#supernova chapter three

[interstate40]

yeah ok it's official, Liu Cixin is one of my favorite authors of all time

[1d1195]

My Friend's Toyota I

🎶 here she is! Based on the song of the same name, by Asiris 💕 I wanted to write this before spring arrived. It's just a few parts (I'm thinking 4 right now) only because the first part got so long 🤭

~8k words

Warnings: college!Harry but otherwise none really. Just wanted to write a cute romantic story. Maybe the tiniest bit of angst (but maybe not in this part just yet). This part is a little ramble-y but I promise it'll come together quick.

But this... angel he had bumped into...

She was going to star in all his fantasies now.

Can’t believe September’s already over / Looked for stars and I found a supernova / praying to God that I can hold her close / ‘Cause I know she’s worried ‘bout the snow / She said “Darling, should I bring a coat?”

Harry thought he was more excited to go to university than anyone had ever been. “For drinking right?” his friends from school asked with a laugh. They chatted about it all the time during the summer before they all left their hometown in favor of the new chapter of their lives. Harry liked drinking, sure. It was fun but he enjoyed hanging out with his friends more. At least when they were in university they wouldn’t be drinking illegally anymore.

But Harry was a bit of a hopeless romantic.

He believed university was the surefire way to meet the love of his life. The person who would knock him off his feet, make his heart grow three sizes too big for his chest, and simply just... feel like he was right where he was supposed to be.

The first semester of university came and went.

Harry didn’t meet the love of his life.

He had Mitch. His roommate and one of his best friends from home. But Mitch was in love with their friend Sarah and unfortunately, he didn’t feel the same way about Mitch as Sarah felt about him. But that was okay. He still had lots of time to find the person that would make his stomach flutter.

But spring semester came and went too.

Harry tried to find her. He went on dates with several women he met in classes and at parties. He heard the whispers and rumors about him. It made him a little sad that some of the women he went out with never corrected the rumors. His longest relationships were no more than a month, but Harry couldn’t help it that he didn’t feel the spark he was looking for and ended things before they really got going.

It was supposed to be all-encompassing. Make him breathless. Knock him to his knees. Maybe he was being ridiculous. At the age of almost twenty he was being unrealistic to want something like that. He was young. There was plenty of time for love.

But was it so bad that he wanted it now?

His dorm room with Mitch was a suite and they each had their own rooms. They decorated the main room with the help of Sarah to make it homey (and also stopped them before they used empty vodka bottles as décor). Their dorm was one of the “party” dorms, but they rarely hosted. Harry and Mitch wanted their place to be a safe place. It rarely saw more than ten people—and that was only when he and Mitch were pre-gaming with other friends to go to a party off campus. Sometimes Harry brought his friends back if they had too much to drink. It made him feel better knowing they were in a safe place. Sarah even brought back a girl that was too drunk to make any good decisions of her own accord. Harry minded over her with worry because the poor thing was all but sobbing as she threw up most of the night and whined about how sad she was.

Harry actually dated her for about a month after—some kind of savior complex that he should have known doomed their relationship from the start.

So, he kept waiting to find the love of his life. But he couldn’t help but feel discouraged as he complained to his mum and Gemma over the summer that he didn’t find her that first year.

“Honey bunny, it’s too early to think like that,” Anne smirked. “You’re so young.”

He shrugged. “I guess. M’jus’... Mitch has Sarah,” he reminded them.

“I know, but...” Gemma smiled sadly at him. “You’re not Mitch. It’ll happen when it’s supposed to happen.”

Well Harry didn’t meet her the following year either. Twenty came and went. He continued hearing rumors about his body count. The only ones ready to defend him ever was Mitch and Sarah but he simply didn’t care. The girls he met at parties, bars, in class, they all continued to flirt with him and when Harry felt the hope of a spark, he chose to pursue it—not because of the rumors, not because he felt like he had to in order to find the love of his life, simply because he was young and enjoying his life.

But September of his third year.

Oh.

*

Harry was appalled that as a third-year student, any of his major professors deigned to have an eight-AM class. It felt like death as he walked with the throng of people headed to the correct buildings when the sun was barely high in the sky. His eyes felt droopy, and he was certain he yawned the entire walk from dorm room to classroom.

His backpack was slung over his shoulders. He shouldn’t have gone out last night. He wasn’t hungover, but he was just so tired. The chance of meeting the love of his life could have been at that party. That wasn’t an opportunity he was willing to miss.

“I told you,” Mitch muttered to him liking eight-AMs more than the average college student. Get it out of the way. He stuck his foot out causing Mitch to stumble a bit and he smirked with a low chuckle. “Idiot,” Mitch grumbled.

Harry didn’t know what he wanted to do with his degree yet. Another component of divine intervention he was hoping would appear in front of him. Love and career. He hoped the universe would help him figure both out sooner rather than later.

Mitch veered off to his own building and Harry counted down the minutes until he could trek back to his dorm room. Harry was yawning—again—and shook his head trying to perk himself up as he made it to the building where his classroom resided on his schedule.

Harry chose a seat in the back of the room. Put his head on the desk and tried not to think about how his bed might be his real soulmate.

*

Harry was much more awake now that his professor had re-sparked his interest in microeconomics. All his classes were econ-based this year and he was honestly super excited to look at different facets of his major and maybe that was divine intervention. He had four required economic electives: sports, law, history, and statistics. Additionally, he would be taking a math class that was a pre-requisite to the class he needed for next semester. He tried not to think about it too much.

With a pep in his step, he no longer felt like going back to his dorm and sleeping as he told Mitch he would be doing instead of joining him for breakfast. He wanted to go to his next class or the bookstore. He wanted to geek out over the intro lecture he just heard to someone that would care and wouldn’t brush off his nerdiness. What he really wanted was someone to kiss at the end of the day and tell him all about their classes and ask what he wanted to do for dinner—whether it was dining hall food or a date in town.

“Hi Harry,” someone called as he fantasized about his little dream life. He didn’t even see who it was, so he turned to catch a glimpse.

“Hi—” he started to call politely. If it was someone he knew, he didn’t want to be rude. As he turned, he must have shifted into the path of someone else’s walk to class. He bumped into someone with about half of his body. He knocked her phone out of her hand. Also made her stumble off the sidewalk a bit. “Oh, sorry, love,” he said bending for her phone before she could. The water bottle she had tucked in her bag also fell to the ground. “Are you alright?” He was hopeful he didn’t hurt her, but who knows, she could have tweaked her ankle on the edge of the walk and Harry would have felt horrendous for the whole rest of the day.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” her voice was a bit rushed. “I just transferred here this semester, and I’m all turned around and I’m going to be late—”

Harry glanced up at her having gathered her belongings from the dewy grass and finally caught her gaze. She stopped speaking when Harry looked at her. He swore his heart stopped. They were off the sidewalk, now. People were walking quickly to and from their classes. Harry could feel the gaze of people who knew him as he walked by. Trying to figure out who the girl was he was talking to.

Harry knew he hadn’t found the love of his life yet due to lack of connection. They liked Harry well enough, and he honestly was fortunate to have had a few girlfriends who were kind, intelligent, and pretty. Those he had dated the past two years simply didn’t scratch that itch for the fantasy he had: asking about his day, telling him about hers, and what did they want to do for dinner.

But this... angel he had bumped into...

She was going to star in all his fantasies now.

They hadn’t spoken in thirty seconds while Harry dreamed of happily ever after with her. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Where are y’headed?” He asked quietly.

She shook her head rapidly and pulled her phone from his hands. Harry tried to memorize everything about this moment. The concentrated expression on her face while she scanned her phone screen. “Umm... Livingston 210,” she sighed. “Am I going the complete wrong way?” She asked nervously. “God this is so embarrassing. I spent all day yesterday walking around trying to map out my paths and I had to park in a different lot, and I am the worst with maps and directions,” she rambled.

“No, no,” Harry shook his head. “S’this way. Let me walk you,” he offered. “You’re fine,” he promised glancing at his own watch. “You’ll... you’ll be early,” he reassured her.

She blew out a relieved breath. “Really? Don’t you have a class to get to?” She asked. “I don’t want to put you out—”

He shook his head quickly. “No, not... not at all, love,” he murmured. “M’happy t’do it. Got a break before m’next class.”

Her face took on this gorgeous smile that Harry wasn’t sure he would ever be able to forget. The relief was palpable. It seemed almost excessive, like he was a doctor and told her that she wasn’t ill and not that her class was only about a three-minute walk. But Harry adored that smile. The way her eyes lit up along with the curve of her lips. “Thank you, so so much. I’m so nervous and know absolutely no one—except my roommate. But she doesn’t have class until noon. Plus, my transfer credits went in late last week so the schedule I had planned is all different than the one I made in June. I really almost considered just leaving and transferring back—”

He chuckled at her little ramble. He liked it a lot. Way more than he probably should have for having met her only ninety seconds prior. He wondered if she always did that. The need to find out was nearly unbearable. How could he prolong the conversation? How could he get her number in the next two minutes it took her to walk to her class? “C’mon,” he tilted his head toward the direction he had come from.

Was he being ridiculous? Maybe.

But this was what he wanted. The way his heart stopped. He couldn’t ignore that. Was he holding his breath? Was she feeling the same warm tension that was covering his entire body with the need to look at her? This was it. She hadto be it. The love of his life. The first day of third year. His heart felt... whole.

“Oh good, this is familiar,” she sighed with relief. Chuckling, Harry held the building door open for her to pass through. “Do you like candy?” She asked as she entered.

Blinking curiously, Harry wondered if she had some conversation in her head that he wasn’t privy to that resulted in such a question. “M’sorry?”

“Candy?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course,” he smiled at her curiously.

“Okay, I’ll get you candy as a thank you for walking me, then,” she promised with an assured nod of her head.

Harry was floored by her kindness to a stranger. It made him feel so overwhelmed that he ignored how ridiculous it all seemed for him to act like this. So that meant she wanted to see him again. He chuckled. “Y’don’t have t’do that, love. S’not out of m’way,” he reminded her.

“I know... but you don’t know me, and you look important.”

“Look important?” He repeated dumbly and gestured to the stairwell for her to ascend. He followed beside her hoping he didn’t look as creepy as he felt feeling so overwhelmed with how he already felt about her.

“I don’t know, everyone was staring at you while we walked over,” she shrugged.

He smirked. But he was surprised he missed that. Usually, he noticed when people called out to him.  “Everyone?”

She nodded. “I think a few people even did a double take,” she explained. “So, you must be important.”

He rolled his eyes with another little laugh from his lips. “Uh...I don’t think m’important,” he admitted. They stood a few feet away from the door labeled 210. “S’really no trouble. I jus’ left m’eight AM from here,” he promised. “Was jus’ going t’get breakfast. M’happy t’help.”

“Well, thank you. I really appreciate it. I promise I’ll get you candy,” she said glancing at her watch and then the classroom door. “I like to get a good seat for the lecture. I’ll... see you around...?” She waited for him to fill in the missing information.

“Harry,” he said wiping his hand on his leg before holding it out for her to take. The first time he would touch who he was certain was the love of his life.

“Harry,” she repeated, placing her hand in his while introducing herself as well. “I’ll see you around.”

His heart was aching with something that had to be a cross between infatuation and undeniable love. Her hand felt so nice in his and it was just a handshake. Imagining their fingers twined together made him ache with want. “Wait,” he said right as her hand touched the doorknob. “Where’s y’next class?” He asked. She pulled her phone from her pocket and opened her schedule. “Uh... Sawyer,” she said reading off her phone. Harry’s heart leapt. “312.”

He felt tingles all through his body. From fingertip to his stomach, to the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. “Yeah?” He asked rhetorically. The question was more for the universe; it’s way of telling Harry she was here. “I’ll walk you,” he promised. “We’re in the same class.”

She turned her face briefly from him—maybe an effort to hide the blush that was covering her cheeks and making Harry fall even harder for her. “Yeah?” She wondered.

He nodded. “I’ll meet y’at the front of the building when class gets out, yeah?”

She smiled. “Okay, thanks, Harry,” she sighed with relief heading through the doorway. “Enjoy your break,” she called over her shoulder.

Harry floated back down the steps. Honestly, he wanted to wait outside her classroom, but he just met her, and he wanted—no needed—this to work. Wanted it to work more than anything. The smile plastered on his face had his cheeks hurting but he couldn’t stop. He nearly sprinted to the closest dining hall where he told Mitch he would meet him for breakfast.

“Sorry, m’late. I jus’ met the woman m’going t’marry,” his voice was all airy, falling into a seat beside Mitch with a dreamy look on his face.

“Whoa,” Mitch chuckled. “You look sick.”

“I feel sick,” he laid down onto a second chair. Backpack still on. He looked like an idiot, but he couldn’t help it. He was in love.

“Glad you met her, Harry. Finally, right? Can you act like an adult?” Mitch muttered cutting up the waffle he had on his plate. Sitting up he smiled at his friend.

“We have class together next.”

“Isn’t that your math class?” He wondered. He thought about the schedule Harry was insistent about putting on the fridge so they could find each other if needed while at home. For emergencies. But Mitch didn’t understand why the schedule needed to be on the fridge if Harry made him commit it to memory anyway.

“Yeah, so?”

“You hate math.”

“No one likes math,” he grumbled.

“Maybe she does. Maybe she’s not your soulmate.”

“Shut up,” he dropped his bag in his seat and headed to get food. Upon returning with his tray, about three other people said hello to him. One girl stopped him asking if he was coming to her party this weekend and one of the guys that he knew from his pickup soccer games asked if he was available tomorrow night for a game at the rec field. “If she likes math then... jus’ mean she completes me. Still m’soulmate,” he shrugged.

“You got an answer for everything,” Mitch laughed.

*

Harry found her sitting on the barrier wall to the mini garden outside the building. One of her legs stretched along the length of the cement ledge and the other dangled off the side. With the need to get her to class on time, Harry didn’t have time to ogle her at all. But now, as he approached her, he noted she was wearing a pair of jeans and a pair of trainers. Obviously, her worry about being late to class must have meant she considered sprinting if it got late enough. Her T-shirt was this light orange-pink color. Like she was modeling a sunset. She had a book propped on her thigh and she leaned over reading, like she was simultaneously doing yoga while reading.

“Hey,” he called. Her head perked up and she smiled, putting a bookmark in between the pages and swinging her leg over to say hi.

“Hi!” She chirped excitedly. “I was afraid I missed you when I ran back inside.”

Back inside? He frowned. “Did y’class end early?”

“Yeah... almost a half hour ago,” she shrugged hopping off the ledge. “Syllabus and all. Doesn’t happen that often to me—I’m majoring in accounting and finance, so all my classes just jump right into the lectures and lessons. But this is a sociology class that my other school didn’t offer but I have to take here to graduate,” she explained with an eyeroll. “They were insistent.”

“M’sorry y’had to wait,” he frowned.

“Don’t be sorry,” she smiled. “I got to read a bit and—oh!” She twisted her backpack around her body and into the zip pocket. She retrieved whatever item she was looking for and held it out for him to take. “For walking me,” her voice was so sweet.

Harry felt his jaw fall open just a bit as she placed the Twix bar in his hand. “Twix is my favorite, but I got Starbursts too if that’s more your vibe. Reese’s if you like peanut butter. I wanted a variety just in case and it won’t go to waste regardless—”

“Twix is m’favorite, too,” he said turning the bar over in his hands. He looked up at her as if she really was placed right in his path. Fate. Out of nowhere. Like a star exploding out in the universe and dropping this angel in its spot.

She smiled. “Excellent,” she said. “Where’s Sawyer, then?” She asked while zipping her bag again and heading toward the walkway when he walked her to the building earlier. “I want a good seat,” she reminded him. Since she got him his favorite candy bar—and simply because she existed and was without a doubt going to be his favorite, period—he wanted to make sure she got the seat she wanted.

He wanted to make sure she got whatever she wanted.

*

Was it normal to want to hold someone’s hand like this? Harry’s immediate thought was no. It wasn’t normal. Wanting to hold hands with someone the way he was craving to hold her hand had to be the most abnormal thing in existence. Every Tuesday and Thursday for the next three weeks, he waited outside Livingston, watching her descend the front staircase to the main floor. They chatted the entire ten-minute walk to Sawyer where they shared a math class. She insisted on sitting closer to the front than Harry would ever consider but he was immediately enamored with how sweet she was and there was no way he could let someone else sit beside her.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were slowly becoming his favorite days of the week. They were his weekend even with a packed schedule on the two days. Talking to her was everything he had been longing for the last two years of school.

On Sunday, he slept until almost ten-thirty. He was lying in bed while scrolling through his array of social media and other correspondences. He heard the shower running, so either Sarah or Mitch must have been well after a night of drinking.

Three weeks. After three weeks of pining and walking her to and from class, he got an email on a Sunday.

The subject line read: Be-Twix you and me I’m glad we’re friends. He threw himself out of his bed and paced the main room trying to figure out if it was Mitch or Sarah in the shower. He knocked. “Sarah!”

“Sorry, Harry. She’s sleeping,” Mitch called.

He opened the door anyway. “She emailed me.”

“How 2002 of her,” he snorted.

“You’re useless,” Harry grumbled closing the door shut. He truly considered barging into Mitch’s room and waking Sarah for a girl’s opinion but after doing the very same and seeing way more than he was supposed to of his two friends, he opted for figuring it out himself. He vaguely wondered if there was a way to open an email faster. He must have read it a thousand times and it was only four sentences long.

Hi Harry!

I was wondering if you would want to study for our exam together? I like having someone to study with, but if that’s not your vibe I understand :) Let me know either way! This is my number if you would prefer texting.

Harry thought there were no prettier ten numbers than the ones that formed her phone number. He was immediately ready to text her but luckily had the wherewithal of checking the time stamp of the email to see if he was looking desperate but struggling to care. Fortunately, the email was from a little after seven-thirty.

He could have chatted with her for three hours longer if he hadn’t slept so late.

Hi, it’s Harry 😊

Hi! Glad my email didn’t scare you off. My roommate said that my Twix pun was horrendous.

It’s adorable. Thank you for emailing. I’d love to study. I work until five... I can meet you somewhere?

Do you like coffee?

I love coffee 😊

Do you think it will be cold around five? I’m still getting used to the weather around here. I want to bring a coat.

Harry made a mental note to pack an extra sweatshirt in case she got too cold. Can’t hurt to bring one. You never know what the weather will do around here.

*

Forty minutes a week.

Forty blissful, perfect minutes in the month of September had been spent chatting with the stranger that bumped into her on the first day of the fall semester. The sun was warm despite the breeze chilling her skin. It wasn’t nearly enough time but she somehow managed to fall incredibly hard for him anyway.

It was a bit ridiculous.

Her roommate—and only friend—was also a transfer student. However, Allie was much more outgoing than she was. That wasn’t to say she didn’t have fun; it was just different than how Allie enjoyed herself. Allie made friends everywhere she went. Their off-campus but university-owned apartment was always in flux of visitors from her classes, her club tennis team, or just someone she met while eating lunch in the dining hall between classes.

Allie was a good judge of character though, so she never worried about someone of bad rapport traipsing through their place. Also, Allie was always sure to keep everyone away from her room, of course.

But Allie had no problem flopping on her bed around ten in the morning and nosily glancing over her shoulder. She had left her email open anxiously waiting for a reply from the most handsome guy she had ever had the pleasure of meeting. “Be-Twix?! Sweetie, that’s atrocious,” she rolled her eyes. She groaned in response.

“I... I don’t know,” her face felt hot with shame. She really liked Harry. “It seemed like a good idea at the time... maybe that’s why he’s not answering me,” she frowned.

“Maybe he just sleeps like a normal college student and doesn’t wake up at the ass-crack of dawn,” she said knowingly patting her knee reassuringly.

“Have you seen the leaves?” She whispered almost in awe. “I went for a walk to get a bagel and—”

“I’ve seen them,” Allie smiled with a shake of her head at her silly friend. The adoration she had for little things was admirable, sweet, and just... if Harry Styles broke her heart, she would break his face. “I lived here my whole life, remember?”

But she didn’t live here her whole life. So, she was in awe—her first true fall since she was a toddler that she didn’t even remember. There were pictures of her jumping into a pile of leaves with her mom that her dad had just painstakingly raked. The south didn’t have pretty leaves like this in the fall. Palm leaves didn’t change color other than wilting brown when it was too hot. She intended to spend every minute looking at the beautiful hues of orange, red, and yellow so as not to miss the pretty season she hadn’t gotten to enjoy for most of her life.

After another agonizing thirty minutes of waiting for him to respond (and breathing with sweet relief that he did want to see her later) she told Harry that she was worried about it being cold later in the evening. She had grown up closer to the Tropic of Cancer which was now roughly 15 degrees south of her current latitude. She hated the heat; it made her skin feel dirty and oily with sweat all summer long. Her hair was too thick, her skin naturally too warm. Just thinking about her thighs sticking to her leather car seat in July was horrific.

But her parents had grown up and met here on this pretty autumn-picturesque campus. Somewhere not quite freezing (at least not yet, so she had been told) but not quite suffocating with heat like home. They left here when she was two to situate themselves in Hell’s sauna room. After taking the general requirement classes at a state school, she wanted to transfer up north to the university where her parents fell in love. Call her a hopeless romantic, but if she hadn’t found the love of her life amongst the bathing suit, half-clad guys on the beach during the last two spring breaks, then he probably wasn’t in the south. Instead, she hoped she might find him around the ski slopes.

She hadn’t anticipated finding Harry before her first class started.

Forty minutes.

That was how much time Harry generously gave her outside their shared class combined on Tuesday and Thursday each week.

She wanted more. Greedy with want and didn’t know how to do it without tying it to school. Part of her worried because what if he just pitied her and now didn’t know how to get away from her? They had class together; he couldn’t be rude. Even if he didn’t like her the way she was already falling for him, it was very obvious that Harry was a good person.

“Just be careful,” Allie warned lightly. “Harry has a bit of a reputation I hear.”

She frowned and shrugged. She knew what Allie meant. People around her weren’t exactly subtle and while she listened to music in the dining hall while she ate, or studied in the library, or even just read her book. Those around her whispered. They had seen the pair of them walking to class. Apparently, Harry never looked like that before. The whispers included Harry having plenty of girlfriends. Sometimes two or even three at a time. That just seemed ridiculous, and she felt so sad others talked about him behind his back. There were even quiet bets about how long she would last in the list of Styles’ conquests.

So, she understood that Allie was just trying to look out for her. “Well... I like him. He doesn’t have a reputation around me,” she shrugged. Allie frowned for a moment. She was so sweet.

“Just be careful with your heart,” Allie looked at her with a bit of worry in her eye. But her smile was encouraging. “It’s too good for university guys.”

She had only known Allie about three months longer than she had known Harry. They both moved in at the start of the summer, working off campus and getting to know one another as well as the area (not that it helped her directionally illiterate mind). Allie was lovely and all the things she wanted in a college-best-friend that she never really got from commuting to the local college when she lived down south. “I think you would like him.”

“I can like him and still want someone better for you,” she shrugged leaning in the doorway. She didn’t want to taint the image of perfect Harry. But the stories she heard weren’t easy to ignore. She had seen him at parties since her best friend met him on her way to her sociology class. It was hard to miss him. It was like he was the star of every party.

He drank with his friends and girls obsessed over him. To her friend’s nearly naïve point of view, however, Allie hadn’t seen Harry flirt back. He was helpful and kind to those that drank too much; guiding them outside and gently pulling a girl’s hair back for when she threw up in the shrubs. It was endearing in a lot of ways. But she would still kill him if the rumors of a string of girls was true. If her new best friend was just another notch in his belt, Harry was dead. “You are so sweet to believe in the good in everyone. I just don’t want you to be heartbroken if he isn’t as lovely as you think.”

She smirked looking at the emojis and rapid influx of messages Harry was sending her trying to coordinate timing and picking her up, so she didn’t have to walk. “I won’t,” she promised. But she didn’t say that she thought he was better.

*

Harry was fifteen minutes late. He blamed the table he was waiting on before he left. They were overbearing and wanted their meal comped—that much was obvious. Looking for the smallest hiccups to rebuke him. Harry begged his manager to seat them in another section. Having waited on them before, but no dice. His heart was in his throat wishing he had time to go home and change but he couldn’t. If he was a moment later, he was sure he was ruining everything.

Unaware of Harry’s worry, she waited patiently on the bench outside the apartment building the university had taken as more dorm suites. She continued reading her book trying not to think about how maybe Harry had better things to do than study for a math class on a Sunday. Especially after work. But he had texted her he was running late, and he was on his way.

She was glad she decided on a coat, it wasn’t freezing, but her thick skin ill-suited for hot weather was already thawing and feeling the chill of the early October weather. She spent an embarrassingly long time sorting through her athleisure wear trying to decide. Something suitable for studying at a coffee shop that wasn’t overstated but not quite sweatpants.

Right when she thought about calling Harry, he appeared in front of the bench. Parking and getting out of his car quickly and hurrying to the passenger side. “I am so sorry,” he said hurriedly dragging a hand through his curls. She admired the motion; enjoying how mussing them didn’t matter much and they fell right back into place. She cleared her throat and shook herself out of her own staring at him.

“For what?”

“M’so late, love. S’rude. M’sorry,” he repeated.

“Oh...it’s...it’s really okay. I was already out here—”

“S’cold,” he frowned eyeing her sweatshirt and the coat at her side.

“I’m okay!” She promised. “Is everything alright?” She asked and stepped toward him putting her hand on his forearm. He thought he might explode at the feeling of her skin on his. It was more intimate than their handshake, and she got the feeling she wanted to twine their fingers together again.

Harry seemed to breathe with a sigh of relief, and he looked at her with this stunned expression. She couldn’t figure out why. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Jus’ felt bad being late.”

“Oh,” she blinked. “That’s okay. I wasn’t in a rush or anything—”

“No, love,” he shook his head. “M’sorry because I wanted t’see you so bad,” he sighed. He ran his hand through his hair again making her heart take off at a speed that had to be unsafe for her health. Almost immediately she felt light-headed. He wanted to see her. He just told her that. There was no hiding it. She could feel that emotion thick in his voice.

“Oh,” she repeated, completely stunned and confused. “Really?” She asked in complete shock.

“Yes, very, very much,” he sighed dreamily.

Her cheeks warmed hotly under his gaze. The pair of them stood there. Staring at one another as if they were statues destined to look at one another for all eternity, frozen in time to capture a moment like theirs. The October air was rapidly cooling, but she couldn’t feel anything but heat. Like she had stepped out of the airport terminal back in the south except this heat was not suffocating. It was so welcoming.

For a few moments they just stood there, her hand touching his forearm, gazing at one another. Part of her thought it would be nice to be a statue on the street. At least if Harry was beside her. Eventually, he shook his head ever so slightly and smirked. “So...coffee?”

She cleared her throat, smiling brightly. “Please.”

*

Just one week later, she was chatting with a friend from her sociology class. The moment he saw Harry, he knew Harry was there waiting for her, just as he had been since they met a month earlier. Harry recognized him from attending many parties that his frat hosted at one of the houses someone had off campus. His eyes seemed a bit surprised to see Harry waiting at the bottom of the steps, doing a double take at him waiting for the girl he was walking with down the steps.

“Hey Harry,” the guy said quietly.

“Hi!” She chirped gleefully. Her excited smile felt like too much on her face, but she had no way of knowing. She also didn’t notice the turmoil the guy felt seeing the competition between himself and Harry. (If she did know, she would flat out tell him there was no competition—other than school, Allie, and work, her mind was all about Harry.)

“Hi,” he said politely with a smile and turned toward the person he actually cared about talking to. “Y’ready for math, love?” He asked gently.

“Always,” she started for the main door. “See you around!” she called sweetly over her shoulder.

*

On Saturday, Allie asked if she wanted to go to a party with her. She was more than happy to stay in and read her book. But she teased her. “Harry might be there,” she winked knowingly.

As much as she didn’t pay any attention to the rumors about Harry, it was hard to fully ignore them the way she wanted to. It wasn’t that she distrusted Harry. No, if anything, she believed in him more than anyone else. But it did sound like Harry had a different party persona. She was not a party person. Honestly, she wanted him to have fun they way he wanted to. Going to a party just because he was there...

“That’s alright, I think—”

“Oh, come on!” She smiled sweetly. “I’ll help you get all dolled up and we’ll just have a couple drinks, and we can leave if you hate it. But if Harry is as smitten as you say he is, I bet he won’t let you leave,” she giggled.

Her face warmed at her friend’s assumption and she tried to picture a scenario in which someone as attractive as Harry would worry about little ole her like that. “Isn’t it cold out?”

“So wear another sweater!” Allie rolled her eyes.

“That’s not very college party of me.”

“Well, I would suggest an alcohol blanket, but I feel like getting you drunk before you even see Harry would be bad.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ll make me look pretty?” She asked quietly at her friend in the doorway.

“Prettier,” Allie nodded assuredly.

“Alright,” she sighed. “Let’s go to a party.”

*

Allie’s arm was looped through hers. It was freezing out. But honestly it felt nice. She was just a bit shivery. “I thought you said I could wear another sweater.”

“Sweetie, hiding your assets at a party would be criminal.”

She rolled her eyes with a smirk. They entered the door, dodging the guy standing at the door to keep people in and out very quickly. “Hey Allie,” he said.

She waved in response and headed right inside. She thought maybe it was a good thing Allie told her to skip the sweater. The heat inside the house was nearly as warm and humid as the airport terminal. The air was thick with the sour smell of alcohol, weed, and sweat. “I don’t know how people want to hook up with anybody around here. I can’t think of very many places that are less of an aphrodisiac.”

Allie smirked and pushed the pair of them through a throng of bodies toward the kitchen. She grabbed two red cups from the sleeve of them off the counter and asked the makeshift bartender—surely some poor freshmen pledge—to pour them drinks. Her gut felt a little off about the gesture. “I don’t know, Al,” she whispered softly.

“I’ve had them here before,” Allie promised reassuringly. She still wasn’t thrilled with the idea as she took the cup from her friend.

“Hey Allie!” Someone called. Allie turned, looking over her shoulder as she called back over the pounding music. Meanwhile she looked at the liquid sloshing along with the ice. She thought maybe she should have taken her chances with the jungle juice—no one would be stupid enough to touch that, even if it would end with her throwing it all back up at the end of the night.

The pair of them circled around the house, briefly stopping to watch the end of a rousing game of beer pong. The winning person slammed his beer back, dripping along the sides of his mouth triumphantly which made her smile. Allie rolled her eyes and tugged her out back. A bon fire was in the middle of the yard. Another sober freshman pledge, undoubtedly in charge of standing guard. The music was still loud but way less aggressive outside. There were other large groups of people outside as well chattering and drinking away. Allie worked quick; left her alone by the fire—which she was grateful for since it was warm. When Allie returned, she was already sipping her second drink, holding a third, and dropping her empty cup in the trash bin right near the house. Oof, her head was going to kill tomorrow.

“Harry’s here,” Allie whispered to her as she got close to her again. There was a twinge in her knees, like she might fall at the mere thought of him. It took all her self-restraint to not whip around to catch a glimpse of him. She wasn’t playing hard to get, but this was very much not her scene. She didn’t want to intrude on whatever fun he was having. “You should go say hi,” Allie nudged her.

She smirked, wanting to take a sip of her drink but still feeling hesitant so she just put the cup to her lips, like she was pretending to sip it. “Uh...maybe later. I don’t want to interrupt,” she responded directly in Allie’s ear. The good news was she managed to peek over her shoulder to see him standing a little ways away from the fire. It was too dark to make out any specific features or defining muscles but just the way he stood was hot. She felt insane for thinking such a thing, but it was impossible not to. He was so cute. He had one hand in his front pocket, a drink in the other hand, and just a plaid flannel layered over another plaid flannel. His eyes and smile were lost in the dark, but she could picture it. The light evergreen color that was simply her new favorite color along with the pinkest most adorable lips curling across his face and making dimples in his cheeks that would make the Grand Canyon jealous of their depth.

“I think he would probably die if you interrupted,” she snickered.

Briefly, she entertained the idea. She could ask how Harry was doing on his homework, but that wasn’t the best party talk in the world (even if she did want to know). But she was still a little nervous, especially outside class, their walk, and even their study not-quite date to chat with him about anything. A party was more than likely his element. She could see why. Girls were surrounding him ogling very much the same things that she probably ogled on her way to math class. He was easy to talk to, sweet, and of course very handsome.

She shook her head. “Do they have s’mores?” She asked suddenly.

Allie spit her drink back into her cup and laughed. “Jesus Christ,” Allie rolled her eyes. “No; college-students don’t have s’mores at a party.”

She frowned. “I feel like this party would be a lot better if it did,” she grumbled.

Allie wrapped her arm over her shoulder. “Don’t ever change, please,” she kissed her cheek. She laughed lightly.

“If we had a party with a fire, I promise there would be s’mores,” she was very decisive. “It seems sinful to not have them.”

“Hey, love.”

She felt her whole body stiffen and somehow soften at the same time. They both turned to his voice and now she could see in the firelight, that the red colors of his flannel contrasted so sharply with his eyes. The green seemed to amplify—even in the dark. “Hi, Harry,” she smiled sweetly.

“Didn’t know y’would be here.”

“Yeah...uh... this is my best friend and roommate Allie,” she gestured to the girl beside her. “She invited me,” she explained.

“Hi, Harry,” Allie held her hand out. “Heard lots about you. And seen you around a lot,” she said knowingly.

“Hi, Allie,” he said sweetly shaking her hand politely. “Thanks for bringing her,” he grinned winking at her flirtatiously. “Can I steal her from you?” he asked. “If s’alright with you,” he turned back to her, looking into her eyes so deeply she swore he was reading her mind. Not that there were any other thoughts than Harry, Harry, Harry.

“Listen Harry,” Allie said squaring her shoulders.

“Oh my God, Al,” she shoved her back a bit. “Don’t.”

Harry took a step away and looked back at Allie nervously. “This is my best friend,” Allie said with the third drink doing most of the talking.

“Allie!” She hissed.

“I love her so much,” tipsy-Allie was very loving and adoring. A bit flighty too. If she didn’t have a rush of alcohol spinning her blood quickly through her, she might have been a little less aggressive.

“I see,” Harry smiled. “I will take really good care of her Allie. I promise. Y’have nothing t’worry ‘bout,” he shoved a hand back in his pocket. He looked at her shyly, knowing that Harry was also talking directly to her and not just her tipsy best friend. “I should have asked though,” he said with a smile. “D’you...want t’hang out a bit?” He asked.

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, please.”

“How polite,” Allie snickered. Her smile faded rapidly as she glared back at Harry. If she wasn’t so focused on him, she might have missed the way he gulped nervously. “Don’t break her heart, Harry,” she pointed accusingly at him.

“Allie, enough!” She pressed a hand over her face.

“Don’t leave without me, either. I’ll be with my friends,” she said and flitted away as if there was nothing abnormal about her behavior.

“I’m so sorry about her,” she whispered still with a hand over her face. Harry chuckled and shook his head.

“No, s’okay. S’good she cares ‘bout you so much,” he nodded. “I agree completely,” he assured her. “M’really glad t’see you. I was so surprised and distracted...I wasn’t thinking clearly. I should have asked first t’steal y’away...” he glanced at her full cup. “Don’t like your drink?” He asked.

“Um...no, well. Kind of. I’m a little wary of accepting it from someone I don’t know.”

Harry didn’t try to talk her out of how she felt which made her heart flutter more. “S’a good point...d’you want t’walk to the bar down the road?” He asked.

“I’d have to leave Allie,” she smirked. “Not sure I want to put that on someone else.”

“Hold on,” he said and rushed off to the house. It was only a couple minutes, if that. But he reappeared with a can in his hand. “I pulled it out of the fridge when the kid was turned,” he smirked.

She giggled. “My hero,” she laughed and sipped it without fear.

“So... d’you want t’go...find some place quieter t’talk?”

She glanced at the house. “Is there somewhere to talk?” She asked.

“Yeah... m’friend Niall and his friends are hosting. He’s got a keypad lock on his door, and I know the code t’his bedroom.”

“You always try to get girls into your friend’s room?” She asked quirking an eyebrow at him while sipping her drink. He chuckled and shook his head.

“No, s’nothing like that, love. Jus’ want some privacy.”

“Well, that’s fine by me, even by the fire, it’s chilly out here.”

“You’re cold? Here,” he pulled off the top flannel and draped it on her shoulders then put a hand on her lower back to guide her back toward the house. She could feel the stares of others on them as they meandered back. “S’not even winter yet. S’gonna be tough on your southern blood,” he smiled.

She smiled. “My parents are from here. I think there’s some northerner in me yet. Just got to get it out of hibernation.”

Harry chuckled. “You’ll still need a coat, love,” he promised.

If Harry was going to offer his own clothing to her, she wasn’t sure she’d want to bring her own coat at all.

--

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[suguwu]

MOON EATER I THREE

"But truly, Master Diluc—why am I here?"

"I would wed you," he says, flexing his hands in his lap. "If you are amenable to it."

minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

masterlist

pairing: diluc ragnvindr x f!reader

notes: i've been sitting on this chapter for a while, so i'm excited to send it out in the world!

content: marriage of convenience, politics, some manipulation, pining, jealousy, some jeanlisa if you squint.

wc: 4k

The winery is almost entirely empty when Diluc steps inside after you. Jean is corralling the few stragglers, giving quiet orders to the remaining knights, her blue eyes as gentle as the summer sky. She’s in ceremonial wear and it hones her; he thinks of a sheathed blade. 

“Jean,” he says. “You don’t need to do that.” 

She turns to face him, a soft smile curling up on her lips. There’s a faint blush on her cheeks, the color of the pearly dawn. It’s the one she gains when she’s caught doing something she knows she shouldn’t.

(“Father,” Diluc said, innocent as a newborn fawn as Jean and Kaeya shifted at his side.  “You wanted to see us?”

His father eyed them with a raised brow. “I don’t suppose the three of you know anything about the pie that went missing from the kitchen.” 

Kaeya fidgeted with his sleeve, his slender fingers working at the cuff of it. Diluc elbowed him in the ribs subtly. “No, Father,” he said.

His father studied each of them carefully. Out of the corner of his eye, Diluc saw the blush rising to Jean’s cheeks, a soft pink that was slowly darkening. 

“Jean?” his father asked.

“I’m sorry!” she cried out, and Diluc groaned.)

“I was just helping—”

“Jean. You don’t need to help.” 

She bites at her lip and Diluc softens. He’d forgotten how much she needed to feel useful. But this close, he can see the bags under her eyes, the deep blue-gray of a stormcloud. “My staff has it under control,” he says. “And you’re a guest.” 

“But—”

“Go home and rest.” 

“I can still—”

“Jean.” 

“Alright,” she says quietly. “I just need to give a few more orders, that’s all.”

He nods and starts to step away.

“Diluc?”

When he turns to face her, he takes a sharp breath. There’s something like sorrow shining through her expression, something bone-deep carved into the curve of her mouth.

“Is this really what you wanted?” she asks. Her voice is gentle, but she’s watching him carefully, her gaze a comet streaking through the sky, the blue of it cutting through the heavens’ tender underbelly. It cuts through him, too.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says after a moment.  

Jean smiles, starshine at dawn, a slow fade of light. “I thought you might say that.”

Diluc stays quiet, meeting her gaze steadily. 

“You’re as stubborn as ever,” she says, shaking her head, but her voice is fond. 

“Master Diluc? Stubborn? Perish the thought,” Lisa says as she joins them, wrapping her shawl around her pale shoulders. 

Jean heaves out a beleaguered sigh, but she can’t quite hide the twitch of her lips.

Lisa laughs, light and tinkling, looping her arm through Jean’s. “Come on, darling,” she says. “Let’s let the newlyweds have their night, yes?” She throws Diluc a bold wink. 

Heat scorches across his cheeks, a supernova burn. He’s able to disguise his choke as a cough at the last second, though from the glimmer in Lisa’s jade eyes, he hasn’t hidden it well enough. 

“Lisa!” Jean scolds.

The mage laughs again. She’s every inch the cat who got the canary, her lips curling into a delighted little smile. 

“Goodnight, Diluc,” Jean says, all but dragging Lisa away. Lisa lets herself be led, snuggling in close to the blonde as they leave. It smushes some of the roses in her hair, but she doesn’t seem to care that she’s leaving a trail of petals behind. Diluc sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry about her,” you say as you join him. “She’s a handful.”

“I’m aware.” 

You laugh, picking a cecilia out of your hair and rolling the short stem between your palms. The bloom whirls with it, a ballerina’s tulle skirt, a light dusting of pollen floating down from it to tint your fingers gold. It catches the light as you raise your hand to cover your yawn.

Diluc frowns. “You should go to bed,” he says. “It’s been a long day.” 

You hum. “It has been,” you say. “I don’t suppose you intend to sleep soon?”

“I need to speak with Adelinde.” 

“Alright,” you say. “Good night, then.”

“Good night.” 

He watches you go upstairs, the hem of your dress flowing behind you, a silken spill of moonlight. 

You don’t look back. 

He turns on his heel. Finding Adelinde is easy; she’s in the midst of giving orders to some of the staff. She hands off a mostly-empty platter of tiny, delicate golden-brown pastries to Hillie when she sees him.

“Master Diluc.”

“Adelinde,” he says. “How is the clean up going?”

“We’ll be done with the food soon. The rest can wait until morning, I believe.” 

“Good.”

Adelinde pauses. She looks at him for a moment; her jade eyes have a knife’s edge to them, her gaze an autopsy cut. Her lips draw tight, a wound of a mouth. “You mean to go out tonight.”

“Yes.”

“If I may, Master Diluc,” she says, “you now have a wife.”

“That has no bearing in this. The Knights will be lax tonight, lulled into complacency by the celebration. I heard a few mention continuing at Angel’s Share after they return to the city. I cannot leave Mond unprotected.” 

Adelinde does not frown. Instead, her face smooths out into an impenetrable mask, porcelain breathed to life. “Very well,” she says. “At least wait until she’s asleep.” 

“The sooner I leave—”

“At least wait until she’s asleep,” she says, voice sharp. “It is your wedding night.”

“When she’s asleep,” he allows.

Adelinde nods. “Goodnight, Master Diluc.”

“Goodnight, Adelinde.” 

He goes upstairs quietly. There’s a soft light filtering from under the door to your room. He sighs and heads into the master bedroom, settling at the small desk in front of the windows. He lights the candles with a flick of his wrist; the flames devour the wick, leaping high before settling into a low, sweet glow. He’s just beginning to shuffle through a few papers when one of the hallway floorboards groans, a warning song.

“Diluc,” you say from the doorway. The candlelight barely reaches you there; it casts you into shadows, a new moon’s outline against the velvet of the sky. “May I come in?”

He stands. “Yes,” he says. “What is it?”

You step inside. The cecilias are gone from your hair, but you’re still wearing your dress. Your smile is a bit sheepish, but there’s a secret tucked up in the corner of it. “My dress,” you say. “The maids are all so busy. Can you undo the top few buttons for me?”

“I—what?”

“It’s hard to undo them from this angle,” you say. “Please?”

He takes a breath. “Alright.” 

You turn as he steps closer, the delicate train of the dress swirling at your feet, a whirlpool of silk. It exposes the line of buttons marching down the back of your dress, rigid against the soft flow of the fabric. 

The buttons are tiny things, pearls that shine like little moons even in the low light. He bites back a curse as they slip against the leather of his gloves. He tries again, gently tugging on a button, but it refuses to come out of the loop holding it tight. He changes the angle, but it’s no use; he runs afoul of the slick surface again and again. He huffs in annoyance and bites at the tip of his index finger to peel off his glove, letting it drop to the ground.

He tries again and finally, the button slips free of the little loop. The fabric separates. His fingertips—rough, heavy with scars from burns and blades alike—brush against the cool slope of your back, skin against skin. He goes still. 

You glance at him over your shoulder. You’re still shadow-kissed, but your eyes gleam in the dim.

(“Forgive my forwardness,” you said. “But there is the small matter of lovers.”

Diluc coughed. He glanced at you and saw no hint of a joke. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lovers,” you said, that rosebud smile rising to your lips, petals yet unfolded. “If you should take one, I only ask that you be discreet. I would do the same, of course.” 

Something in Diluc’s chest went cold. It was bone-deep, as if the Dragonspine winds were cutting through him. “You would take a lover?”

“I do not know the future,” you said. “But if I should, I would be discreet, as I said. Is that alright?” 

Diluc took a deep breath. “If you wish it, I would hardly stop you.”

You inclined your head to him with a little smile. You moved on to another topic like a river current, slow but inexorable. Diluc barely heard any of it, your voice muffled, as if you were speaking underwater. He only came back to himself as you gathered your things and bid him farewell. 

“Master Diluc,” you said at the door. He glanced up at you, your features softened in the light streaming in through the windows. “I should mention that I would not mind you in my bed instead of a lover.” 

Diluc choked.

By the time he recovered enough to speak, you were already gone.)

He undoes another button. Then a third, and a fourth, each little pearl slipping from its loop with ease. His thumb traces over the salt of your skin until it slips just beneath the fabric. He pulls just enough for the gap between the fabric to widen. He drags his thumb along the crescent moon sliver of revealed skin; a callus catches against you. You take in a sharp breath.

Diluc pulls back as if burned.

“There,” he says, clearing his throat, his cheeks hot. He knows they’ve gone scarlet, that there’s a deep flush painted over his whole face. “They’re undone.”

“Thanks,” you say, glancing over your shoulder once more. Your lashes catch the shadows like a spider’s web. It only serves to better illuminate your eyes. He swallows. 

“You’re welcome.”

You study him for a moment before you smile, as soft as the breaking dawn. “Goodnight,” you say.

“Goodnight.” 

The door clicks shut behind you. Diluc listens as your quiet footsteps fade away; there’s a distant thud as the door to your room closes too. He sighs, leaning down to pick his glove up off the floor. He slides it back on as he crosses to his closet. The night is still young and he knows what he must do.

When he’s dressed, he opens the secret compartment to his desk. He stares down at the owl mask that’s ensconced there. It gleams in the low light, the severe point of its beak a wicked hook. Diluc tucks it away under his cloak before he opens the window. 

With the lush vines clinging to the winery walls, it��s an easy climb down. He looks up when he reaches the bottom. There’s still a light glowing faintly in your window. His chest aches, as if a ribbon is tightening around it, but he ignores it and slips on the mask.

He has work to do.

—

Morning comes far too soon.

Diluc’s room is still steeped in blue, but the promise of morning is apparent on the horizon where golden fingers of light are reaching into the sky, scraping their way through the darkness. The birds are just beginning to stir, their chirps still subdued, a few plucked notes before the melody. 

It feels like Diluc has just only collapsed into bed, but the stars that had been watching over him when he stole back into his room have gone out, fading beneath the dawn. He sits up and scrubs a hand over his face, wincing as it pulls at the fresh set of lilac bruises blooming on his right side. He prods at them carefully. 

The ache sinks its teeth in as he brushes his fingertips along the biggest of them. It’s still darkening, a galaxy caught under his skin. It remains tender as he gets ready for the day; it takes effort to not compensate for it in his movement. 

By the time Diluc heads downstairs, the winery is already stirring to life. A few maids scurry past him; he can hear the vineyard workers starting to make their way through the vines, checking them after the harvest. But most of the activity is centered in the heart of the winery, where the remnants of your wedding reception are. He watches as two of the servants unhook a floral garland from the rafters, petals raining down beneath them. The petals whirl through the air like snowflakes, thick and white, and Diluc brushes one off when it lands on his shoulder. He’s in the middle of plucking another out of his mass of crimson hair when the floorboards whisper your arrival. 

“Oh,” you say. “They’re taking them down already? A shame.”

He glances at you. “I am sure Adelinde would be open to keeping them up, should you wish it.”

“It’s fine. I just thought they might keep them up a little longer while they’re fresh.” 

“I see.” 

You reach out and let a petal drift into your hand. It’s a little bruised at the edges from being shaken loose, but you don’t seem to mind. 

“Do you think I could have a few for my room?” you ask.

“A few—”

“Flowers,” you say. “I’m sure many of them are still intact even after the garlands are taken down.”

“Of course. Any that you would like.” 

“Thank you.”

“No thanks needed,” he says, adjusting his cuff. “It’s—this is your home too, now.” 

You pause. When you look at him, he can’t quite make sense of your expression. “Yes,” you say quietly. “I suppose it is.”

“I hope you will be comfortable here.”

You smile, the slow rise of a crescent moon. “I’m sure I will be. Though I intend to return to Liyue soon.”

“Of course. Do you know when?”

“I expect that I’ll return within the week.”

“Oh? That’s later than I expected.”

“So eager to be rid of me?”

Diluc flushes, the heat of it spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “No, I—”

“I’m only teasing,” you say. “I haven’t been back to Mond in a while. There are some things I should handle in person.” 

“I see.”

You examine him for a moment. Whatever you see must satisfy you, for you glance back at the workers, still diligently undoing the reception decor, autumn come indoors, the flowers stripped away to reveal bare wood. A petal flutters down into your hair; Diluc thinks of the gentle fall of snow. He starts to raise his hand to pluck it out but you shift and the petal drifts to the ground. He halts before tugging at his glove instead.

“Now,” you say, turning back to him, “I need something to eat. Will you be joining me for breakfast?”

Diluc shakes his head. “The vintners asked for me today,” he says. “The earlier I can speak with them the better.” 

You hum. “Okay. Have a good day.”

“You as well.” 

You flash a small smile before inclining your head to him. “Husband,” you say. You dart off before he can respond. He watches you disappear, the moon dipping below the horizon. 

Husband, he thinks. 

He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that.

—

The days roll by. Diluc buckles down to work, caught up in the hubbub of the end of the harvest season. He oversees the grape crushing, the little fruits popping beneath the press until they’re must, all pulp and juice. A few small buckets of grapes are set aside for the children of the workers; they’ll stomp them to their hearts’ content, their chiming laughter drifting through the vines as they cling to each other for balance, their little feet dyed dark.

(“C’mon, Luc!” Kaeya cried, already scrambling towards the tub filled with ruby-red grapes. His eye was shining, starlight bright, a grin spread wide across his face, his usual reticence washed away. Diluc knew it was his favorite time of year; the other boy loved every moment of the harvest season and all that came with it.

 “Hurry up!” Kaeya called. He had already rolled up his pant legs and stepped into the tub, his face lit with joy, a summer sun in the autumn chill.

Diluc huffed but climbed in after him. The grapes popped beneath his weight, squishing up between his toes, a pulpy mess of skin and seeds. He stomped once, twice, and felt more of them burst. 

Kaeya reached for his hand; Diluc twined their fingers together and held on tight as the scrawny boy started to jump in place. Kaeya laughed wildly, the sound picked up by the wind and carried away like seeds. He jumped again and almost slipped. Diluc caught him at the last minute, hauling him up with a giggle. They joined hands again and began to twirl in a circle, stomping away as they went.

They laughed as they spun around together, holding on tight to each other as juice started to gather beneath their feet. Their skin went purple with it, a galaxy splashed up to their calves. The golden afternoon sun shone down on them; sweat gathered on their brows. But they kept going and going, unrelenting until the last of the grapes had burst beneath their feet.

They panted as they climbed to the side of the tub. Kaeya sat on the edge of it, swinging his feet as the maids went to gather towels for them. He was incandescent with delight, a shooting star streaking across the night sky, and Diluc grinned. 

“Good work, boys,” his father said, coming down the path. He’d clearly met the maids halfway; there were towels slung over his broad shoulder.

Diluc puffed up with pride; next to him, Kaeya smiled, shy but pleased. His father handed them the towels and watched as they wiped their feet clean.

“Ready for the next step?” his father asked. 

Kaeya nodded eagerly, but Diluc balked.

“Can’t we stomp more grapes?” he asked.

His father laughed, as warm as the sun. “Maybe later,” he said. “But now you need to learn what happens next.”

Diluc sighed.

“C’mon, Luc,” Kaeya said, bumping his shoulder against Diluc’s. “There’s always tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Diluc said. “There is.”)

Diluc sighs, nodding to Connor as he takes his leave. He heads back to the winery; a few of the workers call out greetings, but no one tries to stop him.

Adelinde appears as soon as he steps inside the winery. She inclines her head to him, her hands clasped in front of her. “Master Diluc,” she says.

“Adelinde,” he greets. 

“Is everything in order?”

“Yes,” he says. “Everything is ready for processing. It was a good harvest.” 

“That’s good to hear.”

“I’ll take some of Elzer’s work with the Wine Guild so he can concentrate on processing. If you see him, please let him know.”

Adelinde purses her lips. “Master Diluc, Elzer is perfectly capable of handling both. You have enough on your plate.”

“My decision is final, Adelinde.”

She examines him for a moment, her jade eyes sharp, a flaying gaze. “You don’t need to make amends for your absence,” she says. “That is the past.” 

Diluc flinches. Adeline watches him steadily, her face impassive, but her eyes have softened, have crinkled around the edges, sweetly fond. He flexes his hand, searching for words, but his tongue is leaden in his mouth.

Adelinde takes pity on him. “The vineyard workers are starting the fertilization process today and tomorrow,” she says. “Is there anything you wish to let them know?”

“No. I trust them.”

“Good.”

Diluc adjusts his cuff. “Is that all?”

She smooths her hands over her uniform skirt, as if erasing wrinkles that aren’t there. “Your wife’s travel arrangements are complete. She means to leave tomorrow.” 

He nods. “Where is she now?”

“She went to the Dandelion Sea, I believe.”

“By herself?”

“She has an escort. One of the knights. Though it is my understanding that the knight would not be able to return with her due to a patrol.” 

Diluc rolls his shoulders, trying to loosen the broad line of them. “When did they leave?”

The corners of Adelinde’s lips creep upwards, an ivy tendril curve, barely noticeable. “A few hours ago.”

He nods curtly. “Thank you, Adelinde.”

“Of course, Master Diluc.” She disappears, light on her feet despite her heels, barely a whisper of sound to accompany her.

Diluc leaves the winery to head to the stables.

—

The Dandelion Sea stretches vast, the flowers rippling in the breeze like waves lap at the shore. The sun is high in the sapphire sky, a halo burning bright, the dandelions stark white under its kiss. There are seeds floating through the air, faintly glowing, scattered like falling stars. 

Diluc ties his horse to a tree, leaving her to graze on some long grass, and begins to make his way into the Sea. More seeds come loose, dancing around him like snowflakes; they settle into his mane of hair, the crimson of it bleeding to something darker against the soft white of them. They catch on his jacket, too, dotting the ebony cloth until it’s a glittering night sky. 

It doesn’t take him long to find you. He can see faint figures at the edge of the Sea, where the trees cast shadows, a sweet pool of shade. He heads towards you as the breeze picks up. It carries a peal of laughter to him, bright as the sun, swirling around him. 

“Oh,” you say as he draws close, standing up before he can stop you.

The knight you’re with comes to attention—far too late. “M—Master Diluc,” he stammers. 

Diluc clicks his tongue. The knight goes shame-faced, glancing away from his thunderous visage. 

You smile, a glaze lily unfolding under the moon’s tender touch. You touch the knight’s vambrace lightly before turning to Diluc. His gaze stays on where you’re touching the knight still, your fingertips lingering against the metal of his armor.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” you say. “Is something wrong?”

Diluc blinks, vermilion eyes flickering back to you. “No.”

You pause, as if waiting for something. Diluc blinks again. Your smile flickers, a guttering candle. The knight shifts in place.

Diluc turns his attention to him. “You can go,” he says curtly. 

“But—”

“You have patrol soon, don’t you, Anselm?” you ask. “You should head out.” 

Anselm glances at you. “Oh. Of course.”

“Thank you for accompanying me today,” you say. “It’s appreciated.”

The knight nods, a slight flush rising to his cheeks. He gives you the Ordo’s salute. “Let the wind lead,” he says before turning to leave.

Diluc doesn’t bother to watch him go; he keeps his gaze on you. That rosebud smile blooms on your lips again, as inevitable as the sun’s rise. “Poor Anselm,” you say. “You have quite the scowl, Master Diluc.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. “Was he going to leave you here alone?”

You sigh. “It’s perfectly safe here.”

“So he was.”

“You’re here now,” you say. “So it hardly matters.”

Diluc bristles. “It matters to me. The Knights have their duties—”

“They cannot attend to every single civilian. The roads to the Sea have been clear for weeks, anyway. Or did you see something on your way?”

He furrows his brow and sets his jaw. “No.”

“The Knights aren’t as incapable as you think,” you say softly. You peer at him through the fan of your eyelashes, the shadow cast by them soft against your cheeks. “And besides, as I said, you’re here now. I know you’ll keep me safe.” 

Diluc takes in a sharp breath. He tugs at his glove and glances away.

You don’t seem to notice. Your attention has returned to the Dandelion Sea. The meadow sways gently in the wind, a honey-slow shiver. You trace a finger over a dandelion; it stays whole despite your touch, the Anemo energy holding it together brightening for a breath before it fades again, a firefly glow.

But when you flop into them, the dandelions puff up, the seeds scattering like starfall. They yield to you like a blessing, giving you everything they have. The seeds catch in your hair, your clothing, your eyelashes. You turn your face up to the sky, the sun bathing you golden.

It strikes Diluc that you are pretty. 

(Burnished by the light, you were lost amid the golden leaves of the sandbearer tree. You climbed and climbed until you were shining bright in the cerulean sky, a sun all your own. Diluc watched from the ground, mouth agape.

When you glanced down, the shadows crossed your face in bold strokes. It softened you, blurred the edges of you. Except for your smile. Your smile cut through the shadows like a single stark slash of a sun-bright knife.

Diluc looked up at you, at that smile, and suddenly, he knew what pretty meant.

It meant you.)

It’s not the first time he’s realized it, but it feels new. It’s in the curve of your back, a cathedral nave of muscle and bone; it’s in the way the sun filters through the leaves to touch you like a lover, a stained-glass kiss. The dandelion seeds catch on your eyelashes like moonlight, and it hits him again: you’re pretty. 

And you’re his.

He pushes the thought away. You might be his, but it’s in name only. He knows better than to assign meaning to it. There’s nothing between the two of you aside from a certificate with your signatures upon it. 

But that’s fine.

That’s all he needs it to be.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 41 Thus with a kiss I die

Chapter 41 of Sugar

A/N- No surprises by Radiohead, you won’t thank me later but it fits this chapter!!!!

Warning- Swearing, ANGST!!!, death, flashback, SPOILERS!!!! long chapter!

Pairing- Choso x Gojo!fem-reader, Suguru Geto x Gojo!fem-reader

Episode and or chapters- Chapter 259

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

*SOMETIME AGO*

“Blood manipulation training day 1,” you talk to the camera and back up to show Itadori, Kamo, and Choso training, but first you pamper yourself and smile at the camera before stepping away to let the others get in view.

“What are you doing?” Kamo asks right as he spots the camera across the mat.

The three of you look at him and you glance at the camera as if it isn’t obvious before looking back at him and explaining. “Recording today's training? It’s good to record some part of it and go back to see what you did wrong. Aoi and I would do that when Yuki trained us. It’s,” you snort and shake your head. “It’s a pretty good idea. We have a lot of funny reels—”

“Fine.”

You pout at the boy's interruption and sit down on one of the benches to watch the blood manipulators at work.

Honestly, you wouldn’t have come but Choso insisted because he wanted to show you how he taught his brother.

“Hm…the trick to convergence,” Choso muses as he rubs his chin in a very smug manner.

“It looks like I’ll be doing switch training with Okkotsu, and Kusakabe,” Itadori says. “So I’ll need to work on blood manipulation the hard way. And we only have one month. Gimme every piece of advice ya got!”

“Through blood and tears,” you interject quietly as you think of a funny pun, and end up catching the attention of all three men.

“Oh,” Yuji feigns a laugh, whilst Kamo looks at you unamused, and Choso rubs his chin and squints at you.

“You’ll just need to learn through blood and tears Itadori,” you repeat louder and a lot more smug because you could think of something you deem funny.

“Literally,” he feigns another laugh and this time Choso finally snorts and chuckles, making you smile wider.

“Good one,” he points at you. “I like that one.”

You shrug smugly and cross one leg over there. “Now why don’t you show me what you got baby.”

Choso’s cheeks grow a shade of pink but he doesn’t falter this time, not in front of his brother.

“Well, convergence,” he turns and swings his arm. “It’s kinda like this…” he pauses and swings to the other side. “Then like that…then a lil’…”

Oh, what a sweet man. As good of a brother as he is, he doesn't really know how to teach does he?

“Seriously dude?!” Itadori remarks.

Then again maybe it’s the student as well.

“Cho!” You call him out, and he peers back to listen. “Why don’t you show him that blood armor thing?!” You suggest so he could take off his vest and his shirt.

“Well,” he finally tells you smugly without breaking into timidness. “Maybe…”

“He’s not ready,” Kamo cuts him off and faces Itadori. “Think of bathing in hot water. You can feel the heat encompassing your entire body. In that same way, you can expand your blood vessels, creating a vague outline of your body. That’s the basic foundation of blood manipulation. ”

Hm simple enough. A lot more helpful than Choso's way of teaching.

“Like when you piss yourself?” Itadori surprises you by blurting, which shouldn't be surprising, he has this goofy sense of humor, but still, ew.

“Uh, whatever works,” Kamo mutters with the same disgust you feel.

“Convergence is a technique that compresses your blood,” Kamo continues sharing with Itadori. “Meaning we can use a sponge or paper- anything that can be crumpled in your hand easily—To help with imagining it’s a similar feeling, cans or clay work too.” He motions with his hand, making Itafori nod in comprehension before turning to face his older brother.

“Choso,” he says. “This is what it means to teach someone.”

You look over at your boyfriend and can’t help but smile and grin even brighter when he starts to point at himself. “Supernova! Ask me about Supernova!”

“For starters,” Kamo counters quite respectfully. “We don’t have time to make blood manipulation a potent weapon for Itadori. It’ll be better for him to get the basics of stitching and stopping blood down.”

“Hmph,” Choso huffs in defeat and with a hanging pout that makes you walk over behind him to probe.

“I would like to know about Supernova.”

Choso slumps down and mutters in defeat. “You can’t even use blood manipulation.”

You push away from him and sit back down with the same pout he just used when he got rejected for teaching.

So much for tagging along!

Nevertheless amidst your growing boredom as you listen to Kamo, your phone rings, and when you check, it’s none other than your business partner, Kong.

“Oh, well what a welcoming surprise,” you greet the man smoothly. “Kong. Honey.”

At the sound of the man’s name Choso slowly sits up straight after being brushed aside to be replaced by the better teacher.

“Geto,” Kong greets quite irritatedly.

You sigh and sit back. “Can we make this quick, I’m in the middle of something.”

“Fine, get this man to stop following me. I gave you everything you needed. You found Geto, leave me alone,” he says rather brashly, which is not to your liking.

“Oh? Well fine,” you feign reassurance but then lean forward and actually click your tongue and inhale deeply as you prepare to bring something up. “But lately there’s been this…well, how can I put this…rat running around in my business…and you know if you don’t kill them they just fester and then it’s hard getting rid of them. What should I do?” You ask casually and glance at your nails.

Kong doesn’t miss what you’re insinuating with that clever choice of words so he sighs deeply and quickly argues. “I gave you everything you have. It’s all mine.”

You sit up and laugh, genuinely laugh, making his breath falter.

“You believe that?” You ask quietly in a voice that makes chills run down Choso’s spine.

“I know it,” Kamo claims confidently.

You feign a smile and remark sweetly. “Your business would’ve been nothing without me. I made it what it is, it’s mine, but because you did lend me a hand in starting it, I’ll give you a second chance. Or else I’ll call the exterminator, it’s not impossible to get rid of rats. Good day, Kong.”

You end the call and put your phone away before sitting up and swinging one leg over the other to continue watching the teaching going on in front of you.

“You know…” Choso trails on. “I could show you piercing blood. It’s pretty simple.”

You blink and look over at him, feeling your whole body ease at the mere sight of those rich brown eyes and that sweet smile. And after seeing him get turned down for teaching after being so excited and talking your ear off about all the things he’d teach Yuji, how can you turn him down?

“All right,” you give in and jump to your feet.

Choso follows you up and slips behind you to slip his hands under your elbows and push your arms out, making you smirk mischievously and bat your lashes before peering over at him.

Choso sees that smirk playing on your lips and swallows thickly before looking at your hands. “Focus,” he scolds you softly since he’s fighting the temptation of your soft lips calling his own to you.

“Okay then tell me.”

“Well,” He goes on and slithers his hands down your arms to grasp the back of your hands and push them together.

“It usually, you know, runs up to my fingers and I shoot. And that happens by bringing up all the blood to my hands and shooting at my target,” he says with growing excitement that makes you genuinely smile and just watch how his pupils glimmer. “I usually feel the heat and a…blood orb collects in between my palms before I shoot it. Which is similar to fire, hm?”

You summon fire to your palms, feeling the heat of the flames run through your veins before they glow under your fingertips. You don’t intend to shoot so you can keep the fire inside so as to not make a mess and disrupt the other learning opportunity happening across from you, but you give Choso your answer.

“Hm,” you hum in agreement and turn your head slightly to meet his gaze, feeling his burning desire under his inventive gaze, and his hot passion on your hips as he gently squeezes them.

“Your stance matters,” he speaks quietly but in an enticing way. “Your footing on the ground must be strong.” He says and glances at your lips, making you feel his blood rushing down to his member between his legs since he presses himself close to your back.

“What else?” You purr and bat your lashes, making him part his lips and breathe in but not mutter anything, you leave him at a loss for words over such simple gestures.

But he also burns you up with his intoxicating smell engulfing your sense of smell, those soft pink lips grazing the side of your ear, his hot breath unfurling over your cheekbone, and that sexy look in those beautiful rich eyes.

He’s such a distraction as he stands so close and that’s a mistake because before you know it, fire shoots out of your hands pointed ahead. When you feel it slip out of your fingers it’s already flying right in between Kamo and Itadori, and hitting the wall, completely missing them by mere inches.

“Oh,” you gasp and cover your mouth.

Choso steps back and looks at the burning hole you made and then looks at the shocked faces of his brother and very distant relative.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly say apologetically as you clutch onto your chest. “I’m…” you trail off and glance over at Choso, but that’s a grave mistake because the moment you do, you both watch each other with guilt for a second, but then you both look over at the black hole emitting smoke from the aftermath and start laughing.

Kamo and Itadori don’t find it funny because they were close to getting burnt, and Choso does feel sorry for almost being the cause of hurting his little brother, but you both can’t help but just laugh with each other. It’s like you’re enticed by each other, and hearing each other laugh only feeds into your humor.

——

*NOW*

Amidst the scorching heat that was quick to force itself through your secret art technique that was slowly failing at keeping you and Yuji safe from Sukuna’s divine flames, was suddenly a life-saving coolness that came with a pitch darkness.

Perhaps it’s your end, this was death coming back to collect what escaped its grasp before.

You don’t want to die. Not yet. Not in front of Choso, not when Satori is waiting for you to go and pick her up to take her home. You don’t want to die here either…

However, before you can convince yourself you’re dead, through the deafening darkness is Choso. He’s very close to you, and he was the one who saved you and Yuji from those deadly flames.

You had heard him calling out to you before, but this wildfire was so overwhelming that your mind quickly drifted your attention away. But now he’s here, he’s your savior and you can't help but smile with relief until your heart sinks to your stomach and this sudden bone-chilling fear hits you.

Something doesn’t feel right. Something doesn’t look right about him keeping up the shield made of blood, and rather than him just being covered in soot and slashes like Yuji and you, Choso seems to be getting slowly consumed by fire. And you would know, you have that technique, you know how it kills a person and the pungent smell of burning flesh.

But this can’t be what you see or smell, not from him.

“Choso,” your voice shakes while you still want to smile as you cling onto hope.

Said man meets your gaze and a charming smile decorates his features. He then glances at his brother and his smile only turns more fond as he speaks his name and yours with a gentle tenderness.

“Choso?!” Yuji exclaims as he too starts to realize what you do but what you keep wanting to refuse.

“What are you doing?!” Yuji proceeds to yell.

You study your husband's face and that fire seems to be consuming more of him right in front of you, and you can’t even stop it.

“You can’t do this!” Yuji remarks.

That smile doesn’t falter, his eyes drift down but that charming smile stays on his face. “I’m sorry,” he finally explains what’s going on. “I was useless during training. Your big brother tends to do things instinctively.”

Why can’t he stop?

Why don’t the flames stop?

Why?

“Cho—” Yuji cuts himself off mid-shout and draws in a shaky breath before his face falls and averts his gaze. “Instinctively, huh? You really hit the nail on the head…” he trails off and shares a moment of silence with his brother that makes you think that he needs to stop or he’ll die. The fire keeps eating at him. It keeps taking more of him away from you.

“Choso,” your whisper trembles, and the charming man slowly looks over at you. This time that smile falters.

“What are you doing?” You ask the same thing Yuji asked not long ago in hopes the answer would change and the outcome would be a hopeful one.

“My love,” he whispers softly and with so much fondness. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head and step forward. “You promised,” you throw at him with a burst of anger. “You swore!”

He nods without shame and swallows back a lump of emotions he didn’t want you or his brother to see. “I did, I meant to keep that promise, I really did, but what husband, what brother, and what father would I be if I let you all die when I can do something to stop it?”

“We could find a way,” you argue desperately. “I can—”

“No, I saw it,” he cuts you off confidently. “You were going to collapse and I was going to have to watch you die all over again. I don’t want to live just to see that again, you deserve a happy life. I wish—”

“No!” You bellow mid-sentence and want to lunge forward to grab his face as if that would stop the inevitable, but the space is so small that there's no room to move any further, leaving him just out of arm's reach.

“Please, no,” your anger falters and your agony seeps through. “Please…Choso. Tell me what you want to say after. Please,” you break into a shaky sob.

His smile trembles and his eyes cloud with tears, but instead of saying all the beautiful things he wants to recite to you from one moment to another your surroundings go from grim and then to a serene view of vivid green hills, and a timid sun letting the night sky shine.

“Tsukumo threatened to pop my head off my body if I ever hurt you,” Choso mentions casually. “I didn’t believe she could do it until I saw her technique at work.”

You blink and keep your eyes fixated on the beautiful scene conjured up by nothing but the last remnants of his will.

“She was really protective of you,” he mumbles as he starts to notice your aggravation. “But that’s how big sisters are…” he trails off and he reaches over to grab your hand but you pull it away and hug your knees to your chest as you keep watching the gentle breeze move the sea of grass.

“I’ve,” you stammer and clear your throat to let your anger sound clear. “I've lost so many people I have loved, and maybe it’s my fault. I’ve gotten attached to them in this cruel world, but…I thought you wouldn’t let me down. You out of everyone. So w-why?” You can’t help but cry before you snap your head to the side to pierce your watery glare into him. “W-why are you leaving me?”

Choso sees how the last glimmers of the sun capture your eyes and his breath catches in his throat while that tough act falls because the truth is you were one of the few people he could be completely vulnerable with. You could see him sob and he wouldn’t feel like he was looking weak, he didn’t feel like he was letting someone down by crying in front of them. He feels comforted.

“I don't want to,” he finally admits with every word pampered with emotion. “I wanted to live a long life with you and our family. I want to be a father, I want to be by your side, but I’ve lost you once, and I’ve let Yuji down once, I can’t do it again. I can’t…so please don’t fight me on this, my love, please just let me look at you one more time. That way when I look into your eyes all I’ll see is my sun…my moon…my stars…my most beloved, my love, you.”

You can’t. You can’t accept this fate, you can’t pretend to be okay just to make him feel better about his sacrifice. No matter how sweet his words are, you don’t want them to be the last thing you hear, you don’t want this to be your final moments together.

You can’t be selfless. Your heart shattering and turning to nothing but dust terrorizes you. Your chest collapses within itself, and the beauty of the world vanishes to nothing, so you can’t smile.

You sit across from him like you would do when you would watch the city in your sleepless nights when you were trapped in that apartment for nine days. You hold his gaze with your eyes pampered with tears so you can plead and beg speechlessly and desperately like your life depended on it. Because it does, he’s the light that had once vanished in your life, he’s your hope and a part of your soul. How can you not fight for his life?

“Please don’t do this to me,” you cry, but not in that made-up world, you tell his withering body that had little to nothing left of the man you love because of that scorching fire that keeps consuming him.

“I love you,” he redirects endearingly and with that same amount of appreciation and tenderness he always held for you since the day he remembered who you were and what you meant to his old soul.

Albeit you’re selfish, these are the last words you’ll hear from him. Ever. After this…all he’ll be is a memory and you can’t accept it. You already lost one man you loved to death, you can’t lose another one to him again. Not again.

“Choso please don't do this! Stop! Please stop,” you beg with your life. “Choso!”

He holds your fire-kissed eyes that he loves so much and that he found hope in after a century of darkness, and all he sees is his joy as well as the love of his life and he can't be happier that fate was kind enough to let him cross paths with you.

“I love you,” he says a lot softer and with a quiver he can’t hide.

“No,” you sob. “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me!”

He wishes he could stay and live a long life, he hates hearing you plead so heartbrokenly, but he can’t watch you or Yuji die, he has to do what he needs to do.

Thus he holds your gaze for a lingering second and then looks at his little brother.

“Thank you Yuji,” he now dedicates his last words to his little brother before his life can be taken once and for all. “Thank you for being my little brother.”

Yuji inhales sharply and shakily before filling his brother's heart with sweet words full of love. “Thank you. Big brother…”

After those words are uttered Choso’s chest stops moving once and for all, filling his protective blood bubble with a grieving silence that you can’t process.

You stand there with no heart left, and hundreds of words left in your mouth that you never got to tell him.

“Choso,” you call out even if you’re looking at a cruel reality. “My love?”

The protective blood shield that kept your surroundings dark begins to collapse welcoming a grim sight of thick smoke and a burnt city, proving Choso’s attempts worthwhile.

But you can’t be appreciative, not when his lifeless body falls on the ash-covered ground with a thud. You actually can’t even believe he’s gone—no refuse to accept the truth.

“Choso,” you cry out and crawl over to his body that would’ve been unrecognizable if you hadn’t seen him burn away. “Choso, baby, you,” you say between sobs. “You’re okay. You’ll be okay.”

You gently cradle him and lean your face down towards his. “Just heal, you can do that,” you speak madness. “Do that for me please.”

You don’t think of your babies growing inside you who won’t know their father, you don’t care about his brother he left behind or that some part of you thinks you deserve this agony for all the things you’ve done, all you care about is him and your grief.

“Choso, honey,” you coo as you caress his hardened face. “Heal. Please,” you beg.

There’s still so much you want to tell him. You still need to tell him you love him, how grateful you are to him for loving you even after all the evil you did, for loving someone so cruel and selfish; for seeing the good, your strength, and your beauty. You never got to thank him for all the happiness he filled you with, or for caring for your daughter the way he did.

You never got to tell him that he was the love of your life, or that he completed your soul.

He left you like Suguru left you, and like Satoru did.

He left you empty with no heart or soul left. There’s an empty shell, left even more hollow without your brother. And it hurts, it pains you deeply with such an agonizing pain you have never felt before. It leaves you numb and unaware of the fact that in the blink of an eye, you were suddenly transported with lifeless Choso in your arms just past the area Sukuna vaporized with his fire.

From one moment to another, you’re facing a leveled city straight out of apolocpyse, and the next you’re staring numbly at an abandoned city as empty as the husk you call your body.

You would say that you were alleviated from that sense of danger, but the truth is you didn’t feel it. You don't feel the urgency to move away and protect yourself or who you carry in your body, nothing matters but the hope that Choso will somehow return. And now that nothing else surrounds you, now that Sukuna isn’t stomping your way through the clouds of smoke, you just disassociate yourself. By will or not you don’t know or care. You’re alone, truly alone.

And once again you can’t cling onto the love you have for your kids, no matter how hard you want to, you can’t depend all your happiness on a little girl. How could you give her that burden?

So it means that your greatest fear came true, you’re alone at the end of the world, carrying the corpse of your happiness, half your soul, and surrounded by the fading debris of what used to be.

What can you do now but lay down on the cold ground beside Choso’s corpse and nuzzle against him like you would in the mornings when you were both just relaxing before starting your day. You drape your arm around him like you liked to do so you could keep him close and bask in his warmth. You rest your head on his chest as if you were listening to his heartbeat.

Your world is now so desolate that nothing matters. You’re not cold or in a hurry to help.

You don’t care—or try not to…But the truth is you’re terrified and in withering pain. And never in your life have you ever felt so alone like now.

“You’re such a liar,” you whisper as if he could hear you. “You lied to me. You swore and you lied.”

You should hate him, find happiness, and hate him for leaving you the way he did, but you can’t even fathom the thought. You’re too in love with him to ever hate him or the happy memories that will surely turn sour soon.

“Why did you have to leave me?” You demand to know from a corpse as you refuse to accept reality. “Why? I love you so much…I told you I would die for you…”

You trail off to wait for a response because you know he’d tell you to shut up about doing something stupid, but it was far from a lie, and it was romantic in your head.

Now you understand why that foolish man from that tragic story killed himself for the woman he loved. You understand his pain, and his desperation to see the one you love again so you won’t have to spend a second longer without them. You know now why he couldn’t fathom living on…

Because there’s nothing left. You’re all alone, and there’s nothing worse than that. Which is why you’ll do it.

You’ll die for the man you love.

“Because,” you swear to whatever bind that holds power in your world. “What does strength mean compared to living without you? What is pride when there’s nothing to be proud of in the wake of your loss that will always hurt me and feel like a fresh wound? I don’t want to drag on without you. So please,” you sob into his chest. “Bring him back, I don’t care if he’s a non-sorcerer, just bring him back…”

You’ll give it up, your strength and power that held you so above everyone else. You’ll live as the people you hated. You’ll love the kind of people you hated and scorned for what they couldn’t have just so you don’t live without him. You will leave behind the person you took so long to build to your image. You will die just so you can live on with him by your side until the day you die.

And it can be a few hours from now, you don’t care, you just want him back.

“Please,” you beg whatever force made up the binding vows. “Please.”

You slowly sit up to look at Choso’s face, or what was left of him, and beg with all your agony and might. “Please just come back. Please Choso.” You whisper breathlessly and lean down to whisper against his lips and plead one more time with all the might and sincerity you hold.

“Please come back as gentle and sweet, as caring and passionate, as funny and protective as you were.”

You close your eyes and press your lips against Choso’s one more time, unaware of the fate you sealed, and of the gift of life and death you gave from deep inside of your withered soul with a sweet kiss.

When silence follows to consume you once again, it soon gets disrupted, but this time it’s not you that fills it with sorrowful words, this time Shoko calls out your name, but you don’t bother to get up.

Not because you’re waiting to see if your fate is sealed, you just don’t get up because you don’t have the energy. You’re too numb.

“Honey, get up and let me take you both inside,” she speaks sweetly and with caution.

You stay quiet and still as if you were lifeless yourself, so Shoko decides to slowly walk to you while someone else decides to cut in now; someone younger and sweeter and who doesn’t smoke ten packs in an hour.

Kirara calls out for you and they’re much faster to reach you and actually attempt to see if you were alive, or dead like the man you’re cradling.

“You can be with him inside. Come on, I'll help you.” They offer.

You close your eyes and sigh shakily, letting more hot tears stream down your cheeks,

“Come on,” Kirara doesn’t plead with you, she grabs your arm but makes sure to caress it as she offers her comfort first. “I’m sure this is uncomfortable, and I’m sure you’re cold.”

If you get up you’ll see Kirara, you’ll welcome their comfort. You’ll see Shoko and appreciate her attempts at comforting you, but you’ll still be alone, you won’t see the one person who you’re aching to see in such a low time in your life, Satoru won’t be there to wrap you an embrace or silently sit with you to provide comfort in a way he knows how.

You’ll stand surrounded by people but be abandoned.

“No,” you say hoarsely and grab onto Choso’s body a little tighter. “I want to stay here with him, I’m waiting.”

You open your eyes and catch Kirara's worried glance they share with Shoko.

Yet even then Shoko doesn’t walk over, so Kirara pulls you up and to avoid actually being a nuisance you push yourself up, but never take your eyes off Choso’s corpse.

“You fought well,” Kirara praises you as they wrap a blanket around your shoulders. “You all did.”

“I’ll have someone carry him inside you’ve already overstrained yourself,” Shoko breaks her silence that you begin to find odd. You’re surprised she’s not by your side being as worried as Kirara, she's actually being rather pushy after you returned from fighting Kenjaku.

Maybe all this has just taken a toll on her…

“You’ve been outside too long you feel rather cold,” Kirara points out as they drag their feet with you as you move slowly as if doing so is wearing you down.

“Shoko,” you catch the woman off guard and slowly drag your eyes up, letting her see how red your eyes are from crying so much, and the beautiful tragedy scared on every detail of your face and only spread its roots deeper within you. She can especially see such tragedy in your eyes, it’s hard to miss just like the sudden change.

Once furious eyes blazing with mesmerizing and ferocious fire are losing their mark.

But how, she wonders. Is your grief really impacting you so hard that it’s taking a physical toll on you?

“Kirara let's walk her into my office, I want to check on her,” she tells them as if you’re not there—then again you kind of aren’t there.

“Yuji? Where is Yuji?” You finally express your concern.

Shoko meets your gaze but quickly averts it. “Still fighting,” she lets you know and doesn’t fully relieve you of that worry, but you’re relieved he’s still alive.

“Todo used his technique and brought you in,” Kirara trails on after Shoko.

Aoi?

You glance over at Kirara with worry and they don’t fail to quickly assure you as if they knew what you were going to ask. “He’s fine, he should be helping Itadori fight now, so don’t worry.”

You sigh with relief even if now you have a bigger knot in your stomach because Todo is fighting now too.

“Kinji?” You ask for a man you haven’t heard anything about, even though given the fact that he wasn’t out fighting Sukuna, or here now means he should still be fighting Uraume.

“He’s still fighting, just like you said he would,” Kirara tells you with hope still laced in her voice which makes you think how beautiful it is to hear before you reach Shoko and wonder why she’s having such a hard time meeting your eyes, or even being close to you.

“Shoko,” you call out softly to your best friend and have Kirara stop so you can reach for Shoko’s arm with the intent to ask if she’s okay, or if something else happened, but then just as you thought that this was the end of your world, another pair of footsteps echo towards you.

You don’t think anything of it, you don’t want to because you assume someone is coming to collect Choso’s body, but Shoko shifts her head away and you catch a glimpse of black shoes you recognize. Black shoes you recognized first not long ago.

Can it be?

No, it can't, he's…dead.

But…

You draw in a deep and trembling breath and slowly scale your eyes up the approaching figure, feeling your pulse quickly racing as you recognize those baggy white pants you once thought were too big to wear for a fight, and that tight black shirt that hugged him tightly.

As you reach his face you question your sanity. It has to be your grief, it can’t be who you think it is right across from you.

He’s dead. He…he…

Oh, but those eyes. They’re so unique and so kind. How can you mistake that lively gleam in his eyes that always accompanied him? How can you mistake those bright eyes that you called home, that you found comfort in when you were terrified and upset?

You can’t mistake the eyes of your beloved older brother. You can’t miss the fact that his chest is moving and that he blinks. You can’t mistake him for an illusion because he revives that hope you had just lost with the death of your most beloved.

You can’t mistake him because he’s standing right there in front of you amongst the silent wind, the distant and unwelcoming warmth, and under the dry sky.

“Satoru,” you muse blissfully.

.

.

.

.

A/N- WHAT IS THE WORST THING SHE CAN DO AFTER FINDING OUT ABOUT WHAT THEY DID WITH GOJOS BODY?

Tagged- @deniseabad1928 @secondary-character-25 @starlightanyaaa @notsaelty @d4rno @moonnime @kodzukein @yozora7154 @heijihattorisgf @elegantweirdorchest @natakina

[bettyfrommars]

I'm on Fire

Chapter 2: Edgy and Dull

biker!Eddie Munson x fem!artist!reader

🚨18+ONLY, mature themes, eventual smut, mention of poverty, mention of hard times at home, alcohol consumption, smoking, some physical violence, cheating (not on reader), angsty situation, I'm not sure what else to put here, please let me know if I missed something. Word count: 4.4k

Series Masterlist Playlist

---------

“Sometimes it’s like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull, and

cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull”

“You know that saying, ‘shit happens and then you die’?” You had your headphones around your neck, makeup done, but only your sweats and ratty t-shirt on as you walked through the kitchen. “Shouldn’t it be, ‘shit happens and then you live’? Cause that just feels more accurate.”

Your roommate Katie had the day off, and she was reading a book in the love seat by the window, but you had to be at work by 2 to get ready for the gallery opening.

“I think we should get the latter one tattooed on us,” Katie responded, her eyes never leaving the pages of her book.

It had just occurred to you, only moments earlier, that you were missing an earring. Not a big deal, they weren’t expensive or anything, but you didn’t want to step on it in your bare feet or find out that your cat Charlie ate it by accident. You tossed your bed and couldn’t find it, and later you were on your hands and knees going through the carpet with your fingers when Katie brought her book down so that just her eyes were showing over the top.

“You lose your dignity again?”

“Yes, but also,” you stood up with a sigh, brushing yourself off. “I lost the pair to those silver hoops I always wear. Oh well,” you were running late, per usual, and getting distracted with the chore of looking for an insignificant piece of your jewelry was not helping.

You just didn’t want to go into work, that was the problem. You got dressed listening to Supernova by Liz Phair, and then you had to go into the third bedroom you used as a studio to grab something, and the three works in progress sitting there glaring back at you made you pause. The irony of it was, you'd started working at the gallery to be closer to the art world, but you worked so much, you rarely had time to paint. It was the definition of madness.

“See you at 5:30,” you called to Katie as you walked out the door. You were both suckers for any event that offered free snacks and booze. “Oh and please check Charlie’s food dish before you leave. Okayloveyoubye.”

As you approached your car where it was parked at the curb, your eyes locked on the brand new, passenger side tire, and you couldn’t help but think about the hands that put it there. You had a flashback of his smile, the way his mouth moved when he talked, the way the back of his hand grazed your knee when he was reaching for the CB. You had experienced an instant familiarity that didn’t make any sense to you.

You know what else didn’t make sense? You forgetting your keys inside because you’d be shit out of luck trying to get your car started without them. Also, you still had your slippers on.

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

The sign in the window of Moon River Gallery announced the showing of original paintings and sculpture by Anna Stavros and Beckett Miller, and you were setting up the beverage table when the owner of the gallery, Judith, showed up. She only came for the events, to mingle and show off to her friends, but she wasn’t one to lend a hand, and she was never available when you had questions. In some ways, it was nice, because you could take care of the space and the other employees without too much micro-managing, but when she did show up---it was always emotionally taxing.

“You’re not wearing that today, are you?” Judith asked you, the sides of her mouth jerking down, her brows clenching together.

What you had on was similar to what you always wore at the gallery; it was simple and classic so that the customers and clients could focus on the artwork and not on you. But, it wasn’t cashmere or Ralph Lauren, and Judith was an honest to god snob. If she knew that most of your clothes were bought second hand at thrift stores, she’d have a stroke right in the middle of the showroom floor.

You looked down at yourself. “Um, yes. Yes I am,” even though you knew what you had on was fine, her comment still made you self-conscious and you crossed your arms over your chest.

You walked the floor with Judith to show her how you set everything up, and to give her an idea of how many had already RSVP’d. You were looking down the list of confirmed clients when a name toward the bottom caught your eye.

...Charlene Gregson & guest….

A few guests arrived early and Judith went over so that they could sing their praises to her. You caught the eye of one of your helpers, Jeffery, and waved him over, mouthing for him to meet you around the back of the stairs.

“Hey,” you brushed a piece of hair off of your face. “First of all, you’re doing great. The artist statements look amazing. But also, are you the one who took the confirmation for Charlene Gregson? I don’t remember her being on the original list.”

At first, Jeffery looked worried, like maybe had done something wrong, but then he softened and got a little flustered. “It’s one of Judith’s friends, they know each other from the country club.”

Judith was supposed to run all of the invites by you, so that you could be prepared, but she usually just expected you to read her mind.

“Do you know who the guest she’s bringing is?” You ask, thinking it would be her husband, and how you were curious to get a good look at both of them.

At the front of the gallery, Judith had her arms wide, taking bold credit for how everything was set up.

Jeff inched closer and whispered. “You’re going to love this. Apparently, she has a bodyguard that she takes with her to events.”

You turned to Jeff with your mouth open, assuming it was a joke, a permanent look of surprise frozen on your face, and it made him stifle a laugh.

The two of you stepped further to the side, behind one of the dividers. “A bodyguard?” You repeated what he just said, thinking maybe you got it wrong. “Is she running for president of the United States or something?”

“It’s so strange, right?” Jeff looked to see where Judith was and then kept talking. “The rumor is, she was robbed at gun point a few months ago, and ever since then, she’s been paying a member of the Coffin Kings to be her driver and her bodyguard whenever her husband is away.”

You held your breath at Coffin Kings. Wasn’t that the motorcycle gang rumored to have a clubhouse at Munson’s Garage?

“Did you get the name for this body guard by chance?” You had a weird feeling, but passed it off as sampling too much of the pre-packaged deli cheese.

“No, I’m sorry,” Jeffery looked so sad, like he had just let you down in the biggest way.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, “ you patted his arm, and then noticed that Judith was beckoning for you. “We’ll find out soon enough anyway.”

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

Soon enough came exactly 42 minutes later.

You were in the middle of explaining the nuances and inspirations for a large mixed media piece by the artist Anna Stavros for a handful of people when Jeffery scooted up to your side and took your arm, whispering, “she’s here,” into your ear and, rightfully so, you completely lost your train of thought.

You excused yourself from the group, and asked one of the other employees to refill their wine glasses---because drunk people buy more art.

The gallery floor was packed. There was an art walk happening on the entire street, so some of them came and went, but a few were lifers who only bought art from Judith because of her family name.

You followed Jeffery around so that you could have a clear view of the front door and, there she was: tall, blonde, and tan. She was probably in her late thirties; she had a face like Bridget Fonda with the body and style of Sharon Stone.

You gulped.

But you choked on your own saliva and started to cough when you saw Eddie out on the sidewalk waiting for her, smoking a cigarette. Turns out, your gut had been right; it hadn’t been the cheese after all.

He looked...really good. He had on a black leather jacket, heavy with buckles and zippers, on over a button down dress shirt that was undone all the way to the middle of his chest, allowing the hint of several tattoos to peak out. He wore black jeans with boots, and his hair was down, long passed his shoulders. It was kinda messy and curly and you wanted to touch it.

“10 out of 10 would let the bodyguard bend me over in a dark alley,” Jeff said in your ear, and you silently agreed.

You turned to say something else to Jeff, but just then a guest touched his arm and engaged him in conversation.

You made a beeline through the crowd to introduce yourself to Charlene, but Katie intercepted you breathlessly. “I know I’m late, I’m so sorry, I took a nap and I didn’t set the alarm and---”

“It’s okay,” you tell her. You’re not looking at her though, your eyes are on Charlene who has now gone over to talk with Judith. “I’m glad you made it. Here, have my wine. Eat all of the shrimp you want. I’ll be right back.”

You watched through the front windows as Eddie sucked on his cigarette, hooked one thumb into his front belt loop, and leaned back against the lamp post at the edge of the sidewalk. You took another look around you, and then grabbed a beer from the ice bucket at the beverage table and headed out.

“Did you come to take my tire back?” You called out to him as you stepped from the threshold and started to close the distance between the two of you.

He threw you a dirty look at first, but then recollection dawned, and he offered not a smile so much as little quotations appearing on each side of his mouth. He straightened, sliding his back up the lamp post and flicked his cigarette.

“Well, well, well,” he jerked his chin at you. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“You’re on my turf now, buddy,” you said, spreading your arms wide after glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one could see you from the window. “Thirsty?” You asked, extending the beer to him.

“How did you know what kind of beer I drink?” He asked with a few creases in his forehead, appraising the can as you handed it to him.

You shrugged. “It’s the beer I like, so, I guess that means you have good taste.”

Eddie looked tired. You noticed the dark circles under his eyes right away, and even though he put on a good, tough front, you could tell that he hadn’t slept well in days, maybe weeks. He dropped the butt of his cigarette to the sidewalk and crushed it with the toe of his boot as he cracked the can and took a swig.

The sidewalk was narrow and you pressed your back against the brick wall of the building across from him, allowing other art walk people to pass by as you talked.

He waited for a few pedestrians to pass by before he spoke to you again. “So, you’re gonna make me drink alone?”

“I’m on the clock,” you tilted your head, placing your hands behind your lower back so that your fingers grazed the brick behind you. “One of those beers and I won’t be able to stop.”

“I’d like to see that,” he said under his breath, putting his lips against the rim of his beer for another drink, trying is best to contain another grin.

“Wait,” he seemed to catch something a bit later than you gave it. “You work here? At this gallery?”

You could see that his face was a genuine mix of being shocked and impressed. His eyes shifted to the door a few times, and you wondered---was there also a hint of worry there? Fear that Charlene would come out and see him talking to you?

“I suppose you could call what I do work,” you returned, flippantly. “I can’t change a tire or do what you do, that’s for sure.”

“You don’t even own a tire,” he teased.

“Hey, that’s not true, I have the required number now, thank you very much.”

“You need to carry a spare in your trunk, just in case,” he wiped his mouth and put his chin to his chest, and then looked up at you from under his lashes. “Come by the shop some day, I have a few to spare. I won’t charge you.”

You were touched by the generous offer and it was a challenge to think of a new sarcastic thing to say.

“Do you want to come inside?” You knew deep in your soul that he wouldn’t; it was absolutely not his scene. Hell, it wasn’t even yours, to be honest. “There’s a lot of free food in there. Pounds of it, actually.”

His stomach grumbled and he worried for a beat that maybe you had heard it. He’d be able to grab a bite after he dropped Charlene off and she paid him. Every time he thought about her paying him, it made him cringe internally, like he was some kind of fuckboy escort service. But ever since Wayne got sick, he let her stick a couple hundred dollar bills in his pocket every now and then, because every dime helped.

“No thanks,” he shook his head, waiting again for another handful of pedestrians. “I don’t want the cops to get called on your party.”

You wondered why he said that. Was it because of how he looked? Or was there another reason? You wanted to ask, but then Jeffery came scrambling out onto the sidewalk, arms flailing.

“Hey, I need you!” He was in panic mode, but when he saw that you were talking to someone, he bashfully locked his fingers together in front of him. “Pardon me. I mean, I am in need of your assistance madame, posthaste.”

You pushed off from the wall and said, “duty calls.”

But then, Eddie pushed off of the lamp post and suddenly you were both close together in the middle of the sidewalk. You looked up at him, waiting, watching the way his lips parted as if he were about to say something.

“You should...if you’re not...if you have time later,” God he cursed himself for how he was babbling. Fuck, Munson, spit it out for godsake. She already thinks you’re a pimp and a loser, what else could go wrong?

“I mean,” Eddie cleared his throat. “If you’re free after this, my band is playing at The Hideout tonight. It’s a total dump, but the beer is cold.” He ended it with a little self-deprecating laugh that you recognized because you used it often.

You waved Jeff back inside and turned back to Eddie. “Um,” the answer you wanted to shout at him was YES, but you had a few things to consider.

You’re such an idiot, Munson. His internal monologue continued. Why would a woman like her ever be caught dead in a place like that with a guy like you?

“I’ll be here cleaning up until after 10. Will you still be there?”

It took him a few blinks to realize that you were accepting his invitation. “No, I mean yeah, that’s---we won’t even go on until after 10.”

“Okay, then, maybe I’ll see you later.” you started walking and smiled at him over your shoulder.

“Oh, wait,” Eddie called to you, remembering the earring he’d been carrying around in the pocket of his jacket, but you were already inside.

Just as you entered the gallery, Charlene Gregson was hugging Judith goodbye, and she brushed by you on her way out the door, smelling like suntan oil and Chanel No. 5. You waited, and then turned to see her go up to Eddie and kiss him on the cheek, before he went around to open the passenger side door of her black Porsche for her. She kissed him on the cheek? Why did this feel so… off? They weren’t dating and he wasn't just her driver/bodyguard. Something was fishy about it and you had the right might to find out.

------

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Katie whispered as the two of you made it on foot around the block from where you parked to The Hideout entrance. The venue was situated in a part of down with very few street lights, and so the only illumination as you approached were two neon beer signs in each window and a soft green fluorescent glow coming from inside the door. You could hear the music clear as day from outside, the beat thudding in your chest. It was coming from a jukebox: Possum Kingdom by the Toadies.

You passed by a long row of motorcycles parked out front and you thought about the biker bar scene in Pee Wee Herman’s Big Adventure when he accidentally knocked all of the bikes over and it made you laugh and bite your lip.

“Make up your mind,

and I’ll promise you

I will treat you well,

my sweet angel…”

Once the cloud of cigarette smoke cleared, you could see the stage in the back was empty, and you didn’t see Eddie.

To the right was a bar with a bunch of pull tabs in plastic boxes on the wall and three guys with beards wearing leather biker cuts, sat nursing their drinks.

“Do you see him?” Katie had her arm interlocked with yours now and she elbowed your ribs. She knew what he looked like from the few times she bought weed from him, but that felt like a bazillion years ago.

You shook your head, looking for a place to sit.

“Give it up to me

do you want to

be my angel?

So help me..”

That was when you felt a warm body come up behind you, breaching the wall of your invisible bubble, and you were about to kick whoever it was in the shin when you heard his voice in your ear:

“Now, you’re on my turf,” Eddie said. He took two long strides until he was in front of the two of you, and then he cocked one eyebrow up.

“This whole turf thing is getting serious,” you made eye contact with him and tilted your head. “We probably need to have some kind of dance off to settle it.”

He just licked his lips and made those familiar quotations show up on either side of his mouth, as if to announce that his lips were a statement in themselves.

Turns out, Eddie’s band Corroded Coffin wasn’t able to perform that night because their drummer broke his foot in a motorcycle accident.

“He’s loaded up on pain pills, he’ll be fine,” Eddie assured you after seeing the horrified look on your face. “We have someone who usually fills in, but he wasn’t available either.”

“So it’s just been me and my buddy Steve here hanging out,” Eddie finished. “I didn’t have you number, so I thought I’d just wait and see.”

Eddie was starting to make you feel a certain type of way, like when you put a chocolate chip cookie in the microwave for the perfect amount of time and it melts in your mouth.

“What do we have here?” A guy came up next to Eddie, and he had a thick head of dark hair with eyes all brown and pretty just like Eddie's. When he smiled, you could see that his right incisor was a gold tooth. He also had a leather biker kutte, or cut, on like the guys at the bar, there was a big tattoo on the side of his neck.

You felt Katie stiffen at your side. You had already made the introductions between her and Eddie, and they remembered each other, but now this guy was staring over at her with a certain level of elevated interest.

“Ladies,” Eddie gestured to the guy with the tattooed neck. “This is my buddy Steve. Steve, this is Y/N and her roommate Christie.”

“Katie,” she corrected. "Gosh, Munson, my feelings are hurt. How many times did we get stoned together back in the day?"

“Right, Katie, that’s what I meant.”

“Katie.” Steve Harrington repeated her name, blinking his big doe eyes, seemingly oblivious to everyone else in the room. He had a natural charisma and magnetism about him that was undeniable.

You could feel Katie’s skin getting hot. She was naturally funny and talkative, but she was suddenly retreating into her mute phase.

The boys invited you over to their table, and Katie made wide eyes at you as you went, wordlessly announcing that she thought Steve was hot. The next song on the jukebox started: You Could Be Mine by Guns n’ Roses, and that was when all hell broke loose.

Steve was about to reach the table when a big guy coming in the other direction shoulder checked him, knocking his arm back. You grabbed onto Katie and the two of you froze as Steve and the guy exchanged a few intense words. Eddie stepped in between with his back to you, acting as a shield for both of you in case it escalated.

“Get over it, man, that was fucking years ago,” Steve spat, standing his ground as the two had a bit of a stare-off.

The guy confronting Steve was maybe the same age, but he had more of a “clean cut” look so to speak, like he still clung to his glory days of being the captain of the football team in high school and tried to make it his whole personality. He was clearly wasted and stumbling on his feet a bit. You couldn’t understand what the whole thing was about, but it sounded like Steve might’ve had sex with the other guy’s girl at one point.

“Wrap it up, kids,” Eddie stepped forward. “We’ve got ladies present.”

The guy confronting Steve snapped a look at Eddie, and then his eyes landed on you and Katie, and he snorted.

“If they’re with you two, they’re not ladies. They’re nothing but cock sucking whores.”

Both you and Katie opened your mouths, shocked at the vitriol directed at the two of you for absolutely no reason, but as you were trying to understand why he said it, you noticed Eddies hands turn to fists at his sides.

“Someone needs to shut your mouth, it might as well be me,” and then Eddie swung at him, connecting his metal rings to the side of the guy’s face with a crunch of cartilage and bone. Katie yelped and stumbled back, taking you with her.

The guy Eddie punched recovered, his face already bleeding, and he lurched forward with an animalistic yowl, a long arm punch connecting with Eddie’s chin. Steve pushed the guy back, tackling him to the ground, wailing on his face with his fists as he went and people scattered. A wooden chair broke their fall and the arm rest splintered off.

The clean cut guy had two other friends, and they were both headed over to join in.

Eddie turned to you, his lip bleeding, piece of hair sticking to his cheek, his eyes wild. “Run! Get out of here!”

You didn’t want to leave him in that mess, but Katie was shouting your name and pulling at your arm, and the last thing you saw over your shoulder was one of the other friends try to swing on Eddie, but Eddie grabbed the guy and threw him to the ground.

“I’m too old for this, I’m too old for this!” Katie was repeating as you both raced to her car. She fumbled her keys twice. Just as she unlocked your door from the inside, you heard the sirens closing in: the cops were on their way.

You couldn’t let Eddie and Steve go to jail for defending you.

“Go around front,” you shouted as you slammed your door. “We need to get pick them up.”

“We need to WHAT?” Katie blanched, muttering to herself as she shifted into reverse. “I knew I should’ve never woken up from that nap.”

Her tires squealed as she rounded the corner, adrenaline rushing though both of you, your hearts racing. You rolled down the window as she screeched to a stop in front of the entrance. You couldn’t see Eddie, but you screamed for him, and you told Katie to honk the horn.

The sirens were getting closer.

That was when Eddie and Steve stumbled out of the door with a few other patrons, both with bloody lips and hands. You could tell by their faces that they hadn’t expected to see you there, but they were grateful. Speeding away on a motorcycle was not ideal in that moment, because two cop cars were already fishtailing around the corner, headed in that direction.

“GET IN!” You yelled, and the two of them realized in a split second they had no choice but to obey. Steve dove into the back seat first, followed by Eddie, and then you were shouting, “Gogogogogogo,” to Katie as she floored the gas and cursed you, saying she’d never go anywhere with you ever again.

Part 2.5

[loserlvrss]

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒

the world crumbled a long time ago. humanity could've died off — and, some would say it had — but, in reality, all it did was prosper under new circumstances. broken shreds of what remained, nature reclaimed, intertwining with the wires of the programming. Some would die just to be in the network of higher-ups, and some would rather watch the world burn a hundred times over. the question wasn't, which are you? it's who are you? In a place where somebody is really nobody.

a place where technology hadn't died: the sector one. the place where nobody who was ever somebody lived. a distant place to almost everyone else. only handing itself out on a silver platter to the, self-proclaimed, elite of the elite — old money, nepotism and pure coincidence — people lied, stole, betrayed, killed and died just for a place amongst the best of the worst. no one deserved the title this place disguised them with, wasting and polluting an already hellish world.

but, there was a whisper against the wind. the monarch's reign would soon come to fall — the reapers alongside. sector one would no longer prosper off the graves of its people. the walls would crumble as the old habits died. all it would take was eight pirates and one so-called princess to overthrow reality and start a revolution where everyone could be anyone.

there weren't mercenaries anymore, just a new world. and, all you had to do was step into it.

all rights reserved copyright © loserlvrss 2024

genre // romance, dystopian, cyberpunk, cybercore, drama, alternate universe, action, enemies to lovers, suggestive, smut, love triangle, multi x reader, series, comedy, post-apocalyptic universe, chapters

estimated word count // ≈ 32-50k

theme warnings // language, descriptive death & fights, blood, gore, sexual & suggestive content, substance abuse (drugs & alcohol)

status // ongoing, will post when i have time <3

playlist // wake up ateez, poison love dreamcatcher, wet dream snow wife, predator lee gi kwang, xs rina sawayama, do or die dpr artic dpr ian, i’m not a woman i’m a god halsey, coma dvii, silver light ateez, supernova aespa, ganma lexie liu, cyberpunk ateez, addicted pixy, another life key, gottasadae bewhy, daisy ashnikko, this world ateez, bad alive wayv, django ateez, claws kim petras, nightmare trendz, bound key, break it off — bonus track pinkpantheress, new world ateez, spoiled bitch tiffany day, eenie meenie chungha hongjoong of ateez, gods league of legends new jeans, dune ateez, the bat nct u, what do you want from me? bad omens, side by side bewhy, misa misa! corpse scarlxd cordhell, set it off league of legends dpr live jimmycline, halazia ateez, rpm sf9, iris pastel ghost

author’s note // tag list open !!

chapter one chapter two chapter three chapter four chapter five chapter six chapter seven chapter eight ++ more to be added !!

[theblueflower05]

Does not take place in or interact with Avatar: The Way of Water storylines. Heavily inspired by the games and comics.

Cosmic Love

The stars. The moon. They have all been blown out, you’ve left me in the dark.

No dawn, no day. I’m always in this twilight.

Stuck in the shadow of your heart- Florence & The Machine.

Summary: From a young age, you’ve been connected at the hip with Kiri- of course you can’t help but notice her eldest brother Neteyam. But he’s the golden child of Toruk Makto and future Olo’eyktan, you’re more then aware that your school aged crush is immature- and futile. He’ll be with someone more then you, and you’ll be forced to bare witness. Why does it have to be so hard to accept what seems to be fated?

This story will span nearly two decades worth of star-crossed fumble filled moments and memories

Themes: She fell first, but he fell harder. Childhood friends, to enemies, to lovers. Rejection. Coming of age. Self discovery.

💫Chapters💫

One. Genesis

Two. Eclipse

Three. Retrograde

Four. Paralax

Five. Star-Crossed

Six. Supernova

Disclaimers: The art used in these photos is not mine, I did not create it(only the masterlist title board) ALL OF THE CREDIT GOES TO THE ORIGINAL ARTIST. I wanted to make it very clear that this will be an adult!agedup! Neteyam story.

That being said.

Please DNI with this story if you do not want to read AgedUp!Neteyam. That is your own choice, and will be respected. Please respect my artistic freedom as I write future scenarios with this character.

[milky-aeons]

[1] — STARGAZER

a/n: i wrote this story years ago! and while i was rereading it out of pure boredom, i decided i wanted to breathe some life back into it again. this shall be multi-chaptered! take your time with it, and please read the warnings before you embark, loves!

warnings: class differences, oppression of women, mentions of illness, mentions of death, depression, violence against women, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, superstitious natures, spoilers, mdni, w.c 7.4k

౨ৎ . . . chapter ONE of CROWNS OF STARDUST

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚜.

— Grace Willows, To Kiss a King.

𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆. Dotted studs of white fire, splattered over a glassy night sky that sometimes bloomed with purples and indigos of rare supernovas, if you were lucky enough to see them.

You could lie here for hours, like this, gazing at the wonders above. Counting as they winked at you from far away, feeling the evening breeze nip at your cheeks and whisper through the field. And above everything; allow yourself to imagine. To think, secretly, what it would be like if everyone thought like the stars did.

They didn't discriminate, stratify, hate or detest. They simply shined brightly, each of them made of that very same material everyone in the world was also made up of; incandescent, special speckles of stardust.

If only they could see that. If there could be some way to force through the social ladders of your society, to break away from the labels placed upon you. Perhaps the world would be a better place if we thought how the stars did — believed that everyone, no matter how rich or poor, was the very same on that fundamental level.

Intertwined within our souls was the stuff of stars that made us no better or worse than the person next.

Perhaps the world would be just as beautiful as a sky on a peaceful, undisturbed night when every person was allowed to shine just as brightly as the stars above. But this stargazer locked that thought up deep within her heart, just like all others that expected too much from her rank, her social label, and staggered to her feet with a heavy sigh.

The Village of Yo, January, 1831

A chipped, wooden horse came down hard against the worn chess board with a force that rattled all the other pieces. Hand-carven, they were fragile and you should have been a little less vigorous. But caught in the grips of victory, you had little room for such caution.

"Checkmate," You smiled giddily, knocking the King piece off the board. "I win."

Your opponent; a willowy old man with lines streaked across his forehead and an impressive beard grumbled with narrowed eyes. Reaching up, he rubbed a hand down his face. "My, lass. I knew one day you'd catch up to me, but I didn't think it'd be this quick."

Still smiling, you reached down to pick up the King from the floor where it'd landed. You brushed off the delicate carvings on the piece with care, hoping you hadn't damaged it any more. A terrible habit of yours it was; becoming too excited about games and strategy. It was bad enough that one of the castles was missing its parapet because you had become angry at a sneaky strategy your teacher had used. And hurtled the poor piece across the room.

But now, you placed it carefully back, it looks as if said teacher has been bested by the student.

"You should take pride," You assured through a grin. "It means you're a great teacher."

"Teachers don't teach to be bested by their students, lass. Maybe it's my eyes. I didn't even see your counterattack in place, at all."

"Ah, I see. Go on, then. Blame your eyesight." Your lip jutted in a playful frown. "God forbid that a woman beats you at anything. What will the village think? You'd be locked up and subject to a shower of rotten fruit."

"[Name]!" The wood whined as he rapped on it three times. Superstitious to an art form, your Grandfather has always been. Which of course, was why you spoke so loosely to him in the first place. Receiving a rise out of him was one of the ways you loved to keep entertained in this small, handwoven cabin typical to that of common folk.

His cheeks tipped rose when he exclaimed, "You mustn't feed the air with talk of such events!"

You, the victorious Chess Champion, stared your Grandfather in the eye. The pair of you didn't reach the third second before a low chuckle escaped the older man. It was hoarse in a way that spoke of his age, an obvious hallmark of his weakening health you didn't think about so much.

He shook his head. "Aye, my Granddaughter has bested me. Are these lungs of mine finally getting to my head?"

Three consecutive knocks rang through the air. This time, it was you who had copied your Grandfather's superstitious habit and tapped the table. "Now who is feeding the air with bad thinking?" You asked him softly.

"Not bad thinking, lass. Pure truth."

"Grandfather." You frowned even more. Talk of your Grandfather's weakening health sent a thousand small stabs through your heart, opened doors to thoughts of an empty cabin without him there. You couldn't bear to entertain anything but the thought that the new medicine you've received would work. No, it had to.

It must.

The man gave another rattling cough, followed by a scowl. "Rather than wasting money on all that fancy apothecary, why not more food? You're an awful liar, [Name]." His eyes similar to your own — that clear tone which rivalled the smoothest of glass — riveted into you. "You believe you hide your stomach growls, but you doubt the hearing of an old man with poor sight."

On instinct, you placed a hand to your stomach, pressing hard. Through the simple dress tied off at the waist, you could feel the tight skin, the lumps of your protruding ribcage. The hunger spasms had drawn your muscles taut, but the pain was tolerable. Grandfather needed the food more than you, after all. He needed to get better.

"It is nothing," You mumbled. "There has been drought throughout the summer. You know that. Food is sparse. I'm young, I'll live."

The older man studied you with a shaky hand stroking over his beard. It was a long moment before he let out a chuckle. "You've got your Mother's selflessness and your Father's poor deceit. Really, what'll I do with you?"

Images of the young couple that birthed you were gone as quickly as they came. It didn't hurt as much to think about them anymore, as you knew they too, existed in the stars that looked down upon you all. [Name] of the Willows family was strong and always kept her backbone in check, but would be lying if you said you were ready to be completely alone. Not after the sudden passing of your parents.

Even if you had to work in a farm trudging through mud picking up weeds and other unpleasantries, you would keep your Grandfather here on this earth. Your only living relative — one you couldn't bear to let go.

It did not help in the slightest that this drought was financially crippling not only the farming community in the village, but the whole Kingdom of Yo as a nation. They were mainly an agrarian province that got most of its income off of produce. Drought of any kind, especially one lasting this long, was bound to cause chaos in every aspect of the Kingdom. And it had — chaos that was quickly balanced by raising taxes in order to stabilize the economy.

An idea offered by the Royal Family of the Yo Palace.

You ground your teeth every time you thought about the monarchs all were meant to bow down to, to marvel and respect. When they were treated like nothing but cattle to be milked of everything they had? The Miyazawa farm you worked on hardly has any money for themselves in this current climate, not concerning your wages, which had been shaved down as of recently. You had no reason to blame them. No, the people you directed such distaste to were the money-laundering aristocrats that stood on top of it all.

If anyone was responsible for your forced fasting in order to afford basic medicines for your Grandfather's health, it was them.

You were unsure about many things in life; marriage, family, food, but if you could count on one thing; it was that you hated the Royal Family. With everything you could possibly gather within you.

"It's a terrible thing you can't get rid of me," You continued with Grandfather's remark, trying to distract yourself from the depravity of it all. You carefully set up another chess game with the delicate, whittled pieces. Your favourite game. "Who would wake you up in the morning, then?"

"The taxman at the door, that's who." He scoffed.

Whatever water you had in your stomach went sour. "The Royals ought to be ashamed of themselves, taxing us like we have it all to give. Do they not know the people they rule over? How we're struggling?"

A sigh filtered through the air. "Don't be quick to blame the Royals for everything, [Name]. Running a Kingdom is not often black and white. If I had to guess, I believe they don't have a choice."

Suddenly very taken aback by your Grandfather's point of view when his very body was wasting away because of the people he was defending, you shot up. Eyes blazing a bright inferno, neck tight. "How could you defend them?"

"I'm not defending them, lass. But it is wise to think before you project." He rounded his own clear eyes on you. "How would you save a Kingdom if it was falling apart?"

You were about to give into that same habit of reacting when worked up and lash out. They tax us silly, uncaring of how many lives they leave in ruins! But before you barely got a word out, there was a loud commotion outside.

An explosion of high, excited chatter that caught both your attention. Cautiously, you left the chessboard and Grandfather's company to venture to the front door and peer outside. What could it possibly be at this early hour? You wondered with a huff, blinking the sunlight from your narrowed eyes. It was midday; the time of lunch, if one was lucky enough, and perhaps quiet work.

Not an entire gaggle of women hurriedly knocking on doors and running around with their skirts gathered up in their fists.

Wary, you almost scowled at the lady who scurried towards you. The lady was too excited to notice, it would seem.

"Oh, darling!" She gushed, taking you by the hands. "Oh, it's amazing! A miracle!"

"What is?"

The lady shook her clasped hands. "You truly don't know? You have not heard?"

I would have not asked if I did, you wished to remark. Women such as these who were nothing but charm and gossip unnerved you the most. But instead, you remembered basic propriety. "Pray tell? For I have not."

"The Royals, my darling! They've smiled down on us and heard our cries! Recruitment, they have just promised, for all young women under forty and unwedded. With a promised wage! They wish to help those in need in these taxing times! Oh, we've been saved. Saved, my darling!" 

Your twitching brows knitted. You were having serious trouble understanding what you had just been told. "Pardon, Miss?"

"The day is wonderful, my Darling!" The lady took her hands away from you and twirled happily on the spot. Her cheeks were stained a delicate rose when she stopped. "I'd place my name down quickly with the Registrar, [Name] Willows! Unwedded and in these troubled times, a servant's job will be a blessing to you!"

Servant's job?

The woman was already scurrying off to the nearest house ready to spill the news when it caught up to you. Your mouth parted to draw a shaky, disbelieved breath. No, this can't be. You turned to look at the other houses along this path. Each and every one of them looked busy, some already ushering their daughters out the door so they could place their names down and help the family income. 

Hold on a moment, the Castle is suddenly accepting women to become servants for the Court?

In this financial climate? 

Such a handful of women who were desperate for income, like you, were currently taking to the streets with hastily wrapped scarves around their heads. It was a sea of excited commoners, close in age and status to you. Some of which, you were close friends to.

The sight of it all made you suddenly take the severity of what was happening seriously and gather your skirts to turn back into the house.

"Grandfather," It was a hurried whisper on your tongue. "Grandfather, where are you?"

The older man was already standing at the small kitchen you shared, his back turned. Unbothered, he never really was one for dramatics when they arose in the society. "Why do you sound like you've seen a ghost, lass?" He asked while pouring a shaky cup of water. "Don't bring any of that societal malarkey into this home."

"No, Grandfather, this is not—this is," You were having trouble getting coherent words out. Because surely, this couldn't be true. "The Castle—they're—?"

"Use words correctly," A small tap on your forehead that made you blink. You hadn't been flicked as such since your teenage years. But it seemed to do the trick — because your were shaken right out of your startled haze. One tight swallow and you were right back in the room.

"The women," You began quickly. "They've come saying that the Castle is looking for new workers. Servant women, able and unwedded. They promise of a wage, Grandfather." Your expression suddenly grew tight. "Do they mean to mock us? First they take away our taxes, now they take any women who are able for a family?"

Silence followed your obvious open question. It made you frown when he stared into the murky water with quiet contemplation.

"Grandfather?" You pressed, now confused. 

It was a few more moments of a now heavy silence before he tipped the water down his throat, followed by a rattled cough. "So, what are you waiting for?" He suddenly piqued, irritated. The cup came down heavily onto the kitchen table. "Where is your scarf, your bags, your birth papers? You'll be a fool to think that they will accept just any woman who doesn't get there first!"

Warmth spread quickly from your chest up to the top of your neck. Like a slap to the cheek, the words from your Grandfather were hard and unexpected in their impact. Your hands clasped into shaking fists at your sides.

"What are you saying? Do you honestly believe I would work as a servant woman in their Castle—?"

"Better a servant girl than pulling weeds up in that Miyataza farm you work on."

"Miyazawa farm, Grandfather. It is the Miyazawa family."

"Does it matter, lass? I could bet a Castle job would pay you far more generously than weeding. Servants are treated well. They are fed and warm when they sleep."

The heat was creeping into your cheeks now. How dare he try to send you away? How dare he even think you would consider being sent away?

"I'm not leaving you." Was the hard-line, final statement. You stood straight and taut, daring your Grandfather to wish you away.

Truthfully — due to the mechanisms of this time and the harsh needs of society; you really couldn't stand in the way if Grandfather truly wished to send you to the Castle. Because you were a woman, and he led the house as a man. Misogyny was the only thing a tomboy, unwedded woman like you could not break down with nothing but her soul and stubbornness. 

But you could damn well try. Every day, you could try.

"Grandfather," You put every emotion into the soft plea. Begging him to understand that this would rip a hole in your heart. That you would better uproot weeds from a farm with your skirts bunched than polish a lavish Palace hall. Would rather feel the pang in your stomach from days of foodless meals than not see him every morning and night. "Please, don't send me away."

The answer which greeted you was icy and so unlike the man who cared for you. "That's enough, lass. You're going. It's an opportunity not to be missed."

"I don't want to leave you!"

At that, Grandfather glared at you. But it was softer around the edges — the glass of his eyes now a gentle powdery colour. For a spared moment, you were hopeful that guilt had finally swayed him. Even more so when he reached up to pet your hair; an affectionate gesture of his own. You dropped your eyes and leaned into the pat, knowing that the hope would crackle and burn around you. Like everything else in your miserable life you continued to struggle against.

"Servants of the Castle are permitted to return once a month. You won't miss this ol' shack that much, lass. Tending to me and my rotten coughing. Your parents would have wanted it for you," He spoke softly. The gravel of his lung condition made the words a raspy wheeze. "A servant woman of the Palace. You couldn't ask for anything better when we're all drownin' in poverty."

A choked sob was steadily rising in your throat, but you pushed it down and averted your eyes. In a shaky whisper, you attempted one last time, "The Royals are the last people I would ever serve, Grandfather. Even if they promise of a wage."

You could hear it in his chuckle — the knowing grin he always wore. Oftentimes, it reminded you vaguely of your Father.

"Remember, [Name]. If your Kingdom was in ruins, how would you save it?"

The village of the Yo Kingdom was still buzzing with excitement hours after the news was relayed to every single door. Mothers and Grandmothers alike who did not meet the criteria for work waved their younger daughters off, some with cloths up to their mouths to hide the tears. Of elation or despair, you didn't know.

It was with a heavy heart that you packed your things in the small area you and Grandfather shared for sleep; him on the bed while you took to the floor most nights. Not that it ever bothered you. Something about the musty scent of oakwood and the tuft of hay you treated as a pillow stayed with you as you wrapped the scarf around your head. Home, you thought with lines bracketing your frown, this was your home and you were only permitted to return once a month.

Could you truly serve the family you hated so much?

You didn't let the hope in your heart dwindle. Having spent a generous deal of time arguing with Grandfather while getting ready — perhaps the Registrar was no longer there. Maybe a good number of women had beat you to it first and you were too late. With a deep breath did you continue your walk across the small village street — following some stray women as they hurried along the same route. Constantly, you turned around to look at your Grandfather once more. But you had ventured far into the city now — your home was around the bend and well out of eye's view.

If the Gods smile down on you, then perhaps you wouldn't have to leave for too long. The Registrar will be full, and you could return right back to where you wanted to be.

Perking a little, you entertained how you would laugh right in his face when you returned home. Ha! Would you look at that, you senile old man. It just wasn't meant to be! A servant woman is not where the Heavens want me to go! A small giggle rushed through you, lifting your spirits ever so. It seemed more probable now the more you walked; there was a high chance the Palace would not accept any more applicants after the previous sea of women bombarded them.

Yes, you told yourself, that's right. And then I can think of what to make Grandfather for dinner tonight. No more will I have to entertain the thought of aiding that horrid, despicable family—

You rounded the sharp bend, only to feel your stomach plummet to the floor.

Sitting in the middle of the cobblestone pave-way was the table you were desperately hoping would not be. Women flocked around it; an ocean of scarfed heads and chattering voices. If it wasn't for another lady brushing passed you would have stayed there frozen and allowed the small sack to fall through your fingers. The Registrar, you quickly realised with dread, he's still here.

You hadn't been too late, after all.

The Gods continued to hold their frown on you.

"Oi, you!"

You snapped to attention when someone singled you out. A burly man, dressed in robes of blue and pure white with a sword at his hilt. The Palace colours. Everything about his demeanour told you swiftly that he was a Royal Knight.

And this Royal Knight was glaring at you intensely.

"I asked you to move into line!" He thrust a gloved hand to the suddenly startled row of women, whose eyes darted frantically. "You block any woman attempting to come through standing there!"

Survival instincts instructed your body to move on command, knowing full well a Royal Knight was not a man to be trifled with. Especially one twice your size and brandishing a terrifying sword. But because you had a stubbornness that could border dangerous in the wrong situations, you projected a tempered glare his way.

"Forgive me, my Lord." You said through tight teeth.

The Knight bared his own teeth and opened his mouth — obviously, he was unused to common village girls who didn't bend underneath his command. Damned Knights, it was a bitter thought quick in your mind as the Knight brought his hand up, everyone attached to those Royals believed they were above everyone else!

Bracing for a crack to your cheek — like so many others you had witnessed, especially when commoners were loose-lipped with those in high command — your eyes snapped shut. Women shrieked and moved away from the scuffle. Your whole body tensed in expectation.

"Sir Francis!"

It was a strong, steely voice that sliced through the air. Because it was taking too long for the pompous Knight to impact, you risked opening one eye. Then the other when your possible assailant wasn't looking your way any more. What in the world...? 

The Knight was staring over to where the table was when you trained your eyes there, following every other woman's gawks, also. Seated at the table and the obvious owner of the words was the man that took the names down of possible servant candidates. 

The Registrar.

His grey eyes gleamed impatiently underneath the square glasses he donned, mouth stitched.

"—disrespectful, my Lord." You caught the tail-end of what the Knight was saying. "I was teaching her a lesson."

"A lesson, huh?" The Registrar wondered. If you could believe, it looked like he was displeased with the Knight's actions. Surely not, you shook your head minutely amidst the surprise, it was common knowledge that most Knights mistreated commoners. Slapping women was not the worst they could do.

The Knight nodded stoically.

"Bring her here." The Registrar asked with a quick flick of his wrist. "Quickly. Hindrances will only delay the schedule."

"M-My Lord?"

"Are you wasting my time, Sir Francis?"

"A-Absolutely not!" The Knight exclaimed. Then before you could react, he wrapped a strong hand around your frail arm and roughly hauled you forward. Your habit kicked up again on reflex, hurling every disrespectful word you could at the Knight — even attempting to kick him in the shin. But he was Palace trained and you hadn't eaten in days. Any attack you attempted would have been laughably akin to a toddler's in your state.

An unhinged, furious wreck; you were thrown before the Registrar's small table. Your hands flew out to brace yourself against the wood so you wouldn't sink to your knees. No man would make you result to your knees; Royal Guard or the King himself.

But your fumble did result in an ink bottle tipping over and spreading a river of black all over the parchment of names. 

"Ahh! T-The names!" One voice wailed. Another Royal Guard. His tone quickly became seething when directed your way. "You useless cur! You'll atone for this with a whipping—!"

"There will be no whipping." 

Blinking, you shot up to see the face of the Registrar staring you down. Tall and faintly handsome; he had smooth skin of porcelain that threw his grey eyes into sharp focus. A mane of golden hair was kept neatly in a tail at the back of his head — not a piece out of place. You hated how his heavy stare made you gulp. Especially when there was an irritated tick to his jaw.

But then, he sighed. "Fetch me another bottle of ink," He spoke to the Knight over his shoulder. "There should be a Craftsman nearby. You have two minutes."

"My Lord, this behaviour is uncanny. You should not allow her to—!"

"Whipping is a sore waste of time when we have so much women to get through." The Registrar hissed in a tempered whisper that could very well be a chilly breeze. He tossed his eyes back to the Knight, and you noticed the bob of his throat. "Are you attempting to tell me what to do?"

It wasn't a question. It was a careful, dangerous threat.

And the Royal Knight answered him correctly. "N-Never, My Lord!" And with that, he was spun around and off he scurried to find the ink bottle. You noticed the barest droop in the Registrar's tense shoulders, and couldn't help it when the words came tumbling forth;

"You saved me from a beating." 

The Registrar slid his eyes to you. You knew you shouldn't have said it — not because it was improper and lacked propriety, because it did. You had no care for that. It was because he was looking at you now as a human would stare at an insect, and you were reminded of why Royal Court Members were people you'd never show gratitude to.

Straightening, you steeled your spine and hardened your glare. "I don't know what I can offer you." You hissed.

The Registrar may appear as if he is looking at a bug, but now his eyebrow raised. An interesting bug, perhaps. "I do hope you don't believe you can become a servant with no etiquette."

"Oh, I don't want to be a servant." You said proudly. "It was my Grandfather who sent me."

"Surely, he does not place the hopes of income on you?" The faintest ribbon of amusement in his tone. You caught it, and grinned.

"Better on me than a useless airhead woman who has no backbone when expected to serve in a Castle of Thieves."

Were you purposely attempting to jeopardise your chances? Perhaps. Your sharp tongue was more to do with the gleam of jest in the Registrar's cool grey eyes. It rubbed your nerves wrongly, how the Royal Workers thought the people they ruled were amusing little rodents; only to give money and anything else material. 

"The Castle of Thieves?" He ventured, albeit lowly. It would surely be odd if the Registrar repeated such accusations of his place of work. You couldn't help but be taken aback by his curious manner, but hid it well.  

The Registrar leaned back. No longer an insect, you thought as he regarded you with indifference. You had upgraded to a comical animal. The barest smile on his lips gave it away.

"You speak boldly." Was all he offered.

"Someone in this village has to." You countered.

"Speaking boldly in the Palace will result with your skin being littered with scars. Court Members are everything but lenient."

"Well, then that's that settled! I'm just too improper to be a servant woman. Truly, a shame." Secretly elated, you were preparing to turn right around. "I thank you for listening to me, My—"

"Wait."

Your bones and muscles snapped, froze. With an uneasy feeling in your gut that your habit had just upset the Registrar, who commanded the Knights around him, did you hesitantly look over your shoulder. When he said nothing but stared did you hold back a sigh and turn right around.

"Yes, My Lord?" You got out. A beating? Or perhaps you will be forcefully robbed of your innocence? It was unwise to question the extent of punishment a high-standing Official could mete out. But were you sorry? You grit your teeth, never in an aeon of existence.

The Registrar was quiet for a second, only studying you with everything but a livid expression. It not only made you perplexed, it also made you more nervous than what a glare would do. "Do you have your birth papers?" 

You blinked. "Pardon?"

"Your birth papers. I expect you have them on you?"

Indeed, but you weren't about to give them up to this man. Although two Royal Knights had suddenly flanked either side of you — attracted by the commotion and why you were taking so long. So, with a jaw locked and eyes daggering into the man before you, did you reach into your sack and produce the heavy parchment. 

He took it in his long, nimble fingers. Studied it with eyes downcast under his peculiar frames.

"[Name] Willows. Of childbearing age," He glanced up. "I assume you are unwedded?"

He assumes. You forced the annoyance down into your gut. Right where the other hatred for the Royals and their henchmen resided. "No." The Royal Knights and their weapons made you spit, "My Lord."

You and the grey-eyed Registrar didn't break the stare-off, not even when the Knight came stumbling back with the fresh ink-bottle in hand.

"My Lord!" He yelled breathlessly. "My Lord, I have fetched the ink. Some new parchment too. Courtesy of the Craftsmen Charlisle."

"He has my thanks," The Registrar opened his palm behind so the bottle could be placed there. When it was, did he spread the new parchment out and dip a fine quill in. "[Name] Willows," He said the name like a condemning sentence. The very end to all of your happiness. Your wide eyes tracked each swirl of the quill, every dot and dab. No way —

The Registrar sat up and smiled at you. It was that unnerving half smile. One that set all your nerves alight and spread fire coursing throughout your bloodstream. "Congratulations. Starting today, you shall be a training servant woman. May you enjoy your stay in the Castle of Thieves."

You let every bit of your pride go in the moment of shock. Mouth gaping, eyes widened. Surely there had been a mistake. There was no way the Castle accepted women who didn't keep their thoughts, voices and tongues to themselves. It was a matter of propriety, and in the Castle — propriety was held at the highest value. The Registrar was still studying you when the red cleared from your vision.

"Miss [Name]," He questioned. "Did you hear me correctly? There are others we must see to."

This damn Registrar, your fists clasped at your sides, practically vibrating with rage, this man was messing with you! He had to be!

"You can't be serious." You whispered. "The Castle would never allow it."

"I'm the Registrar. My duty is to choose what women I believe will make the most able servants. And perhaps, dare I say, you've enlightened me. It's true. Women who, as you say, 'have no backbone' will never survive serving under the Prince and King of the Yo Court."

The sentence was sealed in stone. Due to your habit, your humanly need to not be treated as scum by the higher-ups in society had just landed you in your worst nightmare. A job at the Caste, serving under the monarchs you hated the most. Being given a wage made from the taxes these villagers were being squeezed of. And there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

Already plunged into hell, you figured you may as well go out with a bang while you descended.

"What is your name?" You whispered to him. 

His golden brow cocked. "I'm the Registrar."

"You mean to tell me your Mother gifted you with that name?"

A beats silence. The Registrar stayed still, contemplating long enough to deceive you into thinking he would not answer. Of course he wouldn't, pompous Court Official that he was. But after the silence was up, he leaned over the table. This wicked grey-eyed man who had just sealed your fate under lock and key.

"Kunikida Doppo," He said to you. "Secretary to The Throne. I will also be controlling your wages, Miss [Name]. I do hope your time-wasting habit does not carry over to your work."

You met him with a challenging smirk. "My Lord, Kunikida Doppo. How grateful I am to be granted this chance. Of course, I won't waste my time." Then, your voice dipped into a deadly whisper. One that was uncanny to any woman of society. Or any woman who wished to keep alive, period. Yet you, in that moment, couldn't find it in yourself to give a damn. "But I can promise you that I'll do everything to waste yours."

Outside the Throne Room, the Royal Palace of Yo

Court Officials; dressed in their beautiful garments of fine silks and studded gems, waited cautiously outside the Throne Room. The women with fans open in front of their faces to hide their frowns. Frowns, after all, stressed the skin to a point of wrinkles. No woman of the Court should be caught doing such a thing. The men had their hands of the hilt of their swords, swearing under their breaths and chattering in low voices.

"What do they think the Prince will do? If none of us could crack 'em, why do they think a pampered Royal can?"

He was met with violent shushing of another man. This one was a lot older and therefore, not as arrogant. Arrogance in the Palace of Yo got any man killed.

"Idiot!" He hushed. "Don't speak so easily of the Prince! Have you not heard his name in the halls?"

"His name?" The other man wasn't impressed. "'Course I have. It's common knowledge to know our Prince's—"

"No, his nickname. 'Demon Prince' is what the walls call him! You would be wise not to doubt his abilities of cruelty. Especially during interrogation."

The nickname of the Prince, the only Prince of Yo and heir to The Throne, sent violent shivers down each spine in the room. Women recoiled further behind their embellished fans, men cast their faces to the shadows with thin lips. It was all except for the gaudy original man, who had recently only joined the Court and was foolish in his thinking.

"Pwah!" He scoffed. The soft whisper of metal as he took out his sword. "I don't believe for a second that a spoiled Prince could do what actual Guards couldn't do! He was a lapdog his whole life — an only child!" There was an arrogant smile on his face. Perhaps the reason why he didn't notice the heavy sounds of doors opening behind him, or the desperate quiet pleas of the Court Members, was because he was so caught up in his bragging.

Whoosh, his sword sliced lazily through the air and he declared loudly, "I wager I could knock the brat on his behind with just one match!"

"Truly?"

It was a new voice that filtered through the air, stiffening everyone's bones in the hallway. Soft and mellifluous, the tone of the Yo Prince was rumoured to send men to their knees, women shaking with uncontrollable sobs, and government officials to tighten their jaws.

Today, his voice was echoed by the hiccups and tears from inside the Throne Room. The man that every Guard was interrogating without success was resulted to a blubbering, pathetic mess with just ten minutes alone with the First Prince.

The man brandishing the sword swivelled right around.

It wasn't only his voice that could break even the most hardened souls with wicked words. Rumours circled that it was his eyes — the shade of mahogany, of whiskey mixed with deep coffee. They bore into your spirit. Scanned deeply until you were stripped bare of everything you attempted to hide.

There was a sudden clang of metal on the tiles. The Prince didn't even flinch. He continued to stare at the now defenceless man, who was shaking in his boots.

The Prince cocked his head. "Would you be so kind to repeat yourself? I don't think I heard correctly."

Perspiration broke out everywhere along the man's skin. He was shaking so much now that he was sure of collapse. No one in the hallway was surprised, and braced themselves for the fate of the arrogant Court Official. He barely had lasted a week, and proceeded to insult the Prince to his face. Death, or something far worse, was imminent.

"N-N-Nothing—Nothing, My Liege." The shaking man regurgitated the words. Unashamedly, there was a growing patch of wet taking form in his tights. "I-I-I assure you."

 The Demon Prince let absolutely nothing change in his expression. Silence befell over them, heavy and thick, coating everyone in a layer of sticky oil. No one dared breathe, blink or even move. Not when an execution was about to be sentenced.

But the Prince did something more than that, and objectively a lot more terrifying.

He smiled.

"Ah, is that so? Forgive me, Guard-san. It appears the interrogation has left me tired~" His eyes blinked once, twice, and the dark coffee was now a bright whiskey. That was the other rumoured thing about the Demon Prince; his usual persona was calm and silly, yet underneath there housed a terrible monster no one should get in the way of.

He turned to another Guard. "Officer-san?"

"Y-Yes!" The older man stood to stoic solute.

"He's a spy of the Ko Kingdom," The Prince said easily, gesturing to the man who was crying on the floor in the Throne Room. No doubt his soul had ben fractured into thousand irreparable pieces. "Was sent to gather information on our economy. Word is spreading quickly that our drought is near crippling. He was due to report back to the Kingdom yesterday," He let out a light, almost playful sigh. "But you see, the man got greedy and enjoyed himself too much in a brothel house last night~! Spilled his entire guts to a lovely whore he was accompanying. What do you say to that, Officer-san?"

The man almost turned green with pressure. "I—I have nothing to offer, only that it was a life threatening mistake on his part, My Liege."

"Ehhh, you think brothels are 'life threatening', Officer-san?"

"T-That is not at all what I was—"

A peal of perfect laughter rang out when the Prince threw his head back. His mass of brown curls fell perfectly over his eyes when he straightened, those eyes decorated with long dark lashed were shut in happy moons. Deceitful, that was the First Prince of Yo, and God love anyone who fell for his blindingly attractive charm.

"My, my, Officer-san. You're like an innocent school-girl! How about we go to a brothel and find a lovely lady to not tell your wife about~?"

"M-My Liege!" 

"Come now, don't be nervous. Life if all about new experiences."

"I can assure you that I have—I have—!"

The atmosphere around the hallway was gently eased until the air was at least breathable again. Some brazen women snapped their fans shut now that their lips were upturned into a smile. Many of the men engaged in the Prince's easy banter. It was no small secret that, when he was in the correct mood, that the Prince had his way with people. Those who never touched or saw the other side to him naturally flocked to his presence.

The only remnants of his commanding, terrifying side was the sounds of wails in the Throne Room; a spy who stood no chance against the Prince's careful questions that everyone decided to stay ignorant to.

That and the shaken man who had been on the receiving end of the Prince's stare. The man who stared death right in the face through eyes of the darkest brown, and escaped, but was now resulted to a soiled, sword-less mess. Frozen to the spot, staring at the open Throne Room and unable to escape from the nightmare the Prince has traumatised him into.

"Were you successful?"

The Prince of Yo, nicknamed the 'Demon Prince'  by many of those who were unfortunate enough to encounter that side, strolled into the Quarters he was summoned to. This room was laved in gold and expensive jewels, silk bedsheets and grand oil paintings. In those paintings was the man who ruled over the entire Kingdom of Yo. And, the owner of the voice that called to his visitor.

The King of Yo; King Dietrich. He rarely uses his family name, although the house they lived in was brandished with the surname Dazai.

With a sigh, the Prince waved his hand. "The man was like an open book. Too easy to read, I got him to talk within a minute."

The King turned from the window to gaze at his son. His only son, and yet, there was a rift between them that was too cold to be one of family. They were simply King and Prince, and their fondness never extended past those titles. 

He raised a brow. "Officer Hijikata told me you were in there for ten minutes."

At that, the Prince smiled. It was a bone-chilling smile, one that sucked the light from his eyes. "There are other things to do to a man's mind when you take away all his secrets."

The King regarded his son for a long moment, through the brown eyes so similar to his. Then, let out the most regal of sighs. "Such an unsightly habit you have, Dazai. You'd be careful not to terrorise the new servants being trained. It's taxing enough that your branded with a nickname."

"Nicknames are commoner games. Do you think they use them to feel power? That brandishing another with labels is how they humanise?"

"There you go again, speaking so unsightly. These manners will slip out to the public."

Dazai Osamu, the Prince of Yo and Heir to the Throne, waltzed lazily over to his Father's desk and picked up a tumbler. It was gorgeously carved out of magnificent glass, intended truly to be a gift for the King.

He poured himself a healthy serving of whiskey and downed it in one go. Alcohol never did much to fill the indescribably gaping hole in his existence, but it made him feel something.

"Then let them. It'll only produce more labels. More ways of pointless humanising," He brought the empty glass to his lips and stared distantly. Through those eyes that broke men down, that instilled fear into those older than him, that yearned for amusement to distract himself from his outlook on life. "It matters not. I don't deserve the title of human, any way."

ྀི. Chapter Notes:

↣ "The Registrar" is a title I gave to Kunikida as he was taking names from the women who were registering to become a servant of the Castle. It's not his official title, however. His official title is The Secretary of the Palace.  ↣ A "Secretary" to a Throne is someone who supports many aspects of a monarch's private affairs; such as finances, schedules and correspondence. The main duty of The Secretary is to communicate the monarchs wishes to different areas of Government. Sometimes, a Court Secretary can also be The Secretary of State. ↣ Prince Dazai's nickname; "The Demon Prince of Yo" is a direct play on his nickname "Demon Executive" of the Port Mafia during the Dark Era arc of the anime. And the Fifteen Light Novel arc, I think? I tend to mention these plays throughout the book as I don't want to discredit Asagiri and make it clear what are my ideas an what is parody. ヾ(≧▽≦*)o ↣ Dazai's closing dialogue of; "I don't deserve the title of human, any way" is drawn from both Osamu Dazai's book No Longer Human and his ability in the anime, No Longer Human.

ʚɞ . . . 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

ʚɞ . . . 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄

[mysticstarlightduck]

Writing Share Tag!

I just started writing the first (out of three) main chapter of Kye Thalax's backstory and I am so sorry for my boi 😭. I don't wanna suffer alone writing these chapters - and they are important for his character arc as a grown-up later on - so I'm posting a snippet of his backstory Ch.1 for feedback and whatnot here!

BUT MAN I AM SAD. I cannot wait for Kye's Revenge Arc after writing these backstory chapters 🔥

(Also it is a pretty dark Backstory snippet so, TW for - Dark themes, Abuse/Domestic Abuse, and Lady Eldora being the shittiest mother and wife in the entire galaxy. Though I'm being honest that whole villain is TW in her own right.)

Kye peeked into the war room, standing on his tip-toes to peek behind the obsidian black stone doors, watching the conversation unfolding within with anxious, flitting eyes.

"You are seriously the most worthless man I have ever met," Came Eldora's voice, his Mother's voice, condescending and sharp like a razor, "I gave you one simple task at the gala last night. All you had to do, was look pretty and convince those stupid diplomats to bend the knee."

She chuckled, dark and bitter, and Kye hated how the sound made his Dad's shoulders curl in on themselves as the young man stood before her. After the short, pause, Eldora continues, rage visibly building up within her, as she tilts her head, "And somehow you manage to make a scene and embarrass me in front of all those people!"

She ends her sentence with a yell, shoving the young man with such force he is basically thrown across the room, toppling some chairs and a vase, before hitting the wall. There was a yelp of pain as he watched his Dad push himself off the wall with some difficulty, and, even though hidden by the doors, five-year-old Kye could see Damen's hands beginning to shake.

"I'm sorry Milady," His Dad's voice is flat and pained, and despite the fire in his eyes, he does not rise from the ground as he speaks, keeping his head bowed. "Y-You're right. I have failed you. I… I am sorry."

Kye felt his heart sink as if drawn to the furthest reaches of the planet's core. He willed his small, kid legs to move, but yet, he remained rooted in place, fear - or some sort of innate self-preservation wisdom - keeping him from trying to intervene.

Eldora growls, striding forward with thundering steps that send a shiver down Kye's spine until she's standing over Damen. "Y'know, one day that 'I'm sorry', isn't going to cut it." She grasps his chin, claws digging into his pearl-white skin, "You're lucky you are my consort and you need to look presentable. Though you'd better know how to act like it, or there'll be worse consequences. Understand?"

Kye saw as his father nodded fervently, the young man's bright blue eyes staring emptily at the warlord, fearful "Yes, Lady Eldora. Forgive me."

Tagging: @winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling @agirlandherquill, @anoelleart @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers @i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid, @finickyfelix

And I'm also gonna leave this an OPEN TAG!

Supernova Initiative Taglist (-/+): @ray-writes-n-shit, @sarandipitywrites, @lassiesandiego, @smol-feralgremlin, @kaylinalexanderbooks,

@diabolical-blue @oh-no-another-idea

@cauliflowermaterial, @clairelsonao3, @sleepy-night-child

@thepeculiarbird

@the-golden-comet, @urnumber1star, @ominous-feychild @anyablackwood, @amaiguri,

@lyutenw, @finickyfelix, @elshells, @thecomfywriter

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[george228732]

A little fun fact about my AU here since AU Posting is busy.

You know that in several art pieces, I used Film Tape symbolism? My AU, basically can be interpreted as a theater play, in which the outcome is always a bad ending.

In context, Cosmounse made the script that way, and Fylass wants to rewrite the part of the script that's not written yet, based on countless other scripts he managed to see in back stage (Note, this is not literal, just an interpretation of certain outcomes based on that idea since the AU was partly written with that interpretation in mind, that's why in my fic, the names of the chapters are from other stories or plays).

Which for it, means that Fylass helped in changing the ending, with the help of the others, reason on why some parts of my AU seem to be very fitting in the context of a play. I made jokes about Fylass "Undooming the Doomed narrative" but it's not really that much of a joke, which pretty much implies that if no one had done anything or be made aware of what was happening, my AU would've always ended up in a hypothetical Bad Ending.

Besides the religious take on it that's basically what happened in the Garden of Eden with Fylass being Lucifer, and Adam and Eve being the ones he loves. The Apple is the "Forbidden Knowledge" so in this context is basically The Truth and yet another reason why Fylass' main color is Red.

It kinda goes along with the lines of Fylass hating Magolor! Just that in Magolor's case, He's both Jesus and Judas, but in Fylass' case, God and the Devil are one and the same, since at the end of the day, you can figure out he has both roles. Fylass did bring down the Pardus Clan with him, like how Lucifer brought down Adam and Eve, but also in Popstar he tries to take the role of a messiah figure to save 4 people, also why Crowned Fylass both takes inspiration from the bible and pagan holidays, with the main one being Walpurgisnacht (Witches Night).

Also for more parallels, Walpurgisnacht was a celebration for the person "Saint Walpurga" who seemingly kept the witches away from the masses and healed the sick, not too dissimilar from how Fylass behaves with the Dream Team and Wave Three. And last but not least, it was rumored that Saint Walpurga was a witch herself, and the reason why Fy is a basilisk, which are creatures that are kings of serpents, fire, and usually come from Hell.

Now Niru

Niru, for the ones that don't know, is Void Termina when Kirby was still part of him, being the body that surrounds Void's Soul. He is often associated with Water, but specifically fluids in general, since he's meant to be something that flows as time passes. He gave impurities and some darkness to his creations to truly enforce free will, but overall, he was sad seeing his creations be sad over these things and knowing that if they believe in god, they would be begging for them to cleanse their sorrows, so at one point, he regretted his decision and started to slowly consume those impurities himself, being something like, carry the burden of others upon himself, but eventually this made him lose himself in corruption and became Void Termina.

Before he was sealed though a part that wasn't corrupted by the Darkness was separated from him and became Kirby, while the Darkness that got loose in battle became 0, who can reincarnate constantly thanks to Niru's impurities.

At the end of the AU, both parts reunite, and Kirby swears that he, along with the others will help him carry the burden and cleanse him of his Impurities, something they achieve.

In terms of Motifs, if Fylass' motifs are religious, Niru's are Cosmic.

Normally, when a Star gathers insane amounts of energy, they explode and become supernovas, a thing that parallels Niru but instead of Exploding, he gets consumed by a Black Hole he did himself.

Also the fact that he's based on Owls, being Night Birds, and Lovecraftian Entities, specially Cthulhu, who belong to Cosmic Horror.

He also shares a motif with time and a play along with Fylass and Cosmounse

If Fylass is the Pendulum and the script writer, and Cosmounse is the hands and the Director, Niru is the Hours and the Play itself, or rather, he's the End Roll.

Also he's based on The Happy Prince

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Ayaan Hirsi Ali

Published: Oct 14, 2023

I was raised to curse Israel and pray for the destruction of Jews, writes AYAAN HIRSI ALI... That's why I know all too well Hamas is another ISIS - whatever useful idiots in the West say

All across the West, there is no shortage of people blaming the horrors in Israel on Israel itself — and openly supporting the perpetrators.

The head of policy at the Community Security Trust, which monitors hate crimes committed against British Jews, has said: 'Anti-Semites are getting excited by the sight of dead Jews... Hamas murdering Israeli civilians has exhilarated them... We've had reports of people driving past synagogues shouting 'Kill the Jews'.'

Anti-Semitic incidents in Britain are currently three times higher than they were this time last year, the charity adds.

'Free Palestine' graffiti has been scrawled on a railway bridge in Golders Green, a Jewish area of north London, while in Oxford Street, one young woman — who may well have been radicalised in England — was filmed ripping down posters that pleaded for the safe return of the babies taken hostage by Hamas. 'Free Palestine, f*** you!' she screamed at an onlooker who dared to remonstrate with her.

On Thursday night in Paris, police used tear gas and water cannon to disperse hundreds of people at a pro-Palestine rally, in which protesters chanted 'Israel murderer [sic]' and 'End the siege of Gaza.'

Outside the Sydney Opera House, about 1,000 protesters lit flares and waved Palestinian flags — and some were filmed chanting: 'Gas the Jews.'

In the U.S., meanwhile, 31 student groups at Harvard signed an open letter claiming that the 'Israeli regime' was 'entirely responsible for all unfolding violence', while California's Stanford University displayed a banner declaring that Palestine would be made free 'by any means necessary' — a sinister slogan that tacitly justifies Hamas's slaughter of children in pursuit of its aims.

Not to be outdone, the Chicago 'chapter' of the Black Lives Matter movement posted an image of a paraglider alongside the slogan 'I stand with Palestine'. The reference, of course, was to Hamas paragliders who descended on Israel's Supernova music festival last Saturday to rape and butcher at least 260 young people.

In short, anti-Semites the world over have been emboldened by this crisis, and Jews are once again being blamed for their own massacre. And I am not remotely surprised. In my childhood, I was steeped in the Islamist movement's noxious anti-Semitism — which has been on such ugly display this week.

Born in Mogadishu, Somalia, I spent my early years escaping political strife after my father was imprisoned for being an anti-government activist. We moved between countries before settling in Kenya.

The worst insult in the Somali community was to be called a 'Jew', not that any of us actually knew one. To be called a 'Jew' was so abhorrent, some felt justified in killing anyone who so dishonoured them with this 'slur'.

As a teenager in Nairobi in the 1980s, I joined the Muslim Brotherhood — the strict Sunni Islamist movement, founded in Egypt in 1928, from which Hamas ultimately descends.

I vividly remember sitting with my female fellows in mosques, cursing Israel and praying to Allah to destroy the Jews. We were certainly not interested in a peaceful 'two-state solution': we were taught to want to see Israel wiped off the map.

When I was 16, my school's teacher of religion was Sister Aziza. She read to us the Koran's lurid descriptions of the everlasting fire that burns flesh and dissolves skin — the place reserved for Jews.

Sister Aziza described Jews as physically monstrous, with horns coming from their heads, out of which flew devils that would corrupt the world. Jews controlled everything, she told us, and it was the duty of Muslims to destroy them.

It was a lot to take in for a teenager who read Western romance novels in secret, but I believed every word.

When the fatwa was issued against the British writer Salman Rushdie in 1989, a small crowd gathered in a Nairobi car park to burn a copy of his novel The Satanic Verses.

Sister Aziza urged us to join in the condemnations of Rushdie and I am ashamed to say I took part in the book-burning. I was certain Rushdie should be killed, but the scene nevertheless made me uncomfortable.

That seed of doubt grew over the next few years as I questioned why, if Allah was so just, women were treated as mere chattels in some Muslim families.

Over time, my questions turned into open rebellion against the Muslim Brotherhood, Islam and, ultimately, my family. 

My father sent me to relatives in Germany in 1992 so I could go from there to Canada to join the distant cousin he had married me off to. I ran away from that marriage and travelled to the Netherlands where I sought asylum.

Eventually, I became a member of the Dutch parliament, and later settled in America.

I abandoned my religion, but I have never lost my clear-sighted understanding, forged in my childhood, of Islamism's pathological hatred of Jews, as well as Muslims considered as heretics and non-Muslims in general.

The former Egyptian president Mohamed Morsi — a one-time leader of the Muslim Brotherhood — declared that Muslims should 'nurse our children and our grandchildren on hatred' of Jews. His organisation has done just that — and the despicable sentiment is the underlying context to Hamas's most recent attacks.

The truth, however, is that Hamas is no more a friend of the Palestinians than it is a friend of Israel.

Those who see the conflict as a simple territorial dispute between a colonial state and a dispossessed minority fail to recognise Hamas for what it really is: a gang of genocidal Islamist thugs backed by a theocratic, anti-Semitic regime in Iran.

Useful idiots on the far-Left in Western countries, who blindly support Hamas because they see it as a freedom-fighting group, harm the very people they claim to defend.

They say they want peace —and perhaps many of them do. But real peace talks based on the 2020 Abraham Accords between Israel and Arab countries have made painstaking but undeniable progress despite the efforts of Hamas.

Until Hamas's recent attacks, Saudi Arabia and Israel had looked set to normalise relations. This murderous incursion was an attempt to derail such talks — and thus ruin any chance of lasting peace.

Ordinary Palestinians want to build a prosperous, functioning society. Hamas, in its obsession with annihilating Israel, doesn't care about that. It wishes only to bring about a genocidal Islamist dystopia.

It is Hamas, after all, that holds Palestinians hostage in Gaza, setting up military installations in — and launching rockets from — civilian areas in the full knowledge that counterstrikes will kill innocent people.

It is Hamas that impoverishes Palestinians by stealing humanitarian aid to fund its terror. This is what 'by any means necessary' truly signifies: supreme callousness towards Palestinian life.

If you genuinely want to see peace between Israelis and Palestinians, or more generally between Muslims and Jews in the Middle East, then Hamas should be your enemy.

And even if — like many in the West, as we can now see — you don't care at all about Israeli or Jewish lives, even if you care only about the lives of Palestinians, Hamas is still your enemy. After all, Hamas ruthlessly persecutes any Palestinians who disagree with it: a 2022 U.S. State Department report found that, among other abuses, Hamas detained and assaulted critical journalists.

It is especially hostile to public figures associated with its rival Fatah, the Palestinian party voted out of office in Gaza in 2006, but which still runs the West Bank.

Hamas harasses its own dissidents, and has invaded the home of at least one young critical activist, telling his parents to keep their son under control — or else.

As a Dutch MP in 2004 and 2005, I travelled to the West Bank and met Palestinians.

In public, they spouted all the usual lines about Israel being their 'oppressor'. But once the cameras were switched off, they spoke more truthfully.

They complained bitterly about their treatment by Hamas and other radical groups, and told me how money meant to feed the people was being taken to fund those organisations' activities and their leaders' luxurious lifestyles. Arabs and Palestinians alike told me how fed up they were with conflict, and how ready they were for peace.

Hamas, like other Islamist groups, has done its best over the course of decades to stomp all over those wishes.

And it has been successful. The shocking rise in anti-Semitism in the West owes much to the entrenched Islamist networks that have spent years stirring up this ancient hatred.

Europe must now wake up to these fifth columnists who shamelessly celebrate violence and bigotry, promoting hatred of the Jewish minority in Europe.

The West must also wake up to the moral corruption of its own Hamas supporters, from Left-wing university students to flag-waving street thugs.

Meanwhile, elite human-rights organisations need to do far more to name terrorism when they see it.

It is horrifying to see Amnesty International claiming that one of the 'root causes' of the crisis is 'Israel's system of apartheid imposed on Palestinians'.

Human Rights Watch, meanwhile, should do more than merely equivocating in its insistence that no injustice can justify another.

This is not to argue that Israel should be immune from criticism. My point is that much of the criticism is at best misguided and at worst thinly veiled anti-Semitism.

Hamas, like Lebanon's Hezbollah, Isis in Syria and Iraq, Nigeria's Boko Haram, Somalia's Al-Shabaab and several other groups, are fighting not for the liberty and prosperity of Muslims but, ultimately, for the annihilation of Israel and the imposition of an Islamic state.

If Palestinians and other Muslims have to suffer for that aim, then so be it.

Well-meaning celebrities and broadcasters who, out of wilful ignorance and good intentions, hesitate to condemn Hamas as terrorists need to recognise this truth.

These are dark times for Israel and for the world, but there are some reasons to be hopeful.

This week's strong statement by America, Britain, France, Italy and Germany condemning Hamas while recognising the 'legitimate aspirations' of the Palestinians is a good sign.

Labour leader Sir Keir Starmer's condemnation of Hamas is particularly welcome, given that, until recently, his party was led by a man who called these butchers his 'friends'.

And if Israel and the Arab states do not allow their worst instincts to rule them, talks may continue — and might just secure peace in the longer term.

Hamas is another Isis. They are the enemies of Israel; they are the enemies of all Jews; they are the enemies of Palestinians; they are the enemies of peace and freedom. They are the enemies of Western civilisation itself.

It is about time they were recognised as such.

To achieve a two-state solution — with free and prosperous Palestinians and a safe Israel — the first, fundamental step is for people to stop chanting slogans in support of terrorists and murderers, and for everyone to cry in unison: 'Down with Hamas!'

==

Remember two years ago when everyone was arguing about whether the terrorist assault and takeover of Afghanistan by the Taliban was Trump's fault or Biden's fault? Today, people are scolding us not to call the same thing terrorism. It's "liberation" and "decolonization."

Remember in 2014 when Boko Haram kidnapped the children and everyone was campaigning for their safe return because it was an unconscionable act of terrorism? Now kidnapping and murdering children is an act of legitimate revolution.

Remember when kids rushed to support ISIS the instant they rose, and people were appalled and argued over how could it could be possible to support a terrorist state that seized illegitimate power? Online radicalization was blamed, and many didn't want to believe that indoctrination had primed it well in advance. Now, if your Gender and Postcolonial Studies haven't activated you to support a terrorist state that has seized illegitimate power in the region, you're a bigot.

Remember when we cheered on the Iranians for finally fighting back against the regime of terror that hung over them, hoping for them to finally win the war against the regime? Now, Israel has to simply take whatever assaults of terrorism are dealt at them; it is, as Douglas Murray said, is the only country which is not allowed to win a war.

Remember when certain people liked to call everyone who disagreed with them "Nazis" and that punching them was the right thing to do? Now the extermination of all the Jews is the "Be Kind" position.

How morally confused do you have to be, after all this, to side with the terrorists?

Hamas is to Palestine as ISIS is to Syria and the Taliban is to Afghanistan.

As I've posted about before, Islam is a supremacist ideology. Its goal is world domination. They tell us that. Loudly.

https://quranx.com/Hadith/Bukhari/USC-MSA/Volume-4/Book-52/Hadith-196

Narrated Abu Huraira: Allah 's Apostle said, "I have been ordered to fight with the people till they say, 'None has the right to be worshipped but Allah,' and whoever says, 'None has the right to be worshipped but Allah,' his life and property will be saved by me except for Islamic law, and his accounts will be with Allah, (either to punish him or to forgive him.)"

https://quranx.com/Hadith/Bukhari/USC-MSA/Volume-1/Book-8/Hadith-387

Narrated Anas bin Malik: Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) said, "I have been ordered to fight the people till they say: 'None has the right to be worshipped but Allah.' And if they say so, pray like our prayers, face our Qibla and slaughter as we slaughter, then their blood and property will be sacred to us and we will not interfere with them except legally and their reckoning will be with Allah."

Narrated Maimun bin Siyah that he asked Anas bin Malik, "O Abu Hamza! What makes the life and property of a person sacred?" He replied, "Whoever says, 'None has the right to be worshipped but Allah', faces our Qibla during the prayers, prays like us and eats our slaughtered animal, then he is a Muslim, and has got the same rights and obligations as other Muslims have."

https://quranx.com/Hadith/Muslim/USC-MSA/Book-41/Hadith-6985

Abu Huraira reported Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) as saying: The last hour would not come unless the Muslims will fight against the Jews and the Muslims would kill them until the Jews would hide themselves behind a stone or a tree and a stone or a tree would say: Muslim, or the servant of Allah, there is a Jew behind me; come and kill him; but the tree Gharqad would not say, for it is the tree of the Jews.

It has successfully weaponized intersectional shibboleths to trick useful idiots into thinking that the supremacist is the oppressed victim.

[horsegirlwarcrimes]

bury's tips to ACTUALLY combat writer's block

a lot of the time when you hear writers talk about writers block and what you can do to fight it, the advice that you hear is 'just write'

i took this to be true for a long time, and it's not the worst advice or whatever. at the end of the day anything you want to get done w writing does need to be solved by simply writing. but it took me until i was writing much more regularly to realize that actually thats nonsense

there are totally things you can do to help w writers block! ive been experiencing a bout of it recently, so i thought id share some tips partially to help out those who might read this, and partially to help myself out of that same slump

FEEDING THE MACHINE. in my experience, a lot of the time writers block is less of a blockage getting in the way of a flow of creativity and more like a machine running out of fuel. thoughts, ideas, and emotions CAN come from nowhere, but... usually they are coming from somewhere! i get my worst writers block when i am bored, under-stimulated, or stuck in my real life. try getting out into the world and doing something you don't usually do. this can be wild and exciting, or small and plain. take a different route home than usual, go for a drive somewhere cool, take yourself to a garden, bookstore, museum. if you're stuck at home try a new hobby; draw a weird picture, bake something, bird watch. this is really my top advice for myself at least, and something i have to remind myself when im despairing my own worth and dedication as a writer. you cant pour from an empty cup! you cant make something out of nothing! theres no point scraping yourself dry without trying to fill yourself back up.

FEEDING THE MACHINE... DIFFERENTLY. same principal applies here, but with what stories you are consuming. what actually got me to start writing and posting fic regularly was starting work in publishing that meant i was reading 1-2 books/manuscripts every day. they were often outside my usual reading genres, and sometimes i genuinely hated them... but they were food for the machine. the brain doesn't care if you like books about cows, the brain cares about variety and expanding its horizons. read something new and interesting! try a classic. try getting into queer classics you've never heard of if you're tired of old white men. read a murder mystery or a biography of a cool person or the history of the romance novel or frued's melancholia. try that new fantasy novel youve heard good things about. even if you only end up reading three chapters, thats still something new youre giving your brain. documentaries are also great for this if you're not feeling a new book; sit back and learn something.

CLEAN UP YOUR ENCLOSURE. humans feel yucky when we're in a yucky environment. cleaning is often exhausting and annoying and it sucks, but so is sitting in an environment that makes you feel bad. try clearing off your desk or table. set something nice you like nearby! choose a sunny spot to work in.

TALK YOUR IDEAS OUT. i really struggle with this one, because i dont like bothering people and im really embarrassed about my ideas, especially in the planning stage. it can really help though! try talking to yourself in the shower like you're being interviewed about your work. try going on some chat site, find a stranger to talk to, and infodump until they leave (or stay and you've made a new friend!). ask around for someone who wants to chat ideas; you can share yours, they can share theirs. if you have a loved one who would listen, ask if they would sit down for 45 minutes and let you talk.

LIMIT DISTRACTIONS. this one also sucks but yknow. turn on forest: stay focused. close discord. ask your dog politely to stop barking. get off tumblr and stop writing advice posts about writers block. turn on some ambient music and rain noises or chappell roan's red wine supernova on loop.

may add to this later as i think of others, but the point here is that writer's block isn't laziness and, even if you do in the end just need to write, there are ways to uplift yourself and make doing so more pleasant. these also dont fully apply to what i think the actual cause is of what we often call 'writer's block,' which is just exhaustion and lack of free time; i wouldn't consider that in itself writer's block. these tips are more for when you have that time, or you're making it, but you just cant seem to make it happen.

[carlos-in-glasses]

Hi!

I’m so amazed by the backgrounds you’ve built for TK and Carlos in Where All This Love Comes From! Can you talk a little about your process with that?

Hello! Thank you for this lovely question! I’m really happy you’re enjoying their backstories!

This gets a bit long, but basically: I've been collecting up backstory headcanons like a truffle pig since I discovered the show, and it became quickly evident that to ‘know’ Tarlos is to imagine them.

We have to assume that so many important things happen off screen, and we’re left to piece together why they are who they are when we meet them. So, my imagination naturally began filling in the blanks, but in a way that drove me so bananas I had to write it down - the images were strong!

In my first fic, Sensitivity, I brought three headcanons into it: Carlos had a crush on Scott Fitzsimmons, a lovely member of his high school wrestling team; TK self-harmed as a teen (which I think is a headcanon many people share); TK was gay-bashed by his own high school crush (the latter being a key point of Chapter 10 of Where All This Love Comes From, which I’m about to post!)

These and other headcanons became enduring, and I kept digging away and bringing TK and Carlos’ pasts into other fics: Wrestling Angels, Chasers, Afterglow of a Supernova, Man to Man, The Heart Behind the Shield. All are stand-alone but linked, and it seems that every time I elaborate on a backstory in one fic, I come away wanting to sink my teeth in deeper, so bring it out in another fic. And so on. Where All This Love Comes From is effectively my way of bringing lots of my backstory ideas from different fics into one place. The challenge within that was to knit them into the canon-compliant present day of Husband Era.

I think backstory is a really important part of storytelling in general, especially when the story effectively is the character and their motivations. The questions are always why and how, and we need an outlet for those. Why did Carlos marry Iris after coming out aged 17? Why did TK become an addict? How did Carlos eventually get to a place where he confidently danced with TK in public at the honky-tonk? How did the Carlos we know and love become so broken by grief for a man he had a difficult relationship with that he nearly killed a guy? It’s fascinating and I want to keep going! I’m writing a fic at the moment which yet again involves backstory but around a specific subject. I try to look the show being vague in its writing as a gift that keeps on giving 😅

[tojisangrylittlething]

supernova - megumi fushiguro x fem!reader

chapter three: the new girl

tw: canon typical violence, some cussing

wc: 4.5k

a/n: chapter 3 eeee! i know i know this may seem slow, but trust the process my friends! lot of story to tell and lot of love to build up hehe

slowly but surely, you and yuuji have settled into the school.

you both received your uniforms, the same basic navy uniform while yuuji's has a red hood attached, yours has a white one.

you're currently sitting in your dorm and browsing on your laptop. a knock on your door startles you out of your once peaceful state.

"oi, sister, get out here! gojo-sensei needs us for something!"

you shut your laptop with a sigh, a bit annoyed that your perusing was interrupted.

you stand up and walk toward your door, opening it with a bit too much force that it hits the wall.

you send a glare at your brother, "must you always be so loud! i was doing something!"

yuuji waves you off with a small laugh, "you can finish your shopping later, gojo-sensei called for us."

you let out a huff and rolled your eyes, "fine, let me put on my shoes."

you turn back to your room and grab your shoes from where they sit by the door. once you've slipped them on, you walk back out the door. shutting it until you hear it click.

yuuji begins to walk off and you follow, heading toward wherever gojo is.

---

you wind up at the entrance of the school, where your sensei stands alongside megumi.

"ah there you two are!" gojo says with a smile, he seems to smile an awful lot for a sorcerer.

yuuji sends a smile back at him as you cross your arms, "what did you need gojo-sensei? i was a bit busy."

yuuji scoffs at you, "yeah, too busy with online shopping."

you hit his arm and he holds his hands up defensively, giggling at you.

"they were having a sale, mind you, and i needed a new top!"

gojo laughs at the antics of you and your brother, then decides to speak up, "i'm sorry to ruin your free time, but we need to pick up a new student!"

yuuji looks at him quizzically, "new student?"

you groan at him, "is the new student a girl? please tell me she is because i'm getting tired of being surrounded by this much testosterone."

gojo looks at you blankly, "i'm going to pretend you didn't just hurt my feelings, but yes, she is."

you fist pump the air, while yuuji lets out a small groan.

"if she's anything like my sister, this is going to suck."

you smack him on the arm again, beginning to chase him and shout about how you're a fantastic sister.

megumi watches on, rolling his eyes slightly at the two of you, ready to just get on with it. were he and tsumiki always like this?

gojo walks toward you and yuuji, grabbing you both by the back of your hoods, effectively stopping the fight.

"alright students, as much as i would love to see you two fight, we do need to be going. yuuji, you're up front with me!"

as gojo walks back toward the car, megumi doesn't miss the small smirk gojo sends toward him.

asshole.

yuuji hops up front with gojo, and you make your way to the back of the car.

megumi opens the door for you with a small smile, and you give him the same bashful look.

"thank you, fushiguro." you say with a nod and hop in, sliding all the way over.

megumi nods at you and hops in himself.

with that, you're on your way to pick up the new student.

---

you, yuuji, and megumi are all standing on the busy streets. you can't help but stare at all of the shops and food vendors with curiosity, wishing you weren't here on business.

yuuji sits on top of a rail, eating a popsicle, "so wait, why are there only four first years? isn't that too few?"

megumi turns to look at him, "well, have you ever met anyone who can see curses before?"

yuuji stops eating then, simply holding the popsicle in his mouth for a moment while he thinks, "nope, i guess not."

megumi glances around at his surroundings and then back to yuuji, "that just proves how small a minority jujutsu sorcerers are."

you turn to the two boys then, remembering something megumi had said previously, "wait, didn't you say yuuji and i were the third and fourth?"

megumi looks at you then and sees the inquisitive look on your face, "their entry was decided a while ago. i'm sure you know what our school is like by now, everyone has unique circumstances."

"sorry for the wait!"

all of you turn your heads to see gojo walking up to you three casually. he then glances at you and yuuji, looking the both of you up and down. "i see your uniforms made it in time!"

you nod at him and look down at your uniform, "yeah, it's a perfect fit, wasn't expecting that if i'm honest."

yuuji looks at him, pulling on his uniform slightly, "though, it's a bit different from fushiguro's."

gojo holds a finger up in the air, "that's because they can be customized upon request."

you furrow your brows, "request? i never put in any request, did you yuuji?"

he shakes his head at you.

"that's because i did." gojo says with a grin.

you both look at him blankly, you scratch the back of your neck, "well thanks, i guess."

megumi glances at you out of the corner of his eye, "careful, gojo-sensei has a tendency to do things like that." he then looks back to gojo, glancing upward, "more importantly, why are we meeting up in harajuku?"

gojo just smiles at him, beginning to walk down the street, "it's what she asked for!"

all three of you begin walking after him, seemingly given no choice in the matter.

---

eventually, you find who you're looking for. she's not hard to miss, wearing the uniform while also yelling at some guy on the street. something about modeling you think.

"hey! over here!"

you jump slightly at the volume of gojo's voice, bumping into megumi in the process.

"sorry fushiguro, the big oaf scared me."

he glares at gojo then, but his gaze softens when he looks back at you, "don't worry about it, itadori. he scares all of us sometimes."

you giggle at that and find that megumi is also sporting a small smile. you look back at the girl, who has now made her way toward all of you.

"nobara kugisaki. be happy, boys. that i'm..." she cuts herself off then and notices you standing there. she grins slightly at the sight of you, "one of the women in your group. thought you said i was the only one sensei?"

gojo waves her off with a small laugh, "things happen, you should know that kugisaki."

she looks back at you and you give her a small smile, "y/n itadori, so happy to have another woman here." you lean forward, cupping your hand over one side of your mouth whispering, "please save me."

she leans her head back and lets out a full-belly laugh. she looks back at you, her eyes seeming to shine brightly, "we're going to get along so well."

once the rest of you introduce themselves, megumi turns to gojo, "are we going somewhere from here?"

gojo chuckles slightly and looks at all of you with a smile, but you can see the mischief hidden behind it.

"well, since all of you are together, we're going on a tour of tokyo!"

you, yuuji, and nobara all cheer in celebration. megumi looks at all of you discontentedly, wondering are they always like this?

---

"when you said a tour of tokyo, this is not what i thought you meant." nobara says, throwing her back with a groan.

all of you are standing in front of an abandoned building with a cemetery nearby. you can feel that same heaviness in the air like you did at the high school that night.

gojo continues to look at the building, "there's a curse here. the cemetery nearby only adds to it."

you pipe up then, "so they do really pop up more often around graves."

megumi turns to you, "the issue isn't the cemetery itself, it's the fact that people associate cemeteries with fear."

yuuji lets out a noise of realization then, "it was the same for schools, too, wasn't it?"

nobara then looks over at all of you, confusion and irritation all over her face, "hold up, they didn't even know that yet?"

megumi closes his eyes with a sigh. he then begins to explain to nobara how the two of you wound up as jujustu sorcerers. sukuna's finger, how yuuji swallowed it, and the mysterious powers you seem to possess.

nobara gasps at that, all of it seeming unbelievable to her, "he swallowed a special-grade cursed object? gross!" she gags at the thought of swallowing something so vile.

she turns to you then with an accusatory stare, "and you! you didn't swallow anything, so how could you even do that? especially with no experience?!"

you shrug your shoulders at her, "i don't know. it just kind of happened."

she opens her mouth, probably wanting to ask you more questions when gojo cuts her off.

"i want to know what all of you are capable of, just think of this as a field test."

he turns around, finally looking at all of you. he points at you, nobara, and yuuji. "you three go exorcise the curse inside the building."

you all let out noises of disapproval, not wanting to go into the building.

"i thought only curses could exorcise curses, right? my sister and i don't know any jujutsu yet." yuuji says while you nod along with him.

gojo looks at yuuji then, that same irritating smirk he seems to always wear, "you're practically half curse already. there's cursed energy flowing throughout both of your bodies."

gojo then looks at you this time, continuing on, "though controlling that energy isn't something you can learn overnight, so use this."

he hands yuuji a weapon then, it looks like a large knife with a long handle on the end of it. you can sense that it's surrounded by energy.

you turn to look at gojo then, "but what about me sensei? do i get a cool weapon to go in there with?"

he shakes his head at you and you gasp, "how am i supposed to defend myself? are you trying to kill me?" you can't deny the irritation that fills you up.

"i want you to use your powers."

you feel your jaw go slack, not believing what you're hearing, "sensei, i didn't even know i could do that! i have no idea how to use it, let alone control it, how the hell am i supposed to use them?"

gojo crosses his arms, unphased by the look you're giving him. "you used them that night right?"

you nodded at him, "yeah but-"

he cuts you off, putting his hands on his hips, "then i know you can use them now, you just have to trust yourself."

you gulp and look back at the building, feeling the anxiety consume your body.

nobara scoffs then, making her way toward the building. you and yuuji look at each other, he shrugs and walks after her. you begin to follow.

"one more thing."

you all turn to look at gojo.

he's looking directly at yuuji, "don't let sukuna out. if you use him, you'll get rid of all the curses nearby in a flash, but you'll also drag everyone around into it."

yuuji gives him a smile and a thumbs up, "got it."

nobara lets out an exasperated sigh, "hurry up!"

all three of you then make your way into the abandoned building, nervous about what's waiting for you inside.

---

megumi and gojo sit outside on a bench, just across from the building.

megumi cannot stop thinking of every possible thing that could go wrong. what if they get hurt? what if sukuna finds a way to be let out? what if, what if, what if...

he shakes his head, trying to wash away the thoughts plaguing his brain. he turns to gojo, "i think i'll go, too."

gojo just sits there casually, hands on his knees, staring ahead to where his 3 students just walked into.

"don't push yourself. you're still recovering."

megumi gulps, looking back toward the building. "but someone needs to keep an eye on yuuji, right?"

gojo nods, "true, but the one we're testing is nobara."

megumi's mind flashes to you then. the small smile and thanks you gave him, the giggle you let out at his joke about gojo.

"but what about y/n? you heard her, she doesn't know how to control them yet."

gojo turns to look at him then, smirk adorning his features, "have a little faith in your girlfriend will you? she's got this."

megumi feels his face heat up when gojo says that. he's sure that he's glowing bright red.

"she's not my girlfriend!"

gojo laughs at his student, enjoying the new way he's found to torture the poor boy.

"whatever you say, megumi."

megumi just grumbles to himself and crosses his arms over his chest. he can only hope that this goes smoothly.

---

"what a pain. why do i have to deal with curses after coming all the way to tokyo?"

you and nobara are walking up some stairs with yuuji just a few paces behind. you look at nobara and can see frustration seeping out of her.

"isn't that what you came here for?"

nobara doesn't say anything. she suddenly stops in her tracks, turning to face you and yuuji. "let's split up. i'll start from the top and make my way down. you two start from the bottom."

she turns back toward the stairs, "let's get this over with quick and grab some sushi from ginza."

yuuji continues to look at her, a bit irritated at her request, "hold on a minute, let's take this a bit more seriously."

you walk toward her and grab her upper arm, causing her to face you again. "we shouldn't split up, isn't that the number one rule in horror movies? this is a bad idea."

a scowl then grows on her face and her eyes are furrowed together in anger. she rips her arm away from your hand and turns to you fully.

she walks closer so that she's directly in your face, "i don't wanna hear it from two people who were normies until recently. now get moving." with that, she turns back to the stairs and takes off.

you can feel yourself becoming angry as well, clenching your fists and wanting to take off after her. feeling the need to give her a piece of your mind.

you feel a hand on your shoulder and your body goes stiff. turning your head you see yuuji looking at you with an apologetic smile.

"come on."

you turn back to where nobara once stood and let out a scoff, remembering the interaction.

"bitch." you can't help but mumble out.

yuuji chuckles at you. you two make your way back to the ground floor.

while walking, you hear something coming from above you. you both look up toward the noise, seeing something reaching for the both of you.

without hesitating, yuuji cuts off the appendage and moves you behind him.

turning to look at the source, you see a bug-like curse standing in front of you.

it begins to charge at the both of you then, which causes yuuji to begin running at it.

you can't help but watch as yuuji moves through the air like a professional gymnast. slicing its arms and stomach, then eventually landing the final blow in the head.

it whines out in pain and twitches on the floor. when yuuji pulls the blade out, that's when it begins to decay away in a cloud of purple and black smoke.

yuuji looks up at you with an enthusiastic smile, a twinkle dancing around in his pupils, "sister, did you see that?"

you shake your head and giggle at his antics, "i did brother, you can really move."

he hops up off the ground, dusting off his clothes and makes his way back to you. "come on, let's keep going."

you both continue on, keeping an eye out for any other curses that might be lurking in the shadows.

---

nobara finds herself in a room with a handful of mannequins opposite of her. she's already sensed where the curse is, but she's waiting for it to appear.

she sighs out, her body emanating one thing, boredom.

"you think you're actually hidden there?"

she pulls two nails out of her pack along with her hammer, holding them in front of her.

"if you won't come out, i'll just exorcise you there."

she gets herself into a fighting stance, imbuing the nails with cursed energy. she tosses them and hits them with her hammer, letting them fly directly into the head of one of the mannequins.

the mannequin begins to fall backward, not quite hitting the ground. multiple eyes begin to sprout from its head and lay eyes on nobara.

as soon as it tries to take a step, the head explodes, sending the mannequin into a crumpled heap on the floor.

she drops her head and closes her eyes, proud of what she just accomplished.

she hears something then, looking back in front of her, a piece of wood falls onto the floor. revealing a small boy, curled into himself and shaking with fear.

she shakes her head, feeling sympathy for the child who probably just snuck in for some fun.

she walks toward him, stopping a few feet away. leaning down to his level, she gives him a reassuring smile, "hey, it's all right now. come on out."

he just shakes his head at her, seeming too scared to move.

she stands up straight and turns away from him, closing her eyes once again, "guess it's true that kids don't warm up to beautiful women. i suppose i'll call the twins."

the kid screams out then, "wait! don't leave me here!"

nobara turns around at the sound, seeing the boy reaching for her.

unfortunately, that's not the only thing she sees.

she sees a hand begin to reach for the boy's head from inside the wall, latching itself onto him.

it steps out of the wall, revealing itself.

a curse that, almost, resembles a disgusting cave troll. it dangles the boy in front of itself, waving him around like some toy.

nobara immediately gets ready to fight, but then realizes something.

she could hit the boy.

she sees the curse dig its claws into him, making blood drip from the punctures.

her eyes widen, trying to figure out what she can do. her mind going blank, unsure as to how to solve this. damn it!

the curse cackles at nobara, knowing the difficult position it has put her in. it knows she's angry and it only wants to rile her up more, so she'll make a mistake.

nobara realizes this as she understands what she has to do.

she drops her tools and bag, holding her arms in the air.

"i'm unarmed, let the boy go."

the curse grins maliciously at her, not dropping the boy, nor showing any signs it will do so.

she slumps dejectedly, all fight leaving her body.

"i wish i could have seen saori-chan one last time."

she hears something then, a rumbling noise from the direction of the curse. but that wasn't the curse was it?

a hand punches through the wall, beginning to reach around the open space it created.

"huh, i missed it?"

"good job brother, fantastic aim."

nobara knows those two voices.

the wall then bursts open, revealing none other than yuuji and y/n itadori.

the curse jumps back, boy still in hand, but it looks scared.

yuuji cuts off its arm, catching the boy before he hits the ground. yuuji kicks the curse in the face, using the momentum to bounce back away from it, the boy still in his grasp.

you walk up to stand next to your brother, looking down at the boy with a smile, "you okay?"

the boy nods with a slight blush on his cheeks.

you all look back at the curse, seeing it cradle its now severed arm. it groans in pain and begins to try and disappear through the wall.

"it's getting away!"

you don't even think before you run straight at the curse.

"sister what are you doing!"

you tackle the curse, which unfortunately sends you both flying out the window.

"y/n!"

you hear both yuuji and nobara shout for you, but you're not letting this thing get away. hurting an innocent child? now that's just uncalled for.

you feel that same electrical charge from the night at the school. it surges through you, but you aren't sure how to use it to exorcise this curse.

"you just have to trust yourself."

you remember gojo's words from earlier and close your eyes, honing all of your focus into using your newfound gift.

you open your eyes, looking directly at the curse who is staring back at you with nothing but fear.

you hold your hand up in the air, gathering some of your energy until it forms a ball of white light. you shove your hand into its head as it whimpers in pain.

the light overtakes the curse and yourself, becoming a glowing orb heading straight to the ground.

---

megumi and gojo hear glass breaking above them. a curse flies out of the window and then something, or someone follows with it.

"itadori!" megumi shouts, his eyes wide with panic. he turns to gojo, "we have to exorcise it."

gojo just smiles at him, waving off his worries. "just wait."

megumi looks back up toward the sky. he sees that you and the curse have disappeared. a ball of white light has engulfed you and the curse.

megumi can't help but watch what is happening, fearing the absolute worst. his heart is pounding and he's biting the dry skin off his lips, the anticipation of what might happen absolutely killing him.

the sphere of light crashes into the ground, debris flying all over the place.

megumi put his hands up in front of his face to block any objects coming his way.

he looks back up and sees smoke everywhere. the more he looks, that's when he sees a white glow inside it.

he continues to stare, just waiting for all of the dust to settle. god, he hates waiting.

once everything does clear, he's shocked by what he sees.

the curse lays dead on the ground, beginning to rot away with purple and black hues swirling around it. the head of it completely disintegrated.

then, there's you.

you stand there, breathing heavily. he can't see your beautiful eye color anymore, they have been replaced by a bright glow. your fists, hell, your whole body is covered in it. the color white surrounds you entirely.

there's only one word that megumi can think of to describe the presence you give off, intimidating.

yuuji and nobara have now made their way out of the building. they're out of breath from taking off after you. the small boy sits comfortably on yuuji's back.

"damn, they're all crazy."

megumi looks back at gojo, who wears a proud smile on his face.

he looks back to you and sighs with relief, closing his eyes and rubbing them with his hands.

"what the hell was that?" nobara screams, now standing by megumi and gojo.

you just stand there, you haven't come out of your state yet.

megumi approaches you cautiously, not wanting to startle you.

"it's okay itadori, it's over."

you simply stare back, breathing still ragged and fists still clenched.

megumi makes a move to put his hand on your arm, only trying to calm you. when you suddenly grab it firmly, pulling it away from you. that's when he feels the enormous amount of power from you, sending shockwaves through him like he just put his finger in an electrical socket.

"megumi." he hears gojo say, but he chooses to ignore him.

megumi can't help it, he is constantly drawn to you, like a moth to a flame. he feels this incessant need to protect you.

he feels your grip loosen and makes the move again. this time, successfully landing on your arm.

he rubs up a down softly, "it's done, you can let go."

he feels your power drain away, your eyes turning back to normal and your breathing slow. you unclench your fists and close your eyes briefly.

you open them and see everyone looking at you. you then look at megumi who wears a soothing look on his face. you feel your face warm up, loving the soft expression on him. it suits him, he should do it more.

you grap his hand on your arm and squeeze it lightly, "thank you, fushiguro."

the small smile you send megumi has him screaming internally.

you go to take a step, but feel yourself wobble, feeling unsteady on your feet.

"slowly, itadori."

you snort, looking over at him with a playful gaze, "i have a feeling this won't be the last time you say that."

he chuckles a bit, looking at you with the same gaze, "probably not."

you hear someone clear their throat and look over to see gojo staring at the both of you, that shit eating grin plastered on his lips.

"if you two are done, we have to get this boy home."

you and megumi both realize how close you are to each other, your hand still resting on his. both looking at each other with wide eyes, you jump away, scratching the back of your neck.

"sorry sensei." megumi says, and walks off toward everyone without another glance at you.

you also walk toward them on unsteady feet.

"y/n and i will take the boy home, you all go back and get your rest."

everyone nods and yuuji comes up to you, giving you a hug. he pulls back with a smile and ruffles your hair, "good job sister."

you smile back and thank him. he turns back and all of them begin to take the trek back to the school.

---

you and gojo have dropped the boy off, who thanked you with a wide smile and a hug.

now the two of you walk in silence, enjoying the beautiful day.

"so, when are you and megumi going to get together?"

you stop in your tracks and stare at gojo with wide eyes.

"excuse me?"

gojo stops as well, staring at you with that same fucking smirk, and at this moment you want to smack it off of him.

"i'm not blind you know."

you begin to stutter over your words, unsure of what to say next. your face growing warm in embarrassment.

gojo can't help but laugh at you. a genuine laugh that comes straight from the gut.

once his laughing fit stops, he pats you on the back with an approving smile.

"don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

with that, he begins to walk, continuing on the path to get back to the school.

you can't help but smile to yourself, running after gojo to try and keep up with his long strides.

tags: @kasumitenbaz @ay0nha

[samsalami66]

Last Line Tag Game

I've been tagged by @kydrogendragon, thank you so much darling!!

So my actual last line is from a little piece of original fiction currently under the very creative name of Necromancy Story.

So here a little excerpt from that!

Will I follow the fate of our ancestors, and become soil as black as the dying souls of our enemies? Does my legacy lie in the roots of the Sunrise that we have planted when I was a babe? Are their blue tips the closest I will ever be to our Lord, to my life of peace? I do not wish for my story to start and end a tragedy, oh Mother. But I see no end to the pain, I see no escape from the path I am following. There are no crossroads, no decisions to be made. There is just the path, and the path is clad in darkness, surrounded by the screams of aching limbs, by the foul stench of the Rotting.

But, since I believe a lot more people might be interested in my last line of No Honour Amongst Justice, you get a snippet of Chapter 9, as a treat!

“Presumably, he went after the Corinthian.” “Alone?” The word felt like certain death on his tongue, but it didn't taste of his own blood being shed.  It tasted of dying stars and supernovae, the very ashes of life.  “Yeah. Alone. Listen, Hob, I know I should have done more to try and stop him, should have taken him and bound him to a chair or something, but-” Matthew stopped talking as Hob raised a hand into his direction and let out a shaky breath.  “How long since he left?” The Raven seemed to deflate at the question, a frown forming between his brows.  “Three hours, give or take.” His voice was quiet as he answered. Aware.  Hob ran a shaky hand over his face, the motion grounding in its simplicity.  Three hours. Three hours in which Dream had been alone with the Corinthian. 

Tagging @seiya-starsniper @im-not-corrupted and @chaosheadspace (no pressure of course!!)

[thepsychewrites]

The Complexities of a Black Hole — Pt. One

A Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Series

Summary: We learn the story of how you first met Bucky, and the whirlwind of emotions that followed. An evening of training and a cozy night spent with you and Bucky watching the Princess Bride made for the best day. Little did you know that only hours later something would happen to Bucky that would change your lives forever.

Warnings: This series and my entire blog is 18+ ONLY. MINORS / AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. Frequent use of heavy and descriptive language. Mostly angst and fluff. Mentions of blood/slight and very brief gore, TWS, self deprecating thoughts, allusions to depression? If I missed anything please let me know!!

Word Count: 5.2K

A/N: The first part of TCoaBH. I wanna give a big thank you to my mutuals that helped me and supported me through this series so far with ideas and beta reading ( and a big thank you to @fandoms-writings for beta reading this chapter!! I love you so much Remi 😚) & etc!! I love you all so much. This series is my child and I’m very excited to share it with you all. Any reblogs, comments, and feedback is highly appreciated <3 Enjoy.

Main Masterlist

At the center of nearly every large galaxy in the known universe lies a black hole.

When a star reaches the end of its life cycle, it can have a dramatic exit, compressing its matter into the smallest form it can take and eventually collapsing. In some instances, when this star runs out of fuel and says its final goodbyes, it bursts into a bright supernova, leaving behind a new entity in its place – a black hole.

Bucky Barnes was a black hole. At least – that’s what he would compare himself to. Even on a good day, Bucky couldn’t help but to see himself as a gigantic pit of despair and darkness, sucking the life from any room he enters and being a massive inconvenience to everyone in close proximity.

Similar to a black hole, light never escaped Bucky. If you were to ask anyone who spent longer than an hour around him how often he smiled, the unanimous answer would sound something along the lines of, “Oh, well – I don’t actually think I’ve ever seen him smile.” Unless, of course, you were Steve Rogers. But even Steve would tell you that a grin from Bucky came few and far between, and felt a lot less genuine than before.

Similar to a black hole, Bucky Barnes was programmed to destroy. At least, that’s what he was told time and time again. And it’s what he has come to believe, no matter how many times he was reassured that he isn’t at fault for his own sins – Bucky would carry that belief to the grave.

Black holes are only dangerous if you get too close. The same can be said for Bucky Barnes.

Despite these deeply held beliefs, he had been doing better in the last few years.

Returning to a more normal life after being captured, tortured, and used by a terrorist organization for over seventy years was nothing short of difficult. Bucky had to relearn every aspect of life. How he needed to dress, how to tend to his basic needs like showering more than once a week and eating three meals a day, how to talk to other people in a friendly manner, how to ask for things when he needed help, how to use current technology – it was a tedious process. Most days he felt lost, like he had woken up on a foreign exoplanet where the technology was wildly advanced and nobody could understand a word he said. Actually – that’s exactly what it seemed like. On this planet, he was the alien. He was the oddity, the rare specimen that nobody could comprehend. It was isolating and rather miserable most of the time.

He woke up every day grateful for how far he’s come, but fearing the worst when he thought about his future. Steve compared him to an injured bird once – that despite his clipped wings, he’ll learn to fly again. Bucky scoffed at that – saying the only bird in the building was Sam. He was making improvements, slowly but surely, and everyone noticed.

However, there was one thing Bucky would always be cautious of, especially now in his newfound life.

Change.

It was inevitable, that much he was sure of. It threw him for a loop, made his mind stir with nagging thoughts all through the day and night. Even the little things would drive him crazy, like when Tony had all of the washers and dryers replaced and now they made a different chiming sound when the cycles were done. Something as simple as that nearly sent Bucky into a full blown panic attack. But it wasn’t just the little things like unfamiliar sounds – it was the people he had met along the way. The new faces and names he had to learn – living and working and experiencing life with them, getting to know them inside and out. What motivated them, what made them tick, what sent them spiraling – Bucky learned as much as he could.

The biggest change Bucky had experienced in the last year was you.

You came crashing into his life – quite literally – seven months ago. One afternoon Bucky was walking the halls of the Compound, trying to make his way outside so he could run on the track and “enjoy the fresh air for once” as Steve had said in a poor attempt to convince him, when, after turning a corner a little too quickly, you collided right into him. Apologies fled your mouth, backing away with wide eyes and looking as mortified as the time when Bucky walked in on Sam getting out of the shower, no towel in sight. The decorations you had shoved between your arms for your bedroom ended up scattered along the floor from the impact, little knickknacks rolling around the both of you. Feeling heavily embarrassed, Bucky crouched down, picking up the trinkets and offering to bring them to your room.

It was a memorable introduction to say the least. It still made him laugh when he thought back on it.

Bucky had always found it difficult to make friends. Even growing up, the only person he ever allowed himself to really get close to was Steve. Then you came along and flipped Bucky’s world upside down and inside out. There was something about you that enraptured Bucky, something indescribable that made him feel okay around you. Like the sky opened up and he could breathe again. It was an unseeable gravitational force that kept him within arms length at all times, which made it easy to get to know one another. Sure – there was a continuous hesitation from Bucky at the start, but he overcame that feeling rather fast.

“Tony didn’t tell you? She worked with Nasa for a while as a research scientist. She’s smarter than both of us combined, Buck.” Steve had informed Bucky a week after you moved in. Bucky was confused as to why he hadn’t seen much of you during mission briefings, questioning Steve on the matter. “Fury doesn’t want her in the field… something along the lines of ‘Would you send Albert Einstein into the Invasion of Normandy?’ Apparently she’s in the labs most of the day, helping Stark and Banner with the fun stuff.”

Bucky remembers the first time he saw you in the labs, with a large pair of safety glasses on as you handled some intense vials of chemicals, your tongue peeking from the side of your mouth as you focused, not even hearing him enter the room. He remembers tucking his leather-clad fist into the pocket of his trousers, the widening pit in his stomach dissolving at the sight of the insanely cute smile you flashed at him when you finally noticed his presence, muttering an apology as you hurried to put the liquids away to speak to him.

Nobody had ever smiled at Bucky like that before when he entered a room. He was used to grimaces, horribly hidden eye-rolls, or heavy sighs from others.

But you changed the game.

Eventually, he came to see you as a good friend. A close friend. Maybe even… a best friend?

Bucky wasn’t sure what having a best friend was supposed to feel like. He knew Steve was his best friend, and nobody could really replace him, but he and Steve had known each other their whole lives. They had earned the title of best friends when they were still in grade school, so it was natural for them to be close to one another, to care for one another. Steve could even be categorized as a brother at this point. But Bucky hadn’t made a best friend since.

Is this what it felt like?

He sighed into the open air, his hands twisting around a damp, sweat-ridden towel as he watched you saunter around the sparring ring with Sam. Despite the fact that you hardly ever went out on missions with them, you still enjoyed the physical training they offered to you when you joined. Bucky’s thoughts were getting the best of him again, distracting him when he was supposed to be focused, especially right now while they were getting some sparring in. He wiped the towel over his dripping forehead one last time before tossing it on the bench and standing up, fixing his hair in a low bun and making his way back over to the ring.

Bucky leaned against a corner post, his eyes following you intently as you circled Sam, fists balled up to block your chest, chin high with unwavering confidence.

At least, it was unwavering until you noticed Bucky’s stare on you. “Hey Buck, back for seconds?” You teased, your smirky grin only lasting a moment before your mouth fully opened in a gasp, your leg being pulled forward by Sam's causing you to lose your balance and land with a thump on the padded floor. A groan slipped from you, your hand going back to cradle your head. “God, Sammy, thanks for the concussion.”

A soft snicker came from Bucky, fortunately not loud enough for you or Sam to hear.

Sam simply shrugged his shoulders, offering a hand to help you up, his other sitting disappointingly on his hip. “Mhmm. You would’ve been able to counter that if you were paying any attention.”

Begrudgingly, you took it, pulling off the floor and regaining your balance. Once on your feet, you looked at Bucky and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, whatever. This is why I leave the crime fighting to you guys.” You mumbled, poorly concealing the smile creeping to your face as your hands moved to straighten your disheveled clothes.

God that smile.

Bucky would do just about anything to keep a permanent smile pulling at your pretty lips. It was like every evil thing that has ever plagued the Earth just disappeared when you beamed like that. Like nothing bad could ever happen again. And the way it made your eyes narrow and your nose scrunch up had Bucky’s cheeks turning pink, his head ducking down before you or Sam could notice. By the time his heart fell back into a normal pace, Sam was out of the ring and gathering his things while you chugged down some water.

“Hey, don’t forget,” Sam called to Bucky, his gym bag thrown over his shoulder as he faced the exit, “we still have that briefing tonight at nine for the trip to D.C tomorrow, so be there or be square. I think we all remember the scolding Steve gave you last time for poking around and being late. Again.” He said before promptly leaving the room, the glass door softly shutting behind him.

“Yeah Buck, you heard the man. Can’t be late again or Steve’s gonna get on your ass.” You said from the other side of the ring, your back against the rubber ropes.

Bucky scoffed, knowing it was you and your stupid new bedazzling gun that made him late last time. It took Bucky a solid four hours to pry the tiny fake jewels off of his holster, and of course it was right before a meeting with Fury. “You’re annoying.” He said with utmost sincerity.

Once again, Bucky was graced with a pull of your lips. “I know.” You said equally sincere.

There was a lingering gaze you left upon Bucky, a soft tingle traveling up the length of his spine.

He watched as your hands met at your front, wringing together in a shy manner. “So – you don't have to be at the briefing until nine… right?”

Bucky hummed.

“Wanna get a start on the Princess Bride, then? It’s next on our list.”

Oh, the list. A list you had curated specifically to get Bucky caught up on the wondrous twenty first century and all of the literature and films he had missed out on. The list was practically a mile long, filled with some of your favorites along with other suggestions from your teammates. Lately you had been raving about a book and film called The Princess Bride, a title that made Bucky assume it was just another fairytale story. But he would never be one to deny you, especially when you looked up at him with an excited sparkle in your eyes. Usually if a film accompanied a novel, you’d read the book first and then watch the movie adaptation, but without a copy of The Princess Bride on hand, the film alone would have to do.

Bucky allowed his lips to form a gentle grin, his heart beating wildly yet again. “Of course, let me shower first and we’ll start it.”

Thirty minutes later, after the both of you had scrubbed the sweat away from your bodies and freshened up, Bucky had found you in your bedroom with the lights off and an array of snacks laid across the foot of the bed. You were already laying down, clad in a navy long sleeved cotton tee and a tight pair of black shorts that left your silky smooth legs on display, a t.v remote in your hands, and your thumb pressing some buttons before the movie was pulled up. Upon seeing Bucky’s large frame leaning against the doorway you ushered him in, patting the empty spot of the mattress next to you.

Your eyes scanned his body as he moved to sit down, his plain black t-shirt hugging the muscles across his chest, his metal arm free of restriction. This is the Bucky you loved to see. He grew to be comfortable around you, especially in the quietness of your room where nobody else was looking in. Nobody else was watching him or expecting anything from him. It was just the two of you, exactly the way you both liked it.

Bucky huffed as he shifted his body to match your relaxed position, his hands clasping at his stomach. Though he was positive he couldn’t match your internal calmness, not when he could smell the coconut shampoo you had used in the shower, or the vanilla conditioner you often paired with it. The scent alone made his body tense up, his lungs filling to the brim with every breath he took.

“Now you have to pay attention to this one, Buck. It’s one of my favorites.” You teased quietly so as not to startle him in the current silence that surrounded you.

“I'll pay attention, don't worry.” He quipped back with a smirk, knocking his sweatpant covered knee into yours.

With another shared smile you finally pressed play, the opening scene flooding your room with bright colors. You leaned down to grab some of the snacks you prepared, a large bowl of popcorn, a bag of pretzels, and a few boxes of candy.

Bucky was slightly caught off guard, his brows furrowed as he turned to look at you. “I thought this was about a princess, who’s this little kid?” He asked, confused as to why a sickly boy was on the screen. “And who is that? His grandpa or something?”

“Just keep watching Buck, you’ll get it soon.” You giggled, knowing he'd have plenty of other questions and concerns as the movie played on.

As the old man sat down and opened the book he would read to his grandson, Bucky seemed to connect the dots a little better. He stayed quiet for only a minute longer before he had more commentary to spew.

Bucky wasn't expecting the film to be as lovey dovey as it was, especially in the first few minutes alone.“As you wish? This Westley guy sounds a bit whipped for that Buttercup, don't you think?” Bucky mumbled in between bites of popcorn, the bowl now resting in his lap.

You hummed in slight agreement. “I dunno, I think it's kinda sweet.”

Kinda sweet? Hmm, maybe Bucky should be taking notes on this, then. The way in which Westley looked at Buttercup oddly reminded him of how he often looked at you, with nothing but sincerity and reverence in his eyes. But the narrator said Westley was in love with Buttercup, and surely what Bucky felt for you didn’t mean he was in love.

Right?

As the movie continued, a story of princesses, sword fights, bad guys, adventure and love was unfurling before his eyes, Bucky tried his hardest to stay focused. He found his attention being swept elsewhere when you suddenly shifted closer to him, your head resting gently on the edge of his shoulder. He could feel each warm breath you exhaled against his skin, his nerve endings sparking. When you curled even closer into his side you had no idea you had just started a wildfire within the man. The heat of a thousand suns burned inside of Bucky from something as simple as your body next to his. It was voluntary, your desire to close the physical gap between the two of you. It didn’t gross you out, it didn’t make you flinch or cower. He nearly had the idea to pull you in further by wrapping his arm over your shoulder, but would that be too far? The second he said fuck it and began moving his arm, you spoke, stopping him in his tracks.

“Shit, is it nearly nine already?” You suddenly called, your eyes pointed up to the clock on the wall. “You should probably head to the meeting room before Cap comes and busts my door down.” With a quick press to the pause button the movie had stopped, the wildfire dying out as you pushed to sit upright.

His brows furrowed. “You’re not coming with?”

You hummed, a look of contemplation spreading across your features. “Do you want me to come with?” You asked sweetly, your fingers wrapping over the plastic remote as you laid it on your night stand.

All Bucky gave was a nod, but that was enough for you.

Bucky was silent as he walked next to you, too many thoughts invading his head to think about a single one clearly, let alone engage in small talk while he was at it. He was spacing out, the only thing keeping him tethered to the present was your blurry figure walking ahead of him to the elevators. He didn’t register getting in the elevator, nor stepping out and moving towards the meeting room, and not even sitting down beside you at the long conference table. Bucky eventually tuned back in when your knee began knocking against his. 

“Earth to Buck. You with us, bud?” You whispered next to his ear, his eyes focusing in on your concerned face, your look mirrored by Steve’s and Sam’s across from him. 

With a shake of his head he chuckled, playing off whatever happened. “Yeah, sorry – what were you saying?” Bucky turned to meet Steve’s eyes, the fog barely clearing. 

Steve was used to that foreign look on Bucky’s face, so he knew to tread lightly and keep the teasing at bay. “I said that I was glad you could make it on time, that’s all. Anyway, now that we’re here, let’s get started, shall we?” Steve said with the authoritative Captain voice he always used during meetings. He stood, shuffling to a wide screen and began detailing tomorrow's plans. Bucky was counting on you to be paying close attention, because he could hardly hear Steve, the muddled words drowned out behind the beats of his frantic heart. He was saying something about an abandoned building Fury had mentioned, a possible threat.

Like the world would run out of those any time soon.

Bucky slowly fell out of his spaced-out state, suddenly noticing the gentle circular patterns being drawn against his silver arm. The tips of your nails pressed against the chipped plates of his prosthetic, the motions barely registering from how soft and lazily you scrapped them across.

A thought crossed his mind just then, a memory seared into his brain of the first time you touched him.

“He doesn’t like hugs.” Steve had mumbled in your ear, pulling away from your embrace only to lean down uncomfortably in his gear and tactile suit. You were mostly hidden behind Steve’s large, towering frame, peeking out from around his bicep to study the panting man behind him.

The two had just returned to the Compound from a grueling mission, one that left a few civilians in critical care from the cruel acts of another narcissistic, egotistical evil-doer. They both came back utterly defeated and in low spirits, Bucky’s glazed-over eyes casting downward and refusing to meet yours as you stood before him.

Steve eventually walked away, his slight limp horribly masked by his ‘if I’m still breathing, I’m fine’ attitude, leaving you and Bucky alone in the eerily silent living room. You could hear the low, quick draws of breath invade his nose, the slump of his shoulders falling deeper and deeper by the second. The guy looked like he was going to fall over from exhaustion.

By this point, you and Bucky had shared a handful of conversations, a few of them lingering far past his normal social encounters. He was beginning to feel less guarded around you, noticing how isolated rays of the sun began to penetrate his long-standing concrete fortress he built for protection. So, when you stepped closer to his cowering body, he didn’t feel the sudden urge to back away. He didn’t feel the need to run and hide.

And when your arms opened for him, ever so carefully wrapping around his wide torso, your hands clasping at the bottom of his back – he had no urge other than to stay. He let you hold him for minutes, the two of you never leaving your spot, your feet planted solidly to the ground using your strength to hold the both of you steady.

He didn’t tell you at the time, but being so delicately shielded in your arms was the first time he felt safe that whole day. That whole week. That whole month.

No, who was he kidding? It’s the first time he felt that safe all fucking year.

Now, he longed for a touch he didn’t deserve. He yearned for the safety you provided, whether it was your body against his or your fingers grazing down his horrid, scar-ridden arm. It slowed the taunting words that raced through his head. It steadied his wretched heart. It was more generosity than he could ever hope to ask for.

“…So as I said, it should be an easy in and out. Fury deemed it fully abandoned, and from what I saw of it, I’d have to agree. The jet is leaving from hangar three at six sharp, so don’t be late. Especially you, Buck.”

The call of his name caused his eyes to shoot up, meeting the stern face of his captain. “Yeah, six sharp, got it.” Bucky confirmed with a slight nod. His mind was still wandering with the comforting drag of your fingers, wondering how long you’d hang onto him.

Eight minutes. That’s how long. Bucky counted each ticking second.

You eventually pulled away from him when the two of you stood in front of your bedroom door, Bucky walking back with you in a somber silence. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of another mission without you, even with Steve’s promise of returning the same day. Bucky didn’t want you to worry, and he knew that worrying was what you did best.

“Just be careful, alright? I know you always are but… still. No stupid decisions.” Your touch didn’t leave for good, your chest meeting his as your arms found their favorite spot against his waist. The top of your head was so close to his mouth, he had no other choice but to plant a short kiss to it, a lingering promise of his return mumbled quickly after.

Bucky kept his eyes on you as you disappeared into your room for the night, standing outside your door until he heard you climb into bed. It seemed as though, whether he was aware of it or not, Bucky might have been just as whipped for you as Westley was for Buttercup. Overstaying his welcome, he waited until the soothing sounds of your soft snoring floated to his ears, finally allowing his legs to carry him to his own bed.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Maybe you had every right in the world to worry.

Maybe Bucky wasn’t as strong as he thought he was.

Maybe he wasn’t fit for this job anymore.

Maybe he just screwed up the life he had begun building for himself.

Maybe what everyone else told him was true.

Maybe Bucky Barnes was nothing but a monster.

Frantic voices filled the air of the Compound, deafening orders being yelled into the room, your teammates running around with wide eyes.

Standing by the jet, motionless and panicked, you felt close to vomiting everywhere. What they said couldn’t be true, right? It couldn’t be. You refused to believe it. You refused to believe Bucky did what they reported back. The Bucky you knew couldn't have. He had gotten better, he was doing so good… making incredible progress. Surely it wasn’t that easy for him to re-enter that old headspace.

Right?

The Earth stopped spinning the moment you saw him. It seemed like the man you talked to barely ten hours ago had left, replaced with a stranger you could hardly recognize.

Bucky was unconscious, his body restrained and bloodied as he was dragged along the floor with Steve on one side and Sam on the other to carry him upright. His entire tactile suit was lathered in crimson, the color consuming him entirely. Steve was seething, his face sweaty and flushed, the veins in his neck and along his forehead protruding in anger as he barked at everyone to move out of the way. Sam was no better, his frazzled state only partially concealed by the stony expression he wore. You were frozen solid, unable to process the scene unfolding in front of your face.

As the men came closer you realized that Sam wasn’t holding onto Bucky’s left arm, but instead his shaking hands gripped at the edge of his dripping red kevlar vest. Forcing your eyes to his side, you immediately understood why.

Bucky’s left arm was gone. The silver prosthetic looked as if it had been viciously ripped off, mere remnants of what it once was left in its place, frayed wires and bent gears protruding from the damaged shoulder. A horrified gasp left you. Just yesterday you were holding onto that same arm, and in the blink of an eye it was just… gone? No – no… surely you had fallen into some ultra-realistic nightmare. This couldn’t really be happening. It couldn’t possibly be Bucky that–

“Y/n? You need to breathe.” A calm voice called to your side, a small hand pressing against yours.

It was Natasha. Her breaths were labored, yet no panic showed on her face. “He’s going to be–”

“Where are they taking him?” Your voice didn’t sound familiar, quiet and trembling with an uneasiness that hardly found you. Her hand squeezed down on yours, trying her best to steer you away from the full blown panic attack that was creeping up your spine.

You watched uneasily as they took him away, Tony, Bruce, Helen, and Clint jogging after them with loud stomps. Your feet were quick to follow – only to be hindered by Natasha’s hand to your chest. “Going after them now will do you no good. I’ll wait with you until we know more.”

Grinding down on your teeth, you hesitated. Screw waiting. But you knew she was right. Steve wouldn’t allow you to come anywhere near Bucky if what they said happened truly occurred. Reluctantly, you let Natasha guide you back inside and to the main floor living room.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

By the time any updates arrived, your fingernails were halfway chewed off, your leg bouncing up and down furiously from adrenaline. It had been hours since the boys came back, the sun now far below the horizon, a deep, unsettling dusk settling over the sky. Allowing your gaze to drift to the large window panes, you noticed how the stars were hiding tonight, protected by a sea of charcoal black clouds. Maybe they too were afraid of Bucky after seeing the violent acts he committed earlier.

Steve sauntered into the room, his eyes immediately finding yours as you stood up all too quickly. A breath lingered in your throat, waiting for him to speak.

“Bucky is going to be alright. He’s shaken and a little confused, but Dr. Cho has him stable.” Steve offered, barely getting the words out before you started in on the million questions inside your head.

“What the hell happened out there, Steve?” Sitting around for hours did nothing to calm you, tearing you apart little by little instead. “Simple recons don’t look like that.” You pointed a finger to the middle of the Compound, still having no idea where they took Bucky.

Steve’s head dropped, his hand coming to rub against his temple. “Fury and I were wrong. The place wasn’t abandoned — and it wasn’t just any old facility either. It was an old Hydra base…”

Your body seemed to shrivel under his voice.

You knew what was coming next.

“Please don’t tell me they–”

A single look from the man was all the confirmation you needed.

“It happened so fast… I couldn’t get Bucky out in time before they… before they started playing it over the intercoms. After he heard the first word — he looked at me with so much fear, and the next second he looked at me like he had no fucking clue who I was.” He took a deep breath, poorly attempting to cover the quiver in his voice. “We tried to get him out. But they had traps and guards started coming for us and… after Bucky stopped swinging at Sam and I he went straight for them. I couldn’t do anything but watch…”

He shifted back and forth, clearly not wanting to relive the events of earlier. “Then his arm… he got caught in a doorway and I had no choice.”

Your body swayed from the weight of this newfound information, Natasha getting up to stabilize you and move you back to the couch before your legs gave out. Tears pricked at your tired eyes, and you felt entirely helpless. One of your closest friends just had to relive decades worth of trauma because of a stupid mission gone wrong. It seemed unfathomable. No other mission, Hydra or not, had been this catastrophic for Bucky.

“When can I see him?” You feared the answer Steve would give.

“I’m not exactly…”

Steve’s words died in his throat as a gentle knocking came from behind him. The three of you simultaneously picked your heads up, eyes darting to the source.

Stepping out from behind the doorway was a tall man, his deep brown eyes soft and his expression calm and collected. The dark burgundy of his pants matched that of his wrinkle-free jacket, intricate gray detailings sewn in across the chest. It wasn’t anyone you recognized, yet he seemed oddly familiar. His voice drifted inside the room, smooth and precise.

“Captain — I just got off the phone with Shuri. They are ready whenever you are.”

PART ONE PLAYLIST

🌟Songs that have inspired this series 🌟

— April 10, 2019: Powehi - Image of a Black Hole

By Sleeping at Last

— Where We Landed

By SYML

— Atom 1

By Sleeping at Last

— Hold me Tight

By Berlinist

— Sunshine (Adagio in D Minor)

By John Murphy

I recommend listening to the songs in order as shown above. A master playlist will be linked at the end of the series.

Spotify Link to the Chapter One Playlist