#gave it to me raw and said ‘time to withdraw’

[kinokoshoujoart]

i couldn’t find a video of this version so here’s Rock’s post engagement event if you choose the negative option for my own reference. please enjoy my framerate dropping to hell trying to record anything because of all my mods

[bullet-prooflove]

Boundaries: Terry Bruno x Reader

Tagging: @beardedbarba @justreblogginfics @Storiesofsvu @anime-weeb-4-life @witches-unruly-heart

This was one of the over pieces that didn't make it into The North Star series. For me it shows how far Sam as come since the relationship ended with Russo, how much strength Terry has given her to face the man that hurt her.

The problem with your ex-boyfriend Paul is he has no boundaries, he never has.

 You remember that late in the evening as your sitting at your desk, filling out DD5s in a hope to get a jump on them before the weekend. The squad room has emptied out at this point, everyone rushing out for happy hour at McQueen’s around the corner. It’s just you left, earbuds in as you work by the light of your desk lamp. The fluorescents give you a headache this late in the day.

You don’t hear him approach your desk; you don’t see him. You’re too involved in the little check boxes you’re clicking away on. It isn’t until his hand comes to rest on the nape of your neck, his thumb trailing over the scar etched into your sensitive skin that you even register his presence.

You bolt away as if something’s scalded you, whirling around to face him. Paul holds his hands up as if in surrender, that ridiculous smug expression on his face.

“What the fuck?” You practically spit.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, each thud feels like a blow to your intercostal muscles as you stare at Detective Paul Russo, man of the hour, hero of the week. Your ex-boyfriend and apparently ex-addict.

“You looked tense.” He says by way of explanation. “You always you used to like it.”

You’re speechless, absolutely fucking speechless because of the audacity of this man. He takes your silence as an invitation, stepping into your personal space and it’s too much, far too much. Your natural response to a threat is usually to fight but with Paul you freeze, you freeze because you remember the last time you tried to fight. You remember the agony of smashing through the floor length mirror, the glass tearing through your flesh, ripping through the fabric of your vest top. It’s raw, the pain that rushes through you, it intermingles with the anguish of seeing Paul walk out the door with your cash in his hand, as he leaves you bleeding in the hallway.

“Give me a chance.” He requests; his fingertips come to rest on your desk as he cages you in.  “Let me explain myself.”

His voice has taken on that tone, it’s low, overfamiliar. You can smell the beer on his breath but as promised he’s sobered; alcohol never was his poison. That had always been coke. His fingertips trail over the thin gold chain around your throat before he grips the tiny etched compass resting below your collarbone.

“This is new.”

It’s this gesture that fuels the fire inside of you, because moments like this are why Terry gave you the necklace in the first place. The moments where you doubt yourself, where you feel trapped, where you can’t see a way forward or in this case a way out.

So, you can always find your way, he had said.

It reminds you of nights wrapped up in his arms, that tender smile on his handsome features as he brushes the hair out of your eyes with gentle fingertips. He touches you with care, with a delicacy that makes you feel revered.

“You know what I love about you,” he’d whispered into the corner of your mouth.  “Your ferocity, that fire inside of you, it burns so bright. It’s beautiful, it’s deadly and it’s all you pretty girl. No one can ever take that away, no one can ever douse it. It’s just a part of you, lighting up the rest of the world, burning from the inside out.”

Your fingers grip the necklace, detangling it carefully from his grasp.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

It’s cold and it’s vehement, a timbre he’s not used to hearing from you but it’s enough to make him withdraw with a wounded look in his eyes. It gives you the space to breath, he’s still too close but you can think again.

“Darlin…” he implores as you slip away from him, getting some distance.

“Don’t.” You say holding your hand up to silence him.

You use your Sergeant’s voice, that authoritative tone snapping through the air and stopping Paul in his tracks as he approaches you once more. Despite his lack of personal boundaries, something inside of him still reacts to the chain of command and he hates it, you can see it from the tension in his jaw as his eyes fix on you.

“This isn’t going to happen.” You inform him gesturing between the two of you. “Not again. It doesn’t matter that you’ve been sober for over a year, that you think you’ve changed, that you’re now working Robbery instead of Narcotics…”

“I did it for you.” He says abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I got sober for you.”

“If that’s meant to guilt me…”

He shake his head, his lips pursed together before he exhales.

“When you left, I hit rock bottom.” Paul tells you. “I saw what I did to that mirror…”

“What you did to the mirror?!” You laugh and it sounds sharp, even in your own ears. “What about what you did to me?”

He gives you that look, the one he gives suspects in the interrogation room when they were telling a tall tale.

“Come on, we both know you started that.” He reminds you. “My career was on the line and that was the time you decided not to pay up, they were threatening to go to my Captain, and you were going to let them.”

“You…” The words die in your throat.

There’s nothing left to say. You couldn’t argue with that skewed reality, you would drive yourself crazy.  You want to scream, to cry, to break something but you don’t because to do that would show weakness and that was something you had promised yourself you would never do in front of Paul again.

Instead you brush past him, jamming your laptop into your satchel before snatching your coat up from the back of the chair and leave him standing there alone in the squad room. You’d walked away once; you have no problem doing it again.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[itsuki-minamy]

GROUND ZERO: FRAGMENTS

CHAPTER 8: WITHDRAWAL SYMPTOMS

* List of Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

That day, that time... the night before. Niki Fushimi was drunk in the entertainment district.

Shimohaneda Kabata is a city located on the southern edge of Tokyo, bordering Kanagawa Prefecture. If you go down one station, you will cross the Tama River and enter Kanagawa Prefecture.

"Excuse me for a moment."

The woman got up from the couch with a lazy attitude. With lipstick on her lips, she put a small cigarette in her mouth and lit it with the match that was on the table.

The man whose wife had been crying just now was standing in the bathroom. The man was Niki's partner, but all he knew was his name, "Sarashina". They approached him at the first bar and the conversation became animated. Niki, who was already drunk at the first bar, entered this shop when Sarashina gave him a ride.

If he was invited, he used to follow them without refusing. He wasn't trying to pry into the kind of place he was going, or whether the person he was talking to was trustworthy. A few years ago, he met Kisa at a party where someone asked him to come along.

After being born as a baby, humans seem to adapt to society by expanding the world towards themselves, parents and families, nurseries and schools in the process of forming their identities. In the process of growing up, Niki did not experience the "expansion of objects of interest". He did not arouse interest, emotion and therefore motivation in anything, including himself.

He could clearly recognize what he perceived with his five senses. To Niki, though, all of that was dry and unimportant.

Except for one thing that piqued his interest.

"Hey, client, is it true that you have a five-year-old boy? The client you brought in was talking about it earlier."

"Hmmm. That's right."

With a slurred response, Niki slid off the couch he was lying on to the floor. A high-end suit jacket and a fancy tie that Sarashina had taken off were hanging on the couch diagonally across from him.

Sitting on the floor he reached for the glass on the low table. Hesitantly, he shook the glass with his finger. The surrounding glasses were also caught and fell, and the marble table was wet with alcohol diluted with ice.

"Are you okay? I'll get you a new drink."

The guy immediately ran over and knelt by the table. He put the glasses on a tray.

"What will you do next?"

"I'll leave it to my brother."

"Then let's do something interesting."

He wore a dress shirt, a black tie, and a black vest with a boy's uniform, but he was a young man with hair dyed bright pink from the roots. In a nonchalant tone, he was holding a bottle of shochu and a bottle of beer in his left and right hands.

"How old were you when you had the child? You're still young, aren't you?"

"I was nineteen."

"That means you're in your twenty something years now."

"You're young."

The guy poured two types of alcohol into a glass with his skillful tricks.

"You're young too, aren't you?"

"I'm baby-faced. I've been in this industry for quite some time."

"Manato looks like this, but he's over thirty."

The woman who said that was in her mid-thirties, she was not young. Her long curly hair was luxuriously pinned up on top of her head.

The cabaret club on the outskirts of the city, where each table was separated by a U-shaped couch, was filled with vulgar talk. A stream of purple smoke rose from the yellowish illumination.

"I'm guessing he was given birth to by a random woman, you dumped her anyway. Client, that's what you seem to want to do."

"Ruriko-san is the one who was discarded in that situation. Yes, it's a way of drinking taught to me by a visitor from abroad."

The glass slid cleanly across the wet table and settled in Niki's hand.

"I have not abandoned her, I am well married and I love my wife. My wife, the president. Besides, my son is the most beautiful in the world."

He drank about half the glass in one go. The champagne of shochu and beer stirred in his brain and made him dizzy. He fell on the table with his head on the side.

"Ah... I hope to see you soon... my cute monkey..."

He dipped his cheeks into the puddle of alcohol on the table and muttered that with his tongue trailing.

"If you have such an important family, don't drink in a place like this and go home. I'm starting to want to go home and see my daughter."

"Ruriko-san is really preaching when it comes to children."

The woman's tone took on a serious preaching tone, while the boy's was flippant.

"It's still useless..."

"No, is there a reason you can't go home?"

"I might get bored if I see his face every day. Even the most interesting thing in the world might get bored me if I paid attention to it every day."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He tried to tilt the glass with his cheek on the table, but his fingers were shaking. The liquid that didn't fit in his mouth wet his chin and dripped over the edge of the table.

"Client, are you taking medication? You are angry, right?"

"Drugs? He'll make you feel a million times better than that."

A month has passed since he saw Saruhiko's face. The inside of his body was dry. No matter how much alcohol he drank, he couldn't quench his thirst. His consciousness was hazy, his throat ached and his body was sending serious danger signals.

"I'll see the monkey after I have reached the limit of my withdrawal symptoms, so I'm going to climax... Seriously, I'm freaking out..."

++++++++++

He woke up with a thud.

He felt a strong source of light and heat beyond his eyelids. Something other than the cold marble table touched his cheeks, something rough and hard.

When he opened my eyes, he was outside. He was forcibly grabbed by his collarbone and lifted up by the summer sky piercing high. Immediately after that, he was struck in quick succession by the sensation of floating and falling, as if he was being knocked down to the ground.

"Hmm... where am I...?"

The voice stuck in his throat was hoarse. When he tried to get up, his whole body cracked in pain. In particular, simply putting too much effort into his stomach caused severe pain as if he was holding an iron ball to his stomach.

It was the seat of a wooden bench that he was resting his cheek on. When he rubbed his face at the red stains on the wood, he could feel the coagulated blood sticking to his temples and the corners of his mouth.

He didn't even know where he took off his shoes.

A glass bottle was suddenly delivered from the side.

"I'm thirsty."

A man sitting in a row of benches said that bluntly. With a long beard that covered the lower half of his face, he looked like a bum, but only the jacket he wore over his shoulders was disproportionately good.

Niki reached for the bottle without hesitation. He looked at the label on the square bottle of whiskey and put his mouth on it.

"What is it? It's water."

He took a sip and groaned.

"Because I put water in the bottle I picked up. Let's add a few drops of sake."

On the tips of the homeless man's emaciated ankles, there were familiar sharp-toed leather shoes.

Niki looked down at his feet, which were only wearing socks, but without saying anything in particular, he placed them under the bench and sat back down.

Beyond the clear sky, heading south, for a moment, he saw some kind of light. The sun was shining elsewhere. It wasn't even the moon. Like the flame emitted by the lighter of a hot air balloon.

Without further thought, he purred and drank water.

The high-pitched voices of the children resounded in the sky. Children gather around children's games, such as slides and swings, and their mothers take care of them. Only the area around the bank with Niki and the homeless was avoided.

At night, it was a small park surrounded by trees in the middle of the city, which became a busy entertainment district. Next to the entrance facing the street, there is a public toilet and a phone booth with a green phone.

Last night, in the shade of the trees, he could see the multi-tenant building where the store was located. He appears to have fallen asleep in the park a stone's throw from the store. Tenant signs protrude from every floor of the reinforced concrete exterior wall, but the neon tubes that gave off a garish pink and purple glow last night are now dead in broad daylight. He didn't know if it was last night because his sense of time was gone.

"Ah, you really were here, Client."

A figure stood next to the bench with a calm voice.

He was wearing a hoodie and a black mask, but his pink hair peeked out from under the hood. It was the boy from the night before, Manato.

"I got a call from Ruriko on my pager saying you were sleeping here. I've been wondering since I closed up shop this morning. He was a weird guy, and he hit you a lot. Are you okay?"

Having said that, he looked like he was last night drinking at the store.

"Ruriko-san."

As Manato said that, a mother who was standing by the gym turned around.

Her long, curly hair from the night before was tied up in a simple bun, and her makeup was light, but she was the woman in the store last night.

Ruriko smiled at Manato, who waved his hand and waved back, then quickly turned her eyes back to the jungle gym. A girl who could be her daughter was climbing a jungle gym.

"Yeah, this. It's mostly empty, but just in case. I hope you're happy to come back with just a brand name wallet."

Manato opened the leather wallet and gave it to him.

As he looked at the wallet on his lap, the memory of last night vaguely revived due to its slow effect.

Sarashina didn't come back to the table like that. Looking at his accounting, he was billed 300,000. There were no credit cards or cash in his wallet. Sarashina disappeared after taking out the contents of Niki's wallet, leaving behind his jacket and his tie.

He recalled how a physically strong man dressed in black appeared from the back of the store, was beaten and kicked, and was thrown out of the store.

The homeless man was looking at Niki's wallet. All that was left was a phone card anyway. Niki tossed his wallet on the bench next to him.

"It's a gift for the water."

The wallet itself was worth a reasonable price. The homeless man quickly stuffed his wallet into his jacket pocket and brought their foreheads together like a hug. When he looked back at him, he wondered if it was also something that he threw away along with Niki, it was the jacket that Sarashina had left behind.

He also lost his mobile phone, but it never came back.

"Client, the shoes and accessories look expensive and you seemed to be doing drugs, so they must have been duped. Be careful who you go out with and what stores you go into."

"Don't do drugs."

"Are you kidding me? Did you just do that? You suddenly broke a beer bottle and hit a black suit. If you hadn't acted violently, you wouldn't have been hit so hard."

"Is that so?" His memory of that part had slipped. "Could have been fine."

Niki's childhood was manic. He was restless all the time, making loud noises and destroying everything he could find.

When he entered high school, he became very depressed.

He skipped high school and studied abroad. While studying abroad, he fell back into an extremely manic state, indulged in debauchery at the invitation of his fellow players, and stopped attending university lectures altogether. With no hope of graduating, he was expelled and taken back to Japan.

"Ah, did you want to die? Then, I understand."

"I don't feel like dying at all. I have a wife and a son who love me."

"I don't quite get it. I thought you were the kind of person who wanted to destroy everything, but you say you love your family."

He squinted at the dazzling light that filled the open air and took in the idyllic landscape of the park. A girl slowly climbing up a jungle gym was crouched in a place that was not very high. Ruriko encouraged her daughter who was crying and looking back.

Another boy smoothly overtook the girl and made it to the top with no problem.

"Mom! Look!"

The boy let go of his hands and proudly greeted his mother.

But, the jungle gym suddenly shook vertically.

The boy's body was thrown into the void without resistance. He heard the cry of his mother.

"Eh?"

Immediately after Manato was shocked, the tremor reached Niki and Manato's feet. It was a huge vertical swing, as if a giant grabbed the edge of the ground and rolled it up. The bum fell off the bench next door. Niki's butt also bounced off the bench seat.

"An earthquake?!"

Manato crouched down and gripped the edge of the bench.

The launch itself lasted less than five seconds. In that short period of time, the earth trembled and the iron jungle gym, slides, and swings were distorted into a shadowless figure. All the children were thrown from the playground equipment, and all the mothers around the playground equipment could not stand up and fell.

The children began to cry as if they were on fire.

"Gish..." The warped jungle gym made an eerie noise and tilted further.

"Ruriko! This way!"

Manato raised his voice. Ruriko's daughter clung to the bottom and luckily avoided being kicked out. Ruriko, who had been on her buttocks, stood up as if repelled, grabbed her daughter from both sides of her, and pulled her out of the jungle gym.

Behind Ruriko, who started running with her daughter on her chest, the jungle gym tilted at a fast pace. Immediately after Ruriko caught up with Niki and Manato and covered her daughter, it completely collapsed as rolled a large amount of sand in the park.

Ruriko raised her pale face and looked towards the park that had changed the peaceful landscape of the day.

"The earthquake just now...? I've never seen an earthquake like this before..."

The launch didn't come after the first, but the remnants of the tremor still crackled in the air.

The road outside began to roar with the sirens of ambulances and fire trucks. Trees surrounding the park had also snapped or fallen from their trunks. Buildings emitting black smoke and buildings with collapsed exterior walls could be seen beyond the crooked trees.

There were also cracks in the walls of the multi-tenant building where Manato's store was located. The cabaret club sign on the 7th floor came off the wall, collided with the consumer finance sign on the 6th floor and they both fell. The brand name product recycling store sign on the 5th floor was covered in snow. There was a sign for a ticket shop on the fourth floor.

"Mom, what is that?"

The daughter supported by Ruriko's chest pointed to the sky over her mother's shoulder.

Manato's eyes traced in that direction and reflected a red light.

"Wow. What is it?"

Manato moved his hand to his chin and murmured.

Niki slowly looked up as half of his buttocks had slid off the bench.

A gigantic object suddenly appeared in the void. In the southern sky, it was the direction where he could see the light that he mistook for a balloon burner. A pillar-shaped object engulfed in swirling flames connected the ground and the sky.

The clear blue summer sky reflected the color of the pillar and was eroded by the color of blood.

"What's that...?"

"Was it really an earthquake? It's like the end of the world."

In contrast to Ruriko's trembling voice, Manato's voice was stunned, but there was something lurking in his voice that seemed to anticipate something.

It seemed that the mobile phone was getting difficult to connect. People flocked to phone booths and the lines were growing fast.

"Yeah... it's the end of the world... oh..."

The homeless man sitting in front of a bench knelt while he looked at the southern sky.

"Oh, it is the wrath of God. God has judged. I hope the stupid humans perish!"

He picked up a bottle of whiskey, which was just water, and danced out into the middle of the park. With Sarashina's jacket and Niki's leather shoes. Spinning around like a girl in a fairy tale who can't take off her shoes.

The children cried when they saw the pillar of fire. The mothers were shouting the names of their children.

People were cursing because their phones couldn't connect. Many people were running to the phone booth in a hurry.

A man whose heart was beating at the beginning of something extraordinary. A scared woman. A madman who toasts and dances.

Niki stared at the various reactions of the people in the park with emotionless eyes.

There was also an ugly human pattern unfolding in front of him. A strange sight that rose beyond the sky. The tragedy that was occurring just below that sky.

Nothing aroused Niki's emotion.

There was nothing there to move Niki's emotions.

The ringtone began to play in the pocket of Manato's hoodie.

"Oh, manager... Yes. Yes. I'm safe here. Ruriko-san is close now. Yes. See you."

Manato calmly ended the exchange and hung up the phone as he ignored the damn queue at the phone booth.

"It seems like the PHS tone is more connected. I was lucky I haven't switched to a mobile phone yet."

"Lend it to me."

Niki grabbed Manato's wrist, who was holding a small stick-shaped mobile device. Manato was slightly surprised by the sudden movement.

"Go ahead. Do you want to contact your family?"

He handed it to him.

He entered a phone number by pressing the number pad on a mobile device that fits in one hand with the thumb. Tsu, tsu, tsu, after an inorganic sound wandered looking for the destination for a while, the calling sound began to sound safely.

"Yes. It's Fushimi."

When the call was cut off, a professional female voice answered.

"Kisa-san. Where is the monkey today?"

There was a moment of surprise when Niki suddenly spoke, and then a high-pitched voice returned.

"I don't know. It's Sunday, so he's not home. I'm going to board now, so I'll hang up. Wait a minute. What was that? Aren't you coming back?"

Kisa's voice grew distant, and he could hear the rapid conversation back and forth. Kisa's voice came back on the line with a sense of bewilderment and tension.

"Something happened in eastern Japan. Thanks to you, I'm stuck here."

"Kisa-san, aren't you in Tokyo?"

"I'm going to Los Angeles from Kansai airport via Seoul, but today's work has been cancelled. Where are you now?"

"By the way, what about the monkey? Is he really home?"

"I'll check with Nishida-san. Should I call this phone back? I've been waiting. I'll call you back in five minutes."

The call was cut off. The line at the phone booth continued to grow, but the Manato PHS rang within a quarter of an hour. During that time, Kisa collected as much information as she could about the disasters that had occurred in eastern Japan.

A large explosion occurred somewhere in Kanagawa, and an earthquake was observed over a wide area of ​​eastern Japan. It was reported that the entire Kanagawa area could be devastated.

According to the housekeeper, the earthquake was felt around Tsubakimon's house, but it wasn't severe enough. She saw Saruhiko in the house fifteen minutes before the earthquake occurred, but she noticed that he had run away from the house about five minutes before the earthquake occurred. He must have gone for a walk in silence as usual, and the housekeeper did not rush to find him, thinking that he was a smart boy and that he would come home alone.

"A five-year-old boy doesn't go far in fifteen minutes. At least he wouldn't have been in a place where the damage was so bad. However, Nishida-san is worried about his house, so he will go out today from work."

"I'm going home, I..."

"Are you worried about that child? I made arrangements with the dispatch company to send a representative immediately, and the area around Camellia Gate is safe. The transportation network is now paralyzed. I can't go home soon. It would be foolish that you suffer a secondary disaster. In the event of a disaster, the smartest thing to do is not to run blindly home."

"No way!"

Niki suddenly screamed.

The voice organizing the correct arguments on the phone suddenly stopped.

"I'm going home. I have to see the monkey's face."

Kisa hung up before he could get his voice back.

"Are you going home? In a way, you're a father."

Manato, who received the PHS, shrugged between admiration and boredom.

"It's obvious. Anyone who becomes a father is like that." Ruriko looked at Manato and said to Niki, "Come back whenever you feel like it."

"Well, I don't know if I can continue with the business."

Manato put his hand to his forehead and looked out of the park.

The building in question was in a partially destroyed state. Signs on every floor had collapsed and most of the exterior walls had collapsed, exposing the steel frame.

"It's my rule of thumb, but I've never met a person as a customer "again". Even if you hear the news, he's already dead. Goodbye, take care of yourself and go home. If possible, may you be in good health for forever."

++++++++++

When he started walking in the direction of Camellia Gate, the railway was at a standstill and he couldn't even hail a taxi. The city was full of people acting the exact opposite of what Kisa called "intelligent behavior".

Eventually, the railways in Tokyo seemed to be restored, but he kept walking and in the end it took six hours to get to his house.

He was dizzy because he had only drunk the water the bum gave him six hours ago. He fell against the heavy door and managed to make a hole and roll inside.

He lifted his head as he knelt down. The dim light from the chandelier that did not reach the ground dimly illuminated the entrance hall of the atrium.

As he traced the stairs in front of him with his gaze, he saw a small figure sitting on the edge of the bottom step in a compact residence.

Nikki got up slowly.

The figure was the first to notice that Niki had returned home. The usual reaction used to be to run away, but this time he didn't run away and he was looking at him with round eyes behind the tortoiseshell glasses because of the smallness of his face.

"Are you lonely, monkey? What are you waiting for? Why are you lonely?"

"...Frankenstein."

Saruhiko opened his mouth vaguely.

"Hmm? What did you say?"

"Could it be that you're dead...? Did you die from an explosion...?"

"Eh?"

Saruhiko's eyes turned to Niki's feet.

Those were the feet that had been walking on the asphalt for six hours without shoes. His socks were torn and his toes were badly scraped and bleeding. The hem of his leather pants was also frayed. He still had blood on his temples because he hadn't washed his face since he was beaten in the store last night, and his clothes were a little dirty.

Frankenstein, he agreed with that. He didn't know where Saruhiko got that knowledge at that age.

"Oh, yeah. There was a big explosion today, right? It shook everything. Were you scared?"

Saruhiko shook his head once.

"No way."

"Did you see the huge pillar of fire? Didn't you get scared?"

"I could see it. It didn't scare me at all."

"I see. I was very close to the explosion. So, as the great monkey detective deduced, I died."

Niki spread her hands over his head and showed himself.

"Really...? Did you really die?"

"Oh, so I'll be going to the afterlife soon. Well, in sixty seconds."

Saruhiko's eyes widened. The light from the finely crafted chandelier shone brightly in his eyes. The color of spongy blood inhabited his pale cheeks.

It was clear that the light of hope had shone in Saruhiko's world.

"I came to see the monkey before I went to the other world. So please show me your face up close one last time."

Nikki turned around. Saruhiko hesitated a bit and covered his lips.

"Ok. No, I'm about to disappear. Look, my hand is transparent. You can see it, right?"

Saruhiko showed interest and lifted his hips off the stairs.

"I'm about to disappear! Hey, let's hurry up!"

He fixed his gaze on Niki's outstretched hand, pulled on his socks, grabbed the railing, and lowered himself closer to him. He stopped at the same height as Niki, who was waiting below, and grabbed Niki's thumb and little finger with both hands.

Immediately, his face changed.

Gyu-gyu, he squeezed him a few times to make sure he was real. "Understanding" spread across Saruhiko's face. His face, which had been glowing with hope for a moment, suddenly stiffened and repainted with despair.

"You're not dead!"

Saruhiko let out a hoarse cry and released Niki's chest. The recoil made his socks slip and he landed on the steps behind him. Niki didn't resist and fell backwards into the hall.

"Gyaahahahahahaha! No way! I'm sorry! I was kidding!"

Loud laughter echoed from the vaulted ceiling.

He came home feeling a bit regretful for not having "prepared" anything for that day, but he suddenly thought about it. Anything to scare, annoy or despair the cutest monkey in the world.

However, today seems to have been the best day to return. It was worth waiting until today to "give up the monkey" until he fell into the final stage of withdrawal symptoms.

At the edge of his field of vision, Saruhiko scrambled up the stairs on his back and escaped to the second floor. He couldn't help but laugh at how unnecessarily funny he was.

"Die, die! I'll die laughing! Ahahahahahahaha!"

On July 11, 1999, Niki Fushimi experienced an unprecedented disaster that affected the entire Kanagawa prefecture, outside the disaster area. But that in itself did not arouse any emotion in Niki, nor did it have any effect on him.

The man lived without mixing with the ups and downs of destiny that secretly moved the Dresden Slate.

[strawberry-lemonade-kisses]

(5)

Tw: Addiction, SH Mention, Death, Drugs, Not good stuff, hurt, grief

Previous Chapter, Masterlist, Next Chapter

The day room became lively with activity by noon, prompting them to reschedule group therapy to the evening due to the announcement of a special guest, even though no one knew who or what would be presented to the group. The thought of change to the routine everyone had developed was exciting to the group, and the chatter didn’t stop as everyone sat where group therapy normally was, waiting for the guests’ arrival.

“So are we all hoping it’s a clown or someone with proper food because this hospital food is ruining my gains.” Tengen looked sullenly at his biceps, flexing and relaxing like suddenly all his progress had wasted away in the 5 days everyone was in the unit.

“The change would be nice. “I would like time outside, even prisoners get to go outside,” Sanemi said while reclining in his chair, leaning so far back that the front legs of the chair were almost lifted off the ground.

“Everyone, if we could please welcome Sanya, she will be speaking with you all about drugs and drug abuse. This talk will be graphic, it will be raw and if it becomes too much, feel free to leave the room. I will be right outside the day room sitting on the other side of the glass for you guys. Please listen closely” Dr. Gotouge led a taller woman into the room. She was lean, her age showing in the sagging of her facial features, the permanent frown etched into her skin that surely used to smile. The doctor left with a smile, shutting the door behind her as Sanya sat herself in the chair the doctor usually sat in, setting down her large purse that looked full of books. The atmosphere was tense with uncertainty, Tengen was already shuffling in his seat, uncomfortable with the thought of drugs and a lecture while he was still dealing with withdrawal, the medications had made it easier, but it wasn’t perfect and his skin still itched with urge. Sanya sat quietly, observing everyone around her with a content smile.

“Good afternoon everyone, I’m Sanya. I’ve been here at Haven hill visiting and providing information, doing therapy and I am a part time nursing assistant in the adult rehab ward. I’ve dealt with many situations in my time as a nurse. When I was younger, I was a full-time nurse, but I wanted to cut back and take time for me and my family ten years ago this year.” She sat pin straight, stopping as everyone mumbled greetings. “I’m here to share my story of the effects of drugs and drug use. 32 years ago, November 16th, I gave birth to my only child, my son Trevor. He was a very smart boy who loved me and his father, he grew up in a normal home I think, his father and him often fished together, occasionally I would join but really to just sun bathe or work on reports while they sat on the waters edge.” She took in a breath. “Trevor went to community college when he graduated high school. He got an associate’s degree in forensic science and transferred to a four-year college to get his bachelor’s in forensic science as well. He moved to campus after his associates, leaving our home at 20 years old to pursue what he had wanted for a long time, he always had an interest in the macabre you see, he was his fathers son and didn’t shy away from the stories my husband told about his time as a crime scene investigator. That side of things always interested him. He wanted to know how things worked. He was a genius with science that I felt he would make a brilliant doctor, but that wasn’t what he wanted.” Tengen was growing increasingly anxious, visibly fidgeting as the story continued. “During his time in college he found substances. He had started going to parties often, falling in with the wrong people and learning the wrong things. He kept his grades up and he was doing well, we thought. But by the time he was 22, things changed. He came home for thanksgiving break, visiting us with a girlfriend in tow. She was a sweet thing, very caring and patient with him. She was helping me clean up after dinner and we were getting to know each other. I asked how she met Trevor and she went on a whole story of finding him at a party knocked out in the bathroom, bleeding from his head. She called the ambulance and no one would claim him as a friend or significant other, so she went with him, not wanting him to be alone. Trevor had been doing heroin quite heavily, this time strung him out. Grades had fallen and he was on the verge of getting kicked out. We knew none of this. He had always made it seem like he was doing great, no notices had come to the house, we couldn’t check his grade I mean he was an adult. He survived the fall obviously, just a few stiches, head injuries tend to bleed a lot and that’s how he found his girlfriend, Rachel. After his fall he got sober, he went to counseling to help with his stress and Rachel was a big help, she said she was very proud of how far hes come in six months.” Sanya was smiling as she spoke.

“Rachel stayed only two days before going home to her family who was closer to campus. Trevor stayed with us for another day before returning to campus. We didn’t see him until Christmas. Christmas Eve he came home to stay with us for a whole week, Christmas was always a big deal for our family, we didn’t pull any punches and tried our bedt to make it magical no matter how old anyone was. So with the house fully decorated and family visiting from different places we held Christmas eve dinner at our house and Christmas day everyone sepnt with their immediate family. Trevor was quiet, he had come without Rachel as she was with her family and he just seemed melancholy, not sad but just not offering much to the conversations. He spoke only when spoken too and just listened, he hadn’t drank or anything, he remained sober and it was a good dinner with family. He retreated to the basement after everyone left, that is where is old bedroom was, a more spacious room for a young adult male. My husband and I stayed up watching Christmas movies and setting up presents, we spent time reflecting on the year and chatting before we retired for the night.” She paused drawing in a deep breath, locking eyes with Tengen who looked like he was going to sprint through the wall if anyone sneezed.

“I will never forget the screams of my husband. He was running into our bedroom speaking so fast I thought it was in tongues as he dialed the phone. I was getting dressed for the day, brushing my teeth when he screamed. He had gone to check on our son, maybe pen presents if he was awake. I didn’t realize what was really happening. I was just trying to comfort my husband, rubbing his back, trying to get him to answer me when he was on the phone with first responders. I didn’t know that until he was describing it. I think a part of both of us died that day with him. I thought it was an error, a terrible nightmare. I left my husband on the phone with the responders while I went to check. I didn’t need to get far into the basement to know it was true. He had already turned discolored, indicating that he had been dead for at least 7 hours. Heroin overdose, he had managed to get some from a family friend at the party the night before and figured after 8 or so months of being sober he could immediately shoot the same level he had worked up too.” Tengen was out of the room by the time Sanya finished her story, seated with his back against the thick panes of glass that covered most of the wall leading out of the day room. Everyone sat in silence, waiting to see what Sanya would do. The woman appeared calm and tired, as if all emotion had been washed away from her. It was eerie to witness the transformation of a woman who was likely lively at one point. Your chest felt heavy. Is that what your mother would look like? She still had your siblings, but would she be affected like this? Sanya was right when she said a piece of her died that day, because she looked it, Lifeless. She was going through the motions of life but was she really living it?

“Addiction is not something to play with, it isn’t something that someone can handle by themselves. Addiction is a disease, and it kills just as quickly as many other diseases. Like many other illnesses, it takes a support system. Without that to lean on, it becomes easier to fall into old habits. That’s where we failed. That’s what I will always regret. I knew he was recovering, and I didn’t reach out. I expected him to continue to do right. I didn’t let him know I was there for him and I didn’t tell his father. I thought I failed as a parent by not knowing before Rachel told me, but I failed by not taking action while knowing. Speak up, reach out and get help. You can find help all around you. You just have to be open to receiving it.” The air in the room felt thick, uncertain as everyone hesitated for once to speak, no one interrupting eachother or fighting to get a word in, it was uncomfortable.

“You can also get into legal trouble. I was driving in the car with one of my old friends, she slept with someones boyfriend so I dropped her but we were driving to a party one time and she was in the passenger seat with Moly in her lap, we got pulled over and started panicking, he’s gonna ask what’s in the brown paper bag that isn’t suspicious and then he’s gonna search it and were gonna go to jail forever. So we’re sweating while this cop takes his sweet time walking up to my window. He asks for license and all that we go through the routine and I’m trying not to look at her, she’s trying not top look at the officer. I got a ticket for driving with an expired tag and he left. But we immediately dumped moly at the party and went back to my house. That was enough.” Mitsuri was nervously chuckling as she finished her story, looking at Sanya for any assistance to make this less awkward.

“Wait? Whose Molly?” You asked, confused as to why they seemed to have dropped a person or even an animal somewhere and abandoned them. The group burst into laughter, even Sanyas lips lifted into a smile.

“Molly is a drug. It is a psychedelic, used often at parties. You may have heard it called Ecstasy before.” Sanya explained while the laughter died down.

“You are too funny, you poor sheltered child” You shrugged off the comment, drugs just never seemed good, to alter your mind after everything you’d been through with mental illness? Seemed like a recipe for disaster, so you stayed away.

“Is there anything you are struggling with that you feel needs more attention? Substances? Food? People? Self harm?” Sanya looked around.

“We all are, that’s why we’re here, but I think we’re doing better. I know Theres people who may not even know me but somehow care about me and my well being. You don’t want to see others hurting unless you’re a psychopath.” Shinobu was looking at you as she spoke, a soft smile on her lips.

“Well then, I will let you guys continue on with your program. I wish you all good luck on your recovery and take care of yourselves.” Sanya stood, her bag in her hand before she excused herself, Dr. Gotouge sliding into the room as soon as she leaves.

“Wonderful woman, right? She’s strong, she’s seen a lot, as a nurse and as a human, a mother, a wife. You never know what someones been through until you truly look at them, the exhaustion on their face, the red around the eyes, the hollowed cheeks. But people persevere, its human nature.” The doctor sat herself at the desk near the doorway, relaxing in the chair as everyone sat in shock of the past hour. “Anyone want to talk about that?” She offered.

“Some people can care about their kids, others aren’t made to be parents and shouldn’t be,” Obanai’s voice cut sharply, as if he could slice you with just words, but you could tell that speaking made him uncomfortable. You didn’t know what hid behind the facemask and bandages that covered most of his face, but you can’t imagine it was painless.

“I agree. We should chemically castrate a lot of people,” Kyojuro yelled.

“I’ll do your dad if you do mine,” Sanemi joked, laughing alongside Kyojuro as their dark humor broke the uncomfortable air that was suffocating the room.

“Hey, guys, come on. I know you're joking, but if I was anyone else, I would have to report you for saying stuff like that. So just keep that to yourselves or say it quiet enough for no one else to hear. I know you well enough to know you won’t do it.” The doctor gave a pointed look to Sanemi, who shrunk in his chair, a halfhearted shrug thrown her way.

[summercreolefanfictioner]

“i envy anyone who has the privilege of being loved by you.” for devyn and gil 😔💕

I believe this will be the perfect ending

contentment of dissatisfaction || gilbert x devyn (feat. karlheinz)

It was a surprise for Gilbert to discover his profound feelings towards Devyn, his precious friend, the right hand of the king. And it was a forbidden feeling too. He never dared tell anyone about it because he knew what they were going to say.

"You should never touch a king's possession lest you wanna be cursed."

But there was a time when Gilbert couldn't hold it in because Devyn was so pretty, laughing wholeheartedly at something like there wasn't any responsibility on her shoulders or paperwork she had to tend to. She was just her own woman, owning the moment and enjoying life in a few seconds.

And because of that admiration, he couldn't help but tell her, "I envy anyone who has the privilege to be loved by you."

Everything went south as she gave him a confused look, but there was something in her eyes that indicated she knew what he meant but simply wanted a confirmation.

"I have romantic feelings for you, Devyn Kang."

And that was it. He left her full of questions and anxiety, thoughts in her head as to how it all happened and how Gilbert endured it all this time. But because of his pride, he messed with her memories, traveling in the dream world to erase her memory of him confessing so she wouldn't know.

That was then because, above all things, there was Karlheinz, and Karlheinz wanted Devyn all to himself. So he didn't make a move. He enjoyed the undying feeling of hurting himself in this unrequited feeling until he couldn't any longer, especially when she gave him the same look of desperation.

I will fight for this. I will give up everything just for this love.

As he lay on the cold marble stone floor, all bruised and battered from all the damage Karlheinz inflicted on him. He only grinned, spitting out blood on his face, not caring if this person used to be his only friend in the demon world. They love the same woman, but given how Devyn was willing to lay down her life on the line for their affair, he supposed death right now is sweet.

"Gilbert, please," Karlheinz pointed his sword at his chest, dangerously threatening him, "let us end this pointless war. Give up Devyn and we can settle this matter."

Gilbert huffed with pride. "Pointless? You think my love for Devyn is nothing but a mere farce?" Everything he felt was real, raw emotions running down his veins. There is no way this affair was ridiculous.

"Devyn is mine to begin with," Karlheinz clarified, eyes filled with bloodlust because no one takes anything from him.

NO ONE.

"You really think that?" Gilbert knew there was no sense in talking this out with Karlheinz. After all, he mercilessly killed Aurora because of his desire to possess Devyn.

There was a moment of silence as Karlheinz lightly stabbed the skin on his chest, silently telling him to end this war and he'll withdraw the blade and pretend this was all for naught. However, Gilbert held the sword closer and said:

"My heart will never waver, Karlheinz, and you can't take that away from me even if I die."

And the next thing, Karlheinz stabbed him in the chest, witnessing how his old friend died with a triumphant smile. He was reeling from the curse all over again, with Devyn by his side, yet he was sleeping beside a stranger.

The mere thought of Devyn betraying him and eloping with someone else makes him sick. But what makes him feel disgusted is this whole act.

This is unbecoming of you, Karlheinz. Are you willing to risk Eden just for a woman who doesn't love you?

And for once, he has never felt alive.

Somewhere far away from the demon world is a vast ocean that knows no end. Devyn walked towards the ocean, the water reaching her waist as the wind blows away her tears. She was distraught, broken beyond repair, because she was remembering Gilbert and his last words.

"I will die today, and I just hope we can still see each other after that."

Devyn wanted to beat the shit out of him. She wanted Gilbert to use his full power, obliterate Karlheinz, and live happily with her somewhere far away. But then, she knew that he would still die even if Gilbert did what she wanted. After all, dreams are easily ruined by the cruel reality of their fate.

Now, Devyn was nearing her end, the water already reaching her neck. She was sobbing yet smiling at the fact that she'll die in this cold ocean but will meet the warm arms of her beloved.

Gilbert, please wait for me.

And then the water took her peace.

[twoduelsabers]

darkness within

summary -> balancing between the light and the dark is difficult. especially around qimir

content warnings -> nsfw but nothing graphic, inappropriate use of the force??, choking, the author is troubled

no use of y/n, she/her pronouns

a/n : i got carried away

the relationship between them was nothing more than simply the master, and the apprentice. every morning they would train- qimir's crimson blade colliding with her two ones swiftly.

qimir taught her how to tune in with the force. how to bend it to her will. how to use it against someone.

but there was something more. a bond- both of them felt it. a need for closure. and there it was- small touches and careless brushes during training. their knees touching while sitting next to each other.

but nothing more than that. they couldn't be more- she saw him murder her fellow jedi. and even though she was no longer one, the dark side still felt distant. overwhelming.

scary.

until one evening.

she didn't know how it happened- in one moment qimir was holding her hand, showing the flow of the force, how it filled every being. she felt howbit buzzed within him. and the next thing she knew was his robe on the floor, and her's halfway undone. his lips. his hand dangerously close to where she needed him the most.

and then his broad shoulders as she was lying under him, panting. his gentle touches on her torso. how he made her see the stars. raw emotion. qimir made her experience the dark side.

but the come down was quick and harsh.

"this was a mistake."

she was sitting on his cot, back turned to him, still naked. she fiddled with her top, holding it between her finders.

"okay."

was all qimir said. no questions, no pressure, no commitment.

they didn't speak about it again.

yet the lingering glances and unnecessary touches stayed. gentle words of praise when she did good during training. soft caresses when he treated her injuries, so different from his rough and seemingly cruel exterior. qimir made it hard to believe that he was the same person as the murderous masked stranger.

she needed to remind herself of who he was- but as the time passed, it bothered her less and less- because she had realised that he wasn't controlled by the dark side. it was the dark side that was controlled by him. his actions had reasons. whether what he did was horrible or the exact opposite, she could always understand why.

"i'm sorry."

qimir said, looking up at her. his palm was resting on her thigh, as he healed the cut that he caused. not on purpose of course, he would never, but during sparring it wasn't rare that one of them accidently hurt another.

he didn't have to apologise. yet he did.

the pain dissolved quickly, but qimir's hand stayed in it's place on her leg. for reasons unknown to her, she enjoyed his warmth. and when he finally started to withdraw, before she could think about it, she grabbed his wrist, holding it in place.

this was the opposite on what they agreed on, but qimir didn't seem to mind at all. he contained the smirk, but his eyes gave away smugness.

"hmm. i think it's healed now. you don't have to worry."

he said casually. he could see her chest heaving, and feel the warmth of her cheeks. he caressed the inside of her thigh with his thumb.

"qimir."

she didn't mean for her voice to sound so desperate, pleading almost. but there she was- first to break a promise she made. it was impossible not to, when it came to him. qimir was where her self restraint broke.

after a moment, he took his hand away and stood up.

"you should rest."

he turned around, heading towards a pot, to prepare a meal. he always did that- and always shared it with her.

before she realised, she was on her feet, reaching for his hand.

qimir turned around, giving her a curious look. there was a pause.

"i thought we were a mistake."

he stated. something about the way he said it, made her feel uneasy, guilty, almost.

"you promised to teach me about the dark side."

she reminded. it was the truth- he did, but there was a certain point she didn't allow herself to cross. until now.

"i did."

he held her hand.

"do so then."

her voice came out a little shaky. her breaths short and shallow. the first time with him was so unexpected that everything she remembered was blurry. but it wouldn't be the case now.

he reached for her other hand. his gaze seemed uncertain- she could tell there was something on his mind, yet he held back.

"are you sure?"

qimir questioned, pulling her a little closer.

she almost forgot to answer, mesmerised by how his lips moved. she wondered how would they feel on-

qimir called out her name, chuckling lightly.

"yeah-"

she barely had time to finish her sentence, when his lips landed on hers. desperate. they were just like she remembered. she looped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

"take it off."

she managed to utter between kisses, tugging at his robe. qimir happily obliged.

she had seen him shirtless on many occasions, as he really did indulge in swimming, apparently. and somehow, he always appeared in her line of sight while being just out of the water.

but this felt different. it was different.

this time around, his touches seemed calculated and percise. his demeanor more like the one that he displayed during training. demanding and controlling.

"sit."

he gestured towards his cot. again, like during training he was giving her clear instructions. and so she followed.

"take your clothes off."

despite it all, his voice sounded gentle. like he always was with her.

his dark blown eyes roaming over her body made her feel transparent, to the point that there was no difference when she pulled off her shirt, followed by her trousers.

qimir seemed pleased.

he kneeled down in front of her- just like before while healing her wound. this time he placed both of his hands on her thighs.

he pushed her legs apart, and she inhaled sharply, when he trailed kisses upwards.

in no time she was gasping his name and tugging at his hair. her thighs closed involuntarily, but he held her in place firmly, squeezing her flesh as a warning.

he knew where and how to touch her. one flick of his tongue and she squeezed her eyes shut, was completely consumed by lust and desire, by want, balancing dangerously on the edge- like prior, when she didn't fully give in.

but he didn't seem to be stopping any time soon. her legs trembled slightly and she called out his name weakly, overstimulated.

but instead of a response, appeared an invisible pressure on her neck, immediately making her mouth close. he didn't even lift up his head, nor his hand, he just-

she couldn't help but moan when he gave her throat a squeeze. testing the waters, checking how far he can push her. he always did so. for a moment qimir held her there firmly, then finally, finally retreated, gazing over her disheveled form, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"hmm."

he didn't even touch her- a swing of his wrist and she was lying flat on her back. he climbed on the bed, settling in between her legs.

she never experienced the force in that way- it felt like fire, running through her veins and burning everything on its way. she had never allowed herself to experience that- pain and pleasure simultaneously.

"can you feel it?"

qimir's voice was low. he traced his hand up her body, resting it in between her breasts. he pressed, energy flowing between their bodies.

she gasped. it burned, burned to the point she was sure his palm will leave a red mark on her skin. and yet when he withdrew it, she yearned for more. he smirked.

"you can. good. stay just like that."

he leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss, that she reciprocated in an instant. her entire body was on fire.

her legs locked around his waist, wanting more. he obliged.

she surrendered herself to him. lost in his touch, she welcomed his hand wrapping around her neck, physically this time. his kisses and bites.

she welcomed his rough movements, whispers in her ear. she welcomed the darkness. desire, anger, lust, bottomless want.

her nails scraped his back when she came. his grip on her hips surely left marks, too.

panting and in haze, she accepted what she was made for. now, she understood. the power, the freedom. pain and pleasure.

him.

now she knew what he meant when he spoke about the power of two.

masterlist

u will reblog....u will reblog... (insert hand gestures)

[mania-sama]

rule #16 - movies

Rule #16 - Movies - Fish in a Birdcage

➼ information ❧ Bungou Stray Dogs ❧ Pairings: Dazai Osamu & Ranpo Edogawa, Dazai Osamu & Nakahara Chuuya ❧ Additional Character: Mori Ougai ❧ Tags: withdrawal, alcoholism, drug addiction, vomiting, hallucinations, medical inaccuracies, implied/referenced child abuse, dazai-typical suicide references, angst with a happy ending ❧ Summary: The Armed Detective Agency is strict on substance abuse, and the newly-joined Dazai has a severe addiction. They handle it in the only manner that Dazai will accept. ❧ Word Count: 2,631 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 18 October 2023

➼ whumptober 2023 ❧ Day 18: Fever | Vomiting ❧ Previous Day ❧ Next Day ❧ Masterlist

“Be on the side that saves people.”

It doesn’t have to mean the opposing side of the Port Mafia. He could’ve joined a normal detective agency, become a cop, or a healthcare worker. Hell, he could’ve forced himself in the Hunting Dogs if he so pleased. Dazai could fulfill Odasaku’s dying wish anywhere that serves the public while still seeing the worst in people; the violence they commit and the subsequent repercussions. 

But the other side of his coin requires this of him. He dances with brown bears, planning and advancing across their transparent chessboard. It’s Dazai’s turn to play. His only option is the Armed Detective Agency, or the world will collapse under the weight of five fallen angels. Besides, no other place would accept the manner in which carries himself. The Armed Detective Agency is a special organization made for special people. Dazai would be no different.

Maybe, just maybe, he wants to be like everyone else.

He didn’t know that they would be so strict on his addiction. His attempts to redirect conversations to different topics or play off his constant alcohol and drug consumption didn’t work all that well. Kunikida was harsh and Yosano was unimpressed. Ranpo smiled and laughed, but it had been at Dazai, not with him. The President was the only decent one. He pulled Dazai aside and laid out the facts:

“You’re going to get sober on your own or someone in this Agency will make you. It won’t be me,” he said, his eyes glinting with an emotion akin to pity, “but that’s only because they’ll do it before me.”

Fukuzawa doesn’t joke very often. If he does, it’s more likely than not on the topic of pet animals. True to Dazai’s observation, the very next day after work he found a week’s worth of canned food, raw meat, bread, and other condiments stacked in his apartment. His windows were boarded and the door locked behind him immediately.

When Dazai flipped the peephole cover open, he saw a grinning Ranpo waving. He then placed one hand on his hat and the other on his hip. “I’m sure the President warned you already, so I won’t spare any details. I’ll come back when you’re done!” he called. 

His voice was forced into a cheery, high-pitched note. Years of reading people already told Dazai everything he needed to know about Ranpo’s feelings on the matter. Really, Ranpo is as much an open book as everyone else. Ranpo’s eyes are perpetually squinted into near-nothing, but eyes are only one factor of the body’s equation of microexpressions — it’s hardly the only qualifying identifier for emotions and inner thoughts. 

The never-ending analyses of his peers have led Dazai to wear a perfect mask devoid of his true intentions. He wonders, then, if that’s what gave him away to Ranpo. The man sees right through Dazai one hundred percent of the time.

It’s terrifying. Watching him walk away with bags of cocaine, sheets of LSD, and syringes sticking out of his pants was even worse.

Dazai did everything he could to break out. He tore up the floor to find his keys — gone. The rifle he keeps in his safe, the gun under his mattress, the sticks of C-4 in the roof — gone. Every drop of alcohol, heroin, cocaine, even the stashes of Mori-crafted drugs he still kept around for equally special occasions was gone.

The only things that remained were decidedly not anything to kill him quickly, get him high or dead asleep, or escape his own apartment. Things that will keep him alive are all available to him; water, food, a thermometer, a clean bed, and a freshly deep-cleaned home, which Dazai recognized immediately because he hadn’t exactly kept it looking nice since he moved in.

Ranpo knew how to cover his bases. Damn him, damn his non-existent ability, and damn Mori for getting him hooked in the first place.

On the second day, Dazai threw away, destroyed, and ruined as much food and liquid as he could. He set the bread on fire with the stove, the meat into tiny pieces and flushed it down the toilet, poured the water and soda into the sink, and ground the canned vegetables in the garbage disposal. They wouldn’t let him starve, and he knew they could hear him if he screamed loud enough. They would have to resupply his food eventually.

They did bring it in, but that was after his withdrawal began in full force.

It hit him more suddenly than he anticipated, and he realized just how bad he’d been. A decade of nonstop drug and alcohol abuse left him vulnerable to it being taken away. In truth, it’s his biggest weakness that could be exploited without having to do anything. Perhaps that was the underlying motivation for the Agency’s intervention. Dazai was a liability.

He doesn’t know for certain. Most of his thoughts come in sluggishly now, forming slower as the saliva bubbles around his mouth increase.

It’s the third day of true withdrawal, and five days since Ranpo stole all of his addictions and weapons and locked the door behind him. Dazai has the fleeting thought that this really will kill.

His thermometer reads an astonishing thirty-nine-degree fever. While his kakefuton is unbearably warm from his burning skin, the sweat being soaked up in the sheets makes it a sticky swamp. The tatami mats are slightly cooler but infinitely more uncomfortable to lay on. Every part of his body aches and violently oscillates between scorching and freezing.

Nausea cramps his stomach in every waking second. Between vomiting, — now on the tatami floor because he doesn’t have the energy to move anymore — frothing at the mouth, and sweating, he’s never quite dry. The only time he’s able to get himself up is in serious bowel movements, but other than that, he lays on the thin mattress.

He waits, and he thinks.

Mori is to blame for all of this. If he turns his head, he can see the doctor staring back at him. He holds a syringe in his hand. It’s filled with a brownish-yellow liquid that honestly looks anything but appealing. Just another drug to test on Dazai. Just another drug to get hooked on. Just another way to keep the boy on his leash.

His lips are drawn into a smile. He doesn’t move. It’s as though he knows that all Dazai wants is to push himself up and stick the needle into his veins. It’ll get rid of the bubbles flowing from his lips, his uncontrollable heart, and his sickening need to deplete what little remains of his internal fluids.

Dazai looks at his straggly hair and crude eyes for longer than he wants to admit. The liquid gleams and screams to enter his bloodstream.

He uses what energy he has to turn over and put his sweaty hands to his ears. He pulls at his oily hair and forgets Mori Ougai. That man is the reason he’s there in the first place. What the Agency is doing to him is chopping off Mori’s leash for good, and by sticking himself, Dazai would simply offer his neck to be fitting for a new collar.

His heart beats uncontrollably and his mouth froths into his sheets, but he closes his eyes anyway. He blocks out the world and focuses on breathing. Maybe he’ll sleep, and maybe he’ll never wake up. Dazai doesn’t know if he wants to die. He doesn’t. He doesn’t. He doesn't.

Withdrawal isn’t supposed to be this awful.

When he wakes up, he’s greeted with cramped, tense muscles and Nakahara Chuuya leaning into his personal space. His heterochromatic eyes peer scrutinizingly into Dazai’s, then trail down to the mess of his kakefuton and tatami floor. The bastard is wearing shoes, Dazai realizes with an overwhelming feeling of disgust that’s probably just overall nausea. How rude.

“Those are going to kill you, you know,” Chuuya says. His voice is unnaturally young. Dazai squints and tries to make sense of the short hair and tight frown. The black jacket he wears fits too tightly to his body. He no longer wears that red undercoat, either. Something about it being too hot, or not fitting anymore even though he hasn’t grown since he was fifteen.

Dazai laughs, or, he attempts to. His body is seized so tightly by the grip of Satan that movement is impossible. It comes out with a sort of strangled sound followed by gagging. He manages to choke down the vomit coming up his throat, but he doesn’t know why. He wouldn’t mind throwing up on Chuuya.

“Where have I heard that before?” Dazai teases, though his voice is hoarse enough that it comes off rather pitiful.

Chuuya tsks in a way that bares his teeth into a sort of snarl. A feral dog, as always. “I told you they would. Look at you now,” he says.

His hair is different. It hangs down in longer strands over his face and ears, and his black coat hangs over his shoulders in the style Dazai is more familiar with. Rimbaud’s fedora sits perfectly on his head, as though it’s made for him. The stare Chuuya levels Dazai now is older. A grimace hardens the lines on his face.

“You shouldn’t die yet,” he says, intending it to be offhanded and disconnected, but Dazai always saw through that. “How much more of this to go?” Dazai swallows back the bile in his throat, though saliva still does escape his lips. Chuuya pretends not to notice. “I don’t know… I don’t know what day it is.”

Everything burns and cools and burns again. Time passes, or it doesn’t, as he talks with Chuuya. Glasses of water and cooked crab, chicken, and rice appear by his head in intervals that he can’t keep track of. He drinks and eats them as they come and go. Mostly, though, his world is contained within the narrow space of his kakefuton and the rare trip to the bathroom. The last thing he needs is to be sleeping his own shit and pee.

People visit him. At least, he thinks they do. He doesn’t quite know how they get in, or why they sometimes bring syringes and powder and paper to wave in front of Dazai’s face. He’s either too exhausted or his muscles have tensed, but in either scenario, he can’t move to grab his only release from this eternal Hell.

Chuuya comes by on occasion. Mori seeks him the most, reminding him of why Ranpo locked him in and why he burned his old boss’ coat as soon as he could. He can smell Mori’s stench over his own odor, which is saying something considering he’s surrounded by days-old vomit, sweat, and saliva. The sight of Mori is enough to send painful waves of nausea through his stomach and intense light-headed spells.

The last person who visits him is Ranpo. He crouches by his head and cards his fingers through Dazai’s hair. He’s smiling when he says: “I’ll see you soon.”

His apartment is lonely after that, but for the first time in what’s felt like years, he has the energy to stand. It takes a painstakingly long time to pry the cover off of his sticky, dirty body and even get onto his hands and knees. When he does stand, his neck tenses up, and his back screams in weakened agony.

But he does stand, and he walks one step at a time to the bathroom. He turns on the bathtub faucet and watches with blurry fascination as the water rises. He doesn’t bother with his bandages — they are soaked and dirty, but there’s too many to take off and he’s too out of it to try. He soaks in the water and does what he can to work out the vomit and oil in his hair and exposed skin.

His toes and fingers are pruned by the time he’s finished. The process of putting on a fresh pair of clothes requires multiple breaks, and his hands shake too much to pull on socks to protect his feet from the cold of his apartment. He doesn’t return to his mattress when he’s done. Instead, he sinks to the floor in the corner of his room. It’s clean and untouched by illness and withdrawal.

It gets easier as the minutes, hours, and presumably days go on. He checks his phone for the first time on October eighteenth. Eight days since the beginning of his withdrawal. For eight days he laid with a fever high enough to kill someone without an ability and didn’t move, barely ate, barely drank.

All wanted was a shot of heroin or a stick of LSD. Anything. Dazai gradually cleans his apartment to rid the sight of his withdrawal journey. The smell wouldn’t go away until he got his hands on an air freshener, but that’s okay.

He still wants drugs. He still wants the burn of alcohol in his throat.

Then he thinks of the apartment he’s cleaning and the ever-present stench of sickness.

Ranpo will know the moment he picks up a bottle again. Actually, he thinks sourly, they will all know. They wouldn’t hesitate to do this again. The President would warn him before he could take action, and he would be a goner for another eight days, or however long his body punishes him for indulging in his desires.

His body trembles uncontrollably. It’s an after-effect of withdrawal, he knows, and it won’t go away for a while. He can control his heart rate, at least.

He can think.

He can see clearly.

And he’s cleaned his living space for the first time in the ten years since Mori first gave him a shot of heroin and a bottle of vodka to down in a matter of minutes.

Ranpo doesn’t enter the apartment, but when Dazai tries the door it gives way easily. Nobody greets him on the other side. The windows are still boarded. Dazai wonders how many of this people actually visited him. His days of forced withdrawal are full of messy, incohesive memories that don’t add up to much when he pieces them together. It only points to delirium-induced hallucinations, tension, and illness. Staying in one position for so long gave way to stiffness and exhaustion.

He wonders if anyone visited him at all.

It doesn’t matter, in the end. He can’t remember enough for it to make sense, so the argument is null and useless to him. What matters is that he’s alive and following the Agency’s rules. He doesn’t have any alcohol or drugs currently, though he knows who to contact for more if they haven’t already been dealt with by Ranpo and the Agency.

His hands tremble, and he closes the door behind him. He doesn’t want to leave the complex yet, but he does need fresh air. The autumn breeze brushes through his hair and acts as a soothing balm for his sore throat. The sun rises in front of him, casting the buildings and trees in a hazy yellow glow. His shaking hands are outlined in faint orange.

His breath crystallizes in the air, and for the first time, he sees the colors as they are. They aren’t a shattered version of what they may be. The shapes don’t move, the sky doesn’t fall, and his body trembles and trembles.

This is what it means to be sober. He only allows for a split second of discomfort. If being sober means being in the Armed Detective Agency, he will be cleaner than his freshly mopped tatami floor. Because being a member of the Armed Detective Agency means fulfilling Oda’s dying wish.

“Be on the side that saves people.”

[witchcraft-paganism]

Goddess Hecate

Hecate (pronounced in ancient times as He-caa-tay or He-caa-tee) was a powerful Greek Goddess who held various domains of power and was skilled in witchcraft. Her domains and associations included:

1. Magick and Witchcraft

2. A portion of Earth, Sea, and Sky (having tricked Zeus into giving her such positions)

3. Herbalism(she could both heal and poison others)

4. The number three (offerings were given at three-way crossroads and she can see into the past, present and the future)

5. Spirits and other such entities (not to confused with Persephone, the Queen of the Underworld)

6. Reptiles such as lizards and snakes, along with canines and horses. Dragons too (not the European Fire-Breathers. Dragons in Greece were seen as large serpents, each having particular powers)

7. Nighttime

8. New and Dark Moons

9. Mortal wishes (could grant or withdraw)

10. Protection of women and children

11. Polecats (one of her familiars)

Hecate's birth has many stories attached to it. She was the child of Asteria, the Star Titan, and King Perses according to Hesiod. Others say she was born of Nyx and Erebus (thus her association with the night and the dead). Some stories say she was an angeland she had been fleeing from Hera when she had stolen the Goddess' beauty salve. She hid in a house where a child was being born. Than she ran to a cemetery and when she was finally found, Zeus cleansed her in a river deep within the underworld as she had been impure due to entering a house during birth.

Common Offerings:

1. Almonds

2. Honey, water or milk

3. Unmixed Wine (for chthonic epithets)

4. Donations to causes and charities related to Hecate (if you can't spare any coin for any reason, consider visiting greatergood.com and use the click to give options. It's free and you help people! Examples could include breast cancer donations, stray dogs and cat donations, etc)

5. Pomegranate (fruit of the dead)

6. Raw eggs or egg-shells

7. Herbal tea

8. Red mullet

9. Lizard tails (curse-work, avoid)

Tips on giving offerings:

1. Before giving, think carefully about whether or not you can give this away. Also, note that you cannot give away what is not yours. And remember, "what falls to the ground is lost to this world, what is caught is gained". If you have given the offering, you cannot take it back unless your need is great. (this happened to me and resulted in bad luck. Not a lot and faded quick, but strong enough to send a message)

2. Try your best to not look at where you gave the offering (traditionally, this was done so as to not be driven mad when Hecate came, since she is often accompanied by dead spirits and entities which could drive a person mad).

3. Make sure that she likes it, and pay attention to bodily cues. If headaches or something happen when you give the offering, give it, but note that next time you should probably try giving something else. If you experience joy or a sense of silent, neutral peace (which is what I feel), know that the offering was accepted nicely. Hecate will speak less in words and more with signs, remember that.

4. Consider giving the offerings at cross-roads

She guides Persephone (known as Kore in Spring) to and from the underworld. In the Titanomachy, according to some myths, she sided with the gods against the titans. She was known as a virgin goddess, though some say she was the mother of Medea and Circe. This may be true as these two women were powerful witches and Hecate is the Queen or Mother of Witches. However, biologically speaking, I doubt this since Hecate was a virgin goddess as said already. She slew the Giant Clytus and her children also include Empousai (again, not biological). These are vampiric creatures created by magickal means. Perhaps they are egregores, perhaps they were actual physical beings. They were said to have the feet of donkeys but other than that they were human in appearance.

(illustration by IrenHorrors)

[empower-bi-women]

Size kink w/Jay

Word count: 1827

Warnings: SMUT SO 18+ ONLY, size kink, a bit of choking, dirty talk, light degradation maybe, swearing, and thats about it I think 

A/N: So this started off as a little headcanon the turned into a full fic with the help of @bookfrog242 so enjoy our joint 3am thirst. As always feedback is greatly appreciated :) 

tagging @littleredwing89 and @batarella cause ik y’all love Todd 

masterlist 

So we all know this man is B U I L T 

If you're small like me (I’m 5’2 and I like to think of Jay around 6’1ish) he just dwarfs you.

He found out from a night at the manor when Dick and Tim were joking around 

He walked into the room just in time to see you tackle Tim to the ground as he laughed maniacally yelling about a size kink and from the way you reacted he could guess it was you that had it. 

That night he walks into your room all casual like, just asking questions about your day when he decided to corner you

Literally.

“I have a theory about you princess, I know you said that Tim was lying but I think you’re the liar.” 

For every step that he took forward, you took back until your back hit the wall. He gave you a sadistic smile as he kept moving forward until you were staring at his broad chest. 

“Look at me Y/N” you could practically feel the rumble in his chest 

He put his large hand on your cheek, tilting your head up to meet his blue eyes “look at you, so small and cute, I could just wreck you” his hand slid down to your neck, grabbing it lightly. 

“I think you love when I get in your space like this” he kisses your neck, “you’re so close to coming all because I’m bigger,” he bites your neck, “and stronger “ he pulls your hips toward him “and I can use you as my own personal fuck toy” you inadvertently let out a moan and he smirked down at you. 

“I bet you’d let me do just about anything to you. Let me fuck you until your eyes roll back and you can’t think of anything anymore”

He peeled off your shirt and his hands palmed your chest as you let out soft whimpers at his actions, moving your body forwards slightly at the contact. 

“You’re just the perfect size for me to ruin. Looking up at me with those huge eyes acting all innocent,” he nipped at your ear,” I bet you're soaked right now princess.” 

You shook your head, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being right. 

“Oh really? You don’t think so?” he pulled your shorts and panties down in one swift motion before sliding a finger in between your folds. He felt your juices against his fingers and teased you slightly, smirking at how ruined you already were.

“Well will you look at that princess, I was right.”

You moaned out as he held you in place with one hand around your throat as he worked his finger into you slowly before adding another.

“Fuck Jason.” you moaned out as he just laughed at you clawing at his arms while his thumb rubbed your clit. You felt him increase the speed of his thumb slightly and moaned out from the contact, making him smirk at your helpless form “such a good girl for me, so wet and ready. I bet no one else can make you feel the way I do.”

His speed increased once again as you gasped out “it’s too much Jason I can’t.” He smirked as he felt you throb around his fingers “yes you can princess.” he grunted slightly at the feeling of his dick become harder from the sight of you falling apart at his fingers “and you will. You’ll take what I give you and be grateful” 

You tightened around his fingers as you came with a shout of his name. He kept rubbing your clit, working you through your orgasm. 

Once it started to die down he gave you a wicked grin. “Now I didn't say you could cum, did I princess?” 

You looked up at him with wide eyes, pupils blown “I’m sorry I just couldn’t hold it.” 

He clicked his tongue. “Too bad.” he picked you up and carried you to the bed in the center of the room before sitting you down on his lap. “You wanted to cum so badly, go ahead.” he gestured to his thighs, “knock yourself out princess.”  

You rested your hands on his broad shoulders before slowly dragging your hips across the material of his pants. You whimpered at the sensation of the rough denim on your oversensitive clit. 

He sat back, watching you with a cocky look on his face. Blue eyes danced across your innocent form and he couldn’t help but to stare at the way your lips seemed to form a perfect ‘o’ every time your clit dragged across his thighs. He admired the way you whined and felt something dark stir down in his core, dick hardening at every whimper that escaped your lips. He felt himself letting out slight grunts of approval every time you brushed against his clothed dick, slightly thrusting his hips to create more friction between your hips. 

Your hips moved faster as you neared your high once again before Jason lifted you off his thigh.

“What the fuck Todd.” you whined out. He tossed you onto the bed with ease. “Uh uh princess, you can speak when spoken to - understood?” You nodded and felt his thumb move across your bottom lip, bucking your hips slightly as he teased you with his knee. “No one will ever touch you again, understood?” You nodded as you watched him unbuckle his belt, but felt him pause. “What did I say princess? You’re mine. Understood?” You let out a whimper but managed a reply “Yes sir.”

He let out a low growl “good girl.” He groaned as he slid the tip in "you feel so fucking good princess." you whined as his hips met your body, both of you breath heavy as he looked down at your connecting bodies. "holy shit, look how deep I am inside you." he lightly traces the outline of himself before his large hands trail lower over your stomach before pressing down, making you cry out “Fuck you’re taking me so well princess. Look at you all swollen and soaked for me. Such a good little girl.”

He thrust his hips against yours as you sob in pleasure, tears streaming down your face. "look at you, my pretty fucking princess, all fucked out already and we've barely even started. I bet when you played with yourself you pictured me, or maybe it was Grayson. I see the way you look at him, and while I understand your thoughts about him, he could never fuck you the way I’m about to”

Pinning both your hands in one of his, he held you down as he thrust his hips at an unforgiving pace, watching your face twist up in pleasure. “Keep your eyes on me princess.” he groaned as you bit your lip, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “Fuck princess, I’m gonna cum just from the way you keep tightening around me. Such a good girl, so small but taking me so well.” He moved himself again, withdrawing himself completely before pushing back in 

“You like how I just completely take over, hm? How I make you feel like the small baby you are? Turn you into my brainless brat.” You lie there a moaning mess, not being sure whether to answer him or not. He growls “Tell me how much you love having me inside you princess.”

“I love it,” you cried out, tears running down your cheeks, “you feel so good inside me sir.” 

He stopped inside you. You clawed at his wrists begging him to move before he pulled out, flipped you over.. He grabbed your hands, pinning them behind your back.

“Jason please I'm so close.” you were cut off when you felt an exploding pain in your ass.

“Don’t know how I went this long without touching this amazing ass of yours,” he smacked it once again as you cried out in pain, “fucking beautiful. But I believe you were in the middle of begging? You sounded so pretty for me I’d hate to miss it again.” 

“Please,” your voice shook with need, “I need to cum Jason please.” 

“Aw come on princess you can do better than that,” he lowered himself to growl in your ear, “now be a good girl, and beg.”

You whined and felt yourself grow desperate, you couldn’t help but to finally let go. “Jason, I need you inside me. I need to feel your big dick hitting all the right spots, making me so wet and needy for you. I need to cum around your cock. I need you to make me yours.” 

He smirks at your desperate tone and pushes in and out without warning, you can feel his long dick hit spots you didn’t even know were possible and you love it. You can’t help but get addicted to feeling Jason inside you, your dripping walls accommodating him for his every need. 

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you just like this? Make you my little whore, thinking about nothing but me filling you up with my cum? You should have told me earlier about your little kink, we could have had so much fun.” he rubs your clit bringing you to the edge, “well I guess we just have to make up for lost time then, huh princess.” 

You can feel his dick twitching inside of you, as your walls tighten around him “Fuck sweetheart, gonna cum just from hearing the sounds that are coming out of that pretty mouth of yours.”

You whine out and grind back against his hips, “What is it baby? You can talk. Such a good girl, waiting for permission.” 

“Please can I cum, I need it so bad sir, please.” you begged through tears.

Jason let out a low chuckle at your words. “Hold it.”

You whimpered out as you couldn’t take it anymore, “Please sir, just let me cum. Punish me if you have to, just let me cum.” 

He groaned at the desperation in your voice before speaking again. “Fuck princess, so needy for my cock to make you cum. Cum with me. NOW.” 

You moaned out, tears streaming down your face and sobs leaving your throat. You felt so raw, so used. But you loved it, you wanted - no - craved more. You needed Jason to use your body, you needed to feel his cock deep inside of you at all times. You came with a shout of his name. Your vision turned white for a few moments and you swore your soul left your body. 

You felt his hot cum spurt into you, Jason groaned above you. “Fuck princess you get any tighter you’re gonna rip my dick off.” he slowly pulled out of you, hissing as the cool air hit his body. He flopped down on the bed, giving you a shit eating grin. “So, round two?” 

[aminiatureworld]

Return to Me

Characters: Albedo, Scaramouche, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,538

Warnings: Violence, Minor villain death

Premise: What is it like when the one you most adore becomes a stranger? And how’re you supposed to pick up the pieces?

In which the reader loses their memory.

Author’s Note: Just a note that this is not how actual amnesia works, and if you’re experiencing memory loss please contact your doctor.

That being said the amnesia is really good for angst and pining so how could I resist? It’s one of those guilty pleasure tropes I like to read and think of so I hope I did it justice.

Albedo

Albedo loved two things in this world, alchemy and you. They were what kept him centered, what kept him sharp and curious and full of life. So how could it be that one of those things should cause him such great unhappiness, and that said unhappiness should be the other’s suffering?

It had been a dangerous experiment, from the beginning Albedo was well aware of that. Testing whether or not elemental energy contained traces of elements via water could yield incredibly useful results about magic’s interaction with the ordinary world. But it could also backfire massively. Noxious gases, explosions, anything was possible.

But he’d thought he was prepared. After all you two had hiked all the way to the edges of Windrise specifically so no one would be around, and Albedo had even put up a barrier with the express intention of keeping anyone from getting hurt. It should’ve been fine, everything should’ve been fine, and yet when the Electro Slime condensate hit the water and the explosion knocked you both off your feet, slamming into the ground three meters from where you’d originated, he could only wonder how things had gone so wrong.

Picking himself up after a few agonizing seconds, every bone and muscle in his body stiff and aching from the sudden impact, Albedo crawled over to where you lay. To his horror you appeared to have hit a rock, and your head was bleeding slightly. Cupping your face in his hands the alchemist rasped out your name. The relief he felt when you opened your eyes was only momentary, replaced by shock and a sense of utter emptiness when you made out a groggy: “Who are you?”

Electro slime elements appear to contain no small amount of Chlorine, which, combined with only the hydrogen as a result of the electricity splitting the water molecules apart, caused an explosion. Although normally Albedo might’ve been thrilled by the discovery of an element only found mixed in the natural world, now he could only look upon that experiment with a raw sort of hatred that he hadn’t known he’d possessed. The ice around the alchemist’s heart had been burned away, and now all that remained was a burnt and shriveled up little thing, determined to make up for the lack of emotions by throwing its owner into the pits of despair.

Albedo spent all his time at first in the hospital and then in the apartment you two shared. You’d made an offhanded remark about how empty it looked, and Albedo had smiled awkwardly, not having the heart to tell you he could barely look at a piece of science equipment without a deep sense of loss. The doctors had said the effects should fade with time, but Albedo knew that there had been magic in the air, and a sick, twisted part of himself jeered that he was holding onto false hope.

It didn’t help that Albedo had been absolutely unprepared for the reality in which you couldn’t remember a thing about him, or your relationship. Never again would you rush up to him as you had before, excitement in your eyes and questions in your head. Memories of gathering crystal flies in the sunset and staying up all night, notes on old ruins swapped with sweet kisses and phrases that meant nothing at all, the beach where Albedo had sketched you for the first time and you had given him your first gift, all that was nothing to you, the stories of a stranger told by another.

“The first gift you gave me was a flower preserved in a solution of Cryo.” You said, words awkward and unsure in your mouth. Albedo knew that you weren’t really remembering it.

“That’s right,” he replied, voice light and calm, trying desperately to keep the despair from showing on his face. “It was a Cecilia. You said that it looked as if it was made of snow.”

“It sounds beautiful,” you replied, speaking more to yourself than to him, “I wish I could remember it.”

“You will someday, I’m sure of it.” He smiled, but the movement felt like too much effort to keep up and soon his face collapsed once more into an expression of melancholy. As if noticing this you smiled slightly in turn.

“Does it still exist?”

“Yes,” Albedo gazed out the window that faced you two. Beyond the buildings, only a few streets away lay his laboratory, locked away and gathering dust, “it does, but I cannot get it right now.”

“Oh,” you seemed at a loss for words, glancing down towards your hands, “that’s alright. I’d rather remember it on my own anyways.”

Albedo said nothing to this. Moving to place his hand on yours he paused. He was a stranger to you. This little act of comfort, all the little gestures he’d gotten so used to were now impossible. Dropping his hand to his side he moved to get you a glass of water, desperately trying to ignore the pain burning in his chest and in his heart.

_____

“Are these yours?”

Albedo placed the bag of groceries he’d just gotten on the floor. Moving over to where you were sitting, you were taking a break from adventuring until you remembered more, a decision made by the doctors for fear you’d forgotten how to control your vision. You had recently moved on from mostly sleeping to exploring your once familiar home, and now you sat curled on the couch; in your lap was a familiar book. Leaning over Albedo glanced at the page you were on.

“Yes, they’re mine. I like to sketch in my free time.”

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, running your hand reverently over the slightly stained page, “I can see the different shades in the mountain, even if it’s only a pencil drawing.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Albedo smiled to himself, the memory of that day offering him some solace, “it was quite a difficult thing to draw.”

“It had an odd name.” You scrunched your nose slightly in concentration, an expression so cute Albedo could help but let out a huff of bittersweet laughter.

“Dragonspine. That’s the name of the mountain.” Turning to put the groceries away he paused when you spoke once more.

“No. That wasn’t it. It was something else. V-Vida something.” Albedo watched, incoherent thoughts and emotions clouding his mind as you retraced the circles you’d been making on the page beforehand. Suddenly your fingers stopped and you looked up. “Vindagnyr, yes that’s it! There’s a fortress up there, a, what did you tell me they were called, a domain. And that’s the name of it.” You closed your eyes once more. “Something happened there, something to do with you. I can’t remember it, if I was there or if you told me about it before, but something’s there. Something important.”

Albedo felt as if he must’ve been dreaming. The same sort of emptiness that had filled him at the beginning of this catastrophe was there, but this time there was something else, the bitter feeling of a hope that he couldn’t be sure of filling his lungs and his mouth. He turned back towards you, teetering forward as he tried to grasp the situation.

“Yes. That’s right. Vindagnyr. The name it had before it was essentially destroyed by Durin. I met the Traveler there, a week before I met you.” He sat down on the chair adjacent to where you were sitting, memories filling his mind. “It was also the first place we performed an experiment together.”

“I’d like to go there again then.” Your face was one of open triumph and excitement, and there was something in your eyes that Albedo thought he might never see again, a sort of recognition that he thought had been lost, “I know you haven’t been to your work once. I suppose it would make sense, considering what happened, but would you take me there?”

“Of course.” Albedo’s voice was sure and solid.

“Even though I might not remember more.”

“Even then.”

You reached your hand out to the alchemist, and after a second Albedo took it. He ran his thumb over the back of your hand slightly, and you made no move to withdraw, instead squeezing his palm slightly.

You had remembered something. It wasn’t everything of course, and there was no guarantee that there wouldn’t be heartbreak up ahead, wouldn’t be frustration and sorrow and moments when hope seemed very far away. But as long as moments like this existed, Albedo could hang on. The anger and despair that had burned inside him remained, but now something stronger resided there.

And that was hope.

 Scaramouche

“Do you see them?” You whispered, raising your head slightly above the rock you were hiding under. Scowling Scaramouche made a cutting gesture with his hand.

“Yes I see them. And get back down!”

Although his tone of voice was harsher than usual you smiled a smile of understanding as you lowered yourself once more out of sight. Scarmouche took a deep breath in response, trying to control the coiling tension that sat in his stomach. Today’s mission was an unenviable one, made only worse by your presence, for Scaramouche knew these were no ordinary enemies, and though you could take care of yourself just fine there was a nagging in his head that refused to be silenced.

Your targets sat encamped up ahead, completely nondescript in appearance, although that was hardly surprising of deserters of the Fatui, especially ones of such high caliber as them.

Scaramouche’s expression twisted into a scowl of concentration once more as he thought about the moment when you two had received your orders to get rid of those who knew of the dealings of the army of the Tsaritsa, and who were certainly willing to dispose of said secrets for the right price. Although they were no doubt traitors of the worst sort and worth less than dirt, there was still something unpleasant about fighting people who had once been comrades. You’d mused it was because of the bonds of mutual struggle and culture, but Scaramouche suspected for himself it was more the annoyance of fighting people who were at least somewhat trained.

Scaramouche gave the signal and you crept once more out from behind your hiding spot. Manifesting your polearm Scaramouche could already see the well worn metal steaming. This battle was going to be bloody.

At first everything had gone well enough, being hidden on a ledge about the camp you’d managed to do a great deal of damage, made easier by their surprise and ill planned position. However things quickly began to turn sour. The ex-Fatui might not’ve had the equipment of their army days, but they retained the ruthlessness that had once made them so efficient and now made them so dangerous.

There was an odd smell running through the valley, the smell of electricity and something burning. Scaramouche stood in front of a man who had certainly once been a vanguard and a woman who appeared to have been a Cryo mage. Sweat coated their faces but Scarmouche felt cold with the thrill of battle. Electricity crackled to life in his hands and already bits of electricity were dancing on the charred and dinky armor of his enemies. What were they thinking sending a Harbinger against a pathetic group such as this? It was laughable, really.

“Such a pity that members of such an elite force are going to die like dogs.” He drawled. The woman in front of him gritted her teeth, summoning a trail of icicles which Scaramouche easily leapt over. “Is that truly your worth?” He laughed, before the calm that always came with killing washed over him. “Your best is hardly worth my worst.” Gathering electricity, Scaramouche prepared for the final, searing strike.

The man in front of him smiled a sickening sort of smile, the kind that one made only when they knew that it was the end, and then it all went wrong.

The sound of your voice was muffled by the energy approaching Scaramouche from behind, as the outline of a transparent sort of figure clipped his vision. Quickly whirling around Scaramouche was unprepared for the third ex-Fatui member, an agent who had apparently learned his skills well, bearing down on him. Raising his hands, the Harbinger was suddenly thrown aside by an unknown force. Fire made contact with lightning and the ground exploded.

Fighting to retain consciousness Scaramouche was aware of the sickly smell of burning flesh. Blinking away the confusion he glanced at the carnage around him. The agent lay haphazardly, face half obscured by a mass of flesh that must’ve once made him up but now seemed out of place. Behind him the other agents had hardly feared better, and the charred visage of mangled flesh replace what had once been arms, legs, necks. It was an unsettling view, and though Scaramouche couldn’t say it was the worst thing he’d ever seen it still left a vile taste in his mouth. How quickly a fragile little human could come undone, made into that which was unrecognizable.

Finally he fixed his gaze towards you, relieved to find that there was no apparent wounds, although that perspective shifted slightly when viewing your hands, which were covered with welts. Your fire must’ve mixed with his electricity, causing an overload of energy, and you two lying in the eye of the storm. Scaramouche looked at his own hands, and realized they were similarly reddened. Ignoring the pain he shook your shoulder. “Get up.” He let out when you finally opened your eyes.

However it was apparent very quickly that something was wrong. You eyes held no recognition in them, instead they seemed as blank and transparent as a mirror. Looking at him you furrowed your brow slightly.

“Where…” your gaze drifted towards the scraps of humanity around you and then there was nothing but screaming and a wetness on Scaramouche’s cheeks that felt suspiciously like tears.

“You need to get back to work.” Signora’s voice betrayed no sense of pity. Scaramouche was glad for it, he wouldn’t’ve been able to forgive her if there had been.

“I doubt those imbeciles need me for something as simple as the daily regime. If they do it’s their fault, not mine. I owe them nothing.”

“You owe them your work, it’s your duty as a Harbinger,” Signora’s eyes narrowed, “or have you forgotten that in your folly.”

“I’ve forgotten nothing!” Scaramouche snapped, eyes boring into those across from him. “I am well aware of what my obligations are and what they aren’t. As I said there is nothing of importance fir me right now, and I don’t wish to waste away my time with trivial matters.”

“What would our dear Tsarina think of such words,” Signora let out a dramatic sigh. Raising the glass she was drinking from to your lips she paused, “you best be careful. I cannot shelter you from your folly forever. Either you learn how to deal with this… unfortunate incident and your work, or I shall have that person thrown out into the snow.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Scaramouche’s tone was like acid and he felt for the moment as if letting go of himself wasn’t such a crime, for now there was no one to chastise him about it anymore.

“I’m warning you. Don’t forget what happens to those who cannot fulfill their duty to the Tsarina,” Signora paused, a cruel smile gracing her face, “or have you forgotten who caused this in the first place.”

It was all Scaramouche could do not to set the tent ablaze.

“Get. Out.” He commanded. Signora sighed, shaking her head and downing her drink in one go before walking out and leaving Scaramouche with the feeling of falling apart.

_______

“Do you sing?”

Scaramouche lifted his head at the sound of your voice, surprised by the question. You hadn’t said much since the aftermath of the incident, and Scaramouche hadn’t forced you to. After all it was one of the things he’d first appreciated in regards to you, you’d never forced him to talk when he didn’t want to. Now he felt the need to afford you the same courtesy, knowing that intelligence still lay behind those eyes even if recognition had disappeared. Now he put down the document he was reading, smiling wryly and shaking his head.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s what you’re called isn’t it? Your name, one of your names. The… the Balladeer?” You said it as if it was a question, and perhaps it was. Scaramouche couldn’t think however, couldn’t think over the rushing in his ears.

“Where did you hear that?”

“I don’t know. I just heard it. Or I remembered it. But that’s who you are, isn’t it?” You smiled, and for a moment Scaramouche could almost imagine life was as it was before. “Can you sing for me?”

“No.” This conversation had happened before.

“Fine,” you shook your head, “but one day I want you to sing for me, when I remember everything, then I want you to sing for me.”

“Fine.” Scaramouche managed to get out, afraid of the rising emotions he felt, afraid they might break through his voice.

“You’re missing work, aren’t you.” You continued on, gaze piercing through him. “I can tell, I can hear people whispering about it when I go out. I’m not supposed to be here, and you’re supposed to be working. If what you told me really is what happened, you should work.”

“Ridiculous,” Scaramouche scoffed, “I can manage my own affairs. Besides,” his voice grew softer, as if he didn’t want to reveal himself to you. You were too familiar, but still a stranger, and a part of him hid behind the walls he built up around everyone else, the walls only you could climb over. “Besides, who would look after you.”

“I can look after myself.” Your answer was as confident as it had always been. “I have to, since I trust what you’ve told me about myself, about this work, this world.”

“It was you not looking after yourself that lost you your memory!” He was shouting by now, he was shouting but he couldn’t stop because if he stopped shouting he’d be crying.

“Perhaps. But it’s not looking after me to end up like the people we fought. So go to your work. And maybe one day when you come back, I’ll remember.”

He couldn’t say no to you, eventually you won. It had been that way since the beginning, you tearing down his bluffing and his empty promises. Perhaps it was what he appreciated most about you.

Every moment Scaramouche was away from you felt like he was betraying a part of himself, a part he had hid for so long. But you were right, just like before, and just like before you’d won him over with your honesty, your refusal to back down, and your view of the Harbinger for what he truly was, someone who was deep down truly afraid. That part of you remained, somehow without memory and without certainty it remained.

And if that part of you remained, well maybe some day the rest would return.

 Xiao

“Xiao look!” You let out a cry of delight as you threw yourself off the tall stone mountain, glider unfurling in a vibrant waves of color as you began circling in the air. Xiao scowled from the tree in which he was perched, unwilling to humor you in your folly.

“You’re going to be injured.” Although he hadn’t meant for you to hear that you still laughed at the comment, shaking your head as you once more carved shapes into the sky.

“It’s a lovely day for gliding! The air is so fresh and the breeze is just enough to keep you upright!”

“It’s too windy.” Xiao’s voice was flat. This was foolish, what you were doing was foolish. He could feel the currents, feel their laughter, their excitement. They were surely up to no good.

But you weren’t paying attention to that, instead you were gliding about as if you were born to fly. It was a beautiful sight, Xiao had to admit. The beauty of those immersed in what they loved. And what Xiao loved was you.

“Come on Xiao!” You called out. “Come fly with me!”

“No.”

“Oh c’mon, I know you can do it!” Screwing your face into a pout when the adeptus once more shook his head you shrugged. “Your loss.”

Xiao knew you were disappointed, but he couldn’t help it. It seemed somehow out of place for him to join you in whatever you were doing. Besides, he needed to keep track of the currents, just in case.

You dove down for a moment, and Xiao felt his stomach clench, knowing full well what you were doing, but unable to keep the worry out of his mind. And yet then you were flying up, up, up, up and though Xiao wanted to scold you, wanted to tell you to come down once more, he was rapt, in awe. You were too beautiful, and it stole his breath away.

A gust of wind came blowing through the stone monoliths and as your wings buckled and you plummeted towards the ground Xiao found that he was truly unable to breathe at all.

Perhaps it was a blessing that you were unconscious. Then you didn’t have to feel the way Xiao held onto your shoulders as if he’d never let you go, the way he gasped for the air he was supposed to be in charge of, the way his eyes were devoid of everything but fear. You hadn’t fallen so far, he told himself, you hadn’t fallen so far it was fatal. You were breathing, you were going to be fine. But he found himself unable to believe those words. If you had said them he would’ve, but there you were, a crumpled mess and he barely able to process the world around him.

Crashing onto the Inn balcony, not caring about the odd looks thrown his way, Xiao made his way upstairs. You were going to be fine. You were.

If only he could believe himself.

“They’re out of danger now.” Verr Goldet’s voice was calm, unnaturally so, and Xiao only softened a little at the knowledge, sure something had gone wrong. “But…” the innkeeper continued, confirming all of the fears Xiao had been secretly nursing.

“But.”

“But there seems to be a problem with their memory. They were very confused at first, unable to remember things such as Liyue, their duty as adventurer, this place, things like that. At first we thought it would clear, but now it seems that isn’t so. Their memory might be affected for quite a while.”

“I want to see them.” Xiao brushed past Goldet, determined to help you if this was to be your fate. But Goldet’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

“Xiao, they can’t remember you.”

At first there was the feeling of falling. And then, as Xiao vanished, there was nothing.

______

At first Xiao was determined to stay away completely. It hurt too much, hurt to think about what had happened. At first he’d managed to survive on anger, anger at the world, at you not listening to him, at himself for letting it happen. But quickly the anger faded and what replaced it was a loneliness so vast he couldn’t believe that he had managed to survive in such a way before he met you.

Still he didn’t want to go, didn’t want to see you as you were now, unaware of him and perhaps destined to remain so. How cruel fate was. It took everything he knew from him and just when he began to live again it took that to. It took away your memory, your livelihood, and for what? To punish him? It seemed unfair, so unfair.

So he’d stayed away, afraid that something would happened again to you if he were to show himself again. But the knowledge of such emotions as love is something that doesn’t fade, and Xiao found himself unable to continue on as before, finding the pain too great. He had to see you. At least to say goodbye, he had to see you. It would be unfair not to do so.

The moon was full, casting a silvery light on the landscape. Xiao drifted over towards the roof of the Inn, thankful that he was invisible, so as to not have to experience the moment your eyes reached him but you didn’t.

Your silhouette appeared quickly enough in the darkness. You seemed somewhat preoccupied, and yet there was a purpose to your step, made all the more evident by the Qingxin grasped firmly in your hand, a brethren of the other flowers which lay scattered on the railing.

“I know you’re there.” At first Xiao jumped, thinking perhaps you’d somehow managed to sense him. However he calmed down once you continued, it appeared you weren’t truly talking to him.

“I know you’re there. And I wish you’d come back,” You continued, gazing out on the landscape around you. “I don’t remember your name you see. They told me your name of course, but I wish they hadn’t, I wanted to remember it myself. It must be why you left, of course you didn’t want to see me like this. If what they said was true…” you shook your head, “I know it was true. I know that it had to have been true, that I cared for you, that you cared for me. I know because I miss you.” Xiao felt his heart pound in his chest, so loud he could barely hear you.

“I miss you so much. Isn’t that odd? I don’t know you anymore and yet I miss you. It’s as if something is missing. I mean, of course something is missing but it’s more than just the memories themselves. It’s the feeling. Like going outside without a coat on. I miss you, even if I can’t miss you because I can’t remember you I do, I miss you dearly.”

You paused, placing the flower on the railing next to the rest.

“I hope you see the flowers before they fade,” you called out softly to the dark, “and I hope one day I can look at you again. I remember you had such lovely eyes. I’d like to see them again to be sure.”

For a moment Xiao didn’t move, frozen by all he’d heard. But the minute you turned to leave he was already there, bound by the feelings he had for you, by the knowledge that continuing as he had been would kill him, would only hurt you.

“Do you remember me?” It was a silly question to ask, but he had nothing else to say. You turned towards him and smiled softly. It was true, your eyes didn’t recognize him. But there was something in your gaze nonetheless.

“Xiao.” You whispered, and the yaksha knew that he’d never be able to leave again.

[allegra-writes]

"Bright blue ripples"

Mob!Tom Holland x Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, master/sir kink

Just a little blurb cuz I can't get this scene out of my head 💦

"Light of my life, fire of my loins

Be a good baby, do what I want"

Off to the Races - Lana del Rey

"Say it, baby girl" Tom cooed softly against your ear, voice calm and sweet, like he hadn't been torturing you, pushing you to the brink of insanity, blurring the line between pleasure and pain, for almost two hours now. 

As if he wasn't buried balls deep into your tight heat, fucking you raw. 

But no, the bastard wasn't even winded. He was completely under control, as always.

It was unfair.

"Say it, come on" He insisted, "Just three little words, and it'll be over. Just three little words… and master will let you come" 

You dug your fingertips on the sun warmed skin of his shoulders, his back, holding on for dear life as he kept on slamming his hips against yours, railing you into the pool wall. 

You opened your eyes in an effort to clear your mind, to focus on something other than his big cock, thrusting inside you so deep and so hard, that you were sure he was bruising your womb. The bright blue ripples, glistening under the afternoon sun, that he was creating around the both of you with every move, caught your eye. That was exactly the way he was making you feel: wave after wave of pleasure, crashing, growing, amplifying inside you, until you were swept away in the riptide. Until it was hard to breath, useless to fight. You were just too exhausted for that, the only option left was surrendering. 

"I'm sorry, sir" You sobbed, "I'm so sorry"

Tom leaned back, fingers tilting your chin up to look into your hooded eyes and you realized he was only using one arm around your waist to hold you up. It shouldn't amaze you anymore, how strong he was, but it did.

"See, I don't think you are" He tsked, slowing down his movements again, making you whine in complaint, "sorry that you're being punished, maybe. But not sorry for what you did…" 

"No, please, I'm sorry" you begged, "please, sir, let me come"

He chuckled. He loved seeing you like that, his little hellcat, his cold, proud ice queen, reduced to a docile, pleading little kitten. And he was the one to do that to you. No one else but him could tame you, could satiate the hunger within you. 

"I'm not being cruel because I want to, baby girl" Tom explained, thumb brushing away the tears you hadn't realized were falling. "I have to make sure to ingrain the lesson inside that pretty head of yours: Fire is messy, dangerous. I don't want you playing with matches anymore…"

You pouted, petulantly,

"But fire is fun!"

Your boyfriend's face fell, as you realized too late exactly what you had done.

"Did you just "but" me?"

Horrified, you opened your mouth to deny it, to defend yourself, to say anything, but a single stern look from his deep brown eyes was enough to shut you up. His grip around you tightened, as he carried you to the shallow part of the mosaic studded pool. A whine left your mouth as Tom slid out of you and placed you on your feet, the water reaching up to your waist.

"Strip" he ordered, pointing at your white bikini, askew and covering nothing at all already, but you guessed whatever plan he had, he didn't want anything in the way. 

"Lay back, I want you to float on your back" he continued, once your bathing suit was off. You obeyed once again, eyes never leaving his face as he walked around you, disturbing the waters. He seemed to consider for a moment, before grabbing hold of your hip, guiding you closer to the edge of the pool. 

"Hold on" 

Once again, you submissively did as you were told without questioning it, reaching back and grabbing onto the sand colored tile. 

Tom let your hips go, but kept his hands on you, trailing soft caresses from your collarbone, down to your breasts, tearing a moan from your lips when his blunt fingernails catched on your over sensitized nipples. 

"My pretty little girl," he hummed, approvingly, "like it when I play with your pretty tits?"

"Yes, sir"

He cupped his hand under the water, only to later bring it to your chest, watching the droplets fall from his palm to your soft mounds, to the valley between them, catching the sun, glimmering on your skin. 

"My precious girl…" Tom praised, circling you to step back between your legs. He never stopped touching you, massaging your calves, your thighs, stopping a breath away from where you needed him the most.

Your weak sigh made him chuckle,

"Want something, princess? Want me to touch you here?" His index finger finally traced your slit, gathering your wetness, different from the water surrounding you, playing with you, breaching your entrance just a falange, only to withdraw and flick your clit instead. 

"Like it when I play with your pussy too?" He didn't really expect a reply. Luckily, because you didn't think you could have formed words, as he used his index and middle finger to penetrate you at last, wasting no time in searching for that perfect spot inside you that made you see stars. 

"God, look at you… you're so wet, don't even need lube for this. Juicy little cunt" 

He stroke his big, fat cock once, twice, before using the same hand to help guide himself inside you. Without removing the fingers from his other hand. 

You cried out at the feeling, the fullness. He was stretching you to your limit, tearing you in half.

And you fucking loved it.

"You can take it, can't you princess?" It wasn't hard for Tom to realize your cries and sobs were of bliss, "My perfect girl can take everything I give her… Fuck! Taking it so well"

You couldn't have replied even if you had wanted to, you were in ecstasy, weightless, floating, soring. Helpless to the tsunami of sensation as Tom started thrusting again, slow and measured, careful of not hurting you. He was close to bursting himself, but you were his priority, fingertips never stopping rubbing against your g-spot, as your screams grew higher and louder. 

"So fucking tight… my baby needs stretching"

You whimpered. His breathy voice as he talked filth to you was always your undoing.

"So tight… gonna milk me so good…"

He could see the muscles of your entire body starting to lock, "Gonna come for me, baby girl? That's it… you can let go… come for your master" 

You didn't even realize you were holding it until he gave you permission to let go, but when he did, you came immediately, hard, every cell of your body exploding into a million sparks. 

Oxygen deprivation at just the right time could do that to you. 

"Shhhh, you're safe. I got you" Tom's voice was the next thing you were aware of, as he held you close to him with both arms, all of his skin against yours sending you to overdrive as he kept on rocking inside you.

You locked your arms around his neck and legs around his waist, urging him on to go faster and harder. 

"Baby…"

"More" You demanded, "Come inside me… please sir, I want your come"

He growled against your neck, but complied, moving you up and down his shaft, using you to get himself off. 

"Want you to come for me again" He gasped. You shook your head,

"I… I can't"

"You can and you will" His voice broke no arguments as he squeezed you against him tighter, pelvis grinding against your clit. 

"Tom… please, no"

"Oh yeah" he moaned against your ear, "my baby girl has to learn her lesson" 

Your head was too muddled, too confused to decide if you wanted to get closer to the pleasure or further from the pain, but in the end it didn't matter, you were too weak to push him away, anyway. 

"Good girl… isn't it better when you stop fighting? When you just obey?"

You nodded your head minutely, all the answer you could manage, but it seemed to be enough for him. A couple thrusts later, and he was bitting down on your shoulder, releasing deep inside of you, the pulsing of his cock against your overstimulated entrails sending you into climax again.

On shaky legs, he carried you to the steps of the stair of the pool before collapsing on them, with you on his lap.

"God… that was…"

"Amazing" You finished for him, placing a soft kiss on his sweaty forehead. His replying smile was nothing short of ethereal. 

"You were incredible, babe"

"Well, you weren't half bad yourself" Your chuckle died in your throat, as you saw his lips fall. You followed his eyes to the transparent film dressing covering half your right arm, where the gasoline had splashed your jacket and caught fire a few days before, when you had gone against his orders and burnt down the Collucci's place instead of waiting for the boys. 

"I'm sorry" You said, sincerely, "I'll wait for reinforcements next time. I won't act alone again, I promise"

"I know you won't" He deadpaned, "You are off the field for a month" 

"What?? No! Tommy, that's too long!" You complained. He only smirked,

"Don't worry, princess" The mischievous glint in his eyes foretold trouble. For you. "I can keep you entertained until your punishment is over…"

[mahousha-translations]

Gekka Youi-tan 2

Raw translation, non beta'd.

Man: long time no see, Faust-sama. You came down from the mountains, didn't you?

He has the same black wings on his back, just as Faust.

Faust: oh, it's you. Were you working as a deliverer now?

Lennox: yes, something like that. ….by the way, this is…

The man's gaze tends to be shy. His narrowed red eyes look a little bit strange.

Rather than being alert, he seems a bit surprised to see something unusual.

Faust: this guy's Lennox. A kind tengu that lives in the town.

Faust: I'm sure he will do better helping you than I.

That man called Lennox bows at me and I bow back.

Now that I look at him, he's really tall. He had a towering posture.

Lennox's physique is good and more solid than Faust's. Even though both of them are tengu they are pretty different.

But the quiet atmosphere surrounding them feels similar.

Faust: and this is…

Faust mumbles trying to introduce me. He gave up pretty quickly and looks at Lennox.

Faust: to be honest, I don't know more than he's lost. Apparently he can't remember anything. Take care of him.

Faust: and, I won't return to this town nor that mountain ever again. Sorry but, I leave him to you.

Faust tries to leave rapidly, not even waiting for an answer.

Akira: eh?! ... .wai-!!

Even before I get to chase Faust, Lennox's long arms catch Faust.

Lennox: no. I can't help you if you can't properly explain.

Faust: …..

Faust tries to shake him off, but Lennox still holds his arm in silence.

Rather than trying to understand each other's attitude, it feels like they were accustomed to having silent conversations.

They might have a long relationship judging by that respectful way to call "Faust-sama".

Lennox: …..

Faust: …..

Faust was the one giving up first.

Faust: ….I accidentally beat a dragon of the palace.

Faust opened his mouth embarrassed, and Lennox's eyes were a bit wide.

Akira: y-you see! Faust saved me when I was being attacked by the dragon.

Faust: It's a fact I laid my hands on the dragon, no matter the reason. I will probably not get away with it.

Faust: if you get involved with me now, you might get caught up in the middle of the dragons' revenge. You might be able to talk with me like this just for today. I will withdraw myself to a distant mountain for the time being.

Lennox's serious face glooms after hearing Faust's story.

Lennox: a dragon of the castle…. It's bad, indeed…

Akira: is that bad…?

Lennox: oh, you don't have memories, right? I'll explain briefly.

Lennox explains to me about this town and the youkai, caring for me who doesn't know anything.

Lennox: Ōun-gai is a place where many youkai live. Even if I say youkai in general, there are all kinds of temperaments here. Some youkai are mild-mannered, while others are violent.

Lennox: there are also frightening youkai who eat other youkai and consume your power…

Akira: youkai that eat other youkai?! I didn't know that was possible….!

Lennox: yes, it's a clan called "oni". That said, they live in other towns, so you will rarely see one.

Faust: ……

Lennox said he was about to be eaten by an oni when he was younger and weaker than he is now. They seem to be a quite violent and dangerous race.

Lennox: but the most you have to be careful with while living in the city are dragons. Among yokai, they are the most powerful.

Lennox: do you see that castle over there?

I see where Lennox's gaze is pointing at.

I wonder if that's the center of the city? There is a castle standing, surrounded by a lot of sakura trees.

Contrary to the solemn front gate, the walls blooming in white have an elegant aspect.

The castle, remarkably luxurious, overlooks the city with its various turrets. The castle is so big that it can be seen from afar.

Lennox: the great sakura is the true form of that castle. Since it's in the heart of the city, only some dragons are allowed to live there.

Akira: only some dragons…?

Lennox: the dragons that live in the castle, have a particularly long life and a strong magical power, and they use that power to protect the great sakura and Ōun-gai from foreign enemies.

Lennox: naturally, they have a great influence. The youkai living here rely on the dragons, but at the same time, they're afraid of their power.

Lennox: if you're against them, you can't stay here.

Akira: I see….

Among the various types of Youkai, dragons seem to have a particularly high status. I wonder if they are like guards that maintain the order in the town.

Akira: (so this means…)

That Faust (that just rescued me) became the enemy of the most troublesome opponent of this town.

Akira: (that's why Faust seemed so self-conscious earlier…)

Cold sweat runs on me at the same time of my realization. I got Faust involved in something terrible.

Akira: I'm so sorry Faust… you are in danger now because of me…

I apologized, totally pale and he turned away.

Faust: is not like I did it for you. I just didn't like the dragon that attacked you.

Lennox: …. I understand the situation.

Lennox solemnly nods and looks directly at faust.

Lennox: however, I cannot accept you saying that this is a farewell. I would feel sad if I'm not able to see you again.

Lennox: besides, I'm interested in this person attacked by a dragon. It doesn't seem like the dragon holds any grudge against you, is there any reason?...

When the dragon attacked, I was in panic. Everything happened so fast that the only thing I can remember is being scared.

Akira: did… Did I do something…?

Faust: Who knows, I beat it without hearing your story.

Lennox: as expected of Faust-sama.

Faust: there's nothing impressive about that.

Faust looks toward the castle, exhaling briefly.

Faust: I don't know what they are thinking but, given the circumstances, I think we should consider taking Akira to the castle…

Lennox: Akira…?

Akira: oh, that's my name…For some reason, it is the only thing I can remember….

Lennox: I see. Akira-sama then. From now on, I'll refer to you this way.

Every time they call my name, I feel personally nostalgic. As if somebody was patting my shoulder.

But we only met, why do I feel this way?

Am I missing something?

Faust: let's talk about the castle later… What you want to know now is about yourself, isn't it?

As if he guessed what I was thinking, I nod softly.

Faust: let's pay him a visit then.

Akira: "him"?

Before I could ask who, Lennox gasps while looking up. There were three figures soaring in the sky.

Faust: it's the dragons. Things can get ugly if they find us.

We ran into an alley and hid in the shadows.

🌸🌸🌸

White: how was it? Do you think you can find them?

Figaro: not clearly yet.

Oz: White. What is Snow doing in this emergency?

White: Snow is covering from afar. He won't be back for a while.

White: either way, he will inform us of any progress.

Figaro: that being said, we can't take it too easy.

White: because we have an uninvited guest. The buds of the catastrophe should be cut quickly.

Oz: I don't intend to ignore it for too long. As long as we find them, we will get rid of them.

White: just be careful. You have a lot of power in battles.

Oz: ……….

White: won't you reply?

White: anyways… let's divide and continue our search.

Figaro: okay.

Oz: understood.

And so, the three figures parted their ways.

[evebestt]

When the Walls Around are Undone (3/5)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Read here on AO3 or below

~

And so with a night of company, of sorrow and anger and empathy and eventual laughter, she began to heal.

It took time, but her dearest friends wouldn’t allow her to withdraw again; Ben insisted on at least weekly lunches, and the nightly banter with Saul was achingly familiar, and made her realize just how much she’d isolated herself in those months before.

While she still wouldn’t take the sleeping potions, she compromised with Ben and accepted the calming draughts he gave her — even took them, finding they took the edge off enough to let her sleep quietly for a few hours.

And sleep, she found, did wonders for her mind.

She still had scars, but found that they hurt less when she was rested. And without that raw wound festering, she found that her mind had started to clear, her thoughts becoming ordered again without the memories of the past chasing her every waking minute.

And with an ordered mind, she found her prowess as Headmistress came back, and she found she could look Bloom in the eye again without the shock of that moment in the woods stealing the breath from her lungs. Her eyes were still like her grandmothers, and every once in a while she cocked her head like her mother used to, but she could look at the girl again, talk to her, teach her.

Which meant, though the thought made her stomach flip, that it was time to tell her where she came from.

There wasn’t going to be an easy way to have the conversation, but still she planned what she might say, and debated the way to break it to the girl that would cause the least amount of turmoil. At some point the planning became stalling, though, and with that Farah forced herself to soldier up, and requested Bloom meet her in her office the next evening.

She’d hoped the empty classrooms and the quiet halls might provide some extra layer of privacy, but found it almost eerie as she waited, nearly jumping at every sound that might be Bloom’s approach.

“Ms. Dowling?”

She somehow hadn’t heard her come up the steps and did jump this time, letting out a breath before she offered the girl a shaky smile. “Bloom. Yes, come in.”

Closing the door behind her, she was struck like she hadn’t been in weeks, visions of the baby in her womb growing, stretching, reacting to the sound of her voice. She remembered those kicks inside her belly, could feel the ghost of them if she thought hard enough. Was that the same child, now standing in front of her? Wouldn’t she know by some maternal instinct that this for sure was the babe that grew inside her?

The visions cleared when Bloom cocked her head a little, speaking slowly like she was scared to disturb her. “You said you wanted to discuss something with me?”

“Yes, yes I did — do. Ah,” she turned, looked, then waved Bloom towards the chair in front of her desk, liking the separation the desk provided, physically and mentally.

She drummed her fingers once as she sat, a quick tap against the arms of her chair before she tucked her chair in, then pushed some papers out of the way, and only then did she notice Bloom’s concerned look.

“Ms. Dowling, is everything alright?” Her eyes widened a bit and concern turned more to fear. “Are you okay? Did something happen after we brought you back?”

She held up a hand to stop the girl, shook her head. “I’m fine.” Never mind she still had a few nightmares and the smell of soil could make her dizzy at times, but that wasn’t the question. “It’s regarding your birth parents.”

Bloom nearly jolted out of her chair as she sat up, her eyes now bright with eagerness. “Did you find them? How? Where? When?”

She held up her hand again, then folded them on her blotter when Bloom fell silent. “I… it’s best you hear it from the beginning.”

She wanted to move and release the energy building in her chest, but she forced her body to still, even if she couldn’t settle, and began.

“When the five of you resurrected me, some memories… returned.”

“Returned?”

Farah nodded. “They’d been… blocked, in my mind.” 

When Bloom still looked confused, Farah grappled for words. “Rosalind, she… had her own agenda, one she kept secret from everyone. And when an opportunity fell into her lap, she…”

Gods, she was mucking this up, trying so hard to mince her words and color what had happened as gently as possible. Bloom was old enough to hear, and anything but the sheer truth at this point would only make things worse.

“Over seventeen years ago, I got pregnant,” she started bluntly, and saw Bloom blink in shock but continued on. “It was during the war, and I couldn’t hide it for long. When Rosalind found out, she closed me in a suite here at Alfea and performed rituals so that the baby would grow stronger, and with the potential for more magic than any other fairy before them.”

She couldn’t look to see if Bloom was putting it together, could only continue as fast as she could until it was all out there. “When it was time, she took the baby, and then tried to erase any memories I had of the child, the pregnancy, any of it. It seemed to work, and for a time it was as though it had never happened, until the night you brought me back. I believe she hadn’t been able to erase the memories completely, only block them, so once her magic had died with her and I had been resurrected, the block in my mind was removed and all of the memories came back.”

She risked a glance up, saw Bloom looking sorrowful, horrified, empathetic, confused. It hadn’t hit her yet, so Farah continued.

“Now that I know the truth, and I see how those missing months fit into what I knew before, I know that the child I gave birth to was born just before the events at Aster Dell occurred. She didn’t tell me what happened to the child before she erased my memories, however…”

There was a subconscious part of the girl that didn’t want to hear it, Farah could see, that refused to connect the events. She’d have to do it for her, then, and she braced herself for the fallout.

“I believe you are that child.”

After a pause, Bloom let out an incredulous little laugh, her eyes fluttering closed before she opened them again with an unbelieving smile. “That would mean you’re—”

The smile faded, and Farah forced herself to hold her gaze even as the realization sunk in. “That you’re— no.”

Temper flared in her eyes, and Farah kept her voice calm and quiet. “Bloom—”

“No,” she shot back, almost at a yell already, and she pushed to her feet. “No, what bullshit do you think you can get away with? You think because, what, you were dead you can pull this kind of shit? Oh my god, what kind of person would even think shit like this?”

Farah rose to meet Bloom, keeping her voice quiet but putting steel behind it to counter the girl’s outburst. “I understand you’re upset, but—”

“No, this is far beyond upset — this—this is—” her eyes glowed orange, and Farah brought her own magic to the surface, warning glowing in her eyes.

“Bloom, shut it down, you will not—”

Her eyes faded, and something told Farah she hadn’t been in control of that outburst. And that made her all the more dangerous.

“You need to calm down, regardless of what—”

“No I don’t,” Bloom shot back, and she stormed towards the door, raging. “I need to get the hell away from this school!”

“Bloom!” Farah called after her, a command to come back, but she was already gone.

She sat down, trying to sort out her thoughts and grapple with Bloom’s reaction. She hadn’t expected this moment to be joyous — or even calm and collected — but this was beyond even what she’d thought. She’d hoped to explain a bit more at least before Bloom would have inevitably stormed off, to stress she hadn’t known before when Bloom had asked her, and to tell her it wouldn’t change anything between them.

Though that would’ve been a lie, wouldn’t it? As much as she’d try, as much as she didn’t want anything to change between them, the dynamic would forever be shifted with this knowledge. She couldn’t stop that, couldn’t even try to lessen it, now that Bloom had stormed off, and Farah could almost laugh at how comically bad this had gone.

Anxious murmurs from the hallway outside her office caught her attention, pulling her from the brink of self pity. She stood and went to them, finding a group of students huddled around a scorch mark on the ground, smoke still curling up from the blackened stone.

“What happened?” she asked them, though the dread in her stomach already knew.

“We just found it, Ms. Dowling, honest,” one of the girls, a third year mind fairy, told her. “We came from that way,” she pointed to the end of the hall, “and saw this one, and those.” She pointed to the other end of the hall, and Farah saw the line of scorch marks, following the trail Bloom had taken.

The girl’s — Shannon, she remembered — eyes glowed, and Farah saw them widen at what she felt. “Someone was really angry here, I can still feel it. Is something wrong?”

The students looked at each other and moved closer together in fear, memories of the Burned Ones and Rosalind flashing in the back of their eyes. Still troubled, even after months of peace, and she noted to do something to help with that — later.

In the meantime, she tried for a reassuring smile and laid her hand on Shannon’s shoulder, gave the others a quick nod. “Everything’s safe, there’s no need to worry. But best to go the other way for now.”

They nodded, looking reassured but still wary as they turned to follow her orders. Only once they’d turned the corner did anger begin to bubble up in her stomach — how immature and dangerous the girl was to lose control like this — and she turned on her heel to follow Bloom’s path, worried for what other destruction she’d find — or what harm Bloom might have done to herself.

The scorch marks ended abruptly, and she whirled around to try to find any clue as to where Bloom might have gone when she heard Terra call her name, turning to see her niece rushing towards her.

“Where’s Bloom?” she bit out more strongly than she’d meant to, and she saw the worry draw at Terra’s face.

“I—I don’t know — honest, I’d tell you if I knew. She came into the suite raving mad and ranting and then packed a bag before she left again, and then I came to find you.”

Farah nearly growled in frustration, turning on her heel to go to the suites when Terra called after her. “Auntie.”

That made her stop in her tracks — Terra hadn’t called her that since she’d started attending Alfea. Anger dying in her stomach, she turned back to the girl, who suddenly looked so young that it cracked her heart.

“Is it true? What Bloom said?”

And there was nothing else she could say, as much as she might want to. Nothing more than to speak the truth and continue on. “Yes.”

Terra made a small noise, her eyes filling with tears when she ran to Farah and wrapped her arms tightly around her, head pressed against her. “I’m so sorry.”

And her heart shattered. She returned Terra’s strong hug, blinking back tears as she pressed her nose to the crown of her head. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” she murmured, smoothing a hand across her back. “I’m alright.”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Terra said, muffled against her shoulder, and Farah squeezed her a little tighter.

“I know. But I’m alright now.”

“But she said Rosalind made you carry the baby and then took it from you — and you think the baby is Bloom and she’s so mad and doesn’t believe you but—”

“Shh,” Farah soothed her gently before she could work herself up further. “I know, it’s hard, but it’s alright.”

Terra held on a minute longer, Farah holding on just as tightly, before she stepped back, wiping her eyes with her fingers. “I—I don’t know what you’ve done to process, or whatever, or who you’ve talked to, but if you need anything—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Farah breathed, chest swelling with warmth, and formality be damned, she took Terra’s face in her hands and wiped the remaining tears away with her thumbs. “My sweet girl, I promise I’m okay. You don’t have to look out for me, that’s my job.”

“I know, but just in case you did.”

Farah smiled, brushed back hair from the face of the girl she loved just so. “You’re just like your father. I promise, you’re a help just by being here.”

Terra looked uncertain but nodded anyway, and Farah smoothed her cheek in affection, so amazed by how wonderful of a niece she had.

And then reality cracked through, and the scorch marks Bloom had left were still smoking and she realized that she still didn’t know where the girl was — and that she might make good on her threat to leave.

“You said Bloom packed a bag?”

Terra nodded, and the misery cleared from her eyes. “Yeah, that’s why I wanted to find you — she packed a bag, and with how mad she was I think she might be running, but I don’t know where to.”

Farah nodded and took a step back. “Look for her. If you find her first and she hasn’t left already, try and get her to stay, or at least stall her until I find you.”

At Terra’s nod, Farah turned, and hoped to the gods that her instincts were wrong.

~~~~~~~~~

Bloom had learned to form portals under Rosalind’s tenure — Terra could vividly remember the day she’d made her first stable one in the stone circle, the magic there helping to keep it open. It had been awesome and imposing — and just a little terrifying when she’d seen the hungry thirst for power in Bloom’s eye.

But Bloom wasn’t an idiot — she knew what Rosalind was capable of, and though she’d taught her things that Ms. Dowling wouldn’t have dreamed of doing, they could all see the hypocrisy in her actions, the venom in her words to students she didn’t consider powerful enough, and the mad gleam of her eye when she talked of war.

Which is why she struggled to believe Bloom would go through with her idea to leave — it was a foolish thing to do, even as mad as she was, and surely she could still see that after everything had happened.

But hadn’t this all started with one of Bloom’s miscalculated actions?

Still, she hadn’t quite believed she’d find Bloom in the stone circle, bag at her feet, arms outstretched as the air swirled around her and a portal spun to life.

Scared Bloom would step through right then, Terra ran, raising her voice to be heard over the moan of the wind. “Bloom!”

She looked at her, eyes still glowing, and for a moment looked as though she might ignore her. But she stayed where she was, even if she gazed back into the portal.

The winds had died as the portal stabilized, and Terra didn’t have to yell as she came to stand next to Bloom. “Ms. Dowling’s looking for you — she’s worried.”

Bloom made a little noise of disbelief and shook her head. “I don’t want to talk to her.”

“You could at least hear her out—”

“No!” Bloom nearly shouted, and whirled to face Terra. “I don’t want to hear anything she has to say, especially when it’s probably not even going to be true!”

“That’s not fair, Bloom, this isn’t the kind of thing she would lie about—”

“How do you know? She lied about everything with—”

“That was a special circumstance!” Terra snapped back, then took a deep breath, trying to tamp down her anger. “Look, you’re right, she and my dad did lie to us about everything leading up to Rosalind. But they both apologized, and they admitted they understood why we were upset, and after looking back on it, I can see why they lied to us. And the thing is, Bloom, you don’t know either of them like I do. I’ve been really close with my dad for my whole life, and Farah practically raised me when I was younger — you met them at a really difficult time when things around here weren’t normal, and I think that’s skewed your vision around them. I can’t really blame you, you’ve been through a lot, but… you have to give her a chance. Ms. Dowling wouldn’t lie about something as big as this. If she says that Rosalind altered her memories so she didn’t remember you, then I think that’s the truth.”

Bloom had crossed her arms, and looked to Terra like a toddler digging in their heels. “What about the three months in between then and now?”

“She was probably just trying to wrap her head around the idea! I mean, imagine finding out you were pregnant, you had a baby, and then someone stole all those memories from you. And then you get those back, seventeen years later, and you realize the student standing right in front of you is the very same baby someone stole from you? I mean, think about it, Bloom. She’s reliving a lot of trauma for the first time, I think she was just trying to get herself somewhat pieced together before she told you.”

“It’s still not fair to me, that I walked around here for three months thinking nothing had changed, all the while she knew who I was!”

“Maybe it’s not fair, but I also don’t think there was really a right answer in this situation. People were bound to get hurt no matter what — can’t you see that maybe she’s hurting too?”

Something like realization crossed her face, but it was gone a moment later, replaced with an anger underlied with pain that made Terra’s heart ache.

“If you’re my friend, you’ll let me go.”

Terra’s stomach sank. “That’s not fair, Bloom, I don’t think you’re doing the right thing—”

“Who gives a crap if it’s the right thing, it's what I want. I can’t even be here right now, everything that’s happened since I came here has been either lies, bullshit, or complete hell, and—”

“Everything? Even your friends?”

Guilt crossed Bloom’s features, but then she looked away, setting her jaw in defiance. “I’m going. Do whatever you want, but I just— I have to go.”

She turned then, and without looking back, walked into the portal.

Terra stood there for a long time after she’d left, trying to deny the hurt in her heart, but the wounds were deep, and she’d already been raw from what Farah had confirmed.

Everything had gone so well — the school had been taken back, her aunt had been rescued, and all had been quiet since then. How had it all fractured in barely an hour? 

She kicked herself — she should have asked her where she was going, then realized she probably wouldn’t have told her. Irrationally feeling better about that, she steeled herself with a deep breath, then turned and prepared to tell her friends that Bloom had left without a word.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

day 3: "insults"

Zetian came back to their chambers an hour earlier than she was supposed to, and the black-winged line of her lashes couldn’t quite hide the red rims beneath. She was sitting stiff and straight in her wheelchair, the way that Yizhi had learned to read as a kind of pain, like an arm tensed thoughtlessly to protect a bruise. And—he noticed it with some alarm—her golden robes, laid carefully out over her legs with his own hands, were spotted here and there with blood. There was some on her knuckles, spotting her right sleeve, and she held her hand delicately in her lap, as if it hurt her.

“Zetian?” he was already asking, concerned, as the door swung shut behind her. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”

“I’m fine,” Zetian said, and buried her face in her hands.

Yizhi crossed the room in a rush, and knelt in front of her, so that he could look up at her face and her hands. One, her right hand, was bruised, two of the knuckles split, as if she had punched something with enough force to break skin. He didn’t think she was crying, but her hands trembled, just faintly, as she lifted them, briefly, and closed her fists against her face.

“Zetian,” Yizhi said again, reaching up toward her hands. He caught her right hand in both of his, avoiding the worst of the bruising, and tried to gently pull it down. She resisted for a moment, then caved, all at once, letting her fist fall open so that Yizhi could rest her palm on his and get a look at the damage. “Zetian. What happened? Did someone do this to you?”

“No,” Zetian said, voice very flat. Her eyes were closed, and her left hand was pressing against the crease between her brows without regard for the formal makeup on her face. She had been due to give a speech this morning, and it had gone off without a hitch, his steel-eyed Empress the perfect combination of untouchable magnificence and cold, mortal ruthlessness. Yizhi had kissed her hands and told her as much, and she had scoffed, pinched his arm, and told him to go do his job instead of doting on her like the protagonist in some saccharine romance. He had chuckled, and she had smiled, and they had parted ways with one more affectionate kiss to her knuckles. She had seemed—not fine, she hadn’t been fine in a while, but she had been clear-eyed and sure. That had been maybe six hours ago.

“Come with me,” Yizhi said, standing slowly and keeping a light hold of her hand, cradled in his palms like a wounded thing. “I’ll wash your hand off, and we can get you into some clean clothes, okay?”

Zetian opened her eyes, staring at their joined hands like she wasn’t seeing them, and reached out with her left hand to touch her split knuckles, investigating. Yizhi closed his hands over her injured right, frowning protectively, and Zetian pulled back, blinking at the half-dried blood on her fingertips.

“I punched a wall,” she said neutrally.

Yizhi blinked himself, twice, and then said, just as neutral, “Okay.”

She was fingering at the blood on her right sleeve, now. There was some paint coming off her hand onto the fabric, the vermillion of her huadian smudged on her forehead and the heel of her thumb. She didn’t seem to notice, absorbed in the act of rubbing the gold, heavily embroidered silk between her fingers.

“Zetian,” Yizhi repeated, softly, and crouched back down so that he could look up into her face again. “Please, tell me what happened.”

Zetian took a breath, a long, shuddering thing, and let it out in a weary gust.

“I—was trying to avoid—people for a little while,” she said, halting. “So I was in—the study. The big window, with the curtain.”

Yizhi nodded. He knew the one she meant—there was a deep window ledge, made up with cushions and a blanket, so that someone might sit there comfortably for a while. If that person was, say, an Empress in need of a moment to herself, the curtain could be closed to mostly conceal the window ledge and the person inside.

“I heard a pair of maids come in. I should have told them I was there, but I didn’t want to deal with the—everything.” Zetian made a communicative gesture to indicate the nervous prostrations and scraping that most of the servants directed toward her. She unapologetically relished the same behavior from the more insufferable upper class, but it made her uneasy to face it from those who had once been her peers. “So I stayed quiet. I left my wheelchair at the desk. I don’t think—I guess they thought it was supposed to be there.”

She paused there, tongue touching her front teeth, breathing. Her gaze was fixed on some nowhere place over Yizhi’s shoulder, and the lines of her face were hard, angry, but also oddly uncertain. Yizhi didn’t move, just waited, holding onto her injured hand.

After a moment, Zetian stirred again, and said, “I heard them—talking. About…”

She didn’t finish, but then, she didn’t need to.

Yizhi had loved Zetian for a long time, now that he let himself think about it. He had thought, somewhat ashamed of himself for his favoritism, that losing anyone else would be easy, as long as she was with him.

It had not been easy.

They didn’t dare to say his name during daylight hours, unsure of how the raw wound would show itself, too afraid to let anyone else see the depth of their loss. They were both as defensive as lost children, unwilling to let an outsider even look at their hurts, let alone try to touch them. Instead, Zetian and Yizhi curled together and talked in whispers, in the dark, and hid their bloody hearts in each other’s hands.

“Oh,” Yizhi said, quietly. “They—what did they say?”

Zetian’s eyes snapped to his, and all the confused distance was gone, leaving a flame that burned white in its place. Her meridians stirred, he could feel them through his touch at her wrist, and the simple spirit metal headpiece she wore in daily business glimmered as if it was under a brilliant light.

“They said,” she said, a deadly hiss, “that the best thing he ever did was die. They said that he had nothing worth living for. They said,” she went on, voice getting louder, “that he was a murderer, and an animal, and a stupid one at that, too stupid to run for his life. They said that he—he probably raped all his concubine pilots, and they must have been grateful to die just to get away from him, and that I abandoned him to die in the Bird, and that I was right. They said that I was a hero for leaving him behind!”

Zetian was shouting now, almost screaming, throat raw and eyes red and running with the force of her anger. She had reversed Yizhi’s grip on her right hand, and now she was clutching him so tightly it hurt, grinding the bones together, while her left hand was clawed in the cloth of her robe, twisted, knuckles standing out pale against her skin.

“They said that I haven’t held a funeral for him because he didn’t deserve to be remembered—that he killed his whole family and he should have just—”

She stopped, choking on her words, as if she was forcing them out through a stranglehold. Then she spat, “They said that he should have just let the army shoot him, and then all his concubine pilots would still be alive, and we’d all be a lot better off.”

Zetian was shaking, her whole body vibrating under Yizhi’s grip, so that she looked almost like he had, shuddering while his system fought to survive withdrawal. She was crying properly now, ragged sobs of rage and grief, and that awful look of lost, helpless confusion was back beneath it all, and Yizhi—

Yizhi didn’t know what to do to make her feel better, because he was feeling a sudden upswell of sympathy for Zetian’s decision to punch a wall.

He wanted to punch a wall, too. Or, even better, he wanted to go down to the security office and demand every surveillance video from the entire building, and go over them with a fine-toothed comb to find everyone who had ever spoken a single one of those thoughts aloud. Then he could deliver them all up to Zetian on a silver platter, and maybe that would make the glaring emptiness, where they had all-too-quickly come to depend on another person, less painful.

“We haven’t held a funeral because we don’t know he’s dead,” Yizhi finally said. His voice was weak, fragile-sounding, and he realized when he spoke that he was crying too. Not Zetian’s wracking sobs, but a steady trickle that dripped from his jaw and clogged his throat.

“I told him that!” Zetian said, the words torn out of her chest. She was curled over in her chair, clinging to Yizhi like he was the last hope of rescue after a shipwreck, and crying almost into her knees, hand pressed over her mouth. “I said that right to his face, I said that he should have just taken a bullet rather than let them force him into piloting! I said—I said he had nothing worth living for, and those girls had everything, and he should have died rather than—and he agreed with me! He agreed with me, and then he—and then—”

Yizhi gave up on grace and pulled Zetian bodily out of her chair, into his lap on the floor. He wasn’t big enough for it to be comfortable, for either of them—his shoulders too narrow, his limbs too delicate—but she didn’t hesitate to follow his lead. She pressed her face into his shoulder and he fisted one hand in her robes, and felt her take a great shuddering gasp of air, every fiber taut and shivering with emotion.

“I told him,” she said into his robes, as if confessing a capital crime, “that if he was going to rape me, he should at least be honest about it. I didn’t say it like that, but he knew—he knew.”

Yizhi closed his eyes, resting his cheek on her hair, and felt his own breathing hitch. Zetian kept talking, like she couldn’t stop the flow of words now that she had started.

“What if he—what if he thought I still thought of him like that? What if he saved me because he thought—he thought that he was worthless, or a monster, or that we’d be better off? What if—”

“Stop,” Yizhi said, barely a whisper. He wasn’t even sure Zetian could hear him, over her own voice, her own guilt. But she stopped, and just sat and shivered in his arms.

Yizhi took a moment to breathe, her headpiece digging into his temple as he tried to find words.

“He saved us,” Yizhi finally said, slow and careful, “because he wanted us to live. Because he loved us. We can’t—it’s not fair to him, to spend all our time trying to decide if he loved us because he hated himself. That won’t—it won’t help us. And it won’t help him.”

“I was so awful to him,” Zetian said.

“Well,” Yizhi said, managing a brittle laugh through his tears, “sometimes you’re awful. Sometimes he was too. And me, every now and then. What matters is that we try to fix it.”

Yizhi shifted his weight, and carefully lowered both of them down onto the carpet, curled up on their sides, face-to-face. Zetian’s makeup was ruined, her blotchy flush showing through, and he was sure he didn’t look much better. He thought, for a moment, about how they had slept curled up like this the night before the attack on Zhou province. But then, they had been framing another body between them, hands lightly linked over his abdomen, his hands touching them hesitantly every once in a while, anxiously, as if he thought they might disappear.

Now, in the Empress’ quarters, they laid there together on the floor. The light outside the window began to darken, and Zetian’s tears dried, leaving her makeup smeared in ghoulish streaks down her face, and Yizhi kept holding her injured right hand to his chest.

Yizhi didn’t know how long they had been laying there when Zetian spoke, quietly, her voice clear and her eyes closed.

“I miss him.”

“Me too,” Yizhi whispered.

“I want to find those maids and kill them.”

“Me too.”

“We probably shouldn’t do that.”

“No. I could have them reprimanded, though.”

“Do that.”

“Okay,” Yizhi said, and bent his head to kiss the tips of her fingers. “If you let me clean your hand.”

“Okay,” Zetian said. “In a little while.”

[babylooneytoonz]

The Vessel [Pt. 2]

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem! Reader

Chapter Summary: It takes two to make a baby, even with the Mage's spell and the Witcher's seed.

Warning: SMUT, 18+

[My Masterlist]

A/N- I wanted to wait until tomorrow to publish this but I got such an amazing response to first chapter i was emotionally tormented to post this. Thank you all. 💗✨

The Great Mount stood tall, the only place that Yennefer's portals could not open a door to— and this journey from Redania which had lasted over thirty days had finally come to an end.

And it was finally time—

Yennefer smelled like dirt and lavender at the same time, and not a single strand of her hair was out of place, as she hopped off Roach and you followed, getting off the mare so Geralt could tie her to a nearby tree.

The summit of the Mount didn't look unusual, like you had expected but you noticed how there were massive boulders lined in a circular shape with carved imprints on it.You remembered Yennefer telling you about this place once— it was like a sanctuary for the mages, a place that had its own sanctity, that not even the most powerful mage could open a portal to reach here faster. It was like all the spells and all the magic outside of this place was cut off, and the Mount stood disconnected from it all.

Your heart was now thumping wildly inside your chest, and Jaskier could feel it. You felt him place a comforting hand on your elbow and you turned towards him, giving him a frightened smile. You knew he could understand how you wanted to back out now, but you were too knee deep into this little tryst that even if you tried, Yennefer will not let you go.

You looked at the Witcher, noticing how he now sat against one of the shallow heighted boulders, sharpening his sword. It looked like he was least interested in what Yennefer was now doing, but there were times his eyes lifted and fixed on her and then he withdrew them again. You frowned, forcing yourself to look away as nervousness slowly drained your insides.

The man didn't even look at you— and it won't be long when this man will be ruining you, fucking his seed into you so you could carry their spawn.

Jaskier nudged at your arm, and it was only then that you realized that Yennefer was calling you, and Geralt was already there, "Jas', I'm not ready for this. Tell me I can run away." You whispered into his ears, and his low chuckle reached your ears.

"If you didn't have a viable womb, I would have said, run away and she won't follow you."

You knew the bard was right; you couldn't run away, Yennefer would find you with a blink of her eye. Slowly, you exhaled, your fingers nervously fiddling with each other as you walked up to where Geralt and Yennefer were, your steps slow and forced. Your knees felt like they were going to give up beneath you.

The minute you reached Yennefer, her hand lashed out, abruptly grabbing your wrist, her dagger slashing against the flesh on your palm. Instinctively, you let out a hiss, trying to yank your arm away but her hold on it was strong. She held a wooden bowl underneath your bleeding palm, letting all your blood collect until there was no more oozing out of the wound. She then let go off your palm, and you pulled it back, wincing as you pressed it against your chest.

You couldn't help yourself when you lifted your tear filled eyes, but found the Witcher's eyes fixed on you. He was standing face towards you, almost towering over you, his white hair messily sticking to the side of his face, but that didn't seem to bother him. His face held no expression whatsoever, but you could feel his burning gaze on you, that looked even more fiery because of the colour of his eyes. Geralt gave Yennefer his palm much more gracefully, and you watched as she made a cut on his palm and he didn't as much blink when his flesh was cut. He then squeezed the blood out into the same bowl that had your almost coagulating blood in it until the bowl was brimming with red until the top.

Yennefer moved away, holding that bowl in her hand until she was kneeling inside the circle of boulders. You could see her lips move, as though in an enchantment, her hands drawn out and hovering over the bowl.

After a few minutes, her chanting stopping. She stood up, the bowl still in her hand as she walked up to the two of you and her gaze turned towards you.

"Drink, both of you," her voice lacked any emotion.

"If this doesn't work—" Geralt began, in his low, irritated voice, but Yennefer's nostrils flared, and she looked at him with looks that could kill, causing him to grunt and stop speaking as she cut him off.

"It will work, Geralt. It has to work." She snapped, handing the white haired man the bowl. All the while, you remained quiet, but you could sense it— their relationship was not as ideal as it looked like, and there were cracks that were beginning to form. You watched as Geralt brought the bowl to his lips, and he swallowed a mouthful of the blood, until a droplet was trickling down the side of his lips. He then handed the bowl to you and you looked down at it, swallowing bile before your trembling hand brought the bowl up and you also took in a mouthful, although swallowing it was difficult than what you had imagined.

You thought it was awkward at first when not just one but two pair of eyes were gawking at your naked form while you and Geralt performed the ritual of being slathered by the remaining blood— by each other.

But you couldn't deny how soft Geralt's hands felt against your skin, his touch having a raw, tantalising effect on you. His fingers brushed adeptly over your breasts as he spread the coagulated blood over your ivory skin, and it wasn't like you didn't notice, but instead bit your lip to refrain from letting out a moan when a barely audible groan erupted from the Witcher's lips, the minute he felt how taut and erect your nipples were.

He guided you to the ground so now you were laying right in the middle of the circle, your face shot upwards towards the starry sky. His fingers moved, rather gently, from your breasts down your waistline until he was running his fingers against the insides of your thighs, causing a sudden heat to pool up in your core. You knew what he was doing— he was indeed preparing the lamb to be slaughtered, yet your body didn't want him to stop.

"Geralt, fuck her senseless and get it over with. Fill her up until there's not a drop left inside of you."

Geralt grunted in response to Yennefer's words, ignoring her as she walked off, grabbing the bard's arm as she pulled him along with her, something you were thankful to her for. You didn't want them to stay and watch the two of you fucking on display.

"Call me when you're done, my love," her cold, distant voice called out.

Geralt let out a throaty grunt, straight from the pit of his throat. There was no denial inside of you, this man was beautiful, beyond beautiful. But you had grown up to understand that all things that were beautiful on the surface were in fact, corroded from the inside. And so was the Witcher.

"Open your legs," he ordered, his voice low and overbearing, just like a command that you knew you had to follow. Geralt's eyes darkened when you listened to him, without hesitation, his wolfish stare fixed on you as you spread your legs for him, your core heated up and aching for him already. There you were, dripping wet for the man to take you, the way he wanted to and he grunted in appreciation, his slick finger sliding through your folds, making you arch your body and let out a mewl.

"Look at you, little pet, all wet for me already when all I've barely done is look at you," he rasped through your ear, while at the same time, a second finger slid through your folds and instinctively, your hands flew to the back of his head, your fingers coiling around his hair, your breathing hitched, and it surely didn't help when he began grunting and whispering against your ears again, "Goin' to fill you up until you're all swollen with my child."

And Yennefer's— You reminded yourself.

With a swift, almost effortless movement, Geralt grabbed you by your hips, lifting your lower body up and pushing your legs to rest against his shoulders, his raging, massive cock already lined with your entrance. This was it—

Without giving you a warning, he pushed his swollen head into you, trying to be as gentle as he could, for he was aware that this was your first time, thus giving you the time to get used to his size as he stretched you up. You couldn't hold back the scream that escaped your lips— a scream that was a mixture of your anguish and your pleasure both.

You felt weird; on one side the burning was clawing out the tears from your eyes, but at the same time, the pleasure was making you begin to shudder, your hips automatically aligning yourself to his as you adjusted to him. His hands flew to your breasts, while at the same time, he released a grunt of pleasure and began rocking into you.

His thrusts into you were a mix of both— gentle when he thought that he was hurting you and quickly picking up pace when your nails instinctively dug into his sides, and he felt you trying to squirm underneath him, knowing that this was your body's way of telling him that it wanted— needed more.

"Fuck, so tight," he let out a groan, as he completely pulled out of you, leaving you all hot and heavy, your core throbbing wildly in rebellion against the sudden withdrawal, before slamming into you again, "Look at you, taking me so well."

You didn't realize when you closed your eyes, your vision going blurry as an overwhelming pleasure shot through you and your orgasm took you. You couldn't help but gasp, your jaw falling wide open into a perfect o, as a loud, screeching cry of pleasure shot through your lips. Your screams, in turn, were met with with even deeper thrusts by the Witcher, his cock ravaging you as he fucked you even harder at the sound of your cries— his own mouth unable to contain a chain of curses and guttural cries of pleasure that flowed effortlessly through his lips.

Geralt's movements finally became sloppy, until, with a guttural groan, he finally collapsed over your tiny frame, his sweaty face pressed against your blood caked shoulder until you felt his cock twitch inside of you, his hot seed filling you up. He rolled off and landed on his back next to you, the two of you staring blankly at the sky, the only sound the two of you could now hear was the sound of each other's breaths.

Neither said a word, until you didn't know why, you rolled over to your side, and let your head rest against Geralt's bicep, and what surprised you even more was the fact that he didn't shove you off, and instead, his heavy words invaded your ears, "Are you okay?"

This was the first time you felt any kind of warmth towards you from the Witcher, and you didn't know whether it was the after effects of sex, that you suddenly felt so emotional, tears brittlly threatening to spill from your eyes.

"I am, I, uh —"

You began speaking but immediately clenched your lips shut when you heard the familiar voices of the Mage, and the bard, getting closer and closer towards the two of you.

Geralt stood up, throwing out his arm towards you, and you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his amber ones briefly, and you placed your palm in his, effortlessly being pulled off the ground, when the bard finally emerged, with your clothing in his hands.

"Tell me all about it, later, " he winked playfully at you, having handed you your clothes as you began sliding your tunic on.

"There's nothing to tell, Jaskier." You pressed your lips together, not wanting to look into Jaskier's eyes. What were you supposed to tell him? How good it felt having Geralt of Rivia inside you?

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[wyn-n-tonic]

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part I

Word Count: 1,314 Warnings: PTSD. Drug use. As always, if I forgot anything, please message me and I will amend this warning ASAP. Note: In my head canon, Frankie has a daughter, I write a bit about this. I understand talking about babies can be triggering or people just don't like kids but it feels weird to say, "Warning: Baby." Feels a bit ominous. Like, it's not a vampire but just... ya know... be warned. Updated Author's Note (5.7.21): This is not a reader insert. At the time of writing this, I wasn't comfortable writing in the second person nor did I feel as though it was appropriate for what I wanted to explore in this series. This series is my absolute baby and it means so much to me. Thank you for reading. 

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

It comes like lightning in the night, cracking through the tree of his spine heavy with years of hurt.

The first time he was tear gassed in the chambers at boot camp.

That time he crashed the chopper, losing twenty-something men all twenty-something years old. Men… they weren’t men. They were babies, he was a baby.

He remembers the time he had a panic attack in the jungle, squeezing involuntarily on… a kid, not the target.

He remembers the woman’s wail, “¡Mi hijo! ¡Mi bebé!”

My son! My baby!

He killed her baby.

“I killed the baby!” He’s up but his heart’s somewhere else, outside his body. It’s beating so fast he can’t even feel it anymore, not sure if he feels anything anymore and then—

Cool hands on his feverish back, he’s so hot she feels like ice and he sighs contentedly. Marrying the coldest girl in all of Texas had its perks. Her fingers wind into his too long curls at the base of his neck, her lips on his shoulder as she shushes him with a kiss.

“Come back to me, Francisco, you’re safe.”

“But I—“ he’s stuttering. Fuck.

“It wasn’t your fault,” her arms curl around his chest and she’s scooting closer to him now, pulling him into her as hard as she can, “None of it was your fault, it’s okay.”

“How can you say that?” The tears come like wildfire as he chokes out, “How can you hold me like this? Like I’m not a monster?”

Her arms pull tighter against his torso, he didn’t know that was possible. He doesn’t know how this is possible, how he deserved this. This woman, this love, this family she had made for him.

“Baby, listen to me,” her voice is hard and warm, honeyed whiskey to his aching ears. Splintered mind. Broken body.

He nods his head in the dark, whispering a soft, “Yes,” around a lump like coal burning through his neck.

“You are not a monster. The things you did, the things you saw, the horror that was inflicted upon you was not your choice. When you put the flag on your shoulder, Francisco Morales, you gave up autonomy in your decisions. You represented men who played chess with your life and you made it out. You made it out and they threw you away when you needed them the most but I’m not going to. Our daughter is not going to. You are not a monster, baby, and we will get through this together.”

“Luna,” he breathes. His girl, his perfect little girl, “Where is she? Is she okay?” He’s still panicked.

“She's in her crib, baby,” her lips press softly to his shoulder again, “Do you want to go see her? Wanna go make sure she’s okay with me?”

He’s nodding again, untangling fingers from hers to swipe at his cheeks quickly. Afraid, every day, that this tear or that will be the one that changes her mind, changes her heart.

She lifts herself, holding steady to his shaking body the whole time. As if he’s the rock that the storm of her life batters against and not the other way around. Her hands find his and she’s lifting him too. His balance is unreliable, he never lets her go, trailing along the hallway to the baby’s room.

It’s quiet, peaceful. His happiest place, painted like a sunrise. He wanted it that way, clouds around her cradle, his baby growing up in the heavens. He remembers the first time he ever went up there, like it was the first breath he ever took. All rising pinks and melting blues.

He wanted her to feel that freedom from the very beginning. —————

He was so fucking scared when she came into this world.

He was afraid of marring her innocence with his past. He didn’t want his traumas to manifest upon her upbringing, the way his father’s had his.

That first cry shattered his heart but when she wrapped her tiny hand around his finger, he was whole again.

They named her Luna, because he could always find the moon above the clouds. Could always find his way home.

That’s when he started using again. His fear of fatherhood choke holding him, undoing all his hard work. His therapy, his group therapy, his NarcAnon. He promised himself it would just be once.

Just to get through the day, Frankie.

And it turned into…

The week.

The month.

Six.

Next thing he knew, he was flying high and fucking up. Nose bleeds and slurred words, too fast movements and too fast reactions. He was randomly selected for a drug test.

His license was suspended. He was grounded, under review pending cleanliness of a piss test.

That’s when Leah snapped. His patient, strong wife. She’d said things here and there about his use. Argued about money, “Where's it going, Francisco?” The name she uses when she’s calling him back to her, pulling him into her or, like now, close to killing him. Eyes wide with anger and fear at watching her family fall apart because of the actions of one man.

“I'm not going to beg you to get clean. I am telling you,” the tears streaking down her face, voice raw with contained rage bubbling to the surface, “You were able to do it by yourself once, so get your shit together. Or I swear to god, Francisco Morales, I will walk out that door.”

His eyes haven’t left hers the whole time and he knows she’s serious. She promised she wouldn’t leave a man actively working against his ghosts, she’s soothed more sleepless nights than anybody should’ve, but she never promised to stay through active drug addiction. Could not. Would not bring her daughter up in a home dusted in white powder.

He nods, “okay,” lifting his hat from his head and he is pouring buckets. He’s coming down from earlier but he knows he’s gonna need more soon. And another after that. So on and so on until—

He sees the door slamming on an empty home, shocked still with the future his actions will lead him to.

“I’ll find a meeting tomorrow.”

Her glare bores deep, “you’ll find a meeting today, Frankie.”

He bites his lip, not daring ask for another hit to get through til then.

“Francisco!”

The world comes back into focus. How long had he been staring at everything and nothing? His eyes find hers again and his voice is weak as he says, “My stash is in the box with my dog tags and medals, my first pilot’s license.”

“I know.”

He’s nodding again, of course she does.

“The withdrawals are going to start soon, how should we handle this?”

She crosses her arms, pain stitched through every feature of her face, “I think you should stay with Benny and Will for a while. Until you’re clean.”

So he did.

One week goes by and he sweats with a restlessness he’s sure will bust the very seams of his being.

Two weeks and all he wants is sleep, even with the nightmares.

Three weeks and, Jesus fuck, he’s hungry.

Four weeks and the depression sets in, deeper than he’s experienced since he first started getting help back in civilian life.

Five weeks and he’s… not cold anymore. He doesn’t sweat. He doesn’t feel anything, he can’t concentrate on anything.

Can’t focus on Benny’s shitty fight lessons. Doesn’t even listen when Will practices that fucking speech like he hasn’t given it a million times already; to cadets, to soldiers, to the mirror. The only things he can think about, the only things he cares about, are still too far away.

Leah, Luna, the sky.

He needs all three to be whole.

To be Frankie.

A desperate man aching to be complete and to provide again.

That’s how Santiago Garcia found him.

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