out of your sight. The first few times, at least.

You never missed an opportunity to remind the boy that if anything went wrong, he should run and not look back, and each time you said it aloud, you caught an increasingly annoyed look in his eyes. You believed that at the right moment, your words would play an annoying song in Megumi's head and he would do what you wanted him to do, even if it was against his own will. "Okay," Kyle pulled you out of your thoughts. "I got rid of most of the wardens, but others could come, be careful," he admonished you for the umpteenth time. "Remember they have been abused badly, more so than the others have ever told us, that's why they so afraid to come in contact. But I've prepared the ground," he poked you quietly with his shoulder. "Since Rachel took out three people, Issu will probably take out as many more, which means there will be at least two more in the hut," he wasn't discouraged, and you hummed in response.  "Well," Kyle began in between, seeing your state of mind. "He still hasn't called?"

"Busy, I guess," at this point you ratted yourself out, for your brother didn't even give a name.

"I bet," Kyle muttered, pressing the contents of the bag to make some more room. "Why is your face long?"

"Not long, but focused," you brushed it off.

"Yeah, as ya say. Ya've been frowning for over a week. Even if I can't see it, I can feel it. And he hasn't been here in all that time," even though Kyle didn't like Gojo, there was a touch of sympathy in his voice. "What happened between ya two?" 

"Nothing happened," you retorted. "And nothing's gonna happen," you added, softening. "He just... Dunno, he just got mad all of a sudden. Maybe it's because I don't tell him anything about me or what happened to me," you sighed sadly, your actions becoming slower and moodier.

Kyle was angry. You'd never told anyone anything, not even your loved ones, so where did Gojo get this idea of his uniqueness? "He'll get over it," he muttered. "If he doesn't, the hell with him. Let him cling to someone else." 

"Ya'd be happy to," you said, grinning slyly. Maybe there was truth to Kyle's words, but you couldn't wash away that sticky acrid feeling with water or soap. Gojo must have felt the same way then. You were both disappointed in you. "We forgot the sugar," you said, going through the supplies on the table. "I'll get it." 

At your brother's concerned look, you walked out of the workroom, went up the stairs and down the hallway. You were already a foot away from the fridge, only the sickening feeling of suddenly soaked socks made you cringe. "What the...," you squeaked, taking a step back.

There was water under the refrigerator. In spite of the puddle, you walked over to it and jerked open the door - not even a light bulb on. "Great," you mumbled to the empty room, and jerked the door back shut.

As if you didn't have enough troubles already, now you had to buy a new fridge. You liked it, though. It might be red, it might have daisies on it, but you were too used to it. "How much longer ya gonna look for sugar?" Kyle asked rhetorically, leaning against the doorjamb and watching you search the drawers for a rag. "Come on," he walked over to you, putting his arm around your shoulders to ward off all the fuss. Kyle glanced first at the refrigerator and then at the puddle that had spread beneath it. "That thing was barely hanging on. I'll walk ya out, and then I'll clean this place up."

Something was pressing against your shoulders. It clearly wasn't Kyle's hands. They might have looked massive, but everyone close to him knew how gentle the man could be.

The door creaked open on the second floor. "Please don't go," a pleading voice made your heart clench. "Ya're not ready yet, ya've had too little practice," came the sound of footsteps - some hurried, others hesitant.

Everything fell into place when the two persons finally came down - Megumi and Daniel. She grabbed his sleeve, asking him to stop, but he didn't even look in her direction. Yanking his arm out of her weak grip, he stood beside you. "Y/N," the girl pleaded. "Please tell him he's not ready."

"But I already told him he's coming with me today."

"W-what?" she asked in a stammering voice, looking at you as if you'd plunged a dagger under her ribs. "No-no-no," she shook her head desperately. "Why didn't ya ask me?"

You raised an eyebrow uncomprehendingly. "Should I have?" you asked indifferently. "If ya'd given him a chance to talk to ya once, maybe ya would have found out sooner."

"Don't ya fucking dare put the blame on me!" she shouted, and the outburst made the tears she'd been holding back roll down her cheeks. "Ya owed it to me to tell me!" her ringing voice began to break. "Ya took my mother away from me," she muttered. "Y-ya took my father from me," she continued to squeeze the words out of her through all the pain and hardship. "Now ya want him too?"

"Dany, not in public-"

"Not in public?!" she yelled. "He could die out there and all ya're worried about is me telling about your sins?" she laughed bitterly, wiping her wet face with her hands.

"Megumi, go to the workroom," you said softly, nudging him toward the exit. The boy hesitated a few steps and stopped, but you weren't looking at him.

"Now ya wanna take my boyfriend too," it wasn't a question anymore. It was a statement. A weak, quiet assertion.

"Dany, please calm down," Kyle gently tried to reassure her, cautiously stepping closer to her. "Megumi's gonna be fine-"

"Back off," she pulled away sharply from Kyle.

"Should I mention that he's no longer your boyfriend?" if there had been thread in the room, you would have sewn your mouth shut. There weren't, though. "You dumped him, remember?"

Danielle's rage didn't disappear - it just became as quiet as the girl's tears. "I hate ya," the words were almost impossible to hear, but you understood everything from her barely moving lips. "I hate ya so much that not even your death will make me love ya again."

Before she turned away from you, you saw the helpless anger in her eyes. You watched in a daze as she went up to the second floor on weak legs and then disappeared from sight. "Dany," Kyle called out to her, forcing you out of your stupor.

You quickly followed her upstairs and sighed as you realized you hadn't made it in time - the door to her room had already slammed shut. You banged on it with all your might. "Dany, open up!" instead of the usual words or silence, you were met with a ragged sob. You and Kyle looked over at each other anxiously. "Danielle!" you groaned again. "If you don't open it, I'm gonna kick the fucking door down!" you warned.

Your eyes blurred as her sobs subsided.

There was a rustle of sheets followed by quiet footsteps. The lock of the door clicked.

You were greeted by your loved one's face, but it was very different from the one you'd seen in the kitchen. No more anger, no more rage - just disheveled blond hair, red puffy eyelids, and grief. "Dany, I-"

You were interrupted by your own phone, and you almost whimpered in frustration. You glanced at the screen, and the evening's call from that person didn't bode well. It was Rachel.

"Answer it," she said weakly. "It must be very important," you didn't get a word out before she closed the door quietly in your face. Kyle turned the knob with a barely perceptible movement to leave a small gap.

You pressed the screen with force, and only a miracle saved it from cracking. "Speak," you snapped into the phone.

"Ah- H-hey," even if Rachel hadn't stuttered, you'd have realized she was drunk. "I can't re- relocate. I can't catch a cab either. Get me out of here," she whined.

"Okay, Kyle will pick you up-"

"No!" she yelled into the phone. "If ya don't get me out of there, I swear ya will be no longer my fucking sister," Rachel hissed.

"Rach, I've got a raid-"

"I'm supposed to care about that?" she hiccupped angrily. "Kyle always has to do everything for ya, doesn't he? Kyle this, Kyle that- Hey! Hey, asshole!," she was still yelling, but her voice was muffled. "Ya blind? No? Then maybe I'm nothing to ya?"

You and Kyle looked at each other grimly - even from here, your brother could hear the mayhem going on at the other end of the phone. The crack of wood, broken glass, shouts, muffled thuds - you squinted your eyes at every sound. "Hey," Rachel's voice was back to ringing, distinct and drunken. "Anyway, pick me up already. I rarely see ya, I feel like I don't even have a sister."

You didn't get a chance to ask where she was. Rachel just dropped the call. "What kinda day is this," you whispered in a broken, shaky whisper, rubbing your hot forehead with the palm of your hand, still staring at the phone screen.

Kyle wrapped his fingers around your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "Go," he ordered, trying to ignore your glistening eyes. "It's okay, just go get Rachel."

"But what about-"

"Today was supposed to be my shift anyway," he reminded you, hugging you. "Ya'll just go after me."

"Alright, then tell Megumi we'll be leaving in three days," you nodded briefly, snuggling up to him.

"Nah, he's waited long enough," he laughed. "I can't stand the even more sullen face he has now," feeling you clinging to his t-shirt, he tried to reassure you as best he could and knew how. He pulled you even tighter against him and burrowed into your hair. "It's been so long," he whispered. "It's high time ya learned to believe in us."

"Okay," you exhaled raggedly, unable to tear yourself away from your brother. "Take care of him. Take care of yourself, too. Please," the glimpse of black streaks creeping up your fingers made you pull away from him. Kyle kissed your forehead briefly, but you felt his lips linger on your skin a little longer than usual.

You took a couple steps away from him, and after taking another look at him, you turned around and headed for the stairs. "Y/N?" he called out to you.

You were so expecting it that you turned to him again without thinking. "Yes?" you asked with hope in your voice.

He winked slyly. "See ya," he waved goodbye, and you caught the glint of his silver bracelet.

"See ya," you giggled, waving back at him.  

As you walked away, you tried to keep a confident gait, but some thing pressed on your shoulders again.

Half the bar was trashed, no customers, only one redheaded girl sitting on a stool with her head on the table, either asleep or unconscious. After leaving Kyle, you called her a dozen times, and on the millionth call, you were swearing at everyone and everything. After you'd gotten her on the phone through your despair, you'd gotten her address, and there you were, standing there, among the shards of mugs and chips from tables and chairs.

Under the wary gaze of the man in the black shirt, you walked over to Rachel and shook her by the shoulder. She mumbled inarticulately. "Do you know her?" he asked sternly.

"Yeah," you replied indifferently, still trying to rouse your sister.

"All right," said the manager. "Then I'm calling the police," he informed.

"Please don't get the police," you begged resignedly. "I'll pay for everything, just... Really, let's not do that. I'll leave you a phone number," you said, picking up one of the surviving napkins from the table and turning around to face the man. "Do you have a pen?"

He looked at you incredulously from head to toe, but your earrings seemed to convince him. He handed you a pen, and you quickly wrote your number on a napkin. "Here," you held out the phone number to him. "You can check it out."

Done. He dialed the number you had written, and your phone rang. "I'll send you the bill," the manager said formally. "Now get her out of here before she trashes the surviving half of the bar."

"Yeah, just...," you swallowed uncertainly. "I'll just bring her to her senses," the manager nodded, but didn't move. When you looked at your sister again, rage came over you, but remembering that you were in a public place, you immediately nipped it in the bud.

Grabbing Rachel by the scruff of her neck, you dragged her into the restroom. She struggled sluggishly and mumbled something, but you paid no attention. Kicking open the door, you tossed her right into the sink. "Did ya have fun, bitch?" with helplessness, your voice started to break again. You opened the faucet, and to your delight, ice-cold water came out of it.

You held Rachel's hair with your hand and tried to keep her head close to the stream, otherwise she'd just slide to the floor; with your other hand you scooped up the water and smeared it right over her drunken red face. "Do ya even remember ya have a son? Why aren't ya at his place?" you began to gasp along with her - she from the water, you from despair.

"I can't see him-" she stammered and choked, and you wondered if it was really the alcohol, the water, or her own words. "I-I'm gonna throw up," she practically forced the words out of her, choking on the water.

Whimpering, you pulled her hair and dragged her straight to the toilet stall. As soon as her head was bent over the toilet, everything started coming out of her. She coughed and spit, and you held her unruly hair back, even though the only thing you wanted to do right now was drown her in her own vomit. "Are ya having fun now? Do ya like living like this?"

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, and the sounds of vomiting were heard again. "I... I won't do it again."

You bit your lip, almost tearing it off - how many times had you heard those words, and there was no truth to them, like wandering through a dark forest without a light, looking for a path. It was the same thing over and over again. "Wait here," you said, not sure why - she couldn't have disappeared in her condition.

Leaping out of the restroom and grabbing the first whole glass you could find, you went back in and filled it with water. "Drink," you commanded, shoving the glass under your sister's nose.

"I don't wanna," she tried to push your hand away weakly.

"I said drink," you grabbed her hair again, forcing her face up. As the water poured into her open mouth, Rachel leaned over the toilet again, choking.

They didn't want to leave you alone, the ringing of the phone hit your ears again, making you grit your teeth. "Speak."

"Young lady, what kinda tone is that?" resented Frank. Your insides dropped as you felt Rachel was about to throw up again.

"Sorry, Frank, I didn't see who was calling," you said absently, turning away and putting the receiver away from the source of the noise. "Look, lemme call ya back in an hour, 'kay? We're just at the bar with Rachel, it's not really convenient to talk right now."

"One hour," the man snorted angrily and hung up.

"Thanks," Rach mumbled and as you watched this, you slid down the wall, falling to the cold tile. Looking at her sweaty face and the wet red strands sticking to it, you were furious that you couldn't do anything about it. But if you couldn't do anything about it, then why were you even bothering with it? "I kinda feel better," she mumbled more clearly already, wiping her lips. "Let's go home."

Sighing, you grabbed her under the armpits, forcing her to stand. Rachel leaned on you like a personal prop, and you waddled away from the bar to the judgmental stares. When you reached the alley, you pulled your sister tighter against you.

"Relocate."  

You fell onto the soft bed in your sister's room just as you'd been in the alley a second ago - tired, in dirty clothes and shoes. When you sensed something wrong, you moved Rach to the edge of the bed and rolled her onto her side, and went to the bathroom to get a basin, pour some water into a glass, and grab some micellar water.

Before Rachel threw up again, you managed to put the basin on the floor. Putting everything else on the nightstand, you began to undress her. Clumsily pulling off her sneakers, you couldn't lift her torso to pull down her pants. "Help me already," you groaned, tugging at her legs.

Grumbling to herself, Rachel lifted her hips, and you yanked off her jeans with. You realized you didn't have the energy for outerwear - let her sleep like that. Rach was still stirring restlessly, apparently never having fallen into slumber.

You sat down next to her, and after soaking a cotton ball in micellar water, you began to wash off her makeup. "Ya mad?" she asked weakly.

"Not really," you lied, trying not to take the anger out on her face.

You were smearing mascara and eyeliner all over her cheeks, and no one really knew how much absorbent cotton and micellar water it took you to wash it all off. Rachel was already breathing normally, though she was lying in an uncomfortable position - her right arm oddly bent over her face. But she seemed to be asleep.

You rolled her onto her side again, and praying that she would stay that way until morning and not choke on her own vomit, tried to crawl quietly off the bed. "Don't go," she begged quietly, grabbing at your sweater. "Lie with me for a while."

"Okay," you gave in to her helpless pleas and gently lay down on the other side of the bed.

Who knows how much strength it took for her to turn around to face you? "I miss ya," she sobbed.

You realized she wasn't talking to you at all. "I know. Go back to sleep."

There was nothing left in the room but your breathing. As she fell asleep, you knew that tomorrow Rachel would have a headache, and she would snap at everyone she met. You watched her face sink deeper and deeper into the pillow, her occasional smacking of her lips, her frown, and reassured yourself that maybe she was dreaming something good this time.

The warning signs were scattered around the kitchen. To be more precise, they were sitting there. Director Yaga stared in amazement at you coming down from the second floor, for he had been informed of your absence. "Mr. Director," you greeted him in a surprised but tired manner, glancing around at the others. There was Shoko, standing at the open window, blowing cigarette smoke, Yuji, who didn't look up from his desk, and Megumi, who had finally returned, alive and well. "Back?" you asked the boy, grinning approvingly. "Good. Go rest."

You probably said it to yourself - you were barely thinking. Automatically shuffling your feet, you headed for the workshop. "Y/N," a distressed voice stopped you.

Your face contorted instantly. Your eyes squeezed shut on their own and your lips pressed into a thin line against your will. 'Don't ya do this to me,' you begged silently someone who wasn't in this room.

Wiping the pain from your face with your hand, you took the only acceptable emotion you could muster. Benevolence. You turned around, and walking over to the table and standing in front of Megumi, you continued to pretend that everything was fine. "What is it?"

You refused to see the fear in Itadori's eyes, but you couldn't help but notice the fear in the black-haired boy's young features. Maybe if you hadn't looked so straight ahead, maybe if you'd known to look away, you wouldn't have seen the guilt.

Megumi refused to look you in the eyes - he was drilling a point near your neck, hiding his hands under the table. "I...," he began, but a gasp knotted his throat, and he clenched his teeth with such force that his tense jaw showed through his skin. "I'm... I'm- I'm so sorry," let it be his words - he was holding it together just fine, unlike Itadori. As soon as Megumi finished speaking, tears began to stream down Yuji's cheeks. It felt like molten metal had been poured into your lungs instead of air. It filled you from the inside out, rising higher and higher, coming up to your throat. "It's my fault," he admitted, reaching his hand out from under the table and handing you a silver bracelet.

You wanted to ask the boy a stupid but sincere question - whose bracelet was it? But as soon as you took it in your hand, you already knew the answer, for the size of the jewelry left no doubt as to who had once owned it.

"What...," you stammered, feeling the jewelry in your hands. It was warm, almost hot - apparently, Megumi had warmed it in his hands for a long time. "What happened?"

"Jonah brought more people to evacuate," the boy began in a trembling voice. "Kyle said we couldn't get everyone out at once. I insisted, though. I promised them I'd get them out," his eyes finally glistened, but not a single tear still fell. "I said I could take them out, but Kyle warned me that I couldn't take out six at a time. Then the people started... Th-they... They begged, begged me to take them out right now...," he sobbed, pressing himself harder against the back of the chair and lowering his gaze, hiding his face in his hand. "I convinced Kyle that I could do it. I really felt it," the boy pleaded, raising wet eyes to you. "He went to walk us to the rift, except...," he breathed intermittently and shallowly, swallowing thick saliva. "When we were close to the rift, it turned out they weren't people at all," he looked up at you, making sure you understood what he meant. "I wanted to stay, but he pushed me away, and I think I ripped it off him at that point," he glanced at the bracelet in your hands, licking his chapped lips. "First he pushed me away, then relocated me closer to the rift, and then I think he relocate himself, but...," stingy tears spilled from his eyes like begging atonement. "Before I went in, I turned around. They- They torn him ap-"

"I got it," you interrupted without listening to the rest of the story.

It was as if all the water had evaporated from your body - it was so dry it was hard to move your limbs, your eyes refused to blink, saliva pooled in your mouth as if you'd lost all your basic reflexes. "There's nothing ya can do now. Go to bed," you said blankly. Your gaze fell on the pack of cigarettes that was peering through the white robe of Shoko, who had approached you. Ieiri silently reached into the pocket, pulled out a cigarette and held it out to you, paired with a lighter. "Thanks."

It was a long walk to the window, for the floor underfoot was not parquet, but viscous glue. The phone rang for the umpteenth time, but you weren't angry or annoyed. You didn't care. That's what you thought, until you saw the name of the caller.

It was Frank.

You took a cigarette in your teeth and lit it, but you hesitated before answering the phone, your numb hands deliberately delaying the moment. The phone screen went out, but immediately lit up again. "Hey, Frank."

"It's been well over an hour," he sighed. "If ya can't call me back, at least send me a text so I don't worry-"

"Frank."

"Don't interrupt me, that's not what I taught ya," he frowned, reminding you of childhood admonitions. "How's Rachel doing? Have ya been watching her?"

"Frank," you tried again.

"Did she drink a lot?" the agitated man persisted. "She did something wrong, didn't she?"

"Frank!" you shouted into the phone. The silence was so empty and impersonal, only the waves crashing against the rocks reminded you what kind of world you were in. You took a puff for the first time in a long time. Your head was spinning, but you remained standing at the open panoramic window. "Kyle, he's... He's dead."

When you said it aloud, you brought it to life, bringing chaos not only to your soul, but to the souls of others as well. There was a long silence, and the sound of the waves began to subside along with the beating of the heart. It would have been better if Frank had never spoken, for instead of his words you heard only something mechanical, and the ringing in your ears made it impossible to make out what was said - past, future, anguish, joys, sorrows and moments of happiness - all merged together and seemed to sink into the bay before your eyes.

You threw away the burnt cigarette and pulled the silver bracelet out of your pocket; it was cool as it lost its warmth. There was no blood on it, no pieces of skin. You put it to your lips, hoping to feel Kyle again. It was no use. The jewelry gave off only your warmth.

You didn't immediately realize that Frank had gone silent. 'Yeah, okay,' you said on automatic. You seemed to hear the words 'Hopetown', 'funeral', 'two days'. Were 'two days' accurate? Did Frank say three? Did he say anything at all?

Before you could come to your senses and have time to ask again, Frank hung up. "Y/N," Principal Yaga's worried voice came from behind you. "Is there anything we can do for you?"

You lost your brother, and you are unlikely to ever see again those people who were first gifted with hope and then left in the void. "Yeah," you replied coldly, turning to look at those present. You were still desperately pressing the jewelry to your lips. "Your job."

Seeing the principal nod briefly, you walked past heading for the workroom, throwing all Kyle's hopes, plans, dreams, and silver bracelet into the trashcan.  

next ⊳

[emerxshiu]

im so back.

If only my artstyle wouldnt keep changing everytime i try out a new brush.

I've been drawing non-stop for like these past two weeks i think and now my wrist hurts dammit. so basically i have two notebooks worth of drawings to post but im too lazy to do that now so expect a doodle dump some days later when i feel like it

ugh the quality went down i think aaaaa

Welp time to talk abt the drawing, honestly just a silly idea i had to draw elfilin and fecto forgo togheter but i fucked up forgo so i only did elfilin

i keep going back and forth with my design for elfilin, i'll have to settle down on one of em at some point, but right now, i think this iteration of the gijinka is kinda cute.

i didnt wanna draw a background so i just pulled the old reliable of grabbing the most random pics i have and distorting them into oblivion and forcefully meshing them. and honestly i think the backgroung goes a bit hard ngl

btw happy birthday meta knight, i didnt drawn anything for him sadly.

Also, you can consider this an early drawing for katfl anniversary, im planning to making an actual drawing for that but just in case i dont have enough time or cant do it or i post it way too late, this one can take the place

Jambuhbye!

[headspace-hotel]

I'm thinking about crywolf's album Exuvium (Oblivion pt.2) again. unbelievable levels of artistry and skill and pure talent in all his music but oblivion pt. 1 and pt. 2 really fucking bloom in terms of his ability to put together lush soundscapes so you have really clean, ethereal stuff blended with rough gritty snarling texture and distorted, autotuned stuff paired with jarringly raw and acoustic-sounding stuff. i'm especially impressed with his ability to reach shatter-your-lungs-out-your-ribcage levels of intensity but it's never like a flat wall of sound, its always got crisp and interesting edges. does that make any sense

[seneitut]

omg, I adore your fic!! it was such a nice read. felt so bad for yoru though 😭😭 justice for him

“Redemption”

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

[Yoru/Reader] [Gekko/Reader]

Words: 2.6K

Tags: Fluff, Jealousy, Cheating (Sorry Gekko), Introspection.

(Okay, this is long overdue and my partner gave me this idea so im sorry for the gekko lovers out there!!!

This two-shots can be taken as individuals stories or a continuation if you'd like. Is up to you!

The third part will a lil bit longer and to spicy things up it will have the nsfw part for the yoru lovers! :])

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

Having no family, friends nor prospects of a lover in Yoru's life made things easier to deal with when the First light happened.

He expected to die, to burn with the rest of the world and disappear as if his life were the flame of a candle, snuffed out of existence and into oblivion—but none of it happened. There was crushing pain and muffled screams while his body morphed and reconstructed times and times again for a new host.

The alterations on his body were an afterthought though, too caught up with the sudden rush of memories from a time he doesn't remember living and powers only he could barely understand. 

There were samurais, there were katanas, people just like him riding horses into the woods and hollering in victory as another battle had been won. 

And then, he saw himself with a wooden mask, a reflection from a broken mirror and distorted with time, fusing until there was only one left: him, standing alone and heaving puffs of breath with difficulty while regaining consciousness.

The mask that was given to him, popping into existence and onto his bare hands, proves that whatever dreamspace he went into was real.

Was it on purpose, or an accident? Not having a clear answer as to the whys and whats, he decides to carry it and use it to chase after its purpose.

The powers that were handed to him, to his relief, compliments how he strides in life now: with carefulness and abrasiveness.

It keeps him safe, in some sort of way, to distance himself from the whole world and out of the spotlight with the many risks it holds. Despite feeling like the main character with the many shit that happens often in his life, stepping down from the top is refreshing, a weight lifted off his shoulders, if you may. 

Because from afar things are easier to deal with.

And it was supposed to be like this, for the rest of his life. Being a loner was his trademark, an asshole to the core and hiding his true colors from everyone’s sight. The purpose of the mask became a secondary thought after the many months roaming the world in search of a truth he couldn't see; and fleeing from everyone began to be his main characteristic instead of his abilities.

No one would be able to hurt him if he escapes from confrontation, and no one would be able to break through his self-imposed walls if he never faces them.

He would not be vulnerable in front of anyone for as long as he lives.

Until you came through. 

Is funny, though, how things developed until his feelings weren’t able to be fooled. Yoru has tried many times to distance himself from your being, impossible to do if you were often forced to interact thanks to Sage’s requests. Whether training or just doing some paperwork together, he inches closer to you despite the clash of his emotions and denial of his own affections.

But it’s not like he complains, although he’s made colorful nasty comments whenever you were in the vicinity as a way to keep you at arm's length, it was all a façade, a trick to keep you on your lane because, deeply, he enjoys your company to a fault.

And somehow, his actions never deterred you from striking conversation or just hanging out with him, despite the many obstacles he's put you through. Is almost like you don’t mind, like you understand the way he is without exposing himself, and he loves that.

He loves you.

You are not loud like Jett, nor as annoying as Phoenix. You are the middle ground where he can enjoy being with you without losing his composure and craves for your presence when you leave. And as much as he wants to avoid talking about what he really feels, there is a limit his emotions can handle until he bursts. 

“You are not the only one after them, rift boy.” 

Yoru should have taken those words more seriously if he wanted to pursue something with you. To approach you, to court you properly, to ask you permission to call you by your name in private, to ask for affection even if it embarrasses him.

Anything his culture taught him went straight down the toilet with one look at your eyes and soft smile, freezing him on the spot and making him unable to make a move on you. 

Whatever restraining he has is thinning the longer you talk to him, the more you worry for his well-being and look after him. You treat him with such care and love without disregarding or treating him as if made of glass, but with respect he thinks he deserves.

That only amos his need to kiss your stupid face until he feels like he can’t breathe anymore, perhaps take everything you can offer for him and give you everything that makes him Yoru. 

To give you the real person behind the mask, to give you Ryo, instead of Yoru. 

For heavens, he is smitten. He’s down bad bad. Phoenix would make fun of him and Jett would never let this die down if they were to know he’s been reduced to an enamored boy with your attention alone; but would understand where he's coming from. 

And with how bad he deals with his own emotions, Yoru thinks he would need all the help he can get to figure out how to transmit these feelings, and who’s better than his own comrades? Because, despite everything, they are his friends, right? He knows he doesn't need to say anything for them to notice how often he looks at you, how much he seems to crave your attention, how lost or upset he looks when you interact with others that aren't him.

But in the end, none of it was important anymore. 

You are Gekko’s, and Gekko is yours. 

When the news spread around the protocol, many reactions were found positive; some surprised him more than others, but the majority of the agents were encouraging of the relationship.

It was almost like the fraternization rule has been abolished or forgotten thanks to you two— but he thinks Reyna had something to do with it and her own relationship with Viper to make it advantageous for her protegé.

To his aid, and sympathetic as always, Jett was one of the few who didn't seem pleased with the newly couple, giving brief glances to his direction throughout the conversation unfolding at the meeting room and pursed lips whenever Gekko boasted about you.

Jett has made some sarcastic comments towards Gekko, but he knows she doesn’t wish him any ill and is only protecting Yoru from this enormous defeat.

She's pitying him, and it angers him that he cannot lash out and tell her to stop because he doesn't have the right. Jett has been nothing more than a good friend to him throughout the time he’s resided here, the least he can do is be neutral towards her reaction. There is nothing to be sorry about, and even if he was, which he isn't, it's entirely his fault for not shooting his shot on time.

However your relationship goes, it should be no longer of importance to him. And for that, distance should be made for him to move on and for you to go on with your life. 

Because from afar things get easier.

But you make things so hard to do.

“Yoru,” You call after him, waving slightly when he turns to the kitchen door, “I’ve made some dinner, would you like to eat with me?”

Is hard to say no to you. 

You chat to your heart's content, speaking about this and that with no restraint and running your mouth a mile an hour with no filter whatsoever.

That’s probably what he loves the most about you; the openness in your words and honest actions towards him, with no restriction.

It didn't help the fact that he knows you're not this open but with a few selected people in the protocol. And he, despite not caring at all about your relationship, knows that Gekko is not one of the few selected, but Yoru is.

He shouldn't feel proud of it because that is one side of you he gets to see but others don't. Gekko has the whole thing and it is a matter of time until your relationship develops to something more…intimate. Something beyond what he has with you.

Is painful to think about it. 

“Have you been good since our last mission?” you ask, blowing on your steamed rice. The duelist shrugs absently, toying with a piece of the stew on his plate. There is sadness in your voice, and he tries to suppress the guilt for ignoring you this long. “We…haven't talked since then. It's been quite a while.”

“I wasn’t injured badly,” he replies. “You, on the other hand, I don’t know how you’re standing without recoiling from pain.”

You laugh, a little nervous at his accusation, and his heart beats faster inside his chest, “Sage did a good job on me. But I still have some sore muscles and a few scars I won't get rid of. There is still some phantom pain, but I'm fine.”

“A few scars are normal.” He comments, eyeing your arm with the scarred skin. “It's hot.”

“Hm? What is?” 

Embarrassed, he coughs, “the food, uh, is kinda hot.”

“Oh! That can be solved.” Leaning in, you blow on the current serving on his fork, gentle, to not throw it off balance.

Yoru's breath gets caught on his throat, feeling his face warm at your actions. You smile at him, going back to your seat and wincing when a sudden burst of pain goes through your wrist.

“Sorry, I'm still not used to it.” You show him your arm, right where the worst of the wound had been healed. “The skin is still sensitive and sore, so it hurts a little sometimes.”

Grinning cheekily, Yoru leans, resting his head on his right hand. He knows this is a bad idea, “What, showing me this so I can kiss it better, little minx?”

Yoru wants to rip off his tongue, unable to keep his teasing for himself and regretting the words that came out of his mouth. The intention was never to suggest he do anything, but his mind twisted your action wrongly. You don't seem fazed, though.

“Oh! Can you do that?” Eager with the offer, you approach your chair next to his, invading his personal space and extending your arm to him. “I didn't know you had that kind of power.”

I don't, he wants to say, nervously looking between the offered appendage to your hopeful eyes. They are shining under the dim lights of the kitchen, awaiting for whatever miracle he is going to perform.

Yoru bites his lips, taking your hovering arm by the elbow and his hand intertwined with yours to keep it in place. 

This is wrong. This is wrong on so many levels, he fears anyone will walk in on this position and assume the worst from you, now that you are with Gekko. You don't seem to mind, acting as calm as possible while you wait for whatever Yoru is going to do.

It crashes on him how oblivious you can be sometimes.

“Yoru?”

Blinking owlishly, he leans in, lips brushing softly against the pulse of your wrist. You gasp when he kisses it, marveling at the delicate touch and swooning over something so simple like a little kiss from a comrade. 

When he backs away, he's met with your face inches closer to his, a soft blush spreading over both of your faces is impossible for him to not drown in the sight. 

Yoru gives into his wishes and closes the small gap, tasting your mouth against his for a brief second while chills run down his spine from the nervousness. Despite the food being salty, your lips taste like the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted in his life.

The kiss lasts like a lifetime, both of you melting into each other’s presence and taste, he can almost hear the fireworks bursting inside his chest when your mouths move together in this silent dance. You move your lips slowly and sensually, taking your time to map out every crevice of his mouth and giving him the chance to explore yours with the same intensity and want. 

Making some distance, he leans his head onto the other side, connecting your mouths again and deepening the touch until he feels his lips bruising. His hand finds your cheek, caressing your skin with tenderness, and holds you still. 

Your own hands travel up his neck slowly, feeling him shudder under your touch, and you hold his jaw gently to deepen the kiss. He shudders when he feels your other hand trace his arm slowly, from his elbow to his shoulder, rising goosebumps on its wake, and grabbing a fistfull of the clothing to ground yourself and deepen the kiss.

Is this what he's been missing out on? He questions himself, letting out a gasp when your hand tugs at the back of his hair. Is this what Gekko tastes everytime he kisses you?

Gekko...

Fuck.

Yoru takes distance so fast he thinks he might have gotten whiplash, finalizing the kiss begrudgingly and a panicked look on his face. His cheeks are still flushed after the make-out session, and that is such a sight for sore eyes in your opinion.

“Don't tell anyone about this.” he whispers, eyes looking down to your lips unconsciously. “I’m sorry.”

If you heard him, you don’t show signs of understanding. On the contrary, it seems that whatever trance he is under right now, it affected you as well.

Yoru backs away before he acts further without thinking; he's done enough of that already. 

Finishing the dinner is an easier task to do, to keep his mind occupied and not think about what the fuck he just did. Cleaning what's dirty is an excuse for him to not cross any words for the rest of the evening, too afraid you might ask him to never be close to you for his attempt. 

When he bids you goodbye, you smile softly and wish him a goodnight without mentioning what just happened. He is thankful for that, Yoru is not sure he is ready to process what he has just done.

The walk towards his room is quiet and quick, heart pounding inside his ribcage and a headache approaching with the promise of severing with how much he’s stressing over this.

Thinking about you, thinking about the issue with his feelings and the overall lack of restraint when it comes to teasing is giving him a hard time. The kiss made things harder to handle, because this act only severed things within your relationship with Gekko and himself.

Is it worth to keep holding onto this love when the person who should receive it is already in love with another man? Not to mention he just kissed you on purpose despite knowing you were taken already—no matter it was because of an impulse, the damage has been done and it was irreparable.

The answer used to be clear before this dinner. He was ready to give it up and move on, to embrace the fact that he lost despite realizing he didn't want to take that route.

The kiss gave him false hope and sealed his decision that he really didn't want to let go.

What a mess.

[simbouquet]

TS3: Converted Facial Expressions

This is a mod that replaces The Sims 3's set of facial idle animations with their (slightly tweaked by myself) The Sims Medieval counterparts, resulting in subtler, more natural facial expressions. 🙂

More info, full previews and download under the cut!

This little package is one I've had in my personal folder for quite a while, but recently I got back to working on it to fix a couple issues and make some small adjustments before putting it out there.

The mod replaces 15 (out of a total of 20) facial expressions for Sims aged teen and up with their equivalents from Medieval. The 5 remaining expressions are left intact because they are identical in both games. These facial expressions are those that Sims make when idle depending on their mood; the expressions they make during interactions, socials, etc. are unaffected by this mod.

Though the facial expressions in TSM are far from perfect, the artists definitely learned a few lessons from TS3. TSM's facial expressions have reduced clipping and noticeably less distortion of the Sim's facial features, which means we can bid goodbye to Sims' eyelashes clipping through their eyebrows, noses scrunched up to oblivion, and humanly impossible facial contortions. Your mileage may vary, of course, depending on each particular Sim's facial slider combo; you will likely see more distorted animations on more distorted faces.

See a full in-game comparison of the vanilla vs. replaced facial expressions + notes here!

Now, on to the slight tweaks mentioned earlier:

By default, all facial expressions have a full blinking animation and a "noblink" pose. The TSM animations had some sort of blinking, but the Sim's eyes didn't actually close for some reason, so I took care of that for every facial expression this mod touches to bring them more in line with the few remaining TS3 ones.

The Sad 1 animation originally looked quite awkward around the lips, with the bottom corners being pulled out while the rest of the mouth was shut; I pulled those corners back up to make the facial expression a little more bearable to look at.

Moreover, from the beginning I thought the Sad expression would fit the angry mood better, so I've also made an alternate version of the mod that swaps around some expressions. In the alternate version, TSM's Sad will replace TS3's Angry 1 (untouched by the main version; not pictured in the previews,) TSM's Sad 1 will replace TS3's Sad, and TS3's Sad 1 will remain the same as vanilla.

Compatibility

Both versions of this mod have slightly different sets of replacements for a_expression_ and a_expressions_ CLIP resources, and will conflict with any other mod that replaces these resources.

This mod is technically compatible with other mods that alter different resources in order to change the frequency of, or entirely disable, the facial expressions, such as Esmeralda's No making stupid faces when idle. Of course, if you used that mod, then you'd never see the facial expressions this one has to offer. 😉

Download: SFS / MTS

Choose either the main version or the alternate version. Place the .package in your usual Packages folder or in your Overrides folder.

Additional Credits

s3pe: Exporting/Importing resources, creating the package file.

Blender 2.79, Clip Tools: Importing/Editing/Exporting animations.

Gimp: Creating the preview and comparison images.

Thanks to TheSweetSimmer for nudging me in the right direction when the animations weren't displaying as expected in-game!

Thanks to @misspats3 and @xiasimla for their feedback during testing!

You are face to face now!

[warabidakihime]

Shattered Hearts, Bound Souls

Characters: Slightly Yandere!Gojo Satoru x Equally Yandere Reader

Synopsis: Obsession is the silent puppeteer of toxic love, pulling the strings of our emotions, controlling our every move until we lose ourselves completely.

Content warning: toxic relationship, obsessive love, implied smut, alc0hol, implied addiction, toxic ex. can be psychologically triggering. minors dni.

-

The city sprawls beneath a shroud of darkness, its pulsating heart concealed within the labyrinthine streets. Among its inhabitants, two figures move with an air of familiarity, their connection threaded with a delicate web of desolation and desire. Gojo Satoru, with his enigmatic gaze and charismatic presence, and a love that has lost its way.

Your story began with passion and promise—an intense flame that burned brightly in the recesses of your weary heart. But now, the embers smolder, casting shadows upon a journey fraught with longing and the echoes of a love that refuses to die.

To the outside world, your interactions paint a picture of untamed affection. You share hugs that linger a moment too long, lips that meet in desperate kisses, and words woven with sweet deceit. It's as if time has halted, freezing the fragments of a long-shattered relationship.

In this charade, Gojo plays the role of the oblivious lover, a master of deception. He dances along the precipice of denial, swathed in a cloak of ignorance. Every touch, every stolen moment, feeds the insatiable hunger within him. And you, caught in the tangles of a conflicted heart, succumb to the intoxicating allure, ever drawn to the flame that threatens to consume you.

You have become slaves to your own vices, seeking solace in each other's bodies or drowning your sorrows in the abyss of your addictions. Your rendezvous often leads you to the depths of your desires, where you revel in the bliss of temporary oblivion. But the morning light brings with it the harsh reality, a sobering reminder of your distorted world.

Torn between your conscience and the yearning of your heart, you battle an inner war. Your mind pleads for release, for liberation from the toxic embrace that holds you captive. Yet your heart, ever relentless, clings to the fragile threads of hope, whispering promises of redemption that linger just out of reach.

In the heart of this suffocating dance, you find solace in the confines of Gojo's bed, bodies entwined, stripped of pretense, and vulnerable in your nakedness. A momentary respite, a fragile illusion of the love you once shared.

Toxicity is an insufficient word to describe the chaos that envelops you. Your souls are entangled in a web of longing and self-destruction, perpetuating a cycle that seems impossible to break. And as you sway between despair and desire, the line between love and madness blurs, until you become prisoners of your own making.

In the murky twilight of the evening, you find yourself standing at the precipice of a choice. It's been a long day, and you yearn for the solace of your own space to escape the gravitational pull that Gojo Satoru exerts over your every thought. As you gather your belongings, preparing to leave the confines of your workplace, a familiar buzz emanates from your pocket—a text message. It's him.

Gojo's words appear on the screen, inviting you to the bar where your journey together began. A quick drink, he suggests, seems innocent enough on the surface. But beneath the façade, you sense the undertones and the allure of the forbidden dance that has ensnared you time and time again.

You hesitate, fingers trembling ever so slightly as you weigh your options. Memories surge forward, a relentless wave crashing upon the shores of your consciousness. Each visit to that bar has led to a dance of bodies and desires, leaving you breathless and craving more. Last time, Gojo traced the contours of your skin, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His touch was both heaven and hell, igniting a passion that burned brighter than the sun.

But the aftermath—oh, the aftermath—was always the same. The twisted sheets, the remnants of intimacy, would fade into the harsh light of day, leaving you gasping for air amidst the ruins of your fractured heart. It was as if Gojo possessed a bewitching power—an ability to strip away your defenses, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

With a surge of determination, you resolve to resist. You promise yourself that this time will be different, that you won't succumb to the allure of his embrace. You clench your fists, willing your resolve to remain steadfast. But as you step outside into the night, something within you fractures—a fissure in your determination. You find yourself making a sharp turn, the wheels of your car screeching against the asphalt as you betray your own convictions.

The bar looms ahead, its neon lights casting an ethereal glow on the streets. It beckons like a siren's call, drawing you into its depths. You can almost taste the bittersweet concoction of regret and desire that awaits within. Your footsteps echo against the pavement, each one a testament to the battle waging within your soul.

It's not just the allure of physical pleasure that compels you, though that is undoubtedly a potent force. It's the intoxicating dynamic that exists between you and Gojo—a tumultuous tango of obsession and possession. Boundaries blur, jealousy festers, and codependency thrives in the twisted ecosystem of your relationship.

You both recognize the toxicity that engulfs you, a poison that seeps into your very beings. But the pull is magnetic, irresistible. The depths of your connection are unfathomable, drawing you closer even as you try to push each other away. The mere thought of untangling yourselves from this entangled web feels impossible; the very notion of severing ties an act of betrayal against your own hearts.

And so you step through the threshold of the bar, your resolve shattered like shards of glass. As you make your way to the dimly lit corner where Gojo awaits, a mixture of anticipation and trepidation fills your veins. The story of your love unfolds with every step, a tale of twisted desires and shattered illusions.

As you approach him, you steel yourself for what lies ahead. This will be the last time you silently promise yourself, a mantra that echoes through your mind. But deep down, in the depths of your soul, you know that promises are easily broken.

The air is heavy with the scent of alcohol and desire, the dimly lit atmosphere of the bar cocooning you both in a world of your own making. Hours have passed since you first arrived, and the weight of the liquor hangs on your tongues and numbs your senses. You sit close, your bodies pressed together, legs intertwined under the table—a physical manifestation of the tangled mess your relationship has become.

With each sip, inhibitions slip away like the remnants of a fading dream. It's in this haze of intoxication that the dance begins anew. Gojo, always the provocateur, leans in close, his breath warm against your lips. The taste of whiskey lingers on his tongue, mingling with the remnants of your own indulgences. His fingers trace delicate patterns along your arm, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You reciprocate, emboldened by the liquid courage that courses through your veins. Your hands find their way to his thighs, tracing the contours of his strong legs, reveling in the electric sensation that courses through you with each touch. The bar fades into the background, its cacophony of voices reduced to mere whispers as your focus narrows to the magnetic pull between you and Gojo.

Passion ignites like a wildfire, consuming reason and restraint. Your lips meet in a fervent, intoxicating kiss—a collision of desire and desperation. The taste of alcohol intertwines with the taste of each other, creating a heady mixture that fuels the flames of your longing. It's in these moments that the world falls away, and all that remains is the insatiable hunger that draws you together.

Gojo's words, sweet and seductive, pour from his lips like honey. He weaves a tapestry of promises and affection, each word a delicate brush stroke painting a picture of an idyllic love that once was but now exists only as a distant memory. His mastery of language has always been his most potent weapon, and you, vulnerable and intoxicated, are defenseless against its allure.

"You're still mine," he murmurs, his voice low and sultry, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "No one else can touch you the way I do. No one else knows your desires like I do."

The truth of his words reverberates within you, striking a chord deep in your soul. In this tangled web of obsession and addiction, he holds a power over you that defies reason and logic. You know the toxicity of your connection, the battles fought, and the wounds inflicted. Yet the allure remains—an irresistible force that draws you back into his embrace time and time again.

His words wrap around you, ensnaring your senses as his touch awakens a hunger that refuses to be quelled. Your bodies move in synchrony, a dance born of a love that defies convention and sanity. The world outside fades further into oblivion as you surrender to the twisted ecstasy of your entangled desires.

The dichotomy of pleasure and pain intertwines, a maddening melody that reverberates through your being. It's as if the more you lose yourself in this toxic love, the further you descend into the depths of darkness. Yet, in this darkness, there is a perverse comfort—an addictive embrace that keeps you tethered to him.

As the night wears on and inhibitions continue to fade, the scenes become more unhinged. The words exchanged between you and Gojo grow sharper, laced with a volatile mix of desire and disdain. In the throes of passion, your tongues become weapons, lashing out in verbal sparring matches that leave wounds that may never heal.

And yet, even amidst the chaos, there are fleeting moments of tenderness—of stolen glances and soft caresses that hint at the remnants of a love that once burned brightly. It's these moments that keep you ensnared and make it impossible to sever the ties that bind you together.

In the depths of this twisted dance, you both find solace in the destruction you've wrought upon each other's lives. It's a dangerous game you play—a vicious cycle that consumes you both. But for now, as the night grows darker and the allure of the bar becomes more intoxicating, you succumb once again to the relentless pull of your toxic love.

As the night grows darker and the drinks continue to flow, Gojo's voice becomes a melody of whispered confessions. "I love you," he murmurs, his words dripping with a potent mixture of sincerity and repetition. Each declaration carries weight, for he does mean it, in his own twisted way. But the phrase, once filled with meaning, has now become worn and frayed, a mere echo of what it once was.

You, caught in the crossfire between intoxication and internal struggle, respond with a mix of vulnerability and jadedness. The liquor has muddled your thoughts, leaving you torn between the yearning of your heart and the rationality of your mind. As Gojo's words fall upon your ears once again, you can't help but feel a tinge of bitterness, a weariness from the countless times you've heard those three words.

"I love you too," you reply, your voice laced with a touch of resignation. The words escape your lips, and you wonder if they hold the same weight as they once did. It's a response tinged with uncertainty, a reflection of the battle waging within your own soul. You want to believe in those words, to hold onto the remnants of a love that has long since decayed. But the repetition has eroded their meaning, leaving you questioning the authenticity behind each utterance.

In the depths of your heart, you yearn for something more—for a love that goes beyond the surface, beyond the toxic dance you've become entangled in. But the allure of Gojo's words, the seduction of his touch, is a siren's call that pulls you further into the abyss. It's a vicious cycle of desire and doubt, where every whispered "I love you" both enthralls and suffocates you.

The room spins around you as Gojo's lips meet yours once again, his words fading into the background. The intensity of the moment drowns out the nagging voice of reason, and for a fleeting second, you allow yourself to forget the toxicity that engulfs you both. But as the taste of his kiss lingers on your lips, you're reminded of the tangled mess you've become, the boundaries you've crossed, and the wounds that have yet to heal.

In the hazy aftermath of their reckless journey, you and Gojo stumble into his apartment, a whirlwind of limbs and tangled desires. As you traverse the threshold of Gojo's sanctuary, the air thickens with an undeniable tension. The apartment, once a refuge from the chaos of the world, now bears witness to the tumultuous unraveling of your souls.

The silence hangs heavy, punctuated only by the sound of ragged breaths and the faint echoes of your desires.

Without a word spoken, your actions become the language that speaks volumes. Your touch becomes a weapon, leaving trails of fire and yearning in its wake. The room becomes a stage for your desperation, a theater of raw emotion where boundaries blur and lines are shamelessly crossed. In the midst of this unhinged intimacy, the outside world fades into obscurity, and you are left with nothing but the searing connection that binds you together.

Your bodies, in their twisted harmony, communicate a language of desire, pain, and longing. Each caress, each shared gasp, is a testament to the depths of your obsession. It's a dangerous waltz, a dance of self-destruction, and yet you find solace in its familiarity. In this twisted tango, you both play the roles you know so well, seamlessly enacting the patterns that have become second nature.

There is a certain allure in the audacity of your actions—a seductive magnetism that draws others in, only to leave them bewildered and unnerved. You become the embodiment of forbidden desire, an enigma wrapped in the guise of a love that defies reason. The intensity of your connection both enthralls and terrifies, for it speaks of a darkness that few dare to explore.

As the night progresses, your interactions become increasingly frenzied, with your hunger for each other escalating with every passing moment. You lose yourself in a sea of sensations, surrendering to the dizzying whirlwind of pleasure and pain. The boundaries that once held you at bay crumble beneath the weight of your shared desperation, and you find yourselves teetering on the precipice of both ecstasy and self-destruction.

But even in the throes of this tumultuous dance, a fleeting sense of self-awareness flickers within you. A whisper of doubt cuts through the haze, reminding you of the precariousness of your connection. The mask of desire slips for a moment, revealing the cracks in your armor. And yet, you push those thoughts aside, drowning them in a sea of passion and longing.

In this dance of madness and obsession, you revel in the forbidden, succumbing to the insatiable hunger that consumes you both. The intensity of your connection serves as both a warning and an invitation—a seductive invitation to dive headlong into the depths of a love that defies reason.

In the stillness of the night, as the world slumbers, you wake to a crushing weight on your chest. The remnants of a dream cling to your mind, but reality crashes over you like a relentless wave. Tears stream down your face, the anguish of the situation enveloping your heart. The room is shrouded in darkness, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the window.

With your back turned to Gojo, you quietly allow the tears to flow, a torrent of emotions breaking free from the dam you had built within yourself. Anger, frustration, disappointment, and despair mingle in your soul, their voices reverberating through the silence. In this vulnerable moment, you berate yourself for your weaknesses and for succumbing time and time again to the allure of a love that knows no boundaries.

As the minutes pass, Gojo stirs from his slumber, sensing the turmoil that engulfs you. He scoots closer, his voice a gentle whisper in the night, asking what is wrong. Your heartache spills forth as you turn to face him, your tear-stained face bearing the remnants of both the bliss and torment you experienced earlier. You beg him, your voice trembling, to end this unhealthy cycle, to sever the ties that bind you together, for fear that continuing down this path will only lead to further pain.

"Why would we want to end this, my love? It's obvious we're doing fine and having a good time."

You shake your head, your voice desperate and pleading. "But Satoru, don't you see? We're tearing each other apart. Our love has become twisted and suffocating. It's not healthy."

He chuckles softly, his laughter laced with a hint of darkness. "Healthy, unhealthy—those words are irrelevant to us, my love. We exist in a realm beyond conventional boundaries. Our love defies the norms and transcends the ordinary."

You shake your head, your voice cracking with emotion. "I can't keep living like this, Satoru. It's tearing me apart."

Your pleas fall upon deaf ears as Gojo's lips find solace upon the exposed expanse of your shoulder, a silent reassurance that everything will be alright. In that moment, your resolve crumbles once again, shattered by the intensity of his touch and the twisted comfort it brings. The weight of your love for him and his possessiveness entangles you further, ensnaring your heart in a web of conflicting emotions.

As your sobs begin to subside, Gojo, desperate to quell your unrest, attempts to console you with words that belie the depth of your predicament. He reassures you that everything is fine and that you are fine together, his voice laced with an intoxicating mix of concern and possessiveness.

His arms wrap tightly around your fragile frame, drawing you impossibly close, and you find yourself shamelessly surrendering to his touch. Your legs instinctively intertwine with his, binding you together in a physical and emotional entanglement that seems impossible to sever. The conflict within you rages on, your words still protesting, urging an end to this toxic dance, while your heart yearns for the addictive chaos that only Gojo can provide.

In the dimly lit room, their voices intertwine, weaving a delicate tapestry of delusion and longing. Their declarations of love and devotion ring hollow, mere echoes of a fractured reality. They cling to each other, trapped in a cycle of dependence, unwilling or unable to break free from the chains that bind them. Their words, though seemingly persuasive, serve as a mere facade, masking the tangled web of obsession and possession that fuels their connection.

As the night presses on, the darkness serves as a silent witness to their dance of madness. The world outside remains oblivious to the storm that rages within these walls, where love and pain are inextricably entwined. Their whispered promises and hollow reassurances reverberate through the room, creating a haunting melody that echoes the depths of their intertwined souls.

They have become slaves to their own desires, consumed by a love that is both their salvation and their downfall. The intoxicating blend of passion and pain has woven itself into the fabric of their existence, making escape seem impossible. And so they remain locked in this delicate dance, their hearts ensnared by a love that defies reason and defies their own best interests.

The story draws to a close, but the echoes of their tumultuous journey linger, a reminder that sometimes the most destructive love is the hardest to let go.