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justblades · 1 year ago

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⋆｡˚ ♰・priest! sunday x afab! reader

┈─ ・(ex)plicit, mdni. contains 2.2 spoilers, blasphemous themes, impregnation, clit stimulation, oral sex, controlling sunday, not proofread.

Even a mere mortal can sense the regret lingering in the atmosphere of the vicinity, a small space dedicated for confessions and atonement of sins committed by those who believe in the Harmony. Numerous pews stand in rows before a single one, each being occupied by two people at best, to which you draw closer to the confession box— one more person to go and it is time to purify your tainted soul.

It was just muffled murmurs of two people from the latter reverberating inside the hall's six walls, along with the sound of the ceiling fans whirring. Your mind starts to drift onto something else: although you have no idea what others hold with regards to their sins, you still could not help but think that yours is shameful.

You can see the person beside you exit the birch box with teary eyes and stuffed nose as she holds a handkerchief to her face. "Next please." a resolute voice echoes, signalling for you to step forward into the confessional. With a wobbly stature, you stand up and tread forward, proceeding to close the oak door behind you.

The golden lights from the hall seep through the confession booth's partition, gleaming upon your stature - creating a silhouette as to where only the advocate from the other side can peer through the woodworks. You attempt to clear your voice before speaking, a dry throat halting the words you intend to verbalize within.

"I humbly ask for your blessings and the forgiveness of Xipe . . ." You mutter as your eyes dart to nothing that catches your interest except for the parquetry etched on the wooden floorboards. Your head held down low, staring at its intricate designing.

"Please feel free to proceed. I have sought their presence within us." The priest answers. "I have committed a grave sin of succumbing to passing emotions. Primarily, I struggled with regulating the purity of one's mind and it was late that I realized I indulged in an extreme activity to quench the thirst for sexual pleasure."

A reassuring hum resounds. "As a devout follower of the Harmony, I believe my actions do not align with the path I stride. Therefore, I ask for forgiveness and assistance on how I will repent for the sins I have committed." After forming the confession where in sentences you never thought have ever been uttered, it feels as though a heavy weight was lifted off your chest and the shackles on your feet disintegrated.

Glancing at the frosted, colored glass window in front of you, you noticed how the warm yellow lights in the background flicker repetitively in an instant, as well as the birch surroundings creaking. "By committing a grave sin, you've engaged in an activity with a partner you are not married with." The priest reiterates as if the faulty lights are a common occurrence.

You hum in response. "And by committing an even graver sin, you took part in an activity with an objective aside from procreation. Please correct me if I'm wrong."

"Yes, esteemed advocate. Everything you said was indeed correct." Your heart starts racing, "Do you promise yourself you'll turn your back on this lascivious history to start anew?" He queries.

"Yes, Mister Sunday."

"Even if you were to encounter challenges to test your faith for the Harmony?"

Hesitation ruptures through your composure. Your resolution suddenly cracks, as if it was merely a façade with a longing for forgiveness to move on.

"Be honest." Like the advocate could read your mind as of the moment, you believe in the capabilities of Harmony, so there was no use in feigning cleanliness when you know it in yourself, you still struggle. "I wish to seek assistance from those with wisdom."

You receive another firm hum in response, "Very well. Please see me in the reconciliation room a short time after." Your mind spirals into confusion and bewilderment, the emotions painting your features like you were an open book to the audience.

Trekking off the confessional booth, you did not dare to spare a glance back at the priest and only made your way to the distinct, separate room - the reconciliation. It was small, enclosed, and only an oak table, two pairs of engraved chairs, a single ligneous partition and a kneeler reside within the space. Your vision anchors to the sculpted wooden cross sign hung on the beige walls, illuminated by a faint golden lamp on the table.

Patiently awaiting the presence of the priest, you stood still with a heavy heart, seeming like the relief you felt previously was only a glimpse of what you could've been if you didn't commit such grave sin. If only.

The door swings open, followed by the entrance of the figure you were anticipating. Faded sky blue hues of hair tumble upon the male's shoulders, along with the golden earrings he was donning. Feathered ears diluting into white ripple from his footsteps, and his distinct, golden halo stays afloat behind his head.

Being vis-à-vis with the highly esteemed figure of the Penacony like this tugs your heartstrings in unease. It felt bizarre, as you could recall from others' experiences that when you encounter priests or advocates of the Harmony, your heart rests. As for Sunday, it was the polar opposite. Chills run kilometers up and down your spine, your throat starts to become dry.

You trail your vision downwards, setting your sight upon his graceful features. His eyes were a radiant yellow tinged with an ocean blue, framed by his particularly long lower lashes. He purses his lips tightly, curving upwards, flashing a small smile. "Please take a seat." He motions for the chair in front of your figures, your eyes noticing the cross cut out gloves he's wearing.

Sitting down with guard held up high, Sunday follows suit as he opens the drawer from the oak table, retrieving something of a color white and frilly in texture, as you make of what you could from your peripheral vision. "This will certainly be of help to put your faith to test. If you would kindly turn around."

Your hands rest on your lap and as you hear the last phrase that came out of his mouth, you subconsciously gripped a handful of the fabric you're wearing in alertness. Not until your vision was impaired as Sunday blindfolds you with the latter material, it was soft and delicate to the touch - you could not see anything but faint shadows against the lighting. Everything was ivory white in stark contrast, and you could barely peer through the lace folds to see the priest.

"I will now be tuning your mind with the Harmony to which you will face repercussions if statements untrue to yourself are said." He pauses. Unsure where this will lead to, you had no choice but to nod in continuation. "Under the light of the Harmony, all wickedness is revealed. I implore them to shed their light."

What used to be a blurry white in your vision now fringes into colored edges, the prominent colors being purple, white, red, orange, and yellow.

"This will serve as a gentle reminder that I am assisting you to a path where grave sins are not succumbed to, and only ▅▅▅ exists alongside philosophy to instill moral duties to a functioning member of a society."

His words cut through the thick atmosphere, thawing the glacial tension growing with each passing second.

He lowers his stature to face you, gloved fingers trailing from the hem of the laced blindfold down to your cheeks, cupping your face lightly with a careful grip. "Does this send a shiver down to your spine?" Sunday inquires and you shake your head in disagreement. It seems like he has a whole plan on how this will play out, and you were merely a pawn in his chessboard to see what you would react under these circumstances he will put you in.

The touch ghosts a caress on your lower parts, specifically, the frame of your chest. His thumb twirls on the middle part with an unraveled goal of making your buds perk up underneath the confinements of your clothing - making you grit your teeth as a poor attempt to stifle the sound threatening to escape.

A question arises amidst the confusing situation, a question that will surely be received in a poor taste as it will question his authority and legitimacy. You wanted to ask, is this really necessary?

However, the aura he exudes now was far different from what he displays when he's in front of the audience of the masses. He seems more strict now, judging from the tone lacing his voice from his query earlier. "Does this feel good?" He proceeds to unbutton your top, letting the fabric come undone and fall down to your lap. A singular gloved hand of his snakes its way to your back, and with a single fidget, your bra was unclasped.

The priest takes his precious time in all these. He carefully observes the clothing that you wear, as he had come to adore the fact that you were wearing pearly white brassiere, one that was similar to the blindfold's texture and design, it was frilly in the edges and soft to the touch.

A light chuckle slips out, "Well? What's your answer?" Desire and temptation brews within your stomach, even spiking higher as he caresses your mounds with both of his hands. His touches feel light and blissful at the same time, like your body was basking in the warmth and enjoyment the priest had to offer. You struggle to keep your body still, knees trembling even though you were only sitting.

"N-No, Mr. Sunday."

A sharp throbbing ache courses through your head, granting him a wince of both surprise and pain. "It appears that you haven't put your mind and whole heart to this yet." He says as he walks away from your stature, leaving you dumbfounded. As silence encompasses the vicinity, you hear the male seat himself on the chair across from you. "Come to me." He simply orders.

"Just take steps forward and trust me."

With blind faith, you solemnly obey - approaching his figure with an extremely bleary vision. As your feet meet with an obstacle, seemingly the chair's legs, you stop in your tracks. "Now straddle my lap." Following suit, you feel a bulging sensation under your remaining clothing. Your breath becomes even more jagged than before, especially now that your clothed folds come in contact with his throbbing dick. It was clear cut enough that it was his erection continuously growing.

A brief moment passes and Sunday continues to envelop your hard buds within his lips, teeth grinding on your nipples in an attempt to inflict pain and pleasure all at the same time. "M— Mr. Sunday . . !" You yelp but he does not halt. He proceeds to twirl his warm, slick tongue all over your glazed areolas, your boob dancing in rhythm with his mouth in somewhat harmonic tunes played by your stifled mewls.

His other free hand pulls you tighter to his chest as he adjusts his position, bucking his hips upwards to create some sort of friction. The tip of his covered cock brushes against your already wet slit, granting him another lewd sound - this time, a soft moan. "I— I— I can't—" your hands clutch on the man's broad shoulders, feeling his long, muted blue and white locks tangle along your fingers. "You can. Yes you can. Only a little bit more you would be rewarded by proving your loyalty to the ▅▅▅."

Your sense of hearing downgrades as your mind drifts into pure bliss, lower limbs becoming numb as more pleasure courses through your veins. As if it's still not enough, Sunday simply lowers your remaining clothes to your feet, revealing your folds sopping wet with arousal already.

With haste and care in Sunday's every movement, he lays your back on the table in between the chairs, forcibly revealing everything down there to him — for him to revel in. The gelid wind traces shivers upon your sweat dewed skin, especially your folds now glimmering with muddy white liquids.

He raises your legs and stands up, resting your lower limbs upon his shoulders. The position is embarrassing enough as it is, but having the priest tower over you is another experience that feels even more intense than what unfolded previously. Not to mention that the throbbing pang in your head brought by your dishonesty upon the Harmony worsens minute by minute.

The male buries his face in your inner thighs first, flicking his tongue over your soft skin while his eyes are darted on your face, in high alert to which action of his you will react the most to. "Need I remind you to be honest this time around? Or is the headache that you're feeling not sufficient for you to stay true to your words?" He asks with a demanding tone, the margins of his lips drawing closer and closer to your slit.

"I have learned my lesson, Mr. Sunda—"

Gloved fingers begin to stimulate your clit, moving in motions you cannot fathom with your current state - your lower body jerking up in response to the stimulation. A sly smile creeps up on Sunday's face, his navy blue pupils fixating on each of your actions and expressions.

All you could think of was the fact that he didn't even let you finish, he went straight to pleasure you more, the sensation becoming more overwhelming as he starts to glide the tip of his tongue on your folds. "Do you feel good?" Although his voice was muffled from the proximity from his face and your pussy, you could comprehend and immediately answer, "Yes! I-I feel good . . !"

You rack your head back once Sunday buries his face further into your inner thighs, wallowing himself in your slit as he sucked on your sweet spot, sticking his tongue into your velvet walls while still toying with your clitoris. You bite back your moans, you cannot afford to lose the remaining dignity you had in you left - if there was any.

"Don't do that."

His voice sounds stern as ever, you were left with no choice yet again but to let mewls and moans come undone at this point in time. You were noisy, along with the sucking sounds accompanied by your hums of pleasure, continually bouncing off of the reconciliation room's four walls. "Very good. As for the last part, you must continue to be truthful, to stand by the ▅▅▅, and to ▅▅▅ to what I ought to be ▅▅▅ for you. Do you understand?"

Much to your relief, your vision was once again back to normal as he unties the lacey blindfold on your eyes. This time, you could see Sunday's disheveled hair, as well as the golden earrings dangling at every movement he makes. He swiftly unzips his slacks, therefore revealing his cock he had been concealing for so long before. It stands in its full glory, hues of purple and indigo veins threatening to pop - it was evident he's at his limit.

"Use your mouth. Make me feel good." He commands and peers at you with a somber expression. You muster enough strength on your body to stand up and kneel in front of him, positioning your head in a perfect angle to receive him. Slowly parting your lips open, he shoves his dick inside you, granting you a hoarse moan of satisfaction slipping past his lips.

You bob your head up and down and as if it felt natural to wrap your digits around the remaining length of his cock, you pump him in accordance to your pace, taking him inside with no hesitation, with only one goal in mind: to make him feel good. You could feel the crown of his dick kiss your throat every time you go deeper, making your eyes water as you try to keep yourself from gagging for the priest's satisfaction.

"That's enough, stand up." Your momentum was cut off as he hooks his arms on yours, making you stand from your previously kneeling position. It seems he has indulged enough in your submission and now it is time for him to try something new, something far more amusing in his perspective.

With both of your statures still standing up, he flips you around, making your back face him. He can examine every nook and cranny of your body in this way, and with a hum of approval, he bends you over slightly, wrapping his arms around your waist and reach for your tits. Your breath deepens, more beads of sweat proceed to trickle down your naked body. "M-Mr. Sunday, are we really going to do it?" you ask as he wraps his hand around himself, brushing his tip on your entrance.

He stops in his movements. "Do you have a problem with that?" A domineering tone laces that sole sentence, one that a person cannot delve deeper furthermore.

With one more stroke, he finally pushes himself inside your velvet walls, molding themselves around the shape of Sunday's dick - wallowing in the pleasure and warmth he emanates inside you. "So . . . warm . . ." He whispers, his breath ghosting a caress on the shell of your ear.

Sunday builds up his pace from a painfully slow one to picking it up, thrusting into you with additional force, pistoning your pussy as he's balls deep. Sounds of skin slapping add onto the lewd tune you two have been playing for the past hour, a whole sixty minutes of pleasure pooling your stomach and arousals seeping out of your holes.

Your legs start to quiver once more, exhaustion gnawing at your bones. But amidst this, Sunday kept you still with his force, hitting your sweet spots with the tip of his cock. If you could beg for mercy as of the moment, you certainly would take the chance. But to who, exactly? To whoever aeon is witnessing this lascivious act unfold in front of them, committed in such a religious place?

Or perhaps to Sunday, who you've knelt to before, received him inside your body in more ways than one. Perhaps. Perhaps it is he who shall show you mercy in the heat of the moment.

"M-Mr. Sunday, please forgive me!"

Interest sparks inside his mind, revelling in the way of being viewed as someone highly, someone sought out, someone in a legitimate authority. "You shall be forgiven." He states as he bites down on the blade of your shoulder, teeth leaving a bite mark and an aching sensation alongside it. You could do nothing but wince in pain, but waves of pleasure start to crush upon your conscious self.

Surely this is too much pleasure to handle for someone asking for forgiveness as they committed a grave sin for partaking in debauchery . . . but to be done this way by a priest is a little too exhilarating.

He picks up the pace, earning himself more moans of pleasure escape your lips, "I'll ▅▅▅ ▅▅▅ inside you." Sunday says as a fair warning, but a sentence you could only form at the present time was a lighthearted "Do as you please, Mr. Sunday."

With one single thrust, strings of satisfaction sprawl inside your womb. It feels warm yet again, but now, comforting in stark contrast to the nervousness welling up in your heart earlier.

"Well done. As you've shown resolution that you're on a path to atone for the sins you've committed in the past, you shall be forgiven."

#hsr sunday #hsr smut #sunday x reader #sunday x reader smut #hsr sunday smut #hsr sunday x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail sunday #hsr sunday x reader smut #tw blasphemy

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cheshitora · 3 months ago

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─ IN THE DAYS OF THUNDER

[ your love for your boyfriend runs deep - there's no question about that. and his love and devotion for you runs deeper than you'll ever know. so he doesn't protest or argue when you ask him to run away with you. ]

─ ON THE AIR : KAZUTORA X FEM!READER

─ WARNING : SFW, ANGST, TEEN RUNAWAYS, STEALING, MENTIONS OF VERBAL/MENTAL ABUSE, MENTIONS OF UNDERAGE DRINKING, kazutora's such a sweetie

─ FINAL CALL : heyyy... i've wanted to get this out for a while. this is very personal for me but i thought it'd be nice to write this out anyway. is this heavily selfship coded? absolutely but idgaf. but i hope you guys enjoy it anyway. @ljubimaya & tora nation, how we feeling?

word count:: 13.06K :: PLAYLIST

“Tora?”

“Hm?”

“Do you ever think about running away?”

Of all things for you to ask him right now, he wasn’t expecting… well, that. Your question was sudden and had caught Kazutora by surprise, golden pools of honey widening from the unexpected query.

“Huh?” was all he could muster.

“Running away. From here. Ever thought about it?”

“No” would probably be the answer he’d give you since it spoke the most truth, however, he could see it wasn’t the answer you wanted to hear, even if it was the one he wanted to give.

You were laying next to him on your bed, his head snug into the plush pillows while yours laid against his chest, listening to the soft thump thump of his heart. The sun was dipping on the horizon, day settling into night with rays of orange like liquid rust creeping through the blinds of your window, music drumming quietly on your radio, drowning out the sound of distant and muffled arguing coming from downstairs. Another heated fight between your parents that broke through the peaceful ambience of your quiet afternoon with your boyfriend. If you were thinking about running away, then he knew exactly why. The distant, bitter shouts were enough to make even a stranger understand your plight.

“Where’s this coming from?” he questioned, obvious confusion in his tone, his amber eyes flitting down to gauge your reaction, trying to ignore the shouts that increased in volume from down below.

You took a second to respond, thinking of the easiest way to phrase what you were about to say. But how do you calmly tell your boyfriend of only a year, who was scratching his head in puzzlement, that you wanted to leave town and never return? Well, you don’t - you have to rip the bandaid off.

“I’m tired of living here, Tora. I hate it. Hate my parents, hate their rules. Just… hate this damn life. It’s suffocating,” you explain, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Is it really that bad?” he asked with genuine concern. Easing yourself slowly on your side, you tipped your head to shoot him a look of “really?”, your brow cocked.

He shot a hand up defensively, placing his other hand on your head, leading you to lay back down against the toned muscles of his chest, your favorite spot to rest on.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I get it, though. I hate living at home too, but we can’t exactly go anywhere.”

“You think so?”

It was his turn to question you, cocking an eyebrow at you as he shot you his own look of “are you serious?” You shrugged. “It’s not like we can’t.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “And where are we supposed to go?”

“Anywhere. Just far from here, far from this hellhole.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. How do we even get outta here?”

“There’s a bus station that runs all night about 20 minutes south of here.”

He snaps his head up, staring at you with knitted brows and slight admiration, if you could call it that. “Guess you’ve thought this through, huh? Are you really serious about this?”

You shrugged again. You could hear the trepidation in his voice, He had every right to be wary, after all. The two of you were only high school students. Graduation was still far away though not inevitable. But another two or three years stuck at home just did not sound appealing, not with the way your parents argued like they were facing off in a great debate.

However, there was nothing to your name; you had no job, no money and all Kazutora had was his beloved bike to drive you out as far as it can go to relieve you of the home life you dreaded having.

“Maybe. I dunno. It wouldn’t hurt to try. I just wanna get outta here,” you reasoned, your voice edged with shakiness.

“You’re… talking about running away.”

“Yeah.”

“And we’d just leave…? Just like that?”

“Yeah.”

Kazutora became quiet, laying his head back against the pillow as he pondered the idea you were presenting to him, trying to make sense of the situation.

But as the sound of your parents arguing downstairs grew louder and harsher, most likely indicating their migration upstairs to yell at you for whatever reason they could come up with, the answer became clearer to him, sighing in frustration.

The floor shook as heavy footsteps stomped up the stairs, coming down the hall towards your bedroom, shouts and yells from your parents reverberating off the narrow walls, echoing into your bedroom through the closed door. You tensed up as the doorknob began to jiggle before the lock you diligently remembered to switch on forced them out. Wrapping an arm around your shaking form, Kazutora squeezed your body close to his, eyes fixated on the stammering door, waiting for it to ram open any second now.

The jiggling of the handle was soon followed by loud banging of your father’s fists against the door, rattling the wooden latch on its hinges, threatening to break off if your father added more force.

Your pain, your fears, your anger and sadness - he felt all of them in that moment, in just those few seconds as the world stood still. Images of his own father flashed through his head as he heard yours on the other side of your safe haven, knowing all too well what it’s like to live with an angry man in your home. He dug his nose into your hair, inhaling your sweet scent in an attempt to ground him to reality, taking a shaky breath before he whispered to you.

“When are we leaving?”

His question caught you by surprise this time. Suddenly, your roles were reversed as you looked up at him confused, looking straight into his bright eyes, those caramel candied orbs that carried a million emotions inside. There was a newfound conviction in them, an urgency, a need to keep you safe and free from the violent home life you lived.

The pounding on the rickety door only increased in speed and determination as your father shouted obscenities on the other side, demanding you to “open up and let them in”. But his and your mother’s demands fell on deaf ears as you stared back at your loving boyfriend, the only person who truly cared about you. At that moment, everything became clear enough to understand. There was no other option, no other way out, at least not in your mind. He was your life. Only he mattered now.

“Tomorrow night. 10:30.” That was the plan. There was no going back. It was time to leave.

➽───────────────❥

10:33pm. Kazutora was on his way, though running just a few minutes behind schedule. You sat anxiously on your plush bed, fiddling with your fingers in your lap as you anticipated your boyfriend's arrival.

That familiar sense of unease sprinted through your body as the seconds ticked by, stealing glances out your window hoping to see that dark and golden haired boy you fell so hard for.

The thoughts of his absence circled your head - why wasn’t he here yet? You were ready to make haste and flee but you couldn't just yet, not without Kazutora.

Sitting had done nothing but make you more anxious, opting to pace quietly around your room, waiting for the roar of his engine, a chime from your phone, even a rock at the window, yet nothing came.

“What’s taking you so long, Tora?” you muttered to yourself.

10:45, 15 minutes behind schedule. You pressed your hand to your forehead, frustration overcoming you from the lack of confirmation of his whereabouts and location. Pacing around was now only heightening your pent-up anxiousness and it only worsened when you accidentally kicked your foot on your suitcase, knocking it over with a loud thud as you cursed openly, bending down to readjust your suitcase against the bed.

You mentally cursed yourself for being too worked up. Your parents were sleeping soundly in their bedroom down the hall, and though your door had been shut to block out any other sound to their tired ears, you were sure the loud thud and the sound of your curse was enough to jolt them out of their sleep.

Yet, nothing came in the painfully slow minutes that passed by, worriedly expecting your parents to barge into your room, demanding what that noise was and why you were still awake at such a late hour.

You reluctantly sat yourself back onto your bed, the mattress dipping with the weight of your body at the edge.

Glancing back down at your phone, hoping to see a new message from your boyfriend pop up, you thought back to the events that led up to this moment, this significant juncture that'll be etched into your history, a memory you’ll be able to share with your children. Well, if you and Kazutora decide to even have kids in the future that is.

You knew running away from home to start anew with the boy you’d fallen in love with was going to be a challenge, but you were prepared to put everything on the line to make the dream a reality, at least that’s what you told yourself. There was more to this life the world had to offer, but under the strict rule of your parent’s household, you found yourself unable to pursue the goals you set out for your future.

In a strange way, this would be the first goal you set for yourself you’d be able to successfully achieve. Sure, it was a rather depressing achievement, but it was all you could muster. Life with your parents has become suffocating. It was unbearable to live with them any longer, drowning in their unfair treatment of you and their unreasonable expectations for your future.

You sighed, tossing your phone to the side, making sure to leave it on sound, silently praying you’ll hear from Kazutora soon.

You scanned your room, eyes lingering on small trinkets and unmistakable remnants of your childhood, belongings you’ll be leaving behind, memories that will always be yours but out of your grasp until you can reclaim them again - whenever that’ll be. Your heart grew heavy with guilt, an emotional tidal wave sweeping over you as you pondered over your plan for the nth time that night. Was this really all worth leaving behind? Could you easily give this up? This was the only home you ever knew after all. Were you prepared to leave everything behind?

You shook your head, trying to shake out any uncooperative thoughts, telling your brain to stop second guessing your finalized decision.

Another 15 minutes slipped by and still no sign of Kazutora. You debated in your head if you should call him or not, but there was no need. Your phone dinged - a message from your boyfriend. The notification stirred you from your thoughts, reaching back for your discarded phone, fumbling with the lock on your screen to read his message.

sorry i’m runnin late. be there in 10 minutes <3

That’s all the message read. You sighed, your thumbs working swiftly to type out a quick response. It was 11pm already.

our bus leaves at 12 yknow

i know. im sorry :(

A shot of guilt hit your soft heart. He didn’t need to be sorry. The buses ran all night, but they needed to manage whatever little pocket money they had for their next trip and whatever expenses they needed to cover as they built their new life.

dont apologize im not mad :)

Another message popped up almost immediately after your recent text.

make it 5 minutes. be ready <3

You were ready, had been for the past hour. The anxiety that sprinted through your veins neglected to part when you packed your suitcase. Your thoughts were running like an Olympic sprinter, leaving you unable to just sit down in peace, not until you were sure you’d be free from this hellhole.

Knowing he’d be arriving in just minutes, you slid off your bed, bending back down to grasp the handle of your large suitcase, hauling its heavy weight in your arms as you gave your room another once over. You double checked your small list of essentials: clothes and another set of shoes all encased in your roll away, phone and charger tucked into your pockets, the key to your house and spare cash. Cash - the one piece in your possessions that hadn’t actually belonged to you.

A spiteful fight with your parents the night before, shortly after Kazutora departed from your home, prompted you to retrieve the loose cash your father had stashed away in a small safe behind the desk in his study. Ever since you entered high school, when you were in search of freedom and self-identification, your parents became your worst enemies, belittling you for every small decision, disregarding your feelings when you begged to be seen by them. Your desperate pleas of approval fell on deaf ears, or rather ears that refused to listen to reason. They were always in utter disbelief that you were no longer the impressionable child they had grown accustomed to molding to fit their standards in your youth.

You weren’t a child anymore, but not quite an adult yet, leading your unfit-to-be parents to believe you were not capable of making your own decisions, feeling the need to instruct you at every pass to what they believed was right, even if they were clearly in the wrong. By your third year of high school, you had reached a boiling point, fighting to almost no end with your mother, or father, or sometimes both, all at once. And the night before had been no different, except they had the audacity to throw your relationship in your face.

The image of your father’s reddened face resurfaced, the carved look of disdain as you retaliated against his judgment burned into your memories. Despite the countless screaming matches you found yourself in with your so-called father, you had never seen him look so… disappointed, as if he were ashamed to call you his daughter.

Shortly after your parents fell asleep, you snuck into your father’s study, popping the back panel small safe off with a flat head screwdriver. The money sat on the first shelf of the safe - two stacks of cash estimating a little over $800 sat delicately dead center. It would be the first thing your eyes would fall upon had you opened the safe from the front.

The money was yours for the taking. $800 wasn’t nearly enough to make up for the repercussions you experienced from your parents’ verbal and mental abuse. Hell, it was barely enough to get you and Kazutora out of town and maybe even a few nights at a cheap motel.

5 minutes went by slower than you expected but the sound of a pebble hitting your window brought you out of stupor, your neck twisting to locate where the sound came from. You set your suitcase back down on the carpet, trotting towards the glass frame to confirm your suspicions.

And as you looked down at the grass below, a smile creeped across your lips. It was Kazutora, standing just below your window with an apologetic smile, most likely still feeling sorry for running late.

You were elated to see him though, holding your finger up to signal for him to give you a second to come downstairs. He nodded, stepping away from the side of your house to wait for your arrival.

This was the moment you had been dreading - you still needed to sneak past your parents’ room. The hallways were noisy, and the stairs creaked with every bit of weight shifted on its surface. You were never able to successfully sneak in and out of your house through the front without getting caught in the middle of your act. There was even the one time you carelessly snuck Kazutora in, only to get caught walking past their bedroom due to the floorboards crackling as Kazutora tried to tip toe down the hallway.

You said a silent prayer as you picked up your suitcase once more, walking towards the door of your room before turning back. With a heavy heart, you took one last glance at the band posters hung up on your walls, your large vanity adorned with polaroid pictures and necklaces, your queen-sized bed that you and Kazutora spent many nights in, and your neat array of plushies all staring at you, twisting the knob in your hand. Several of the plush animals had been gifted to you by friends and family over the years and it tore up your heart to leave them behind, their beaded eyes gazing at you, as if trying to tell you telepathically not to leave.

You turned away, knowing if you looked any longer, you’d change your mind. You couldn’t. There was no way you could change your mind about running away now. It was now or never and you’d rather it be now than never.

Pulling the wooden door open, you stuck your head between the open crack, making sure the coast was clear before inching a foot outside of the bedroom. Clutching the handle of your suitcase tight in your palm, you made a few more tiny steps until you fully exited your room, keeping the steel handle twisted in your hand as you closed the door behind you.

You stood alone in the darkened hallway, no light illuminating your way as you quietly trudged through the narrow passageway. Within a few more inches, you reached the open entrance of your parents’ bedroom, the faint, soft sounds of your mother’s breathing followed by the loud snoring erupting from your father resonating past the open door. You poked your head around the door to see two bodies wrapped in sheets, the rise and fall of their chests with each breath and closed eyes indicating their deep slumber.

Sighing a breath of relief at the sight of your sleeping parents, you pressed forward, eyes focused on the trail in front of you, wary of every creaking spot in the floorboards. You carefully stepped around areas that made the floor cry out like they were in pain until you reached the top of the stairs, turning your head back once more to ensure your cover hadn’t been blown just yet.

With no angry parent in view and only the sounds of snoring still lingering in the air, you descended the stairs, taking the same precaution with each step until your feet landed at the bottom. The entire process of getting to the door from your bedroom seemed like hours, the way your heart thudded in your chest out of fear of being caught and dragged back into your bedroom.

“Never again,” you thought. No turning back.

Your hands were drenched with unease as you walked towards the front door, pulling out your copy of the house key from your pocket. Sure, you hated your parents, but the thought of leaving them in an unlocked house didn’t sit right with you, despite all the pain they forced on you. You weren’t like them, though.

Switching the lock off, you silently pull the front door open, the old door prying open with a shout that made you cringe, hoping your father’s sonar hearing didn’t just capture the sounds of your escape. Luckily, and to your surprise, no heavy footsteps came down the stairs, no shouts emerged from their bedroom - just silence.

A part of you almost wanted them to come down and scream some sense into you; to tell you that you were living a foolish dream that would never pan out and you were being childish and unreasonable. But the bigger part of your brain, the part that was fed up with the bullshit and unfair restrictions of your life, knew no happiness could be found in the place you once called “home”. Kazutora was your only home, and he was on the other side, patiently waiting for you to finally join him so you could be free of the lives you were living.

So, without another second to waste, and with no more regrets, you swung the door open fully, embracing the sight of your boyfriend standing at the end of the walkway that led up to the front door. And he saw you too, saw the emotions swirling inside your head that were now engraved on the features of your face. You shut the door behind you with a thud, tossing the key that was clutched tightly in your hand to the side, discarding it on the lawn to be forgotten.

You no longer cared if your parents stormed down the stairs with a huff in an attempt to stop you from leaving. In a way, you knew they wouldn’t. Perhaps when they woke up in the morning and realized you escaped in the middle of the night, they would not be disgruntled about it. Maybe, in this way, you were relieving them of their parental duties, a job they performed half assed. “Good riddance,” they might think upon seeing the empty bedroom where their daughter once slept and holed herself in in an attempt to be free of their incessant screaming.

It didn’t matter anymore, though. They didn’t matter, only he mattered - your boyfriend, who stood at the edge of the sidewalk with awaiting arms as you inched closer to him, tears pooling on your lash line as you set your suitcase on the ground, throwing your arms around him in a tight embrace as you buried your face into his chest. He cooed, stroking your hair as tears of agony spilled down your cheeks, breathing heavily from the growing pain in your chest, the familiar shattering of your heart making you sob harder.

Kazutora tried his best to ease the tension in your body, rubbing his hands on your back in a soothing motion as he whispered in your ear, telling you “everything’ll be okay” and “you won’t be going back there anymore”. His voice was a cool balm on your broken heart, taking a step back to wipe away the tears that stained your cheeks with the sleeve of your jacket. With his hand, he tipped your head back to make you look up at him before he leaned in, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your forehead.

You took a shaky breath as you slowly regained control of your dipping emotions. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to detect the turbulence in your heart, and Kazutora could sense the distress in the way your hands fisted his shirt, holding onto him like he was the savior you’d been waiting for. And he was exactly that - your hero, your savior.

After a few more tears and sniffles, you eased yourself off his chest, wiping away the tears from your eyes before he stopped you, taking your smaller hand into his. His other gentle hand delicately caressed your tear-stained cheek, wiping away the remnants of your breakdown with his thumb.

“It’s okay. I’m here now,” he whispered, his voice soft and tender, much like his hand on your cheek. Leaning into the warmth of his hand, you closed your eyes, your heart still beating erratically like a drum in your chest.

“What took you so long,” you asked with a shakiness in your voice. “You were supposed to be here at 10:30. What happened?”

There was no malice in your tone or in the way you glanced up at his handsome face, but the way he rubbed the back of his head nervously made your heart ache. You were being too harsh on him. He was just as nervous and on edge as you were and the look of guilt riddled on his face made you realize there was a lot going on in his mind he wasn’t telling you, most likely in an attempt to make sure your emotional state was looked after. In his mind, you were more important. He could just focus on himself later.

“Sorry. I got… caught up in something.”

“Like what?”

“It’s nothing to worry about now. Let’s just get to the station, okay? Our bus will be leaving soon.”

That wasn’t good enough, though. You were desperate to press him for more information, but he was right. The bus was scheduled to depart at 12am and it was still about a 20 minute drive on his bike to the station, estimating your arrival around 11:30 or 11:40pm at the latest. Time was the one thing you didn’t have at the moment due to his tardiness. Plus, with the way you slammed the front door of your house, you knew eventually your father would come running down the stairs to see what the noise was and possibly even see you outside.

No, that couldn’t happen. You shook the thought from your head, looking up at your concerned boyfriend. “Yeah, let’s get going.”

Stepping around him, you expected to see his bike, but there was nothing. No Rocket in sight.

“Tora, where’s your bike?” You whipped your head side to side, hoping to see the bike somewhere down the road. Maybe he just parked it a little down the street. Turning back around to confront him, you immediately caught that same nervous look on his face - the same look he gave you when you caught him in your room by himself one time when you hadn’t invited him over. He avoided looking in your direction, feeling the weight of your stare and question on his shoulders already.

“I, uh, don’t have it.” he stammered.

“Huh? What do you mean?” “What does it sound like? I don’t have it.”

Frustrated, you smacked your palm to your forehead. “Yeah, I got that but ‘what happened to it’ is what I meant.”

He continued to avoid eye contact, prompting you to cradle his cheek in your hand, shifting his head so you could look up at him, staring into those warm pools of amber that held back a harsh confession he was reluctant to spill. But he knew he owed you an explanation. With bated breath, he spoke softly, almost inaudible, as if he were ashamed to admit it.

“I sold it.”

Your heart fell to your stomach at his confession, a gasp lodging in your throat as you dropped your hand to your side. His bike, his Rocket. He sold it?

“You sold it? Why? Why would you do that?” you angrily questioned him. You weren’t angry per se, but you were devastated. His bike was a part of who he was, a part of his identity. Kazutora’s owned that bike longer than you two had been dating and he spent much of his time taking care of his only mode of transportation. He desperately fought back the tears that threatened to spill as he reminisced on the dreadful transaction and the horrible walk back home he took from the bike shop he sold his beloved vehicle to. He could’ve easily given the bike to Shinichiro, but with their situation, Kazutora feared that Shinichiro would ask questions and perhaps even relay it to Mikey if he felt it was necessary to do so.

Neither you nor Kazutora wanted that. No one was supposed to know about their escape plan.

“We need the money. All the money we can get. I… can always work for another one later.”

The crack in his voice nearly broke you. Hell, if he started crying, you would probably cry with him. Tears began to pool on your lower lid, but Kazutora prevented you from letting those tears fall, tilting your head up with his hand on your chin.

“Don’t worry about it, okay? I got good money for it. Guess it really helps that I took care of her, huh?” he said with a humorless chuckle. But you couldn’t find it in you to laugh.

“But… you loved Rocket.”

He shakes his head, a half-hearted smile on his face, clearly trying to ease the tension running through you even if his own heart was breaking on the inside. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was in pain, more than he’ll show or tell you. That motorcycle, his Rocket, meant everything to him. But between keeping a bike he would never use anymore and giving it up in exchange for money to support the two of you, he’d rather have the latter.

“It’s okay,” he rasped. “It’s just a bike.”

Just a bike? Right. You wanted to protest but again, he didn’t let you. Let’s get going now.”

With the tug of your arm, Kazutora dragged you down the sidewalk, not saying another word about his sold motorcycle, passing by the quiet houses of the neighborhood, walking briskly into the night, your house becoming smaller in the background with each hurried step you took.

After a few more quiet steps, the sight of a different motorcycle came into view, causing you to cock an eyebrow. The set looked familiar until it hit you - Goki. It was Baji’s motorcycle. Kazutora whipped the keys from his pocket, guiding you to the borrowed bike. But you stopped in your tracks, shooting your boyfriend a questionable look. He stopped too, rubbing the back of his neck for the nth time.

“Baji let me borrow his bike to pick you up. He’s waiting for us at the station.” And as much as that answered the most obvious question, that wasn’t your main concern. Baji knew you two were leaving, the last person who needed to know about this.

“You told him about our plan? I thought we agreed we wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but I needed to get to you quick. Baji’s the only one I can trust with this,” he defended.

You sighed deeply. He was right, though. If anyone was going to find out before the others, it was going to be him. Apart from them being best friends, Baji had keen intuition and eventually, one way or another, he would’ve caught on. With Baji already being at the station, it made sense why Kazutora also didn’t have any of his belongings on hand. His best friend was most likely watching over them while he waited for them to arrive. You could already imagine the hard expression he usually wore on his rugged face. Time to mentally prepare yourself for a scolding or lecture or something.

Baji wasn’t exactly known for walking on eggshells or tiptoeing around people’s feelings especially when it came to speaking his mind about things he didn’t agree with. You knew he wouldn’t be okay with you and his best friend leaving town in the middle of the night without anyone else’s knowledge of the escape. But if anyone had to know, in a strange way, you were thankful it was him.

“I guess it’s fine if he knows. Is he mad?” “What do you think?”

Fair enough. He just confirmed what you were already thinking. “Great. I guess we have to prepare ourselves to get our asses chewed out then huh?” you huffed.

For the first time tonight, Kazutora smiled, a gentle tug of his lips at the idea of getting bitched out by his best friend, as if it hadn’t been done before on several occasions and tonight would be no different. You and Kazutora weren’t exactly the most normal couple out there, far from it and you often found yourselves at the receiving end of not only Baji’s scolding but also Draken’s. But their words of wisdom never stuck, not usually.

“Yeah. He’s gonna let me have it once we get there, for sure,” Kazutora chuckled, motioning for you to hop onto the back of Goki after him. You followed his motion, hooking the handle of your suitcase to the back of the bike before swinging your leg over, settling onto the hard seat, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend securely before he stuck the keys into the ignition, the roar of the bike coming to life ringing through silence of the quiet night.

Kicking the stand off the ground, Kazutora zoomed in a brisk U-turn, the tires rolling down the street into the dark of the night. You took one last look at your tiny house now fading in the distance, sighing a breath of relief. Freedom was nearly yours and Kazutora’s. All you needed to do now was to get to the station in time to catch your bus. Sure, the buses ran all night but the faster you could get out of town, the better.

The bright lights of the streetlamps whipped through your vision as Kazutora sped through the empty city streets, the breaking wind sweeping through your clothes, making you shiver and grip Kazutora tighter. He felt the constricting of your arms around him from the chilly breeze.

“We’re almost there,” he said reassuringly. There were still a few minutes left on your short journey. The station, 20 minutes away, was not a far drive, but the raging anxiety pumping through your veins made the trip seem long. Every few seconds, you lifted your head to check on Kazutora, his sole focus on the road ahead, expression unreadable but his body tense under the grasp of your arms around his waist. He was scared, afraid of the future to come, even afraid of facing his dark-haired best friend waiting for him to return with his bike.

The lit streets were empty, void of other cars due to the late hour, making it easier for Kazutora to weave through the lanes. The speed at which he drove in was determined, determined to get to the bus station on time. He didn’t speak throughout the trip there, hinting at the nervousness shooting through his veins, chills running down his spine from the cool air and their predicament. You rested your head on his back, suppressing the tears that gathered in your eyes again before looking over his shoulder again, taking a breath of relief when the station finally came into view.

The neon lights of the bus station’s sign caught your eye as the large buildings of the city began to thin out, making the blue light of the sign stand out like a star in the dead sky. Engines of the buses blared into the dead night as a handful of passengers boarded, stuffing their excess luggage into the under-bus storage compartment, tired expressions drawn into their features as they stepped into the heavy mobile crate, static announcements of bus departures calling out on the overhead speaker.

Kazutora slowed his speed before coming to a halt altogether in the station’s parking lot, shutting Baji’s bike off before kicking out the stand to steady them. He looked over his shoulder, waiting for you to hop off first and you obliged, planting one foot on the ground first before pulling your other leg over. Kazutora quickly followed suit, grabbing the keys from the ignition while you reached for your suitcase latched onto the back of the motorcycle.

With your suitcase in hand, Kazutora extended a hand out towards you, and you quickly reached out for him, lacing your fingers with his as you strode towards the entrance of the hub, your boots clicking against the hard pavement of the ground, echoing into the night air.

Kazutora opened the door for you, allowing you to step into the vacant station following close behind you. The station itself was nearly empty, safe for a few vagrant-looking individuals and some who looked like they were traveling farther out of town, bags and suitcases sitting on the seats, trash littering the tile floor of the waiting area. Kazutora tugged on your arm, guiding you towards the check-in counter. 11:37 - 23 minutes early but early enough to check in and take a breather before you depart to your new life. At least, like this, you’d be able to leave at the time you planned. The lady at the check-in counter wore large bags under her eyes, a huff in her breath as she lazily checked in you and your boyfriend and verified your passes. Dim lights flickered above with the quiet hum of the dying bulbs, the stale smell from humidity filling your nostrils, your nose scrunching in disgust.

Once you were checked in, Kazutora pulled you to the dingy chairs of the waiting room, gingerly sitting you down as he stood in front of you anxiously, taking your suitcase from your person to sit on the ground. He ran a hand through his messy hair, sighing softly when a brief cough caught his attention from behind.

He turned around and you couldn’t help but look over as well, your gaze falling on the sight of the man you weren’t mentally prepared to see tonight, Baji. From the look on his face, he wasn’t thrilled to be there. Even as they made a trade, with Kazutora throwing his keys back at him and Baji nudging a suitcase toward Kazutora, you could tell the dark-haired boy dreaded being there, not that you could blame him. He and Kazutora had been friends since they were twelve. It was not easy to come to terms with the idea of his lifelong friend running away, not knowing if he would ever see him again when they’ve already experienced so much, too much together. But Baji couldn’t stop him, not when Kazutora’s mind had been made up. He was dedicated to you, and he’d follow you off the edge of the Earth if you asked him to, not that you would ever ask or even imply.

All Baji could do now was offer his support in any way that he could, and in this case, it meant offering his bike to his best friend to retrieve his girlfriend from her home since he no longer had his bike in his possession, a notion that hurt Baji even more when Kazutora explained the situation to him just hours ago. Those bikes, the ones the founding members of Toman rode on for several occasions, sometimes even for their own enjoyment, meant the world and then some to each of them. It was a part of them, a part of who they were. In this way, Kazutora had lost a piece of himself, but it no longer mattered to him, or at least, he forced himself to believe that.

“Took you long enough,” Baji said monotonously, showing no real emotion in that moment, most likely due to his own conflicting emotions he was at war with on the inside.

“Sorry, but I’m here now.”

Baji deliberately avoided looking Kazutora in the eye. He wasn’t mad at him, per se. He was worried, concerned, unsure of what to do at the moment. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, not just from the flat surface of the chair but from the growing tension, the only sound being the called out departure times for buses ready for take off from the speakers.

“Got your tickets ready?” Baji asked, still avoiding his gaze from you and Kazutora.

“Yeah. we got ‘em,” you murmured.

“Good.” Awkward tension. It wasn’t awkward necessarily, but it was clear that words needed to be said. Particularly, Baji needed to speak and after a few more minutes, once the atmosphere became too unbearable, he broke the silence between the three of you.

“You still think this is a good idea?”

You and Kazutora lifted your heads, surprised at the sudden question.

“Leaving, I mean. Think it’s a good idea? ‘cause I don’t.”

Your eyes flickered down to your feet, feeling the weight of the skepticism in his tone. There was no malice in the way he spoke, though slightly hostile but he only had worry, worry for you and Kazutora.

“We already talked about this, Baji,” your boyfriend interjected, taking a step closer to his dark-haired best friend who finally turned his attention to Kazutora. “We have a plan.”

“Yeah, a half-assed plan. You don’t even know where you’re going,” Baji spat, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Doesn’t make it better that you only thought of this yesterday.”

“It was on a whim.”

“No shit.”

Silence creeped over the three of you again. Baji was mad, pissed off. Kazutora tried to defend you and him. You sat there nervously, unsure of how to properly explain yourselves but you didn’t need to. Kazutora was prepared to take the fault and heat for the two of you.

“Do the others know yet?” Kazutora asked. It was a question he had avoided asking. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they had to say about him leaving abruptly, if they had anything to say at all.

“Nah, I didn’t tell them, not yet.”

Kazutora nodded, thanking Baji for not telling their friends yet. Though, if he had told them, more than likely, they’d be waiting with Baji at the station as well, either trying to discourage them from taking off or offering their support just as Baji was. Reluctant support that is. Neither Kazutora nor Baji could imagine the onslaught of questions and worried comments the others would have the second they found out the situation.

In that sense, it puts you and Kazutora more at ease knowing your friends were not in the loop just yet. But unfortunately for Baji, he’d have to face their wrath in the morning when he finally breaks the news to them, a moment he was already beginning to dread as he anxiously ran a hand through his dark hair.

“Mikey’s gonna be pissed, y’know. So are Draken and the others when I tell them.”

“You really think so?”

Baji could smack him, but he didn’t, not wanting to put him and his best friend in bad standing before he faces the reality of never seeing him again.

“The hell do you think? They’ll be more pissed that you didn’t say anything either.”

“Yeah, well it’s not any of their concern anyway.”

He could really smack Kazutora right now, but once again, he refrained, for your sake. Baji clenched his fist tight, knuckles turning white, brows tightening in frustration at Kazutora’s lack of faith in their friends.

“They’re gonna be concerned, asshole. You think Mikey’s gonna be happy when he finds out you’re gone or when he finds out you sold your bike to some shop?

“I don’t give a damn what Mikey thinks.”

The urge to smack him was growing, turning into the need to punch some damn sense into him.

“Doesn’t matter. You think it’s easy to stand here and watch you take off when you don’t even know where the hell you’re going.”

The tension between the two friends was rising, their voice growing in volume, attracting the attention of the other awaiting passengers. But Kazutora couldn’t argue with him on the last bit. It was true - their destination was unknown at the moment. And with an unclear path ahead of them, it was fair for Baji to be concerned for Kazutora and his girlfriend. Taking a deep breath, Baji spoke again, his eyes downcast as he shifted his gaze away.

“I don’t know where you’re going, or if you’re gonna even be okay.”

“We will be. You gotta trust me.” There was a sense of desperation in the way Kazutora urged his best friend to have faith in him, in you, faith in them to make the right decision, to let them live their life far from the pain they experienced in this city.

Baji pursed his lips, closing his eyes as he fought back the dying need to punch Kazutora back to his senses like he had been fighting to do all night, but he didn’t. It wasn’t his life to live after all. He knew too well of the hardships you and Kazutora endured daily at the hands of abusive parents. He couldn’t relate. He was fortunate enough to have a life that he didn’t need to complain about. Maybe there were some things he wished would change but he was mildly content with what life presented to him. After all, Toman was his life, his family and that’s all he needed but for people like you and Kazutora, happiness was only temporary when you lived with hellish parents. He empathized with you, but he still didn’t believe running away was the answer.

“I do trust you, but that doesn’t mean I have to be okay with this.”

And he wasn’t going to ever be okay with you and Kazutora running away, but that was the closest to support of your choices either of you were going to receive from him.

The sound of the PA system broke their conversation, their ears tuning in to what the overhead speaker was announcing.

“Bus 422 departs in 10 minutes at 12am. Passengers, please have your boarding tickets ready on hand when you enter the bus.” Bus 422; that was their bus. This was it, the curtain call. Baji turned his head to see a tired looking station attendant standing by a now-open door leading out to the dock where the buses were parked, calling out for people to board the bus within the next ten minutes before departure.

“You guys should go now,” he muttered solemnly.

“But-”

“Nah. No ‘buts’. Get on that damn bus now before I change my mind.”

Kazutora flinched at his friend’s demand, but you knew it wasn’t out of fear. He was sad; they both were. Who knew under what circumstance they’d be able to see each other again. Baji was right after all - they had no idea where they were going. Their only plan was to leave and get as far away from here as possible, but there was no real plan the minute their getaway succeeded.

Kazutora reached his hand out for you to take, tangling your fingers together as you stood shakily from your seat, picking your suitcase up from the ground with a tight grip, probably from the sudden rush of anxiety as the attendant continued to call out for passengers. You hadn’t said more than a few words to Baji, but you were too nervous to speak to him, knowing you’d just stumble and stutter trying to justify your escape, not that you needed to.

Kazutora was prepared to walk toward the exit with you in tow when Baji put a hand on his shoulder. The golden eyed boy turned around, and with a mutual understanding in their gaze, Kazutora embraced Baji for what would be, seemingly, their final farewell.

“Take care of yourself. And take care of her,” Baji whispered, a hint of hurt in his voice as he tried not to come to terms with the reality of his best friend’s departure.

Kazutora sniffled. “I will. Don’t forget about me, okay?”

Baji scoffed, a playful smirk pulling at his lips as he patted Kazutora’s head, pulling away from their hug. “Like I could do that.”

Kazutora smiled, though it was a painful smile. You silently watched the wholesome interaction between the two friends, suppressing the tears in your eyes. Your boyfriend turned away from Baji for the last time, grasping your hand in his as he guided you toward the exit, walking past the attendant and stepping out onto the small dock. Baji could only was watch as the attendant shut the door, sealing the barrier that separated him from his childhood friend, forced to come to terms with Kazutora’s uncertain future.

Kazutora helped you tuck your suitcase and his own into the compartment of the bus, and just barely, your ears caught the sound of a familiar faint tune playing on the speakers. Even though static and the song nearly hard to hear, the synthesized melody wasn’t hard to decipher, and you immediately made it out to be the song, “Days of Thunder” by The Midnight, a song and band you had come to adore.

The attendant called out once more that the bus was ready to depart, prompting you and Kazutora to quickly step toward the entrance of the bus, the attendant checking your tickets before allowing you two to board. The bus, upon entrance, smelled just as stale and musty as the station. Kazutora trudged down the aisle in front of you, guiding you to your seats before stepping aside, letting you take the window seat, and he sat in the aisle seat.

Other than you and Kazutora, the bus was void of people, with just about 5 more passengers taking seats toward the very front and back of the bus, leaving you and Kazutora in the middle section by yourselves. The driver of the bus closed the doors with a loud clamp, the boisterous roar of the engine echoing into the night as the bus slowly pulled out of the lot.

“The Midnight” became a fading background hum as the bus departed from the station, wheels turning, carrying the heavy ton of aluminum down the dark road ahead. You rested your head against the window, staring out into the night sky, subconsciously lacing your fingers with Kazutora’s, his own intertwining with yours as he leaned his head back against the lumpy headrest.

The song continued to echo in your head, almost like a taunt as your mind’s eye replayed the scenes of your first interaction with your now-boyfriend and possible future husband. It seemed like it was only yesterday when you watched him charismatically fail at retrieving a stuffed animal you desperately vied for. Your giggles and his smile emanate in your memories, a soft, single tear rolling down your cheek as you reminisced on easier times, when life seemed so much more simple. He made life easier, better for you and you wished you could turn back the hands of time to return to that fateful night, the night that changed everything.

➽───────────────❥

Multicolored lights ranging from bright azure to soft vermillions lit up the lively retro arcade you found yourself in at 11pm, dozens of old games from the 1980’s lining the beige colored, ratty walls, along with large pinball machines emanating loud tunes from their back speakers and four medium-sized claw games centered in the heart of the gallery. Synthwave-esque music boomed out of the arcade’s overhead radio, giving the place an old school vibe that transported you back to 1984, the squealing of a romantic saxophone ringing out into the small space.

“Los Angeles” by The Midnight. You recognized that song anywhere, its familiar woodwind sound thrumming into your ears as you clicked your feet to the beat, making your way through the narrow walkways, bumping shoulders against teens blocking the path to your favorite arcade game.

As quickly as the song faded out, a new one began to play, “Dance with Somebody”. What a way to bring you back to a time period you hadn’t existed in. That’s what The Midnight felt like for you and this time, you were in need of comfort music.

The arcade was almost completely dark, with only the light of the machines and small, hanging, rainbow lights illuminating the small walkways, casting soft glows against the dilapidated walls with the occasional strobe light nearly blinding you. The place had seen better days, but it was your favorite spot to kill time in after another painful argument with your parents.

You were surprised they hadn’t just kicked you out yet. It was evident they weren’t proud of you, or your impending future so why did they feel the need to keep you around anymore? The lingering memories of your previous disagreement was a backhouse thought now, your focus being solely on the game in your field of vision.

Several of the machines had a white thin paper taped to their screens, “Out of Order” written in thick, black ink to indicate an out-of-use game. The arcade itself was on its last foot, only bringing in its usual clientele of high and/or drunk teenagers at late hours of the night or children during the early hours of its operation. However, its reputation as a hot box for stoners grew, leaving parents afraid of sending their children there even during daytime hours. It was true - it had become a watering hole for potheads and drunkards, and tonight was no exception, the arcade bustling with business from teens around your age reeking of weed and musk, making you cringe, your nose scrunching from the putrid odor.

You tried not to focus too much on the bursts of drunken laughter and loud hoots from guys drunkenly slamming their hands on the keys of neighboring games as you slid a coin into the machine’s slot.

Thankfully, your favorite game, Galaga, was still in operation. It was popular amongst the boys that frequented the spot and sometimes, you had to wait for a turn at the game, which would then turn into hour-long sessions once you took over. You weren’t best at the game per se, but it was the one game that brought you the most joy and excitement, trying your best to forget the incessant screaming and yelling of your parents echoing in your brain.

The sound of button mashing and the joystick hitting against its resistance filled your surrounding soundscape as you became entranced in the game’s 8-bit graphics, the melodic theme catching in your eardrums along with the pew pew pews of your blaster going off.

You had become so in sync with the music and visuals of the game that you barely registered the sound of padding feet creeping up behind you, a soft jingle of a bell cruising closer to your leaned forward figure. It wasn’t until a waving hand came into sight that you were brought back to reality. However, your sudden blocked vision caused you to be struck by an alien enemy, effectively ending the winning streak you were on.

Your eyes widened in disbelief as the “game over” tune played through the machine’s speakers, big red lettering spelling out your defeat displaying across the miniature screen. You shifted your gaze to the perpetrator of your loss, taking in the sight of a taller boy with dark hair and golden streaks. He had striking amber eyes, an all too noticeable tiger tattoo on the side of his neck and a single earring dangling, the source of the jingling you faintly heard before you were disturbed.

“What the hell, man?” you spat in annoyance. “You jus’ fucked up my game.”

He smirked. It was irritating.

“Sorry. Didn’t think you’d fuck up that bad,” he said with a shit eating grin. It was clear he was trying to be smug about causing you to lose your game, but something about him made you think he was trying too hard, much like the way the other boys that frequented this arcade when they tried speaking to you, even if they were met with dead air on your part.

“Yeah well, you owe me for that,” you shot at him.

His grin never faltered, not even as he nudged you to the side, taking his stance in front of the game before bending his knees to insert an arcade coin into the right slot. He cracked his knuckles in another attempt to seem cool, prompting you to roll your eyes at his douchebaggery. He flashed you another smug grin before readjusting his posture, placing his palm over the head of the joystick as the game roared to life once more.

To your surprise and his horror, he didn’t make it past the second wave of enemies, his face falling in disbelief before bending his knees to insert another coin into the machine. This time he made it to the third wave. It was obvious he had never played Galaga before and it showed through his lack of knowledge of how the game functioned.

“Y’know, you can always watch a tutorial,” you jested, a smug grin of your own curling on your lips. He side-eyed you before jamming another coin into the machine.

“Look, you’re not gonna get this-”

“Just watch me,” he insisted, cutting you off at the end of your sentence as his fingers fumbled with the keys of the game. You had to give him credit this time around; he was doing a lot better than his previous attempts but still, even with his progress, he crashed out at the sixth wave, slamming his fists down in frustration at his fourth or fifth failure, or was it sixth? You had lost count, stifling a chuckle at the way he hung his head low in defeat.

You clapped your hand on his back before turning to walk away.

“Don’t worry too much about it. You’ll get the hang of it eventually,” you said reassuringly. He lifted his head slightly to look at you as you skipped away from him, his eyes following your every step as you made your way to the claw machines in the center of the arcade just in front of the clear entrance doors, the sound of your shoes muffled against the dirty blue, carpeted floor.

You were definitely no good at these, but you wanted to try your luck anyway. Lady Luck had never been on your side with the claw but the stuffed platypus sitting neatly amongst a sea of toys was too tempting to just walk away from and you were determined to add the fuzzy creature dressed in a suit to your ever-growing collection of stuffed animals.

The machine called for four tokens. You shoved your hand in the back pocket of your shorts to retrieve the remaining number of coins you had left to spend. Six coins, meaning you had one shot at taking home the platypus plush. You slid four of your six tokens into the slot, the machine lighting up with bright white lights as a little jingle played out.

You gripped the ball of the joystick in your palm, your hands slightly clammy from the anticipation. You carefully tilted the lever, allowing the steel teeth to maneuver over the spot where the platypus was laying, right in the center above all the other stuffed toys. It was as if it was placed there just for you to have. Without a second to waste, you slammed your other hand down on the red button, the claw shifting down to grasp at the toy of your choice.

But of course, as you predicted, Lady Luck worked against you. The claw barely latched onto the platypus, the animal slipping through its metal tips as it hoisted itself back up to the roof of the machine, another small jingle ringing out. “Better luck next time,” it sang.

“Damn you,” you muttered under your breath, clicking your tongue in annoyance.

“Need some help?” A familiar voice spoke out behind you, making you spin around to be confronted with the same boy from earlier. You huffed as you looked at him and that stupid grin on his face.

“No thanks. I'm just gonna go home.”

“Already? It’s barely 12.”

“Yeah and?”

He flashed a toothy grin at you before reaching into his coat pocket, pulling out several more tokens.

“How ‘bout another shot?” he asked with a tilt of his head, exposing more of his tiger tattoo. You had to admit to yourself - you were desperate, for the toy anyway.

You swung your arm out to snatch the silver coins from his hand, only to be surprised when he steps back, clicking his tongue three times.

“Ah, ah. You gotta let me do it,” he asserted.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I can actually do this better than you.”

“Oh really? You’re that confident?” you asked sarcastically.

His damn smile spoke for itself as he stepped in front of the metal frame, taking your spot.

“Yep. I play these a lot for my friends. Just trust me, alright?” He turned to look back at you, holding out his hand, waiting for you to slip him the last two coins in your possession.

Trust him? Like the way you trusted him to get a good score on Galaga and prove you wrong? Sure, but a part of you was curious to see if he could actually win the platypus for you. You really wanted it but you still weren’t too sure if you could trust his skills, especially after his cocky ass attitude he exuded trying to play your favorite game, a game you exceeded him in.

Fuck it - what did you have left to lose? Certainly not your pride but he had his to lose. You dug into your back pocket again and pulled out the last two tokens you had, placing them in his still extended hand, adding to the collection of coins in his possession. He closed his fist around the silver pieces, shifting his attention back towards the machine in front of him. You stood back behind him as he inserted four coins into the machine, lighting the metal box up again as the steel claw came back down.

He centered his focus on the dangling hand, steering it over the platypus the same way you had done earlier, except he shifted it slightly, letting it hover above the head. In this way, the claw would come down and grab the stuffie by its hat. You watched with bated breath, his eyes never leaving the hanging silver teeth. Your mind momentarily repeated the small snippet from Toy Story of the little green toy aliens chanting, “the claw”.

Once he set the crane in place, he pressed down on the red button, the claw coming to life once more as it lowered towards the awaiting prize. You inched closer behind the boy, resting your hands on his shoulders as you peered over him, watching as the steel hinges clutched the hat of the stuffed toy between its fingers. You jolted in elated surprise as the claw shifted over to the drop box, but just before it could come into your possession, the stuffed doll slipped from its talons, plopping back onto the assorted toys resting below.

“Better luck next time,” the speaker rang out again in mockery, making you fume with anger. The boy in front of you seethed, obviously irritated by his continuous bad luck. He rubbed the back of his head, ashamed of getting your hopes up. He shoved four more coins into the machine, and then four more, and another four until he reached his last set of tokens. He felt like an idiot for thinking he could retrieve the doll for you, brushing a hand through his messy hair before turning to face you.

You gave him an awkward smile, unsure of what to tell him. “Think you can get it this time? You got one more shot, y’know.”

He nodded, turning back to the glass screen as he eyed the damned platypus. It’s like it was mocking him. He wasn’t normally this bad at claws but in this instance, his game was thrown out of order, and you caught onto the way he seemed determined to win. You said nothing though. If he wanted to so badly win the damn plushie for you, who were you to tell him to stop? It wasn’t everyday a guy needed to prove his worth to you by attempting and failing at a crane game.

You resisted the urge to laugh as he jammed the last four coins into the small opening of the machine. You were surprised he didn’t just break through the damn tempered glass that separated the two of you from the plush toy. It would’ve saved him the humiliation of losing again.

The game resurrected once more, the claw shifting to the side where the platypus doll was laying on its side from being picked up and dropped repeatedly. And once again, the plush was dropped back into the ocean of toys, the same way it had been dropped the previous attempts. But before you could say anything to the tiger haired boy, he knelt down in front of the small hatch where the toys were dropped off.

Without a second or smart thought, he lifted the thin flap with one hand, sliding his other arm into the wide tunnel, his fingers popping into sight in the machine as he greedily grazed the top of the platypus’ sewn-on hat. Your eyes widened in elated disbelief before you chortled at the sight before you, tears of laughter blurring your vision as he helplessly reached for the damn stuffed animal.

He groaned at your laughing but wasn’t deterred, seeming even more determined to grab the platypus to shut you up. Luckily for him, his arm was long enough to reach further into the tunnel, his fingers barely reaching the hat as he grasped it in between his middle and index finger, carefully lifting it over the small barrier separating the sea of toys and the slide.

He pulled the plush down and scooted back from the machine, lifting the stupid plush toy in the air in elation.

“I did it,” he screamed out, a goofy smile on his face as you continued to laugh at his mischievous behavior. He tossed the platypus at you, catching it in your hands as you hugged the fuzzy creature close to your chest. He smiled endearingly at you before standing back up, dusting off his clothes, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Sorry, it seemed like a good idea,” he said apologetically, though you didn’t know what exactly he was apologizing for.

“Idiot. Don’t apologize. Not every guy would do something like that,” you responded, squeezing the platypus plush in the crevice of your arm. For a brief second, your eyes met with his, gazing into those amber eyes that seemed brighter than your uncertain future. And for a second, he was lost in yours.

Like a cheesy romance movie, your favorite song “Gloria” by The Midnight hummed softly in the background, making the moment seem even more cheesy but… romantic. Did this arcade play anything else other than synth music and The Midnight? It surely set the ambience. Life almost seemed to turn out well for you in just those few minutes, until the sound of loud shouting busted your bubble.

It was the arcade manager, his face red with anger as he stomped his way towards you and the boy standing next to you. Shit, you guys were in trouble and every possible bad outcome played out into your head as he inched closer. Fear shot up your spine but before you could make a clear decision, you were being yanked by your arm. You twisted your head to see the boy gripping your arm, his fingers digging into your skin through the fabric of your sweater with a harsh tug.

“Let’s get outta here,” he shouted, already pulling you towards the entrance. You didn’t need to be told twice, your feet moving on their own accord as you let him drag you away, bursting through the double doors and out into the summer night, the angry shouts of the manager calling out from behind as the two of you sprinted across the street, nearly getting hit by a few cars as he guided you away from what was once your sanctuary.

Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you clutched the platypus in your other arm, eyes wide as you stared at the boy in front of you, your legs carrying you far and fast behind him. You had never felt this nervous before, but somehow, even with someone you barely knew, you felt alive, like life was finally worth living for.

After a few more seconds of sprinting down the sidewalk, your legs tired out, coming to a stop in front of an open convenient store, shrill whistles of breath heaving from your lungs. You bent forward, cupping your knees with your hands as you tried to catch your breath. He had stopped too, combing a hand through his now sweaty hair. When he finally caught his breath, he laughed, his light chuckles turning into full fits of laughter as he threw his head back like a madman.

You couldn’t help but laugh with him, realizing you were close to getting in trouble for something so innocuous, yet you escaped, both of you did. It was evident this wasn’t his first rodeo, and he expressed no shame in his careless actions.

The laughter died down, both of you leaning against the cool, brick wall of the convenient store. The silence was comfortable before he sliced through it, turning his head to face you.

“I’m Kazutora, by the way.”

The mention of his name caught you off guard, blinking fast as you registered his name again. Kazutora.

You breathed out your own name, almost soft enough for him to miss. He nodded, silently repeating your name under his breath that you could barely make out.

Your eyes moved around, taking in your surroundings as the two of you stood together in silence. Even in the dead hours of the night, there was movement of cars speeding down the street, offering some balance between the soft sounds of your breathing and the whistles of the cool, summer night wind.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Kazutora push off the wall, taking a step infront of you, his tall, lean frame towering over you. Now, you felt nervous, but in a good way.

“You hungry?” Your stomach growled in response, like it had a mind of its own and knew what he asked. A subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “I’ll take that as a yes then?”

“Sure.”

He nodded, gesturing for you to follow him into the small store. You pushed off the wall and trotted behind him, pushing past the doors as you were embraced by the flickering lights of the old convenient store, the cashier, with his face stuffed into a magazine, not sparing you two a glance as you headed into the narrow aisles.

You watched as Kazutora’s eyes lit up in excitement at the array of snacks and goodies, his hands already darting out to grab handfuls of candies and chips. You followed in pursuit, tucking the platypus into your armpit again as you picked out several bags of chips and cookies. The store had soft, lo-fi music going on in the background, adding to the munchy experience you and Kazutora were experiencing, and you weren’t even high. Yet, it felt like you were, high on life, high on adrenaline, high on him.

Kazutora made his way to the refrigerators, struggling to open the doors to grab bottles of beer with his hands full of delicious treats.

“Hey,” you whispered, getting close so only he can hear you. “We can’t buy those. We’re underage, y’know.”

Well, you assumed he was just as underage as you were. He didn’t look older than you anyway, if by maybe a year or two, but it still didn’t make him old enough to purchase alcohol.

He brushed off your concern, giving you a reassuring smile in response.

“Don’t worry 'bout it. I got this.” He grinned, that stupid, shit eating grin he gave you earlier before bombing at Galaga. Great, you were definitely getting in trouble this time.

He stepped away from the refrigerator, slamming the door shut as he struggled with the bottles of beer and the excessive amount of gluttony in his arms. The two of you waltzed to the register counter, letting the merchandise slide out of your arms. The cashier perked an eyebrow at Kazutora as he registered the sight of the many bottles of beer on the counter.

“Got any ID?” the cashier asked in a monotone voice.

Kazutora reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. He opened the flap, flashing his ID, his fake ID, to the cashier. You prepared yourself for the worst, taking a deep, shaky breath as the cashier eyed the card. You were sure the man could smell your nervousness and the bullshit spewing out of your new companion. The ID itself looked like trash, and it was obvious it was a fake, but the man was in no mood to deal with teenager problems or the police, sighing as he continued to ring up the other items on the marble counter.

Well, you two could be in trouble for buying alcohol as underage teens but this guy would be in even hotter water for selling it to minors.

After calculating your total, you whipped your own wallet out. For his efforts, you decided upon yourself that you would pay for the snacks. He had already won you, or stolen for you, your platypus and he was risking getting arrested for flashing a clearly fake ID. It was the least you could do, pulling out a couple dollars to hand to the cashier, telling him to keep the change as Kazutora gathered the clear bags of goodies.

The cashier gave you an unamused nod, thanking you as you and Kazutora emerged back into the night, a blanket of darkness covering you two up as you descended down the sidewalk.

He found a small park area for you two to sit at, pointing out a rickety, wooden table near a set of swings. With the bags in hand, he ran towards the table, and you went after him, giggling as the wind swept through your clothes, giving you a rush of liberation.

For the next hour or two, you and Kazutora engorged yourself on all the candy and chips you bought, cracking open beer after beer as you exchanged stories of your lives. It was during story time that you realized you and Kazutora were a lot similar than anticipated. He, too, came from a broken family, a home colder than a winter’s night that he yearned to break free from. You learned about his gang, his best friend and the life he made with them, sharing endless stories of fights he’s been in and gangs they’ve taken down, places they’ve driven down to on their bikes, how their gang was formed at the insistence of his best friend, Baji, to protect him from a gang that targeted him when he was only twelve.

He lived life in the fast lane while you were still going behind the speed limit. He listened empathetically while you shared with him the life you had been living until now, how domineering your parents were and how little they cared for you. He was sympathetic and understood the hardship of growing up with neglectful and mentally abusive parents, your stories reminding him of his own distorted home life.

“Hey, I get it. It ain’t easy living with parents like that.”

“No, it isn’t. It fucking sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” he sighed before speaking again. “But hey, at least you got me now, right?”

You turned to face him, knitting your brows in confusion. He chuckled at your expression, seeing the confused glaze in your eyes.

“Don’t think this is the last time we hang out. We’re friends now. You owe me, for almost getting me arrested,” he joked.

You rolled your eyes, huffing in response to his joke. “I didn’t ask you to steal the platypus, dumbass.”

“But I did anyway. You’re welcome.”

A barely noticeable grin curled your lips, but he saw it. He didn’t say anything about it though, tipping his head up to gaze at the starry sky. You did the same, tracing the stars with your eyes.

You weren’t sure where your newfound friendship with Kazutora would lead you but as you sneaked a peak of him through your peripherals, you knew he was going to be the change you had been searching for, the change you wanted.

➽───────────────❥

The tap tap tap on your shoulder forced you out of your memories, blinking rapidly as you turned to your boyfriend, his hand still on your shoulder, tilting his head to look at you.

“You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

“‘Bout what?”

You shrugged. “Our future, I guess.”

His eyes flickered down, as if you got him thinking about the future too. “I get it, but we’ll be okay. Y’know that, right?”

You gave a simple nod before turning to look at him, your eyes glossing over with unshed tears for the millionth time tonight. “Promise?”

His hand slipped from your shoulder to grab your hand, holding it tight in his, tangling your fingers together in a tight bond, a bond that resembled the tight knit connection the two of you shared as a couple.

“Promise.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, your chin trembling as you leaned your head on his shoulder, relishing in his warmth as soft sobs escaped from your throat, closing your eyes once more as you envisioned a better life. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, resting his cheek on the top of your head, closing his eyes as the lights in the vehicle dimmed, the bus continuing its path down the darkened road toward an unknown destiny.

But as you leaned on his shoulder, you envisioned a perfect future. In your mind’s eye, you saw him, nestled atop his bike with you on his back, chin perched on his shoulder as the wind whipped past you, a blurry ocean of sun’s orange rays in your peripheral vision as you focused on the road ahead. In this life, you were carefree, no worries weighing down on your shoulders as you zipped through the streets of the city, no destination in mind but the road clear ahead towards the happiness you both desired. Despite your current circumstances, you knew that’s where your life was heading towards again, but only time will tell how long it’ll be until that future becomes a reality, until you two can be carefree kids once more, riding into the sunset as you relive your endless days of thunder.

But, only time will tell.

©ALL WORKS BELONG TO CHESHITORA. PLAGARISM AND STEALING WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR ORIGINAL CREATORS BUT THE STORIES ARE MY OWN WORK.

#kazutora hanemiya #tokyo revengers kazutora #tokrev kazutora #kazutora hanemiya x reader #kazutora x reader #kazutora x you #kazutora x y/n #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokrev #tokrev x y/n #tokrev x reader #tokrev x you #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x y/n #a 'che' story ✎

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whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst · 11 months ago

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AITA: Beyond Evil Edition in Three Queries

aka, Han Juwon Experiences The Darkest Timeline of A Hallmark Channel Romantic Comedy

*wherein I asked myself where would Juwon go for help with his problems and the answer was, obviously an anonymous forum online that offers dubious advice)*

AITA for Having, Like, Standards?

I (M, 27) just moved from a large city to a small town and accepted a major downgrade in my job position for personal reasons. However, my new coworkers (M, range of ages) have made my life extremely difficult. I should clarify that I have OCD and general anxiety disorder, and I don’t feel comfortable sharing that with people, or sharing anything.

I tried to bring a positive attitude to my new life, but within the first 24 hours of my being here, I was violently dragged through reed fields, discovered the body of a total stranger, got sexually harassed by a serial killer (M, 40) from my workplace, and was made to endure a social outing with coworkers. Understandably, I acted out a little. AITA?

Update: no I will not elaborate. Just answer the question.

AITA for Creating A Toxic Work Environment Even Though There Were (Mostly) Good Intentions?

I (M, 27) recently made a series of occupational choices that seemed logical at the time but which I have since learned are not good for anyone.

Context, since you’re all so concerned about that: Essentially, I pseudo-framed a couple of people for tiny crimes with the intent of flushing out dangerous criminals (to the people who asked during my last query, I will not be sharing personal information)

In fairness, and to head off criticism from this unruly website, I should point out that one of these people recently assaulted me with dairy products. The other has been unprofessional at work, dispensing support and wisdom that borders on paternal (actual paternal, not my own—you know what, never mind) behavior. Both are very loyal to one of my coworkers (M, 40s) who I reasonably believed to be a serial killer. That belief has been derailed somewhat by the discovery that he is not, in fact, a serial killer.

This entire situation (his fault) has somehow led to an awkward series of workplace and butcher shop encounters in an insular and frankly criminal-ridden small town, as well as several HR-worthy situations that I cannot be held responsible for. Basements are essentially public spaces.

AITA?

AITA for Choosing To Side With My Country Boy Crush Over My Mean City Dad?

I (M, 27) have been going through it. My workplace romance with the man I originally believed to be a serial killer (M, 40) is suffering ever since we learned (through legal and necessary means) that my own father is responsible for multiple crimes connected to the aforementioned paramour. I’ve been reading comments and questions from my previous queries and I promise I took them to heart, and have found opportunities to 1.) let him put me in handcuffs, 2.) invest in fashionable outerwear, 3.) try to get framed for murder in his place (not feeling appreciated for my efforts here).

However, recent events have led to some strain in the relationship. So I’ve decided to go to hell for him. To be clear, since many of you seemed concerned about my “safety” and “sanity”—this is a perfectly reasonable course of action. However, it does involve betraying a verbally abusive parent in favor of a hot guy with great hair.

AITA?

Update: My boyfriend and dad are both in prison.

#whomst #beyond evil #jwds

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coinandcandle · 8 months ago

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Random Witchy Query !

I was reading a book and there was a section that discusses the difference between a prayer and a spell. So what, in your opinion is the difference?

Is a spell just a prayer with extra steps? Is a prayer a spell with less steps? Could they be the same thing or are they actually rather different?

Another interesting thought--is a charm (the verbal sort) different from a spell or prayer? Or is it the combination of the two? What makes a verbal charm a charm?

I will add my thoughts in a separate post but I want to hear y'all's thoughts!!

#witchy query #thoughts #witchcraft #grimoire #grimoire prompt

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tarot-archives · 1 year ago

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hands. hands. and more hands. —Simon Riley

fluff | comforting simon and scolding him

Simon always had calluses, even before enlisting. His hands were etched on the butcher knife from frequent use. To the point that even the owner had to buy a new one for himself. The handle fits perfectly, with deep engravings of his print, and thick calluses pressing on its body to reshape the figure.

Now, Simon had returned home from training. His hands, were more worn than before, with scars and burns painting on the canvas of his skin. He didn’t have anyone to take care of him after all. No one to scold him for the mud caking under his nails. No one to swipe his hands away if he hadn’t washed them before eating.

Bottles of hand cream on your nightstand take twice as long to finish since he was shipped out too.

But he’s here now. The bed dips, it’s no longer a place fit for two. He’s grown bulky, more lean than fat, his back straight after months of corrective training. You wonder about the history of his scars so you asked.

“This one was from doing push-ups,” he proudly said.

“Just push-ups?” you were disturbed that push-ups can leave serious scars. “why is it on your knuckles then?”

“Had to do them against the gravel. Under the heat of the bloody sun,” Simon thumbs over the discoloration on his skin. “It was hot enough to cook an egg and burn through skin. Even had those hard pebbles that push up the bone.”

You grimaced, “the bone?”

Simon looks down at you, then snickers, “almost, but not yet. No.” He lies more easily now. Gentlemen know not to burden a woman’s heart. Especially his best friend.

You sighed in relief. Your fingers now brushing over his palms. The question, tipping itself over the edge of your tongue, as you hesitate to ask. But Simon knows you enough not to wait for a verbal query.

“These ones were from the rope,” he turns his hands to face you. Thick skin on his fingers, especially on his thumb. All of the digits are dry and in need of a deep clean. He looks down at your furrowed eyes and disappointed glare.

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You didn’t want to make a fuss about it since Simon was the strongest person you ever met, but how could you make him understand your thoughts. That you are mad about his lack of self-care. That his hands found home at the barrel of the gun instead of a knife. Both items share the same violence. Both professions are bloody and messy. Both his choices were out of necessity for his family.

Simon doesn’t speak as he lets you feel his rough skin. Your digits travel in between his fingers, over his knuckles, finding a new reason to be more worried than the last. But as you were about to lift your hands away, he entwines his hands in yours.

He made sure you won’t run as he says: “There’s no reason to worry.”

You shake your head in disapproval, “How could I not?” Your voice cracked. Warmth spread to your cheeks at your choking defeat. “What would you do if your best friend always put themselves in danger?”

“Save them from dumb decisions,” Simon answers.

“But I’m not at the battlefield,” you gripped his hand harshly as an outlet of your frustration. “what can I do when you’re halfway around the world. And it would be months before I can hear again from you.”

Despite your strength, it was nothing to him. He had experienced the butt of a rifle lodged into his hand as punishment. Your hold wasn’t a means for pain, but a way for you to deliver the words you left unsaid. So he returns the gesture, thumbing your skin in small circles, speaking in the language you spoke— the love language of touch.

So you lean into him, understanding the silence and his affection. Realizing that his hands weren’t always a place of violence. It was your safe space, before the blood and the gore.

He held your hands when you were anxious during preschool. He held your hands to keep you by his side amongst the busy street. He held your freezing hands when you left your mittens at home. And in more sacred moments when his lips touched a cut to heal it faster….

It was never about fixing him up. It was always about taking care of your best friend. All homes, when not properly maintained, tend to ruin quickly compared to others. And taking care of Simon was your way of making do or returning his kindness.

“I need you to take care of yourself more,” you ordered.

“yes, ma’am.”

“you can’t keep coming back here expecting a manicure.”

“Of course,” he brushed away your gentle reminders. His arms pull you into a hug, purposely tipping you over to fall towards him. Simon was never the kind to fuss over the weight of your body over his. His heart welcomed you, accepting you as a part of him and all the burden you carry.

#simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #fluff #cod x reader

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namelessprayers · 6 months ago

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"tell me about yourself, little spider." lace says, as she ties bandages over her appendages with an impressive meticulousness.

"what is there to tell?" returns hornet, flippant as she polishes her needle, wearing an expression as cold as its metal surface.

"a traveler like you with a fighter's spirit." starts lace, propping her own weapon up against a nearby rock in some show of truce. "life rarely produces such exceptional things nowadays. in this dying world, i'm curious to you and your blatant aliveness."

"you talk too much." scoffs hornet, barely lifting a brow at the strange incredulity of lace's insinuations.

"ah, and i'd say you talk too little for a spider who's every word tastes delicious." giggles lace, near mocking in her condescending tone. "come on now, indulge me, i'm already hanging on your every web and weave; what's a few conversations more?"

"we never converse." simply answers hornet, putting an end to the beginning before lace has chance to make plans for a nonexistent future between the two of them.

"all battles are discussions of a kind, whether physical or verbal. i don't often engage in such long ones, so already, we have gone beyond the usual amount of talking." proceeds lace, unbothered. "this is only one stage further, but it's not too far. what, are you afraid of saying something? do you have secrets? well, that's not surprising. every bug has their share of skeletons in the ground to hide."

"i'm not afraid, and i'm quite an open book." retaliates hornet, almost surprising herself with such a display of direct honesty. "i'd rather not die, and you already know what my objective is, which is why you are trying to kill me."

"hm. suppose that's all true. though, i'd be interested in anything you have to give." lace pauses as a certain look glazes over her stare with predatory intent. "like, for example, why red?"

"why red?" cautiously sounds out hornet, as if the question may turn around and bite her.

"yes, i want to know, why the red choice of colour for your cloak?" the query near seems genuine coming out of lace's crescent shaped mouth. "it sure is adorable and definitely matches you, but there must be better reason you chose it than just that alone."

"good example, but i don't intend on answering it." decides hornet, ignoring the way lace gazes on with an smug smile, like she'd already predicted this to happen. but hornet wants to take lace off guard, wants to surprise each other the way they do it succinctly in spars, so she does. "how does the red match me?"

lace's eyes widen a fraction, only for a split second, before her face settles itself into a pleased grin; an equal victory for both of them.

"it's bold, eye catching, just like you." says lace, so startlingly sincere as she stares into hornet's eyes. neither of them want to look away first. "it makes a violent statement, some kind of warning, like bloodshed and danger. the colour speaks to elegance too. it's not natural, but it's still vivid, coveting a life of its own."

hornet mulls on the description for a long while that lace is content to leave be, meanwhile poking the fire to simmer.

"i'm going to get out of here, but i promise, i'll return eventually. when i do, i'll tell you." hornet hesitates, unused to the sound of her own sweetness. "i'll tell you why it's red. so, you better stay alive until i come back." she stands to leave as her and lace never camp together.

"of course, i wouldn't dream of missing it. by then, you'll probably have a lot more tales to tell me, won't you, little spider?"

at that, hornet frowns. after all, lace is still the one supposed to catch her and stop her from leaving, but the words contradict it. she wonders if lace is truly on her side or if this is a part of the game.

regardless, lace doesn't stop her from leaving, and they continue their typical fights until hornet escapes pharloom headed for hallownest; she's not prepared for what she finds at home, but at least she'll have quite a story to tell lace when she visits back.

but, hornet thinks, i don't want to think of it like that. she doesn't want to be growing fond of lace, of this, of them.

======

"it was my mother who gave me the red cloak. she liked the colour too, thought it fitted me just as well as you." says hornet, for once initiating a conversation.

lace stays silent, requesting she go on. the wreckage of ghosts and crying cities suddenly feels ages away, expelled by both time and distance and words. hornet inhales, pointedly looks away from lace's inquiring eyes, and exhales out her long withheld answer.

"i already stuck out of crowds with my white shell, a tribute to being both my father and mother's daughter, even if i didn't want to admit it. the cloak was just a compromise with that; the final step to embracing the difference. my mother always said it was a good thing though. she could find me in any crowd and spot me in any corner, made sure that i never could and never would hide from the world even when i wanted to. better to face it head on, better to be remembered than forgotten."

hornet is aware that lace has gracefully come to lay by her side. it is quiet and the world holds promise again, sings of innocent faith and hope coming to real fruition.

on the humble dirt, her cloak dirty but still valiantly red, hornet can hardly feel the ache of all that's happened. she thinks of the time it took to get back, but doesn't ruminate in the journey. for the first time, she feels as if the destination has reached a strange level of safety; right here by lace's side, who whispers approvingly.

"well, i must say that i'm glad for your mother's choice. the red suits you, and it helps to find you in anyplace, helps to remember you more clearly when i want to."

and hornet is glad despite her instinctive reservations; to have went home and to have known it broken, so that she could move on and rebuild elsewhere. hornet thinks of life as it will be, telling lace why her cloak is red and the tales of how she survived hallownest to return to pharloom.

she dampens down the urge to deflect a teasing statement or genuine ask of why lace would want to remember her, instead, giving the truth which she's sure to owe if she hadn't promised it ages ago.

"don't worry, i'd never wear anything else. although, i doubt i'll be going anywhere else anytime soon. you're alright with that, right? if i give you more memories for when i'm not around?"

"i'm not worried. i know you too well to be worried about you over everything else in this world." lace's voice softens and hornet is sure that the spots that their limbs meet are purposefully touching. "don't worry, dear hornet, everything about you, memory or not, is perfectly fine. it's okay. we're gonna be okay."

oh, hornet thinks (with less distress than there should be), i'm so incredibly fond of you. she's fond of lace, of this, of them.

#hollow knight #character study #hollow knight hornet #silksong hornet #hk hornet #hornet #silksong lace #relationship study #lacenet #love #falling in love #to be soft together against all odds #prose #writing

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tiredsmashbros · 9 months ago

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Memories : part one

2k words ; tsb fanfic

the battle was intense. that's all smg4 could think about. chest tightens while engulfed in fear as he dodges the attacks of a giant mallet aiming at him. barely escaping the impact by an inch. the mallet belonging to non other than the person who has been impacting smg4's life into a spiral of endless stress. the suspicious behavior pattern, lack of consideration of others, unrealistic cartoon language and logic, and even his mysterious background are what made smg4 legs shake. yet the fellow still showed acts of kindness, thoughtfulness, a sense of genuine... nothing made sense! what's worse, smg4 never expected anything weird coming from this guy from their first introduction, he genuinely was quite excited for a new friend who seemed so silly, and intrigued by the memes he shared. yet... here he was now. fighting what felt like for his life. he didn't know what to do but be on the defensive side as he grew tired and weak. doing his best to sustain stamina as the yellow, blue maniac wasn't even breaking a sweat.

"stop this man! this isn't like you!" smg3 shouted, in the hope of verbally knocking some sense into the propeller-wearing individual, despite already countless efforts beforehand. striking a punch on tsb's face, losing his grip on his mallet.

"you don't know him." the body of tsb responded, his voice giving an unusual echo, eyes narrowed exposing his brown iris, accompanied by an uncanny smile that spread across his face. letting out a childish chuckle, tsb pulls his head back and strikes onto smg3 with a head-butt move. receiving a pained groan in response to the quick attack. smg4 rushed over to aid smg3 from falling over, standing beside his guardian partner, yearning to protect him but fueled with caution of the maniac man in front of them.

"let's try our meme powers again!" smg4 suggested to smg3, catching his breath in between.

"that method is futile." tsb spoke, almost monotone, his head dripping from the side of his shoulder, "you are too tired. you don't have enough energy to input something effective." he added.

smg3 clicked his tongue, eyes filled with anger yet with a touch of sorrow. seeing tsb talk and act this way made smg3 feel uneasy. something felt off by the way he spoke and the usage of vocabulary. his mind clouded with memories, being reminded of the silly obnoxious man that would bounce out of nowhere, someone he'd spent having long talks of comfort, a bro to always be there to help... to now him aiming to beat him down till he couldn't stand on either foot. "he's right," smg3 softly spoke, "nothing we do will work. we can't beat him..." smg3 added in a defeated tone.

"finally that's progress into your head!" tsb exclaimed, adding in a child-like giggling, giving the two guardians chills down their spines. till suddenly a lightbulb sparked inside smg4.

"wait that's it!" smg4 said. "into your head!"

"what in the hell are you-" smg3 spoke, but he was interrupted by his hand being pulled away by his blue counterpart.

puzzled yet intrigued, tsb grins and starts the chase after the smg's. staying somewhat close behind, but far enough to make the chase more of a game instead. dragging his body unnaturally on purpose.

smg3 got a hold of his stance, running behind smg4 but flustered by the sudden hand grab turned into holding. "b-baka! w-where are we-"

"while i was locked up by tsb and by that weird pink sand time guy," smg4 interjected, "right before you guys found me i was starting my escape when i accidentally stumbled upon watching him put a weird helmet device onto tsb's head." the two running out of the dark void they were formally at, to a slim hallway of the same black stardust material on the walls, floor, and ceiling. "and that is relevant how?" smg3 queried, puzzled, taking a mental note of tsb following them behind. yet tsb wasn't close enough to listen to the smg's conversation.

"that helmet device is the key! i overheard that sand guy its used to go into memories of mortals!"

"so why did he put one on tsb? to manipulate and control him or some shit?"

"m-maybe? i don't know yet! but it's our ticket to hopefully stopping this rampage of his before that cartoon legit kills us! you're close with him, maybe you can try punching his chaotic shit out of his mind?" smg4 quizzed.

"pfftha! that i can do!" smg3 cheered, a smirk blooming across his face. becoming aware of the possibility of potentially saving his friend who may be mind-controlled, it just made sense! the tsb he knew would never act this strange or dangerous. an observation thought the purple guardian kept to himself, fully aware of what his partner may have opinionated if spoken aloud. smg3 may love his guardian partner, but he knows for a fact from the small crescent of his emo heart who tsb truly is as an individual. even if smg3 lacks personal background and proof to support his belief, he would curse smg4's name for believing it. he only hopes that one day smg4 could realize for himself, how wrong he is about the silly looney toon. only time could tell as smg4 continued to lead them to what seemed like an endless dream space. seeing the same black void tingled confusion in his mind, it felt like an illusion even seeing the same thing repeatedly. his eyes giving a sense of lost in reality.

finally, smg4 jerked into an open room of an iron door, a space surrounded by chalkboards, paper, technology equipment, and science shenanigans smg3 took note of. smg4 immediately began searching for one of the helmet devices he mentioned, successfully within seconds smg4 found it and held it high in accomplishment. it was shaped and looked like a thick, solid helmet made for riding bicycles, painted all white accompanied by a red, yellow, and blue stripe down the center of the headwear. immediately, smg4 began searching for a second one to complete the mind transaction process. just as he does, tsb creepily walks in announcing his entrance, "back by popular demand...ME!" the 'me' delivered in an almost demonic-like vocal expression.

smg3 let out a small cry in surprise, retreating to smg4's side, praying now that smg4 was right about this plan. "alright 3, you grab ahold of him as best you can in a still position so i can input this on top of his stupid head!" smg4 ordered, moving to the side cautiously eyeing tsb.

smg3 nodded, "got it." he spoke not as enthusiastic as before, as he began to mentally prepare to hold that crazy cartoon maniac down after already a long fighting session as his life seriously depended on it. he prepped his stance, knees bent down at a 90-degree angle, spreading his legs for a wider range. "come on now then, big boy! show daddy how much you love him!" smg3 shouted, fanning his hands as a motion to invite tsb to come at him.

tsb manically laughed, full sprinting and pouncing at smg3 letting out a fnaf 2 foxy jumpscare scream. immediately the two began wrestling hitting and smacking down tables and chairs that flooded the room, papers flying above as cords being detached were heard. smg3 attempts to land punches to only then be received with a bite on his arm instead. smg3 bit his lip in an attempt to hold in his screams of pain and instead used it as the perfect opportunity to flip their positions with smg3 now on top of him. pressing his arm further back into tsb's mouth to stabilize him with his head in an upward locked position, despite the bottom half of his body being twisted the other way due to his unnatural body physics. using his other hand to aggressively stabilize tsb's hands, whereas his foot locked down tsb's legs.

smg4 stood on the sidelines, patiently and anxiously waiting for smg3 to hold the cartoon still, and just as his partner did smg4 rushed in without a second thought placing the device on top of tsb's head. swiftly removing tsb's propeller hat to prevent it from getting in the way. remembering how the pink sand man did it on him by pressing a black button on the side to activate it. after it was finally set on tsb's head, smg4 took a step back watching as the man pinned on the ground attempted to remove the helmet to no avail.

"now what!?" smg3 yelled with a struggled tone, growing anxiously impatient and mentally screaming in agonizing pain, grinding his teeth hard as tsb only dug his teeth deeper into the purple guardian's arm urgently attempt for freedom.

"okay, okay, i just need you to hold your head still and i'll place the second helmet on you so you can mind travel into his crazy brains or whatever!" smg4 hurriedly said, just as panicked as his guardian partner. swiftly grabbing the second helmet he had behind him and rushing towards back to smg3.

however, tsb did not like the plan these partnered guardians were cooking up. this time, putting all his energy into brute force to twist smg3 down to the opposite side of smg4's path to prevent him from putting the helmet on.

the purple meme guardian screamed in agony as his head harshly hit the floor, his body positioned awkwardly to be kept down by tsb. smg4 jolted from the sudden change of control and stood frozen in fear. to tsb's misfortune, smg3 was still holding onto tsb's hands enough to continue to prevent him from manually removing the helmet. yet the catch was there was no safe possible way to input the helmet onto smg3's head without tsb interfering.

"smg3! i-i can't find a safe spot to put the helmet on you!" smg4 said worriedly, fearful of his plan coming to a defeat. it couldn't end like this, he needed to think of something! tsb only laughed to himself, concluding by default victorious without the consideration of smg3 coming to a concluded thought. a thought that not only would help them win on top but a thought that may finally answer his prayers for the person he cared most to finally understand.

"s-smg4," the purple counterpart started, "YOU have to put the helmet on!" this suggestion surprised both his partner and the animated cartoon. "you can't put it on me, but it's not impossible for you to put it on yourself. YOU got to go inside this dumb dr. pepper loving asshole's brains and fix him!"

"i-i can't do that!" smg4 stuttered, shaking anxiously realizing the aim smg3 was getting at.

"yes you can! you can do it for me or for hell's sake do it for tari! she needs out help! we can't waste anymore time smg4!" smg3 exclaimed impatiently.

"i don't know how-"

"NEITHER DO I!" smg3 bursted, "but you trust and believe in me enough to do it anyways from the start! i trust and believe right back at you man." smg4 stood idly shocked, and to his surprise so did tsb. catching himself staring into tsb's eyes, they were still narrowed like before but... this time he could see a white arrow-shape glimmer in them. it almost felt like he was pleading for him to do so, to put on the helmet... but why? as if lost time on a timer, tsb's eyes reeled back to maniac mode, and resumed his attempt to freed himself from smg3's bearable grasp. "DO IT NOW FOUR!" smg3 yelled as he pushed in all his remaining energy to hold tsb down.

in a hesitant instance, smg4 removed his hat and put the helmet on. "NOOO!" screamed tsb in a higher echoed pitch, an unrecognized voice that didn't belong to tsb. with one more glance at his best friend, the two meme guardians gave each other an agreeable nod as smg4 pushed the button. with one final physical motion as smg4 could hear the technology within the helmet activate, smg4 raised his arm up, and gave a thumbs up.

to be continued...

...

fri: “watchman” was an outworldly entity, one could even label a god, but they were much more than that. an entity by physical appearance built up by particles of pink fluidity sand. as if a piece had its own consciousness. watchman was a playful being, understood empathy, sympathized with others, and yearned to nurture those suffering in pain. romantical pain even. always watching love play… always… watching… tick tock.

#tsb #tsb fanfic #smg4 #smg3 #smg4 smg3 #smg34 #smg4 fanfic #fanfic #oc fanfic #oc fanfiction #tsb 1k birthday party #tsb official

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80pairsofcrocs · 2 months ago

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spacial sparks || 4

Chapter warnings - apocolypse talk, drug use, alcohol, y/n being a consenting(?) hostage, fighting (verbal and physical), five is super bipolar, klaus being klaus, let me know if i missed anything

~~~

Second pov

~~~

"I survived on scraps. Canned food, cockroaches, anything I could find." Five chuckles from beside you, the sound a stark contrast to the harsh realities you had faced. You shifted slightly, favoring a position closer to him, absorbing his every word with an almost desperate eagerness.

"You know that rumor that Twinkies have an endless shelf life?" Five posed the question, his tone laced with a hint of amusement.

"Well, it's total bullshit," Five declared matter-of-factly, causing a fleeting smile to grace your lips before disappearing behind a mask of neutrality. Vanya's voice, tinged with disbelief, broke through the somber atmosphere.

"I-I can't even imagine," she stuttered, her words echoing the unfathomable depths of survival desperation. As Five paused before continuing, you couldn't help but question the narrative.

'I thought he said he was alone..' the thought lingered in your mind, a whisper of doubt surfacing amidst the unfolding revelations.

"Whatever the world threw at us, we found a way to overcome it," Five's words resonated with a haunting truth, leaving a trail of unspoken mysteries in their wake.

Vanya's curiosity mirrored your silent ponderings, her query about the enigmatic "We?" left unanswered, lost in the shadows of unspoken histories shared between them.

Five's abrupt request for something stronger stirred a response from Vanya, her gaze unwavering.

Caught in the ambiguity of the moment, you exchanged a shrug with Five, a silent acknowledgment of the complexities that intertwined your fates.

Turning back to Vanya, Five's blunt declaration pierced the air. "You think I'm crazy."

"No," Vanya stammers softly, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "It's just..." she trails off, her words hanging in the air, heavy with the weight of the situation.

"It's a lot to take in," she finally admits, her eyes searching for understanding.

After that, Five releases a tired sigh, the sound filled with exasperation. "Exactly what don't you understand?" he questions, his tone edged with frustration as he seeks clarity in the midst of confusion.

"Why didn't you just time travel back?" Vanya inquires.

Five sighs again, fatigue evident in his movements as he rubs a hand wearily down his face. "Gee, wish I'd thought of that," he remarks dryly, his words laced with a touch of sarcasm.

"Time travel is a crapshoot," he explains, his voice tinged with a sense of resignation. "I went into the ice and never acorn-ed," he admits, a note of regret creeping into his words as he recalls past attempts.

"You think I didn't try everything to get back to my family?" he challenges Vanya rhetorically, his gaze intense as he searches for understanding.

"If you grew old there, you know, in the apocalypse, how come you still look like a kid?" Vanya's question hangs in the air, a mix of curiosity and concern evident in her expression.

"I told you already," Five begins, his gaze shifting between you and Vanya, a sense of vulnerability flickering across his features. "I must have got the equations wrong," he admits, his voice tinged with a hint of self-doubt.

"I mean, Dad always used to say that..." Five's voice trails off, his thoughts drifting momentarily as he pours himself a drink, the weight of his past experiences evident in his actions. "Time travel could mess up your mind."

"Well, maybe that's what's happening?" Vanya's voice held a hint of uncertainty as she posed the question to Five, who responded with a ponderous silence.

"This was a mistake. You're too young," Five's words carried a tone of concern as he firmly grasped your wrist, pulling you towards the door. "too naive to understand."

"No. Five... Five, wait." Vanya stepped in front of him, halting his movements before folding her hands into her pockets.

"I haven't seen you in a long time, and I don't want to lose you again. That's all." Vanya attempted to convey her emotions, her expression a mix of regret and sincerity as she blocked the path to the door before turning to address you.

"And I haven't been fair to you, and I need to make up for it," she affirmed.

Gratefully acknowledging Vanya's words, you offered a appreciative smile, though tinged with a hint of restraint.

"And you know what, it's getting late, and I have lessons early, and I need to sleep, and I'm sure you guys do, too," she says gently, noticing the tired expressions on both your faces, emphasizing the importance of rest before guiding you both back to the couch.

"Here," Vanya offers, placing a warm blanket on the couch where you and Five are awkwardly standing next to each other, creating a cozy and inviting atmosphere for the night.

"We'll all talk in the morning again, okay? I promise," Vanya reassures Five before bidding goodnight and retiring to her room for some well-deserved rest, punctuating her departure with a soft murmur of "Night," as she closes the door behind her quietly.

"Night," you and Five respond simultaneously, acknowledging the end of the day and the need for sleep.

You turn to Five, meeting his gaze as he sits on the couch and you perch on its arm, one leg lifted off the ground, seeking confirmation about your departure plans.

"We aren't staying here right?" you ask softly, your tone reflecting a hopeful anticipation for returning to your own space and routine.

"Nope," Five confirms, a hint of amusement in his voice as he assures you of the imminent departure.

"Thank god," you mumble, feeling the tension in your temples gradually ease as your headache subsides.

Glancing over at Five, you notice him fixated on what appears to be a glass eye, though you can't be certain.

"What is that?" you inquire, prompting Five to swiftly tuck the eye away in his pocket.

"The key to saving the world," he replies earnestly, but your amusement gets the best of you.

"Sorry, it's just that you seemed so serious," you chuckle, earning a stern look from Five.

"I am serious," he asserts, his tone now tinged with impatience. Your teasing continues nonetheless.

"Yeah, well, I found it endearing," you jest. Mimicking his grave tone, you exaggerate, "'Save the world'," complete with air quotes, provoking an eye roll from Five as he averts his gaze.

"Stop talking," he snaps, his frustration palpable, before abruptly pulling you up and whisking you both away from Vanya's, back into the open air.

"You—" You start, only to be cut off by Five.

"Didn't I just specifically instruct you to shut your fucking mouth?" He challenges.

"And yet here we are, you dragging me around like a sidekick, after you kidnapped me." you quip, trying to lighten the tension.

Five's glare softens momentarily as he encourages you into the waiting car. "Get in and stay quiet."

"Okay, Grandpa," you playfully respond, quick to comply and slip into the vehicle before he can protest further.

~~~

As you and Five stood in the elevator on your way to an office, a sense of curiosity lingered in the air as you questioned him about the eye concealed in his pocket.

"Are we here to find out whose eye is in your pocket?" you inquired, prompting Five to respond with a mocking tone, acknowledging your perceptiveness.

"Now you're using your brain," he retorted with a taunting smirk. "You want a treat?"

You glare. "Dick."

"Very mature, y/n."

With Five glancing back intermittently to ensure you trailed behind, the background noise of ringing phones and chatter filled the air as you were approached by a man in medical attire, curious about your business.

"Uh, can I help you?" the doctor questioned, prompting Five to reveal the eye he held in his grasp.

"I need to know who this belongs to." Five requests.

"Where did you get that?" the doctor asks skeptically.

"What do you care?" Five snaps, making the doctor look at him with concern.

Witnessing the exchange, you raised an eyebrow, silently contemplating the effectiveness of his approach.

'He's never going to get an answer if he snaps that quickly,' you thought to yourself, recognizing the importance of maintaining a level head in such situations.

After letting out a deep, weary sigh, you instinctively reach out to guide Five behind you, your hands resting on his shoulders to subtly keep him behind you.

With an artificially bright smile plastered across your face, you tentatively announce, "We... We found it..."

Five shoots you a quizzical glance before nonchalantly shrugging off your touch. "At a playground, actually," you continue, the pieces of the story slowly coming together in your mind.

As you start fumbling for the right words, your hands instinctively find refuge in your pockets, providing a fleeting moment of comfort.

"Uh, must have just..." you trail off, searching for the appropriate expression.

Five chimes in, clicking his tongue, and smoothly interjects, "Popped out," offering you the missing conclusion.

"We want to return it to its rightful owner," he quickly asserts, mirroring your action by burying his hands in his own pockets.

"Yep..." you mumble softly, feeling the weight of the situation settle upon you.

The man before you responds with admiration, calling you both thoughtful young individuals, prompting your forced smile to falter into a grimace of discomfort.

"Yeah. Look up the name for me, will ya?" Five abruptly sheds his facade of congeniality, revealing impatience seeping through his demeanor by the second, a change not lost on you as you observe his edginess intensify.

"Uh, I'm sorry, but patient records are strictly confidential," the doctor began to explain, a tinge of reluctance evident in his voice, causing you to roll your eyes almost involuntarily.

"That means I can't tell you-" his sentence abruptly ending as Five abruptly interrupted, cutting to the chase.

"Yeah, we know what it means," Five interjected, a touch of impatience lacing his words as he took control of the conversation.

The man, sensing the tense atmosphere, attempted to diffuse the situation with a hesitant smile. "But I'll tell you what I can do," he spoke, his voice softening slightly as he made a half-hearted attempt to reach for the eye.

"I will take the eye off your hands and return it to the owner." His words hung in the air amidst the growing tension between Five and the man.

Five, however, was having none of it. His voice hardened as he blocked the man's attempt to touch the eye, his gaze unwavering. "Yeah, you're not touching this eye," he asserted firmly, drawing a clear line in the sand.

Startled by this bold confrontation, the doctor's initial demeanor faltered. "Now, you listen here, young man," he tried to regain control of the situation, only to be forcefully interrupted as Five grabbed his collar, pulling him down to eye level in a display of intimidating authority.

Witnessing this intense exchange, you instinctively took a step back, your eyes widened and lips pressed into a tight line, feeling the escalating tension in the room.

"No! You listen to me, asshole, I've come a long way for this, through some shit your pea brain couldn't even comprehend." Five's voice rose with determination, his words laced with a mixture of defiance and frustration as he directed his unwavering gaze at the man in white.

As you contemplated the unfolding confrontation, briefly considering the option of making a hasty escape from the escalating scene, it became apparent that Five was deeply invested in the situation, his tenacity clear despite your potential desire to slip away unnoticed.

"So just give me the information I need, and we'll be on our merry way," you hear Five say assertively as you cautiously back up towards the elevator, your hand reaching out to push the down button.

"And if you call me 'young man' one more time, I'm gonna put your head through that damn wall," Five threatens in a low, menacing tone while engrossed in the conversation with the doctor, his demeanor exuding a clear warning that he means business.

"Oh, dear," the lady at the reception desk exclaims in a mildly concerned tone, sensing the escalating tension.

"Call security," the doctor requests urgently, prompting the receptionist to comply without hesitation, taking swift action to handle the unfolding situation.

As the elevator doors slide open, you swiftly enter and instinctively press the button for the main floors, anticipating a discreet escape.

A fleeting glance reveals Five turning around, his searching gaze finally locking onto you within the confines of the elevator.

Witnessing his reaction, you see him beginning to stride purposefully in your direction, his head shaking almost paternalistically, a gesture reminiscent of a disappointed father reprimanding a wayward child who has just knocked over a prized possession.

As your eyes widen once more, a surge of impatience rises within you, prompting you to rapidly push the close doors button.

The urgency of the situation escalates with each step closer that Five walks towards you, driving you to press the button with increasing speed, not even bothering to glance up and locate his positioning.

With frustration mounting, you transition from pushing to punching the button, the forceful impacts punctuated by muttered expletives.

"Fucking" - another punch, "Close" - another, as if the intensity of your actions could command the doors to shut faster.

When the doors finally heed your command and begin to close, your gaze involuntarily lifts, revealing an absence where Five once stood in front of you.

Your movements slow as you cautiously turn around, only to find his piercing gaze fixed on you from behind.

His expression conveys a mixture of amusement and disbelief, causing you to deflate with a resigned sigh, your eyes dropping to the ground.

"Nice try," he taunts sarcastically, the knowing glint in his eyes triggering a surge of defiance within you.

Meeting his gaze with a glare, you feel the weight of his words as he remarks, "Really, I expected better from an assassin," teasingly cloaked in mock pity.

"It would be more believable if we went back with a parent," you suggest, cautiously eyeing Five, silently hoping that he grasps your subtle hint.

The elevator doors glide open, and as you step out with Five, making your way back towards the outside of the building, you decide to further emphasize your point.

"Like one of your siblings," you elaborate, carefully choosing your words.

"Do you know if they're busy?" Five asks you, back in his serious mode.

You nod. "Well Luther is going crazy about the moon, Allison is trying to go home, Vanya would cave under pressure, Diego's off playing hero, so that really only leaves one person." you explain swiftly, looking to Five.

"No," he starts, his voice firm and resolute, his brows furrowing ever so slightly in mild frustration.

"But-" you attempt to interject, only to be abruptly cut off by his unwavering tone.

"No, we are not bringing Klaus," Five reiterates, his words laced with a sense of finality as he halts his steps, fixing you with a somber yet determined gaze.

"Well it's either Klaus or the apocalypse. It's your choice," you explain firmly before beginning to turn away.

With a sudden tug at the back of your shirt, Five halts your movement and concedes, "Okay, let's find Klaus." His reluctant acceptance brings a sly smile to your face.

"But if he fucks it up, I'm blaming you." he adds, grasping your wrist and steering you back towards where the car had been parked.

"Get-"

"I know, I know." You comply, sinking into the car seat. "Jeez." you mutter under your breath, following his lead with a hint of exasperation evident in your tone.

~~~

Arriving at the academy alongside Five, you split up to tackle different tasks: he went off to find Klaus, leaving you to explore the kitchen downstairs.

As you idly flipped one of Diegos knives in your hand, your attention was drawn to a loose floorboard. Curious, you skillfully lifted it with the tip of the knife and unveiled your hidden stash concealed beneath.

Among the items nestled there were a few lighters, a pack of cigarettes, and various powders and pills of mysterious origin.

Laying the knife aside, you helped yourself to a red lighter and a small bag of colorful pills, tucking them discreetly into your pockets. After carefully replacing the floorboard, you made your way upstairs in search of Five and Klaus.

Before stepping out of the kitchen, you paused to place the knife back on the counter. Climbing the stairs, you headed towards Klaus' room and caught snippets of a conversation mentioning your name.

Intrigued, you lingered outside the slightly ajar door, eavesdropping to glean insights into the ongoing discussion.

"y/n is one of the 43, you've seen her powers right?" you hear Klaus ask Five inquisitively, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Yes, but that doesn't explain why she looks like me," Five retorts, his tone slightly defensive. "You know why. Don't you?" Five probes sarcastically, a knowing edge to his words.

You hear Klaus stammer, his usual confident demeanor faltering, and you feel your hands get a little sweaty with apprehension. "It's not my story to tell, so what's this about an eye?" Klaus laughs uneasily, diverting the conversation to a seemingly lighter topic.

You notice Five sigh, his footsteps echoing as he paces around the room.

"Can she be trusted?" Five questions Klaus, a touch of wariness in his voice that doesn't escape your attention. you hold your breath, sensing the weight of the pending answer.

"Of course, I've known her for almost 15 years," Klaus responds sincerely, his assurance bringing a sense of relief that washes over you, calming your nerves.

"15 years," Five echoes, his voice tinged with contemplation. "And she hasn't done anything to... hurt you?" Five delves further, his investigation probing deeper.

You shake your head in silent reassurance, a moment of certainty prompting you to open the door and reveal your presence, stepping into the conversation with a sense of resolve.

"No," you start, your voice cutting through the tension in the room and causing the two startled boys, Klaus and Five, to snap their heads towards you with surprise at your sudden appearance.

"I wouldn't hurt Klaus or anybody else, not even if there was a gun pressed against my head," you affirm, fixing Five with a firm glare that conveys your unwavering stance.

"Sparky..?"

"Hm?" you respond as Klaus questions your name, his tone filled with curiosity.

Following his gaze to your hands, you furrow your brows in confusion before you look down, discovering that your fingers are emitting little sparks of blue light, a physical manifestation of your intense anger in that moment.

Realizing the electrical display, you quickly apologize, exclaiming, "Sorry," while vigorously shaking your hands to cease the sparks.

Meanwhile, Five observes you with a complex expression that seems to blend shock, confusion, and a hint of understanding, a mixture of emotions reflecting perhaps his own inner turmoil.

However, before anyone can delve deeper into the situation, the moment is abruptly interrupted, diverting attention away from the unusual occurrence, leaving a lingering sense of tension and curiosity hanging in the air.

"Five? y/n?" you all hear from downstairs. "Are you upstairs?" it was Vanya, you totally forgot about last night.

As Vanya's voice echoed through the house, a sense of unease settled over the room. In a hurried flurry of movement, Five pushed Klaus into the wardrobe, leaving you bewildered and bewildered by the sudden turn of events.

Glancing back at you, Five offered a nonchalant shrug before awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, a telltale sign of his unease, just as the sound of Vanya's approaching footsteps on the staircase became more audible.

"Guys?" she called out, her voice tinged with relief upon finally locating you both. "Oh, thank God- I was worried sick about you two." With genuine concern etched on her features, Vanya scanned the room, her eyes searching for any signs of injury or harm that may have befallen you.

Sensing the tension in the air, Five took the lead in offering an apology on behalf of both of you. "Sorry we left without saying goodbye."

You stood beside him, silently concurring with a subtle nod, your arms involuntarily crossing as a defensive gesture.

"No, look, I'm the one that should be sorry," Vanya began, the words tumbling forth in a rush as she grappled with her own guilt and confusion. Five's eyes darted nervously towards the wardrobe, a silent reminder of the unfinished business lingering in the room.

"Yeah, I was dismissive, and... I... I guess I didn't know how to process what you were saying," Vanya continued, her voice tinged with a mix of regret and uncertainty. "And I still can't, to be honest," she concluded, leaving the weight of unspoken truths hanging in the air.

"It felt real," he finally starts, talking slowly. "And perhaps you were right to be dismissive." He sighs.

"Well like you said, the old man did say time travel could contaminate the mind," you look at Five with sympathy, even though he couldn't see it, understanding the weight of his words and the uncertain nature of his reality.

It was weird to feel bad for this crazy guy who literally showed up out of nowhere. You don't know all the facts, but you know there's more to the story than what he's already said, a hidden narrative driving his determination to save the world despite his outward appearance of instability and detachment.

"Then maybe I'm not the right person for you to be talking to," Vanya says, breaking me from my thoughts, her tone laced with concern and a tinge of regret.

"Look, I used to see someone, a therapist, I-I could give you her information-" she gets cut off, her attempt to offer assistance overshadowed by Five's own internal struggles and desire for solitude.

"Thanks, but... I think I'm just gonna get some rest," Five tells Vanya, then glances at you, his gaze contemplative and weighted with exhaustion. "It's been a long time since I've had a good sleep, and I'm sure y/n wouldn't mind some rest too," Five finishes, acknowledging not only his own weariness but also the potential need for respite shared by those around him.

"Okay," Vanya sighs as she leaves the room, leaving you to stare after her, her departure marking a brief moment of respite in the midst of uncertainty and chaos.

You hear clattering coming from inside the closet, making you look at it with furrowed eyebrows.

"That's so...'' Klaus starts, falling out of the closet in a somewhat undignified manner, then quickly brushing himself off before continuing rather theatrically. "...touching, all that stuff about family and Dad and time. Wow!" Klaus exclaims enthusiastically, his eyes sparkling with emotion, which elicits a soft smile from you in response to his genuine sentiment.

"Would you shut up? She'll hear you." Five instructs Klaus sternly, causing you to playfully roll your eyes at their banter, which is a common occurrence between the two.

"I'm moist." Klaus declares to both of you with a mischievous grin on his face, prompting a snort from you, and earning a disapproving look from Five before he redirects his attention back to Klaus, who is clad in an eccentric 'Klaus' ensemble that is a visual representation of his character.

"I told you to put on something professional." Five reminds Klaus, a hint of exasperation evident in his tone, emphasizing the importance of the occasion they are preparing for.

"What?" Klaus defends himself, placing a hand over his heart in a melodramatic gesture. "This is my nicest outfit." Klaus informs him with a touch of resignation in his voice, prompting you to let out a small sigh, understanding Klaus's unique sense of style and his attachment to it.

"I think you look great," you say with a smile as you give Klaus a thumbs up, appreciating the noticeable joy that lights up his face, followed by a small 'yay'.

Five, always the pragmatist, brushes a strand of hair out of his face and playfully warns, "Don't encourage him," nodding towards you before deciding, "We'll raid the old man's closet," as he heads out of the room, with you and Klaus trailing behind.

Klaus, always eager for the next adventure, promptly chimes in, "As long as I get paid," reminding Five of the practical aspect of their plan.

Five assures him, "When the job is done," emphasizing the importance of finishing what they started. Sensing Klaus's need for clarification, Five listens as Klaus begins to inquire, "Okay, but just so we're clear on the finer details, I just gotta go into this place and pretend to be your dear old dad, correct?"

"Yeah. Something like that," Five responded with a cryptic smile, raising more questions than answers.

Klaus interrupted the cryptic exchange with a curious inquiry, "What about y/n?" As Klaus gestured towards you, standing next to him, the spotlight inadvertently shifted your way.

Curiosity piqued, you questioned, "Yeah, what about me?" With a playful undertone, you urged Klaus to share his imminent revelation, crossing your arms defensively.

Klaus, ever the drama enthusiast, raised his hands dramatically, leading to a near miss as he almost struck your face. Momentarily taken aback, you shot him a disapproving look.

The trio stood frozen on the verge of the staircase, poised for Klaus's impending declaration. With theatrical flair, Klaus made his bold announcement, "I will be your dad," he targets towards Five, prompting skeptical looks exchanged between you and the boy.

Before the tension could mount further, Klaus dropped the unexpected bombshell, "and y/n will be your girlfriend!" Your reaction was immediate; a crimson flush spread across your cheeks, signaling your internal shock.

Confusion clouded your mind as you grappled with Klaus's unorthodox proposition, whispering a singular question, "Why?"

Klaus, undeterred by your reserve, slyly added, "Because you're not a Hargreeves... yet," his enigmatic tone leaving the group pondering the depth of his cryptic statement.

"That's a dumb reason," Five says to Klaus threateningly, emphasizing his point about the misunderstanding regarding his relationship with you. "She's not my girlfriend."

You attempt to reason with Klaus, explaining, "I don't even know him, I met him literally yesterday." However, before you can finish your explanation, Klaus swiftly grabs you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to prevent you from escaping.

As Klaus continues to tease Five about potentially dating you, he squeezes your cheeks playfully. "Who wouldn't want to date her? She's just like a cute little puppy." Despite your discomfort, Klaus seems amused by his comparison, flashing a genuine smile down at you.

Reacting quickly to Klaus's teasing, you deliver a small shock to his ribs, causing him to release his hold on you with a surprised yelp. "Bad Sparky," he mutters in response, acknowledging the unexpected jolt you gave him.

Turning your attention to Five, you notice that he avoids looking directly at you, but you can't help but observe a slight red tint at the tips of his ears, mirroring the color that has tinted your own cheeks in this playful interaction.

'good god-' you say in your head, your thoughts interrupted by Klaus swiftly changing the subject with a lighthearted comment.

"Anywho, what's our cover story?" Klaus queries, causing an air of mischief to settle in the room. As you furrow your brows in confusion, Five's sardonic tone cuts through the tension.

"What? What are you talking about?" Five questions aloud, reverting to his usual acerbic demeanor. Sensing his sharpness, you shift your attention to him, your expression now calm and collected.

"I mean, was I really young when I had you? Like, 16?" He speculates, glancing mischievously at Five. "Like, young and-" His voice trails off, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "terribly misguided?" he jests, attempting to lighten the moment.

"Sure," Five responds nonchalantly, signaling his agreement with a subtle nod.

"Your mother, that slut.'' Klaus continues. "Whoever she was. We met at.." he thinks for a moment, you looking at him in disbelief. "the disco!" he chuckles.

"Okay? Remember that." he requests you and Five, reminiscing about the unforgettable encounter with your mother at the disco, punctuated by the jovial chuckle in his tone.

"Oh, my God, the sex was a-maz-ing!" he playfully croons, leading you to involuntarily snort out a laugh while you're already halfway down the stairs, the absurdity of the situation not lost on you.

Five glances at Klaus incredulously, shaking his head.

"What a disturbing glimpse into that thing you call a brain," he remarks, chuckling softly to himself, revealing an inkling of fondness beneath his teasing tone.

Klaus, undeterred by Five's comment, fires back playfully, "Don't make me put you both in a time-out," infusing his words with a mischievous glint.

~~~

A/N : oof that took forever, two days actually. y'all are lucky I already have all the chapters written. otherwise you'd be waiting for a loooong time. welcome back!!

word count : 4782

#x reader #reader insert #tua five #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves #five x reader #five x y/n #the umbrella academy #spacial sparks

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safeturnip · 4 months ago

Text

hey beautiful, what's a girl like you doing living all by yourse- wait, why are you screaming and pointing a cross at me

words: 2.9k

characters: GeminiTay, PearlescentMoon, Scott Smajor, ImpulseSV

summary: Gem moves into a new apartment and discovers an . . . unwanted guest.

additional tags: horror, feelings of isolation, mild body horror

(written for round 2 of soul searching for @mcyt-soulmate-sweepstakes !!)

AO3 link

***

Gem stared at the screen of her laptop, waiting for it to boot up, silently willing the circuitry to work faster. Stubbornly, the screen remained black, even as the sound of the fans whirring drowned out the ever-present muffled creaking and rattling of the apartment complex’s pipes. While the laptop struggled along, Gem cast a furtive glance around the confines of her two-room apartment—nothing. There was no one else here. It was just her.

Of course it’s just me, Gem thought, trying to will her thoughts into reassuring territory and falling short. Who else would—

A flash of light from her laptop caught her attention, and she turned back to the offending electronic device. It’d finally turned on, and she couldn’t help but sigh in relief, dragging it closer to her across the desk and immediately opening up the search engine, quickly typing in her query.

“‘DIY exorcism’?” a voice questioned from directly behind Gem, reading out the text in the search bar. Every muscle in Gem’s body locked up. Slowly, she turned in her chair to face the source of that voice, dread pooling in her chest, wishing with every fibre of her being that there would be nothing there. Yet she knew that her paltry wishing was not enough to will away what she knew she’d see.

Behind her was a woman with long honey-brown hair, and grey-blue eyes that seemed to catch and ensnare the near-dingy lighting of the apartment. Overtop her white T-shirt was a black hoodie, unzipped and with the hood half-pulled over her head, her hands tucked in the pockets of her jean shorts. Her mouth had the slightest tension at the corners like she was torn between laughing or bursting into tears.

“Planning on evicting me?” the woman asked, tipping her head to the side. “That’d be so rude of you, Gem.”

Still not saying anything, Gem dug her fingers into the backrest of the chair, staring at the woman—no, the ghost—in front of her.

“Nothing? No Hi, Pearl, how’ve you been? No It’s been so long, I’m so happy to see you again! My feelings are so hurt.” The ghost—Pearl—twisted her expression into something resembling moroseness while Gem continued to stare at her tension-filled trepidation.

The longer she looked at Pearl, the more off she appeared. Her edges weren’t quite as solid as they should be; they were blurry and almost transparent, as if she was being viewed through a shimmering screen of heat. She was too still—she didn’t blink or breathe, she didn’t shift with the minute, barely-there motions of the truly alive. She didn’t have a shadow, as if light simply forgot that she existed and slid straight through her, as easy as a butcher’s knife through meat and bone and tendon. It was obvious how dead a thing she was.

Gem hadn’t been blind to the apartment’s faults when she’d purchased it; in fact, the landlord of the apartment complex had told her directly about this unfortunate feature of the room.

“Yep, it's haunted!” he’d cheerfully informed her when she’d come to view the room. She’d spotted the listing in a newspaper and had been surprised and tentatively optimistic over the low price. The landlord added, “I’ve set the price so low because of the constant complaints of ‘supernatural’ occurrences happening in the room.” It was clear from the verbal air quotes he’d put around supernatural that he didn’t believe there was anything of the sort actually happening in the room. “You know, the usual horror movie crap—doors closing by themselves; crying and giggling heard when no one else is in the room with you; loud thumps that wake you up in the middle of the night.”

Gem hadn’t responded, just waited for the landlord to run out of words. His hair was the same dark brown as the paneling around the base of the hallway walls, the same dark brown as the door that led to the supposedly haunted apartment room. His eyes were a couple shades lighter than the dark green carpet, raised off the floor here and there from the slight warping of the wood floor beneath. The price of the apartment had already been enough to convince Gem to buy it, she just needed to get to the point where she could put her name down on the lease.

“Yeah, it’s gotten so bad that all the previous tenants had to leave without notice because of how concerned they were for their safety.” Despite talking about such an off-putting topic, the landlord still had a genial smile on his face, the exact same smile he’d been wearing when Gem first stopped by, a newspaper clipping in her hand and nowhere else to return to. Gem idly wondered if he ever stopped smiling.

The landlord continued: “My . . . friend said he thinks that there being a ghost in here—” with the hand not braced on his cane, he gestured loosely at the apartment beside them “—is a whole load of hogwash, and honestly, I have to agree with him. I’ve personally stayed in this room for a week and had nothing bad happen to me. If you do plan to move in here, I’m sure you’ll be fine!”

“Thank you,” Gem said, the first words she’d spoken outside of a polite greeting. She summoned up a pleasant smile, and added, “Do you mind if I take a quick look at the room?”

“Sure, sure.” The landlord unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Take your time; I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” He shot her a parting two-fingered salute then turned and left, the thump of his cane against the floor muffled by the carpet.

Gem hadn’t given the apartment more than a cursory sweep—one room that was a bedroom with a kitchen attached, the other room the bathroom—before taking the two flights of stairs down to the landlord’s office. She’d signed the lease, handed over a not-inconsiderable amount of the cash she had left, and the apartment was hers.

And for a while, everything had been fine. There were no ghosts, no supernatural occurrences, just the normal good and bad that came from living in a new place.

Good: rent was cheap; the windows were closed, had locks, and were leak-proof; the bed was wedged into one of the corners of the room, surrounded by walls on two out of the four sides; wifi was an amenity included in the rent, which was a pleasant surprise during Gem’s first few days adjusting to the apartment.

Bad: the floor right by her dresser creaked whenever she walked over it; the rooms were cramped in a way where she’d bang her elbows and knees against furniture she swore was further away the last time she checked; her clothes always somehow managed to slip off the hangers no matter how securely she hung them up.

But they were minor annoyances she could live around. The more important thing was that she’d found somewhere warm and dry and affordable to live—somewhere far, far away from Scott and Impulse.

In front of her, Pearl drifted closer—not walked, she would need to have bone and muscle in order to walk—the look in her eyes curious. Gem’s laptop lay forgotten on the desk, beside the television set that took up half of the desk whose default channel was crackling static, all her attention focused on the apparition before her. Pearl looked exactly the same as when Gem had seen her for the very first time.

Her first appearance hadn’t been accompanied with an ominous thundercrack, or a streak of lightning knifing through the sky, or the temperature dropping to below freezing. It had just been: One day, Gem turned on the lights in the bathroom, then saw, in the mirror behind her, a woman with brown hair and flint-blue eyes. The only reaction to seeing a stranger in her apartment had been the slow, dull thought of Oh—this may as well happen. It hadn’t even registered to her at first that Pearl wasn’t actually there, it wasn’t until the lights flickered and Gem turned around to see nothing, that she’d realized.

Gem had just thought it to be a one-time thing, had thought it to be a product of too many sleepless nights. But then the strangeness had continued: glasses of water hovering centimetres above the desk’s surface, a spark crackling in the gas range stove when she was in the bathroom, a dark figure lurking in the corner of the room when the only illumination came from the night time street lamps outside. And it was then that the label of the situation was changed from one-off hallucination to a haunting.

“That’s what I love about you, Gem,” Scott would always say to her, over the remnants of a late breakfast, or at three in the morning when the world was still asleep, or backstage after one of their performances, his wry smile illuminated by dimmed stage lights. “You’re so . . . decisive. It’s—when you want something, you know you want it, and you just go for it! I find that admirable.”

And when Gem left everything behind, burnt all the bridges between herself and her band members, she couldn’t help but think of Scott telling her that—you’re so decisive. That it was that decisiveness spurring her to move on and away so easily. It was that decisiveness contributing to her decision of staying at this apartment despite the constant haunting in her life, along with her slowly depleting store of money, along with her unwillingness to do it all again, pick up all her possessions and find another place. Of course it was her decisiveness, it was all her own choice to stay in this situation she’d created for herself.

Pearl was leaning over slightly, peering over Gem’s shoulder to look at the laptop screen, muttering something that sounded like “surprised you’re not looking at the job market”, and it was that decisiveness that had Gem clenching her hands into fists to hide their trembling as she said, “I don’t want you in my space, Pearl.” Gem rested a hand on the keyboard of the laptop, half-turning to continue her search. “And you refuse to go, so now I have to find a way to force you to leave.”

If she’d still been facing Pearl, she would’ve seen Pearl’s expression go blank, a wall with its covering facade of wallpaper stripped away to reveal the old, rotting dilapidation hidden underneath.

A sharp crackle of black static across the screen was Gem’s only warning before an invisible force slammed her laptop shut—Gem was barely able to pull her fingers out of the way. Gem spun around to face Pearl again, and choked back a scream, jolting away so violently that the edge of the desk slammed into her back. She barely registered the pain, her senses overrun by a panicked, clawing horror.

Pearl had changed. She no longer looked like a young woman—or, that wasn’t quite right; she looked like a person, but only in the loosest of senses. As if she was something that couldn’t possibly be described, and the definition of person had been stretched and pulled at and warped until it could finally fit around Pearl, leaving behind something just close enough to be recognizable, yet simultaneously so unnatural that it had every one of Gem’s instincts crying out for her to run.

There was something wrong with Pearl’s eyes. They were still the same grey-blue colour, but now they’d become stretched into something awful, lengthening vertically instead of horizontally, as though hooks had been inserted into her upper and lower eyelids and then pulled, forcing her eyes into that horrifying appearance. She hadn’t grown any larger in size, but her body now looked misshapen and elongated, a dead animal’s hide tacked down and spread out across a wooden stretcher. Her torso was now the same length as her legs, her arms and wrists and hands stretched out so that the tips of her fingers reached all the way down to her knees. She was a strung-out amalgamation of joints and limbs pulled gruesomely out of alignment.

With her transformation came a faint but permeating smell of rot and burning flesh, the light from the corner lamp flickering like a stuttering dying breath. Gem felt cornered, the desk digging into her back, and her gaze darted around the room, searching desperately for an escape or a weapon or some form—any form—of help. Unbidden, she thought, uselessly There is nowhere to hide in this tiny apartment.

Oh, Gem hadn’t always been afraid of Pearl. In the past, she could handle the radio switching itself on randomly, doors creaking slowly closed by themselves, waking up with her drawers and dressers flung open, their contents strewn messily around the room. But there hadn’t been any violence or outright aggression, there hadn’t been anything to make Gem consciously think she was in danger, and she thought she’d be able to live in relative peace with the ghost that had come with the apartment. But fear was a sneaky bastard. It had snuck up on her so quietly and so gradually that she didn’t notice it until its fingers were digging into her shoulders, its breath was ghosting across the back of her neck.

It had built and built, an underlying anxiousness of there being something foreign in your space, in an area that was supposed to be safe, that belonged to you and you only. And this sudden terrifying display of Pearl’s—slamming the laptop shut, her deformed appearance, the way she so easily manipulated the space around her—caused that subconscious build-up of fear to spill over, overrunning Gem’s mind, her senses, until all she knew was that scrabbling instinctual terror.

Pearl opened her mouth to speak, and the movement of her mouth wasn’t right, it was just a fake face mimicking the shape of words, but Gem still understood her perfectly when she said, “You’re stupid to think you can get rid of me, when I’ve been in this apartment for much longer than you have.”

Abruptly, Gem realized the temperature of the room had dropped, cold slithering through the space and dragging icy nails along Gem’s skin, her sharp, shallow breaths clouding in the air before her.

“Really, I thought you’d be grateful for the company,” Pearl said. “I’ve seen how you act, how you like to pretend that you’ve moved on from whatever it is you’re running from,” and Gem couldn’t breathe at those words, a vise crushing her lungs, at how Pearl had so easily reached into Gem’s mind and found the doors keeping thoughts Gem was so desperately trying to keep locked away, then wrenched them wide open so that—

Don't think about how she'd gotten a new phone number to ensure no one was able to contact her, but that didn't stop her from, whenever her phone rang, half-expecting to see one of two familiar numbers displayed on the screen. She never did.

Don’t think about how she would wake up in the morning, warm and disoriented, prepared to go downstairs and see Impulse cooking breakfast for her and Scott. Impulse always was the best at getting up on time in the mornings. But then she'd turn her head to the side and spot the kitchen of her new apartment just a couple steps away, and the reality of her situation would come crashing back down on her.

Don't think about how she was alone, how if everything truly had gone to plan she would never see Impulse and Scott ever again, and it was better for her this way, better to have isolated herself from them, especially after—

It took every ounce of Gem’s strength to wrestle that flood of memories down and away, but she managed it in the end, resurfacing to the pounding of her heart, adrenaline coursing hotly through her veins, her entire body trembling from fear or cold or sheer helplessness. The time where Gem hadn’t thought Pearl was dangerous felt as distant and far away as a ship sunk on the seafloor for centuries. I’m safe for now, was what she would tell herself whenever inanimate objects would start moving by themselves, whenever she heard an unfamiliar voice murmur nothing-words, and she habitually repeated that to herself now—yet directly on the heels of that assertion was a brand-new, traitorous thought of But for how much longer?

Pearl reached out with her wrecked, warped hands, with those spindly jointed fingers like the legs of spiders. She went to touch Gem’s shoulders, and Gem simultaneously felt and did not feel. She did not feel Pearl’s fingers or palms upon her body, because Pearl was dead—she felt an invisible heaviness coating her body, weighing her down, pinning her in place as her heart slammed against her rib cage and her breaths came out fast and shallow.

The thing before her smiled, and it was a terrible thing, hollow and inhuman. “But you’re all by yourself, far away from anything—anyone—familiar. You’re all alone.” Pearl didn’t move, but she seemed to grow in size, looming larger and larger over Gem until she blocked out the view of the rest of the apartment, until she was all Gem could see. “You’ve made sure of that.”

As suddenly as she'd appeared, Pearl vanished, taking with her the smell of burning decay and the guttering light, leaving Gem alone in her now-freezing apartment. Wrapping her arms around her midsection, Gem curled in on herself, and she shook and shook and struggled to get her breathing under control.

#life series #geminitay #gem #pearlescentmoon #pearl #scott smajor #impulsesv #shiny duo #gem and the scotts #mywriting #gonna admit that this is not my best work but. sometimes it just be like that

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 3 months ago

Note

Less fucked up idea for balance.

Alastor went missing for 7 years because he figured out how to escape Pride and went to explore the other rings.

Then one of the Sins recognises him when Lucifer posts a photo of the Hazbin Hotel in the Sins group chat.

Real question, did Alastor behave or leave a trail of chaos behind him in Wrath? Or dominate at eating contests in Gluttony? Or screw over people in Greed with deals?

LUST

He was well-behaved in Lust and Asmodeus thought the man got along well with his Fizzy frog, so he just let it be. In Lust, despite his hesitations, people there actually are very into consent and don't touch him if he doesn't want it. He wonders why he didn't visit here earlier... but does make the accquaintance of a number of hellborne there that would dazzle even Angel, if he deigned to get a phone.

He doesn't have one but gives people special runic instructions on how to contact him via any audio device (preferred radios) if they need his attention. It can come through his staff, or a radio, but in a pinch he can mentally tap into the airways to query them. His antlers double as radio antennae after all.

I like to think he tried on local attire, in a nonsexual way, and has a few items floating about his rooms just because they feel good to wear. He picked up Niffty a very concerning ballgag she wanted (had drawn her request specifically) that was signed by her favourite singer, Verosika - lovely young woman, needs to get ovver that ex of hers.

GLUTTONY

I always loved this fanfic where Queen Beez is the patron of cannibal town and has a real pal relationship with Rosie and Al. They'd get along as long as she doesn't spring a hellhound party on him. They'd be chaotic, she can whip up any food, she's full of energy, she likes to dance, he can play music and dance and grow just as big as her, they cause unintended destruction trying to outdo one another in a friendly way.

GREED

He finds Mammon obnoxious as hell and too like Vox, so he causes irreprable damage to Greed. Mammon still has posters strung up looking for that Red Deer Fucker, wanted dead or alive for an actual amount of money (but its mammon bucks soooooo).

Mammon is still finding tech that got fucked over by the deer, he's furious. Not to mention the clown comp stage burned down and these weird fuckin' doll things keep appearing and biting him. He can't rove its the sinner, but he's pretty sure.

Also he ate a shitload of those mafiosos down there, destabilised a few families and the power struggle left a vacuum. Mammon's pretty sure the dickhead managed to get the new heads of household into deals. But they won't squeal on the deer.

ENVY

Envy was a delight, though. He'd never had the chance to go to the seaside as a young person... too far. The bayou was all he knew. Leviathan, both of them, enjoy his faint envy and awe at the whole mess. He's a little ticked when they throw him into the ocean as an introduction, but overall he's a polite enough guest... Besides, when they get annoying, he's good at twisting them into an argument with one another.

WRATH

Had a BLAST in this realm. Fighting is encouraged, and he got the chance to throw hands, as the youth say, with opponents who were as spirited as they were deadly. Delightful!

He can't say he cares for the Western aesthetic, but families eeking out an existence in the middle of nowhere, raising crops against adversity does feel resonately familiar to some extent.

Alastor does find Satan to be a bit of a pompous blowhard, who dislikes being challenged, but let's be real... of course he challenged him. Verbally and physically. Satan did drop his abilities slightly to meet him head on for a fair fight, but it was definitely a one of a kind throw down.

As long as you can laugh at the end of a bout of fisticuffs, and most of your teeth are still in your body, then it ws a good match. He also now knows what a Sin tastes like (not that Asmodeus didn't subtly offer a different kind of taste, but he was gracious about the decline).

Satan did get annoyed when Alastor decided to start challenging him while he held court over minor matters, but didn't try to smite him. He did allow Alastor to eat one of the convicted goetia, though, so he assumes their camaraderie is in good standing.

SLOTH

He had to dodge constant psychoanalysis and offers of support from the Baphomets and their sleepy sovereign Belphagor. Lovely creature, seems to always be teetering between consciousness and wakefulness.

She did offer more than a few options around his consistent issues - like the headaches his radiowaves caused, being a perpetual receiver can cause some challenges- and upgraded his monocle from accessory to active colour-correcting aid.

She really tried to talk him into therapy but... no dice.

He dodged her, and she took notes. They had cordial conversations and he enjoyed the stay, it had an air of tranquility one couldn't find in any other ring. Especially not pride.

-----

He mostly enjoyed (especially with the upgraded monocle) seeing any colour other than saturating red. Oh he loved the colour, don't get him wrong but... seeing yellows and purples and blues and oranges again was delightful. Green wasn't too bad, but it was the wrong sort... he preferred the greens of his bayou, not caused by toxic fumes and dissolving bodies in acid.

------

PRIDE

Lucifer wants to fulfil Charlie's wish for a team photo, and all but chains the red fucker into the photo. He pins the guy in place with some sneaky magic and waves off the distortion, there, that'll fix the mysterious bad boy nonsense he's going on with.

Alastor's smile is less genuine in the first photo attempt, you can tell he's plotting murder towards the king, it's the eyes... so Charlie asks for another attempt and begs Al to at least look like he wants to be here... for her? please?

Lucifer knows the efficacy of those luminous eyes.

The deer capitulates.

The photo is framed and on the wall by the time Lucifer remembers that his phone is doing a breakdance on his desk right now, notifications pinging from the group chat given they survived an extermination. He grimaces and swipes it open.

There's a lot of questions to answer... but he does eventually dwindle them down to Manageable.

To stall having to explain about each member of the hotel, until he can remember if he has the right names to sinners ratio, he posts the photo and talks about Charlie's team.

"R U FKN KIDDING M3?! THAT's WHERE THE CUNT IS?!" Mammon texts furiously.

"Oh hey, tell Al hello! I haven't seen him in a few years, but he's always welcome to come par-tay! I want him to meet my new boyfriend, Tex, he's super into older music and I think Al can help him with that." Beez replied, adding confusion to the whole situation.

"Oh, tell him to drop by my palace, Fizzy and I miss his jokes. For an ace in the hole, he can tell a joke that would make nuns combust!" Ozzie adds, with about 18 emojis including a nunlike thing and fire.

"He's not that great." Levy "Oh shush, you disliked that he liked me more." Levi "Did not." Levy "DID TOO!" Levi

"Stop it you two, or I drop you from the chat." Satan "Yeah, I reckon I recall him... we fought once, it was a real good time getting to let loose and take on a skilled opponent. If he wants to mosey down to Wrath, he might like to meet my... friend."

"Oooh, the cute little therapist?" Beez teased.

"Ain't like that." Saan denied.

"A redemption hotel, you say? Funny, he refused my every effort to get him to try therapy..." Bel addded, muddying the waters.

Lucifer felt as if his brain had been gently switched out for a dial up modem. there was blank screeching behind his eyes.

"What the fuck are any of you on about? He's the daughter-stealing asshole bellhop hotelier something or other at Char Char's hotel, and he's a SINNER. They can't leave Pride, you must have mistaken him for a hellborn or something." He typed, furiously.

"Nah, that's him. Sounds like an old timey radio host? Hilarious? Willing to throw down for the heck of it?" Beez replies.

Lucifer is trying to work out how someone slipped through his wards to another Ring. Not just that, but to MULTIPLE other rings? Oooh this was bad. What if he's just the one Lucifer found out about? He needed to check the Ring seals.

"That's not possible. and if it was, then we have a big problem. Because if Heaven finds out Sinners are dribbling through to other Rings, they'll demand to exterminate in them... and I can't trust your hellborns will be safe. They're barely kept safe here, and now the accords are broken..." He was hyperventilating.

"Good news then, mate, give me the fucker and I'll just torture the information out of him, ey?! He fucked over my ring and left it in shreds!" Mammon seethed in the comments.

Asmodeus responded with a number of laughing and suggestive emojis. "Did you want me to send you something designed for rough play, Mam? Sounds like you two got freaky."

"FUCK YOU Oz, you keep ya smut outta my face and my business. This is about cold hard cash and the revenge I deserve because that cheeky fucker ruined a lotta my holdings." Mammon

Lucifer wondered if he could just banish the demon to Greed, and pretend to have not seen him if Charlie asked. But she'd find out, and she'd be so Disappointed...

actually, did sinners reform if they were outside Pride? Hell of a risk fighting others without knowing. The bellhop was insane, though.

"No one's getting the deer. If anyone gets to smite him, it's me. He dropped a PIANO on me and called me a bad father the first time we met. I have revenge dibs. Now... tell me everything about how he got into your realms and when. Need to trace his path and find out how this happened." Lucifer.

"Okay, so I think it was 6, 7 years back..." Bel started to type.

Over the course of several exchanges, Lucifer's brow furrows deeply. This wasn't... possible. This was ridiculous, even. How did a Sinner get so far into other Rings without triggering an alarm or failsafe?

How had he done it?

His phone vibrates with an incoming dropped message.

The group chat goes silent a moment, as whatever it is tries to open on Lucifer's phone, and he's forced to watch snippets of the battle they just fought plastered on screen.

The chat goes wild as Adam's girls try to hurt Charlie and her sinners.

It stops, except for some very pointed emojis of true delight from Mammon, as Adam and Alastor's battle is broadcast... and then it shows Adam targeting Charlie directly. Her attempts to force the First Man back, and the moment Lucifer intercedes.

Lucifer notes the voxtech logo at the base of the screen. Stupid voyeuristic bastard didn't think to help, only slander. And here came the 'incoming news report' about Hell's useless king finally stepping up, the princess being a hypocrite because she used violence, the fact they brought it on all of hell by starting something with heaven, and then a long monologue about the deer being a has-been and up for anyone to kill.

"Luci, do you know if Alastor is alright? I can make space in one of my side wards for him, if needed." Belphagor starts.

"Nah, let the bastard die, natural selection." Mammon counters.

"Oh stick a turkey leg in your mouth and shut the fuck up, Mam. Some people can care about others without financial incentive, you know." Ozzie retorts. There's no love lost after the Fizzarolli situation. "Luci baby, is Al okay? Do you want to send him here? I don't really understand your Ring's rules, but I don't think sinners are going to let someone that powerful be injured and not try to take advantage."

"He can drop in here, I'll even turn the music down so he can chillax!" Beez offers.

"No, he should come to Envy, it's safest. And we will have our teams start on an anti... Voxtech? campaign immediately. How dare that television say such things about you and Charlie, they're just hjealous!" Levi adds.

"Indeed. We can taste it. His desperation to be adored and noticed by your deer, to throw you into the mud and raise himself high. It's delicious, and revolting." Levy replies.

"I'd appreciate that. I don't... know how to fix this little media stunt without smiting, but I fell like he'd get what he wants if we tried that." Lucifer admits.

"Level headed is the only response we can give. The King has to be seen as above such nonsense... and the guy knows he can rile up Charlie, if he wants, based on that whole interview last year. He owns a company? Get the goetia lawyers in there, tangle him up in legislation so he's brought before me. I think I could be clear headed enough to sentence him." Satan typed out.

"Okay, but if the deer dies, I want his corpse. Gonna make a point to the little money makers in my ring that we don't fuck with my profit margin and live." Mammon tapped out.

"Oh shut it, Mam, no one cares about you or your greedy bullshit. We're dealing with a real problem right now." Beez snaps back. "Lu Lu, one - send me the deer. Two, we gotta get a good Pr spin going, and I can help with that. Gotta dress up Charlie's little hotel and make it pop, you know what im saying?"

"I can send real doctors and therapists to support her dream, but I would need a guarantee of their safety against sinners. Normally I would bind them under you or Charlie... possibly even Alastor, as he has always taken care of his thralls, but right now I think that may make them targets." Bel said.

"I'll put my sigil on them, anyone who tries something will be eviscerated at the first thought." Lucifer responds quickly. It's simple magic. Sinners reform. Maybe they'd think better of stupid decisions after that little number.

"I will make arrangements. Now, send the deer to one of us." Bel shot back.

"Listen, I'm the king of hell but I don't have enough power to out maneouvre his level of sheer stubbornness. He'll tell Charlie I'm sending him away or something, and that'll upset her. And I also have no idea if the reformation magicks of Pride follow sinners to other rings. If he dies, assuming I can get him to you consensually, it might be permanent." Lucifer replied, already wondering how he'd break that to Charlie. She really was quite attached.

"Okay, what if we come Get Him?" Ozzie offered. "Chance to see Charlie, and oh look, hey al! Haven't see u in ages! Either he says yes to coming with one of us, or Bel can zap him."

"I dislike using that ability, you know that." Bel.

"I know, I know, but thee rights of the patient are to like, not die. Again. Right? And he's stubborn, but a lot of fun. Plus isn't he one of the top overlords? That'd fuck up Pride in more ways than one." Beez

"Are we talking about the same uptight ancient radio guy? He's an asshole." Lucifer

"Or, you ticked him off and triggered his nasty mode... I've seen it when people are dismissive to him or those he gives a shit about. And you... haven't been a real people person for a while, Lulu babydoll, you know we love you but you've been a bit shut in, right?" Beez.

"No, he just came after me from the start!" Lucifer

"Well, whoever he chooses to leave with can simply ask later on, and we shall delve the truth after that. Now, can you provide a portal for us to enter a location suitable for our size?" Bel.

"Us first." "Us first." said Levi and Levy.

"Do you have to? I could just try to heal the idiot myself. Give me a minute to ram him through a few layers of concrete, and when he's out I'll see what needs healing. He's not even showing any sign of it, this could all be for nothing! Fucker turned up after the hotel was rebuilt and joined right in Charlie's little song about a happy day in hell!" Lucifer. Followed by ten emojis of frustrated faces.

"Luci, chill. If I know anything about the guy, and he spent a while in my Ring... I mean, my territory. Then I can tell you he's one heck of an actor when he wants to hold something from you." Ozzie.

"FINE. but if you try anything Mammon, I'm willing to smite you. It's been a long few days and my temper is very frayed right now." Lucifer adds, flicking a wrist and opening a very large portal in the entrance. Startling Husk and Angel, at the bar, who had no contexxt for why the Sin of Envy was stepping through, nor why she was followed swiftly by a number of others. Including Mammon.

Angel was gaping at Ozzie, clearly star struck. this was who Valentino wishes he was, the raw charisma rolling off the guy was... wow.

"Luci, lovely to see you! Come here!"

The King s summarily used as a squeaky toy as he is hugged into submission by everyone sans a pouting Mammon.

Charlie bounds in, having heard familiar voices, and screeches in delight. She hurtles herself at uncle Satan so hard and fast he has to take a step back even when braced for impact.

She flits between them, dragging her blushing beauty beside her. Vaggie seems to be uncertain how to deal with More Family after the abrupt affectionate way Lucifer had met her. She seemed dazed.

"And this is my hotel, we just rebuilt after the battle and... I'm sure you saw the video... but we won! And we had two overlords helping us, one is Rosie from Cannibal Town and the other is Alastor, the Radio Demon - he's staff and helped me get this project off the ground!"

"Oh, I know Rosie and Al, from the annual Hunting Feast. You should come along, little duckie, I think you'd like it..." Beez takes note of Lucifer's frantic attempts to get her to Shut the Fuck Up.

"The what?" Charlie frowns.

Beezs gives Luci a LOOK. because this was a well known event. C'mon, coddling much?

"It's a Delightful little DIY style banquet. You do have to hunt your own sinner, but there's help to butcher and prepare them if you're new to it. Some families prefer to do just one kill and share... you always put some on the table for everyone to sample, though." Alastor explains, swirling out of shadow.

"There's the Cu-[clown honk]! You ate like half the crime bosses supplying me bribe money, AND you cheeky fucker, you destroyed my competition stage!" Mammon loses all composure and looms over the deer. He's clearly furious, and Al seems more amused.

"Oh do unclench, the new ones installed are far more intelligent than the last mafioso cliches you had." Alastor waves him off.

"Smart enough to work out how to jip me of my rightful takings you mean!" Mammon snarls, "And don't fucking think I don't know half of em are under your control. I don't like when deals aren't giving me money."

"Why? You literally have the most in all of Hell and nothing to spend it on, and no item or service out of your reach at this point. There's greed and then there's a-... Asmodeus or Belphagor you might be able to answer this, , would you consider this a fetish or a psychosis?"

"Both." echoed the pair, sending Beezelbub into hysterical little snickers at the furious and betrayed expression on Mammon's face.

"There we go then. You still get some revenue, but they are able to pay their workers, which limits betrayals and overall decreases turnover, resulting in further profit generated in future. Just let things be for a while and it should even out." Alastor shrugged.

"Oh fuck you you drongo!" Mammon huffed, disappearing in a spray of confetti and appearing in what must be the kitchen based on teh disgusting goggling sounds emanating from there. Beez snaps her fingers and super sizes whatever he's eating, so he won't raid the whole pantry and leave the hotel bare.

"Right, so, matter at hand... we need a positive PR spin on whatever the hell that tv guy is spewing. And Pronto." Levi says.

"I have some of my hellborn on it, already, spreading a general feeling of apathy or distaste for your media overlord and his team. It should start things off in the right direction." Levy replied.

"How's about you come visit us down in Wrath for a stint, hmmm? About time for the Harvest Moon festival, could be fun?" Satan offers, pointedly not looking right at Alastor. "All'a y'all could come, if Luci here is okay with it. Some of you might just be return guests, ain't that right?"

"No, they're all gonna come party with me in Gluttony, I've got the primo hookup on the freshest beats, bites and beezlejuice."

"Of course not, they have all experienced trauma and need relaxation and therapy. they can come to Sloth. We shall see how we can help."

"Envy is superior."

"Now, if we're talking pleasurable places to spend time..." Ozzie waggles his eyebrows.

"Interesting. Why are all the Sins here and desperate for us to vacate the hotel, Your Shortness? Did something happen you haven't decided to share with the class?"Alastor asks, staring at the King without moving his body. the crunch still made Lucifer flinch, it was so... visceral.

"What? no, no, they saw the uh, the video and realised how fucked up the battle was... and wanted to see if everyone wanted to go somewhere new, somewhere else for a bit while I get the goetia legal team to annihilate Vox and his friends for slandering the crown." Lucifer flails for an answer but feels its coherent enough.

"Hmmm, if that's the case, I should like to remain to watch him drown..." the distortion on the last word was full of a primal delight and fury at the idea.

"Nope, everyone goes or no one. Now pick a ring and we'll go spend time there for like, a week or so, right? Which one was your favourite?" Lucifer catches the last words and cringes. Fuck. his stupid mouth couldn't help itself!

"Ah, you discovered that little tidbit, did you? Then we can dispense with the charade... let's go to Greed, I understand I left some of it still standing, and I anticipate we'll have time to destroy it properly in a week or so."

There's a choked cry of outrage and several clown honks from teh kitchen.

"No to Greed. Where else? I'm going to count to ten and then make the choice for you... er, everyone."

"That's hardly fair, all the realms have their own interesting amusements, delights and detractors. Same as Pride. Though I note the water in other areas doesn't try to take your skin off as thoroughly as here."

"Tick-tock... time's up. Sins, who wants to have guests?"

"Uh, short king, I can't. Thanks but... Val would literally fuck me ta death in punishment if I missed a week of summons to work." The implied statement was that this was something Angel knew for certain would happen.

Lucifer was taken aback. "What?"

"Val, overlord of porn, one a the vees? He don't like it when his chains go making independent decisions."

"Ah, something slipped my mind as well. I believe I might recall why Vox is throwing his tantrum..." Alastor grinned, manifesting the chain that now ran between himself and Angel Dust. "I was out for a walk this morning, to visit Rosie, and the moth decided to be quite the uisance... thought he could challenge me. He is, regrettably, meat to be wasted, but if you tune in to the next broadcast I'm certain you can pick him out of the studio audience."

"Wha-... when-...? How?" Angel looked like he was about to burst into tears.

"This morning, I believe you crawled home an hour before and 'crashed out' as they say. Vox is quite peeved about it, as I now technically own Valentino's holdings... and we are going to spend some time renegotiating everyone's contracts. I noted a few of them were not weighted... nor consensual." His expression flickered to Asmodeus. "I believe contracts of this nature are your legal team's speciality, would you mind sparing them for a while to work through the horrendously written slave contracts Valentino had his workers under?"

Asmodeus stiffened, "You and Angel Dust will have the full support of my legal team AND my counsellors, it sounds like things were pretty bad there. My therapists are Bel-trained and focused on specific kinds of trauma that others can struggle to understand, I promise we'll get all of them through it." The latter was aimed at Angel Dust.

"Angel's free?!" Charlie gasped, delighted and worried at the fact violence and not negotiation was used. She still had a naive streak in there he was going to have to claw out with both hands.

"Yes."

He really should have been prepared for her to launch herself at him. "If you try to show any greater affection for this purely overlord-motivated decision, I fear you'll own all my chains. Why didn't you try hugging Adam's bones to dust, my dear Charlotte?" he teases, smiling despite the uncomfortable pop of several stitches bursting.

"Al, can I please s-..."

"Refrain from your usual line of enquiry if at all possible."

"Can I please shake ya hand or hug ya or something, nothing 'salacious' promise."

"Maybe later. You need a good stiff..." he paused, for no other reason than the joy of Angel's eyes widening, "drink. Husker, pour one for the arachnid, but just the one. Otherwise I fear he'll pack nothing but those flimsy scraps of fabric he calls clothes for our inevitable trip."

"Hey, most people find 'em sexy, ain't my fault ya not interested in all this..." Angelgestures at his everything, and waggles his eyebrows, tongue poking out in jest. "Could make it work for you, Deer Daddy, let me know..."

Angel laughs as a poppet boounces off his head in admonishment.

"Do you see what I must endure as the hotelier?" Alastor sighs, facing the sins again. "Now, are we to play rock, scissor, flamethrower for who gets the dubious honour of hosting us for a few days, or is the Mallard Monarch going to decide for us?"

"M-... Sinner, I am going to smite you." Lucifer splutters.

"Okay, what if we moved between the rings, then, visiting each over the course of a week?" Charlie asks, diplomatically.

"Great idea, love the vibes hun!" Beez says, shoving cupcakes at anyone who stood sill long enough. She gives Alastor a red one. "Hey, I remember okay, this one was manifested with sinner blood in the batter and icing. Rosie's new favourites..."

"I like the idea, but who gets them first?" Ozzie says, thinking on how to politely request them all as his guests over and above the others.

A giant showman's wheel appeared in midair, just oldtimey enough to be from Alastor. "Well, perhaps the Princess can spin the wheel to determine our first destination, and then so on until the course is decided?"

Charlie looked torn. She didn't want to upset anyone, after all, what if they were last?

"Do go on."

"Okay, okay..." Charlie bit her lip and tugged on the wheel. The whole thing spun as tense music played, before halting on LUST.

"heck yeah!" Came a voice from inside Asmodeus's flames, and Fizzzarolli poked his head out. "I called dibs, so it must have worked! Heya Al, missed ya!"

"You look well, Fizzarolli. I detest television and the medium, you understand, but I did quite enjoy seeing you tell the clown to go fuck himself in a well choreographed routine. Did you wish to join me in burning down the remainder of greed?"

"YES! Er, I mean, maybe later... just got the feud between this big guy and Mammon settled after all." Fizzy pouted.

"Understandable. If there any reason Belphagor has decided to forego blinking?" Alastor asked, raising an eyebrow at the Sin.

"I am trying to get a sense of the trauma you are all under, it requires intense focus when I am not physically touching the patients." She replied easily.

"Oh, I'm fine Aunty Bel!" Charlie grinned, putting her hands out to the queen of sloth. "See?"

"Oh my dear, you certainly are not. But that can be helped... I have also offered my peoples for your hotel, to help sinners."

"You have?! That's ah-may-zing!" she chirps.

Vaggie tensed as the Sin touched her arm, searching, and patted it kindly.

Charlie returned to spinning the wheel.

GLUTTONY

WRATH

ENVY

SLOTH

GREED

"Okay, itinerary chosen. Let's go pack..." Charlie chirps as Bel taps Angel's hand, and her shoulders fall. She's not going to look into that. husker is shrinking away, but gets the touch as well.

Niffty's over eagerness should have warned the Sin, but Bel ends up looking perturbed by whatever she found.

Lucifer ducks out from the hold.

Predictably, Alastor grinned. "Are you so afraid to have your weaknesses known, little King?"

"No. See?" Lucifer put his hand out for Bel, and immediately regretted it as her eyes flared. She seemed to be making detailed notes of therapy to come that he was worried about already.

"And yourself, Alastor? I know you felt my realm was for others, but I would like to check on you..." Bel said, turning to him. The sinner made a convincing show of nonchalance.

"If it's entirely necessary... though I remind you that psychotherapy is not something I'm interested in." He says, airily, definitely not jerking his arm away from the potential contact. "Ah, habit, you know I do detest foreign touch."

"Take your time..." Bel said, and touched his shoulder instead. She confirmed her worries. "Thank you. Lucifer, could you...?"

With a wave, a series of packed luggage bags appeared in the hallway from every room. Even Keekee and Fat nuggets were crated calmly and-... oops.

Lucifer waves again to release Husk from his oversized crate.

"Sorry, I was thinking 'crate the kitty' and uh..."

"Don't mention it." Husk mumbles, not looking at Angel, who is clearly Loving It.

"Everyone grab your things," Lucifer meets Bel's eyes and she nods. Well, fuck, this wasn't great and he still had so many questions but... they could do this. "Yep, by the portal. Are we ready?"

In the split second between heartbeats, Lucifer lashed out a hand and grabbed Alastor by the wrist, sealing his powers momentarily as Bel wrapped a hand over the sinner's eyes, and the other pressed on his chest where the wound was. Her power flared as the other crumpled into her hold.

Lucifer let go like it burned. He didn't really like stopping another's pwers, it felt... off. Left him feeling kind of sick.

"Uh, Ozzie...?" Fizzarolli asked, not having been in the group chat. They were still on thin ice over the whole Stolas and Blitzo situation, and how Asmodeus hadn't stepped in for anyone.

"It's okay, froggy, just think of it as necessary medical intervention he wouldn't have accepted otherwise. You know how stubborn he is."

"Ooooh, the video... but I've seen him take on Satan and heal from it. Why not that strike?"

Lucifer twigged that he was speaking to a hellborn. "Sinners, and even hellborn, can die to angelic steel... and grace is a step up from that. It doesn't let the wound close and tries to kill them from the inside... so there's no escape if you're hit and can't seek help from Bel or Me or maybe Char Char when she comes into her powers."

"Oh... I mean, I knew the exterminations happened but, we never really got why or how it worked. Different Rings and all."

"Dad?"

"Charlie, did you see the video Box dropped this morning?"

"The what?"

"I did, your majesty, I've been waiting for him to collapse so I could do first aid since I saw it." Vagie adds.

"Okay, so are we going to go to another Ring to avoid people tryin' ta kill Smiles?" Angel asked, showing he was canny as hell under that pornstarlet persona. "Smart. You also coulda said something, I have a few patches of DPr355 on me I use to conk out properly on bad nights. One hug and I could've gotten him to nap for you."

"He would've tried to eat you when he woke up. At least this way he's just made at the King and a Sin. they don't have to live with him 24/7." Husk interjected.

"Can we still go? I want to bite the clown!" Niffty vibrated in place.

"Uh... is she okay?" Fizzy asked.

"That's normal for her, yeah. Niff, stop freaking out the Sins, I'm sure Al will let you bite the clown later. Can you help get our stuff to... Lust was it?"

"oooh, okay!" She's a blur.

Bel looked like she wanted to protest when Asmodeus took charge of Alastor. "I... will need to visit to manage the wound, before he wakes."

"Of course, come with us now if you want! Let's get this trouble maker away from prying eyes..."

"And when the fucker is fine, I need to ask him how he broke a millenia old seal on Ring travel for Sinners. Before Heaven finds out." Lucifer adds, trying to keep calm.

Charlie puts her hand on his shoulder. "Dad, I don't really understand what is going on yet, and I know you'll tell me, but it's okay. We're getting help and going to have new experiences, together."

His duckling always found a way to lift the weight off his heart.

"Yeah, we're going to have an amazing time in Lust. If you want to buy something at any of the stores, use the card I gave you and we promise not to make eye contact as we leave with things. Deal?"

"Deal!" Charlie laughed.

He claps his hands. "Okay, let's go! Mammon, get the hell out of my kitchen or I'll smite you!"

There's a rappid jingling as the Sin audibly ran for it.

"Okay, you go ahead, I'm goingn to get him out of Pride before he makes a deal with the Vees... or eats the hotel to the ground."

"See you in a bit, Dad." Charlie assures, taking Vaggie's hand and stepping through to the beautiful shades of Lust.

Husk let his tail curl around Angel's nearest arm as they stepped through the portal. The starlet had to wipe his eyes, feeling so many things today that it was an absolute mess inside...

Alastor stirred slightly as Fizzarolli rearranged his attire, blood starting to seep through the fabric, from his place on Asmodeus's shoulder. "No no, stay asleep, we'll get this patched up in no time... you're gonna love some of the new shit we've developed. You might even want to try some for the novelty, I even got to design a-..."

The portal closed behind him, and the hotel fell semi-silent.

In the distance, frantic jingling bells and clown honks were heard between booming blasts of hellfire being hurled at a sin.

-----------

I have no idea, enjoy.

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monocle-teacup · 1 month ago

Note

Okay, attempting a query bean.

You had noted in your post regarding the rundown on Jawbreaker how he tried to stand up for himself and how it turns out messy...

Doth thou has any examples of such, if you're willing to share?

(if you did already post such, my apologies, I'm still slowly reading through again.)

I haven't written actual scenes about it, but I have the following ideas:

-First time it happens is when Thrash is giving JB shit about breaking something again. JB proceeds to yell "STOP YELLING AT ME!" which freaks out everyone present because he normally just takes the abuse.

-Another time, JB says, "How come Nightshade doesn't get yelled at when their tech breaks stuff?" Cue the crickets sound effect.

-He snaps at Hashtag to stop when she's being pushy. In the heat of the moment, I can see him saying something along the lines of that's how she got the mind control badge on her. He immediately feels guilty after saying it.

-He rejects Mo attempts at playing peace keeper like she normally does when conflicts happen in the family.

-"None of you would care if I was gone."

-I mostly see him verbally standing up for himself, but there would be one instance when it's physical and that's when Thrash starts on him again. JB pushes him away which sends Thrash flying into something.

Fact of the matter is, with how the Maltos handle negative emotions which is basically not at all, none of the Terrans are really equipped to deal with them.

#tf #tfe #transformers #transformers earthspark #tf earthspark #earthspark #headcanon #lotus au #jawbreaker #earthspark jawbreaker #asks

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queenshelby · 2 years ago

Text

Our Little Secret (Part 12)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Brief Mention of Stillbirth

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

You didn't have time to think or react as she lunged towards you, grabbing your hair roughly and yanking you close to her face. Her venomous glare sent chills down your spine, piercing straight through your soul.

"You little slut!" she shouted furiously, enraged beyond reason while Cillian crumbled to retrieve his briefs from the floor.

"You are going to regret this," she warned before grabbing your hair once more, twisting it cruelly in her grasp as you winced in pain. The harsh pull dragged you closer to her snarling features, causing you to whimper in fear.

"Why do you keep messing with us?" she screeched viciously, raining kicks upon you while you desperately tried to defend yourself.

"Stop, you are hurting me," you cried weakly, recoiling from another blow aimed at your ribcage as Cillian tried to shield you, only partially succeeding until, eventually, he managed to put himself between you and his infuriated wife.

"Danielle, please calm down." he begged earnestly, hoping to defuse the situation peacefully.

However, Danielle remained unfazed, livid and fueled by jealousy. Her eyes blazed with hatred as they bore into yours, leaving no doubt as to how angry she truly was.

You took a breath as Cillian had stepped in, allowing you to gather your clothes while he restrained Danielle by holding on to her wrists tightly.

"I want this whore out of my house," she yelled and you could see Cillian's conflicted look. The pressure intensified, and soon, you felt suffocated underneath the weight of these events.

Taking advantage of the momentary silence, you turned to address them, seeking resolution amidst chaos.

"Look, maybe we should talk about this later when everyone has calmed down," you proposed, attempting to find common ground where possible. However, your proposal fell flat, as Danielle continued to rail against you bitterly before she finally managed to push past Cillian and throw you down the stairs.

"Danielle! What the hell is wrong with you?" Cillian exclaimed, horrified and bewildered by his wife's violent behavior as he raced towards you, seeing that it was clear that you had sustained a concussion from falling down the stairs.

Danielle seemed unrepentant, continuing to verbally assault you as you lay there bruised and battered, struggling to comprehend the situation.

"Call a fucking ambulance, Danielle!" Cillian panicked, watching helplessly as blood trickled down your forehead. His earlier protective instincts returned full-force now that danger threatened the object of his obsession as he cradled you up in his arms.

"Can you hear me?" Cillian asked frantically, placing a hand on your trembling shoulder. You nodded feebly, still struggling to catch your breath and maintain consciousness due to the impact. Seeing your condition worsening, he quickly decided to call for emergency services instead of waiting for Danielle to act.

As he dialed the number and, soon enough, the sound of sirens grew increasingly audible outside. Panicking, Danielle walked off, leaving the house in a haste and Cillian did not attempt to stop her, staying by your side.

Soon, paramedics arrived and carefully carried you to the ambulance which then drove away rapidly. Once inside, the medical professionals began examining your injuries and monitoring your vital signs closely. They administered some painkillers to ease your discomfort before asking Cillian some questions regarding the incident. Trying hard to recall the sequence of events leading up to the accident, he explained the situation and they then queried as to whether he was her next of kin.

"No, I am just a friend," he responded truthfully, feeling an unexpected sense of guilt for contributing to her present predicament.

As us arrived at the hospital, the medics advised Cillian to wait outside as the tests would require privacy.

Feeling anxious, Cillian paced back and forth nervously outside the emergency room, occasionally peering through the glass window. He couldn’t believe what happened – he knew he shouldn’t have allowed things to escalate to such dangerous levels. But somehow, the sexual tension between them proved too strong, consuming their rational minds entirely. How could something so passionate turn so brutal in the blink of an eye?

While awaiting updates on Y/N's condition, flashbacks flooded his memory, reminding him of those tender moments spent between the sheets but, just as he thought about the good times you had, your mother Sarah and Cillian's brother Frank arrived at the hospital.

He greeted them hesitantly, unsure if they knew about what had transpired and it wasn't a big surprise when Sarah started yelling at him.

"You disgusting piece of shit, I don't want you anywhere near my daughter ever again!" she screamed, her anger evident as her hands shook violently in front of her. Meanwhile, Frank, though also upset, maintained a comparatively calmer demeanor.

"Leave, Cillian. Please. Danielle called and told us everything," Frank said coolly, trying not to let his temper get the better of him.

Cillian grimaced at the mention of Danielle's name, sensing yet another potential source of conflict. Turning to Sarah, he apologized profusely, promising that he wouldn't allow anything like this to happen ever again.

"Your apologies mean nothing right now, Cillian," Sarah retorted sternly, pointing accusingly at him. "You forced yourself on my daughter when she clearly stated multiple times that she wanted none of it." As tears welled up in her eyes, she added quietly, "It sickens me to know that someone whom I trusted could be capable of such malice and you will hear from the police..." before being interrupted.

"I did what now?" Cillian interjected in confusion, caught off guard by Sarah's accusatory tone. "Is that what Danielle has told you?" Cillian questioned, surprised by the gravity of the allegations leveled against him.

"She witnessed every bit of it firsthand," Sarah replied vehemently, her tone leaving no doubt that she believed every word Danielle had said.

"I did not force myself on Y/N, Sarah. We were intimate but all of it was consensual," Cillian argued stubbornly, clenching his jaw.

"She is only nineteen, Cillian," Sarah countered sharply, drawing attention to the age difference between them and the power dynamics involved.

"Yes, she is, and I am not saying that I didn't fuck up, but please consider the context here," Cillian pleaded desperately, trying to explain his perspective, his heart racing anxiously. "She wanted this as much as I did, Sarah. Don't mistake our mutual desire for coercion!" He continued, aware that his argument might fall on deaf ears but unwilling to give up without making his case.

Frank listened impassively, trying to remain neutral during this confrontation despite his wife's obvious distress. Yet, even he found it difficult to ignore the glaring inconsistencies in Cillian's account compared to what Danielle reported.

After all, how else could Sarah possibly justify Cillian's indiscretions, especially considering his high profile status within the acting community. She held onto this skepticism firmly, determined to seek justice for you but just as she was about to yell at Cillian again, the doctor emerged from your room, allowing only one person to enter.

"She is conscious and only slightly dizzy. She had a mild concussion and needed a few stiches above her left eyebrow due to the impact," announced the doctor as he approached them. "We did not find any internal bleeding and, well, the rest is confidential information," he concluded noncommittally, unable to avoid the topic but reluctant to divulge more specifics before leading Sarah into the room, at which point Frank urged Cillian to leave.

With great difficulty, Cillian obliged, turning around to exit the ER, already beginning to contemplate the future - one that held uncertainty, shame, and regret for having indulged in their forbidden love affair.

Meanwhile, behind closed doors, Sarah sat beside you and patiently waited for you to regain composure.

"Danielle told me what happened, sweetheart," she whispered gently, reaching over to stroke your hair comfortingly. Her presence alone instilled calmness throughout your body.

"What, she told you that she pushed me down the stairs and punched me in the guts?" you said as you tried to sit up, groggy from the drugs.

"She said it was an accident," Sarah reassured, stroking your head tenderly.

"She is full of shit. She threw me down the stairs on purpose because..." you began but stopped, too afraid to reveal the truth to you.

"Because you slept with her husband?" Sarah guessed correctly, furious upon learning the true nature of your relationship with Cillian.

"She said that he forced himself on you and she tried to intervene...but failed," she explained haltingly, her voice filled with anger and disappointment.

"What?" you gasped, astonished and confused by her revelation.

"No, Cillian didn't...oh my god..." you began to say, raising your concern. "Mum, he didn't force me to do anything. In fact, I was the one today who initiated our encounter," you confessed, feeling weary and defeated, finally admitting the truth aloud.

"So, you are saying that this has been going on for a while and that it was consensual?" Sarah questioned incredulously, attempting to reconcile the information provided by Danielle with yours.

"Yes, it has been going on for about a month now and absolutely all of it was consensual," you confirmed softly, cringing internally at the idea of hurting your parents further. However, knowing that the truth must come out sooner rather than later, you pressed on.

Sarah's face turned paler as she processed the disturbing reality. The very notion of her beloved daughter engaging in illicit affairs with men old enough to be her father infuriated her beyond measure and she was furious not only with Cillian but also with you.

"I can't believe your audacity, to think that you would betray your own family like this. Cillian is not only a man with a family, but he is also Frank's brother!" she exclaimed bitterly, her voice trembling with emotion. "Didn't I raise you to respect and honor others above selfish desires?" She demanded, struggling to maintain her composure amidst her raging frustration.

Stung by her harsh condemnation, you cowered under her wrath, feeling guilty for bringing shame upon your family.

"I am sorry, mum. I made a mistake," you admitted painfully, looking deeply into her eyes. "This entire situation sucks, and my decisions weren't exactly smart," you conceded but your honesty no longer mattered.

"Once you recover, I expect you to move out. I cannot have you living with Frank under these circumstances, nor do I wish to see Cillian again either," declared Sarah resolutely, her words carrying weight. You nodded silently, understanding the severity of the situation and acknowledging the need for some distance both physically and mentally. Your relationship with Cillian had become absolute, and your bond with your mother seemed strained too.

"But where am I going to go? I am about to have exams," you asked, suddenly struck by the sudden change in your life's course.

"You are old enough to sleep with a married man, so you are old enough to look after yourself. You will figure it out," Sarah stated bluntly, her tone lacking compassion. Unable to argue back, you agreed submissively, accepting responsibility for your mistakes. But deep inside, fear consumed you – the kind of fear that leaves a pit in your stomach and makes you feel hollow.

With this fear consuming you, soon after your mother left, you called your best friend Emma for support. She always knew when something was wrong since childhood and when she found out that you were in hospital, she raced over immediatly.

Emma arrived at the hospital breathless, her frizzy red hair disarrayed around her flushed cheeks. Clutching a bouquet of flowers, she burst through the doorway and ran straight to your bedside, unmindful of everyone watching her.

"How bad is it?" She asked anxiously, her blue eyes brimming with worry. Without waiting for an answer, she squeezed your hand tightly, sending a silent message of solidarity and friendship. You gave her a weak smile, grateful for her loyalty.

"Not too serious, thankfully. Just a bump on my head and some bruises. Plus they put five stitches near my eyebrow," you explained briefly, not wanting to dwell on your injuries too long. Emma nodded sympathetically, placing a gentle hand on top of your cast.

"At least it wasn't worse, right?" she offered tentatively, attempting to lighten the mood. You smiled faintly, trying to forget the incident but Emma wanted to know what exactly had happened to you.

With a heavy heart, you recounted the events surrounding your relationship with Cillian and how it came crashing down. When you finished, she looked at you in horror, taking in the magnitude of the betrayals committed against you. "Oh, Y/N! Fuck!," she exclaimed, visibly upset on your behalf

Your tears threatened to spill over once more, but you managed to hold them back, knowing that expressing sadness openly would make you seem even more vulnerable than you already felt. You remained stoic, hoping to demonstrate resilience instead.

"So Cillian and you, it's over?" Emma asked thoughtfully, carefully studying your facial expressions. You paused momentarily, contemplating whether to admit another facet of your involvement with Cillian. Ultimately, you decided to disclose everything, trusting Emma's ability to handle sensitive matters responsibly.

"Yes, we're done," you answered honestly, meeting her gaze with sincerity. Emma frowned, clearly troubled by the gravity of the situation.

"You fell in love with him, didn't you?" she ventured, sensing there might be more to the story. Feeling exposed, you hesitated briefly before confirming her suspicion.

"Yes, I fell in love with him, Em." Your voice quivered, a mixture of sorrow and defiance coloring your tone. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way, but it did."

Her expression grew grim, mirroring your own feelings. She reached over and placed a gentle hand on yours, offering a token of sisterly support. "Look, maybe it won't turn out so badly after all. We could work through this together, help you get past it."

"I wish it would be that easy. My mother just kicked me out of the house, all this shit is probably going to end up in the tabloids and, well, there is something else..." you let out a long, exhausted sigh, running your fingers through your hair.

"I am pregnant," you blurted out, unable to hide the fear etched across your features any longer.

Emma's eyes widened in shock, her lips parting slightly in surprise. For several moments, neither of you spoke, absorbing the enormity of the revelation.

"How the fuck did this happen?" Emma asked in disbelief, still processing the news. "When did you find out?" She queried, concerned about your well-being both physically and emotionally.

"Just earlier, when they were running some blood tests," you replied quietly, glancing away momentarily. A single teardrop escaped your eye, trailing slowly down your cheek.

"Does Cillian know?" Emma questioned gravely, her brow furrowed with concern.

"He doesn't and he won't need to. I am not going to have a baby right now," you responded solemnly, feeling immense guilt about concealing such crucial information from the person responsible for creating this predicament.

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