#i feel they only add an unease to an already unsettling presence and it works

[invitedeath]

HEADCANON LOG; 002.

↳ the little things 

i’ve thought a lot about little details that can easily be dropped into threads, little tics or traits that might not matter in the general plot of the thread, but certainly build and assist creating that aura around sephiroth for which he is famed. that cold, human-less vision of grandeur that inspires not only awe but raw and very justified fear. 

he always had quite a presence; his strength a recognised and respected fact in gaia and even branching into other games and franchises. he was the best, and that was not just a fancy title either. he was regarded as an almost impossible standard and yet people still tried very hard to reach that. you can take your pick from a variety of canon characters who exhibit that goal too, from people like genesis who wished to surpass him in heroism as well, to people like cloud ( who were more common in their wants ) who wanted to achieve that greatness sephiroth seemed to relish in. he was a poster boy for soldier, in more ways than one, but no doubt after his ‘death’ his traits shifted as did his ideals and wants.

during the development of advent children, to create this new otherworldly vision of sephiroth they changed things about him which i absolutely do intend to write in character because i just think it’s incredible. the most notable and my favourite thing they altered, was the lack of blinking. firstly, for humans to not blink it is often regarded as something creepy, unsettling, strange and uncommon. to not blink alludes to it being staring which socially is usually pretty uncomfortable for most people. but sephiroth, so separated from humanity, not blinking is hardly a bothersome trait at all. in fact, detaching himself further with even these slight little traits that most humans would take for granted until a situation occurs where it becomes obvious that someone is not blinking, it only furthers him from the mass of humanity and thus sets him apart as a more divine creature, not needing the same ticks and habits a human would naturally possess. 

in the animal kingdom, it is common for a lack of blinking to be associated with dominance. to not blink is to create a threat; wolves, cats, generally animals that need to establish some kind of ‘alpha’ role tend to use blinking as confirmation that they are not a threat. if you stare at your cat for too long they might get the impression that you’re ready to fight them, which is hilarious really. so even on an animalistic level, not blinking is an act that inspires wariness. 

there’s a lot about sephiroth that a character can find unsettling. he has an incredibly deep, calm voice, despite even facing someone potentially about to try fucking his shit up. of course he has that gaze; even if he did blink, the serpent-like narrowness to his pupils seem to fixate upon his target like a true predator ready to devour its prey. his confidence just rolls off of his shoulders and he makes no habit of concealing the fact he considers himself a god amongst mere men. 

another thing they changed is the decreased breathing. he almost never takes in a deep breath, which to me is more of a symbolic kind of change than a power move. we equate a lack of breathing to death, and sephiroth has certainly died a few times, but in this case it seems to be more in line with him being above life as opposed to without it. he is just so powerful, so god-like, he discards the needs a simple life form would require. it only really adds to his creepy aura. 

everything about him, from his posture, to his voice, to the lack of blinking or breathing, to the very way he carries his sword, it all boasts of a strength immeasurable to the naked eye. it’s almost impossible to not wonder who he is, what he wants, what he is capable of, regardless of the setting. there’s just something so mythical about him, which also is rather clever considering his life as a general and how his legacy and power was regarded to be something fantastical and historical. he stands so apart from anyone, both in belief and strength, and it is in even in these smaller, finer details, that we understand why being near him is so damn unnerving. 

[hueswrites]

hq kinktober [day1] tendou

main hq kinktober list

hq kinktober [day1] tendou satori/cosplay

includes: a bit of story, some angsty broody stuff on reader's part, cosplay (obviously), fingering and female receiving oral sex

wordcount: 4,827

ok this turned out to be more fluff and actual sort of plot than smut. i just started writing at 12:30am and kept going until 6 in the morning. this is the result. if you were looking forward to straight up smut on this first prompt, i'm sorry but THIS IS NOT IT LMAO.

i absolutely adore tendou and the perspective i gave him on life in this. stay quirky, my friends. (as kenma would say... stay interesting, shouyo)

Being Satori was hard. It was unfortunate, exhausting, and just plain miserable - that's what his junior high school classmates wanted him to believe, at least.

In his early years of school, Satori Tendou was teased for his awkward, gangly appearance and unusual mannerisms. His attempts to interact with his peers were often shunned due to the offbeat semblance he exuded, which left most of the other kids feeling unsettled.

His mother, equally peculiar in her own way, urged Satori to make the most of his eccentricities. "Think about the characters you like from the manga you read. Would you want to keep reading the story if all the characters were the same?"

Satori shook his head, already concluding the point his mother was trying to make. "I get what you're saying, Mom," he grinned from ear to ear, a smile the width of his perfectly straight cherry red bangs, and pushed himself away from the kitchen table. He plopped down onto the wooden floorboard with exuberance. "Life is boring when everyone's the same. Who wants to live a boring life?" He padded over to his room and jumped onto his bed, going back to the first page of this week's issue of Jump. The warm, tingly feeling of adventure took over as he reread the newest chapters of his favorite series for the thirteenth time that week.

A decade later, Satori found himself living in France, where he stood out more than ever before. Not only did he need to learn how to adapt to the country's unfamiliar customs, he also had to learn how to speak its language: the language of love. He found his self-appointed tutor in the bookstore he frequented once he felt comfortable navigating the streets of Paris, which happened to be the same bookstore you browsed when you had a little bit of money to spend.

There you stood alongside him in the graphic novel section, your form hidden under an oversized hoodie, brows scrunched together in what appeared to be deep concentration. You were extremely aware of his presence looming over you, and it created a feeling of unease that sunk into your bones. You braved a glance up at his face, and he quickly turned his head back to stare at the row of the slice-of-life series that lined the very top shelf before him.

Tall, you thought to yourself. That's a very tall man.

You shuffled away from him just a bit, browsing the very bare section of "how-to-draw manga" guides that you knew were second rate to how real manga artists crafted their work.

Moments later, a silvery voice spilled into your consciousness and caught your attention. "Hmm, if only Matsuo-chan realized Hibari's feelings for her in the very beginning..." You can't help but look back up at the lanky man next to you, listening as he changed his speech from French to Japanese. "Then perhaps sweet misery would've never crushed their poor, little hearts." He turned his head to look down at you, heavy lids lowered over brilliantly crimson irises. A cheeky upward curve lifted his thinly shaped lips, and your heart skipped a beat.

Your mind went blank, rendering you speechless.

"I saw the Todai button on your bag," he said, voice now light and cheerful.

You blinked once, twice, then looked down at your messenger bag decorated with various pins from the clubs you took part of in college back in your home country of Japan. Your body relaxed, and a breathy laugh escaped your lips. "Yeah, Tokyo University. Are you from Japan?"

"Yes! Came here from Sendai. How's my French?" He beamed a child-like smile.

You produced your most sarcastic chuckle, turning to lean a shoulder onto the bookshelf so you could face him. "It's kind of terrible."

He mocked a look of despair and dropped his head in feigned embarrassment. You noticed how the pale skin of his cheeks turned a faint shade of red, and you wondered how someone could go from intimidating to adorable in a matter of seconds. Then his eyes snapped back to you, and a toothy grin spread across his face. "Wanna be my tutor?"

Your cheeks flushed pink, and your breath came to a halt again.

"I'm not sure I'm qualified to do something like that," you said, pushing yourself away from the shelf to stand square.

He hummed and straightened his posture, shifting his eyes away from yours, down to your shoes, then back up to your face. "Why not?" The look on his face expressed genuine curiosity.

You decided to pretend you didn't notice his blatant evaluation of your physical form just now.

"I've only been here for a year. I can speak enough French to get by, but I'm not sure I can teach someone else how to speak it."

"So little faith in yourself, little miss."

You furrow your brows at the nickname.

He whipped out a volume of a manga you recently started reading and held it up to you. "You have a pin of this on your bag, too," he said with a wiggle of his sparse eyebrows. "How about you try and get me to start reading this subpar manga by making me read it out loud in French?"

You gave him a look of piqued interest. The possibility of roping someone into reading your favorite series was tempting.

Then he continued, "And we can get yakitori and beer while you teach me?"

The hue of red on your face extends to your forehead.

"You've got pins of beer and yakitori on your bag, too."

A few weeks later, you and Satori were on your sixth date seated across from each other at a cat café in downtown Paris. It took the first three dates (he'd somehow coerced you into) for you to realize that the strange man was just that - strange, but harmless. The one friend you'd managed to make in your year in France introduced you to some very attractive and very gregarious men that you just couldn't see yourself with. Your friend's idea of fun was clubbing and bar hopping through the streets of Paris, and that was unsurprisingly the same kind of fun those men preferred as well.

To you, fun was something much more personal and intimate. Your past experience with relationships lead you to believe that you are meant to be on your own - that there is nobody in this world that will appreciate your oddities and make you as happy as you can make yourself.

Your interests lied in worlds of fiction and fantasy - games, books, movies, and manga, which you learned Satori was just as passionate about as you. Not surprising. He seemed to fit the socially awkward, emotionally inept stereotype you knew most men fit into that also liked anime. He asked too many questions, didn't understand when his questions push personal boundaries, and just wouldn't. Shut. Up.  

He did smell nice. You gave him that.

"So little turtle-in-her-shell, do you ever go to conventions?"

You paused your chewing of the last bit of coffee cake you ordered. "Turtle in her shell?"

That carmine, wide eyed gaze of his remained fixed on your face. "You wear that big hoodie all the time like a turtle in a shell."

"It's comfortable," you state. “And yes, I go to conventions.”

Nearly a minute of silence passed between the two of you, and if it weren't for the chatter of others seated around you and the clinking of cups and plates, you'd have really retracted into your "shell" of a sweater.

So you changed the subject, deciding to ask a question that stepped a hair outside of your comfort zone to a man you weren't quite sure about yet.

"Were you just trying to get my attention with that whole "be my tutor" spiel?" You asked following a sip of your iced cappuccino. A little calico feline had chosen you as its scratching post, kneading its nails into the fabric of your jeans. You ignored the little stings of pain for the sake of the cat's enjoyment.

Satori multitasked between feeding himself scoops of his chocolate parfait and playing with the lashing paws of the black cat that sat on the table between you. "Hey now," he said, lightly squeezing the cat's tail before quickly retreating his hand away to avoid the tiny beast's teeth. "I wouldn't know all the different ways to say "I need to take a dump" in French if it weren't for your tutoring thus far, little miss.”

"That's a weird nickname you have for me." The cat on your lap suddenly hopped to the ground, skirting across the ground to the human it suddenly deemed more worthy of its attention than you. You frowned, the action wounding your cold, bitter heart.

"You wouldn't remember me if I called you by just your name, would you?" He used a straw to slurp up the remaining concoction of sugar at the bottom of his cup.

"Do you even remember my real name, Satori?"

He pushed the now empty cup aside and ruffled the black cat's ears with his fingers. It hissed and gave a quick swat of its paw to his hands, then jumped off the table and scurried away.

"I never forget the names of all the cute girls I get to add to my harem," he said with a smirk, his cheeks rising to meet the crinkled corners of his eyes.

You gave him a lopsided glare. "You're kidding, right?"

Satori laughed - a lilted giggle that sent a shiver straight down to your gut, and then his expression darkened and his eyes captured yours in a binding stare. "Would you like to come over and see for yourself?" The way his voice rumbled an octave lower than you've ever heard had you squeezing your hands into nervous balls of tension above your knees.

You frowned. You genuinely couldn't tell if he was being serious. If you hadn't known how much wit and jest the man exuded in nearly every one of his actions, you wouldn't put it past him to be a basement dwelling, serial stalking NEET that kidnapped girls and made them dress up to suit his twisted fantasies. The thought had you questioning every single thing he's said to you so far. He had your number, he knew where you liked to eat, where you liked to drink, and he even knew where you worked. Was this guy like the others?

Suddenly his laughter burst through the air, the sound so boisterous it made you flinch.

"You look so petrified! Are you that gullible to believe everything I say?"

You grit your teeth and grabbed the paper wrapper from his straw to chuck it at his face. "That was so not cool!" You huffed, getting your wallet out to leave a tip on the table.

His laughter continued to tumble through the café, disrupting conversations from nearby customers only for them to direct their attention towards you. You rose to your feet and hurried towards the exit. You absolutely hate being the center of attention!

Satori followed you and matched your stride easily, one of his steps covering three of yours. He stood unbearably close, and if he didn't smell as sweet as the parfait he just ate, you would've shoved him away,

"___-chan," he sang, and you realized it was the first time he said your name. You allowed yourself to relax just a little and slowed your steps. A brief moment of silence settled between the two of you, and he used that moment to gauge your current state of emotional wellbeing.

"___-chan," he said again, this time demanding your attention.

You remained silent. Satori had picked up on so many of your habits in the past few weeks of talking to you and observing your actions that he understood your silence as your cue for, "Go on, I'm listening."

"I'm sorry for upsetting you," he said, bending at his waist so he could meet your line of sight, continuing to stroll alongside you. He must've noticed the creases under your eyes disappear as your tension eased away because that smug little smirk returned to his face. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, turning your head to look at him just slightly. A shade of pink colored your cheeks when you met his gaze - his wide, inquisitive eyes studying you with childlike innocence.

You looked forward.

He chuckled and stood up straight, sliding his hands into his jean pockets. "Adorable," he said aloud, further deepening your blush.

You steeled yourself and regained your composure. "Which way do we go?"

Satori hummed. "What do you mean?" he said, bending down again to look at your face. Why must he always have to stare like that when he speaks?

"Aren't we going to your place?"

He grinned. "Really?"

You threw a glare his way. "I'll change my mind if we don't start heading there right now."

Satori grimaced. "___-chan does not cool down so easily after bursting into flames," he mumbled, and you ignored the comment. He sighed. "This way, little miss," he took your hand and pulled you along, bounding across the street as the pedestrian crosswalk countdown hit zero. Your hand wrapped around his, holding on tight to keep up.

You couldn't help but laugh at the stupid sound effects he made as he continued to leap from the street onto the sidewalk, giving you no choice but to run and jump over the curb with him.

Your self-conceived belief that you are all you'll ever have and all you'll ever need to be happy now faced a challenger. This strange person - this bizarre character - punched a hole through the wall you've put so much effort to build on your own.

Satori's twenty-seventh birthday came just after your one year anniversary of the strange... relationship... you managed to maintain despite your ongoing struggle against the warped, pessimistic reality you believed about relationships through years of self-doubt. Slowly but steadily the glass case you built around yourself chipped away due to Satori's freakish ability to see beyond your façade and understand your feelings.

You learned about the bullying he faced in his childhood, and how his mother and high school volleyball team helped him accept the fact that life will always have real jerks with nothing nice to say to test your tenacity. He created a routine of reminding you that you can choose whether or not you let those nasty words bring you down or give you motivation to build your self worth.

Life is more fun when things are a little out of the ordinary. Who wants to be the same as everyone else? These are words you considered when you felt down.

For Satori's birthday, you wanted to do something different, something unique that he would remember about you if you ever went your separate ways.

Since the beginning, you noticed Satori had a thing for cute girls in cosplay. When you told him about your own cosplay projects and showed him pictures, his whole demeanor changed. He became shy - something hardly anyone had ever seen in his usually indiscreet personality.

One thing that helped you feel a little more confident in yourself and your relationship was your experience in physical intimacy. From what you gathered in the little bit of discussion you've had with Satori on the topic, he seemed to have far less experience than you. It was cute how his face went bright red when you managed to pry the details of his past encounters out from the tiny little box of insecurities he still held within. Perhaps it was your turn to bring something out of the wicked Guess Monster (you thought it was a cheesy name but he really took pride in the title whenever he reminisced on his youth at Shiratorizawa Academy) that he kept so carefully hidden away.

"Why are you so shy about this?" You asked the first time you had sex.

Suddenly, the creepy, unwavering eye contact he managed to hold with anyone he came face to face with vanished from the list of unsettling and seemingly unashamed habits and mannerisms that made Satori Tendou so uniquely... Satori.

"The one thing I still have trouble with is..." he looked down at where your naked bodies connected on the plush mattress he swore really was worth the $2,000 he spent. (I don't mean to diss your profession, but do you really make enough money as a chocolatier to afford a bed that expensive?) you asked, immediately regretting having asked the question when a gloomy grey cloud appeared over his head).

"Fucking?" You said, giving him a cocky little smirk.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck with a groan.

"I know you get turned on by cute cosplays of your favorite anime girls."

"...and cute actresses," he muttered, now stuffing his face between your breasts.

That's when you decided to shake things up.

Satori's weekends were usually occupied by work at the sweets factory. He was in the process of getting promoted to a position that freed up his weekends, but it wasn't happening anytime soon.

It was just your luck that his birthday fell on a Saturday this year, your only day off on the weekends. You left your cosplays and wigs back in Japan, boxed up in the bedroom you grew up in. While Satori was slaving away at work, you went shopping. You managed to find a decent sewing machine and plenty of fabric at a (pricey) thrift store on the other side of town. The wigs you looked at were ridiculously expensive - definitely for the high end fashion scene of Paris, not for nerdy cosplayers.

Once you returned to his apartment, you spread all of your findings across his bed and bedroom floor.

A maid's skirt that you will definitely chop up to be anything but modest.

A coreset you honestly weren't sure would fit your little love handles and tummy that lost its tone after all the dessert dates Satori insisted were good for "self care."

Cute devil horns with a pointed tail to match.

Knee high stockings and garters he mentioned as being one of the sexiest things a woman could wear.

And a simple leather collar to put around your neck... with the option to hook a leash.

You looked at the spread before you and wondered how such a quiet, reserved person such as yourself could be so... kinky.

You checked the time on your phone. You had three hours to put something together.

9:43pm Satori:

i'm leaving! boss said he'd let me leave 27 minutes early to celebrate the 27 years of my blessed existence on this planet

@( o･ꎴ･)@

9:44pm

that's all he did for your birthday? and wtf is that emoji

9:44pm Satori:

it's supposed to be a monkey but now that i look it really doesn't look like one. be home soooooon!! ＼(^o^)／ he gave me a $1000 bonus too #stacked

9:45pm

omg you are so lame! come straight to your room for your present :)

9:45pm Satori: (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖) ohooOoOOo??

9:46pm stop sending faces and just get your skinny butt over here

9:46pm Satori:

┏( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)┛┏( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)┛┏( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)┛

You heard the front door open, followed by the thump of Satori's shoes hitting the wall. The sound of the lock sliding into place once he closed the door sent a little shiver up your spine.

You sat on his bed, back against the headboard, legs crossed in front of you. You fixed your little devil horns, made sure the tail was pulled out from underneath your butt, and pushed the coreset up to give your cleavage a boost.

Inhale. Exhale.

You'd never dressed up for something like this before, and you had no idea how Satori would react. You imagined he would immediately pass out with a nosebleed.

His footsteps neared his room, and you heard him in his chipper, sing-song voice. "What is my little ___-chan up to, hmm?"  

Once he reached the doorway, his eyes landed on you, and his entire body froze. His jaw went slack, looking like a fool with his mouth wide open in dumbstruck awe at the sight before him.

You gave him your most innocent smile, spreading your legs open just a hair. "Come eat up your dessert, Satori~" you said with a tone so sultry it turned his bones into mush.

Satori's shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his matted hair in exasperation. His rusty red locks had grown longer than when you first met him - curling behind his ears and covering his forehead. "Baby..." he said, walking into the room, towards the bed. "Baby, baby, baby," he repeated in English, his favorite language to express excitement. He crawled onto the bed, stopping just before you to sit and cross his legs while he looked you over.

Your skirt was cut so short he could almost see the sweet spot between your legs. The garter straps hugged the meat of your thighs and hooked onto the thigh high stockings that fit the muscle of your calves.

Those pointy little horns sat just a little bit lopsided on your head. That slim, pointed tail traced back to your rear, and the collar around that gorgeous neck of yours drew his eyes down to your barely contained cleavage.

"Baby," he said again, almost a whisper. He leaned forward onto his knees to hover over your body and cradled your face between his hands. Hungry crimson eyes gazed right through you, a shade darker than you've ever seen before. "I'm the luckiest man in the world," he said, then pressed the softest, most gentle kiss to your lips.

Your heart fluttered, hands coming up to thread your fingers into his hair. "Happy birthday," you murmured, bringing him back down for another kiss.

The kiss quickly went from gentle to fervent, his hands slipping up your calves over the stockings, over the garters and up to your thighs, rounding out over your ass. He gave your fleshy cheeks a squeeze and broke the kiss, going straight to your neck, kissing every bit of your exposed skin.

You spread your legs more, asking him to come closer, and he did. Your hands slipped underneath his shirt, lifting it above his ribcage, up to his shoulders. He barely moved back to remove the shirt completely before pressing his lips back to the skin over your collarbones, giving you gentle nips with his teeth.

This was the Satori you wanted in bed.

He sighed into your chest, going down to kiss the swell of your breasts. "My little devil," he said, sucking on the skin right above the coreset. "You're so sexy," he bit down a little bit harder, eliciting a hiss through your teeth. "So beautiful," a kiss over the bite, moving to your other breast. "So irresistible," both of his hands came up underneath your ass to lift you up off of the bed and into his lap. You yelped, forgetting his lithe frame could muster so much strength. He placed you in his lap, leaning forward to run his tongue across your lips and into your mouth once you opened up for him.

"Take your pants off," you mumbled, pulling at the waistband.

"I don't wanna stop kissing you," he whined, hands running up along your waist and over your back to press you up against his chest. At that moment you wished you could feel the warmth of his skin, if it weren't for the coreset.

"How are you gonna fuck me if you don't take them off?"

"Mmmfgh," he groaned, a funny sound that only Satori could make without killing the mood.

He pulled away, then quickly leaned forward to steal another kiss, and pulled away again. You crawled off his lap and sat back, watching him rise to his knees to shimmy pants down his hips. He sat back on his butt and kicked them off then crawled back to you, caging you between his arms and legs.

You pushed him away and gave him a devious smirk. "If I knew dressing up like this would flip your switch, I would've done it a long time ago."

He returned your grin with a wicked gleam of his own, eyelids drooping down to look at you with his most perverted leer. "Achievement unlocked?"

You slapped your hand over his face, pushing him away with a laugh. Spreading your legs again, you drew his attention down to your skirt and flipped it up over your stomach to show him your bare cunt.

He groaned, a mix of a whine and a curse, before diving down to attach his mouth straight to your dampened folds. He licked and sucked, pressing the flat of his tongue against your clit before sucking on the little bud, repeating the motion over and over until you started to writhe.

"I-" you began, letting out a huff of a breath, "would tell you to slow down," your hand flew up to grip onto his hair tightly once he pushed a finger inside you. "But it's your night," you huffed again, a strangled moan leaving your throat. "Go wild, Satori."

He removed his mouth and went straight from one finger to three, rubbing the pads of his fingers up against the walls of your core stretching you out and looking up at you with glossy, hazy eyes. "Best dessert I've ever had," he groaned, watching you tilt your head back, chest heaving as your body started to tremble. He went back down to lap at your folds, replacing his fingers with the muscle of his tongue, pushing it deep into your little hole.

"Fuck, Satori, I'm already close," you sighed, rocking your hips up against his mouth. He pulled away again. "I want you for breakfast," he pushed his fingers back inside your cunt, now sloppy with the slick of his saliva and your arousal. He gave a bruising kiss to the inside of your thigh, "And I want you for lunch," a kiss to your other thigh, "And dinner," he groaned, feeling you clench around his digits, pumping harder, faster - long, nimble fingers reaching the very depth of your core.

Those little horns started to slide off your head as you tossed your head forward and back, watching him work between your legs and thrashing back against the headboard whenever he hit your sweet spot.

You lifted your hips off the bed, urging your body to the peak of pleasure. Your voice kept going, encouraging him to go faster, harder, sighing, panting, moaning.

And just like that, every muscle in your body tightened, and a gush of liquid splashed out over his fingers and onto his tongue, his nose, and his chin. Your moans turned into brief, choked sobs as your orgasm rocked your body. You gripped your fist into his hair, so tight you ended up bringing his body forward.

"God," you groaned out load, dropping yourself back down to the bed, your body now spent. He kissed the spot under your navel, over your belly button, back up to your chest, your neck, and your chin. You felt the tips of his fingers slip underneath one of the stockings and pull up and away, letting it snap back down against your skin. You giggled, bringing him up for a slick, sloppy kiss.

You both remained as you were, his forehead now resting against yours, eyes closed, soft pants easing back to controlled breaths. Your left arm slung over the back of his neck, and your right remained tangled into his messy locks, the pads of your fingers giving a gentle massage to his scalp.

"How do you feel?" you asked, too tired to open your eyes.

"Hmmm," he hummed, not quite coherent enough to give a substantial response.

Suddenly, both of his arms wrapped around your waist, and he flipped himself over so that you were on top, straddling his waist. His back rested flat against the bed, that mischievous look once again casting a wicked shadow over his face. He glanced over to where the little devil horns fell onto the bed and placed them back where they belong atop your head.

"I feel like I'm just a peasant, sentenced to be one of hell's slaves for all eternity."

You grin, catching onto his narrative. "Such an unfortunate fate. You were once a hero, but were corrupted by the temptation of  lust."

Satori grinned, a toothy, mischievous grin, and his eyes narrowed maliciously. "Now I'm cursed with the inability to ever be satisfied..." He breathed a laugh. "We're so fucking weird," he murmured, "Sounding like Team Rocket..."

You leaned down to give him a kiss. "Weird, normal. Whatever. As long as we're having fun, right?"

[k-writer1998]

Who Said Love Was Easy (3/12)

      There are many different kinds of people who come and go from your life. Some will stay constant and sturdy like a river, growing alongside you, others will come like a whirlwind who wreaks havoc and leaves just as quickly, then there is everything in between. In this twisted maze of connections, that is where our story begins. A steadfast boy, a girl with a past, a little bit of alcohol, mistakes, and some love. Where can you go wrong with that?

angsty fluff

w.c: 2.1k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

      Summer lectures, design deadlines and no focus because of that brat. It’s been three years, they shouldn’t have this effect on me anymore… Even if I tell myself that, that woman has such a strong oppressive energy. I always feel like I’m suffocating. Ugh just thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach. Needing a change of pace I decided to walk to the pub to wait for Changbin. The bustle of the city was a comforting white noise to drown out my thoughts since I really needed to just… not think for a bit. That is, until I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand. With this new sense of anxiety I finally noticed the black car, not so subtly, following me. Luckily the street the pub was on was too narrow for cars and it was entering my line of sight. I checked my phone reflection as a man got out and of course it would be him. Picking up my pace to get away did nothing as he still caught me and forced me to turn around, keeping a hold on my wrist.

“Why are you running away from me?”

“I don’t know, maybe because some random car was following me, a girl who is alone, for over five minutes?” I reply sarcastically.

“I’ve been calling you but you weren’t answering.”

“Call? I probably blocked your number. Look, I’m not interested in pretending to rekindle some broken bond.”

“Y/n… don’t be like this you know I-”

“Don’t pull the remorseful brother act, Youngho-oppa. If you really cared you would have looked for me after I left,” I spat.

      Unlike his sister Younghee who openly showed her indifference, not hearing from him was worse than being thrown out. Youngho was the only one in the entire family that showed me a smidge of kindness, let alone acknowledging my presence when no one else did. It wasn’t until a year after being kicked out did I learn I was nothing more than a stray puppy he played with cause he was bored.

“Don’t be like this y/n. Mom hasn’t been in the right state of mind since dad died. She didn’t mean to hurt you and she’s trying to make it up to you,” he coaxed, pulling me in to stop the wandering ears from hearing.

“That’s a load of shit and you know it. That woman never liked me the minute I was brought in and she made sure everyone but dad knew that. Will she give back the shares to dad’s company that are rightfully mine?”

      His eyebrow twitched and I caught the crack in his facade. Every single one of them are selfish creatures and they will never betray their true nature, a fact I learned the hard way and will not underestimate again.

“Y/n things are sensitive now as is, you can’t just ask for something like that. Why would you want something like those? Aren’t you studying design?”

“Wow, someone did their research. If design doesn’t work I should at least have the shares to give me some support. It was a decent portion wasn’t it?” I pushed.

“Stop acting like a child there are bigger things going on so just cooperate. The faster you do the less we have to see each other. Do you think I have time to chase you around like this?”

      And his true color shows. By now his hold on my arm had turned into a vice grip and it hurt like hell but I couldn’t show weakness now, they don’t get to win after everything.

“Ha… I can’t believe I waited six months to hear from you like you actually cared. Sometimes you really are worse than your mother.”

      My head snapped to the side in an instant and it was numb for a moment before the stinging settled in. I knew something of this caliber would happen… for his own reasons he hated his mother. Who knew it would tick him off that much? Before either of us could come back from the shock, a hand broke the hold on my wrist and my line of sight was covered by someone’s back. The mystery person shielded me from my brother and I immediately recognized the ring on their pinky. Should I be glad or panicked that Jeongin’s here?

“Sorry I’m late, is this person bothering you?”

“Oh? Is this your boyfriend?” Youngho smirked, eyeing him up and down.

“No.” I roll my eyes, trying my best to mask my unease. Jeongin doesn’t need to be dragged into my family drama. I tug at his hand lightly and he turned to look back at me, “Come on, we’re late meeting the others. This conversation is over anyways.”

      Once in front of the pub, Jeongin turned to examine my face. Seeing such concern in his eyes I couldn’t stop the surge of emotion that came over me as tears started to fall.

“Are you okay?! You must’ve been scared…” he panicked and I shook my head.

“Thank you,” I sniffed.

“You still got hit… I can’t believe-”

“It’s whatever.” This was not the first time someone from that family raised their hand to me, I expected nothing less… and I did purposefully push his buttons. “I deserved it. I provoked him.”

      In an instant my gaze that was trained on the ground was forced to meet his piercing eyes by the gentle force of his hand nudging my chin. He had leaned in so that we were eye level and my brain nearly short circuited at his close proximity. Well that’s one way to stop tears.

“It doesn’t matter if you provoked him, that shouldn’t have happened y/n. No one deserves that, do you understand?”

      It surprised me how serious he was about this. I don’t know if it was the butterflies from how close he was or the unsettling feeling of being… perceived, but I couldn’t think. Instead I numbly nodded, my eyes never leaving his as if under a spell. The corner of his lips quirked up at my response before he ushered me into the pub and sat me in my usual seat. He tossed a bag to Chan, that I hadn’t noticed he had, before disappearing to the back. Jeongin re-emerged with some ice and placed it on my face causing me to wince a bit. Taking it from his hands, he reached for my arm but I instinctively pulled away.

“Is your arm okay?”

“It’s fine. Probably slightly bruised at most but nothing serious.”

      He eyed me suspiciously but before he could say anything Jaehyung barged over, worry written all over his face.

“Y/n! What happened?!”

“It’s nothing,” I smiled. He immediately whirled on Jeongin and gave him a pointed look.

“I caught some guy bothering her when I was out buying Chan-hyung some Advil and he… slapped her,” he responded guiltily. 

      I don’t know if I should admire or be annoyed by his honesty. I tiredly rubbed my forehead, already feeling the anger rolling off of Jaehyung. 

“Don’t feel guilty Jeongin,” I smiled before turning to Jaehyung. “Thanks for getting mad for me but it’s not worth it Jaehyung-oppa.”

“Was it your fam-”

“Yes,” I cut him off, but that was more than enough for Jeongin to put the pieces together. Not wanting to hear anything from either of them I add, “I’m fine, really. Plus Changbin is coming so don’t worry okay?”

“Not worry? You usually end up home drunk and always make bad decisions with him.”

“Ninety-six percent of the time it’s me, bad decisions help relieve stress you know,” I smile like a child trying not to get in trouble.

      Jaehyung ruffled my hair with a resigned sigh before telling me not to come home too drunk and went off. Jeongin kept me company but I had to ignore his eyes that were filled with questions I didn’t want to answer. Luckily Changbin came soon after but his eyes zeroed in on my cheek and was ready to square up with Jeongin before I intervened.

"Nope. I'll explain later, let's go." I gave him no time to argue as I waved Jeongin goodbye and sped to the door.

      Knowing that I’ve come from a deprived childhood, Changbin’s lenient with me and my impulses. That being said, tonight is a total bust. Instead of somewhere fun, we’re at some restaurant because as Changbin puts it, he needs to “gage my recklessness” since I “act up more” when my family is involved.

“I ordered some food… and alcohol since I promised to take you out to have fun but before that, what the hell happened? Who hit you? Wh-”

“Are you going to keep going or do you actually want me to answer the questions?”

“Obviously answer them you smart ass. ”

“Long story short it was Youngho and the guy from the pub basically saved me more or less.”

      His eyes softened at the mention of my brother. The first six months I was kicked out I stayed with Changbin until Hyorin, my mom's best friend who had been acting like an actual guardian for me since my dad died, helped me find an affordable place. He’s the one who saw the emotional toll it took when the one person I believed to be on my side threw me away. 

“I would’ve thought he would be too busy with company stuff to come out, especially since he is under a microscope right now with the chairman’s health issues and all.”

“That’s why wicked stepmother and her children are on my tail. They’re trying to exploit our relationship, tied by nothing more than my father’s blood, to try to win grandma over cause she is fond of me and has a big share.” I ran an annoyed hand through my hair before whining, “so can we go clubbing?”

“Yeah… no. I’ll be having to pry off some guy from trying to take you home because you’re wasted.”

“No. That only happened like… four? times…”

“Four times too many. But drink your fill here and let Mr. Neighbor know that you’re staying at mine. If I bring you home drop dead drunk again I think he would actually kill me.”

“You’re probably right,” I laugh before shooting a quick text to Jaehyung. Once I put my phone down, the waitress came in with our order and I pointed at Changbin, “no talking about the unholy trinity or I’m leaving to go be unsupervised.”

“Yes, yes. I spoil you too much,” he sighs before adding, “how is the chairman anyways?”

“Grandpa still wants to believe I don’t exist and last I heard from grandma was that his heart isn’t in good health. It’s hard to treat when they’re trying to hide it from the company. Everyone knows he’s sick but not how bad,” I respond flatly.

“... Okay one question and I’ll stop. Who are the other runner ups other than… you know who?”

      I downed my second shot in annoyance. Changbin and Jaehyung could be good friends if they let it happen, they’re both so nosy… I could care less about company drama though so I tell him. Not like I’ll get in trouble.

“I- Are you asking me to leave?”

“Oh come on, if they’re this desperate that means there are other strong candidates right?”

“Fine.” I glare, shoving some food in my mouth before answering, “They’re looking into my cousin Wooin and a long-term director Jihyo. They have high performance with successful big projects under their belt in addition to having the favor of various important people.”

“Okay, so what’s this about finding Loverboy? It’s been what? A year with no contact?”

“Of course I do. That was the first time I formed a fat crush on a guy I just met,” I roll my eyes. “It’s the guy you wanted to beat up, Jeongin. It’s been a few months but he’s been working at Jaehyung’s pub.”

      I don’t know if it was the alcohol doing its job but I started to get sentimental as I thought back to our first meeting. That night was during a relatively low point in my life and I was losing touch with the world around me, but he was the first thing I found interest in after a long time. As if my brain wanted to torture me, the image of his face mere inches from mine popped back into my mind.

“Did something already happen?! Your face is red!”

“Shut up. He still has a girl he likes so no.”

“Still?” Changbin whistles in surprise, “That’s what I call devotion. Does he remember you?”

“Nope. To make matters… interesting, she works there too and has a crush on Jaehyung-oppa.”

“Wait that cute new waitress? On that old man? And I thought you had problems,” he laughs.

[curiosity-killed]

sorrow waited

Word count: 2379

on AO3

“What’s it like?” he asks because he can’t quite help himself. “Dying and coming back again.” The night is alive around them, frogs and crickets singing up along the lake. He’s been trying to be better, trying to learn to lay his anger down for jiejie, for Jin Ling, for himself. His tone still comes out too sharp. Leaning back on his elbow, Wei Wuxian doesn’t answer immediately but takes another drink. Jiang Cheng doesn’t think he’s drunk but they’ve both had enough wine that he probably should be. For himself, the pleasant warmth is starting to dissipate into something heavy and gnawing deep in his belly. At last, Wei Wuxian rests his arm against his knee and tilts his gaze up toward the dark sky. “Easier the second time,” he says ------

No one comes back from the Burial Mounds. No body or spirit is ever recovered from that mass grave. After three months, Wei Wuxian returns to them, alive, and some painful knot in Jiang Cheng’s chest gives way in relief. All those Wen dogs who said he was thrown into the Burial Mounds were liars, were sniveling cowards trying to seize some power through fear even in death. His brother is alive and here, solid in his arms, and he could not have been thrown into the Burial Mounds at all. He returns and he’s alive and that is all that should matter. It’s all Jiang Cheng wants to matter. It’s not all that matters. The Wei Wuxian who returns to them is — different. Changed. It’s not just his cultivation, his refusal to wear his sword. Something fundamental has shifted, as if his spirit has been slid a hands-width to the left of his body — just enough that sometimes Jiang Cheng looks and doesn’t see his brother but a stranger in his skin. He moves differently, walks more quietly. His edges sometimes seem to flicker, blur, like the roiling black he summons with that cursed flute. His gaze grows distant, long-sighted, as if he isn’t looking at anything on this mortal plane at all. They all smell of sweat and grime on the battlefield, but Wei Wuxian smells of blood, of iron live under his skin. No one gets out of the Burial Mounds alive and so Wei Wuxian cannot have been in the Burial Mounds — but sometimes Jiang Cheng starts to think it might be the inverse instead. No one gets out of the Burial Mounds alive and so Wei Wuxian didn’t get out at all. Someone, something, else crawled out. Worry chews at the base of his ribs like a street dog. They are surrounded by their closest allies and there is no one here he can trust with this. He has friends — or well, he has had friends. He remembers Cloud Recesses, stumbling out of the house with Nie Huaisang to escape Lan Wangji’s fierce frown. Since becoming sect leader, though, things have…shifted. When he speaks to peers his own age, it’s no longer as equals but as pieces on a political board. He is constantly aware of his role, now, the responsibility he wears. More than ever he represents Jiang sect, has to be mindful of how his actions and his disciples’ actions affect their clan and the way other clans look at them. That they are in the midst of war only exacerbates his fears. Everyone is on edge these days, and with Lotus Pier still smoldering in memory, any sign of weakness leaves his skin crawling. If he were to express worry about his own first disciple, what would the other clans say? He’s the youngest sect leader already and his home in ruins, few disciples left to follow him. Vulnerability shared with the wrong person now could spell the end of Yunmeng Jiang. He could ask Nie Mingjue or Lan Xichen — they are young leaders, too, but enough older than him to feel wiser, more settled. He balks at the thought. Nie Mingjue is a fearsome warrior and leader, but his judgment is harsh and final. Lan Xichen is more amiable but Gusu Lan holds their righteous laws paramount. Sympathy toward Wei Wuxian would surely cross those lines. He thinks, briefly, of Lan Wangji. After their months searching for Wei Wuxian together, he should be the obvious choice. His dedication to Wei Wuxian is surprising but undeniable. But…but ever since Wei Wuxian returned, he has been cold and biting toward Lan Wangji. Jiang Cheng doesn’t understand what exactly happened, but he doesn’t think Wei Wuxian would accept his help now. Telling Lan Wangji of his worries would be taken as a betrayal. He has had friends among the clans, but his closest has always been his brother. Asking him about this is already hopeless. Every time someone tries to ask about his missing time, Wei Wuxian evades and obfuscates, redirects with jokes and brushes away concern. Jiang Cheng’s scared to press too hard to find that shell brittle and cracked. Yanli worries, he knows. He and Wei Wuxian both try to keep the darkness from reaching her, but he knows she sees the shadows, the ink-like cracks growing between them. He doesn’t want to add to that, and so he hides his fear behind familiar anger instead.       They don’t share quarters anymore, and it takes a few weeks for Jiang Cheng to realize it isn’t only because of that that he hardly sees Wei Wuxian. At first, he had excused it as part and parcel of living separately, of the burden of their duties. It takes time for him to even start to suspect that Wei Wuxian is avoiding him. It doesn’t take long after that to realize it’s not just him. Wei Wuxian doesn’t shirk his duties, and he is ever-present on the battlefield with his ghost flute, but where his duties end so does his presence. He disappears, wraith-like, and no one knows where he goes. Jiang Cheng’s hands clench, nails biting into his palms and Zidian crackling against his skin. Worry is a hunger that he cannot appease. He’s not surprised when the rumors start, the murmurs that stutter into silence too late for him not to hear. Yunmeng Jiang has been dogged by rumors for all his life, and for most of it, Yanli and Wei Wuxian have acted as his shields against them. Yanli’s quiet propriety shames anyone who acts out around her, and Wei Wuxian has always been quick to speak up and fight back for his honor. When he’s feeling most bitter, Jiang Cheng thinks this, too, is something Wei Wuxian has beaten him at. He had two sets of parents, twice the reason to mourn, and he has always treated both with all the duty and piety that could be asked. For all his recklessness, he has always been proud of his parents and dutiful to Jiang Cheng’s. This is what makes suspicion grow from fear. Wei Wuxian has always fought back against rumors, always railed against untruths. Now, when he hears cultivators whisper about his path, about a plan to supersede Jiang Cheng as sect leader, he doesn’t fight back. One corner of his lips curls up, never reaching his eyes, like he knows something they don’t. Jiang Cheng’s spine shivers with unease. “How does it work? With the flute,” he asks one night when he finds Wei Wuxian lounging with a bottle of wine. Normally, he would yell at him to behave himself, to stop slacking off and get to his own tent. Today, though… They won the battle today or, well, Wei Wuxian won the battle. Flute in hand and silhouette smudged with spirits, he had singlehandedly laid waste to hundreds of Wen soldiers. The rest of their force was left to pick off a few stragglers here and there, but otherwise, they had just been there to watch. It should’ve felt triumphant. Instead, Jiang Cheng had felt something sick and rotting in the marrow of his bones. Around him, the other cultivators had been uneasy, hands tight on sheathed swords. After, as they set up tents and patrols for the night, Wei Wuxian had disappeared again, chased by his white shadow. But there was a moment, a flicker of an instant as everyone started to turn away. Jiang Cheng had only seen it because he’d glanced back, looking for his brother. Wei Wuxian stood alone at the crest of the hill, drenched in the sunset’s bloodred, and as he lowered the flute from his lips, he’d stumbled back half a step and reached one hand to clutch at the fabric over his chest. Even in the ruddy light his face had been too sallow and gaunt, his eyes shadows smudged into the pale of his skin. Ever since, the cavity of Jiang Cheng’s chest has ached. He is tired and scared and he wants his brother. When he sees the lanky figure strewn across the rocks like a body after a great fall, he can’t summon any anger. Clearing his throat, he steps up to Wei Wuxian’s side and folds down to sit beside him. Now, Wei Wuxian lolls back on his elbow and rolls the jug of wine in his hand. “Jiang Cheng,” he says with that voice he gets, when he’s telling a story or riling someone up, “if I told you I died and came back as a resentful spirit — would you believe me?” His head rolls toward Jiang Cheng just enough that Jiang Cheng can see his eyes slant toward him, the corner of his lips curved up in a sword’s edge smile. The question unsettles something deep within him, like a bone fragment rattling between his ribs. He forces himself to shove it deep down, draw up a façade of indignation. “You — shut up,” he says, shoving Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. Wei Wuxian sways with the motion, rolling his gaze away again. He lifts his wine but pauses without bringing it to his lips. From this angle, Jiang Cheng can make out the sharp curve of his jaw, the shadowed slash of his mouth. His hair hangs black as ink between them. He breathes out a laugh, then, finally, empties the bottle. When Wei Wuxian perches before the palace with black writhing around him and turns the battle on end, Jiang Cheng knows with bone-deep surety that there is no going back. Calamity has arrived, and it wears his brother’s face. Years later, when the blood has soaked into the battlefields and his family is dead, Jiang Cheng looks for a body. The rocks at the bottom of the cliff are jagged and veined with red, like arteries without skin to shield them. He knows what he’s looking for, can picture it too-readily in his mind. He’s seen enough dead bodies to overlay Wei Wuxian’s face on a split skull, his familiar limbs broken across the rocks. He walks through the jagged end of the world and finds nothing. No body, no shoe, no sign that Wei Wuxian plummeted to his death here. Tilting his head back, he eyes the ledge above. His heart beats steady and numb in his chest. He has run out of ways to feel, he thinks. Pain and grief have become such constant company that he hardly notices them, like the golden core steady in his chest. He’s not sure, anymore, which of them is keeping him upright. They’ve become a network, interwoven, fascia that binds him together. He walks forward a little more, trying to estimate how far his body could have been pulled or swayed by the air as he fell. Casting his gaze out a little farther, he still sees nothing but toothed stone. A flutter of red shivers in his periphery. Turning, sharp, he slips on the rock and goes down hard on a hand and knee. The stone slices his palm, a ragged gash that speckles with red immediately. He shoves off the rock, propelling himself toward the movement. If he’s there, if there’s a body, if — It’s only a tassel. Vermillion, blood-soaked, it dances on a low wind. Chenqing lays on the rock like it might on a stand, supported at its center by a fork in the stone. He stares at it, stomach clenching tight and painful. Anger rises, slow and sure as a tide, up his back. He can feel it in the constriction of his throat, the clench of his jaw as his teeth grit together. He hates this flute. He hates the smooth black-and-red lacquer, the careful engravings across its surface. He hates the red tassel, the jade lotus dangling above it. He hates the energy it summons and he hates the memories it resurrects. He hates it for his brother choosing it over Suibian, over the sword he carried for years. He reaches out, jerkily, to grab the flute with the thought to break it. Maybe if he snapped it over his knee or cracked it against the rock, maybe that would help. Maybe it would release this ocean of grief and anger that laps at his lips, all saltwater-sting. Maybe if he destroyed this flute it would bring back some better version of his brother, or at least make it not hurt so fucking much to remember him. His palm connects with the flute, fingers closing tight around it and — He can’t. He draws it close and stares at it and he hates it. He hates it and all that it represents, all that it has done — and he cannot destroy it. There is no body here. There is nothing left of Wei Wuxian except this, charred-bone-black and gleaming. No resentful energy spills off of it, nothing lashes out at his touch. He’d almost expected it to react to his blood, to the open wound cut through his palm. Instead, it lies inert and cool in his hand. It’s nothing more than a flute, after all, an instrument, a weapon, useless without its master. Swallowing, he slides it into his sleeve and turns to make the long walk back. There is nothing left for him here but the dry wind and the memory of the worst day of his life. He folds his sorrow into a sea in the shape of his heart and looks away.

[cawolters]

✷ Babes in the Well ✷ (Liar Alliance snippet)

Good day to you! It’s been a minute, but here I am with a little thing that I think you guys might think will be a neat read.

It’s a little snippet of a scene I wrote between charming young King Deria and my newly hatched/refined character, gloomy necromantic Hinrich. 

(Hinrich is a Mask btw, a sort of ambassador to the Kings of the ten kingdoms in the empire.)

Where: Tall Castle at the beginning of book two

Who: Deria is talking

What: He’s wandering the Chalice Room, looking at paintings and thinking about magic when he’s interrupted by a gloomy apparition. 

WC: 1800

Themes: Ghost magic, politcal intrigue, secret coup!!

Is it gay?

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Well. Yes, on multiple levels, but not explicit in this scene.

Unfortunately. 

Plot needs pages too.

.

.

.

✴ BLUE FLAG ✴

What a delightful day it was indeed. The sunlight in the mountains cast its gentle overcast glare over the hills as afternoon clouds drifted slowly over the subtly rising and falling hills deep down, down, in the valley, below my childhood home, Tall Castle.

The patterns of shy light and then sporadic sharp beams, raying out of the heavens and touching a little cottage outside the village, was more enchanting than magic.

Or, I would have thought that before I had seen the gold coin eyes of the Blade by the Empress’ side. Ah, and then her flat pieces of dull ebony to contrast his. They had been standing so close and then she had laughed. I saw it, a flower blooming in the deep dark night.

Magic indeed.  

I drifted away from the massive window and toward the far end of the grand chambers of the vacant Chalice Room . My father had called it the Chalice Room because of the grand ornamented stone goblets that ran along the walls on either side of a wide aisle, making an elongated space where politics could merge or divide in its rift.

It was here all the meets with the kingdoms were held. In the middle was the round stone table, large enough and fit for Kings and just a moment ago it had been stuffed with every inch of the continent. The Ten Kings, or, rather our four border kingdoms that could come to us within a week, had gathered here in the tallest of castles, but to what end?

I wondered.

My eyes followed the walls. Paintings, taller than two able men on top of each other’s shoulders, were hung between the lit oil-chalices. King after King draped in deep rich velvets, queens and offspring, squeezed into gilded frames. More often than not, there were more than seven people stacked together in dim rooms and posing.

As I walked, their lifelike eyes followed me. Even my own green gaze, almost hidden behind the black sorrow veil that honored my late father, seemed eager to stalk me through the fabric on my stroll. It would stay like that for five years, covered with black silk to grieve The Great Fifth King. The Wall To The North. Praise in his name.

My face twitched, entirely involuntary, and I quickened my pace for the next two paintings until I got where I had wanted to go.

I stopped at the end of the aisle and came closer to the portrait, larger still than the rest and looking almost empty as there were only three people in the dim light of a dark background. 

Kōrudo, The Cold. The Emperor.

Ohtani, The Sun Smile. 

His lovely tragic wife that looked like she had never smiled in a hundred years, and now she never would. And then, there, holding her mother’s hand; their little daughter. 

Empress Shiroin. The Pure One.

I almost laughed out loud at the nickname.

I had seen this portrait many a time of course. I had admired that oddity of the first girl to be born in the imperial line for a thousand years, but now that I had seen her in person, had had her presence just a breath away from mine, I never imagined an artist to be so wrong about a face.

The portrait looked like her, the likeness was there, no doubt, but he had caught her wrong. The artist’s hand must have begged him to dot those two fictive pearls of oil-white in her black gaze, add that tint of pink life on her cheeks and erase some of that hatred that blazed out of her face like the cutting rays of sun in my valley.

She had only been five when the painting had come into creation, so small a human, but in truth not looking like a human at all. Despite the artist’s efforts.

“Have you fallen in love?”

The quiet voice behind me, slightly distorted into more whispery voices speaking simultaneously, sent my heart racing and made me whip my head over my shoulder. 

When I immediately spotted the menacing cloaked figure of Hinrich, standing in the middle of the Chalice Room, appeared out of thin air, my stomach did a small flip as unease hit it.

His cloak moved as if under water, wavering around his ankles and framing his pale face irregularly. Hinrich’s mass was see-through. An undead ghost. The Mask of Kaiserhof.

I sighed dramatically in a smile, suppressing the urge to flee, and turned back to the painting. My eyes once more seeking Shiroin’s pits.

“Yes always, and with everyone. It’s not a sporadic occurrence it’s a chronic condition. You should adapt my philosophies, Hinrich, then perhaps you wouldn’t look like a wraith who wants to crawl down a well and haunt it.”

Though I had my back to him, I could sense the Mask had glided closer while I talked. His presence had changed the temperature of the room.

“My philosophies are my own, they don’t need outside pollution. And wells are only haunted by dead whore-babes. Not men. I fish for them when my work demands bones and rotting flesh.” He said, quietly, the wisp of a voice far away and carried to my castle with death magic.

By the Gods he was a creepy sort of errand boy. We had been dealing with each other since the Empress had first vanished and I had almost gotten used to it by now, his unsettling being and ghoul magic, but admittedly not totally.

“Gone to the Gods through a wet hole.” I joked lightly, “what an enchanting way to depart this world. Out the way we came in, and frequently visits, no?”

He wasn’t actually a ghost of course. I would not have had the stomach to engage if he had been dead.

When I turned, his mouth was sour, disgust crinkling one side of his straight nose sitting on his translucent face.  

“If you’re talking about sticking your cock in somewhere, it better be the Empress.” The light in the room did not fall on him, and he cast no shadow.

“Now now, Hinrich, manners. I am still a King after all.”

“Not my King.” He was a statue, staring at me and pissing me right in the face without a flinch. Then he added:

“Did she comply to the marriage?”

I threw my head back in a loud laugh. The Chalice Room made it sound like a roar.

“Comply?! Good Sir, Have you met her?”

Hinrich’s expression told me that he hadn’t and that he had no interest of ever doing so. All he wanted was his master’s orders carried out. He was an unsettling figure, but a good lapdog, to the right lap.

“If you cannot deliver, we will recruit one of the others. Errin’s King is unwed too.”

“Are you threatening me with ‘The sickling from the swamps’? I have the wall, the army, the looks and I am what they call a ‘team player’. I’m a quality bargain.” I smiled wider and tilted my head, “Besides. If you just wanted an unwed King to lock down the Empress with a ring, or stick something still up her dress, why not use your own?”

I knew exactly why. I was dealing a friendly blow, aimed right up under Hinrich’s arm at the only spot I knew he was truly sore.

“Hm, why hasn’t Eckhart apparition joined us here at Tall Castle to seduce the Grand Empress?”

In a blink his ghost was nose to nose with me. Hinrich wasn’t actually dead. His young, able, body was alive and well in Kaiserhof, but his spirit, tainted and twisted as it were, was right here with me. And though he was not haunting me, the illusion of terror, in that moment, was rather convincing.

I gulped.

Hinrich could not touch me, I had tested that when I had thrown a book at him the first time he came to me, but he was freezing my blood.

“Never take my King’s name in your dirty mouth.” His warning was slow and hateful.

There was a long pause where I could only see his sunken in eyes and feel the ice.

I slowly wet my lips with the tip of my tongue. My bones were shaking.

“Are we about to share our first kiss?” I whispered.

Another pause slid by, in which Hinrich processed my third joke of the day. Then he drifted backwards. Not amused at all.  

“Deria, the quick. You think you are so smart,” his gaze darkened “but you know nothing. Make her say yes. Force her to be your ring.” The word ‘ring’ was a quiet bark his mouth.

“Force her? And how would I do that. Let me tell you, she almost stabbed me twice already, I’m sure she’s eager to actually spear me through my throat the third time I give her an excuse.”

Heinrich didn’t hesitate.

“Use the war.”

My smile fell.

“… Retract my forces? Then the empire loses two thirds of the world army.”

The Mask didn’t blink and he didn’t answer.

“But… Then the war is not ours. The Elsalvians could win, we don’t know their numbers with utmost certainty. Hinrich, people would die -A lot of people, my people your people, everyone! And mine are the first to meet the doomsday fire on our doorstep.” I ran a hand through my curls. “It- it’s the thousand year war, by the Gods! I won’t risk all of humankind for a coup at puts me at the top. I am not starved for a power that comes at that price.”

“Do what you have to.”

“You’re not hearing me, I can’t agree-“ I started but Hinrich interrupted me.

“It’s a threat. The Grand Empress will have to take you as her ring, for the sake of the empire. She will fold. Use the war.” Hinrich drifted backwards, his cloak soaring and floating in water that wasn’t there.

“And if she says no? She’s not striking me as a humanitarian.” I bit. I was getting angry now.

“This will happen whether you want it to or not. You cannot stop it.” His strange hissing voice was fading, the winter cold was becoming more tolerable.

I gaped at him in disbelief before I found my reply.

“Maybe I can stop you. I could expose your little illegal spells to the worlds, the other kingdoms, and then you’d be burned before the rooster is crowing on the last day of this week.”

His face scrunched up as he snarled.

“Try, and you will know what true horror looks like.”

I opened my mouth but closed it again.

“That’s right. Do what you have to do. Or we will, King Deria.”

My name hung in the air for a moment and then the Mask was gone. Disappeared and dissolved like a drop of ink in the running river.

I stared at the spot Hinrich had just been. Contemplating how I was a mouse between two mountain lion. He had had a point. If I declined, they would stage their coup around me, shut me out and keep me in the dark while they worked their sorcery to manipulate the fate of the world.

My hands became fists of their own as I strode out of the Chalice Room.

“Fucking magic.”

.

.

.

-Ciao-

[yoongisbars]

quest of omission | myg (3)

summary: The war between kingdoms was starting and being Freywind’s highest ranking Captain, you would always be there to defend your people from the treachery of Woodwind. There’s just one problem: their best killer, The Silence, and his insufferable ability to make your heart race with both loathing and yearning. And now, on the verge of death after an ambush gone wrong, you both have no choice but to keep each other alive.

pairing: myg x reader genre: enemies to lovers au | knight!yoongi au | future angst? fluff? | drabble series word count: 1.9k parts: 3/_ | 1, 2 cw: prolly aggressive animal encounters ??? note: ah yes, finally: The Silence Content TM- its kinda short ? but i hope its decent yOinks;;; 

        It was probably due to the unknown adrenaline subsiding, or the scuffle with that guy, but after some time to gather your senses, you started to notice just how scuffed up you really were as you felt the bruises forming on your skin… It wasn’t after a few touches to your forehead that you realized what was dripping down your face earlier wasn’t just water.

        The light leather wrapped around you had seen better days, it was only a casual set of armor, meant to just protect you from a punch or two. Not protect you from the aggressions of nature. There were tears here and there, but it could last you another week, or at least until you found a way back to Freywind.

        You had been debating your next move for a while, still planted in the same spot. The only time you got up was to take back the blade that was kicked from your grasp. Using its tip, you drew lines across the ground over and over, each a second that passed. But that failed you and you lost track of the seconds and patience, latching the blade against your other thigh, for safe keeping. It was a miracle it was still banded to you, but you did pay good money for its holster.

        The night was still, too dark to tell if time had passed, too dark to tell when the sun will rise again. It was getting colder, and you were getting hungrier, but waiting safely for sunrise seemed like your best bet. Daylight would offer much easier travel through these woods once it came.

         A grumbling noise in the distance started to set off your unease, and you thanked the heavens’ Atlas’s sword had managed to stay on him after all his body went through. You drew it from its sheath slowly as the sound of running steps grew closer, taking your stance. The desperate Woodwind man appeared first, running towards you. ‘A surprise attack?’  He gave you little time to react as he grabbed you by the arm and dragged you running along with him.

“Bear!” His shout came late, as you had already turned your head back to look at the 4-legged beast running behind you. It fueled your legs to move quicker.

“A bear?! Why would you piss off a bear?!” It was a stupid question you didn’t want the answer to, but this was infuriating. He always almost cost you your life.

“Oh, I thought getting chased by a fucking bear would’ve been a great nighttime activity!” He shouted as he looked behind him. Whipping his face back quickly, his expression was cold, yet… Panicked?

“What is it?!” You tried to look back at the creature chasing you, but the pale boy running next to you forced your head forwards. “Don’t look. Please, don’t look.” His opting for a gentler tone, the request paired with it, and the sudden lack of a bear running up behind you… Force unsettling thoughts into your head… ‘Alone, but together…’

        After a few solid minutes of running, you settled your pace by a giant sequoia tree. The pair of you huffed and heaved, desperate for air. It wasn’t every night you got chased by a bear. “Are you okay?” He gave you a concerned once over. You were thankful that your flushed face couldn’t be noticed under the nightly shade.

“I was fine. Until you came along with that bear in tow. How on earth did that even happen?” You were frenetic, and it was understandable. Not only were you in the middle of nowhere because of Sir Endless Dilemmas, but now you were stuck with him too.

“I walked into its den by accident,” He exclaimed with a large breath. “and it seems I wasn’t quite welcome.” All you could offer was a scoff which he returned with a shrug.

         Leaving was the only plan of action you had burned into your mind, because standing with him for another second might just give you an extreme case of the hives. But, the only “refuge” you had, was probably a bear’s play area by the sound of his voice while running. And with the knowledge of such large creatures in the area, you didn’t want to risk encountering another. And by the Silence’s expression, neither did he.

“Listen, I know we’re not on the best of terms, or any terms at all, but look at the facts here.” He starts counting off with his fingers. “We’re stuck in the middle of the woods, no food, no water, no shelter. I don’t expect you to stick around, but your odds of surviving are better off with me.” His eyes traveled everywhere but to your face, you could tell his discomfort, but towards what? “You can go back to trying to kill me once we’re out, but if you plan on surviving long enough to do that, I suggest cutting the crap and staying together.” He extended an open palm towards you, “Truce?” Did he expect a handshake? “I’m Yoongi.” You eyed his face, then his hand, then his face again. Shaking his hand meant possibly signing away your soul to the actual devil. You did not want to be stuck with Yoongi. This was a death sentence. But…

        It seemed like he didn’t expect your hand to ever reach for his, so he put it back down before you even considered it. It left you with a strange bitter feeling which you quickly brushed away. “Y/N…” You crossed your arms and huffed in stubborn surrender. Water still pooled all around, 2 or 3 inches you estimated. You eyed around for a dry enough shelter, but the reservoir released so much that it was almost impossible for anything to be dry. Yoongi had the same initiative as he gave the tree a roundabout, before calling out to you.

“I think this will work.” You circled the tree, feet sloshing about, to see what he meant. You found Yoongi heading into it. Its roots were raised, causing the tree itself to be elevated enough from the water. Its trunk was a giant hollow hole, visibly dry, that could easily fit 3 people, decent for two people that need as much space in between them as possible.

         Getting engulfed by water and cast over to wherever you were, witnessing your friends become corpses, getting chased by a bear, and having to spend the rest of the ungodly night inside a sequoia trunk with Yoongi was enough to have your body turn on you. It seems being soaked in cold water during a cold night wasn’t the best way to stay in top healthy condition.

         Only a few minutes after getting in the shelter, your uncontrollable sneezing and coughing fit started. Yoongi had been busily trying to get a fire started inside the shelter, raising your alarm quite a bit since you were inside a tree. But the space was a decent enough size upwards that the fire wouldn’t catch it, and he kept its perimeter small, it would be just enough to get you warmed up, dry both of your clothes enough and not burn the tree down. After a while of trying, the fire finally came to life. Trying to focus on anything but Yoongi was harder than it sounded. Your eyes traveled between the fire, your hands, his armor now laid on the ground, and on occasion: to him. With his chest plate off, all you could try to not focus on was how his shirt perfectly hugged his physique. Resting against the back of the trunk and staring outwards in silence, he evoked a strong presence. Despicable… How calm he looked amidst things was odious, it was almost as if he hadn’t faced the same hardships as you.

Lethargy started to creep up on both of you, the silence of the night was abhorrent and not doing you any favors. Yoongi was quick to doze off without a worry, but you tried being resilient. You weren’t going to allow yourself to fall asleep in the same space as him. Constant, like a mantra, you repeated to yourself that he’s the enemy. He could not be trusted.

         Morning arrived unannounced that day. You didn’t remember at what point of the night you finally succumbed to sleep. Or when Yoongi put out the fire. Or even when your body, giving up from the cold, desperately searched for the nearest source of warmth and nestled itself against the one you couldn’t bare be in such proximity with, as if your life literally depended on it. So, when you woke up to the soft sounds of snoring atop your forehead, accompanied by the warmth of his cheek, you wanted nothing more than to push yourself off him and rid yourself of his touch. But your body wasn’t listening. Instead, it stayed, taking in undeniably the most comfort you’ve ever experienced. How could the vilest man you’ve ever met, be this gentle ‘giant’? It didn’t add up.

“You know,” His rich velvet voice, hummed through his chest. “you can get off at me at any given point, right?” You hadn’t noticed he was awake, much less that he was looking at you this whole time, and like you, relishing in the moment. In a panicked state, your closed fist connected with his ribcage as you moved away, releasing a low groan from deep within him. “Sorry.”

         Wrapping your arms around your knees, you stared at the ashes in front of you. You felt hot, even if the fire was long out and Yoongi’s body was away from yours. A fever was boiling beneath your skin, and undoubtedly so considering the perils your body had to endure during the past night. The walls of your head pounded like the heavy drums from court festivities, bringing forth a painstaking reminder with each thump. You were ‘alone’. No clue as to where Taehyung could be, or anyone else for that matter. And no absolute idea how to move forward. Sick, on an empty stomach, and with detestable company.

“You’re worse than I thought.” Fingers brushed across your forehead, softly pushing your loose hairs back. Slowly, your eyes opened just enough to find a pale face staring back blankly. “I’m going to try and fetch some food and water. You stay here.” Yoongi, with boots strapped in place, grabbed for the nearest weapon. You were fine, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe. You weren’t going to stay behind and depend on this arrogant being. So, you pushed yourself off the ground and onto your wobbling legs. Whatever you ate would be brought by your hands. “Y/N, stop.” Placing a steady hold on your shoulders to keep you in place, Yoongi let out an annoyed sigh. “You’re sick. You need to stay and rest.” You tried pushing his arms off, but weakness got the better of you, forcing him to tighten his grasp, lest you fall over.

“Just, trust me. I’ll get food and come ba-“

         Words were brought to a stop as both of you whipped your heads upwards. Leaves ruffled and branches creaked with thuds. On impulse, Yoongi got out of the trunk sword in hand. You mustered the strength to follow suit, it was best to be prepared, not knowing what lurks around.

From above the sequoia, a lithe and able body jumped down with practiced grace, the sudden presence caused Yoongi to wrap his arm around you, placing himself between them and you, his sword readied at the suspicious person. You needn’t no protection by the likes of him, but your feeble body was thankful for it. As the lithe figure came into full view, he cocked his head to the side and spoke.

“Yoongi? Is that you?”

[handyhandman]

"You’re still as rude and insufferable as the day we first met."

Well, a lot of people could appreciate Shigaraki’s stone cold honesty, but to Dabi it comes off more as a threat. If Shigaraki tells the truth, then Dabi has to do the same, right? Tit for tat, this for that?

"So I guess you’re finally kicking me out."

Dabi never consented to that, though. Shigaraki’s visible eye narrows, and there’s a dangerous glint in it, but he somehow extinguishes it before it can really catch fire. Huh.

"I should, but no. Do something for me, and I might forgive you."

For the rest of the conversation, Shigaraki uses a level tone. He never stops looking at Dabi dead in the eyes, either. There’s a change brewing on the horizon, and in that moment, Dabi can’t decide on naming the feeling it gives him.

In fact, he shouldn’t.

"Like what?"

"There’s a difference between you and almost everybody else who joined. Guess what it is."

"What, that I’m not completely nuts?"

"You got it. And I’m gonna need somebody to lead the Vanguard Action Squad while I’m making final preparations."

"And you’re handing it over to me."

"Yeah. So, are you gonna make up for what you did or not?"

Gonna have to be a bit specific there, Shigaraki.

"I guess…" But does he even have a choice? "I was wondering how the attack was gonna work. It’s still gonna be chaotic as hell regardless, but that’s what we’re aiming for, anyway."

Shigaraki nods.

"I’ll give you a noumu, too, for extra support."

Why?

"Okay, I’ll do it. But…can I see it first? Or…"

"You can pick him out."

"Okay?"

Some things don’t translate well on tv, and noumu are among them. Shigaraki is unnervingly quiet as he leans against the warehouse’s exit. Shigaraki’s presence doesn’t translate well on tv, either. There’s just something eerie about the concept of noumus- Genetic engineering, forcibly combining quirks… It doesn’t sit well with Dabi. Personal feelings aside, though…

There are so many of them.

There are so many of these things. As Dabi passes by them, he catches his reflection staring back at him. He stops for a minute. If someone cracked open his skull and he weren’t such a string bean, maybe he could fit-

"You like that one?" Shigaraki interrupts his train of thought.

Ah. Right. Dabi blinks, then he focuses more on the noumu cased inside like he’s supposed to be doing.

"He’s gonna be your responsibility, so you better like him."

What? Like a pet? Weren’t these things people at one time? Shigaraki said it with that exact tone, too. Well, of course he’d become desensitized to things like this…

People becoming monsters and people being born as monsters... Are they really that different?

Dabi can feel unease festering inside him as he stares at it. Lifeless, soulless, dead eyes. All it does is sit around and do nothing while waiting for orders… Damn it, Dabi shouldn’t have anything in common with a noumu.

No, maybe it would be better to pick one without eyes. Dabi keeps on moving until he finds one with half of its skull torn apart and only its mouth remaining. Okay. All right. That’s fine. He’ll take that over the blank, unfeeling stare.

It's like looking in a damn mirror otherwise.

Dabi hears the door creak as Shigaraki stops leaning against it. It isn’t long before he sees Shigaraki’s reflection. Shigaraki makes a gruff noise as Dabi looks over at him.

"Well?"

Isn’t this a big deal?

"Yeah… I’ll go with this one. So do I gotta feed it and water it? Take it out on walks?"

Shigaraki makes a sound against the hand that almost sounds like a laugh. "Ah, that’s a good one."

The joke or the noumu? Well, Dabi hasn’t been able to make anybody laugh in years. For Shigaraki of all people to find him funny would be absolutely nuts, but that might not be the craziest thing going on in his life at the moment. Shigaraki standing mere feet away without wanting to maim him is high up on the list.

Still, it’s gotta be the noumu.

"Really, though. If I mess up…"

"You won’t," Shigaraki interrupts him. "All you need to worry about is what you tell him to do. He’ll obey you up until he dies…but I don’t think anyone’ll be able to come close to this one."

There’s something about Shigaraki’s tone that makes him prickle- The kind of prickle where he knows his hair would be standing up on end if it weren’t already. It’s unfamiliar and slightly praising, and an unfulfilled part of Dabi aches for it for a moment before he awkwardly snuffs it out. Is he really that desperate to be praised that he’d want it from someone like Shigaraki?

"…Huh." Dabi almost surprises himself at how casual his voice is. His resting face serves him well. "Okay then. Second easiest pet I’ve ever had."

Inconsequential details like whether he’s a cat or dog person don’t really matter in the end. Now, the one about him not playing video games very much… Maybe that was a bit too much. But, hey, at least Shigaraki hasn’t prompted him to keep going.

For the record, he prefers cats. A certain someone preferred dogs.

Noumu seem more like dogs, though. Loyal to a fault and capable of obeying orders without question, but also being dangerous. You can’t tell a cat to attack someone, but they will if you’re a dick. With dogs… Hm.

Does he have to bond with the noumu? Can that even be done?

Dabi looks at Shigaraki’s reflection in the glass. The eye he can see has a glint to it. Narrow, but pleased. Above all else… What does Shigaraki value the most?

"I don’t think sensei needs to add anything more to him…" Shigaraki’s tone sends a chill down Dabi’s spine, but he’s able to stop from showing it by clenching his fists for a second. Shigaraki makes a curious noise. "Unless there’s something you can think of?"

Did Shigaraki somehow see him do it?

That’d be funny. The hand man watching his hands.

Dabi struggles for a second to keep his default expression. "Nah, there isn’t anything I can think of right now."

"Good. Don’t forget- Even if something happens to him, we can use whatever’s remaining later."

Like the noumu is a robot rather than a person. Formerly, whatever. Don’t piss off Shigaraki or All For One. Common sense, yeah, but staring at a noumu face to…half face really brings it home.

"Yeah…," Dabi says. "So… We done here, or…?"

"Nope," Shigaraki replies in a less approving tone. "Up next… If you’re representing the league, you’re gonna have to dress better. You look like a hobo right now, and that won’t cut it."

But I am a hobo, Dabi almost says. Or was, I guess? Does sleeping on the league’s couch count as me not being homeless?

"Sure, but don’t get mad if I turn anything you give me into ash when I use my quirk," Dabi says with a shrug.

"Sensei’s made sure of that."

"…Oh," slips out of Dabi’s mouth before he can stop it.

Shigaraki gives him a pointed look. "What? You think he wouldn’t be able to?"

"No, I…" Dabi sighs and shakes his head.

I hope they’re cool? I have an aesthetic I’m going for, and it’s gonna suck if those clothes fuck it up. I guess I have no other choice… If I make All For One mad… I’m not good enough to even be made into noumu food-

"…That's cool, I guess," is what Dabi settles on.

Maybe he can be noumu chow for one of the defective ones. A defect for a defect.

"God, you really do have the emotional range of a pile of ashes," Shigaraki mutters. Then he says louder with a wave of a hand, "Whatever. Let’s go."

Shigaraki leads Dabi out, and hmm… So that’s how Shigaraki sees him, then. And, on top of it, he’s accepted it. Begrudgingly, it seems, but that’s more than Dabi can say about a lot of people.

It’d be cool if that were true, though. Then he wouldn’t have this unsettling feeling when Shigaraki shows him the new outfit picked out for him. It fits- It fits so damn well. It brings out the exact aesthetic Dabi wants as well as a conflicting swirl of emotions.

It serves some unfortunate implications- Has All For One been watching him? Has he been watching all of them? What does All For One think of him? Of all of them?

The boots and jacket are the right size, and everything lines up together too well. It’s unsettling for things to be going in the right direction for once. It’s unsettling to have things specifically made for him. He’s just some scrub, right? Or has he been an absolute moron about all of this and just-

Wow.

Wow, he's so stupid. Everybody else has to be stoked about having their own custom equipment ordered by The Big Bad man himself. That’s the appropriate reaction. That’s how he should be acting, but he slides off his old jacket and unties his shoes in silence while Shigaraki watches him with his arms crossed. Dabi is able to ignore it just long enough to slip on his new jacket and boots. Then he looks over and meets Shigaraki's stare.

"What?" Dabi asks. "You got somethin' to say?"

Shigaraki huffs and shakes his head. "It’s nothing."

"Yeah, sure…" Dabi taps the front end of his boots against the floor. So they’re steel-toed. Nice. "So, anyway, when’re you gonna get your outfit upgrade?"

Shigaraki tilts his head. "Huh?"

"Well, you’ve been showing your ankles ever since we met, and considering you can get anything you want…"

"I’m going through a growth spurt," Shigaraki interrupts him. "There’s no point right now."

"A growth spurt? What are you, a teenager?"

Shigaraki is always slouching... How tall would he be if he stopped that? When he's slouching, the tip of his head comes close to Dabi's lips- Okay, back up.

"Are you trying to piss me off?"

"Just trying to get all I can in before you forgive me for everything."

"I can always change my mind, you know."

God, please don’t be any younger than 20. If for anything, just for the fact that it would be fucked up in general for a kid to be my boss. Things are already fucked up enough.

"Yeah, but what’re you gonna do with my cool new clothes if I die?"

What is this?

"I’ll just disintegrate them, too."

Seriously. What is this?

"Seems like a waste, though."

Shigaraki isn't at his throat. He hasn't moved an inch. He's just standing there with his arms crossed and acting like an actual person, someone with self control, someone who Dabi could hold an actual conversation with.

"Ugh…" Shigaraki shakes his head. "Guess that’s your way of saying you like them."

"They’re…all right, I guess."

More like there's no way Dabi ever could've gotten clothes that match his aesthetic so perfectly on his own.

"You guess..." Shigaraki reaches up to his neck, but his scratching stops midway before he can break skin. He snaps out of it and turns away. "Okay, now we're done. In a few hours, we'll be holding a meeting. Be there."

"Yeah... I'll be on the couch like usual."

Because he's definitely already dreaming.

[whenwillsherlockgetmilk]

Free Coffee

Some quick tousaki I wrote for Kaneki’s birthday. 

1409 words

Summary - Haise visits :re of the 20th of December

-

Haise wakes up with a deep ache in his chest.

It’s nothing, he reassures himself, nothing at all. Every nerve and muscle feels off, and the voice in his head is quiet, at last. The night had been restless, filled with screams and the images of chairs and buckets and centipedes. A hockey mask appeared once or twice, but he assumes it’s a twisted dream the twisted man had presented to him, no truth to it whatsoever. Nothing to dwell on. Not the uneasiness that makes him queasy, or how real it all felt.

He feels nothing, and everything. His fingers and toes are dead, like they’ve disappeared, and he can barely move them, but he blames it on blood circulation. His eye twitches, and his ears pick up on the scampering and prodding of what feels like an insect’s legs exploring his head. It’s nothing at all.

Arima had given him the day off, surprisingly, with a claim that Haise works too hard, and needs a break every so often (Christmas is only in five days, and he isn’t working that day either). The others still have to work though, and Sasaki doesn’t want to stay in the chateau by himself. He likes company, and he tries to think of anyone he could spend time with that wouldn’t be at work. No-one. The idea of showing up to work anyway crosses his mind, but Arima would disapprove, and Akira probably would too.

He thinks, and the more he thinks the more an idea forms - the wish for :re’s coffee. It’s a good plan, for both the coffee and the service (the waitress) are great, perfect.

It’s decided.

-

Much to his delight, the waitress seems even more attentive to him than usual when he arrives. In his other visits, she would skirt around him, their interactions being limited to what he would like to drink (it’s not like he has a lot of options). This time she guides to a table with a smile and a light in her eyes that has him blushing.

Today is just like any other day; why is she so happy? Not that he’s complaining, he’s just… curious.

He doesn’t want to question her, or her affairs. They’re private, and they’re not familiar enough with each other (he feels it, but it’s not enough to actually do something) and he cannot overstep his bounds, ask questions too enthusiastic that could get him banned. This shop is his only connection to her, he can’t do anything wrong.

Without even ordering, she brings him his coffee, freshly made. The first sip makes him feel giddy, as if he can taste all the effort she put in (he can; Touka always takes special care with his order, with every order, but today is different).

There are only few other people in the shop, regulars, he assumes, knows. Haise recognises some of them - he frequents the place enough. Does that make him a regular too? Can he even consider himself that?

‘It’s on the house,’ she adds, shocking him, 'An early Christmas gift for a valued customer.’ Her cheerful attitude lights a hope in him, and seeing her smile only makes his infatuation grow.

She lingers slightly, wanting to do something else to acknowledge the person she once knew. But her mind is blank.

Her soft presence fills him with confidence so that, maybe, he can finally say something more.

'You seem extra cheerful today.’ He lightheartedly comments, as if a purely innocent question, trying not to be suspicious. She doesn’t give him a look, or a remark, which part of him had bizarrely expected.

'I’m just excited for Christmas.’ Something about her response makes him think that there’s another reason, but he has no reason to distrust her, even if he’s an investigator.

'Any plans?’ Nows his chance to find out, to find out if she has a date. It’s been on his mind since he started worrying about Christmas, but he isn’t bold enough to directly ask such a thing (or offer to be her date).

'You?’ Touka offers, turning the tables. Haise tries not to think about her aversion, instead mustering his usual excitement.

'Spending the day with co-workers.’

'The people you mentor?’ It makes him glad that she remembers such a small detail from months ago.

He nods, 'And others.’

She manages to hide her unease at the thought of spending Christmas in a doves’ nest.

-

Touka had been waiting all day. She’s used to it, used to people leaving and not coming back. But one random day, after two, three years, Kaneki (not Kaneki) stepped into their shop. He keeps coming, each time looking as if it was the highlight of his day.

She had been waiting and hoping that he would visit today, on the day that is more important to her than him, because this day has no meaning to Haise Sasaki.

Her anxious mood had improved significantly when she did see him, leading him to a table. Thankfully, neither Yomo nor Nishiki were here (she told them she could handle taking care of the cafe alone, and neither seemed to catch on, luckily) but she’s glad they’re not. Yomo would probably stare him down until he leaves, while Nishiki would wait to make fun of her.

Now, the dove is simply sitting there with a free coffee, carefully selecting a book, and Touka has the urge to do more, to gather their collection of friends, all scattered in the wind, and throw a much deserved celebration to make up for the countless birthdays she missed. In fact, she had missed every single one of his birthdays, and on hers he had been kind (and cruel) enough to give, no, get her a gift. She owes him.

But what else can she do? For her, it’s not enough to give him her absolute best service, a free coffee (she can see him going through his change, obviously unsettled with the idea of leaving with not a penny spent). She allowed him to stare at her, not even turning her head (she usually does this) in a half-hearted attempt to make him look away, as she knows he doesn’t want to be caught.

In her opinion, she’s done nothing.

The ruffling of his clothes brings her back to the current situation as Haise shuffles into his coat, steeling himself to go back out into the cold.

'Going so soon?’ She asks, trying to hide her sorrow and internal feelings of uselessness.

Haise mutters a quick 'yeah’, though he doesn’t want to leave right now; he would happily stay all day, from opening to closing. But what else can he do except drink coffee and read (and stare at her)?

'You don’t have to leave yet.’ she tries, 'There’s all day, if you’re not busy-’

'I’m not.’ He coughs.

'Then stay.’

Haise nods slightly, ridding himself of his jacket yet again as he sits, the seat still warm. He looks around, seeing customers who are fine on their own.

'Would you sit with me?’  

-

Hours have passed, and all Haise has done is read and drink coffee and talk to the waitress.

A perfect day.

But it’s time to leave, and Haise has already picked out what book he’s going to read next. He stares at it, memorising the title, hoping it will be available on his next visit. Haise does this constantly, and, this time, Touka notices.

'You can take it with you.’ Kaneki had always loved books, and she noticed a long time ago that the preference had passed onto this dove.

'But you’ve already done so much, it’s not like it’s my birthday or anything.’ He says hastily, trying to convince the waitress not be be so generous, that he doesn’t deserve her kindness. She’s done enough.

Touka falters, mouth parted in an attempt to press him further, but she gives up. The sudden change in her demeanour makes him feel guilty, and he picks up the book with a warm smile directed to her, putting it in his coat pocket.

Uncharacteristically, something he’s never seen before, a small flush is evident on her visible cheek, and she stutters as he leaves.

'P-please, come again.’

He turns back to her, 'Of course. I have to return your book.’  

He doesn’t feel cold at all when he is outside. Instead, there’s a pleasant warmth flooding him, the sense of total relaxation.

[denial-island-spn]

[Ice Cream World]

Approximately 53 days since their departure

*Megs sits at a picnic table, her eyes settled on the horizon as the sun lazily sets across the water.  She might as well be a hundred worlds away the way the bright colors don’t register, nor do the soothing sounds of waves or the happy sounds of families gathered around her.  Something tickles at the edge of her awareness and as her eyes slip closed, it’s almost like she can hear Suzy’s voice drifting in around the edges.*

Megs I know you’re still out there, I hope the two of you are safe…

There’s a visceral response to the almost-presence, much like when Gabe spoke within her mind the night before.  It has her going stiff, her mind retreating inward and causing the rest of the words to come out too faint for her to understand.  It isn’t until her Gabe gives her arm a nudge that she even notices he’s returned, and the only thing that keeps her from letting out a shriek is the familiar and comforting thrum she’s come to realize is his energy.*

Gabe:  I got you something.  *Places a milkshake down in front of her and she looks over to see a bowl of ice cream in front of him covered in sprinkles*

Megs: *her fingers smooth over the surface of the table as she tries to ground herself again* Thanks, but I’m not hungry.

Gabe: *keeping his voice light* I put a little something extra in there for you.  *Megs looks over curiously and he inclines his head toward the cup*  Take a look.

Megs: *lifts the lid to find what look like oreo chunks blended into the vanilla shake. She blinks, feeling so much in response to something so small.  Before either of them know it, droplets are falling from her lashes and she can’t speak*

Gabe: Woah, hey, kid, that’s not what I -- shit.  Come here.  *puts his arm around her, pulling her against him.*

Megs:  *after several moments* I just want to go home.

Gabe:  I know, sweet tart.  We’ll get there.  I promise.

Megs: *lets out a bitter laugh* Will we? Because we keep getting caught unprepared.  That last place -- *her breath hitches as memories begin to flood her senses so thoroughly, it has her checking out*

*Gabe releases a little of his grace, using it to keep her tethered to the present as he begins to softly hum a familiar tune.*

Megs: *slowly feels herself return, she releases a long, steady breath* We walked in there with nothing.  No weapons, no spells, nothing, and we somehow thought it would turn out fine.  *quiet, but firm* I refuse to be caught like that again.

Gabe: We won’t.  Now that I’m fully charged, nobody is going to hurt you again. You have my word.

Megs: *considers pointing out the fact he won’t stay that way forever, but decides against it.*  One more thing *she pins him beneath a look that has something strong behind it*  I’m not her.  

Gabe: *brows shoot up and he’s thoroughly confused and cautious with how serious she is* …  I know. I thought we covered this already.

Megs:  So did I.  So let me make it clear:  *lowers her voice so only he can hear, jabbing him angrily in the chest with each sentence* You don’t owe me anything.  I don’t need a martyr.  The next time you try to die for me, I will kill you myself.  Got it?

Gabe: *holds back a chuckle, knowing she might actually try to kill him if he outright laughed at this moment.  He can’t keep his lips twitching, however* You know, there are nicer ways of saying you’re fond of someone *plucks the hand that’s poking him away from his chest, holding it securely in his as he pushes the careful limits they’ve held, his thumb gently tracing along the inside of her palm*

Megs: *starts to defuse as she becomes distracted by the contact* ...I’m not kidding.  

Gabe: Neither am I. *brings her hand up and drops a light kiss against the back of it.  Megs breaks from his gaze, dropping her eyes to the table, suddenly very aware of how nice it feels tucked beneath his arm*  

Megs:  *after a few moments, manages an admonishing look, barely able to keep a straight face* Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.

Gabe:  *emboldened by the response he’s gotten and cocky* Don’t think I don’t know that you like it.  *he gives a rare smile, one that is full of pride, bordering on conceited, and speaks more of the angel he was before Jack entered his world*  So, you gonna drink that shake or am I gonna have to take one for the team and eat both of these?

*A woman approaches, her gaze direct, her features neutral, though it’s the energy Megs can sense within her that gives away what she is*

Gabriel: *cautiously greets the angel*  Hannah.

Hannah: *calmly* You are not welcome here.

Megs: Look, I know he’s usually an ass, but -- *notices for the first time that the angel is looking directly at her and pauses, dumbfounded*  Wait, me?

Hannah: This is a peaceful place.  We have worked hard to make it so, and the only reason it has come to be is because you and your kind are not allowed here.  

*Gabriel stiffens and Hannah’s gaze connects.  The silent stretches between them, and Megs realizes they are conversing.  It unsettles her, being left out, and Dark Gabe’s words prickle at the back of her mind.*

Gabriel: *rising, taking Megs by the arms and dragging  her up off the bench with him*  We’ were just leaving.

Hannah: See that you do not return.  

*Gabriel hastily ushers Megs toward a nearby pier where they originally stumbled into this world the first time*

Megs: You gonna tell me what that was all about?

Gabriel:  Let’s focus on getting out of here first.  Then we can talk.  

*Megs purses her lips, unhappy with being kept in the dark, but doesn’t push it.  They finally make it to their destination.  After casting a glance around to make sure no one is nearby, Megs holds up the key, and the magic stretches outward, illuminating the nearby doorway.*

Megs:  *inserts the key into the lock, only to find it won’t turn.  Her brows draw together*  What the hell?  *she tries again*

Gabriel: *clearly keeping watch, which only adds to her unease*  There a problem?

*Megs pulls the key out and inspects it, noticing for the first time that this one has tiny engravings etched along the bottom of it*

Megs: That son of a bitch.  *Gabe turns around and catches the glower on her face*  He gave us the wrong key. 

Gabriel: … I really hate myself sometimes.  *sighs and snaps his fingers, illuminating a row of doors*  Let’s hope that thing works on one of these.