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peterparkersnose · 2 months

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A Tale of Two Eyes

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: trauma, mentions of suicide, mentions of Helaemond, toxic marriage, reader has established relationship with Aemond and they have children, reader is pregnant, marriage of convenience, political marriage, arguing, undertones of an abusive relationship, selfish Aemond, hate on the Blacks (love Rhaenyra tho, just for the story themes)

a/n woah I wrote?!?! Happy birthday Ewan ily mwah

summary Aemond's son and heir just met the same fate as he did all those years ago with Lucerys.

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read time: 10 mins 11 seconds

That afternoon was a blur. Everything for Y/N has moved so quickly, yet so slowly at the same time. She had asked Ser Criston to fetch her sons, ten-year-old Daeron and six-year-old Aerion, for dinner. They had been playing out in the courtyard for a few hours. She had her three-year-old daughter, Visenya, sat and prepared to feast for the evening meal. Visenya wiggled in her seat, anxious for her brothers to join her to feast. The morning was rough on Y/N, as she was currently seven months pregnant with her fourth child with Aemond. Visenya had been a terror as well, as she has now taken to escaping her caretakers and seeking out Y/N specifically. Y/N was speaking to Visenya, trying to distract her from her hungry stomach and practicing her vowels when her mother-in-law, Alicent, came rushing into the dining room. The Dowager Queen looked frantic as she quickly came to Y/N’s side.

“It’s Daeron,” she spoke, out of breath. “Daeron?” Y/N asked. Alicent motioned for her to follow her, as she did not want to alarm Visenya. Y/N immediately left Visenya with their nanny and followed her mother-in-law quickly down the castle halls.

“What has happened?” Y/N asked, holding her stomach with one hand and walking as fast as she possibly could. “Aegon and Viserys…” Alicent paused. The names of Rhaenyra’s last two surviving sons. They have always quarreled with her and Aemond’s sons, and now she truly feared the worst.

“They have taken Daeron’s eye just as Lucerys did to Aemond years ago.”

Y/N abruptly stopped in the hallway, grabbing the wall for guidance.

“Excuse me?” she blinked a few times, angered at her mother-in-law for just dropping this knowledge on her. For the sake of her unborn child, she tried not to let her emotions run rampant.

For her first child, her first son, heir to the Iron Throne, and the beginning of the new Targaryen age has just been permanently maimed or killed.

Aemond never attended dinners anymore. The man Y/N knew when they were first betrothed was long gone after the results of the dance. Aemond could barely deal with the grief of his siblings, niece, and nephews. Y/N had always speculated a secret love affair with her husband and his now-deceased sister, Helaena, but she never approached the subject. He was never the same after Helaena’s suicide. Aemond had been a broken man since, even though he was living out his dreams. He was now the King. The Blacks were defeated, only leaving Rhaenyra’s two legitimate sons with Daemon, as they were too young to understand the effects of what they were born into. Alicent took them in against her better judgment.

So now, he sat in his office alone like he did most nights. The candlelight was dim and his wine glass was almost emptied. He sat hunched over letters, writing them to various Lords around Westeros. Aemond often filled his time with work so he could escape the horrors of his true life. It was pitch black outside and pouring now, as it had been hours since dinner was supposed to have happened. He heard a knock on his office door.

“Enter.”

He didn’t expect his wife. He straightened his posture and took off his reading magnifier from the bridge of his nose. He took in her essence. She was beautiful, he had to admit. Their marriage wasn’t ideal, but she had been essential for the success of the Greens in the dance, as their marriage brought House Targaryen together with one of the most powerful houses in Westeros. Aemond took a deep breath.

“My lady wife–”

His words got caught in his throat when he saw the blood on her hands. “Is the child all right?”

Y/N nodded eagerly to assure him that this wasn’t a complication in her pregnancy. “What has happened? Is someone hurt?” Aemond eagerly asked, standing up from his desk and striding over to her. “I-It’s Daeron…”

“Daeron?” Aemond replied, relief running over him that the issue wasn’t the child. Yet he worried for his heir. Y/N was shaking, Aemond grabbed her hands. “You mustn't freak.” she asked of Aemond. His brows furrowed. “Calm yourself, woman. Explain what happened.”

“Him and Aerion… got in a scuffle with Aegon and Viserys.”

Aemond’s grip tightened on Y/N’s hands. If it weren’t for the grace of her and Alicent, Aemond would have had those two children’s heads on spikes before they were old enough to realize their parents' crimes. “What prompted the fight?” he asked angrily. Y/N shrugged. “That–that is to be determined. I don’t want you to freak–”

“Do not tell me what to do. What is of Daeron?” he raised his voice to his wife. “He–”

Y/N took a deep breath and paused. She didn’t know how to approach this with her husband correctly and not trigger him from his past. Her hand moved to her husband's cheek, her fingers moving over the strap of his eyepatch slowly. “Do you remember?”

Aemond scoffed.

“Of course, I remember. You don’t need to remind me.” his lips pursed as he closed his remaining eye momentarily and sighed. “Why is this relevant?”

Y/N had no clue how to tell her husband this. She was expecting him to have the same reaction she and Queen Alicent were having.

“Our son just met the same fate.”

Aemond pondered for a moment, then turned around and brushed Y/N’s hand off his cheek. He returned to his desk. He felt sick, he had to sit down. Aemond didn’t fully understand the situation yet but feared the worst. He was silent for a great moment, hearing a small sniffle coming from his wife brought him back to reality. “What happened to Daeron? Do you mean to tell me he’s lost his eye? Don’t tell me he’s dead…”

“He isn’t. But Viserys scraped it out like Lucerys did to yours.”

Aemond slammed his fist on the desk, making Y/N jump. Aemond seethed in anger, thoughts running rampant in his head. After a long pause, he spoke. “And did you tell my mother yet?”

“She is with him as we speak.” Y/N replied, anxiously waiting to see where her husband's emotions ran at that moment. “Where is Aerion? Is he harmed?” he asked of his spare, who could likely become his heir at any moment. “Aerion is fine just… traumatized. He tried to go after Viserys but Criston pulled him away when he got to the scene.”

Aemond seethed, then suddenly threw his wine goblet to the wall. It smashed and scared Y/N. “Aemond–”

“Send Daeron to my mother’s chambers. Tell her I’ll be along shortly, I have letters to write.”

He didn’t even look up at his wife as he put his spectacle back on.

“What?” Y/N held her stomach with one hand, the other on her hip. She was confused. “You’re returning to your work?” She didn’t even get another word in before Aemond snapped. “Send Daeron to my mother's room at once!”

She was utterly shocked. How could he? Work? His son needed his father. The only person who could relate and help Daeron through this terrible time in his life… and Aemond chose to work? “Your son needs you!”

Aemond growled. “I’ll tend to him later. He’s going to survive, and I have work to do.”

Y/N was flabbergasted.

“You’re the only one who can help him understand. The boy is ten and just lost his eye! That is your son!”

Y/N knew she was fighting in a losing battle. But she had to plead for her son. He had been requesting his father for some time now. Aemond abruptly stood, walking to his door. He didn’t look at her once. “If you think talking to him will do him any good, I’ll do it. I’ll write my letters and come when I can,” he mumbled. When Y/N realized this was the best she was going to get, she decided to leave. As she was exiting the door, the child kicked in her womb roughly. She groaned and Aemond looked up to her, seeing her clutching her stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Y/N said coldly. He watched her exit. She wasn’t expecting another word from him.

She could hear him before she saw him. Y/N entered Alicent’s chamber to see her son sobbing, clinging to his grandmother. Alicent brushed his hair softly with her fingers, her stare distant. Y/N could tell that Alicent had seen this story before, and she didn’t like the ending. The look of vengeance plagued the middle-aged woman's face. As Daeron heard someone enter the room, he spoke.

“Father?” Y/N’s heart simply broke then. Daeron was truly in a state of shock, he barely paid attention to anything but the throbbing sensation of the worst pain he had ever felt in his life on his face. “No, sweet boy. Your father…” Y/N caught herself. She couldn’t tell her son that his father refused to see him. No. It would simply break his heart and his spirit more than they already were broken. “I could not find him. The guards will notify him shortly when they find him.” Y/N moved to the bed, and Alicent moved so Y/N could comfort her son Daeron. Alicent gave her an honest nod and stepped into the hallway. Y/N embraced her ten-year-old in her arms, and he rested his head on the fleshy part of her arm. He was still holding a rag over his wound, so Y/N took the rag from his hand and switched it with hers so the boy’s arm wouldn’t grow tired.

“What happened to me, mother?” Daeron spoke softly. He tried to look up at her but failed to do so. Y/N held back tears. “It wasn’t fair, my love. Viserys will pay. I will make sure of it.”

Daeron shook in her arms. “I-I’m scared.” he admitted to her. A sob finally came from the boy again, and he stopped crying when she entered the room. He was trying to stay strong for his mother. He was already showing such promising signs of a good King, even at such a young age. “What will I do without my eye, mother? Do I still have a future, will the girls still like me? They’ll think I’m gross for sure, I just know of it–”

“My son.” Y/N cut off his rambles. “Of course not. We shall not worry about this now. You are a handsome boy, and already a great warrior.”

“But–” Daeron began again. Y/N shushed him. “No. Shh. You must remember your father has the same wound as you. And is he a great warrior?”

Daeron nodded. “And is he married?”

Daeron nodded again. “My sweet son, my heir. Do not worry. You will be the greatest Targaryen that ever lived.” Y/N spoke. She moved closer to her son. “Don’t tell your father or siblings I said that,” Y/N whispered, managing a small smile trying to bring some humor to the boy. He desperately needed it. But it quickly faded, as the child inside of her kicked again.

“Mother?” Daeron asked. Even in his pained state, he cared for his mother. What a good boy she had raised. “Do not worry. The babe is just wild during this time of night.”

Y/N ran a hand over her son's bloodied hair which had now dried. She held him close until he fell asleep. Aemond never came.

During the very early hours of that morning, Y/N had failed to find sleep. She paced her shared chambers with Aemond. He had yet to return. She grew angrier and more frustrated by the minute. And finally, as she was re-lighting the candles that should have been blown out hours ago, she heard the door of her chambers click open and then shut. She turned to her husband, who looked cowardly now, with an angered glare. “Where have you been?”

Aemond shrugged. Y/N scoffed. “Do not play this game with me right now.” Y/N approached him, he smelt of dragon sweat and the salty sea. “Did you just take Vhagar for a ride?”

Aemond sighed. “Yes.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back the angered laugh. “You’re kidding me right now.” Aemond threw his boots from his feet against the wall. “I have my own ways of managing my–”

“Your son has lost an eye. Have you no heart?!” Y/N interrupted him. Aemond seethed silently, pausing. He then threw his jacket on the back of the couch. “I will see him in the morning.” Aemond answered tiredly. Y/N stared at him in shock. “I have no words for you.”

Aemond ignored his wife, moving to the closet. He changed into his nightly gown and his robe. He tried to get into bed, but Y/N was already sitting on the bed when he returned. “No. Not tonight.” she said sternly. Aemond scowled. “And why not?” Aemond asked with a sharp tongue. He was almost at his breaking point with her. Couldn’t she not understand his duties? His trauma from his past? How selfish of her…

“Why not?!” Y/N yelled “Your son has just been maimed for life and you refuse to see him! What kind of father are you?” This statement set Aemond off. All the anger, hurt, and hatred boiled over within him. He tried to keep it in for the sake that he did truly love his wife, but she failed to understand him over the years like this. Aemond took a deep breath. “Don’t you get it? I have been struggling for fucking years! Do you think I want to see my son, bloodied and broken as I once was at his age? No, you daft woman! I wish to be alone. You are incessantly bothering me and I am sick and tired of it!” he lashed out at his wife. Y/N sat in bed, tensed at his words. She didn’t know how to reply. The realization that the reason Aemond didn’t visit their son sank in; he simply did not know how to. “I cannot look at the mirror of my old self in him! For Gods sakes, he already is a copy of me! Now with this…”

Y/N took in his words. She saw him tearing up. “Aemond–” she attempted to speak. He cut her off. “I will have that child sent to the wall along with his blasted brother,” he spoke angrily. “Do not try to talk me out of it either. I am King and I have made my final choice. I have spared their lives when they should join their bastard brother Lucerys in Vhagar’s belly.”

“But your son–” “He will live. You cannot coddle the boy. He must grow strong.”

“How could you say that?” Y/N answered. Aemond shrugged. “My father did the same, and I will follow.”

Y/N couldn’t believe her ears. Viserys was a terrible father to Aemond and his siblings, favoring Rhaenyra. “You know damn well that if Viserys still lived, he would pardon Rhaenyra’s son and blame Daeron somehow–”

“THAT ISN’T THE POINT!” Aemond snapped at her. He knew how terrible Viserys was. He knew how damaged his father had made him. But he was the man he was now because of Viserys, and he would never be the same happy little boy he was before the loss of his eye. And now that the same had just happened to his son, his heir, he couldn’t deal. Y/N watched him in horror as he turned to violence, smashing one of the vases in the room. She held her stomach, fearing her husband in his rage. After Aemond realized what he had done and how he had scared his wife, he stopped. Aemond’s yelling turned into sobs. He collapsed on his bed. Y/N warmly opened her arms to embrace him, despite being terrified of him seconds ago. Aemond clung to her and her baby bump for dear life.

“I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry…” he whimpered, burying his face in the crook of her stomach under her breast. He was shaking. Y/N was too stunned to speak, but she spoke softly. “I know.”

She was furious at her husband. But the effects of the dance had ruined him. This wouldn’t have happened twelve years ago when they wed. They both had to re-learn each other–him with his trauma, her with her dedication to being a mother and a Queen. They struggled too often. But at solemn moments like this, when Aemond calmed down, they just held each other. The truth was, they were just two scared kids in this world. Thrown into the grasp of something neither of them wanted or intended. And that is how they stayed the rest of the night–trembling in each other’s arms, afraid of what the future held for them.

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edenesth · 2 months

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The Way to His Heart [17]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Warning: eMoTiOnAl DaMaGe

Part 16 | Fic Masterlist | Part 18

How dare he—

Jongho gritted his teeth, his fists tightening at the despicable tactics the fourth prince employed to disrupt your relationship with the general. Usually composed, the assistant struggled to contain his rising anger, feeling an overwhelming urge to resort to violence.

Meanwhile, all Eunsook cared about was your well-being. She empathised with your past, knowing all too well the horrors you endured in your old home. The idea of being married to someone potentially more ruthless than your previous abusers must have been terrifying. Despite understanding the reasons behind her master's actions, she acknowledged his moral ambiguity.

Her only wish was for you to accept that he would never hurt you.

Despite the whirlwind of emotions stirred by the revelation that Seonghwa might have been involved in more than just supervising your father's punishments, your expression remained unreadable. Yeosang held his breath, watching you intently, half-expecting a reaction of terror or betrayal. Whether it was shock, anger, or disbelief, he anticipated something negative.

Desperation clawed at the prince's heart as he clung to his last resort, willing it to work. Foolish as it might seem, the truth was he had no prior experience in wooing anyone, let alone a married woman committed to another. He fumbled in the dark, unsure of the right ways to win your heart, driven only by the conviction that he could be a better husband than General Park.

In his mind, he painted a picture of himself as the ideal partner for you, one who would treat you with the care and affection he believed you deserved. He saw himself as the only one who could truly understand the pain etched into your body, just as you might understand his. And so, he resolved to pursue you relentlessly, even if it meant resorting to drastic measures that could potentially cause you further trauma.

For the fourth prince, the ends justified the means. If it meant having you by his side, it would all be worth it. He vowed to spend the rest of his days showering you with nothing but love and kindness to make up for what he put you through today.

It's time you come to me now, darling.

However, he was in for a rude awakening if he believed you would run into his arms seeking comfort after learning the terrifying truth about the monster your husband turned out to be.

Instead, after a moment of collecting yourself, you lifted your head to meet his eyes, a newfound intensity burning within your gaze, "I'm sorry if this offends you, Your Highness, but what exactly do you hope to achieve by showing and telling me all of this? My husband acted as he did because those people deserved it. As for my father, if you could even call him that, he abused me all my life and killed my mother; he deserved whatever my husband gave him and more."

Though the revelations about the general's potential actions during those extra hours unsettled you, your anger shifted towards Yeosang for bringing them to light in such a manner. Clenching your fists to conceal your trembling hands, you remained resolute. Even if you didn't condone Seonghwa's actions, he was still your husband, and your love for him remained unchanged.

As you stood there, the annoyance toward the fourth prince simmered within you, each word he uttered adding fuel to the fire. From the very beginning, he had refused to acknowledge your new title as Lady Park, a small but significant act of disrespect. Then, he persisted in bringing up topics from your past, despite your obvious discomfort and desire to move on. Now, his deliberate attempts to tarnish the general's image felt almost like a personal attack.

The sarcasm laced in his words when speaking of your husband grated on your nerves. Seonghwa had sacrificed so much for the country, and the least he deserved was respect. It dawned on you now what San had meant about Yeosang's difficult nature. You finally understood why the prince's behaviour could be infuriating.

Jongho and Eunsook exchanged glances, their expressions shifting from concern to awe as they watched you stand your ground against the fourth prince's attempts to undermine your husband. At that moment, it became clear to them that perhaps their worries had been for nothing all along. They should have had more faith in your unwavering love and loyalty to their master.

Yeosang's confidence faltered as he observed your stern expression and heard the firmness in your voice. This was not the reaction he had anticipated from you. Perhaps he had underestimated the depth of your love and loyalty to General Park.

Could the Queen have been right all along?

Feeling a sense of urgency and realising he had no other viable option, His Highness took a deep breath and decided to come clean about his intentions once and for all. He couldn't risk angering you any further than he already had. It was time to be honest, even if it meant facing the consequences of his actions.

The smugness that had once characterised his demeanour now vanished, replaced by a palpable sense of shame as he lowered his head slightly, "I... gosh, I am sorry, my lady. I acknowledge that it was wrong of me to manipulate the situation like that. I'll be honest with you. There was no actual banquet planned. In truth, I haven't celebrated my birthday in years. It only serves as a painful reminder of my existence."

Your brows furrowed in apprehension as you listened, allowing him to continue with his explanation, "I take it you're wondering why I despise my own existence. You're likely unaware of my reputation, unlike others. You may have noticed the birthmark here," he gestured to the red mark on the side of his face, prompting a nod from you.

He offered a faint smile, "Throughout my life, I've been treated like a freak because of this mark. As a member of the royal family, I'm sure you're aware there's an expectation of flawless appearance. So, imagine the shock when they saw the fourth prince with such a conspicuous blemish, my parents included. Both within and beyond the palace walls, people have whispered about my birth, deeming it a curse, questioning if I should have even been born at all."

"Since reaching adulthood, I've rejected numerous marriage proposals. Every woman presented to me has regarded me with disdain in their eyes. But then I met you, my lady, that day in the cherry blossom garden. You were the first person to wear your own mark proudly, without a trace of revulsion. It was as if you saw beyond my appearance. I suppose you could say it was love at first sight for me. I'm in love with you, Miss Jang, and that's why I've brought you here today—to propose to you."

Everything suddenly fell into place.

The puzzle pieces of his behaviour over the past days and weeks finally clicked together, forming a clear picture. Empathy flooded your heart as you realised the depth of his struggles. You knew all too well what it felt like to be singled out, treated like an outsider even by those closest to you, and shown no respect despite your status.

However, you felt a pang of shock upon learning about his feelings for you and his pursuit. It was unexpected, to say the least. You hadn't imagined that he harboured such emotions, especially considering the complexities of your respective situations.

Observing your softened demeanour while listening to the prince's confession, Jongho and Eunsook felt a resurgence of worry. They understood Yeosang's struggles and empathised with his difficult life. Despite that, they couldn't ignore the fact that you were a married woman. Regardless of what His Highness may have gone through, pursuing someone who was already committed was inherently wrong.

The two of them exchanged a concerned glance, silently acknowledging the complexity of the situation. While they sympathised with the prince, they couldn't condone his actions, especially his attempt to come between you and your husband using such underhanded tactics.

Your chaperones would soon find reassurance in your response after a moment of contemplative silence. With a deep inhale, you attempted to offer Yeosang a smile, despite the earlier anger you felt towards him, "Look, Your Highness, I understand the hardships you've endured, and probably continue to endure. I genuinely empathise with you. I'm also truly grateful to have met you. I've never had any friends before, so meeting someone who shares similar interests means a lot to me."

His Highness grinned sadly, "Ah yes, I'm sensing a 'but' there."

With a light chuckle, you nodded, "But it's precisely because I see you as a friend and care about you that I want you to understand that whatever you think you might feel for me isn't love."

He stared at you with wide eyes, but you halted him before he could protest, "Perhaps you've mistaken the feelings of gratitude and joy from finally meeting someone who treats you sincerely for love," You gently explained, "My prince, love doesn't simply happen at first sight like that. It requires much more than that; two people must go through so much together before they truly understand their feelings. I've been through it myself, and I can assure you that what you're feeling is definitely not love."

"Lastly, please address me as Lady Park. I haven't gone by Miss Jang for a while now. While we can remain friends, I must insist that you respect my marriage and abandon any plans you may have. My heart belongs solely to the general, and that won't change."

You sighed at the pleading look in the prince's eyes, understanding that convincing him wouldn't be easy. But you had said your piece, and the rest was up to him to realise. Feeling the onset of a headache from everything, you bowed one final time, saying, "If there's to be no banquet as you've mentioned, we'll be taking our leave then. Thank you for having us today, Your Highness. I wish you happiness."

I'm almost there, my love.

Nearly two days had passed when Seonghwa finally arrived back in the city and approached his own estate. The journey had been one of the most challenging he had ever undertaken. He cursed his injury for slowing him down, as he had to make several stops to rest and change his bandages, mimicking the actions of the medical team soldiers who had tended to him. Despite his urgency to leave camp, he had taken care to pack enough supplies to last the trip back.

Regardless of the constant yearning to be with you again, he felt a twinge of guilt for leaving his army behind abruptly due to such personal matters. If his soldiers knew about his absence, some might consider him irresponsible for his actions.

Shaking his head, he recalled how he used to criticise some of his men distracted by thoughts of their loved ones during battles, viewing them as foolish for letting such distractions affect them. If someone had told him he would act similarly in the future, he wouldn't have believed them for a moment.

The things you do to me, my wife.

The mere thought of seeing and being near you again made his heart flutter. He admitted to himself that he had become one of those fools he once criticised, but he wouldn't change a thing. Experiencing love had shifted his perspective entirely, compelling him to do whatever it took to keep you by his side forever. Having saved you from a life of suffering, he couldn't bear the thought of leaving you alone again. He was determined to be the one to bring you joy, protect you, and stay with you for the rest of your days.

Or... was he really?

His conviction would soon waver as the ominous sensation in the pit of his stomach intensified with each step closer to his home. Alongside it, the pain in his abdomen escalated steadily. What should have been a mere graze now felt like something far more serious. In truth, the discomfort in his insides was becoming unbearable.

Seonghwa gritted his teeth as he clutched the area of his wound one last time, his breath catching in his throat as a sudden wave of pain coursed through him. With a determined exhale, he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to endure the agony that surged within him.

At the entrance of his estate, the staff responsible for guarding widened their eyes in recognition of their master's arrival. He quickly straightened his posture, putting on a facade of strength to conceal any signs of his injury, "Master, you're back!" One of the staff members exclaimed, their surprise evident as they rushed forward to assist him down from his horse.

Within moments, Jongho emerged from the estate, his expression a mix of concern and relief as he hurried to the general's side, "Sir, I assume you've received my letter?"

Your husband nodded, "I did. His Highness also sent me one, mentioning his intention to propose to your mistress."

The assistant's eyes rounded in surprise, realising the extent of the fourth prince's confidence to openly declare his intentions to pursue you to the general, "Well, he certainly made the attempt."

Seonghwa's steps faltered at this revelation, and he turned to face Jongho, who seemed equally uneasy, "So, it's already happened?"

Nodding, the younger man blinked anxiously, "S-sir, it's not good. The mistress knows," The general felt his blood run cold at that, but he pressed on, "Please, be more specific."

Jongho swallowed hard, bowing his head apologetically, "She learned about the Jang family's punishments and what you've done to the former minister. The prince took us to the palace torture chambers as part of his scheme. While she stood her ground there, she demanded that I tell her everything that happened as soon as we got back."

Suddenly, Seonghwa understood the source of his ominous feeling. He should have known better than to believe he could keep the truth hidden from you forever. Surely, your compassionate heart would struggle to accept what he did. Taking a shaky breath, he asked, "Where is she now?"

"She's in the House of Lotus, sir. She hasn't left since we returned from the palace two days ago. But don't worry, Eunsook has been making sure she eats her meals." Jongho reassured him.

With a nod of gratitude towards the assistant, your husband made his way towards your quarters, passing by the head maid who was taken aback by his sudden appearance. She knew he should have still been at the warzone. However, a quick glance from Jongho conveyed that the master had returned because of their letter. Understanding dawned on her, and she could only hope for the best.

The general's breath hitched as he laid eyes on you again after so long. There you sat in the pavilion, your attention fixed on the lotus pond before you. You appeared just as radiant as the last time he had seen you. However, this time, instead of your usual lady etiquette books laid open, his heart lurched at the reports detailing your father's latest status beside you. These confidential documents, presented to Seonghwa monthly, tracked the former minister's movements. Biting back the wince that threatened to escape him, he ignored the increasing pain in his abdomen and called out your name.

As your head snapped up at the familiar voice, you gasped at the sight of your husband at the entrance of your quarters. Slowly rising from your seat, you cautiously approached him, unsure if this was a hallucination. For so long, you had imagined him here, in this very spot, so many times that you couldn't count. You hoped it was not your mind playing tricks on you again.

This isn't another dream, is it?

You didn't understand why he was back; there was no news about the war being over yet. It's not that you didn't want him here, you just didn't expect him to be here all of a sudden. Standing before him, you felt your eyes water and your heart pound from seeing him again. It took you a moment to process his presence before you whispered, "S-Seonghwa... what are you doing here?" When he did not respond, you noticed his gaze staring past you at the reports Jongho was forced to hand over to you.

Despite the intense urge to pull you into his arms and never let go, all he manages is to harden his expression, "So, I see you've found out." He said, his voice strained.

This wasn't how either of you had imagined your reunion after the tearful goodbye. With a deep sigh, you nodded grimly, your mind flashing with reminders of your family's physical punishments and the gruesome things he'd done to your father, momentarily shattering the loving image in your eyes, "Yes, I did. And if I hadn't, were you planning never to tell me? What happened to not keeping secrets between us, hm?"

Truth be told, you found yourself no longer harbouring anger towards him for this matter. Over the past two days, you'd taken time to reflect, understanding his perspective and somewhat rationalising his actions. While you weren't exactly upset, you simply desired to hear the whole truth from him directly and perhaps receive a plea for forgiveness. In any case, you were prepared to run into his embrace.

Your words to the prince in the palace were sincere. Your heart belonged only to Seonghwa, and that wouldn't change. You firmly believed in the strength of your love, likening it to the resilience of your lotus flowers, enduring despite the obstacles. This situation, you believed, was just one more challenge to overcome together.

But instead of giving you the response you expected, your heart sank at the cold smirk he wore before speaking, "That's right, I never would have told you the truth if it were up to me. You women are so troublesome; it was stupid of me to think I could actually handle one for the rest of my life. Besides, what difference would it have made? This is who I am, and you knew about my reputation from the moment you were promised to me. So, are you really that surprised?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned away from you, adding, "You've seen the reports. Now that you know what I'm capable of, I won't bother hiding anything from you any longer."

His words pierced your heart like daggers, leaving you reeling in disbelief. Shaking your head in denial, you whimpered his name, hoping for some semblance of the man you loved to emerge from behind that cold facade. This wasn't what you wanted from him. You wanted him to fight for you, to reassure you of his love, just as you had done for him. Confusion gnawed at your insides.

Why wasn't he fighting for you?

What was going on?

"Seonghwa, I-I don't understand—"

Before you could finish, he cut you off abruptly, his words laced with finality, "Yes, it was me. I did all those horrible things to your family. That's the kind of monster I am. But now, you're free. Your family is gone, and no one can dictate your choices anymore. You're your own person. You can do whatever you want and love whoever you want. If it's the fourth prince you wish to be with, you have my blessing. Maybe he's the one who can give you the companionship you desire."

With that, he turned and stormed out of your quarters, leaving you alone and bewildered, with no assurance of his return.

Once out of your sight, he released a shaky breath and clutched his wound, feeling the fabric already soaked with blood seeping through his bandage. Despite his blurring vision, he stumbled through the estate, desperate to depart before anyone noticed his condition. Seonghwa wasn't oblivious; he knew he must have been poisoned when the pain of his injury became too unbearable.

With a sinking feeling, he realised he didn't have much time left, and perhaps Prince Yeosang was right. Maybe what you truly needed was a husband who would consistently stay by your side and not cause you the worry he did.

I'm sorry, my love. This is for the best.

« Preview of Part 18 »

"Physician Jung, there's a letter for you."

Yunho furrowed his brows, pausing his work on his latest concoction aimed at alleviating all of your scars. Despite the challenges he faced in this endeavour, he remained steadfast in his commitment to helping you restore your skin to its original state.

Setting aside the herbs he was working with, he approached the entrance of his quarters to accept the letter from Jongho, "For me?"

The younger man nodded in confirmation, "Yes, oddly enough, it arrived via a military messenger. Initially, I assumed it was intended for the general, but it's specifically addressed to you. General Officer Song requests your urgent attention."

Blinking, the doctor processed the information, "Wait, do you mean General Park has returned to the estate?"

Jongho smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck, "Oh, yeah. He arrived unannounced just a while ago, thanks to our letter. I suppose the situation at the warzone must have calmed down if he's able to return so quickly. He's with the mistress now. Let's hope things will improve with him here."

Relieved, Yunho nodded and quickly unfolded the letter. His stomach dropped, and his eyes widened at the hastily scribbled words, "H-he's with the mistress, you say?"

"Yes, what about it?" The assistant furrowed his brows in confusion as he watched Yunho shove the letter back into his hands before bolting out. Reading the letter himself, he soon found himself rushing in the same direction, dread filling his being.

No, this can't be.

I was so excited that I got to writing this as soon as I completed all the assignments for the first half of my semester! Only three parts until the end of this story, how we feeling out there?🤧

Holy crap, thank you so much for 1.4k followers! As always, thank you so much for reading and please let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list (1/2): @huachengsbestie01 @evidive @weedforthoughtz @ssrnghwa @yunnieo @sunnyhokyu @lynnsqueendom @frobin4ever @chwesuh-imnida @thunderous-wolf @itstheghostofmypast @professormingisglasses @deltamoon666 @avantalem @famishalll @yungilia @soobiverse @joongified @scuzmunkie @http-gyu @mentoslol @atinyreads @angel-hyuckie @anxiousskylar @onedumbho3 @narashii @ddaeing @sanstreasure0305 @sohnfile @scarfac3 @dreamingofyeo @puppyminnnie @tinyteezer @vantediary @satsuri3su @mismatchfluffysocks @aliona124754 @bts-army380 @lilactangerine @atinyniki @pay13 @1117promises @xoxkii @st4rcig4r @hikarii02 @nescaffei @xdolls-crownx @ashrocker123 @skzline @minkiflwr @starssongs98 @baeksofty @skz1-4-3 @kawaiikels @madnpan @maoyueze @en-happiness @cheolliehugs @persnyako @startinystay @chngbnwf @fatspecimen @christinerose380 @stfu-rina @kyukyustar @taytayy178 @appleschre @brielle-in-the-galaxy @laurenwidjaja @yangwonielvrs @n1k1mura @idkwgoh @loveateez @linosllvr @wolfgurl2600-blog

#edenesth #the way to this heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

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lishenkaaa · 7 months

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i think something we sometimes ignore when we talk about tlt's themes of love is its incredible focus on familial love, like the books' romantic and sexual themes are very clear but also it truly is a series that questions what a family is from the very beginning. gideon's lack of both a biological and chosen family (at least in her eyes) and harrow's almost decade-long attempt at maintaining the illusion of one in gtn. the fifth and the fourth, filling in the missing parts of their own families with each other. coronabeth, ianthe and even naberius' entire deal. the focus within silas and colum's dynamic of their biological compatibility as a necro/cav pair. john's desire for a daughter in harrow and then discovery of one in gideon, as well as pyrrha's desire to find out why her kid had to die only to find out 1) not her kid, 2) didn't die originally, 3) still died in the end. nona and pyrrha and pal and cam, which tazmuir herself has specifically highlighted we should question if it even counts as a family at all, but has also made sure we know they loved each other anyway. kiriona as her mother's daughter and her father's son but ultimately neither and how it kills her even as a corpse. and anastasia, the series' godot who despite making no appearance is felt in its every corner, who pyrrha painted a nursery with and who started the lineage that opened the legendary tomb.

can't wait to see how this is all explored in atn, especially when nona's family is only a "dress rehearsal" for the real horrors of love.

#this ramble was inspired by a recent post i saw about how gideon's displays of devotion diverge from john's #which i can't find rn but once i do i will credit here #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #nona the ninth spoilers #not tagging every character i mentioned i am too lazy #actually except for one bc i love her sm #kiriona gaia #omodru talks

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averagecygnet-blog · 1 month

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one thing I absolutely adore about tgwdlm is how completely and irrevocably a stage musical it is. it HAS to be a stage musical - the medium is so deeply baked into the story that it truly would not translate to another medium.

some reasons why:

the musical style is old-fashioned in a way that screams classic broadway. you can't get away from it, especially in songs like "lah dee dah dah day" and "show stoppin number". and it's not just the music, it's the dancing too - have you ever seen a kickline in a movie musical, once, ever? or jazz hands? gimme a break

along similar lines - all the broadway references! hamilton of course, but also wicked and mamma mia and jekyll & hyde

all the attention deliberately brought to the lighting and set! the performers in "la dee dah dah day" loudly saying "lights down!" when it's over; ted, paul, and emma striking the stage after "show stoppin number"; the lighting panels used as sirens, TVs, showcasing hudgins' alexa, and more; ted wheeling the big meteor prop off the stage after "let it out". they don't let you forget that we're in a theater.

all the hokey ass miming and special effects???? charlotte and hudgins having their guts ripped out is flashy and fun onstage because of the intestine props. emma and ted having blood capsules in their mouths. paul, emma, and zoey violently shaking when pantomiming being in a helicopter. ted running in place, moving forward or back to suggest movement across the road. it's all so fun and consistently reminds you that this is a stage

double-casting as intentional obstruction of the truth. we're used to seeing one actor play several roles in a musical, so when a familiar face shows up in a new costume we assume it's a new character. but it was zoey flying the helicopter to clivesdale, and I think it was zoey in the hospital at the end as well. you couldn't pull that shit in a movie because movies don't double-cast.

the role of the audience, the laughter and gasps and reactions and applause, especially the applause at the end when emma is begging the audience members to let her use their phone and demanding to know why they're clapping; sure movies have audiences too but the presence of the audience as part of the story makes a point about societal ideals as something we all have a part in that a movie just couldn't make in the same way

on a related note - emma's sudden awareness of the stage and the audience as the horror trope where the person realizes they're trapped and will imminently die. she knows she can't escape because it's just a fuckin loop. she knows no one will save her because they're all clapping. you couldn't do that in a movie because in a movie there is a fourth wall, whereas on a stage there's nowhere for the characters to run away. on a stage the characters can look you, the audience, directly in the eye, with no camera or screen between you

I will literally never shut up about that curtain call

god damn what I wouldn't give to watch this show performed live

#starkid #team starkid #tgwdlm #the guy who didn't like musicals #ted spankoffski #emma perkins #paul matthews #tgwdlm paul #tgwdlm emma #tgwdlm ted #tgwdlm hudgins #tgwdlm charlotte #tgwdlm zoey #stage musical #musical theater #musical theatre #broadway #musicals #fourth wall

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rodolfoparras · 7 months

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Thinking about being in a zombie apocalypse w/ Price

Pairing: John Price x Male reader

CW: major character 💀

Thinking about you and Price having feelings for each other ever since you can remember, but you’ve never gotten the courage to confess and time never seems right especially when a zombie apocalypse breaks out.

Suddenly you’re too busy trying to survive and thoughts about confessing are long forgotten about.

However one day when it’s just you and Price out on a patrol, gathering necessities before night comes, you end up getting bitten and for the first time since the apocalypse happened you see Price truly shaken up.

He’d been the first to take charge when the apocalypse broke out, the first one to put his feeling aside and focus on surviving the horror that was now your every day life.

But in this very moment he looks so lost, frozen in place eyes wide and mouth agape before he gathers himself enough to shoot the zombie dead and pull you to the side.

You already know what this means, you remember him being the first to say it.

If someone gets bit we shoot them dead no hesitation.

He just never thought- never dared think it would be one of his own at some point, someone so close to his heart yet so far away.

However before you can even suggest it, he’s pulling you into his embrace, lips pressing against your temple and whispering “it’s okay, it’s okay, just a minor scratch” as the blood soaks through your sweater because denial has always been his best friend.

“You’ll be okay you’ll be okay you’ll be okay” he mutters over and over again as he rips a piece of his shirt before he grabs ahold of your wrist, hands shaking as he rolls up your sleeve to see the damage.

It’s clear as day, it’s not just a scratch but teeth marks deeply etched into the skin, with blood continuously pouring out from it.

You feel your eyes fill with tears, bottom lip wobbling before the wound’s covered by a piece of fabric.

“John” you say as he begins to wrap it.

“Hush” is all he says in response albeit his voice is sounding weaker and you see the way his hands shake, can hear him take shaky breaths, can feel he’s falling apart right before your eyes as he applies the gauze.

“John” you say again with your hand resting on his but even then he won’t look up for your wound

“John you have to do it” you say again and that’s when he finally looks up, cerulean eyes filled with tears and bottom lip wobbling as he grabs ahold of your neck to pull you closer to him

“Do you hear yourself boy?!”

“You’ve said it yourself! If someone gets bitten we shoot them dead!” You say, your own furry reflecting on your face

“That is not the same thing! That is not what - that’s not” his eyes close, tears trickling down his cheeks and his voice cracks when he speaks “you’ll be okay it’ll be alright we’ll just wait til the rest of the boys get here yeah?”

You bite your tongue, swallowing down the bile rising at the back of your throat before you nod your head in response because after all you too have made denial your very own best friend.

The first hour passes and Price makes sure to dry the sweat from your forehead, gives you some food and water to shove some nutrition into your body while continuously changing your bandage with the limited supplies he has with him.

The boys arrive by the third hour and he doesn’t even allow you to mention the bite, just explains you had some bumps in the road but managed to get your supplies. He has an arm around your waist, body flushed against yours to support your weight as he walks you back to the camp, explaining to the rest that you’re just tired it’s been a long day and that he’ll be the one to take you to bed.

By the fourth hour you’re shriveled up in your sleeping sack, running a fever while heaving up your dinner, all while price is there hands once again shaking eyes glassy as he wipes the sweat of your forehead and makes sure you take proper gulps of water.

By the fifth hour you’re reminding him once again that you won’t make it there’s no cure for this and denial has overstayed its welcome but he’s having none of it head shaking and lip turned down into a frown “why?! Why why why are you keeping me alive?!” You almost sob out. “Because I love you, that’s why, do you understand now?!” He yells, the captain tone slipping into his voice as he explains how you’ve got his whole heart in your hands.

A silence falls over the two of you because what is there to say for two people that are doomed.

By the 6 hours silent tears are trickling down your half changed face, blunt nails digging into the palm of Price’s hand while your heart beat gradually slows down.

By the 7th hour, dusk has turned to dawn and 141 find you and Price laying on the floor, hand in hand, with matching bullet holes in your temples.

In the palm of Price’s hand they find a note, on it the words “to be loved is to be changed” are written on paper, later on they’ll find a bite on his body that matches yours.

#John price #john price x reader #call of duty #john price x male reader #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #idk I’ve had this idea in my head #trickling is such a beautiful word to me #enunciate as well

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stsgooo · 3 months

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What Once Was.

✩࿐ summary: you had numerous problems, but resting at number one was geto suguru.

warning(s): lovers to enemies to lovers(?), self-indulgent on a nuclear level, reader is kinda obsessed with geto, unrequited requited love, cult leader geto things, semi-jealous fem!gojo, SMUT MDNI. wc; 13.8k

pairing(s): fem!geto/fem!reader, (slight, slight, slight) fem!gojo/fem!reader.

a/n: hello hello everyone!! first of all, i'd like to apologize for my month long absence from writing. i got covid and then i lost, like, all motivation for writing. but im back now so yipppeee! secondly, happy new year!! (23 days later) happy for this to be my first fic of 2024. anyway, i always see wacuoms art on here and twitter and fem!geto makes my brain go brrr SO i drummed up this silly thing based on that specific art piece. you should definitely check out their art bc it’s so beautiful and just AH!!

m.list ao3

ADMITTEDLY, YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH HER HAD NEVER BEEN… RIGHT, TO SAY THE LEAST.

Even in highschool, you’d clung to her like she was a life raft in the middle of the ocean, the only thing keeping you from floating away, the only thing keeping you from drowning. Neither of you had really acknowledged it back then. Much too focused on fighting curses and just fooling around to truly place any type of label on things. It was peaceful then. Both of you are untouched by the horrors that would come.

Then she had rushed off with Gojo on that Star Plasma Vessel mission, beaming and promising she’d be back before you knew it. Only to return with a bloodied chest and sunken eyes as she proclaimed the girl was dead.

Then she hadn’t returned from that mission. She killed 112 people, vanishing into thin air. Leaving Gojo (and you) to clean up the pieces of her sudden and brutal departure.

Back then, you’d only held contempt for her.

From the moment Yaga had pulled you aside during training with a fourth year, looking you in the eyes, and uttered read this, you felt rage. You felt a never ending, unsettled rage that sparked deep within your gut and dared to set aflame those around you.

Five days after departure. 112 dead. Village left in ruins. Home empty, but residuals indicate murder.

Geto Suguru. Sentenced to death.

Finality of her fate for the rest of time was printed on a piece of paper and passed around jujutsu society like wildfire. Always to be a defector. Always to be a murderer. Long forgotten was the girl who used to curl up against you, uttering her worries into your back. The girl who would shyly offer her help whenever you were particularly stumped. Gone was the girl who had offered something different and true to you. Now, a murderer.

A murderer. The girl who had always said death needed to be justified, that things needed reason, was the very same that killed 112 people and promised to kill more. A murderer.

You never quite got used to people associating everything horrible with her. The updates you’d hear as your school life came to an end. Whispers of her wrong doings just never matched with the face and person you had known.

It messed you up for a long time. Her betrayal. Your relationships slowly dwindled away as you fell reclusive. Faces that you used to greet daily, grew further away. Your graduation was met with little fanfare. In fact, you’d only received a voicemail from Shoko informing you that it was over and done while you were on a mission. You drowned all the negativity and the hatred down with work. Quickly assuming your role as a “powerful sorcerer”. A joke, in your books. You’d never been as powerful as the others. Never as useful.

Her defection made you feel selfish.

There was an extreme amount of anger and frustration that you took out on others when it was all pinned on her. Burned some bridges between you and few. Most notably, you and Gojo. Both of you had been pent up with the rage of the betrayal and things had been said. It was almost easy to leave her one and only. To take a job at Kyoto and completely leave Tokyo behind like a nasty stain on your favorite sweater.

What was once home and family, was nothing more than a horrible reminder of what once was.

Time moved on. Life took you different places and you met new people. You matured more and you worked towards trying to appear more stable.

But she always lingered in the back of your mind.

Gojo, when the both of you were still on speaking terms, had brazenly described her as a breath of fresh air. The last bit of blue spring. A beautiful luminous skyline that kept you captivated. Words all so flippant and nonchalant as if it were fact that couldn’t be contested or questioned.

You agreed.

But, at the same time, you’d seen her in a different light.

She’d always been the setting sun. Something that would go away, no matter how much you begged for its light to hold out a little longer. Something that would display the most beautiful things, showcase art that no other could obtain, then so ruthlessly take it away. No matter how much you reached out for it, it’d never been within your grasp. When you thought of sunsets, you thought of her.

When you saw certain hair ties displayed in shops, you thought of her.

When you lay alone in the middle of the bed, you thought of her— butting her way in, her long legs tangling with your own as she claimed you hogged all of it to keep her close.

When you saw, you thought of her. You saw a lot. You thought a lot.

Shamefully, you thought of her a lot, even after eight years.

At 24, you’re supposed to be better.

Everyone seemed to figure it all out. How to avoid the topic of her. How to move on so quickly. How to avoid talking about the sorcerer from their class, their school, their group that snapped and went on a spree. How to avoid giving updates when the higher-ups are a little desperate for someone to go out and find her, to finally put a stop to her.

Everyone but you.

Your avoidance, your loophole from thinking about her, was to simply diminish her to her. Nothing else. Nothing less, nothing more. Just her. No name. No face. Nothing.

She’d left you. She never said goodbye to you. She told Shoko and Gojo goodbye. Went out and found them. But not you. She didn’t want to see you. She didn’t feel the same as you did. All of the things you reminded yourself to keep you sane, from thinking about her with rose tinted glasses.

It was easier that way. You’d been doing good at it too. No longer your friend. No longer the girl you might’ve felt more for. No longer the strongest. No longer a sorcerer. Just her.

Well, until you received this mission.

The higher-ups had called you to Tokyo and you instantly knew it wouldn’t be anything good. Finding yourself in the middle of a dimly lit room, they offered not any ‘hi’s, ‘hello’s, or ‘good morning’s. They’d opened with, Gojo Satoru is no longer in the country and we have something of great importance to be dealt with.

Promising. Not at all threatening, right?

No way.

If they couldn’t even have Gojo Satoru present in the country for this, it was definitely something they didn’t want her finding out about. Something that she’d definitely hunt you down and kill you over if it was something insanely extreme.

Despite your inner reassurances, you knew it was something you wouldn’t like either.

Still, you couldn’t outright say no. You weren’t as strong, you weren’t as brilliant, or as cunning, or important as Gojo. You were just… you. A girl from a far off village who was lucky to be born like this, to be found when she had. To see what you could see. You’d always been plain.

You were in no place to decline.

What exactly do you want done? You had asked with trepidation, sensing something heavy in the air.

What they said next hadn’t ever crossed your mind.

One of Geto Suguru’s members has been seen scoping out the area where a Special Grade curse has been reported. We’re under the impression that she’ll be going to the area within the next two days to claim it. We’d like for you to take this chance and execute her.

The moment the name left the old man’s mouth, three years of your youth burst through your mind like a raid. Blissful times. Happier times. Before everything. When she used to tuck your hair behind your ear. When her eyes would be bright and jovial as you explained something childish to her. When she would utter your name against your skin and press the most delicate of kisses against you. When Suguru—

Your world crumbled the instant the name filled your mind.

You’d broken your streak. Of not saying her name.

It’s probably why you didn’t hesitate to agree. As her name repeated in your mind— Suguru. Suguru. Suguru. Suguru. All the wonderful and beautiful things that accompanied a name as sweet as hers. Ignoring the fact that you, when the moment came and the day called for it, would never be able to harm her. Much less execute her. You agreed.

They appeared relieved. As they thanked you for your time, for your cooperation. They promised you that you would be doing the world a service.

You were not so convinced as you bowed, then took your leave. Instead, you couldn’t help the burst of unnerving giddiness that waved over you.

It wasn’t long after you got home that you received an email including files upon files of information you’d have to stuff in your mind before going to the location. Long droning essays on the curse residing in the area, the area itself, and the type of person that had been nervously traipsing around a specific building taking notes. It didn’t really interest you, nor did you really take any of it seriously. A single photo of the person staking out the area appeared to be a young man, red cheeks, and wide eyes. He looked no older than 20.

It was well into the night, your fourth cup of some bottle of alcohol that's been sitting on your shelf for years, when you opened a file and saw her.

The first thing that caught your eye was the photo at the top. The picture was shitty. Grainy and taken from a distance, as if the photographer was in the midst of a large crowd, barely tall enough to get something decent. But it was enough to make your body lock up and your eyes to take in every detail of her endlessly.

She was older, much like you, her hair much longer, now adorned in a half bun with a single bang sculpting the right side of her face— much like how it would rest in your teen years. It appeared that she still had her gauges in, possibly a larger size than the last you saw of her. New piercings appeared to adorn her face, just above her eyebrow and on her bottom lip, a single ring on the right. She was just so… her. If it weren’t for the large robes that seemed to swallow her whole, making her appear small and approachable, you would’ve convinced yourself it was still your Suguru.

You read over the information gathered about her carefully. With much more attention than you had given to the special grade and skittish curse user before her. The file was filled to the brim with things she’d been up to for the past eight years—there were gaps here and there about what she’d been doing exactly, but you got the jist that none of it was necessarily good.

Almost immediately after her defection, she’d taken over the Star Religious Group. Something that brought you pause. You’d heard that name uttered here and there when you were younger. Especially from Suguru herself. As she got that hollow look in her eyes, staring distantly, she’d told you that the applause was neverending. When you asked who, she said them. The group. It made you wonder what could possibly possess her to take over the group and create it into— well, more of a cult. The information about it was far and few. Mostly detailed information about it was Suguru’s punishment for those she believed weren’t exactly useful, they most likely ended up dead and disfigured.

It appeared that most of her followers were either men hoping for some type of attention from her, women who were the same and willing to do more, or those who truly believed in whatever deranged thing she was passing around. There was a quite a list of men that had crossed some figurative line and detailed torture they endured because of their crimes in Suguru’s eyes— you didn’t let it sway you as you, wholeheartedly, believed they probably deserved it.

Another section detailed that she had a subgroup called “The Family”.

You were ashamed to acknowledge the heavy feeling in your chest. As you read about the members that were known— a man from Africa, a woman from Hokkaido, a blonde man of unknown origins— two girls. It seemed that this was something that caught the attention of not only you, but the higher-ups too. There wasn’t much information, but they seemed desperate to find some weakness with the woman. These two seemed to be it.

13 years-old, have not attended any schools, unknown birth origins, unknown curse technique. It seemed that Suguru had done good in keeping them secret, despite them being semi-known within the people that mattered.

Your heart beats erratically against your chest, your tongue darting out to moisten your lips. It’d been so long since you saw her. Not even a glimpse at a picture. You wished… Hell fucking no. You’re not doing this again. You’re not falling down this rabbit hole again.

Still, your heart ached. She had time for this family. She could tell Shoko and Gojo goodbye. But she never sought you—

You closed the tab instantly once the thought entered your mind. Downed the rest of your cup and pressed your fingers against your eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. All that time since you saw her. The amount of time since you stuffered all those pictures into the back of your attic, telling yourself you were done. The higher-ups ruin it for a botched execution.

It was in that moment, that you promised to exorcize the curse before she could ever get there.

An easy in and out. A fool proof plan that you drummed up drunk off your ass, and trying not to think about the teenaged you who would scoff at you now. You imagined her, happier and awestruck by a girl with a dazzling smile and heart of gold, standing over you and asking how you could possibly end up like this. When you and that girl of gold had promised an eternity of fighting curses together. She would be disappointed. As you were.

You decided, for the teenage versions of yourselves, you wouldn’t kill her. No, it couldn’t be you. Instead, you’d give her a sign. You’d kill that curse and it’d be a clear cut you’re being watched. She’d take the hint.

There had been a reason Suguru, red faced and teary eyed, had banned you from making plans in high school.

You arrived at the abandoned complex at 7PM.

After a long day of traveling, you were almost emotional to see it. But you knew what it meant as you stepped through the door. Another exhaustive fight that would leave you passed out on the train and the higher-ups giving you a lashing for failing so badly.

Your steps were light as you judged the area. It seemed abandoned and you didn’t see or feel any disturbances. Everything seemed in order. You whistled softly as you walked through the halls, searching each moldy and deteriorated room with the interest of a grandfather. It didn’t appear that there was any curse lingering. You were almost convinced you had the wrong address when you felt it.

It was something you didn’t acknowledge at first. Just as you approached the last step of the 12th floor. You felt this weight lift off your shoulders and you sighed contentedly. In an instant, everything felt okay. Like you weren’t about to have a quarter life crisis once this was done and over with. You pushed some of your hair back and just let your eyes droop as if a soothing lullaby was egging you into slumber. Bliss.

A beat.

Bliss, you realized with a shudder, was the last thing you should be feeling.

You felt a tug behind you. Last second, you whirled around to meet the eyes of the curse.

It was plump and red, an array of eyes staring at you alone. It almost resembled a strawberry as it floated feet in front of you. But its touch was not delicate or sweet, landing a hard ruthless blow in your gut that sent you flying back. Straight through an opposite wall and into one of the many abandoned apartments.

For a moment, all you could do was stare up at the ceiling with your ears ringing and head aching. You asked yourself, what the fuck am I doing? You should’ve told them to fuck off. Told them that you were not going to get yourself mixed up with whatever fucked ass shit Suguru was doing. You were done. You should’ve been more assertive.

But you were a coward.

You cursed to yourself as you dragged a languid hand up to your face. Pulling back to stare at the blood coating your fingers with a heavy sigh. You pushed yourself into a sitting position, swaying in your spot as your head grew dizzy. It didn’t take you long for you to realize your RCT wasn’t working. In fact, you had little to no cursed energy at the moment. An odd sensation of emptiness filled you with anxiety and you were suddenly reminded of what you read right before you saw her picture last night.

Along with the feelings of bliss, this curse can drain cursed energy from the user. Proceed with caution.

Maybe their true plan was to kill you all along. Who would even care?

Shoko could be semi-shocked, maybe. You hadn’t talked to her in years and the shock would primarily be rooted in the ‘wow, I haven’t heard from her in years. That’s awfully sad.’ way. In the best case scenario, she could show off your liver to an awfully curious student who wanted to know what alcoholism does to the body.

Nanami, possibly the only person that you kept contact with (which was only texts on holidays and whenever you had a question about locations), would say it was a shame and move on as if it was a bad game of football he lost a bet on.

Utahime would only cry because death is sad. And she would prattle on about how she knew you and could have possibly done something, if only she had known the job they were sending you on. In true Utahime fashion.

And Gojo.

Well, Satoru would probably roll her eyes and say something along the lines of— Go figure she’d die because of her own ignorance. Then make a poorly timed joke about your demise that would only get protests out of some faux respect for you.

It wasn’t nice. Or entirely comforting. Nor did you bring tears to your eyes. It was just your reality. Something you had accepted the moment you’d walked away from those you’d known.

It was just reality.

The strawberry-like curse was about to break through, with you accepting your death wholeheartedly, the hole in the wall when a loud roar vibrated off the walls to the right of the corridor. Both you and the curse had no time to process anything when a flash of something pounced by. The strawberry-like curse was suddenly out of your view with a loud screech. You could hear it fight against something, making feeble noises as they seemed to struggle against one another, but you couldn’t see anything except for the sudden pink mist filling the air. A last ditch effort at defending itself. But the thing that attacked it didn’t seem to care as it continued to growl.

You dared to inch closer to the hole and peek out.

Over the strawberry-like curse, tearing it to shreds, was a cat-like curse. Big. Much bigger than the other curse and definitely bigger than you. Huge talons coated in purple goop, pointed black ears, pure white coat, with purple and black swirls all around its torso. It looked vicious and you were suddenly worried that this was the true curse Suguru was after. Much better than a horny strawberry curse. Much more powerful too.

“Shame, I really was going to use that.”

It’s been eight years, four months, 16 days, and 30 hours since you last heard her voice. The last you had heard of her was a week before Yaga told you of her defection. She’d shown up at your door, black hair loose from its usual prim and proper updo, she asked if she could come in. You accepted without hesitation. She laid with you silently before she asked a question you thought about often: Do you ever see yourself being something other than a sorcerer? Back then, you hadn’t thought about it before you told her no. You told her that you were happy to continue doing this— it was what you loved. She stared at you long and hard that night. Then uttered that you were right.

The next day, Haibara Yu was killed.

Bitterly, you realized it hadn’t changed at all. Still sweet, still thick like honey, a trap for you to stumble and get stuck in. To cherish until the moment you perished.

You felt sick to your stomach as you refused to look over at her. You hadn’t heard her approach. Didn’t even sense anything, but that definitely had to do with the curse’s mist. She managed to sneak inside and now she was only feet away from you. You could feel her gaze. You had always been able to tell when she was looking, when she was prying open your head and trying to take a peek. It always made you feel hot all over, a tightness in your abdomen and a burn against your cheeks.

Now, it makes you queasy. Makes you sweat and shiver, goosebumps littering your skin.

“You know, people usually say thank you after you save their life.” She continued on as if this wasn’t hard. As if it wasn’t you and it wasn’t her standing in this abandoned building while a curse— her curse— devoured another. “But I suppose you were never one for manners.”

Is your lack of manners all natural or do you have to work extra hard to be like this? Suguru used to tease you after you were particularly difficult on a mission. Bumping hips with you, hand brushing against yours, eyes half crescents as she smiled. Her. Her. Beautiful.

She had been everything.

She’d been the one you sought out when you were much too jumbled for anything or anyone else. Been the first you opened up to, spilling all your secrets and worries into her ear. Been the first to hear it all and to touch you delicately, to embrace you so tenderly that you believed you were everything horrible.

She had been love.

But that was before she became a mass murderer. Before she promised a world without non-sorcerers. Before she had left you in the dust without so much as a glance. Before everything. That was your reality now.

You clenched your jaw, head tilted down as you weighed your options.

The cat curse was in the way of the exit, still devouring the other in a ruthless onset of hunger. You wouldn’t be able to get through it without your cursed energy, which you could only just start to feel slowly returning. She was blocking the hallway that led to the fire escape. Probably a deliberate choice and she probably wanted to attack you with these lack of escape routes she’d given.

The only option was the window behind you.

To jump and free fall from the 12th floor, then book it, hoping to get away fast enough. Your only hope was that you landed and didn’t break anything.

Your foot shifted, getting prepared to book it, when she spoke again and, effectively, stopped you.

“I wasn’t going to come today, but one of my people said they saw you, and…. Well, I’ll admit, I was a tad curious.”

Your ears rang.

She had come… specifically for you? She wasn’t even going to get this shit, but you had been there, and she came?

A part of you dared to grow hopeful. A part of you that you’ve tried to push down and ignore for almost a decade. A part of you that was insane and thought insane things. Dreamt of things that could never be. It was the side that was absolutely obsessed with her. The side that just wanted to consume her whole and for you both to become one. One side that would something wish you were a curse that she could swallow and summon at will. Your mind was soaring with wild things. Crazy things.

You tried to focus on something else. Like the fact that she regarded this as a purely curious endeavor. Curiosity was an interesting choice of word. You could be curious about anything. Like the sun and the moon. Or a bug. This situation felt more like a bug. Like she was holding a magnifying glass and watching your movements, adding pressure to you, seeing what you could handle. Next, she’d hold out the glass to the sun and scorch you alive.

In your state, you’d probably thank her.

You could see her shift in the corner of your eye, she drew closer to you, and you could just barely make out the end of her robes.

“Are you not even going to look at me?” She dared to sound sad. To sound a little teasing.

You were convinced that if you looked at her, you’d be blinded. That you could never possibly look away again. That you’d plead and beg for things she’d never give you.

She sighed something heavy, “You’re angry.”

Angry? You wanted to say, instead clenching your hands at your sides, I’m downright murderous.

You’re angry you’re even here.

You’re angry that the higher-ups believed you could do this.

You’re angry that Gojo didn’t dare to even try.

You’re angry that you can pick out her soft fruity perfume as it fills the air.

You’re angry that your heart still beats wildly at her mere presence.

You’re so fucking angry that she can stand there and talk to you like it was nothing. That it hadn’t been eight years. That you hadn’t been forced to suffer alone without her.

Yeah, you’re angry.

Your eyes snapped away as the cat curse purred, making its way back down the hallway. You took a step back from the hole, fearful it’s pounce on you next. However, it kept walking, until it was by her side. You watched as it rubbed its face against her side, purring and mewling softly as she delicately ran her fingers through its fur. Her hands were bigger than you remember. Her long fingers carded through the fur gently, black painted nails a stark contrast to the white of the beast.

“I’m not going to fight you….” Yet, remained unspoken. It appeared to be completely up to you on whether or not you two would end up in a brawl. “I’m just here for a chat.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You spoke before you could think, before you could stop yourself.

She seemed to pause. Her hand froze momentarily in the fur, before it shakily began once more. “I knew you were angry.”

That only pissed you off more.

“Angry? Of course I’m angry! Here you are, after eight years, just popping in like it’s fucking nothing. Like this isn’t the cruelest thing you’ve ever done.” You retorted, your hands clenched tight at your sides as you deliberately stared at her tabi clad sandal covered feet. You couldn’t look her in the eye. You couldn’t see her face. It’d be over. You couldn’t.

She faltered once against, then seemed to take her chances, taking a step towards you. “I wanted to see you.”

Eight years too late. You thought.

You scoffed, jaw clenched, “Yeah, right, you didn’t want to see me eight years ago, why would you want to see me now?”

“Eight years ago—?”

“You went to everyone that mattered and said goodbye. You explained yourself to them and then you vanished. But there wasn’t a goddamn word for me?” You felt pent up anger and sadness from over the years conjured up once more. Nights you had spent curled up alone in bed after her defection, staring into the darkness, while the endless string of thoughts about your value and worth replayed in your head. It crushed you. The reality of it all. “Me? It told me exactly what I meant to you.”

“I wasn’t—”

“I cared about you much more than you ever cared about me. It was always you and Gojo, I just butt my way in.” You continued in an overflow of thoughts that you never dared to speak aloud. You figured, if this was the last time you saw each other, then you’d lay it all out. “I just wanted you to say something, but it made me open my eyes when you didn’t say a word. I learned my lesson.”

A beat.

“Really?” Her tone is flat, almost sarcastic as she regards you. “And what was that lesson?”

“Don’t assume your place in someone’s life.”

There was a prolonged silence between you both and you thought that she just might walk away. But you were pleasantly surprised when she chuckled. A deep and low sound that echoed off the walls and converged back on you. Goosebumps formed on your arms and there was a distinct shiver down your back.

“You don’t change, do you?” Her voice is thick with amusement and something oddly unidentifiable mixed in there.

You’re unable to answer. Had you really remained the same after all these years?

Suddenly, you’re broken from your thoughts as warm and soft hands slip to either side of your face, pulling your head upwards and you finally make eye contact with her for the first time.

The light brown warm and welcoming, an old home that called to you now as you stared at her with wide eyes. The bags that had tainted her under eye those years ago were non-existent now. Instead, wrinkles at the corner of her eyes adorned her features. You were half tempted to reach out and trace them, take them into your memory.

A sickness fills your gut as you take her in completely.

The blurry picture some informant took didn’t do her justice. It didn’t capture the warmth of her eyes, or the spread of her lips, the charming nature of it all. She looks better, healthier, than she had when you last saw her. Cheeks are full when they used to be sunken, fingers and arms no longer boney as they once were, she filled her clothes now, surely. Your eyes take in the new piercings that litter her face now. Two on her bottom lip, three on both of the upper lobes of her eyes. Her hair was longer and appeared to be silk like, still tied up in a half up bun, it was almost too familiar. The only thing that was different was the sharp smirk on her lips and her clothes.

Heavy robes, almost that of a monk, that seemed to swallow her large frame whole. The only place that seemed to be strained was her upper breasts, cleavage peeking from the fabric. Something that would surely bring shame to other monks, but pleasure to you.

Your little mass murdering ex.

“Ah,” Suguru breathed, eyes brightening considerably when you seemed to completely take her in, “Long time no see.”

You wanted to keel over right there. To fall to the ground and have your soul float upwards into oblivion. You might just die happy.

“....Suguru…” Your hand shakily wraps around her wrist, clutching onto her tightly.

Her eyes are almost manic, staring down at you as her fingers gently stroke against your cheek. “You think I didn’t see you because I didn’t care about you? You’re an idiot.” Her words are slow and deliberate, a tone that you would use on a petulant child. The tips of her nails dug into your cheeks as she squeezed them together, jerking your forward. You’re so close that you feel her hot breath fan across your skin. So close you could smell the faint scent of the mints she’d pop whenever she’d absorb a curse. It was dangerous to be so close, to be so vulnerable and under her touch. But you couldn’t pull away now, not waiting all this time just to see her. “I did everything I did because I do care about you.”

Your mind draws blank as your hold on her slackens, “You do…?” You whisper, words jumbled by the press of your cheeks.

Her eyes bounce from your own to your puckered lips, something dark residing deep within her soft hued irises. “You calling me a liar?” She loomed over you now, your back straining to keep her in your line of sight.

“I don’t know you anymore, Suguru— it’s been eight years. You’ve killed people, innocent people.” You attempt to keep your voice concise and level. To be the voice of reason in this mind numbing situation. But you can tell by her expression that you didn’t help.

She looks unimpressed, maybe even disgusted, by your words. “Innocent? They’re all as innocent as the serpent tempting Eve.” She drew you even closer, your breasts pressing against her own, the soft flesh smashed between the both of you. Her manic expression only grows more feral as she stares down at you. “They all have blood on their hands and they’re allowed to walk around without knowing what they’ve done. The amount of sorcerers that’ll die just for them to remain ignorant. Never having to know the kids, the people, that their emotions have killed. Those monkeys—”

In an instant, you were glaring up at her, “I didn’t come here to talk about your insane fucking ideals, Suguru! Now, either talk like a normal sane person, or this is done.”

She faltered.

She had the gall to look caught off guard, before masking her expression with a kind grin. She pulled away from you, her nails leaving deep red crescents in your skin. It almost burned, but your heart beating against your ears (and between your legs), distracted you from the gentle pain.

Suguru tucked her hands into her sleeves, her eyes closing as she bowed respectfully. “I apologize. I can get rather carried away with my thoughts.” The sudden shift in tone and the air was almost whiplash. It was crazy to see how easily she could go from crazed excited rage to this respectable monk offering her sincere apologies. It made your head spin. “I don’t mean to anger you.”

You eyed her for a long moment. Watched the way she kept her position. She didn’t falter or twitch. Just remained bowed.

“Why are we here?”

“I assumed you were sent here to execute me.”

With the nail hit on the head, you tensed.

This only dragged a scoff from her, a twinge of bitter amusement there. “Rather foolish on their part— thinking you of all people would kill me.”

It felt like a jab on your abilities. It was definitely a jab on your abilities.

“I could.” You childishly retort.

Suguru’s pierced brow raises, a twinkle in her eye that you could identify from your teenage years, “You could? Really?” She repeated, and it sounded terribly incredulous. “You’ve just had your cursed technique— which you could barely do anything with the last time we saw each other, by the way— leached away by a curse. You’re horribly banged up. I don’t think you could throw a straight punch even if you wanted.”

“I could kill you, if I really wanted— but I don’t do shit just because someone says so.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Suguru laughed.

She laughed and laughed. She laughed loudly. Hard enough that her head was thrown back, eyes closed. Her chest heaved as her arms wrapped around her midriff. The sound was wheezy and sharp, would’ve been mocking if it weren’t for the familiarity of it.

A sound that you hadn’t realized you missed until this very moment.

It was a heavy realization. Just how much you missed Suguru.

The tiniest of things that you had taken for granted as a child. Her laughs, her smiles, the little twitch in her hands whenever she wanted to do something, but hesitated. It made you think about all the things you had missed that year. The frowns and the distance in her eyes— the amount of times you had asked what’s wrong and let her slip by with a simple nothing too important. There were many things you should’ve done in order to hold onto and cherish those little things you once loved dearly.

You resisted the overwhelming urge to cry as you clenched your jaw, swallowing down any of the tears. You wouldn’t do this. Not here. Not in front of her.

“You really haven’t changed,” Suguru said breathlessly, calming down from her laughing fit to address you once again. “It warms my heart— to see you untouched by time.”

Untouched.

Untouched?

You were, arguably, one of the most touched people by the slut of time. You had suffered and agonized every day for years. To say you were unchanged, untouched, it was almost like her spitting in your face.

“Then you don’t know me.” You flatly reply.

Her amused expression falters. “Hm?”

“These have been the worst eight years of my life. The amount of shit I’ve been through to even be talking to you now— it’s been insufferable. I have changed. A lot. I have changed in ways that I didn’t even know were possible and it’s been the worst experience.” There was a spark of rage in you as you reached out and pushed her back. She didn’t move to stop you, but she didn’t even stumble at your ‘attack’. She just stared and stared. “Just because you couldn’t, what— stop being angry? News flash, Suguru, we’re all pissed off at the world, but we can’t do anything about it!”

“You could,” Suguru said quietly after a moment’s pause, “Any of us could do something about it. There’s just no opportunity from that place. They restrict you, put you in a box.”

If anyone hadn’t changed, it was Suguru. Who appeared and sounded like she was just as self assured as she was eight years ago.

Instead of arguing over something you know neither of you would budge on, you turned towards the stairs.

Your swift exit would be the best option. There was nothing to be said, nothing to be passed between the both of you that would change the fact that Suguru was sentenced to death— and you were left behind. The realization made you sigh softly through your nose, dragging your feet as you walked away. She made no move to stop you, not even asking what you were doing, it seemed you both agreed—

“I didn’t seek you out because I knew you couldn’t handle it.”

Her words made you pause once again.

You faltered in your step and your eyes were unwavering as they peeked at her from over your shoulder. Her head was held high, face unmoved, but her eyes… her eyes carried something heavier.

“Huh..?” You uttered.

Suguru took a deep breath, “I knew that if I told you goodbye, you would’ve done something stupid, like try to convince me to come back or say that it was a mistake. O-Or you would’ve thought that you could’ve done something to stop me.” I still thought that. I still believe that. I still imagine myself finding you and dragging your stubborn ass back. “I didn’t say goodbye because I thought…. Well, I thought it was a mercy.”

“A mercy?” You frown heavily at her, “A mercy from what?”

“From heartbreak.”

There was a moment of silence between you two that you dragged on for three minutes.

A mercy from heartbreak.

It almost made you laugh. How absurd the notion was— that her not speaking a word to you somehow spared you from any pain. That you wouldn’t feel the effects of her sudden disappearance just because she didn’t speak to you. It was an optimistic view on it. It was too hopeful. It was selfish.

So you just sharply laughed.

The sound was so sudden that you were almost tempted to jump. As Suguru does, blinking at you to stare at you with vague curiosity. You hadn't expected it yourself. It wasn’t a planned action, nor did you have any opportunity to stop yourself. It just happened. As abruptly and sudden as this situation.

Suguru’s thin brow raised, “What’s so funny?”

“You,” Was the immediate reply as you recovered, taking deep breaths, “Just…. A mercy. You’ve always been so interesting, Suguru. Your concept of sparing me from all those nasty feelings is so..”

“So what?” Suguru’s voice is flat as she regards you, seemingly unamused by this sudden shift in mood from you.

You shoot her a look, “Naive.”

“Naive?”

“Terribly. The fact that you genuinely believe I would’ve rather not heard from you at all to save myself the heartbreak is naive, Suguru.”

Her nose scrunched. “I was sparing you—“

You scoffed, “Sparing me? What am I, some-some damsel in need of saving?”

“A conversation wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“All I wanted was you to say goodbye.”

“You would’ve been devastated—“

“I was devastated when you didn’t even see me!” You reached out and slapped her shoulder. She remained unmoved. Not surprising given her wide stature and statue-like physique. “Do you know what it was like, waiting for you to stumble around and tell me anything? To hear from Gojo or Shoko that you saw them but I wasn’t even worth it? I waited weeks— months for anything. I would’ve taken a card saying anything. Hell, you could’ve been like, surprise! I killed those people. See you never xoxo! And I would’ve taken it. I would’ve sucked it up and swallowed my pride. But you didn’t say a word, Suguru. Not a single thing. That’s what devastated me.”

Suguru blinked slowly, staring at you from over nose as she seemed to blankly contemplate her next words. “A conversation wouldn’t have changed my decision.” She repeated, except it was more firm.

You take in a shaky breath, “I know that.”

“No, you don’t. I can see that you don’t.” Suddenly, Suguru’s hand raised, hesitating, before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I honestly didn’t haven’t anything right to say to you. Anything that came to mind, it just… it wasn’t right. I wanted it to be right with you.”

You tried to ignore the erratic beat of your heart and the heat rising to your cheeks as you stared up at her. “I would’ve taken anything.”

“You deserved more than some empty words I would’ve given. you then.”

A part of you truly did wonder what she could have told you then to comfort you. A part of you knew that you probably would’ve tried to convince her to come with you. To try and make amends with a system she despised. Or maybe it would’ve been carnage and your rage would’ve gotten in the way. Maybe it was best that you two hadn’t talked then.

Still, that teen in you had wished desperately for her one last time.

“My conversation with Satoru… she told me to stay away from you,” Suguru continued when you didn’t speak, “She said that one of us would probably do something incredibly dumb.”

Your eyebrows shot upwards, “Like what?”

Suguru rolled her shoulder, a distant look in her eyes, “I don’t know. Something dumb.”

“We were never the smartest together.”

“I suppose.”

The conversation waned and you suddenly noticed that Suguru’s curse was gone along with the strawberry. Probably both fell away into the recesses of whatever deep dark pit they were all nestled in. Waiting to be coaxed out, waiting to obey and impress their master by any means necessary.

It almost reminded you of high school.

Your desperate attempts at catching her eye. Gaining attention from the angelic girl that sat two seats over. Pathetic battles you placed yourself smack dab in the middle to show off and impress her with your silly fighting style. You were so painfully obvious and embarrassing back then. As if you were one of her curses, bound and promised to serve her. Fight for her, live for her, breathe for her. A loyal dog. Gojo had called you that once.

Shamefully, you acknowledged that same sense of loyalty lingered in the air now.

Why else would you drag yourself to this place? Killing a curse before she could get it just to send a message? Why would you want to warn the psycho killer that inhabited the body of your first…something eight years after she completely abandoned you?

Loyalty and need.

Suguru, larger than life, had you even after all these years.

Eight years wasn’t nearly enough time to lay her memory to rest.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Suguru spoke once the silence dragged on for almost too long. Her hands were tucked into her large sleeves, a peaceful expression on her face with something prowling in the darkness of her eyes. “You can return and tell them I caught you off guard while you were attacking the curse. That I got the upper hand. It’s the easiest way to explain why we’ll depart largely unscathed.”

You tried to ignore the way her eyes trailed up and down your body, taking in the wounds scattering your skin. Instead, paying more attention to her words. Which were more kind than you expected.

“I’m sure they’ll ask you questions. Just act dumb, you were always good at that when we were in trouble.” Then she turned towards the stairs.

She was walking away from you again.

Her back turned. Long black tresses swaying across her back. Shoulders tight and straight. Respectable.

She was walking away from you again.

Suguru! You had called out softly that day. Much younger and much dumber than you were now. Her back had faced you then. You thought nothing of it. Despite how much you longed to stare at her face, you hadn’t doubted you’d see it again. I didn’t even hear you leave. Will I see you later?

Suguru had released something soft then, peeking over her shoulder at you, Later.

She had walked away from you.

She never came back.

She was walking away from you.

There was no coming back.

You just needed a moment longer. Just a little more time to drag out the various things you’d imagined in the eight years she’d been absent. To satisfy some sick twisted part of you that longed, that yearned, that held onto her memories so dearly. The delusional part of you that believed things could be the same in some distant universe.

She was walking away.

She’s not going to come back. She wasn’t even giving the illusion that you both would see each other again.

She was walking away.

What are you going to do? You can’t let her go. Not after you’d gotten a taste of the girls you once were. Not that you’d felt her and—

She’s walking away!!!

“They know about those kids.”

You’re not entirely sure why you said that specifically. Probably something to do with the fact that was the original warning you wanted to convey with this whole thing. It just kinda came out. There was no putting it back in.

However, watching Suguru’s back stiffen, rigid and almost unnatural, as she paused in her steps, you realized you wanted to put it back in.

“Excuse me?” Her voice was different. Flat and unwelcoming, hard and unforgiving. She moved her head to regard you with the words you’d just spoken. They were darker than before. Guarded.

You keep your expression carefully open, trying to convey that you weren’t threatening her, “There’s moles in your congregation. They’re watching you and your family. They’re trying to find your weakness and they’ve started to set their eyes on those girls.” You pushed out in one breath.

Suguru pauses for a long moment, jaw tweaking and lips pressed thinly, “And I assume you saw what they had?” Her tone was still cold, still stiff.

You nod, “Yes. It’s very small, very limited. But they have some type of knowledge.”

Suguru faced away once again, her arms at her side and hands clenching. “Goddammit.” She hissed under her breath.

“I just wanted to give you that, uh, warning, so…” You cleared your throat, awkwardly swaying your arm. “Be careful.”

Suguru didn’t look amused or entirely receptive to your words. She suddenly turned around and glared at you. “How much do they know?” She sounded a bit frantic under the firmness of her tone.

“Just that they’re young. That you’ve had them around for a while. But they don’t know their technique or really anything about them.”

“It’s still too much. They know too much.”

“I’m sorry.” You uttered, as if you were the one that had caused all of this.

Suguru raised an eyebrow, “For what?”

There were a lot of things. Many things that you felt responsible for. Primarily—

“I’m sorry I wasn’t enough to stop it.”

Suguru’s complexion paled and she looked unbearably uncomfortable. “Stop what?”

“I never…There must’ve been something I could’ve done for you.”

Her expression grew firm and she released a heavy sigh. “I already told you, there isn’t anything that could’ve—”

“Deterred you from your path, I know. But—” Suguru let out an unbearable noise as if you were causing her great pain. Your own expression tightened up woefully. “But I still wished you were there. That-That you stayed and I could help.”

“You realize that I would’ve been miserable, right?”

“Was I really that bad at helping you?”

“No, I just…. No, you were the only thing keeping there until….”

Until it wasn’t enough. It lingered in the air and, for once, you realized that your apology was warranted. That your teenage self had tried to push down the despair with smiles and jokes. By lingering in her space, doing everything with her. Try to drag her from the recess of her mind.

It wasn’t helpful. Not when it really mattered. Not when it should’ve.

You weren’t there when she was hurt. You weren’t there when she was spiraling. And you were basically nonexistent.

“You and Satoru— you’ve always had your complexes. Whether you realize it or not.” Suguru continues on, eyes unwavering on your face. You’re suddenly hyper aware of the space and distance between you. Large and apparent. An obvious fissure separating you both from one another. “You wanted to save me. You still do. But you can’t.”

"Is it so bad that I just wanted you next to me?" You asked desperately, subconsciously inching forward.

"No, but it's bad that you still do." Suguru said honestly, a terrible thing flashing across her expression that was so vulnerable and so raw. It reminded you of days kinder and younger than you both now.

You scoff in reply, shaking your head and ignoring the flare of heat that covers your cheeks.

"You are loyal to a fault." She continues, eyeing you tenderly as she seemingly accepts her twisted perception in your life. "But it's misplaced. You have to accept that. I'm not coming back."

Your chest aches and your hands clench at your sides, nails creating crescents in your palms as you close your eyes. "Suguru—"

Suddenly, your hands are captured in a large embrace. Long fingers wrapped around your considerably smaller ones. Warm and tender, they had always been warmer than your hands. As if she were the sun and your the cold, desolate moon. Her fingers gently pried the unbearable grip you had on yourself and instead caressed her soft tips against the crescents marring the butt of your palms now.

You dared to drag your eyes upwards once again and meet her eyes. Her gaze is soft, unrelenting, and unbearably kind. Honey glazed eyes staring into your endless pits. Much too bright for the criminal. Something stares back at you. A pleading glint in there that you recognize from a days long passed. A call for the piece of you still holding on to a memory of her.

How am I, a lowly idiot, supposed to accept that you, an angelic figure, left me behind? When you look at me like that? You think, heart aching as you clasp onto her hands.

There's something twitching on your face and you're mortified to find it's a smile.

Suguru lets out a guttural sound, almost as if she'd been punched. "I can't do this." She utters between you both, but it's more directed to herself. Her eyes frantically skimming over your every feature. She seemingly absorbed something she found in your eyes. She spoke louder, "This is driving me crazy."

You blink lazily, "Huh?"

You have to tilt your head upwards to keep your gaze on her wavering face, crumbled and desperate. Her grip on your hands tightens as her tongue darts out to wet her plump lips. "I came here as a last send off to you."

Foolishly, you realize, you came for the same, "Me too."

"Would it be so wrong to..." You're suddenly jerked forward, pressed against her as the hunger in her eyes grows. One hand slides from your own and presses against your cheek, warm and welcoming. "Would it be bad for one last time?"

"No." Is your immediate answer.

"No, no, it wouldn't." She mutters, leaning forward, "I'm terribly greedy."

"You deserve to be."

Suguru lets out a breathless sound as both your lips meet.

It makes so much sense for Suguru to kiss the way she does— eager, but tender, excited. but careful. The soft press doesn't even attempt to hide how much she truly wanted this.

A feeling blossoms throughout your body as you capture her lips into your memory once again. Fuller and more experienced than those years ago, she moves gently as if to take this in carefully. Both of you slipping into one another as if two puzzle pieces newly found and a perfect match.

Suguru's kisses were much like her personality— rumbunctious, sweet, and calm. She kisses like she was breathing life into you. Like she was the representation of everything beautiful and good. All of it makes you snake your arms around her shoulders, around her neck, and pull her closer. Please, please, don't go away now. Don't leave me like this. You silently pleaded.

She obliged, her own hands snaking down your waist and resting over your tender flesh, fingers digging into your sides. Pressing you closer against her own body.

Suguru's lips are wet, and plump, and sweet, and you might just die right there. You were close enough that you could smell the sweet perfume clinging to her clothes much like you were.

Pressed against her, her fingers grabbing at you, lips warm and parting with wet clicks, heavy breaths in between. Her eyes watch you from heavy lids, a slight red hue brushed over her cheeks and bridge of her nose. It was like a desperate pull to continue, to not part until it was absolutely necessary.

There's something terribly serious and hungry in Suguru's gaze that makes your heart beat erratically and a ball in your gut tighten. Her lips twitched upwards. Then, she was pressing a wet kiss against your neck, pulling back only the slightest to speak,

"You're so beautiful." Another kiss, then nip.

You straighten, eyes falling closed as you release a small noise. A tingling wave of pleasure shot down your spine and into that needy place between your legs. An aching feeling filled with desperation making you reach out and twist your hands into her silk hair. Tugging as she needily licked and nipped at the pulse beating against her tongue.

You tried to remain calm. Tried focusing on the hot metal that was wrapped around her bottom lip. The way it had softly clicked against your teeth as she hungrily chased after your lips. Or the way they pressed against your skin now, smooth and a stark contrast to the mess that was Suguru's movements.

She trailed her lips from your collarbone, up, up, and up to your jaw where she nips it, running a soothing kiss against it once she was done. The noises that left you were embarrassing, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care much as she moved back to bring her lips against your own. Soft and tender. Speaking more than she could possibly convey with words.

Suddenly, you push forward, absorbing Suguru's shocked whimper with your erratic and feverish lips. The woman was clearly caught off guard by your sudden eagerness, but gave no complaint as you pushed her towards the floor. You possessively grab onto her thigh, the fabric of her robes pooling at the junction of her thigh and revealing the skin under it. Soft and warm, you squeeze and bring it to wrap around your waist as you lean over her. Her hands pressed against your cheeks and opened her mouth to allow you to desperately lap at the warmth. Frantic hands moving to gently open up her robes and expose her to you and you alone.

Your fingers reached between the heavy pooled fabric, basking in the way Suguru gasps against your lips at your touch. You lower and lower and—

The fabric is like silk.

Your eyes open, pulling away with a loud smack, you stare dumbfounded at the sight under you.

Suguru, whether specifically for this or just a daily occurrence (something that made you dizzy, wore a pink-ish purple set. Elaborate bra that was sheer, see through and proudly displaying her large breasts to you adorning two distinctly new piercings on each nipple. Lower, she wore stockings and a garter, wrapped around her middle thigh that was almost swallowed whole by the fat. The stockings made your brain fuzzy as you ran the tip of your finger against it. Electricity shooting all over your body as you dragged and dragged.

Her panties made your brain short circuit completely.

They were completely see through. They left nothing to the imagination as slick seemed to collect into the fabric, vaguely making out the way her clit jumped and pulsed with her pants. You resisted the urge to cry as you spotted the Christina piercing resting just above her hood. Glittering along with her cunt, it presented itself like a beautiful jewel for a king— or, more appropriately a queen.

Awestruck, you reached out and ran your finger over her lips, listening to her whimper and watching as she clenched around nothing.

“You’re more gorgeous than I remember.” You mutter, tilting your head as you stroke her once again.

Suguru lets out a breathless laugh, eyebrows furrowed, “You callin’ me ugly, princess?” She whispered, sounding equally as teasing as she was drunk on whatever chemicals were running through her body now.

You snap your eyes to her, tense as you pause in your menstruation, “No, you’ve always been beautiful to me, Suguru— I-I just… You’re so…” Gorgeous? Amazing? Breathtaking? Show-stopping? There were too many words you could use to describe her now. Too many things running through your tiny mind in that moment to truly grasp one.

Suguru’s lips were upturned, “So…?”

You were much too distracted to care about continuing your previous statement. “I want to… Fuck—“ You jerked forward, feeling lightheaded as you licked your lips. “I really, really want to touch you.”

“What are you waiting for?”

You didn’t wait for much more before you were kissing her swollen lips again. Your arm stretched to pushed past her panties and to greedily press against her.

Eagerness overtakes you as you run your pointer and middle finger through her lips, grazing her hole, then bringing the slick back to her clit to roll a lazy circle over it— Suguru gasps softly. Lips parted and face scrunched as you press. You watch in awe as she closes her eyes, tilting her head back as your movements grow precise and smooth.

You were convinced you were touching a piece of heaven. Her cunt was as soft and delicate as the rest of her. The wetness collected their almost made it silk-like. A gentle place that you tainted by brushing her hole and grinding the butt of your palm against her aching clit.

"God, just—" Suguru growled, jaw clenched as you tease her hole again with shaking fingers. "I swear, if you don't just put them in m— ngh!"

Your two fingers pushed in and Suguru grinds against your palm as she moans. A prominent blush now dusting her cheeks. Almost like she was embarrassed.

"You're so sensitive," you say, breathless, "are you embarrassed, Suguru?"

Suguru manages to conjure up an annoyed look, that make you grin in response. So you're a bit mean, that wasn't anything new. But it felt so refreshing in this setting. The fact that she was under you now and looking so... so her. It made you dizzy and reminiscent.

"You know you're unfairly gorgeous." You start to gently thrust your fingers, listening to the squelch and feeling her tighten around you with a pant. "Even your pussy is gorgeous."

Suguru lets out something akin to a laugh, but is quickly masked by the breathless sigh she releases. "Are you going to talk all night or fuck me?"

You try to keep your head on straight as you smirk down at her. "I just want to take my time."

Suguru huffs, but continues to roll her hips to meet with your hand. It's almost too much. The way she squeezes around you and sucks you closer. The way she whimpers and moans, yet tries to keep that serious mask over her face. It all drives you insane. You wanted nothing more than to watch her come undone under you.

Much to both of your disappointment, you pull away from her.

"Don't tease me— c'mon." Suguru paws at your shirt (now rumpled and unbuttoned), whiny and desperate as she stares up at you. "We've waited so long."

Your heart almost shatters, swallowing a thick lump that forms in your throat— you didn't want to think about any of that. Any of the bad things that happened between now and then.

With a hazy mind, you tug Suguru's panties off, throwing them in an unknown direction. Your hands rest against her open thighs, basking in the way she drips onto the robes below her, glittering under the soft light leaking from the window down the hall.

"Well," Suguru starts, a grin on her lips, "go on."

Like all those years ago, you don't hesitate to obey her command.

You lean down and place a kiss just above the hood of her clit. Closing your eyes as she lets out a gentle noise, her fingers finding home in your hair and clenching. Then, you lick a stripe from her hole up to her clit, wrapping your lips around the enlarged bud.

"Oh!" Her tone falters into what sounds like a mewl.

You suck and nip, coarse tongue swirling against the aching twitching bundle of nerves. Slipping two fingers into your hole, you try to focus on the way she writhes and presses your head closer.

A hoarse moan bounces off the wall as Suguru's wall clench more erratically against your fingers. Closer and closer. You curl them upwards—

"I've missed you. I've missed you so damn bad." The curse user babbles, drunk off the feeling coursing throughout her body from that spot of plushy flesh your petting. Chasing after the nearing edge that made her tingle and whimper. "Never want to leave you— never want to miss you again."

You draw in a breath as you reach down and start to finger yourself as you pick up the pace with Suguru.

You ignore the buildup in your eyes, the undeniable build up of pent up emotions almost taking over. You clench your eyes closed, trying to not think of it all. Of how badly you had missed her— missed this. Your mind repeating the lonely nights where you had only ever wanted her beside you. The days that you wished it was instead you running amuck, leaving death in your wake, and her in Tokyo. Enjoying a cushy job with people who actually love her.

Maybe that was more tolerable than the truth.

Your mind was filled with her. Your senses, all of it— Suguru. Suguru. Suguru. It wasn't possible to think or feel anything that wasn't her.

Please, please, please, Suguru pleads from her place. Sobbing as she tugs your hair, grinding against your mouth.

Her thighs are glistening with her own juices and your spit. Covering your own face and skin as well as you desperately swirl your tongue against her as if it was singlehandedly keeping you alive. You lick a firm stripe across Suguru one more, making her cry out and arch her back. You feel yourself grow closer as she babbles on about how good you are and how much she's missed you.

"You're all I think about," she gasps and cries, "all I ever needed."

As you clenched around yourself, you moan around her. Suguru sharply gasps, then, suddenly, her walls are pulsing around your fingers and her clit is spasming against your tongue. You watch from your place as her face scrunches up with pure bliss, lips parted to release the prettiest sounds you've ever heard, faint blush dusting across her entire body.

Your close behind with your own earth shattering, white noise inducing orgasm. Your grip on her unrelenting and surely to leave some type of mark to remind her of you later.

When you slowly come down, you realize that Suguru has pulled you down to lay on top of her robe with her. Staring at you hazily, swollen glistening lips, and that beautiful glow on her face.

"You're crying," Suguru whispers, reaching up to brush away the salty tears with the pads of her thumbs. "Was it too much?"

You're not entirely sure exactly what it was. An assortment of things. Things that made your chest ache and the love you felt almost unbearable. How were you meant to tell someone you had just ate out, that was laying next to you, wiping away your tears, that you missed them? You missed her, but she wasn't even really gone yet.

"I don't...I don't want to lose you again, Suguru." You admitted in a breathless whisper, eyes unwavering as you stared at her sad expression— both of you knowing what would happen. "Please."

"I can't come back." She stated, shaking her head. "Not after everything. No one would want me back."

"I want you back— we want you back."

"Not the people that matter."

You couldn't deny the horrible pang that spread throughout your chest and into your bottomless stomach. Not the people that mattered. Not you. Never you. You weren't enough—

"Hey," Suguru's hold on your face was firm and she brought you back from your mind. "Even if I wanted to come back, the higher-ups wouldn't ever joke about it. I'd be executed. Like you're supposed to be doing."

You sniffle, "Whatever, who cares what they think, anyway?"

There was a prolonged silence as you both just laid with one another. Staring at the crumbling ceiling above you with contemplative frustration. She was right, the higher-ups wouldn't even think about it before ordering her execution to proceed. Then you'd have the guilt of her death weighing you down.

Maybe she was better off far away from you. Far away from the world she hated so badly. Happier in her own world, with the family she created. Two little girls and three randoms that somehow found their way in her inner circle. You wished you couldn't be jealous. Detest them for so easily staying in her life. But you were selfish. You were mean.

There was a reason Suguru left you behind, this you were sure of.

"I would've told you that I loved you."

You're broken from your thoughts when Suguru speaks. You snap your attention to her and find that she's got her attention solely on the ceiling above. A distant look in her eyes and a careful blankness to it all that makes you pause.

"Huh?" You hum back.

She moves her head to look at you, honestly and tenderly. "If I saw you when I left, I would've told you that I loved you. That's why I couldn't keep you around. I couldn't confine you to a cage, constantly looking over your shoulder because of me."

You sniffle, nodding. Much like you not begging for her to come back with you, she wouldn't beg for you to leave with her. "I understand."

Suguru stares for a moment longer before she's suddenly shoving your shoulder, sitting up. "You're disgusting, by the way. Fucking me on the floor of a nasty abandoned apartment building like some feral animal." She looked irritated, but you could hear the teasing in her tone and the slight twitch of her lips.

You push yourself to sit up, watching as she grabs her panties from a nearby pile, disgust on her features. "You weren't exactly complaining, if I recall correctly." You conjure up the energy to tease back.

Suguru's face screws up, then she throws her panties at you, grumbling as you snort in return. "Eight years and you act like a hormonal teen at the sight of me."

"I have my weaknesses."

"I'm a weakness?"

Suguru was joking but your face set and you nodded. "My one and only."

Her expression faltered. Suddenly somber as she extended a hand to you, pulling you up easily. "Not good to reveal your hand to the enemy, L/n." She uttered.

You raise an eyebrow, pressed against her front. "You're the enemy?"

Suguru snorted softly, pressing a kiss against your cheek. "Always have been. Now, let me get dressed." She shooed you off her robes.

You watch her with dying words on your lips. Instead, you just chose to cherish the moment for as long as you can.

"I heard you've had an interesting few weeks."

It was barely a day after you got home and submitted your report that you were confronted in your office in Kyoto.

She appeared in a flash, as she always had. A blur of white and black, an overwhelming stench of some cologne that she was either gifted or pulled off a shelf. Expensive. As always.

You jump. Eyes wide as you're met with her for the first time in three years. It almost makes you dizzy. Almost makes you mournful for what once was.

It's been years since you last saw Gojo Satoru. She was different, but you could pick apart exactly was the same. Taller, an array of piercings on both ears, hair stuck up in a mess of white tendrils defying gravity as the bandages wrapped around her eyes. Yet she still had that arrogant posture. That hip pop that always accompanied her. Arrogant.

But there were pieces of things familiar. A part of her was still that 17-year-old, standing in the doorway of your dorm, begging for answers about her best friend's defection. You could tell she was still in there. Part of her reaching out, childishly crying, pleading for something long gone by. You always knew she lingered.

You drag your eyes from her towards the pile of documents waiting for your attention on the desk. Something that you were just about to get to until the woman rudely interrupted.

"It's rude to burst into someone's office without calling first." You respond flatly.

Gojo didn't crack a smile, only kept her stance in the middle of the room, "I assume you didn't kill her. Obviously, she would've fought back. You'd be dead." She rambled to herself.

You huff, rubbing your forehead as you fall back into your chair, "Thanks."

"I thought you would've called me if you were ever assigned something like that. But I suppose you've never been the smartest."

"Like I have your number saved anymore?"

"Again, not the smartest."

You clench your jaw, her arrogant tone grating against the wrong gears within you. Gojo had always been too blunt, too blasé for your taste. Even as teens she had watched you from an upturned nose, scornful eyes scrutinizing your every move. It took you a long time before you ever went around her, let along considered her a friend. Her attitude and general disregard for most people was offputting.

You suppose that's something that happens when everyone treats you like a God.

Gojo falls into the chair across from you, long lanky leg crossed over the other, elbow rested on the back. If it weren't for the painfully straight line of her lips, you would've assumed she was at ease. But you knew better.

"I don't understand why they picked you of all people for executing her." The snark in her voice wasn't welcomed.

You draw in a deep breath, you just needed a bit of patience, "I'm sure you would've jumped at the opportunity if you were here."

"Mm, not really." Gojo tilts her head back and you can tell she's scrutinizing you from over her nose. "But, by the sound of things, you were the one jumping at the chance."

You tense and your fingers drum away on your desk top. An assortment of thoughts flush through your mind. Primarily, the things that you and Suguru had done before parting ways.

Hey! Suguru had called as you walked down the stairs, fingers found home around your arm and, effectively, made you stop to turn back. If you're ever in a bind and need me— or you realize what I did— there will always be a home for you with me. With my family.

You had faltered, eyes wide, before clearing your throat and offering a nod. I'll be sure to remember that. You had turned away and took a few more steps before looking back up at her with a small smile. You're not my enemy, Suguru. That's something I always knew.

You didn't linger on the shock that had overtook her face. Instead, leaving while you still could.

"You said in your report that you didn't see her nor did you sense any signs that she had ever been there." Gojo continues on, oblivious to the inner battle you're facing.

You lean back in your chair, sighing in vague annoyance. "Yes, I did."

"You're a liar."

The lack of hesitation and bluntness of the statement catches you off guard. Your eyes widen and you stiffen, staring at her blank disposition with confusion. Gojo was so unlike herself in this moment. So serious. So final.

It brought you great unease.

Gojo leans forward in her seat, grabbing a mini calendar from your desk to fiddle with it. "Want to know how I know?" You can't see her eyes but you can tell she looks to you for a genuine answer. You only stare back silently in return. "Her residuals are everywhere in that place. They're all twisted with your residuals. Like you were mingling."

You frown, that could easily be explained away, "Well—"

"You're covered in her." And this time, you knew that she was staring right at you.

You stare back blankly this time. Unable to find something smart or notable that could possibly explain what her Six Eyes are seeing. It was pointless. A futile thing that would only make her more frustrated than she seemingly already was.

So, you offered her the only thing you were sure of, your silence.

Gojo clenches her jaw, hunching over in her seat. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"How long have you been seeing her? Was this just a perfect chance for you both to explain away any residuals?" She sounded heated, tense and unnatural.

You always wished she would be her annoying regular self.

"Gojo, I don't know who you think you are, but it's been three years—"

"You're the one who cut us all off!" Gojo stood, pointing a long and accusatory finger at you. You only recall the few times she's ever been truly angry. A ball of rage that's been contained for much too long. Snapping into two pieces that overflowed with a rage of someone much younger. "You're the one who-who pulled away and then got angry because I was around! Then you up and vanished without a word to anyone. Fucked off to Kyoto, like what the hell even is this shit?"

You watch as she gestures wildly around the office with disgust and a loud scoff. A bitter part of you was almost happy to see the anger rolling off of her in waves. Another part of you couldn't imagine Gojo Satoru being this upset over you of all people. This had to be something else. She was mad—

Geto Suguru.

"I called Nanami—"

Gojo whirled around on you, "Not me! You didn't call me! You just left without a word and then I had to hear from Nanami about it like it was nothing."

"I didn't think you'd even want to talk to me with how things were left, Gojo! Can you blame me for just wanting to get away from that place?"

"Yes, I can! I most definitely can!"

You scoff, shaking your head as a familiar anger washed over you. "God, you're such a child."

"And, what, you've been running around behind the higher-ups backs, seeing Suguru all these years? Is that why you ran off? Because you thought I'd see her all over you and tell on you like some kid? Is that it? Is that why you left?"

Her incessant questions were driving you crazy. Alongside the misplaced anger, you were bound to throw something back at her. It was deserved. It was warranted.

"Satoru, you are so insufferable! I rushed off because I hated that school. I hated that I had to walk around and see Suguru but not actually see her! Not to mention you were the world's biggest bitch for a year after that! You acted like I was the goddamn bane of your existence and you wouldn't leave me alone!" You stood and matched her level. There was surely someone that could hear you two duking it out now. Laying things out for one another and, hopefully, leave each other for more years to come. "And, no, I hadn't seen Suguru for eight years before she showed up at that goddamn apartment complex! I was living a peaceful and non-annoying life until three days ago!"

There was a pause between you both.

You taking deep breaths as Gojo stands in the middle of your office awkwardly, stiffly. She almost looked like one of the students after you tried to deal out a punishment for whatever foolish thing they've done. The thought alone made you take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose.

You're not entirely sure what to say to her now. Without the awkward air only growing—

"You were my friend. And you left."

You were all too aware how young Gojo suddenly sounded. Tender and all too sad to be a 24 year old woman standing before you.

A friend?

"You had Shoko." You easily countered.

"I wanted you."

The revelation made you shut up. Standing awkwardly behind your desk and staring at her with a scrunched face. Wanted you? She wanted you? There's no way that she truly meant it. It was just nostalgia making her speak. Making her lose sight of what actually happened in those years.

"I-I wanted you like a friend, by the way. None of that— um, not like gay or anything!" She suddenly stuttered and sounded terribly like herself compared to herself. "I just... you were... my friend. And... I didn't— I don't have many of those."

Her words were stilted and awkward again. Something that made you tilt your head at her. She didn't look away from you as you processed the words. You were her friend. One of her only friends. Then you left. Right after she lost her one and only best friend.

Suguru's defection made you cruel and selfish.

You press your lips together, "Well, I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything."

"Right," Gojo nods, crossing her arms over her chest. "A little late."

Your chest tightened. "I suppose so."

She stands there for a beat longer before a grin broke across her lips. "Well, you could make it up to me." Her tone was much too light and eager to be genuine or true. But you weren't about to ruin it by asking.

You hesitate in asking, "What?"

"Come get crepes with me!" She said, not allowing you to answer as she grabbed your hand. "Shoko ditched me for Utahime."

"Oh, so I'm backup?"

"No— Well, a bit. But this will be a great bonding moment." She turned her head towards you, dimples prominent. "You in?"

You stared for a long moment. Wondering what could possibly run through Gojo Satoru's mind. How she could so quickly change her emotions. To be so vehemently angry one moment and happy the next. But that had always been her. A ball of rage that could fight back at any moment and then resolve it with her smile and pretty eyes—

"C'mon, just one crepe, some talking, then you can ditch me again." She said it teasingly, but you could tell there was a hint of sadness. Desperation.

You snort softly. "Okay, Satoru."

Her cheeks dusted pink and she pulled you out the room. "Missed you calling me that!"

"Satoru? It's your name."

"Yeah, but Gojo makes it sound like you hate me."

"Well..."

"Hey!"

You and Satoru do not mention Geto Suguru that entire night. Or the night after that. Or the night after that.

It was probably for the best.

179 notes · View notes

disillusioneddanny · 6 months

Text

Halloween Traditions Tim/Danny

Danny smiled to himself as he watched Violet run across the room doing flips and cartwheels excitedly. He glanced over at his husband and snorted.

“Are you seriously still pouting?” He asked, arching an eyebrow at the vigilante. Tim let out a huff and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I wanted her to be like a princess or I dunno like a robot or a zombie!” He grumbled angrily, still watching their daughter dressed in her gaudy and obnoxious costume. When the lights of their home hit it just right, the sequins seemed to shine right in Danny’s eyes. Silently, he agreed with his husband. Out of all the costumes in the world, Violet really had to pick this one for what she wanted to be for Halloween. But they were encouraging parents, they had to let their daughter choose what she wanted to make her happy. And apparently, this costume made her happy.

“I understand but we should have known better than to show her the costume with the sequins,” Danny said with a wince as Violet giggled and flew around their heads. The four-year-old was beyond happy to go trick or treating tonight with her uncles. The four men were going to be there any minute now and Danny had a feeling that Violet would get quite the reaction from her costume once they got here.

Truly, Dick had outdone himself this year.

It had turned into a tradition for the Wayne family upon the birth of their first niece. Each one would gift the Nightingales a costume of their vigilante personas for Violet to dress up as. On her first Halloween, she was only one month old and Danny and Tim had decided to ignore all of the costumes gifted to them and dress her as her namesake. She had worn a beautiful little violet flower costume.

The next year Violet was one and the couple had again vetoed all of the vigilante costumes and instead dressed her up as a potato. Something that no one found funny but Tim and Danny but it was fine, they thought it was genius.

When she was two the couple had dressed her up as a ghost, again no one was amused but the couple, but they were thriving with getting to choose their baby’s Halloween costumes and ignore all of the horrible vigilante costumes thrust at them by their family.

Her fourth Halloween Violet had gotten old enough to actually make her own decisions for her costumes and had declared happily to her parents that she wanted to dress up like a unicorn which of course her parents happily obliged.

This year, though, Dick was a traitor. He was a horrible scumbag of a man and Danny knew that Tim would never forgive his eldest brother for this slight against their family. He had managed to worm his way into becoming Violet’s favorite uncle and not only that, but he had shown her the wonders of Discowing.

And somehow that had been all Violet was able to talk about this year was her desire to be sparkly like her Uncle Nightwing. And that was the biggest kick in the teeth for the couple.

Danny had taken one look at the costume and he had been horrified. Tim had nearly sobbed in horror upon seeing the atrocious get-up. And what was worse was the fact that Dick brought his old Discowing costume out of retirement to match.

“People are going to see Dick as Discowing and they’re going to immediately make the connection that he’s Nightwing,” Tim said with a sigh.

“I doubt it, Jason said he’s going as a zombie, Duke is going as the sun, and Damian said he’s going to be dressed up as a pirate,” Danny said with a soft laugh. “I think it’ll be enough to keep people from thinking that Dickie Grayson is Nightwing. Not everyone is as smart as you are Dear,” he said, pressing a kiss to Tim’s temple. Violet dropped from the air and landed in Tim’s lap just as the doorbell rang and the front door burst open just a moment later, the four brothers barging in without a care in the world.

“Daddy you caught me!” Violet giggled, staring up at Tim with her beautiful blue eyes. Danny just smiled down at her for a moment. The two had discussed having their little ball of ghostly joy for nearly a year before Danny had decided to get off of testosterone to have her. They had weighed out all of the pros and cons of raising a daughter and had found themselves wanting a child more than anything in the world and a year later, the twenty-two-year-olds had found themselves with the most perfect ball of joy.

“Violet!” A voice screeched, shaking Danny from his reverie and he groaned as soon as he looked up to find Dick bounding towards them to grab the four-year-old and pull her into his arms. He looked just as obnoxious as Danny was suspecting he would.

“Are you seriously going to go out in that?” Danny asked staring at the get-up in absolute horror.

Dick grinned and stuck his tongue out at Danny for just a moment before he turned his attention to the little girl in a matching costume.

“Is there anything we need to know before we take Violet out for trick or treating?” Damian asked, ever the most mature out of the Wayne boys.

Danny smiled. “Just keep her safe at all costs and make sure her grandpa remembers that she’s staying the night tonight,” he said softly, carefully wrapping his arm around Tim’s shoulders. He was sad that he was missing out on Halloween, just as he was every year since they had their daughter. But it was unfortunately unavoidable.

This was the time of the year when the veil was at its thinnest and therefore Danny was at his most unstable. He could barely keep his human form together the week of Samhain and Tim was stuck on guard duty to keep Danny from losing control. He was armed with an improved Fenton Thermos and was given strict rules to soup Danny if his powers started to fritz out even a smidgen.

“And what about you Ghostie?” Jason asked, walking over. Danny took a moment to take in his brother-in-law's costumes and couldn’t help the snicker that came from him.

Jason was covered in green paint and fake blood, spirit gum covered his face like rotting skin, and his clothes were ripped and raggedy. Duke was dressed in a bright yellow jumpsuit, a headband covered his head in bright yellow that looked like sun rays. Beside him, Damian was wearing the fanciest pirate costume that Danny had ever seen and he was pretty sure that his sword was real.

“Please don’t let Vi get close to the sword,” Danny said with a sigh before he looked back at Jason. “I’m fine, as soon as you all leave Tim is going to throw up the ghost shield and we’re probably going to watch some movies or something,” he said just as the room covered itself in a thin layer of frost and Danny winced. “My powers are a little on the fritz but hopefully we don’t have a repeat of what happened last year.”

Everyone winced at that and Danny had enough decency to look slightly embarrassed. The year before he and Tim had been having a rather quiet night when Tim had accidentally scared Danny and his ghostly wail was heard around the world. Tim had gone deaf for a good three hours before the ringing stopped and his hearing slowly came back to him.

“I can tell,” Jason said wryly. “We’ll keep the squirt safe for ya and B knows that she’s his responsibility tonight. He and Alfie are already Violet-proofing her room and the playroom,” he said.

“You all are going to be there too, right?” Tim asked hesitantly, watching as Dick threw Violet in the air and she flipped a few times before floating back into his arms. Their daughter was a bit ghostly like Danny, not enough for this time of year to truly incapacitate her the way it did Danny but enough that she had some fun powers in her arsenal. The girl could walk through walls and fly like her father but she didn’t have a ghost form and thank the ancients she didn’t have any of Danny’s other powers it seemed. She was mostly human with just enough ghost in her to make things fun and stressful for her parents.

“We will be,” Damian said seriously with a nod. “Do not worry, Father will not accidentally traumatize her like he did on her birthday.”

Everyone shuddered at the memory.

“Let me get her overnight bag,” Tim said, standing up. He pressed a kiss to Danny’s forehead before he left the room to get Vi’s things for the night.

Soon the brothers and Violet were on their way and Danny found himself curled up on the couch with his husband, a soft smile on his face.

“Think they’re going to be okay?” Danny asked nervously. “This is her first year going with her powers and I don’t know how prepared the guys are for it.”

Tim laughed and wrapped his arm around Danny’s shoulders as he reclined back in the couch. “They’re going to be fine Babe. How much trouble can four vigilantes and a meta kid get into?” He asked before slowly trailing off at the end. “What have we done?”

“They’ve taken her trick or treating every year,” Danny reasoned. “Surely it won’t be worse this year. Besides she only has the intangibility and the flying,” he said carefully. “They wouldn’t lose her.”

“They won’t lose her,” Tim said but Danny could tell just from looking at his husband that he believed the words just as much as Danny did. Tim was quiet for a moment as he contemplated it for a moment. “If I left the ghost shield up would you be fine on your own while I stalk them?”

Danny sighed and looked around the frost that covered their house and let out a breath. “Just soup me and take me with you. That way if something happens I can help you out at least a little bit.”

“Are you sure you want me to soup you?” Tim asked hesitantly, his hand already reaching for the thermos tucked underneath the couch.

Danny let out a huff and nodded his head. “Just don’t drop me again,” he said before Tim leaned forward, gave him a kiss before opening the thermos and sucking Danny into it.

Tim quickly set to work. He first changed from his pajamas to his Red Robin gear and quickly locked up the house before he went off to track his family.

“ It can’t be that bad, could it?” Danny asked through the comms device. The new thermos was upgraded so that if Danny was ever souped in it for whatever reason he was still able to communicate with the Bats. It was primarily made because of Halloween and when Danny lost control of his powers but they had used it other times as well whenever Danny was hurt on patrol and needed to be taken back to the cave or if he had to be hidden away from Amateaur ghost hunters who didn’t know when to quit.

“Knowing those idiots? Definitely,” Tim ground out before he climbed to the top of a building and tracked the movements of his family.

.....

“Violet, honey, don’t forget that you’re supposed to hold our hand the entire time,” Jason reminded as Violet phased her hand from Dick’s grip and tried to run ahead only for Duke to grab her and pull her back. Somehow, they weren’t sure how yet, but his powers made it where Violet’s intangibility didn’t work on her which meant he was on ghost duty for the night.

“But you’re being so slow,” she groaned, stomping her foot.

“We’re being slow because there’s a bunch of people who are out and we don’t want to lose you,” Dick said, looking down at the girl. “Besides, I’m pretty sure your dads gave you very strict rules about when you’re allowed to use your powers. Right?”

Violet grumbled under her breath and attempted to tug her hand away from Duke who only held on tighter.

“Violet, mumbling is unbecoming,” Damian chided. “And if you behave during our trick-or-treat session then I will allow you to play with my sword upon our arrival at the manor.”

Violet perked up at that and looked up at her uncle. “Can I stab Grandpa Bruce with it?” She asked, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Absolutely,” Jason said at the same time the other Duke and Dick let out a loud no.

Damian hummed. “If you manage to do it without using your powers then yes,” he said.

“Damian!” Dick gasped out. “Tim said no weapons.”

“What Dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Violet said and Jason chuckled in response, he taught his niece so well.

“No, absolutely not,” Dick declared. “You are not stabbing your Grandpa Bruce with a sword. You can stab Jason instead, or a training dummy.”

“I guess,” Violet said with a huff as she leaned into Duke’s side, the man simply chuckled and ruffled her hair with his free hand.

“When did you get to be so stabby Baby Ghost?” Duke asked him curiously. The girl merely shrugged her shoulders in response.

“I dunno, Youngblood, and I like to play pirates a lot,” she said with a small smile, referring to her cousin.

The group of five made it to the next door on the block and Duke led the little girl up to the door as the other three stood back.

“You can come out now Tim,” Jason said lazily. Tim huffed and slipped out of the shadows of the house he had been hiding in.

“You told her she could stab Bruce!” He exclaimed. “You can’t just encourage violence like that! She’s supposed to be acting like an ordinary girl not–”

“You let her play with ghosts,” Dick pointed out. “Not only that but both of her parents and all of her aunts and uncles are vigilantes and she has powers. The only normal person in her family is Jazz and she’s scarier than all of us combined,” he said with a shudder, thinking back on the time the redhead had been the defense attorney on a case that Dick had to be a witness for. She was a force to be reckoned with and Dick was terrified of the woman.

“Danny said that his side of the family doesn’t let Vi play with knives.”

“Remind Danny that his parents are in Blackgate,” Damian said with a huff.

“He resents that,” Tim said, repeating his husband's response.

“Oh my god, is he souped right now?” Jason asked, reaching over and grabbing the thermos from Tim. “How’s it feel to be souped up like a little bitch?” he whispered into the mic attached to the thermos.

“Danny said he has no problem sharing the space with your smell Revenant ass,” Tim said with a snicker just as Duke started back towards them with Violet in tow. He narrowed his eyes at his brothers before snatching Danny away from Jason. “No weapons, no stabbings. I’ve got my eyes on you dumbasses and I will release my ridiculously overpowered husband to torment you all if you lose my baby.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Calm down Baby Bat. This is our fifth Halloween with Violet, we won’t let anything happen to her,” he said. “Powers or no powers,” he said before he eyed the thermos that Danny was sitting in.

“Don’t even think about souping my child,” Tim hissed before he disappeared into the shadows once more.

The rest of the night blessedly went off without a hitch. Tim and his souped-up husband kept an eye on Tim’s brothers for the rest of the night until he saw the ghost shield go up around Wayne Manor and felt just a little bit better.

He soon found himself back in his own home with Danny curled up next to him as he let out a breath of air. “The new thermos is roomier but man it’s still so uncomfortable,” Danny said with a whine as Tim ran his fingers through his husband’s hair.

“We can go back to the lab and figure it out later,” Tim hummed. “How are you feeling?”

“Sleepy. But also like I could destroy the entire world if I hiccuped,” Danny said with a chuckle before he let out a yawn. Before Tim could respond his cell phone went off.

“It’s Duke,” Tim said before he answered.

“Tim, we have a bit of a problem. Not sure if we need Danny to get her down or if you have any tips or tricks. But Violet is on one of the chandeliers and the only one who can get to her is Dick but she goes intangible every time he gets close to her,” Duke rushed out, his words smashing together.

“Danny would likely destroy the entire manor if he even tried to get her down. She’ll tire herself out eventually just get her when she does,” Tim said with a sigh.

“You got it, have fun you two,” Duke said before hanging up the phone.

“How did we have a daughter who acts just like Dick of all people?” Tim asked as he tossed his phone onto the coffee table.

“I couldn’t tell you,” Danny said with a sigh as he flicked through the movies on their television. “How does Nightmare Before Christmas sound?”

“That’s a Christmas movie,” Tim said, crinkling his nose.

“It’s a Halloween movie too,” Danny huffed out. “It’s both.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s not even about Halloween, it’s literally about Christmas.”

“It’s about Halloween too!” Danny argued before turning the movie on. “I’m right and you’re wrong so we’re watching it so I can prove it to you.”

“I can’t believe you’re making me watch a Christmas movie on Halloween,” Tim complained. Danny just chuckled and leaned up to give his husband a soft kiss.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too,” Tim said with a small smile as the beginning of the movie started up. Sure their Halloween traditions were a little strange but Tim had to admit, he wouldn’t have them any other way.

#dpxdc #danny phantom #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dis writes #batman #danny fenton #dis dreams #dc x dp crossover

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ivorydragoness44 · 7 months

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Ahkmenrah x Reader: Sarcophagus

Word Count: 1,276 Warnings/Notes: Jump scare via Ahkmenrah yelling and the Reader not expecting that at all. Summary: The Reader is cataloging in the museum past closing, they are surprised to see the sarcophagus of the pharaoh Ahmenrah shaking and someone yelling from within it. Will the Reader stay to figure things out, or will a night guard find them first before they can truly help Ahk?

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The echo of footsteps came and went. Some lingered with more interest than others. It was the usual sound of a museum. Quiet murmuring of the exhibits and the curiosities the guests held for anything unusual or a spark of amazement. The Museum of Natural History held such wonder. Though the amount of visitors came in few as years went by, that statistic never curved your interest. Which was all the more reason why you found yourself there presently. You had checked your watch again as it neared the time of closing. But with such interest and focus, it was easy to lose track of time. The object of your gaze for the past couple of hours resided in the Ancient Egyptian exhibit. Within it, the Pharaoh Ahkmenrah and a collection of his belongings, found in his tomb alongside him decades ago. Sketching in the next hieroglyph into your notebook, you were determined to complete one more row before leaving for the night. It may not be the most exciting task to the others, especially to anyone who noticed, but you enjoyed it. Honestly, you would not be doing it if you dreaded it. Not everyone could say the same, you were thankful that you could. As the hieroglyphs began to fill another line on the page, you muttered to yourself. It was a thought, that perhaps you should have left enough space on the page between the lines for your translations. At least it was merely a minor inconvenience.

Unknowingly to you through your mutterings, the golden tablet displayed on the wall above began to glow. The sun had set. The exhibits within the museum started to awaken for the night. Every night like the one before. You, however, were the only difference. Completely focused, and yet utterly oblivious. Kneeling down, you inspected the last hieroglyph. Or, at least, the last one to draw for the day. “I can’t believe they took this out of a tomb,” you grumbled to yourself, “I guess it was easier for them to clear out and transport these magnificent archeological finds than create a replica. Display purposes and no doubt—” “AHHHH!” “AHH!” You spun onto the floor in fright. Looking for the ongoing source of your initial panic, you saw no one behind you. No one except the sarcophagus. The shaking sarcophagus.

This was not a case of caffeine jitters or accidentally falling asleep during work. No, the confines of the sarcophagus were indeed yelling and the pins holding the lid on were rattling as fast as your heart. Had you entered a scene in a horror movie, or was someone pulling an elaborate trick on you? If the latter, you were sure to exchange some professionally heated words with them. Tampering with a mummy that needed proper care to remain well preserved required the utmost respect. Thinking more about a sneaky trick, you frowned. “Stop shouting.” All sounds ceased. Peering around, you expected at least one other person to come jogging into the Temple room to free their colleague. But silence remained. Slowly, you stood to your feet and walked forward. “I’m crazy.” As you looked down upon the golden face, your breath caught. Could you have been imagining all of this? “Just…don’t scare me this time,” you requested in a small voice. “My apologies,” a muffled voice spoke earnestly from within the sarcophagus. “I am crazy,” you sighed. “I’m talking to an ancient mummy in a museum.” “I am Ahkmenrah. Fourth King of the Fourth King, Ruler of the land of my fathers. Please, release me.” “And you’re…alive? How?” You asked, absolutely dumbfounded. “My tablet, it brings life to everything in this museum at night.” Turning around, you tilted your head curiously. The tablet of Ahkmenrah. Made of solid gold, it was seen as the most prized possession within the entire collection. Even more than the pharaoh himself. “Why are you trapped? Have you not told either of the night guards?” Though muffled through his wrappings and his sarcophagus, you could clearly identify sorrow when you heard it. “I do not truly know. I have called out each night for years, but to no prevail” “Alright,” you took a steadying breath. Stepping over to your right, you aligned the palms of your hands with the side of the stone slab. It was the original lid to the rectangular coffin, but was placed in such a way to have the decorative face of the sarcophagus on display. “This goes against my better judgement…and my favorite 1999 film.” Pushing against the heavy block, it hardly budged. With a shift of your feet, you got better footing. “Come on,” you strained, putting as much of your body weight into your effort as possible. One more try, and your shoe slipped, squeaking beneath you as your chest hit the lid. “Ah,” you winced. Shaking your head slowly, winded. You stood back up/straighter. “I’m sorry—I…I’m not strong enough.” Ahkmenrah was silent. Not a shake of his voice or embellished lid. “Maybe I can get a friend of mine, a colleague, to help me tomorrow night,” you offered, making your way back over to his golden likeness. “Would that be all right?” “Yes. That would be wonderful,” he replied. A lightness that was not in his voice before, shined. “I don’t want you to feel alone otherwise.” “Thank you.”

Before you could add any more to the conversation, you stopped. Footsteps from the hall outside made its way into the room. And then a voice. Polite yet firm in acknowledging your presence. “It’s past closing,” he announced, making your head snap up in his direction. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” you stood straighter, “I guess I just lost track of time.” The light glinted off of his white hair as he stepped up to the small roped off barricade in front of the case. “Admiring history will do that to you,” he nodded. “Yes.” Internally, you hesitated, but dared not show it. You were given permission to be there. It was a part of your profession. His brows rose. “Getting acquainted with the pharaoh?” “Yes, I just had to admire him for a little while longer—after cataloging the hieroglyphs, of course.” “Yes, of course.”

Remembering, you turned around to retrieve your notebook and pen. Hastily, you stashed them away into your bag. “I won’t keep you any longer, I know you gentlemen have a very important job to do.” Standing back up, you avoided taking a glance at Ahkmenrah’s tablet. You were not sure of the night guards’ reasons for keeping the pharaoh locked away, but you did not want to venture into such a conversation at the moment. “Here, I’ll walk you out,” he offered when you turned back around/toward him. “Thank you.” “My pleasure.” Holding your bag closer to yourself, you quietly walked between the two lines of the pillars. You kept to yourself all the more when eerie crackling sounds from the tall Anubis statues reached your ears. Chills ran over your skin. Leaving the Temple of Ahkmenrah exhibit, you played the ignorance card hard. With your notebook back in your hand, you kept your eyes down. Trained to the paper in front of your face, you ignored every sound and movement. And as you reached the revolving doors at the front of the museum, you were certain that you could not ‘accidentally’ stay late again. Something was going on in that museum, but no one else knew. You could only hope to find a suitable reason to be near Ahkmenrah after hours again. Your curiosity and perhaps his sanity depended on it.

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Thank you for reading! Be sure to check out my Masterlist for more fanfictions :)

#ahkmenrah #natm fandom #natm #ahkmenrah x reader #ahkmenrah x you #ahkmenrah fanfic #ahkmenrah fanfiction #ahkmenrah insert reader #night at the museum #night at the museum x reader #night at the museum fanfiction #night at the museum fanfic #halloween fanfic #halloween fanfiction #natm ahkmenrah

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lukaherehelp · 3 months

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Okey, Detectiva Luka on the case!

I'll be cracking this plot open in order on how things will go so, sit down and relax, grab a coffee and something to munch.

This post will briefly attached things from this post by @syrena-del-mar alongside my post here on the movies,as well as the ones about Tan and Phee being the killers and Tan using poison on the guys, as well as my theory of why I think each mask is different and I think I know whom is behind each one (thanks again to @blmpff for the screenshots). All these theories have being a collective effort between the multiple minds in the bl/gl server so also a big thanks to them for being as unhinged about these as me djslkajdlkjass with that being said...

Let's jump right in, shall we?

So yesterday we discovered that the movie posters in Non's room are fake mock-ups of real life horror movies, right? and there's a fourth poster that can be found in Jin's room in the trailer that we haven't seeing yet in the series, but I'm going to talk about it as well. They go in these order:

Rivarium, Whisper and La Madre

and Jin's:

Devil

Imagine Jin's is where the bookshelf is in Non's and we get this order:

Rivarium -> Whisper -> Devil -> La Madre

or may I say:

Vivarium, 2019 -> The Whisper, 2007 -> Devil, 2012 -> Mamá, 2012

the order they are in is really important because it actually shows us how the plot is moving. The movie posters give away the plot. Let's go in order:

What is important to us from Vivarium (2019) are two things: the looping element of its plot (not a timeloop) and the brood parasitism example they show at the beginning of the film and feeds into with the plot later on with the loop element.

Vivarium shows as at the beginning the brood parasitism of cuckoos, birds that don't nest their eggs and instead, sneak them into other birds' nest for them to raise them. The gang, quote "Non's Friends" are the cuckoo, leaching out of a bird to raise their babies. Or, in their case, draining Non (the bird) out of his ideas and kindness (the nest) for their own good. The loop element comes into these with two new cuckoos, Tan and Phee, infiltrating the group (the birds), but instead of using it to rip the benefits (getting their eggs in the nest), their true intention here is being full parasites. They are a virus contaminating the body that is the friend group. They are "The Boy", ready to kill.

And how do they do this? Here is where The Whisper (2007) comes into play. David as a concept, to be more specific, comes into play.

David is an eight-year-old boy that is not really what it seems. He's the son of a wealthy woman, so kidnapping him should be easy, but this provokes many deaths in the movie amongs his captors. Why? 'cause David, in reality, is a demon. A demon that can "suggest" and "influence" the people around him to do whatever he wants. Only Max survives and is able to kill David, but not after the later has taken with him the lifes of everyone else without moving a finger. Phee and Tan haven't moved a single finger against the group (yet), but "the killer" has being doing it ever so slightly. And even like this, the only death among the boys that has happend wasn't even by the hands of "the killer". No, Por dies because Top kills him. "The Killer" (Phee and Tan) are pitting the boys against one another without them even knowing. The only thing they have done truly is poison them (going again with the loop thing as the gang drugged Non in the past) so they allucinate. And one specific allucination brings me to the next movie:

@syrena-del-mar gave a really good synopsis:

Devil (2010) revolves around five strangers that become trapped in an elevator. As they struggle to escape, it becomes apparent that one among them is the Devil incarnated, manipulating events and tormenting the others with a series of disturbing manifestations. Meanwhile, outside the elevator, a detective investigates the strange occurrences, gradually piecing together the connection between the trapped individuals and the sinister presence haunting the building. As the situation inside the elevator becomes increasingly dire, the characters are forced to confront their darkest secrets and sins, each suspecting the others of being the Devil in disguise. Once they deny their sins, the devil is able to claim their soul. The Devil is unable to claim the last survivor's soul, because these one confesses and repents for having killed a family in a car accident and fleeing the scene. "

Y'all can see why Jin is the one to own this poster, right? But I think there's two reasons for this:

the first one is the obvious, which is that Jin, amongs all the boys, is the one that probably regrets the treatment towards Non the most. He really cared about him, and he harmed him as badly as the other did. But he is repenting, and he might have already done half of the work no so long after the release of the video...

Because the second reason Jin has these poster is the fact that he shares the same sin as Tony, the survivor, in Devil: a hit and run. In Jin's case, Keng's hit and run.

Jin's only allucination speaks for itself, so I don't think I need to add anything else to this point.

but Devil also begins with a bible verse:

"Be sober, be vigilant: Because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour."

The devil, the lion here, are Tan and Phee... or in Jin's case, Phee specifically. Both boys are playing the long game dragging these revenge for three long years, but Phee has make it upon himself to get the closest to Jin. And I think is because he knows, he knows Jin was involved with what happen to Non, he knows about the video, and he wants Jin to pay as well. But avenging Non by killing Keng might be what could keep Jin alive at the end... or at least to not be killed by the hands of Phee and Tan.

Talking about killing! A little side track to point out that I definetly believe that White will survive yes or yes and as I said this morning, I need him to be like the main character in the book Final Girls by Riley Sager and kill Tee himself. Period.

getting back on track, LET'S BEGIN WITH @blmpff BLORBO, THIS SILLY GUY, or well, these three silly guys:

But there's four! - it looks like we have four masks but upon closer inspection I think is just three. Not only the eyes are different but also the face structure of each changes a litte bit and the last two here look identical, so I just think is a matter of actual production of the series and them having that same mask duplicated but because it has more "dripping blood" on the eyes, it doesn't look the same in both. In any way, I'm about to tell you whom is whom.

Our first Killer, "Clear Sight", is Tan.

Tan, in this theory, is New, Non's older brother.

So yes, I know, this whole plan is a revenge for what happend to his little brother, so you'll think that he would be a little bit more "passion" driven when it comes to revenge, but taking in account the other two killers... well, makes sense that the older one is the one being more focus and calculating about what they do. A "Clear Sight" amongs them. He's also the one that has poisoned the friend group, as I explain here. So yeah, cold blooded and with a plan in mind.

Which he has really well tight up with the second Killer, "Bloody Tears", since they flawlessly were able to fool us all when CS stole the motorbike from Tee but then BT pulled up with it.

So, whom is "Bloody Tears"? Say it with me class: is Phee. Yes.

His eyes are bloodshot and he's crying blood because hiswhole purpose with all of this is to avenge Non. He feels guilty over his last words to Non:

"You want me to forgive you? Just get lost and die."

He's the one being more driven by passion, by rage, by wrath. These absolute fuckers destroyed the Non he loved so dearly and he will destroy them.

So if "Clear Sight" is Tan, and "Bloody Tears" is Phee... Then whom is "Fresh Blood", our third Killer?

For the sake of this these "timeline" theory, we will go with the idea that "Fresh Blood", the masked killer with the fresh blood on its eyes and the cruch, is Non.

The obvious reason: the crutch. FB is the only one holding it, both when he appears in front of Top and when he's in the woods.

And we saw what Non was capable of three years ago when he finally snapped in front of the others, so I don't need to explain why the blood of his eyes is till fresh. He's a goner, he's fully commited to the bit, he will take all this fuckers to hell with him... including Jin.

Because Phee could spare Jin, but Non will not. And so we are down to four people by the end of these tale: White, Tan, Phee and Non.

Here is where the last movie comes into play: Mamá (2012)

Mamá is about two sisters, Victoria (f8) and Lily (f6), whom were living as feral children for five years in a remote cabin in the woods after their parents' death. They are put under the care of their uncle Lucas and his girlfriend Annabel, but when the two girls start to build a bond with Annabel, what kept them alive in the woods, Mamá, wants to take them back with her. And by the end, she almost does. On a cliff, both sisters make a choice: Victoria chooses Lucas and Annabel, and starts a new life with them; but Lily, whom loves Mamá dearly, decides to stay with her. Mamá after this, jumps off the cliff with Lily on her arms, activily killing her and turning them both into moths.

Tan is Victoria, Phee is Lily and Non is Mamá.

Phee, like Lily with Mamá, will choose Non. After all the blood they have spilled, is better to get lost in the woods than to comfront the police, honestly. They can just get lost and enjoy nature like they did when they used to visit the lake. They will just count Phee as one of the many victims these cabin has taken.

And so is Tan because he, like Victoria, will choose to live his life. But he was never Tan. He's New, and he can just let Tan die at these cabin and go back overseas as himself, leaving all of these behind...

And leaving only White as our final boy.

so yeah, those are my theories and how I think the series is going to play out, this post has taken me 3h and a half to right down, I can't feel my brain any longer dljsaldjalkjsd

#dead friend forever #dead friend forever the series #dff the series #thai bl #thai drama #bl drama

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astudyincontrasts · 2 years

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Incubus!Victor x Fem!Reader NSFW

@uwuboowoo wished for Incubus!Viktor drabble and how was my monster loving ass to say no? Featuring a surprise treat artwork collab by my beloved queen of Viktor art @arcanescribbles 🖤 Full glorious art work here!

Thematic horror, slight initial dub con, over stim, breeding kink, mindbreak themes, monster fuckin.

⊱ ───── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

There was a creepy scent to old houses that you hated. Like the ages of dust and previous lives had built up in the walls and floorboards like layers of varnish, a must of creeping damp and mice living in the plasterwork, of old burnt dinners and long since extinguished candle wicks. A scent no amount of perfumes or cleaning agents or open windows could ever truly dissipate.

And this house was old, according the the landlord it also hadn’t been occupied in years. Said he couldn’t keep a tenant in it. They all kept breaking their leases, some without a word, just up and vanishing and he wouldn’t realize they were gone until the rent checks stopped arriving. Some had left lots of stuff behind. He showed it to you, piled haphazardly in the dank basement, told you to go ahead and ransack it for whatever you might want, he didn’t care. Just happy to have the place inhabited again and bringing in cash.

It certainly wasn’t your first choice of living arrangements. Nor your second, third or fourth. But you were desperate for a place of your own, something you could afford without the necessary annoyance of roommates to help pay the rent. This place came cheap as dirt and it was big. Spacious enough for a family and instead all yours. Besides, it had beautiful bones. Victorian embellishments setting it apart from all the art nouveau of the latest architecture. And you could imagine it with a bit of elbow grease; cleaned up and undingied. Lace curtains at the open windows in summer and a crackling fire in the maw of the living room fireplace in the depths of winter.

The keys were heavy, intricate iron things in your hands. Skeleton keys, the landlord explained. Said he’d long ago lost the proper pair to just the front door - if he ever had them. Couldn’t recall anymore.

You’d known of the house since you were a kid. It was that house. The one every town seemed to have, looming dark and just eerie enough to have garnered its share of local legend in the form of absurd urban fairytales.

The one that stuck out the most was that the place had been owned once by a young man, a scientist of some renown. Not happy just to dabble in the sciences he’d turned to the arcane, to dangerous dark magics beyond the scope of human comprehension. It had killed him in that house. Obliterated by one of his own experiments. And ever since then the place had been haunted, had become some kind of portal for the dark things he’d been trying to unlock. It was why no one would stay there for very long and eventually why no one stayed there at all.

Until you.

It felt a little bold, a little exciting and headstrong to be the one taking up residence in the ‘haunted’ house. Weren’t you edgy and brave? That’s what you kept telling yourself as you set up house, brushed away the cobwebs and layers of thick dust. Swept up the floors and unpacked. Kept repeating it to yourself as night began to gather and the already dark corners deepened, the floorboards sighing softly underfoot and pipes rattling like bars of a cage when you ran all the taps at once to clean out the stagnant water before your well-earned evening ablutions.

But that musty old scent still clung to everything. Pervasive but not terribly unpleasant if you were honest; like an old bookshop full of mouldering texts and ancient leather-bound tomes.

The old clawfoot tub was enormous. Let you sink right up to your nose in frothy bubbles and hot, steaming water. So what if those demonic looking claw feet were oddly off-putting? Just a little more upsetting in some way that you couldn’t put your finger on than a normal porcelain tub foot. Black and iron and just something about them... Never mind. The bath felt lovely after all that dusty, dirty work. Knotted muscles unwinding until you felt like warm jelly by the time you climbed out and toweled off. Treated yourself to the luxury of a short, black slip nightdress; felt indulgent indeed to have nothing between skin and soft silk.

The bed was old and came with the house, but the mattress new, the single splurge you’d allowed yourself thus far. Large and soft and fit for a queen. You fell into it blissfully and after a moment’s internal debate blew out the votive candle you’d left on the nightstand. No electric set up in here yet. You were too old for a nightlight and it wouldn’t do to burn your new home to the ground in your sleep.

Regretted it as soon as the light was extinguished, however.

The dark came rushing in like a tidal wave, oppressive and heavy. Pitch black until eyes adjusted and the sheer of old moth-eaten drapes allowed the night outside to illuminate the black with deep hues of dusky blue, moonlight silver where it managed to eek through and skim a surface here or there. You lay there in the silence until it felt deafening. Struggling for sleep in spite of your fatigue and the recent relaxation of the bath, fighting the urge to get up and light not only that candle by the bed but all the others you’d scattered around the room in little clusters atop dresser and bureau and desk.

The house sighed. Creaked. Settled. Swore you could hear soft footsteps if you just listened hard enough. Bare feet slowly walking the halls. Good way to drive yourself crazy in an old home, listening so hard to the silence you started hearing things that weren’t there.

And then there was a sigh much closer.

You stiffened under the sheets, eyes widening slowly in the gloom. It sounded like it had come from directly under the bed. No. Not possible. And then there it was again, only... only this time it was a soft hissing. Like escaping breath or slow steam leaking from a pipe. Tink tink tink tink. Attention riveted upon the foot of the bed and the old iron scrollwork of the bedframe.

And the dark, long fingers curling one by one over the intricate metalwork, black clawed nails tapping in soft succession as they came creeping, climbing.

Voice failed you, scream lodged silently in a thick lump in your throat as you watched a shadow rise, pool, puddle and spread up over the edge of the foot of the bed to spill slow and black across the sheets. Limbs failed you, frozen rictus unable to grant your fervent desire for them to propel you up and out of bed and out the house and down the street.

Out of that spilling, smoke like spread of shadow two brilliant eyes opened like golden sparks, spitfire and luminous, like some sickly beautiful tapetum lucidum of a large predator, only this wasn’t just a reflective shine, oh no. These were lit from within, gleaming gold with pupils blown.

Your entire body jerked as all the candles in the room lit themselves at once in a quiet roar of flame. And there, climbing slowly up into your bed was the spilling sprawl of a long limbed creature shaped like a man... a young man. Face sharp angled and the sneered smile of his mouth a shape of terrible beauty. Skin the color of grey bruised blue that deepened and flushed to near plum in places. Long limbed and stark naked, save for the swirling cling of dark shadow that billowed away like campfire smoke only to gather again, washing back off and over him in loose licking wisps.

Up he climbed, clawed hands fisting in the bedsheets, slowly drawing them down off you, and to your horror... not just two hands, but three. Two perfect leanly corded arms and then a horrific third that seemed to climb from his back, twisted and gnarled and black and eager as it grasped at your ankle, texture like a tree branch but terrifyingly warm. Any urge to kick it off you was squashed by those other two impossibly long fingered hands as they closed upon your knees, pushed them spread to accommodate his slow upward climb and let that grip slide inexorably slow up your thighs.

The entire nightmare came spilling to a halt just there, hovered between the splay of legs he’d made, the terrifying beauty of that face lowering ever so slightly as luminous eyes narrowed with a deep, slow inhalation.

“Aaaahhh.” His voice came in hissing layers, soft echoes forwards and back in a susurrus that somehow managed to align in the center before parting again, a maddening soft play that sunk loving fangs in the tender wet give of your brain, sweet venom spreading like heat, eclipsing panic with something that made your eyes want to roll back in your head, made the small of your back burn to arch and nipples stiffen against the thin black silk of your nightdress.

“I’m so hungry....” The shape of that exquisitely beguiling horror of a mouth spread, smiled, teeth white and sharp in the display of that half-tilt smirking pleasure. So hungry so hungry so hungry... it reverberated in your skull in that hissed sibilance. Something snapped internally.

“Please don’t eat me.” Voice squeaked out of you, soft and cracked and higher pitched than you’d ever heard yourself.

“Eat you?” It’s - his - head canted, lovely mess of dark hair shifting, spilling across his forehead. “Yesss.... I could eat you.”

Face fell, buried itself in the silk covering the apex of your thighs and again came that deep inhalation, this one followed by a nearly purring groan of bliss before those brilliant eyes lifted to gaze up at you from under the thick of dark brows. Every fibre of you tensed at the light pressure of that face shoved against that most intimate hollow.

“So fresh... Its been so long since I’ve been fed. And you. Succulent. But not quite ready yet... not ripe. Sooooooon though. Very soon. Eat you first, yes.”

Thighs were trembling under his grasp as you watched the black of his tongue lick out and wet his lower lip.

“Please. Please no.” It was barely a gasp of a breath, fists tight in the sheet under you, still unable to force limbs to any kind of motion, the whole of you a shivering wreck. Why did you have to pretend to be brave? Why would you come live in the house everyone knew was cursed? Stupid girl. Stupid, dead little girl.

His face turned, eyed the expanse of one smooth thigh before him and he dipped his head, dragged the wet lick of his tongue over tender flesh before pausing to glance up at you again. Dark brows lifted and that smile spread once more.

“No?” No no no? It bounced off the inside of your head like echoes in a cavern, “But you are so sweet. Juicy. And no one’s ever complained while I ate them...”

That horrifying third arm released your ankle, desiccated dry touch slipping away tenderly to rise and catch the hem of your slip and drag it up over your navel, leaving entire lower half vulnerably bare to the famished golden glow of those eyes and that eagerly opening maw. Sharp clawed fingers splayed over the soft of inner thighs, pressed the spread of them even further as you finally, finally began to squirm, to try to escape, scuttle backward against the pillows and out of the bed.

He caught you easily and hauled you back, lifted your backside up under the scooping span of impossibly long fingered hands.

“Please....Please!!!” Voice was shrill, pleading, heart a terrified hammer you could feel straight through to your spine. Convinced any second now that mouth would split that unsettlingly gorgeous face in twain and all those jagged teeth would sink into your most vulnerable flesh and begin to tear you into bite sized hunks of still living meat.

Instead came the slow, sinuous roiling lick of that black tongue. Slicking wet and smooth as oiled silk through the tender folds of your pussy; a lingering, savoring slow drag from stem to stern, coiling a circle around your clit before withdrawing. Leaving you breathless, unconsciously lifting toward its touch as it vanished.

The creature rocked its head back, the gloriously knifepoint angles of that jaw upthrust as he moaned long and low at the taste of you. Head lowering again slowly, the illumination of those hypnotic eyes doubled, fire stoked.

“Ahn, moje malá broskvička...” One finger slowly stroked along the part of your pussy, so careful of that sharp nail, letting its point drag along ticklishly. “Come to save me from starving. Such sweetness. Let me eat you up and keep you, lovely little peach.”

You were gulping, gasping. Confused and more than anything, more than all the blinding fear and irrational panic, you were inexplicably aroused. Skin singing soft heat, a luscious effervescent flutter winding lazily in the pit of your stomach, begging more of that tongue, of the touch of cool hands that left fire in their wake, mind numbing, mouth filling want like you’d never known.

It made no sense. You ought to have been repulsed, horrified. Instead you were... craving? Wriggling in his grasp instead of struggling. It had that knowing smirk back on that exquisite mouth as he dipped back down, licking, laving, soft and languorous as the impossible length of his tongue slid through folds and caressed clit, over and over and over again in endless untiring patterns until you were keening. Face turned to the side and arm thrown over your eyes, cunt on fire for him, the taut knots coiling and doubling in shuddering ache within begging to be released.

He blew softly on your clit and you convulsed, earning a soft peel of delighted laughter from him. And then that mouth closed on the pulse running through that hypersensitive little bundle of nerves and sucked. Sucked as the tip of his tongue curled over and around it and oh, you came undone.

Sharp nails dug gently into the grasp of your lifted buttocks as you bucked and thrashed and whined release so intense you felt it in your bones. White hot ecstasy fizzing hot supernova collapse before it shattered outward, spangling searing little points of spitfire stars across the black of vision, a trillion little points of tingling light and sweet agony relief spattered like celestial freckles over skin and nerve and bone.

Swore you heard him moaning softly along with you as you came, like he felt it. Like it was his own release.

You went limp, panting, shivers slowing gradually. And thought perhaps he’d lower you back onto the bed. He did not. Instead he sat back on haunches and lifted you further, your knees and thighs draped over broad shoulders, his arms circling your waist to keep your lower half cradled up against him.

In he delved again. Mercifully avoiding the slow subsiding throb of your clit and instead licking at the still convulsing flutter of your entrance. Tongue pushed, pressed, dipped within and a sharp gasp caught like a stone in your throat as it slid in. And then more. Further. Thicker. In and in and coiling, curling the entire time. A constant mind-blanking delicious roll against climax-soaked walls.

On the bed your hands shifted, stretched, found his knees and grabbed a sharp grip, digging your own short, blunt nails in hard. Nothing had ever felt this good, nothing in your whole life. Swore you could feel that tongue from tips of toes to behind your navel as it slid roiling slow twists within, licking parts of you no one had ever tasted, as hot and slick and thick as a snake. Had your head thrown back and mouth open like your heart would come tumbling out of it onto the bedsheets for him to scoop up and devour.

And once he found that perfect spot within? Oh. Hard thrusting slow press licks unrelenting, until your toes curled so hard you could feel your calves begin to sear with the promise of a crushing cramp of muscles, until you were thrashing again, only held together buy the embrace of his arms wound round your hips, one hand slid down to drag the gentle scrape of long nails over the tender round of a half uncovered breast as his tongue lapped a second, harder orgasm out of you.

This one mind shattering. Deep, wringing waves crashing through you, against you, over you. Left you gulping, whimpering between airless gasps, every ounce of you gone perfectly rigid and quivering before you broke. Eyes rolled back so hard you were certain you’d gone blind. Sublime, succulent release as you unwound slow, waves eased to soft lapping, the sucking slide of the tide going back out as he let you slip down onto the bed. Came to lay between your thighs, head pillowed upon one. Kissing lightly at your swollen, aching clit. Each little brush of his lips convulsing your stomach gently.

You lay sucking breath in little shivers, fingertips gone numb, mind a glorious blank struggling against the odds to try to understand what was happening, who and what he was.

“Delicious one.” He was murmuring, purring thick voiced praise as if he was as undone as yourself. Delicate, almost loving little kisses to that overstimulated, overwrought bundle of nerves. It hurt, it burned, wonderful agony you sighed little whimpers against. “Do not run away, delicious one. I will not hurt you. I could eat you always... stay. Malá broskvička let me fill you up. I’ve waited years for you. Decades. Starving.”

One little lap of the tip of his tongue and you moaned wantonly with a single full body convulsion that had him lift his head to gaze up the length of you with a wicked smile. He shifted to press another kiss and you begged him to stop with a mumbled incoherence, tears gathering to streak from the outer edges of your eyes.

“My pretty thing. Don’t be afraid.” That sibilant echoing accented voice. Interspersed with a language both familiar and unknown. Another kiss, this one softly sucking. You arched, strained, small of your back fit to break as a third release rolled over you in almost painful little burst of bliss. So much, too much. He just wouldn’t stop and for some reason you could not find it in yourself to beg him to. As if you’d let him keep this up until you were reduced to little more than a jibbering mess of eager wet jelly, a hollow shell of yourself.

Lungs sucked air and you forced the train of thought down the tracks, set shoulder to it and shoved while wheels slipped and slid and tried for traction.

“Come... here...” Voice a husk, wrung out and hoarse, softly cracking at the end of each word. He obeyed, left off his next planned torment, pad of a finger just hovering over your abused clitoris, and climbed.

Came to hover over you on all fours, and just out of focus you could see the thick, heavy hang of his hard cock between lean thighs. Larger than any you’d had the like of in your admittedly limited experience. Still, you struggled to tear eyes off it and up to those pretty amber orbs gazing down at you in subtle amusement.

It took such effort to lift hands. Once you got them off the bed though it was as if a sticky mire had released. Free to flex and feel, sensation returning in tingling slowness. You reached to trace the fine cut of his jaw slowly. Watched those eyes slant near shut. Let hands card through the sticky smoke strange spill of dark hair and down the elegant line of his neck. Over shoulders and down arms, along chest. Pausing at the strange cut of black scars in arcane shapes, shadows against the bruised grey blue of skin that felt simultaneously warm and chill to the touch. Like it lived between worlds.

One hand rose to trace features as he held still for it, watching you curiously as you traced the purple shadows under bright eyes, the impossible sharp of cheekbones and then the strange sweet of his mouth. Let you smudge his lips, opened to the pry of your fingers and sucked soft on fingertips that went seeking sharp canines on every ivory.

“What are you?” It came out more marveled than you meant it to and he preened visibly, settling down half over you, all three hands still busy, softly stroking lingering caresses that made you struggle to maintain coherence. they tugged at the thin straps of the shift you wore, slid along arms and ribs and cupped at breasts, tweaked lightly at a nipple through slippery fabric. Sometimes felt like there were more even than three as you fought to stay cogent.

“Once as you are. Now?”

He sighed and lowered himself slowly. Press of face to your throat, bite of sharp teeth along jaw and lick of a tongue against your lower lip. Every inch of him a murder of gathered crows, soft wingbeats close in whispers against skin and black as pitch.

“Now... hunger. Want and craving. From barely alive to starving. Until you. Please. I want to eat. Oh little peach, let me. Are you better? So warm and soft my pretty girl. Could eat you forever.”

While you struggled against the urge to spread thighs again and plead he go right ahead, you dug nails into the strange elastic give of his skin. Like digging into smoke and viscera.

“Name...name yourself.” You huffed out, straining toward his mouth. He smiled sweet as any devil and licked over your lips in a wet line before sucking tenderly at your lower lip until the plush of it was swollen softly.

“Viktor, once. I remember Viktor.”

You latched to it, grazed nails down the lean of his throat over the sharp rise of his adams apple and down to collarbone, watched him slant eyes and stretch his throat for your attentions. Lifted head off the pillows to lick at his collarbone and felt him cradle up the back of your head. Claws carding through the skeins of your hair and along scalp.

And then you wrapped arms around his shoulders and kissed him.

He tasted of incense and cedar. Rosemary tang and the succulent bittersweet of late summer strawberry. Like dragging your tongue along a high tensile power line. Scent of him both petrichor and beeswax. Heady, improbable things that had you reeling while he gathered you closer. Bent to kiss you with an infinite softness that belied the taste of yourself on his mouth and the way he melted into you. One hand found your cunt again and spread folds in a slippery caress, opened you vulnerable like soaked petals before he stroked at your clit again, picked up a little caress to the swollen, puffy throb of it that broke your hold on his mouth as you instantly lapsed into another little crumbling, shuddering orgasm, too abused and overwrought to have any resistance left.

The blade of his nose pressed to your cheekbone as you came again for him, felt the coursing wet starting to drip between the cheeks of your ass and knew full well the bed beneath you was ruined. So much for those new sheets and mattress.

“You smell like summertime. Taste of sunshine. I’ve been in the dark so long.” So long so long so long. He was nuzzling at your throat, licking along your cheek where desperate tears had spilled with that last release. One spidery hand splayed over the soft of your stomach. “Sweet peach. Let me fill you?”

And your shattered little reptile hindbrain simply nodded heady agreement as you slid hands down between you both and found his cock. Heavy, hard. Leaking nearly as badly as yourself. It was him this time who caught breath and sighed as you stroked him, grasp trembling weakly as fingers slid along veined girth.

He buried his face between breasts before nuzzling at the slippery black silk still mostly draped over them. Licked at the fabric over the stiff upward press of a nipple, bit gently over it, the soft silk ticklish as it soaked through before he’d managed to drag it aside, moaning quietly to himself as he sucked slow, thrusting into your hand and drooling precum along one bared thigh.

When he’d had enough, he released the soft torment of that now gently burning little stiff bud and lifted you, turned you on hands and knees as he took you slow in spite of his dripping ache and your eagerness.

That desiccated third hand found a hard grip on your hip as he fitted himself to you and eased in. The hard ridge of the head of his cock a gripping spread that had you pushing back hard, eyelids flickering heavy as he sank in, mumbled half coherent praise of how well you took him. So much. He rocked against you, a gradual give and take until he was deep as either of you could go and you were worming against him, listening to his ragged breath as he bit at the nape of your neck, your ear, burned slow kisses across the curve of a cheek.

One hand came up to wrap spidery long fingers over the slope of your shoulder, the edge of a finger dragging against the catch of your lower lip as he began to move. Press of his cheek to your temple as he kept your face turned toward him, wanting to watch you come undone with him buried inside you. And if you thought what he could do with his tongue was unspeakably sublime...

For all his obvious need he was shockingly tender. Hips a delicious rhythmic rocking that had you pitching gluttonous little moans each time he hit up against your backside, made you feel little more than a hollow vessel that’d just been waiting this whole lifetime for him to fill you.

Drunk or drugged with him, and miles beyond caring. Nothing had ever felt so good, the nirvanic bliss eating away at your insides, that throbbing ache rebuilding over and over again each time you thought there was no way he’d drag one more orgasm out of you. You were on fire, itch more intense the more he scratched it for you, and your body ready to give out with all of it. Thighs and the brace of arms you were holding yourself up with both shook weakly. Sweat dribbling down between breasts and the pinch between shoulder blades. You felt him lick a bead of it off your temple as he murmured soft nothings.

“Sweet peach, so warm. Does that feel good? You take me so deep, little one... look at you shiver. Such a good girl to come to me like this, to feed me so well. On your knees for me, my delicious one, such noises you make. Do you like how I make you feel? Do you want me to be rougher?”

Sharp nails bit lightly into your all too human flesh and had you whining as he picked up his pace a bit, sweet friction doubling as your walls squeezed around him in fluttered, staccato grasps, stomach taut as a drum and breath coming in little gasping moans so embarrassingly wanton you wished to die.

Only the fact that he too was rapidly coming undone and making many unrestrained sounds of delight of his own that were starting to drown yours out saved you. One hand slid under you, nails grazing at your belly, across your navel.

“Will you swell for me, malá broskvička ? Let me make this sweet belly round and soft with little ones. You are so perfect for it, almost ripe. A few more days. I can smell how badly you want to be bred, pretty one. I will give you all you wish. Say you’ll stay. Please, stay.”

“Yh...yes. Yes...” Like you had the capacity to say anything else when it felt like you’d never have the willpower to climb back out of this bed again?

When he came inside you it nearly sent you into a spiral, your arms giving way, cheek smashed to the bed, one of his hands braced on the back of your head as he snarled softly over you like a large cat over a kill, filling you indeed, until it dripped out and ran down your thighs, until your stomach felt deliciously, softly, slightly distended. Whatever dark thing about him that had you so fuck-dumb absolutely tripled with his seed inside you, spinning hot little tendrils within that wrapped around the senses, made every little sensation feel ten times as strong.

He twitched within you obscenely as he came, and your walls milked at him in fits of slow squeezes as you rode out the slowest, longest release of your life, shuddering with strangled mewls as he doubled over you, scooped you up to cradle you back against him as he sat up, face shoved in the spill of your hair while he rasped out unintelligible worship with cool breath.

“Mine own. Ahn, I cannot live if you leave me. I will adore you, malá broskvička, make you my treasure.”

Treasure treasure treasure. It echoed softly in your ears. And then, just as suddenly as they had lit, all the candles extinguished in one guttered whoosh, room plunged back to darkness as you pitched forward against the pillows and soiled sheets, suddenly unsupported, the strong grasp of him vanished. No longer filled with the delicious stretch of his cock or caged in by that long limbed body. Just enough energy left to roll yourself over and watch wisps of shadowed smoke curl outward in the air and dissipate.

Consciousness found you the next morning groggy and exhausted, so tender that even the softest touch of your own fingers had you double up in hot agony. Not a dream, nor nightmare. You had little pink lines of scratch marks up one hip and over a shoulder and the sticky mess between your legs to prove it had all been terribly real. Well, not terrible. But certainly real. Quite clear now what had happened to all those other tenants.

Packing up and running as far and fast as you could seemed like an incredibly wise move. But you found, as you sat in yet another gently warm bath up to your chin, that you were not afraid. That instead you were craving, disappointed ever so slightly that you’d been used and left a sticky ruin without so much as a little cuddle or a bit of care for your tender state. Found yourself sliding a hand over the shape of your stomach throughout the day each time his words came hissing back to you softly. The house felt somehow warmer, too. More welcoming and less darkly menacing in its silent, looming way.

Besides, you could always change your mind. Why not stay one more night?

Part 2

#viktor #viktor x reader #viktor drabble #drabble request #viktor request #viktor arcane x reader #incubus viktor #monster viktor #viktor arcane #arcane ifc #viktor fic #art collab #ilu scribs #my sweet muse

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bi-hop · 11 months

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why the vulture scene in atsv is pure horror (spoilers under the cut)

As promised, I now have the mental bandwidth to actually talk about Adriano Tumino aka the Medieval Vulture in Across the Spiderverse. This is a spoiler fest, so I'm putting everything under the cut. Enjoy!

So, at some point when I was younger, I first heard about Flatland. It's this satirical novella from 1884. When I was looking it up again last night to prepare myself to explain it to other people, I was SHOCKED to hear it was satire on Victorian society and class structures. I had only ever heard about it in science and horror spaces. As a work, it's mainly known now for exploring the idea of 4th dimensions before Einstein, but it also continues elements that are straight out of horror. So, instead of breaking down the whole thing, I'm going to be focusing on that stuff specifically.

Flatland is about A. Square (yes, that's his name), who is a square. As you can imagine, his entire world is two-dimensional and functions as such. There's a lot of worldbuilding, but just keep in mind that

The people in his world cannot conceive of a 3rd dimension, and any mention of such is heretical.

Circles are the highest ranked people in this world.

One day, he encounters what he thinks is a circle. Said character is actually a sphere. Even as said sphere fucks with his perception by looking like disks sliding in and out of reality and tells him about the 'truth' of the world, A. Square can't comprehend the third dimension until his teacher lifts him into it, into Spaceland. The square is enlightened! His mind has been opened! He tells the sphere, if his reality is false and there's truly a third dimension, what if there are more? What if a fourth dimension exists with fourth dimensional beings who cannot be accurately perceived?

His teacher immediately casts him back down into Flatland, where he is subsequently imprisoned. No one believes that the third dimension and Spaceland exist. He only is able to write the novella and hope that one day Flatland will be ready for this knowledge.

All of this to say that Adriano is A. Square.

I read a lot of dimension-based horror. Maybe it's because the multiverse has compelled me since I was a kid, or maybe it's because I've heard way too many thought experiments about how every person on the planet may see the world differently, and we just use the same language to describe fundamentally different visuals because we can't accurately verify anything. The horror of it all, for both readers and writers, isn't necessarily the idea of seeing things others can't. At least, it's not in the hands of someone sincerely thinking about the 'eldritch'. Instead, imagine a higher being grabbing you and exposing you to a whole new, weighty aspect of reality you could never conceive without actively being dragged into it. And then you're thrown back into your reality. It consumes you, drives you, and no one believes you. How can they, when it's something so alien to your reality that no one can even think of it unless shown?

Because of the ripple effects of the collider, Adriano Tumino is dragged into Earth-65, the home of Spider-Woman (Gwen Stacy). We don't know a lot about his world. As far as I remember, we don't even get a number designation. But his design, dialogue, and track all communicate a great deal about him. Vulture Meets Culture as a track blends Gwen's theme with the sort of opera he might listen to back home. He's designed heavily on the aesthetics of Da Vinci notebooks. As he affects the world, you can even see notations a la research scribbles next to diagrams. From memory alone, disregarding the fact that he's Italian (though I'm sure the insistence on English in Earth-65 was probably disorientating if his entire world speaks Italian), he also finds this new reality to be abhorrent and lashes out. This alone, an exposure to new colors and strange art and even weirder people who look nothing like you and the rest of your world, would be hard enough to cope with.

And then Miguel, this Spider-Man from 2099, drags Adriano out into the modern day.

The thing with movies being in theaters is that I'm at the mercy of random people who film showings on their phone to get footage. Because everyone finds the helicopter scene directly after this more interesting (which is valid), I don't have a picture of this moment. But when Adriano is flying out into this future, when he lays his eyes on these towering skyscrapers alight with color, you can see his shock, perhaps even terror. It'd be rough enough being exposed to a version of Italy that's, say, his time period but in technicolor. But this is worse. This is his Spaceland moment. The opera builds almost mournfully.

Soon, he will be sent back to his reality. This will happen in an even more incomprehensible future dimension, with even more people who look nothing like him. Perhaps there's a version of his granddaughter there. Tiana Tumino? It doesn't matter. Imagine this though. Your grandfather is yanked out of existence. He comes back. And he tells you 'I have seen colors beyond the ones we live in. I have seen towers of glass and metal scraping the sky, all alight in these colors. I have seen art that contains more art, and it was hideous. No one understood me. Flying things neared me that were beyond anything even our greatest geniuses can make.'

Do you believe him? Can you even imagine it all, even if he describes it, even if he shows you drawings of what he witnessed?

What will you say?

#adriano tumino #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #medieval vulture #marvel meta #earth 65 #miguel o'hara #gwen stacy #tiana toomes #okay enough fandom tags #ending off with that miles picture bc it's also his first time entering a dimension #and sure enough. shock and awe

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fireflyinks · 1 year

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clumsy mess

innocent! virgin! reader x dbf joel miller smut

summary : the reader is a clumsy mess and joel is all for it

MATURE 18+

I knew it was wrong. Every bone in my body knew it. The way my heart would thump when he was around, and how I would melt in his hands if he ever were to merely touch me, it was truly mortifying.

Yet there was something about it that felt so right.

Joel sat at the kitchen table, playing poker with my father and a few of their other friends. My dad was work buddies with Joel, so he would come over often.

I could smell beer coming from the room, as I watched a horror movie with a couple of their daughters.

“Y/n/n!” My dad called from the table.

“Yes?” I yelled back, wondering what he could want.

I had been dreading the entire night; having to spend time with a couple of spoiled teenage girls I didn’t even like, I was really yearning to be in the dining room, just Joel and I, bouncing up and down on his big-

“Get us some more beers!”

I groaned, standing up from the couch and walking into the kitchen. I opened the fridge, grabbing six cold beers.

Passing them around the table, I couldn’t help but stare at him. Him. The way he left a button or two loose to show off his chest, and how he was so much older than me yet so fucking attractive-

One of the beers slipped from my hands, falling on the floor and shattering into millions of pieces. I was stunned, quickly stepping back from the scene.

“I- I’m so sorry.” I muttered out, embarrassed.

It had been Joel’s beer that I lost control of, and my cheeks flushed as he looked down at the busted mess.

“It’s alright,” Dad said, chuckling, “I’ll get your mom to clean it up. Be careful, don’t step on any glass.”

I nodded, skillfully walking away from the mess.

Going to grab another beer, I felt a hand snake around my waist. I jumped, still shaken from my accident.

“Hey, it’s alright. Why don’t you come with me? I have something to show you.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, “What is it, Joel?”

“It’s a surprise, just follow me.”

So I did, walking up the stairs and down the hall till we had reached my bedroom.

“Precious, I just need to ask you something.” Joel spoke in a deep, husky voice.

“Yes?”

“Don’t you think it’s dirty that you have a crush on your daddy’s friend?”

My heart dropped, my breath going with it.

“I-“ I stammered “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb sugar, I see the way you look at me.”

I gasped as he smirked devilishly. My lower lip shook, nerves shocked.

“Aw it’s okay, I’ve been thinking about you too.” He pushed hair out of my face and behind my ear. “I can only imagine how good those lips would look around my cock.”

I was getting pleasure from just hearing his words. My cunt became a needy mess, so I began to rub my legs together.

Joel noticed, smiling down at me.

“Would you like that? You want my cock?” He teased, titling my chin up with his index finger and thumb.

I nodded quickly, earning a chuckle from him.

“Get on the bed.” Joel commanded, and I did so.

He unbuckled his belt, pulling his jeans and boxers down. His cock sprung forth. My eyes widened as I looked at his size.

It was big. Very big.

“Go ahead, suck on it.”

I took a nervous breath, staying still.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, confused.

“I’ve never done this before.” I admitted, my cheeks turning a shade of crimson.

“Aw that’s okay baby, let me show you how.”

He angled his member with my throat, before pushing in the tip, thrusting back and fourth in my mouth. Each time he’d go a little deeper, causing me to grunt.

“Good girl. That’s it. Now do it by yourself.”

I bobbed my head on his cock slowly, using my hand to pump the length that didn’t fit. He threw his head back, moaning softly.

“That’s it, you’re a natural.” I continued until my mouth started to feel sore. Looking up at him, needingly, he took it as a sign.

“Does my good girl want to be fucked now? Hm?”

I nodded.

“Come on, I need to hear you say it.” Joel warned sternly.

“Please, I want your cock daddy.”

Joel began to take my shirt off, revealing my lace pink bra.

“Fuck, you look so pretty.” He said under his breath, unhooking the back. My tits released, bouncing once he let them loose. He groped them, causing me to whimper.

“Tell me where you want me.”

I groaned, “In my pussy. I want you in my pussy.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Imagine if your dad heard you saying that. Begging for his friends cock.”

Joel pulled down my shorts, then took off my underwear. He teased my entrance with his middle finger, before pushing it in and fucking me with it.

I whined in pleasure. Then he added another digit. Then another. Then another.

My pussy slowly adjusted to his fingers, until I was rocking my hips back and forth.

“Okay, I think you’re ready, sugar.”

He pulled his fingers out, lining his cock with my entrance.

“I’m gonna push in slow. Tell me if it hurts or if you want me to stop.” He groaned as he entered me.

“Daddy!” I moaned, back arching. The amount pleasure out numbered the pain.

“Okay, daddy you can move.” I hummed, eyes closed from pleasure.

He rocked his hips back and fourth, progressing in speed with every thrust.

“You like how I’m fucking you, baby? You want my cum? Oh, imagine how your dad would react if i fucked a baby into you. Oh you’re such a clumsy mess, I’m surprised you haven’t came by accident by now. ” He cooed, grunting.

My stomach began to feel tight and tingly. I moaned, throwing my head back.

“I think I’m close!”

“Go ahead, come for me. Be a good girl and come for me.”

I came on his cock, just as he pulled out and released on my tummy. More and more cum came out till I was a sticky mess. My head felt light as I laid back on the bed.

Joel picked me up, taking me to the bathroom and running water for a bath. Once i got in, he pressed a gentle kiss on my lips before turning around towards the door.

“I gotta go tell your dad you were feeling sick or something. I can come back next week, your dad has a business trip.” He smiled, winking.

Southern charm would be the end of me.

#pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us

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syrena-del-mar · 3 months

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Examining the Use of Movie Posters in Dead Friend Forever, Episode 8

So, for the past few weeks I've been paying attention to the different movie posters in Non's room and we finally got a clear shot of the posters in Episode 8! A big thank you to @lukaherehelp, @slayerkitty, and @fiction-is-queer for helping me identify, track down, and discuss all the movie posters and their possible significance.

Before we jump in, I think there are some interesting trends that have come from the chosen movie posters that have been plastered on the walls. First, all the movies either have kids dying or kids involved in some capacity. Second, two of the posters were in Spanish (does this hint that New was in a Spanish-speaking country?). Third, several seem to be in the horror films. Fourth, most seem to take place out in nature (a la cabin in the woods.)

El Fuera de la Ley -> The Outlaw Josey Wales (1976)

Interestingly enough, Clint Eastwood's The Outlaw Josey Wales is the only legitimate poster that I have been able to find that Be On Cloud has chosen to use. I'm attributing this to mainly be due to American copyright laws.

For those that aren't familiar with U.S. copyright laws or just copyright laws in general, the law protects any tangible, intellectual property. Under the Copyright Act of 1976, as amended in 1978, any work that is made for hire, the copyright endures for a term of 95 years since its first publication. Movie posters do fall under this category. But this term of 95 years only took effect starting from January 1st, 1978, meaning that any work prior to this amendment was still controlled by the 1976 act. Under the 1976 act, the initial term of copyright was 28 years from the date of publication or registration. After the initial term, it could then be extended for 67 years for a total 95 years, but the copyright holder would need to actively extend the term. The Outlaw of Josey Wales came out in 1976, and assuming that the did not pursue copyright for the next 67 years, the copyright term would have ended in 2004. Meaning that Be On Cloud would be able to use the original movie poster without having to pay for the right of use.

Now onto the actual relevant portion of the plot. Josey Wales, a Missouri farmer, seeks revenge after his wife and son are murdered by pro-Union militants led by Captain Terri. Refusing to surrender to the Union, after the war, he ends up with a bounty on his head. Captain Terrill hunts down Wales and opens fire on him. Struggle ensues, Terrill draws out his sword and tries to kill Wales, but instead Wales take control and forces the blade through Terrill's chest and finally avenges his family. There is still a bounty for Wales, but locals cover him and tell the Rangers that came looking for him that he had already been killed. Ultimately, Wales has found his peace and rides off in the sunset, while you're left being unsure whether he survived or died of his wounds.

Now, I'm thinking this is where we're heading for the ending. After it's all said and done, I think this may play out in two different ways: either we'll never really truly find out whether Non made it out alive or we'll never know who the actual killer is. Either way, with the ending of The Hidden Character and coupled with the ending of this movie, I really think we're heading towards the direction where we're going to end up with a rather ambiguous ending. And if Non is confirmed dead, will it be Phee to be the last one standing after having avenged him? If Non's the writer and Phee is the killer, by Non's new storyboard and following Wales' story, he would.

La Madre: Love Never Dies -> Mamá : El Amor De Una Madre Es Para Siempre (2013)

‘Mama’ is a supernatural horror film that follows two young girls, Victoria and Lilly, who disappeared the of their parents' deaths but are later found abandoned in a forest cabin after 5 years have passed. They are taken in by their uncle Lucas and his girlfriend Annabel, but strange occurrences reveal the presence of a malevolent entity they call "Mama." As Annabel struggles to bond with the girls, Mama becomes increasingly possessive and dangerous, threatening their safety. Annabel offers Mama her lost child's remains to soothe Mama's anger but Lily's call interrupts, leading to Mama's return as she attempts to take the girls. Victoria chooses to stay with Annabel, and Mama and Lily fall off a cliff, before becoming spirits that turn into moths. At the end, you see one of the moths land on Victoria, likely showing the Lily would always be with Victoria.

Now at first glance, I thought this was just in reference to Non's tumultuous relationship with his mother, which I'll get to that in another meta, but the more I think about it seems like it parallels the corruption of innocence and the monstrosity found in humanity. In ‘Mama’, the corruption of innocence occurs not only to the children but actually to Mama herself. She becomes a malevolent entity after the loss of her child and becomes obsessed with the sisters in a twisted form of motherly love. Meanwhile, Non's life is irrevocably altered by the actions of the THC gang. They initiate the beginning of Non's life imploding on him. He's rendered a victim of relentless harassment and violence. The psychological and physical trauma that the THC gang put him through eventually breaks him and what little of his sanity that he had left. They destroyed him, intentionally. There’s no true remorse from any one of them, sans (maybe) Jin. Monsters do not always come in the shape of supernatural entities and the THC gang has proven that. They relentlessly tormented Non, manipulated and exploited him for their own gain, while showing little regard for the life that they, quite literally, traded in return for their own success. They may be haunted by te supernatural, hunted by a killer, but they were the first monsters.

"A ghost is an emotion bent out of shape, condemned to repeat itself, time and time again until it rights the wrong that was done." This quote comes directly from the movie and really sums up everything that the THC gang has been living and fearing. Non's movie is has come full circle, it's finally being performed the way he wrote it. There's no more hijacking of his film and changing the ending depending on who is skimming through the script. Instead, who ever is laying out these murders is fixing the changes made and following what Non wanted. And if he gets his way, nobody is going to survive this time around.

Considering the ending once more, it's going to be interesting if the DFF's ending parallels Mama's. If so, who is going to be the hypothetical sacrificial lamb? Will it be Phee? Tan? White? Or, has it been Non this whole time?

Whisper (2007)

Quite frankly, I'm not familiar with this movie at all, but I'm going to do a quick recap from what I could find online. In "Whisper," Max Truemont and his fiancée Roxanne seek a fresh start by opening a diner, but face financial obstacles. Max agrees to join his former partner Sydney in kidnapping 8-year-old David, son of a wealthy woman, for ransom. After the abduction, tensions rise among the group as suspicions emerge, exacerbated by David's ability to manipulate minds. It's revealed that David's mother is the mastermind behind the plot, claiming David is a demon with mind control powers. She urges Max to kill David, but she dies by her own hand when he refuses. Max ultimately kills David, unintentionally causing Roxanne's death in the process.

I think the obvious parallel here is the kidnapping that occurs. Yet, in 'Whisper', trust and betrayal are central to the plot where Max places his trust in Sydney only to betrayed when loyalties are questioned. Meanwhile, Non gets dragged into the movie by Jin, the one who places himself to be the friendliest of the group and is the only one that seems to want to have Non around. Out of everyone, Jin appears to be the closest to Non. Hell, in the present Tee even states that if Non were to visit anyone after disappearing for so long, it would be Jin. But we know that's not true, arguably the biggest betrayal comes from Jin. First, he films him getting sexually assaulted. Second, he lets Non get kidnapped by Tee and Top. Thirdly, he completely lies to the police officer about not knowing what happened to Non and actively frames Non as a promiscuous kid that ran away with his teacher. Jin was actively a bystander to Non's torment. Both narratives highlight the fragility of trust and the consequences of betrayal.

With that, ‘Whisper’ also revolves around the consequences of Max's actions. Max's decision to participate in the kidnapping of David set off a chain of events that screws up his whole life, quite literally causing the death of his fiancée. Here, Non's choice to continuously get involved with the THC gang really was the beginning of an end for him. Same with the decision to repay Por with the mafia's horse accounts... his choice to fix a problem with another problem shaped what little future he had.

Rivarium -> Vivarium (2019)

Again, this is another movie that I had to research. In "Vivarium," the concept of brood parasitism is starkly depicted through the introduction of a cuckoo bird. Gemma and Tom, a young couple, become trapped in a surreal suburban neighborhood called "Yonder" after being led there by a mysterious real estate agent. As they struggle to escape, they discover they are part of an experiment conducted by an otherworldly entity, with a strange child named "The Boy" at the center. Ultimately, the film concludes with The Boy assuming the identity of the dying real estate agent Martin, perpetuating the cycle of captivity and manipulation.

‘Vivarium’ explores the theme of cycles and repetition, as Gemma and Tom find themselves trapped in a seemingly endless loop of confinement and captivity. Despite their repeated attempts to escape, they always return to the same house, number 9, mirroring the cyclical nature of brood parasitism found in nature. Non finds himself in the vicious cycle of abuse and retaliation, where every time that he tries to fix one problem, he gets in another. No matter what he tries to do to dig himself up from his hole, it only leads to further escalation and harm to himself. @lukaherehelp and @fiction-is-queer made good points that in this case, Non is the 'bird' that the 'cuckoos', the THC gang, used for their own benefit. And now that Non is gone, the loop restarts, only now it’s Phee and Tan’s turn to infiltrate the group that has caused Non’s ruin.

The Devil (2010)

Now, this is the only movie poster that is not found in Non's room, but is actually located in Jin's.

‘The Devil’ revolves around five strangers that become trapped in an elevator. As they struggle to escape, it becomes apparent that one among them is the Devil incarnate, manipulating events and tormenting the others with a series of disturbing manifestations. Meanwhile, outside the elevator, a detective investigates the strange occurrences, gradually piecing together the connection between the trapped individuals and the sinister presence haunting the building. As the situation inside the elevator becomes increasingly dire, the characters are forced to confront their darkest secrets and sins, each suspecting the others of being the Devil in disguise. Once they deny their sins, the devil is able to claim their soul. The Devil is unable to claim the last survivor's soul, because Tony confesses and repents for having killed a family in a car accident and fleeing the scene.

This one I find to be incredibly interesting, because I can't help but wonder if this is foreshadowing Jin's journey. To gain forgiveness, you first have to admit your faults. Jin has to first acknowledge the harm he has caused Non, since he constantly postures himself to be the 'nice guy'. Now the question is will he continue to be a coward and deny that he had any part in Non's disappearance, in Non's mental break down, or will he 'confess his sins' and face the consequences of the reality that he helped create?

Final Thoughts

If you read all the way through this... first off, thank you, because this might just be my longest meta.

I might just be reading way too into this show and maybe they just needed movie posters to demonstrate Non's interest in filmmaking, but Be On Cloud is known for paying attention to their minor details. Plus if Non's t-shirts can speak, why not his movie posters? Especially when they gave us such a clean shot of the foreground in today's episode.

Everything beyond The Outlaw Josey Wiles is pure speculation, since there's no exact movie poster that I could find. It’s going to be interesting to see if DFF's ending mirrors any of the endings in the referenced movies.

#dead friend forever #dff the series #dff meta #dead friend forever meta #barcode tinnasit #my meta #my posts #be on cloud #dff non #dff phee #dff jin #ta nannakun #copper phuriwat #boc #boc meta #thai bl #thai bl meta #boc actors

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foreficfandom · 3 months

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POV: You Are Actually MUCH More Powerful Than Alastor (ch. 2 - "Flashbacks")

(Alastor x Reader, g/n, queerplatonic/sex and romance favorable, fan theories, God!Reader) (AO3)

Alastor was always a man who craved control and attention. Ninety-odd years of being a demon has long since mutated his mortal desires into a festering appetite. While he was alive, it was a very mundane longing for the spotlight. Being the sought-after host of his own radio show was as close as being his own boss he could realistically hope for. The masses could listen and fawn over his charisma and humor while ignorant of his champagne hue.

If he wanted more, he would have to turn to drastic measures.

Young Alastor had made the station affluent, so they could afford to get their hands on any show recording they wished. One autumn, they aired The Witch’s Tale, a trailblazer for being the first horror-themed show on the radio. It garnered controversy from the conservative crowd, but ratings didn’t lie. New Orleans loved the series.

Alastor relayed the local news in his typical rapid-fire speech, a fashionable showman’s chatter made even faster thanks to his Creole blood, and as he speed-read his script in real time, he recited a quick advertisement for Madame Jones’ Hot Comb Oil before running the magnetic carbon ribbons of The Witch’s Tale. Voices of the actors took over the air. He drew a breath from a cigarette and leaned back on his chair. Alastor’s voice was now due for a rest until the current tape ran dry.

This was his first time hearing the show as well. Short horror tales were narrated by a fictional character named Old Nancy, one of the witches from Salem. The first tale was of a Venus statue come to life to slay the son of its sculptor, the second adapted from the real life confessions of the convicted Scottish witch Isobel Gowdie, the third clearly ripped off from Stevenson’s The Bottle Imp, and so on. After each tape, Alastor came back on the air for more news, advertisements, and the occasional social commentary. A quick joke about the Nipponese making waves on the West coast, a little update on McKinley’s first year back in office.

If he were to be candid, each episode of The Witch’s Tale was a gamble of hit or miss. Some were near contrived. But a few were quite satisfactory.

Most interesting was the narrator. After each tale, Old Nancy would reveal a bit more of her backstory. She never married. She grew her own food and earned her own money selling poultices. She may or may not have slept with both men and women. Her cat was a demon familiar. Her house was constructed partly from the bones of her victims.

Alastor found himself lost in thought. A young maiden, a pregnant mother, and an old widow swam through his mind. But the fourth woman … standing apart from the others, free from the grasp of a husband’s heavy greedy fist, proudly dangerous. A woman alone, but free. The maiden, matron, and crone, and now the witch.

Suddenly, Alastor saw himself repeated four times in place of the women. He was the scrawny teenage boy, then his current self, then a wizened old man, and in place of the witch was this enchanting visage of his long-lived personal fantasy, chest thrust upwards and smile brazen.

He tapped his fingers against his stomach as a strange thought overtook him. Could one become the witch?

Could Alastor be truly free from the Man’s grasp?

Hidden deep in the winding alleyways of New Orleans, voodoo was still going strong despite the coppers’ efforts. When mother was still alive, she would buy dry goods and miscellaneous wares from a small negro outlet run by Haitian immigrants, and locals knew that the shop’s upstairs hid a small voodoo church, an open secret amongst those uninterested in contacting police for any reason, even if they themselves weren’t practitioners.

Alastor knew nothing of voodoo. Mother was Lutheran, father had apparently been a loose Catholic. Church Sundays had tapered off by the time Alastor was nine, as did house praying aside from Christmas eve, and mother was near illiterate so there was no Bible reading. He never asked her if she was still faithful after dropping the more superfluous habits. Alastor’s heart ached at the thought of mother barred from the gates of Heaven.

He heard the horror stories of this dread voodoo religion. He, himself, has recited many sensational reports of sacrificial rituals and cannibalistic orgies, almost certainly all fear-mongering bullshit, but plenty enough believed that voodoo witches and warlocks used a black magic. Cursing good Christian families to die of plague, using living shadows to ensnare children away, poppets with needles, sigils that glow, that sort of malarkey.

If I could curse people, or control a tangible shadow, it would be a right gasser, he thought to himself.

A steady list of potential victims formed in his mind. Number one, the man who abandoned his wife and child to a stricken life of poverty. Just harmless daydreaming. Maybe.

Alastor used to say to himself, ‘thank God’ that mother was such a genius, otherwise they’d never have survived.

He wonders if he would soon be swearing different oaths.

—

To your nose, virginity didn’t have a strong smell or energy, but innocence did. The first time the two of you met, you had sensed Alastor’s putrid, gore-soaked body roaming the hotel long before he could sense you approaching the front door, although you allowed him to believe he had the upper hand. Murderers, especially those who lusted, were very blatant. A subtle pang told you that Alastor didn’t lust for flesh like many men did. His body smelled virgin, but more telling, his powers would not be affected should that come to change. After all, only someone uncaring of an aspiration would not evolve from achieving it.

Alastor was not innocent. Not like princess Charlie. Not like the children sinner souls.

He may not have a clue what Angel Dust meant by wearing a “special sort of ring ”, but hunger had many forms.

Flesh, blood, and bone were common sacrifices made to manifest power. A human’s physiology cultivated some of its greatest energy from fats and protein, so it made sense why Alastor’s curse would force him to fuel by consuming meat. But if he were in kinder circumstances, he might have instead been encouraged to eat any other sort of matter, or not fuel himself through food at all.

Clearly, Alastor’s debtors wanted to corrupt the man beyond what murder would do to his mind and soul. The more Alastor killed, the more he ate, the more powerful he grew, and the more he’d need to eat. He became a slave to his appetite.

You wondered if it was because they couldn’t affect him through his loins, so they chose the closest alternative.

In any case, Alastor did resent his need for nourishment, just not nearly as much as he resented the actual chains. It helped that he has always found fulfillment in creating, eating, and sharing food, and there was a very good place in Hell for that kind of attitude.

Cannibal Town didn’t become a proper, distinct district until Overlord Rosie’s rise to status. The industrial revolution had created a great epidemic of poverty, and many struggling in the developing American frontier had turned to cannibalizing the dead to survive, from the children to the elderly, only tapering off when a successful ‘20’s economy rose to the rescue. Rosie turned the predominant Edwardian-era population into its current image. Walking through Cannibal Town’s streets of petticoats and boater hats, it was like stepping back into one of your past lifetimes as a New Yorker under Taft, watching Florence Lawrence in picture shows and seeing oreo cookies on the shelves for the first time.

In fact, ‘oreo’ biscuits were sold in Cannibal Town, imitating their original tin box packaging, but they were made with rendered human fat rather than pork tallow. Rosie wanted her people to embrace their partaking, rather than languish in their past sins, or hide their undying appetite. Human flesh wasn’t an addictive substance, but cannibalism certainly was. It was as habit forming as any other ritual gesture, like how Vaggie wakes up in the morning to tie her hair ribbon right-over-left, or how Husk always arranges the bar’s bottle storage just so, or how Alastor uses an old pewter pot to boil his coffee over the stove fire. Many of these antiquated cannibals treat their slaying, butchering, and eating with the same love they used to have for the Eucharist.

Alastor’s affinity for Cannibal Town wasn’t quite because he felt kinship between their cannibalism. Fondness for Rosie aside, it was the best source of properly prepared human meat for sale, trimmed and bled as thoroughly as venison chuck. Passionate cook he may be, but he never had the patience for true butchering. Especially whilst mortal, and in Hell, a victim could easily be ten feet tall with several limbs. Who aside from the butcher had time to set aside eight hours for that?

No, Alastor’s reasons and fondness for partaking wasn’t commonly shared amongst the Cannibal Town locals. Most likened it to a sexual gratification. Many saw it as an alternative way to rape the weak. Some saw it as their only outlet for frustration. Some just wanted to fit in.

And to them, cannibalism was a very social hobby. Proper ladies found great sisterhood in tearing into a corpse like starving wolves, respectable men could now exercise their libido amongst other men by delving deep into flesh as a group. But whilst Alastor, too, socialized through food, eating mortal flesh was his curse, not his indulgence.

You knew for a fact that ever since the inception of his deal, Alastor's clause for cannibalism would quickly morph into an honest taste for it, but Alastor could only hypothesize if that was the case, or he just simply lost his mind sometime after his fourth killing.

Alastor shook himself out of his reverie as he approached the door to his favorite Cannibal Town grocer, you following close behind. He had been finding himself lost in his own thoughts more and more often, lately. No doubt due to your influence.

He could have shut down in complete bewilderment, but he was Alastor, damn it all, so he will garner the bravery to take the next step forward, then the step after that, and so on.

Towards a brighter future, he dared to hope.

He opened the door for you, and the two of you entered the little store. Like all grocers before the ‘50’s, the wares weren’t self-serve. Alastor summoned a paper list, and read off what he wanted to purchase. The mustached shopkeeper brought forward each item onto the counter before ringing them up on the register, using an old exertion scale for the fresh goods. A pound of dried red beans, a rasher of salted belly, a loaf of sugar, three pounds worth of scrap shin bones, and four red capsicums. You noticed that the capsicums - the bell peppers - were the smaller, pointier variety sold during Alastor’s lifetime, before cultivation increased their size and yield. Likewise, the sugar loaf was compressed into an old-fashioned triangular cone, wrapped in paper, not a pure white but a light flaxy yellow from its residue molasses. All the manufacturer’s labels were a parody of their living equivalents. The burlap sack of Camellia-brand kidney beans was of a bloody heart with green, thorny vines named “Carnillia”, instead of the original round flower.

The shopkeeper wrapped the raw meats into their own smaller bag. It went unsaid, but they were obviously human remains. You reached forwards to carry the groceries whilst Alastor was occupied with paying, but then said to you, “Nonsense, dear,” and reclaimed the load in a gentlemanly manner. A polite, but largely useless gesture, as it’d take monolithic mass to truly test your physical prowess, and Alastor had his own increased strength as an Overlord.

In fact, the last time you struggled to carry an object with all your true power, it had created a black hole where it fell.

Part of Alastor’s original deal for power was certainly to improve his meager physical ability, as he was like many young men who pictured their ideal self boasting some petal to the metal. His lean muscles did not swell, and he couldn’t bench-press an automobile, but he did find a great force behind his punches, and his running speed, and even when he twisted open a pickle jar. It had been a relatively mundane boon compared to his showier magic, but the knowledge that you couldn’t be physically overtaken was intoxicatingly empowering. Alastor finally understood why burly brutes acted so brazen, even if his silhouette didn’t display it.

Yes, his original deal was as righteous as any young person’s plea for bravery. But whilst some may only ask for a sword, he had asked for a legion.

And by mother’s grave, he got it.

Father had been his original sacrifice. He tracked down the drunkard squatting in a Chalmette hobo jungle, and knifed him in the belly until the wretch’s blood flow slowed to a crawl. He spent all night dragging the corpse across town and to the lake, right where the most notorious of voodoo orgies were said to take place, and mimicked the manbo’s ceremony, finger painting vèvè before shouting - begging, screaming, really - for anybody or anything to answer him.

He always tries to avoid remembering what came next.

Mother hadn’t passed, yet, but she was on her deathbed. She had been fighting scarlet fever for weeks, and pneumonia had developed. Alastor himself had a brief sick spell due to contamination, but he refused to move out of the house. If his mother was about to leave this world, he wanted to be there.

Mother’s pauper’s burial was baptized in Alastor’s second killing. A eugenic small-time politician one neighborhood over, who would have never achieved his meager position if it wasn’t for connections, thanks to the scandal of marrying his fourteen-year-old niece. For this attack, Alastor let his new powers bloom freely, but his inexperience left the corpse a complete mangled mess. Indeed, the shocking state of the body was what first sparked rumors of the Butcher Of New Orleans. Named so because of the man’s conspicuously missing flesh and organs, leading the police to rightly profile the suspect as a cannibal.

Life went on. Alastor’s mind and mood matured, and he hit his stride. He grew from radio host to radio star. He made plenty of honest friendships. He found innocent fun, and also learned to refine his not-so-innocent ones. By age 37, Alastor had a celebrity career, a Cadillac automobile, a sparkling reputation, and a total body count of twenty-eight men.

A month before he would turn 38, he found himself in hell. He remembered that his first action was to look around, expecting to see his father as if the man would, by chance, be standing on the nearby street corner. He looked up, and saw the glowing celestial body that must be heaven, high above and unreachable.

He wondered if mother was simultaneously looking down. Or was she still waiting for her dutiful son to show up and join her? Alastor had made great effort to ensure that mother never knew of how much of a monster her son really was.

Slowly coming back to the present, Alastor found himself wistfully looking at the morning sky as the two of you waited for traffic to halt. The haloed planisphere was partially hidden by daytime cloud cover, but one could spot the ever present gateway to heaven just about visible.

You followed Alastor’s gaze to the skies above. As remote as heaven may seem to the eye, you knew that it wasn’t a matter of distance. After all, heaven and hell weren’t places. They were states of being. You told him so last night, since he was under the impression that with just enough power, he could track down his debtor.

Unfortunately, if a suitably powerful being didn’t want to be found, no amount of searching would work.

He had bristled at that, fur on his ears standing, and paced away.

Then spun around with renewed, fake bravado, and said he would lure them here.

“How?” you asked.

He had no idea, but just twirled his cane into both hands with a closed eye grin. Apparently, he’d think of something.

Before the night concluded, he told you that all these earth-shattering revelations would have to be mulled over a hefty serving of his favorite comfort food, so you and him would dine privately a stew of baked beans. An especially fatty and. Well. Cannibalistic recipe of his.

So it came to be that the two of you left the hotel early next morning for some shopping, which of course caught the eye of nearby Niffty, who would most certainly be relaying the latest gossip to everyone else.

Let them talk. Alastor loved being the hottest gossip topic, and the friendships you choose to keep are yours alone.

Of course, most of them suspected that there was more than friendship involved. Not the wording you’d choose, but perhaps it wasn’t inaccurate.

There was divinity between the two of you, now. Every time you’ve muddled in mortal affairs, great cosmic connections formed between your souls. Inevitable, considering who you were, but they often had great repercussions. You considered every one of them worth the trouble.

That afternoon, the two of you entered the kitchen once more, but this time you stood by and watched as Alastor prepared a kettle to hang over his fireplace. Per his request (demands), you arrived to his room at eight on the dot to his little table set with sliced bread and a decanter of whiskey. The pocket swamp beyond was darkened and dotted with lazy fireflies. A radio station played, but not from the two sat on his bookshelf, nor emitting from Alastor himself, just directionless in the air as if the room itself breathed radio.

“Please, come on in,” he bowed, just a tad overweening. Say what you will about the man, he bounces back from existential despair pretty gracefully.

One of the seats slid out on its own accord. You sat obligingly to the tantalizing smell of spice, partially masking your ability to detect the human remains in the stew. As Alastor sat across from you, the disembodied radio chatter in the air twitched frequencies to instead play a wordless ballad.

“I took the liberty of choosing tonight’s choice of drink,” he said, pouring whiskey for the both of you. “I know it’s a bit early in the evening for the mule, but indulge this pitiful sinner.”

“It’s your meal, after all.” And true enough, Alastor stood no ceremony in digging a spoon deep into his bowl. Alcohol had its particular effects on you, so you reversed the fermentation of your whiskey into a poof of evaporated ethanol and a wet pile of sugar, mostly to amuse yourself, also to sneak a pinch of malt into your bow to cut some of the fat. Alastor had made the stew so rich, you could probably alchemize a toddler from the lipids.

You watched as Alastor relished deeply in his first spoonful. Fats, you remembered, was sometimes a more affordable grocery than sugar or flour, depending on the slaughter season. A poor Alastor would have grown up being treated to cheap, streaky bacon more often than beignets or hot cocoa.

“Just as mother made it,” he sighed wistfully, as if reading your mind. Far from the first time he’s mentioned his mother aloud, but before it had always been a set up for a jape, his comedian nature never at rest, and not unfiltered sentimentality. He must know that it was useless to hide secrets from you.

You forwent the malt sugar to taste the dish as it was intended. Surprisingly, it was shockingly laced with pure intentions that caressed your tongue and made tears well up behind your eyes. You didn’t think Alastor was capable of it.

It tasted like love.

Maybe he had more of a chance than you first thought.

—

Supper continued throughout the night. Alastor downed one, two, and was working on his third bowl before the conversation turned to the elephant in the room.

“- and when I kill the wretches souls who’ve clipped me like a duckling, I’ll -”

“Cool the jets, Alastor. We’d have to find them, first.” You stepped in before he could wind himself up.

“See, I’ve been thinking,” he took a hearty swig from his third glass of whiskey, "take it from a man with a couple of his own eggs in the basket. You know what makes a debtor knock on the front door faster than a twinkle?”

“What?”

He grinned angrily. “If he thinks there’s more debt to be had. You spot a way to keep your favorite minion closer to your chest for longer, you take it before someone else can.”

With a twist of his wrist, he downed his glass and slammed it none too quietly on the table. His eyes no longer meeting yours and burning holes into the wall over your elbow. “So! You help me advertise my devilish self as desperate for another deal, or perhaps just a clever amendment clause or two, and I promise you, they’ll show up.”

“And then what’ll we do?”

“End their wretched lives! What else?”

“Life began millions of years ago, and it hasn’t stopped since. Your jailer has long since learned to take advantage of that.” You calmly lounged with loosely crossed legs and arms, while Alastor was beginning to hover over the table like an angry ape. “There’s no way to ‘end their life’ in a manner you’d care about.”

With his face so close, you could smell the whiskey on his tongue along with an unfortunate whiff of antiquated dental hygiene standards. He wasn’t quite yet drunk, but was certainly not sober.

Your words gave him pause, but a radio star never let dead air stagnate. “Well, perhaps it was never a matter of killing them. No proper creditor makes their debtor more powerful than he.”

You said, “Your leash has its share of loopholes and weakness, like all contracts do. There’s never a way to fully avoid them, so most make additions that forbid them.”

Green stitches all along his maw. In one blink, you saw Alastor in his full pitiful glory, glowing neon-bright inverted hues, rotted body held together haphazardly with unforgiving threads. In another blink, Alastor was his normal outward self.

Back and forth you flipped your vision, trying to find any clues or conclusions. Snipping the threads would just make him fall apart. There must be a gentler conclusion.

Suddenly, you remembered what he said. “Alastor, how many debtors do you own?”

“Oh, I can’t remember the exact number. Ninety years is a long time. The answer’s somewhere in my ledger, I’m sure,” he waved a hand.

“Lend me a look. Please,” you added when Alastor’s glare turned vicious, “it’s important. You can trust me.”

“Now, how in the world would my own roster matter to my predicament?”

You leaned forward, meeting Alastor’s couched posture in the middle. “I made a promise, didn’t I? I promised you true liberty. If you want my help, then let me help.” You kept your voice low as if whispering a secret, even though no one was around to overhear. No one Alastor could see, anyways.

A heartbeat passed, then another. Then, with a great crackling of old vertebrae like he had suddenly aged decades, Alastor reigned in his defenses.

Has he ever yielded so completely since granted his powers? No wonder it felt so dreadful, like shaking off a carpet of cobwebs.

Never let it be known that Alastor was a chap who couldn’t learn something new, you heard him think bitterly. A dry exhale aired throughout the room as elongated shadows retreated, electric bulbs shone brighter, and the fireplace changed from eye-searing blacklight back to its natural warm glow.

Nonchalant smile back on his face, Alastor wiped his hands with a napkin and stood.

“Ah well. No time like the present, then?”

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