#Alas this strangeness struck me and I had to | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

digital-domain · 9 days

Text

Retrieval

Alastor x Reader // word count 4.4k

Pt 3 to Spring Cleaning and Clean Slate

In which you attempt to leave.

Tags/warnings: yandere, intimidation, noncon kissing, choking, Alastor’s shadow doing things a shadow should not be able to do

A/N: Really thought this was gonna be a one-off but here we are. I usually don’t even write one follow-up, much less two, so this is unfamiliar terrain for me. Alas, I could not resist. Enjoy (or don’t. I’m not in charge.)

You remember a time when this was good. Well - no. You’re sure, now, that it was rotten from the beginning. But there was a time when it felt good. When you invited it in. When you wanted more.

Time for bed, my dear.

He’s said this to you many times. Now, each repetition deepens the never-ending pit in your stomach. But the first time…how long ago was it? You don’t remember. You don’t even remember how long you’ve been here. Here at this hotel, or here, in hell - each one distorts hours and months in its own way. They tug at you until you slip through the fingers of time, and end up on a day you don’t remember arriving at, in a place that is only yours if you forget what has happened there.

It’s far too late for you to be thinking as deeply as you are.

You’d been sitting on the top of the stairs for a long time that night, however-long-ago, fending off the inevitable onset of your dreams. He’d been gone all day, and when he had finally returned (from where, you never found out), he’d seen you from the lobby. Called out to you, in a voice far too quiet and gentle to carry to your ears as well as it did. It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken to you, but it was the first time he’d spoken to you alone. And even if that wasn’t true, there would have been something different about it.

And, in my opinion, far too fair a night for such misery.

From the beginning, you’d known that nothing about him was entirely unfiltered. The first time you’d met, he’d given a wonderful little performance. Shaken your hand, taken you by the shoulder, quickly escorted you away from the people who would soon warn you not to trust him. And you’d known it was fake. Of course you had. You weren’t, perhaps, the most excellent judge of character, but you knew no one acted like that by instinct. It was calculated. Not to be trusted.

It struck you oddly, then, to hear such an allegedly inhuman character talk about something as mundane as the joy of pleasant weather. It felt entirely real, even at an hour when almost nothing seemed real at all. Hell did have its decent moments, now and then; there were no seasons, so to speak, but very occasionally you’d get a day that felt like summer, and a night to match. It was nice, when it happened. Delightful, even.

But, if you insist upon staying awake - and I admit, I do understand that impulse better than most - I suggest you do it somewhere with an open window.

The realization had hit, somewhere in the middle of this, that he was being kind to you. You hadn’t wondered why at the time. You’d take anything you could get, in those early, confused days after your death, and receiving it from an unexpected source somehow made it better. He didn’t do things like this out of obligation. He cared, for some reason you could only guess at.

You’re still guessing, now. But that night, you hadn’t thought so deeply about it. You’d only stared back at him, and nodded almost imperceptibly at his suggestion.

He’d paused, matching your silence for a long stretch. Considered your expression, in the way those unblinking eyes always seemed uniquely suited for.

Shall I escort you to your room, my dear?

You’d nodded mutely, and he’d ascended the stairs, offered you his hand, helped you to your feet, guided you to your door.

And then, a mistake. Grateful, exhausted, feeling utterly alone in a strange world - you’d invited him in.

He’d opened your window for you, and lingered beside it for several quiet seconds before you asked him to sit down in your desk chair. He’d smiled strangely at that, softer than you were used to, and left quickly, almost hastily, after only a few minutes. But he’d stood motionless in the hallway for several seconds before you’d heard him walk away.

After that night, you never invited him in again - you didn’t have to. He came of his own accord. Only occasionally, at first. Then, more often, until hardly a day went by without it. It was almost pleasant, at first, and then a slow, unyielding creep towards what you have now. Something you don’t understand. Something you only started resenting after it was too late to back away.

You’ve spent a long time wondering why he chose you, of all people. Why he feels so entitled to your space, to your life, why he wants it to begin with. Why he holds onto you so tightly. You’ve even asked him, in roundabout ways, to no avail. But somewhere in your mind, a shoved-down place that only now rises to the surface, you think that it might be your fault. Your fault, for being so desperate for solace, for company, that you’d take it from anyone you could. For feeling proud to have gained his attention, long after the point where it stopped doing you any good.

Now, lying above your bed covers, you toy with the hem of your slip, which you’ve absently pulled up to mid-thigh. Perhaps you don’t need to be wearing it tonight. Alastor has been mysteriously absent from the hotel in the two days that have passed since his last appearance in your room. You doubt whatever’s called him away has left him much time for spying upon you. And still, you feel compelled to act as if he is watching. As if he might return to your bedside at any moment.

Your memory flashes back to two nights ago, and you try to yank it away. You don’t want to think about what he did to you then. You certainly don’t want to think about why. The way his eyes were fixed not on your body, but on your face, as if it was your shame he wanted to see, and nothing more.

It was unsettling. But perhaps not surprising. If it was only your body that he wanted, after all, he wouldn’t be trying so hard to control the rest of you. That, you don’t understand. That - it’s what really keeps you awake.

The light from your lamp, which you have no intention of turning off, stings beneath your closed eyes as you lie rigidly on your back. You barely slept the night before, either, so this day passed in a sort of stupor, the adrenaline of early morning giving way to a numb, heavy feeling as the afternoon dragged on.

But the numbness is good, in a way, you think. It lets you do things you wouldn’t otherwise. With your eyes still closed, you bring your other hand to the hem of the slip. The lace and the silk above it are delicate, and you pull hard with both fists. The light ripping noise that follows is beautiful, for a moment.

Then, the familiar dread snaps back into place, worse for your act of stupidity.

He will be back, before long. His sudden absence has not been a reprieve, but a looming threat, a two-day stretch in which you have not taken one proper breath, and you have the feeling that he will know what you have done the moment he returns.

If he does not somehow know already. If you haven’t already summoned him back by the rebellious movements of your hands. There is panic coursing through you, fear not of what is here now but of what has been, and what will be. It’s not the panic you’d feel at an immediate threat, like a wild animal baring down on you in a dark forest - instead, it’s the sort of inescapable head-buzzing sensation you experienced often in life, when you’d been in a room for far too long, and were not yet allowed to leave. An overwhelming feeling that you are trapped, not by physical bonds, but by the consequences that might ensue if you walk away.

If you were to walk away, to run away…what would happen? You do not know, and you don’t want to think about it. You want to leave. No - you need to leave. If you do not do it now, now, you never will. And the idea of never leaving, of this stretching on until he decides that it’s time for it to end - if he ever does -

You sit up, and swing your legs over the edge of your bed. He will be back soon. You’re sure of it. And you cannot bear the thought of being here when he returns.

What can you do about it? You can do something. You can stand up. You can find the large backpack stuffed into the corner of your closet, and start shoving things inside. You don’t have many things at all, and most of the things you do have are not important enough to keep. You’re certainly not bringing any of these clothes with you.

All these things, you do quickly, in a sort of daze, driven by a single motive. Get out, get out. It is easy, if you don’t stop moving. If you don’t think more than you have to, if you let this one idea drive you all the way out the door. One set of clothes, you do have to bring - the one that goes on your body. The only one that you feel even remotely comfortable wearing. Black trousers, red sweater. The contents of the small compartments of your dresser have been replaced, so you do not feel comfortable with the things you are wearing underneath these clothes, but they are quickly hidden. You are not in strong enough possession of your body to feel them clinging to your skin.

You’ve discarded the slip onto the floor, and with the way it’s crumpled, you can’t even see the small rip in the hem. It’s not enough. You pick it up and rip it further, until it is torn all the way to the neck, before dropping it like it’s on fire. Perhaps it would be better to take it with you, to get rid of it in a place where he won’t see the remains, but you do not want to have it for a second longer. It flutters back to the floor, and you cover your clean, white, unfamiliar socks with the ragged sneakers you’ve somehow been allowed to keep.

Where do you go? Where can you go? For reasons that you certainly didn’t come up with yourself (reasons that seemed like cloying but utterly convincing advice, at the time) you barely speak to anyone outside of these walls. You haven’t even got a phone. And even if you did, you can’t imagine pulling anyone into this mess - your mess, a quiet voice in your head reminds you. This is your creation, and you will see it through alone. There is a motel, you remember, a shoddy building a few streets away that you’ve taken notice of every time you’ve passed. You will go there, and you will sleep, and tomorrow -

Tomorrow does not matter yet. Tonight, you only need to leave.

You’re sure that no one in this building is awake. Or at least, no one is awake enough to check on the noises your feet make as they collide, painfully loud, over and over, with the creaking hallway floor. And yet, you advance as slowly and carefully as you can manage, barely keeping at bay the adrenaline that urges you to run. The night is pleasantly warm, but a shudder runs through you as you crack open the front door of the sleeping hotel. This, too, you keep at bay, instructing your feet to keep moving until you dislodge the disarming chill from your bones, and settle back into your skin. You are walking quickly, but not running, as you wade into the dark streets before you. It is a bad idea, being out here alone, at this hour, and running is loud.

Then again, you think your breathing might be harsher, at this moment, than any noise the soles of your shoes could create.

You didn’t realize until now that you already had this route mapped out in your head, so clearly that you can follow it without thinking. It’s not far. Quicker if you slide through the little alley to your left. Quicker still if you speed up, just a bit, just enough that your breath catches oddly in your throat, exertion mixing with the faintest glimmer of hope. There is a breeze flowing out from behind you, gentle against the nape of your neck. The streets are mercifully quiet.

You are not thinking. If you were, you might not be able to tell yourself that all was well.

As it is, you buy yourself a few more seconds of hope. But your eyes are wide. Too wide and too alert to miss the strange thing that comes your way. Once you see it, you cannot look anywhere else.

Your stomach drops. You slowly ease your bag off of your shoulders, and let it fall to the ground beside you. You will not be taking it any further than here.

You know this, because there is an inexplicable shadow pressed against the side of the alley. It is cast by nothing, darker than the night that surrounds it. A long, abstract shape unfurls bit by bit, extends its tendrils across the worn brick, and drips down until it spills onto the polished boots that have appeared suddenly on the ground in front of you.

There’s a horribly familiar sigh, but no words. No touch. Not yet.

Soon. Too soon, you’ll hear his voice.

But you find that you do not have the impulse to scream, like anyone else might in this situation. Nor do you want to run. You do not want to take so much as a step backwards. You do not do these things, because you are not scared like you might have expected. No. The thing that quickens your pulse is not fear, but anger. You were so close. You could have made it. And you should have made it.

You should not have had to run to begin with.

You answer a question that you didn’t realize you were asking until this moment. This is not your fault. None of it. Nothing that makes you feel like this could possibly be your doing alone. So, instead of looking up and apologizing, you stare at the ground, and imagine that your eyes shine as intensely as the ones above you. It’s a striking contrast, your worn, comfortable shoes toe-to-toe with polished leather. A victory, in its own small way.

You feel Alastor lean over you, and your hands curl into fists of their own accord.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively calm, “what a terrible risk you’ve taken?”

“Some idea.” You’re seething, just as you know he must be underneath the surface - the only difference is that you aren’t bothering to hide it. “You’ll forgive me.”

“Oh…I’m not talking about my own impulses, my dear. Running was a terrible idea for many reasons.” His glove catches you beneath your jaw - you press back against it for a moment before following its guide. Before looking up into the eyes you never wanted to see again, and the grin that bears down upon you. “You might find it hard to wrap your head around, considering its current misguided state, but I assure you that I am far from the only threat that the nights of hell have to offer.”

“But you are a threat.” He’s shown his hand, you think. It’s satisfying to point out - until it’s thrown back in your face.

“Only when provoked, darling.” His eyes are a brighter red than you’ve ever seen them, glowing with some intense emotion - whether it’s hatred or a deep appreciation, you don’t know, and will never know. He releases your jaw, runs his finger slowly down the line of your neck. “But you’ve no need to worry…it would take quite a lot of provocation for me to hurt you. Even now, I’m not even close to taking such drastic action.”

Your teeth grind together, clenched as tightly as his pasted-on smile, as the fist wrapped around his staff. “You think you haven’t hurt me already?”

“Oh, my.” He laughs gently, dismissively - but it’s not quite as convincing as usual. He’s standing rigidly, pressing the bottom of his staff tightly against the ground, holding his free hand not behind his back, but at his side. Fingers stiffly curled, practically trembling with the effort of holding still, as if they’re itching to grab onto something.“You are feeling bold tonight. Not as if I couldn’t tell by the little present you left behind in your room…but it is rather strange to experience it in person. You’re usually such a sweetheart.”

You tune out the syrupy condescension of his voice. You’re done with listening to him. Done with beating around the bush, done with getting brushed aside again and again. “What do you want from me?”

“Cliches don’t suit you, my dear,” he intones darkly. “Especially not when paired with that expression.” He slowly raises his hand, and reaches for your face, as if he hopes to rearrange the features he finds so unpleasant. Without a second thought, you jerk backwards, and slap his hand away.

He holds it frozen. Poised in midair. The last time this happened, it was enough to make you tug back everything you’d just done.

Not this time.

“What,” you hiss, taking another full step back, “do you want from me?”

The corner of his grin twitches so severely that you can almost imagine it dropping from his face. “At the moment, I only wish for you to return home.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You hold your fists at your sides. Spine straight, shoulders pressed back. Toes curled inside your shoes. You can feel the unfamiliar undergarments clinging to your hips, your ribcage - you want them gone. You want him gone.

“Then pray tell, my dear”-

“All of it.” You hold his gaze as his head tilts slowly to one side. Listen to the cracking of bones, and press on, before you can think better of it. “You won’t let me go. You can’t. And I don’t even get to know why.” There’s a desperation in your voice, rising with the volume of it, quickly spiraling out of your control. “All I know is that you’re - you’re trying to control me, and that I hate it, and that I don’t fucking understand it.”

Images from two nights before descend upon your mind, and your train of thought comes entirely undone. It’s more than images, really. You can certainly picture him standing over you, his red eyes flaring as you stripped yourself bare in front of him, but you can also feel it, the awful heat under your skin battling with the chill of the air, the brush of his finger along your hip, the gentle kiss to your forehead. The hands pulled tightly behind his back. And the way you felt then, the thing you’d be afraid of, if it was anyone else.

“You - you don’t”- You feel strangely distant from your body, as if your mind is a separate entity, floating somewhere slightly outside of your skull. Your mouth takes a sharp breath, and more words cascade out before you can return to stop them. “I was fucking naked in front of you, and you didn’t feel anything. If you don’t want - that”-

Any other stupid words you might say are cut off by a rising buzz of static, which emanates from him as his staff disappears before your eyes, and his newly-free hand takes on the stiff, barely-restrained posture of the other. You wonder, in that detached manner your thoughts take on when you are frightened, if he’s doing this on purpose, or if it’s somehow leaking out in a way that’s beyond his control.

You feel tears welling in your eyes, and try in vain to shove them back down. You don’t know where they came from. “I don’t understand.”

For the first time, you see his grin drop - not all the way, but enough that the line of it changes, enough that it becomes a grimace. It’s so unsettling that you wish the usual, terrible smile would return. “That much is obvious, my dear. I wonder if you even realize how tragic what you just said really was.”

You freeze as your wrists are snatched by coils of shadow, smooth and inexplicably solid. Your arms are yanked straight down, and when you try to tear them away, you fail. Your hands are free to form fists, but remain trapped against your sides.

“That you can only fathom being desired in such a shallow way…”

His image flickers before you. You’re already half-turned around when he reappears behind you a moment later, but there’s nothing you can do to stop his hands from curling, one finger at a time, around your shoulders, far too close to your neck for comfort. You stare straight ahead as his face twists into the periphery of your vision.

And he whispers in your ear, his voice bare of any effect, just the hint of some old, earthly accent slipping through. “I’m afraid that I want much more than that.”

He slides around you at the same moment the bonds around your wrists release, and effortlessly turns you by your shoulders - he does not push you against the wall that now stands behind you, but you step back out of instinct and flatten yourself against it. He matches your steps with his own, traps you between himself and the rough brick at your back, and latches his gloved hand beneath your jaw, wrenching your face upwards. With his other hand, he reaches down, flips your palm so that it’s no longer facing the wall and interlocks his fingers with your own. His grin springs back into place, and oh - you wish you could run now. You would, if you could.

His eyes slide away from you for a moment as he puts something together in his head. “These little acts of rebellion from you…I think I ought to thank you for them.” He blinks slowly, and returns his gaze to your face. “I don’t think I would have realized just how close I wanted to keep you, if you hadn’t attempted to leave. And now…oh. I understand perfectly, now. I know exactly what I want.” He bows his head, lowers his lips to your ear, so that you can hear the shudder of his breath. “I’ll have your soul one day, my dear. A day when you’re already bound so tightly to me that such a contract will be a mere formality.”

“And until that day comes…” He draws back from the side of your face, stares not into your eyes, but through them. His teeth part. His tongue flicks out from between them, and slides quickly over their jagged edges. “I feel as if I’m prepared to do anything, if only it will bring you closer.”

The last vestiges of your anger burst forth, and you attempt to wrench your face out of his grasp. He lets you, and moves his hand to the back of your neck, his long fingers pressing harshly into the sides. You look up, eyes wide with terror, as the palm that has been flattened against your own releases your hand from the wall, and rises to curl tightly around your waist.

He pulls you close. You do not see the moment that his smile disappears, as it surely must - your eyes are already closed when he kisses you, screwed tightly shut as his hot, rancid breath works its way into your lungs. There’s a hint of whiskey beneath the rot, and something metallic, the same taste that floods your mouth when you bite the inside of your lip a bit too hard. His hand slides around from the back of your neck, and closes at your throat - he keeps it there after he’s pulled away, and watches as you struggle against his grip.

“You have a decision to make now, darling.” He takes a deep, satisfied breath, the tension leaving his posture even as you fight to breathe beneath his hand. “You can return all by yourself…” His fingers curl tighter around your neck, and tendrils of shadow lash at your wrists and ankles, slowly twisting their way up your limbs. “Or, I can bring you back. I imagine that would cause quite a scene..but the choice is yours.” He tilts his head, stares down at you through narrowed eyes, and - after another moment of watching you struggle - eases his grip just enough for you to answer.

You don’t hesitate for a moment. Even if you had the air to argue, you wouldn’t dare. “I’ll - come back” -

“Lovely.” He releases you, and takes a step back. Pulls one hand slowly behind him, as if doing so takes a tremendous amount of effort. “Since you’re so attached to your freedom, I’ll allow you to walk back unsupervised.” He traces the back of his other hand gently down your cheek, stopping only briefly to press the tips of his fingers against the hardened clench of your jaw. You let it go slack - only then does he pull his hand away. “But as I told you before, darling…there are many threats lurking in the shadows of these streets. So I do suggest that you watch your step.”

His image fades away before you. In the same moment that you watch him disappear, there is a shift in the surface under your feet. You no longer feel the familiar soles of your shoes, but the ground beneath, rough with the texture of cracks and debris. Cold. Not damp, exactly, but carrying the faint suggestion of something wet having only recently become dry.

Your toes curl inside your pristine white socks, which will soon be stained by the filth of the ground beneath them. There’s a new shadow against the wall - it slides along with you as you carefully retrace your steps home.

#yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor #alastor x reader #tw yandere #tw power imbalance

229 notes · View notes

cozymoko · 1 year

Note

Alright no problem.

A category I would like is the upper rank demons. Thank you.

MODERN AU! YANDERE UPPER MOONS (some)

REQUEST: Upper Moons s/o grows distant from them. Then they start talking to someone new via their phone. It's implied or shown that they're gaining feelings for the person in the phone. Later, the yandere finds out.

Includes: Akaza, Douma, Gyutaro, Koukushibo

WARNING(S): Yandere themes, weird ass writing

AKAZA

Akaza has watched you enter your password thousands of times, so, of course, he knows it by heart. However, he never felt a need to go through your phone despite how viciously his curiosity gnawed at his restraint. He trusted you undoubtedly though it was foolish to do so.

The poor soul; betrayal is truly a curse. A brisk gleam had piqued his interest and he wish it hadn't. He wants so badly to not believe his eyes, praying for a means of deception or even a facade. All the lies about who you were texting, and who you were with had to be true! He could not fathom you doing such a thing, slicing him so deeply with what felt like the sharp-edged end of a blade.

His actions after were merely on impulse — on rage and desire even. Yet he did not feel an ounce of remorse. He was unable to sympathize with the person who tore you away, and instead dwelled in the satisfaction their death had brought him.

⠀⠀WORK HAD BEEN especially tiring that evening. Fatigue had wracked your body like a dangerous drug, rendering you with little desire to move. Alas, you had to make it home. Your phone had died, leaving you no source of contact with the one who had slowly captured your heart.

⠀⠀Once you got home you were greeted with a comfortable silence. It wasn't all that strange seeing how Akaza enjoyed working well into the night, and getting off earlier left you a few hours at your disposal. You were quick to dive into the white duvet of your mattress, relishing in its warmth. A nap had followed suit with your phone set securely at your bedside, powered off, as you gleefully waltzed into a land of undiscovered dreams.

⠀WHAM!

⠀⠀You jumped at the abrupt sound. It was loud and left you quite concerned for the condition of your door's hinges. Nonetheless, you hastily descended down the short flight of steps as your bewildered hues were quick to meet his own only a mere inch from the entrance.

⠀⠀“You're home?” A rhetorical question. “Where were you out so late?”

⠀⠀Your inquiry was more off instinct rather than anything else, but the quick flashing of the clock had proved you right. It read, “3:00 am”; four hours past his usual time of arrival. It hadn't bothered you too much, though it was very unlike him.

⠀⠀You sighed at his lack of response. Another thing that was out of character. You approached him in calm yet confident strides. However, the closer you drew, a familiar scent wafted at your nose; metallic like pure polished iron. It made you sick. Your brows furrowed in mild concern as his current state struck you with great worry.

⠀⠀There wasn't any blood that you could see. But the scent was pungent, so much so that it had begun to cloud your senses.

⠀⠀“Hey, Akaza, are you okay—”

⠀⠀“Are they...better than me?” He was quick to cut you off with a biting tone. It brought a shiver down your spine as it was the coldest you'd heard from him. “Answer me.”

⠀⠀Choking on your words you stutter out a response, “Wha...what do you m-mean?”

⠀⠀His sharp eyes narrowed into slits, nearly lacerating you into two. “I saw them.” He continued. “The messages.”

⠀⠀As though it were second nature, your hand ghosted over your pocket in slight desperation, feeling for your phone. But it wasn't there. You were sure you grabbed it and the thought of losing it had instantly soured your mood. Patting, digging, tugging on your pockets but to no avail. It was gone and you had no clue as to where it could be.

⠀⠀“W...here...”

⠀⠀Looking up at Akaza he wasn't the slightest bit impressed. He reached into his pocket, taking the device in his hand. The device you'd recognized as your own. “Looking for this thing?”

⠀⠀A sickening CRUNCH! resonated through your shared apartment; loud and wretched to your ears. Your phone had clattered to the floor and with it the contents it had once held. You struggled to swallow the bile crawling up your throat, plunging to your knees with a harsh thud.

⠀⠀“You won't be needing that anymore. I have a feeling that ‘friend’ of yours is no longer with us.”

DOUMA

Indeed, he is quite favored amongst nearly every person he's come across. Darling, look at him. Even so, his attention remained on you from the beginning to the very end. Thus he's rather confused; why are you going behind his back?

Surely you must know Douma is no fool, for he knew about your little conversation from the start. Yet it fascinated him. This searing pain in his chest, bubbling and boiling with an unrecognizable emotion — could it be agitation? He asked himself. Nonetheless, it was only welcomed for such a short time before he no longer desired its presence.

Jealousy is such a pain; but he's not heartless, darling! I jest — he absolutely is! It'd be best to listen to him while he's playing nice because knowing him, he'd much rather give you an ultimatum than simply mutilate your little mistress or maistre. However, you can never be too sure.

⠀⠀THAT EVENING Douma had dragged you to the basement of your shared home, much to your dismay, claiming there was a surprise awaiting you. You'd thought nothing of it as he was always quick to shower you with anything you could ever ask for. But if given the opportunity you'd run like your life depends on it. Not for any particularly reason.

⠀⠀Though this time it was different. He had a strange skip in his step that made your heart quiver. Not many things in this life made his heart squeal with joy, or even jump for the matter, so what could've possibly done it now? The sheer thought of finding out made you all the more uneasy.

⠀⠀Something wasn't right.

⠀⠀Squeaky hinges were quick to interrupt your peace as they cried out under the weight of Douma's hand. Upon opening, a foul scent hit you like a harsh slap in the face, nearly causing you to gag at its intensity. Instinctively, your hand shot from your side and to your nose, but it did very little to ease its pungency.

⠀⠀You glance to your side and shockingly enough, Douma wasn't fazed in the slightest. He looked bored rather, as he silently waited for you to collect yourself. Though not for long.

“Ah~, it's a shame. You don't like it do you?” Douma whined. “Getting my hands dirty is no fun, even when it's for you, yknow!”

⠀⠀The sight of the mutilated corpse made your heart stammer. It was subtly rotting, suggesting its time in this place. The features adorning it were all too familiar. The realization had dawned on you far too late. The one who made you happy. Who comforted you on endless occasions. Who loved you He killed him.

⠀⠀Douma twirled the man's phone between his fingers before huffing loudly, successfully acquiring your attention. “You've been texting me for the past week and my, my, I wasn't expecting that behavior from you in the slightest~!”

⠀⠀Why hadn't you noticed it before?

⠀⠀That week his (not Douma's) responses struck you as somewhat abnormal but you'd merely presumed it was a figment of your imagination. The increasingly flirty texts that you so foolishly played along with would soon become your downfall.

⠀⠀“Don't cry now, dear,” Nimble fingers dig themselves into the softness of your cheeks, making you pucker up like a fish. “I'm sure you never thought about how I felt seeing you go behind my back so often.”

⠀⠀“So don't be so selfish.”

KOUKUSHIBO

Kokushibo, more formally known as Michikatsu, has never been a confrontational man. Yes, he indeed found your strange actions to be interesting. His strong infatuation proved such.

Being the attentive man he is, Kokushibo was quick to notice your peculiar actions regarding that phone. The field of giggles that would often slip past them. The long nights you spent staring at its flashing screen instead of attending to him who was at your side. The times you sneak out with no regards

Kokushibo had followed you, for his curiosity had truly bested him. He's always been number one no matter where he went. Thus he can no longer feign maturity. He had grown desperate for your attention and time. The demon could no longer lay restless at night, dreaming of you being held in another man's arms.

⠀⠀THE TRUTH was on the tip of your tongue just waiting to be told. His stare shook you to the core, leaving you fearful and uneasy. You shifted on the balls of your feet in anticipation, hurriedly waiting for him to break the silence.

⠀⠀You had gotten all dolled up for your scheduled night of rendezvous, expecting to slip into the night like a ghost as you always did. But of course that wasn't an option, not today. For a man who you once called your lover was seated on the couch with a thick book tucked beneath his fingertips, as waited for you to make an appearance.

⠀⠀And you did not disappoint.

⠀⠀“What've you been up to?” He had asked, a simple question that required a simple answer. You were an adult so it couldn't have been a problem, right?

⠀⠀Right?

⠀ WRONG.

⠀⠀“I...I was just...” You cursed under your breath at your useless stammering, opting to grip the end of your shirt to provide some solace. “Going out...I was just going out...”

⠀⠀“Where?”

⠀⠀Your knees trembled, ready to give out under your weight any moment now. Something about his gaze made your stomach churn. It was so kind and yet very knowing, as though he was well aware of the late-night endeavors you partook in. And yet he could not look at you with anything more than love and true understanding. You felt guilty.

⠀⠀You had caved and crumbled to your knees, begging him for forgiveness. You'd never felt so weak. So stupid. Deceiving such a kind man who would never do anything to hurt you or those around you (that's not true). He even feigned obliviousness to your terrible actions when he had the choice not to.

⠀⠀Kokushibo swept you into his arms, carefully rubbing smooth circles into your back. Your nails dug into the soft fabric of his kimono, searching for comfort within his arms. A faint smirk grazed his lips. You truly were perfect, always making his job easy for him. He hardly had to lift a finger!

⠀⠀Nothing ever gets past him. No one will ever take you away.

⠀⠀“Forgive me for what I've done, but it'd be best that you do not contact that person any longer.” He presses his lips to the shell of your ear . “They're gone.”

317 notes · View notes

shintin · 5 months

Text

Forget Me Not: Chapter 37 (Knock, knock, knock)

↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Description: Having fallen into this world, you were forced to shed blood to survive. But what about when you get tired, when you think the blood on your hands won’t wash off and give up because you have nothing to lose?

Yep, you were there, at rock bottom, rolling in the deep.

Then, there came a day when life gave you a new chance to live, laugh, and love, or so she thought.

Genre: heavy angst, sad love story, maybe tragedy, violence, lonely hearts, broken souls, +18.

Tags/Warnings: nothing but angst.

Song Recommendation: Mitski - I Bet on Losing Dogs

Chapter index -> Next Chapter

Year: 2019

Y/N lay on her side of the bed, quietly watching him. Unaware of her presence, he blinked, trying to pinpoint when she had entered the room. Suddenly, he noticed she was utterly motionless, a kind of stillness that was distinctly hers. The realization struck him, and he took a breath, fully aware of the impossibility of this moment.

Yet, despite his awareness, a delightful sensation of blooming flowers filled his stomach, their soft petals caressing every inch of his nervous system. It felt like he had been granted three wishes: to see, feel, and have her once more. It was the most peculiar phenomenon—an extraordinary, joyous impossibility delicately wrapped in tissue paper, tied with a bow, and safely tucked away in his heart.

Everything felt incredibly authentic, to the point where he could even sense the fragrance of lemons and the scent of the sea enveloping her.

Satoru nervously swallowed, slowly raising his hand. His eyes widened in surprise as his finger touched her face's smooth skin. She went still as he gently cupped her cheek, which felt as soft as velvet petals. His fingers then traced along the curve of her neck and explored the scars on her shoulders.

She didn't say a word, but her eyes remained on him.

As his gaze returned to her face, he was taken aback by the way she looked at him. Her eyes carried a weight that worried him, yet her expression remained tender, focused, and brimming with emotion that he found it difficult to look away, captivated by her presence.

She closed her eyes, and he couldn't help but observe even the simplest actions she took: adjusting her weight, her hair sliding across the pillow, and the subtle trembling of her lips. All six of his eyes followed every movement of her body. This moment with her felt incredibly strange, causing his chest to tighten and his heart to race. She had a way of making him long to remain trapped in this dream indefinitely.

Then, she came closer and closer and closer.

Reluctant to disturb the enchantment of the moment, he reached out silently and held her hand as if she were a lonely, fluffy cloud in the sky, destined to vanish with the northern winds. He brought her palm to his lips, planting a gentle kiss upon it, desperately hoping it would dispel the emptiness in her eyes. But alas, the stubborn void remained steadfast. He managed a melancholic smile as she pressed her cheek against his palm, and he delicately brushed strands of hair away from her face. Something stirred within him, a surge of warmth accompanying the movement of her head. Leaning closer, she gently pressed her forehead against his, her breath caressing his nose like a gentle breeze.

"Please stay," Satoru whispered, tightly closing his eyes.

Expecting her to leave him again, he was caught off guard when her lips brushed against his chin. In response, a raw cry escaped his throat, resonating with longing. His mouth parted, and the warmth of her sweetened throat flowed into him. At that moment, he was incapable of thought or action, consumed only by the exquisite experience of savoring her presence. Each breath she took, every gentle movement of her lips, felt like a miraculous gift after weeks of separation.

He drew her near and kissed her, kissing her with such intensity that time seemed to lose its grip. In that fleeting moment, he momentarily forgot the misery of his life without her.

The bliss was limitless, but she broke the kiss, and her leg brushed against his. Opening his eyes, he found her smiling—a small, secretive smile that conveyed so many unspoken sentiments, the kind that no one else could ever say to him.

Was it possible to hold onto her, to make her stay? He kissed her gently on the forehead, the curve of her nose, and the corner of her lips. Under his touch, she seemed to swell, to grow more vibrant.

"Satoru?" she spoke, breaking her silence for the first time.

"Yes?"

She shifted sideways, and he willingly made space for her by his side. She seamlessly filled the emptiness, nuzzling her face into his neck. It felt reminiscent of the old days, the days before she had vanished into oblivion. With closed eyes, he embraced the moment as if in prayer, and his heart sprang back to life.

Her hand let go of his beneath the sheets, only to settle on his waist and gently glide down his thigh. The touch nearly caused him to lose his composure, but then she planted a light kiss on his pure white hair. He gulped hard, suppressing the reminders of reality that threatened to flood his mind.

"I miss you," she uttered in a faint whisper he almost failed to catch.

"I'm here," he reassured, softly caressing her cheek. "Right here, Y/N."

But she shook her head, defying his attempt to draw her closer until she dissipated into thin air.

He blinked, his breath ragged and gasping as it moved in and out of his mouth in quick intervals. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breathing so loud it resembled the sound of someone who had been running for a long time. And then, the familiar white walls of the room released their hold on him. He made a silent vow to himself that he would love to forget how to wake up one day.

Drenched in sweat, Satoru sighed and leaned against the headboard, taking deep breaths. He needed a moment, so he tightly shut his eyes until her face carved itself in his mind. These dreams were his only opportunity to be with her. Although he willingly let her go, he searched for her in the following days, not to bring her back but to ensure her safety.

Yet, it felt like the ground had opened up and swallowed her whole. She had returned to being the ghost she once was as if she had never existed, as if the echoes of her laughter hadn't filled this room just a few months ago, as if his body didn't still carry her scent. He ran his hand over his eyes and rested it on his neck.

Honestly, he had been considering the idea that Y/N might be a product of his imagination. Perhaps it was because he couldn't fathom how someone with a personality like hers could survive in this harsh world. Moreover, he struggled to comprehend why someone like her would show any interest in a heartless, self-centered person like him.

Yet, through the bond they shared, he could feel her existence. She was tangible, alive, moving forward without him. Yeah, that's the thing. The most challenging aspect wasn't letting her go; it was coming to terms with the fact that she didn't wish to remain, and that realization caused even greater pain.

Satoru berated himself and pushed the covers away, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and burying his head in his hand. He had hours of work ahead of him, yet her face continued to intrude into his thoughts, and he realized that a small part of him didn't want to dismiss the thoughts of her. Some part of him found solace in the torment it brought.

She was destroying him, the strongest.

He covered his mouth with his hand, realizing he was losing his sanity. Shaking his head, he collapsed onto the bed, placed a hand over his forehead, and then dragged it down his face in frustration. If only his stupid brain hadn't betrayed him, he would never have abandoned her at the wedding. Because, since that day, every decision he made seemed to be a regrettable mistake.

He turned his head and looked at the sheets.

He turned his gaze towards the sheets. She slept here, he thought. She had shared his bed, waking up beside him. In this bed, she had smiled, dreamed, moaned, laughed, and cried—all next to him. But now, her warmth was a distant memory. She had been here, and he had allowed her to slip away.

He had lost her.

What could he do now?

She despised him.

She despised him, and the chance of ever seeing her again was uncertain. It was entirely his fault. When he had acted foolishly, he should have anticipated the consequences.

These dreams and memories might be all he had remaining of her.

His hand lingered over the sheets, attempting to conjure her presence beside him, even if only in his imagination, even if only for a fleeting moment within the confines of his mind.

The prospect of a negative outcome filled him with terror. What if he never had the chance to see her again? The thought weighed heavily on his mind, causing him to grip the sheets tightly, and in frustration, he forcefully slammed his fist against the bed.

It's funny how quickly he grew accustomed to her presence in this place. It brought him an odd sense of comfort, knowing they would share the same roof and sleep in the same bed.

Her presence in the school changed everything for him. The months she spent here marked the first time in years that he truly savored living in these dorms since his teenage days. He looked forward to her smiles, tantrums, and even absurd arguments.

Now, Satoru longed for her to be here, to shout at him. He would have congratulated her if she had ever slapped him across the face.

But she never did. She packed her anger and disappointment and left.

Oh, God! He wished he could sink into the ground. The proof of her presence was so vivid and real that it made it unbearable for him to remain in this place. He couldn't seek refuge in missions, as he was obligated to stay in the school for the investigation regarding Y/N's flee.

Higher-ups didn't know he was the one who planned her escape. Even if they knew, that wouldn't change anything in his end. He had no reprieve from the consequences of his actions.

After all, he was consumed by a profound sense of hopelessness.

The clock had ticked past five in the morning, and it felt like he hadn't slept in days. However, he could scarcely bear to shut his eyes. He couldn't bear the solitude with his thoughts or confront the vulnerabilities within himself. He felt broken, held together solely by obligation. He had unsuccessfully attempted to express the jumble of emotions clouding his mind, but to whom? Who would comprehend him? Who would believe that what he was experiencing surpassed a mere binding vow?

Kento Nanami and Shoko Ieiri? Not quite. Their relationship never quite clicked for them. They couldn't comprehend how someone like Satoru, with his diverse preferences in partners, could be an emotional match for anyone, especially someone like Y/N: a girl who ate, slept, and breathed emotion. They always believed that Y/N gave him too much credit and that she tolerated too much of his nonsense.

They were correct in their assessment, but her appearance or the sense of being desired didn't make him fall in love with her. It was the trust they shared and the comforting sensation of finding a home. He had never experienced it before, as he had always felt alone. When he was held in her embrace, he felt warmth for the first time. Y/N was his home.

Indeed, Satoru was engulfed in his misery, isolated and without companionship.

His loneliness was a vicious creature. It sneaked up on him silently, sitting by his side in the darkness, gently caressing his hair as he stared off. It wrapped around his very bones, constricting so tightly that he struggled to catch his breath. It planted falsehoods in his heart, lying beside him at night, draining the light from every corner. Loneliness became a constant companion without her, holding his hand only to pull him down when he tried to rise.

Even when he was prepared to let it go, break free, and start anew, loneliness remained an old acquaintance standing beside him in the mirror, challenging him to try and live without it. He couldn't find the words to resist himself, to battle against the inner voices screaming for her return—wanting her back, wanting her back, wanting her back, and knowing deep down it wasn't possible.

Loneliness was a bitter, wrenching companion.

"Is this what you felt all along, Y/N?" he whispered into the empty room. He tried to convince himself that it was merely a meaningless dream, but he was deceiving himself. The truth was, witnessing her sadness carved into his unconsciousness became too overwhelming, and the thought of her suffering inflicted unbearable agony upon him. Knowing that she had endured all these pains.

He had thrown her into this situation, causing her to be discarded and harmed. Guilt drowned him, immersing him in a world where he unexpectedly delved into feeling her pain so deeply.

It was killing him.

He stood up and began pacing back and forth in his bedroom until he mustered the courage to keep his shits together.

The room carried the fragrance of morning rain, saturated with traces of her presence. The air was dim and infused with an earthy scent. He inhaled deeply and approached the window, pressing his fingers against the chilly glass. His breath began to fog up. He closed his eyes, listening to the gentle patter of rain rushing in the wind. Right now, raindrops served as a reminder that clouds possessed a pulse, as did he.

When he was a child—of course, with no friend— he often pondered the nature of raindrops. He marveled at how they descended, stumbling over their feet, breaking their legs, and forsaking their parachutes as they trembled from the sky toward an uncertain fate. It seemed someone was emptying their pockets over the Earth, indifferent to where the contents would land. They didn't seem to mind that the raindrops would burst upon hitting the ground, or that they would shatter upon reaching the floor, or that people would resent the days when the drops dared to tap on their doors.

Now that he thought, he realized that Y/N was like a raindrop. Despite enduring hit after hit, bruise after bruise, tear after tear, she persevered and moved forward, facing her fears. Yet, when their paths intersected, he emptied himself of her presence and left her to evaporate, utterly alone.

How could he be such a monstrous person?

He pressed his forehead against the glass pane, feeling the familiar embrace of the cold against his skin. He couldn't continue living in constant pain every minute of the day, as it was unsustainable. On the other hand, if the pain ceased, she would be gone, and he couldn't bear that either.

He took a sharp breath to clear his mind, clenching and unclenching his fist, when his attention was drawn to the scar on his palm. It served as a poignant reminder. He was about to trace his fingers along its jagged edges when a knock sounded at the door.

Knock, knock, knock! The door swung open, revealing Satoru with a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a sly grin on his face. "Hey, Granny! Got any spare ice for your lovely neighbor?" he asked, leaning casually against the door frame and peering at her through his shades.

"No," Y/N replied curtly, her annoyance evident as she tried to close the door. But Satoru held it firmly, her surprised gaze bouncing between his hand and his oddly pleased expression. What kind of power play was this that the infamous Satoru Gojo had initiated? She kept her distance, ready with a hidden knife up her sleeve, just in case.

"Don't you want to know why I need the ice?" Satoru inquired, his gaze fixed on where her hand and knife were concealed behind the door.

"No," she replied tersely.

"It's for my Scotch!" Satoru exclaimed, throwing his arms up in mock excitement.

"You don't drink," she retorted, her grip on the door tightening, fully aware that this flimsy door wouldn't stand a chance if Satoru had any intentions.

"Awww," Satoru pouted, winking at her over his glasses. "You sure know a lot about me." His grin widened. "But did you know that my six eyes can see your little knife?" He pointed directly at the spot where she had hidden her blade.

She took a deep breath, lips pressed together tightly. "Good night!" she declared, slamming the door in his face with frustration and determination.

Knock, knock, knock! The door creaked open, revealing Satoru. Again. "Hello, my favorite coffin dodger! I'm in desperate need of bobby pins!"

With an exasperated sigh, she leaned her head against the door frame, rolling her eyes. "Do I even want to know why?"

Satoru's smile grew wider as if this was all part of his grand plan. He pointed at the stray hairs falling over his forehead. "Ever since you ripped off my blindfold, these stubborn hairs keep getting stuck in my night cream!" To emphasize the point, he raised an eyebrow and shook his head, demonstrating that his hair was not moving an inch.

Her eyes remained fixed on his forehead, surprise evident in her gaze. "You use facial creams?"

Satoru struggled to contain his laughter. Despite her reputation as a skilled murderer, her emotions were easy to read, which amused him greatly. "You don't?" He covered his mouth with his hand as if sharing scandalous news. "No wonder you look like grandmothers!"

Her eyes quickly snapped back to his face, her furrowed brows and deathly glares revealing her annoyance and anger. It must have been a mistake. How could someone like her, infamous for being a monster, have such a vulnerable side? Was she the same angel of death he had encountered years ago on his deathbed, or had he completely misjudged her all this time? Damn it, ever since she touched him, his instincts couldn't be trusted. There was an enigmatic pull towards her that he couldn't quite pinpoint.

Lost in his thoughts, he heard her sharp retort, "Go to hell, you asshole!" followed by the slamming of the door.

Knock, knock, knock. The door reluctantly opened, revealing a woman irritated by the late hour. "For God's sake, it's 3 in the morning—" Her eyes widened in disbelief at the absurd sight before her. "What the fuck?!"

Satoru had his t-shirt folded up to his stomach, using it like a kangaroo pouch to carry random stuff. What a clown! But despite her best efforts, her eyes couldn't resist sneaking glances at his abs and the fine white hairs under his navel. Is that his happy trail?

Y/N never had time for these kinds of games in her straightforward life. Maybe that's why she always fell into the white fox's trap, or perhaps she was just a bunny who enjoyed being hunted by this hunter who found any excuse to occasionally knock on her door and play with his prey. But no matter what, he always managed to surprise her.

"Hey! Pervert!" he exclaimed, waving his hand. "My face is up here!"

Her eyes slowly and somewhat reluctantly made their way back up, her blush becoming more pronounced with every passing second. And boy, if it were any other time, he would have grinned with victory at this triumph. But for now, he kept a neutral expression. "I need you to hide these sweets!"

She bit her lower lip as he casually took her hands and pulled her in closer, way too close for comfort. He emptied all the chocolates from his t-shirt into her hands, her fingers brushing against his chiseled body for a fleeting moment, sending a warmth surging through her that felt completely foreign. She lowered her head, desperately wishing her hair would cover her face and hide her embarrassment. What the fuck was wrong with her?

But of course, Satoru didn't stop there. He then took her shoulders and guided her back to her room, leaving her completely dazed. "If I knock on your door in an hour asking for sweets, don't open it for me. Got it?"

Was he going to show up again in an hour? This was too much to handle; she knew it. But her brain was short-circuiting, so she simply nodded, still keeping her head down.

"Don't trust me, even if I try to trick you," he warned, gently brushing her hair away from her face and locking his gaze with hers. "Okay, Y/N?"

She gulped, not daring to question her own sanity or the bizarre nature of this encounter. "Okay," she managed to utter.

Satoru grinned in satisfaction, stepped back, and closed the door with a smile, leaving her standing in the middle of the room, utterly confused, with a bunch of chocolates in her hands.

Knock, knock, knock. He anxiously watched as the door swung open, revealing the hallway's darkness. " Do you like Kento?" The words slipped out of his mouth quicker than he intended. Desperate for her answer, he gripped the door frame.

"What?" She stood before him, dressed in red, aware that she was merely a plaything to entertain his boredom, but he was someone she desired more than anything in her life.

"Are you in love with Kento? Just tell me. Yes or no, Y/N?"

The urgency in Satoru's voice and the concern in his eyes made her lift her head and meet his gaze. What kind of game was he playing this time? Regardless, she was too weary to care anymore. "No," she whispered, looking away.

His wishes came true for once, and he got what he had longed for. He promised himself he wouldn't mess it up this time. He vowed to do whatever it took to protect this treasure. He took a step into the room, and Y/N instinctively stepped back, her last attempt to escape the fate that would shadow her life.

Counting down from ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...and one. Her back met the wall, and Satoru's lips found hers. There was no liberation in this love, so she closed her eyes and surrendered. His kiss deepened, and he promised her everything, everything she desired, as men in love often do. And despite herself, she trusted him, as women in love often do.

Knock, knock, knock. Satoru opened the door to find Y/N standing there, wearing a partially wet top and a sweatshirt that couldn't conceal her sweat. He wondered why she had come to his doorstep in such a rush. Despite the surprise, he didn't mind at all and actually enjoyed the sight of her. Observing her during her preparations, training, stretches, and even afterward became his new favorite meal of his six eyes.

With one hand on her side, she gestured towards the likely location of the training grounds. "I just saw Panda tossing Nobara around! Why aren't you supervising? What kind of sensei are you?"

Satoru casually shifted his gaze from her damp collarbones to her face. His half-opened eyes had a certain quality that his faint smile couldn't conceal. "What kind of sensei do you want me to be?" he asked, his voice husky as if he had just woken up. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame, shamelessly letting his eyes wander over her parted lips.

"I don't know!" She shrugged. "How about a responsible one?" she suggested, hoping he would take action and head to the training grounds upon hearing the news. However, he had no intention of doing so.

"Perhaps you could teach me," he proposed, his hand reaching for the hem of her waist, gently toying with the edge of her top. "During a private session," he added, his gaze locked onto hers.

"What the heck?" were the only words that came to her mind as he didn't wait for her response. He swiftly pulled her into the room and closed the door with a smooth kick. Her mind was filled with disbelief as Satoru stepped forward, cornering her. Their chests rose and fell with each deep breath as if they had just run for miles. There was a lingering desire in the air, an unspoken plea for vulnerability. Despite the years she had spent learning to defend herself, in that moment, she realized she wanted to be defenseless in front of him. There was an undeniable trust, a growing soft spot within her, certain that he would never harm her and she would be safe in his arms. He was the missing piece she had been searching for in her life.

She felt his warm delight as he called out her name. The tenderness in his voice returned, a tone he reserved for their private moments. He drew her closer, his hands enveloping her as if afraid she might vanish if he let go.

She softly whispered "Satoru" into the crook of his neck, and she could feel his hand sliding down her waist. He was her home, so she let him surround her.

He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. "You don't know what you do to me," he murmured, his voice gentle, smooth, and unhurried. She had never realized until now just how enticing his voice was.

His hand tenderly held hers as he leaned in, brushing his nose against the nape of her neck, causing her to stifle a moan. No one had ever touched her with such delicacy, treating her like a fragile cherry blossom. His lips lightly grazed her skin, and she couldn't help but whimper.

He smiled. He was the reason for her racing heartbeat. He was responsible for those tears of happiness she tried to hide. He was enough for her, just as he was, without needing any proof or change to keep her by his side. As his hands explored her body, feeling and memorizing every curve, he kissed the top of her shoulder blade, gently tracing over her scars.

She rested her hands on his chest, causing him to open his eyes. Gently, he lifted her chin slightly. "I'll be a good sensei," he whispered. "I'll be good to you," he murmured, stroking her cheek and gently kissing her forehead. "I'll be good to anyone you wish."

She stared into his eyes, which seemed to hold a vast heart like the oceans and skies. Rising on her toes, she kissed him with hunger, desperation, and a longing to explore and savor him. He tasted like cotton candy with a hint of vanilla in his scent. Within moments, Satoru responded with an intense kiss, his hands encircling her neck while she attempted to remove his oversized T-shirt with her fingers.

They moved with a sense of urgency, driven by their desires. Satoru firmly grasped her hips, his hands exploring her body. His arms enveloped her with strength while his lips remained gentle. Her head spun with longing. His lips found their way to her neck, savoring her essence, consuming her completely.

She grabbed the waistband of his pants, not realizing how much it would excite him. In response, he lifted her by the waist, pressing her against the wall. His hands held her firmly, supporting her backside, causing her to wrap her legs around him instinctively.

As she tightly gripped his hair, their lips met again, intensifying the connection. His hands slid under her top, and both of them were breathing heavily. The tension grew as his pants tightened around his arousal while she clung to his T-shirt, driven by desperation.

"I'm telling you, I saw Y/N heading to her room. Why isn't she responding?" Yuji's voice echoed.

"Maybe she's taking a shower. It's a normal thing to do after training, you know," Nobara replied, her tone filled with righteousness.

"Maybe Gojo sensei knows where she is!"

"Can't we just leave everyone in this dorm wing alone?" Megumi suggested, feeling trapped.

Satoru let out a heavy breath, closed his eyes, and loosened his hold, allowing Y/N's feet to touch the floor, yet he didn't release her completely. She gently held his face in her hands and softly kissed the tip of his nose. "They'll go away if we stay quiet," he whispered, brushing his cheek against her damp, sweaty hair.

"They won't, and you know it," she whispered, leaning against his chest. She could feel the rhythm of his heartbeats, as well as the bulge pressed against her belly, causing her to blush and hide her face in his embrace.

"How about tonight, after 10?" she proposed, running her fingers through his hair, futilely attempting to neaten the tousled strands.

He drew back, his eyes widening as he gazed at her. "Tonight, after 10," he whispered, a wide grin spreading. He lightly brushed his thumb against her lower lip, only to be surprised when she kissed his palm and smiled as if this was a usual occurrence between two people who shared physical attraction. But there was something more, wasn't there? The soft pink hue on her cheeks and the way she smiled stirred something within him. What was this feeling that enveloped him whenever she was near?

Rubbing the back of his head, he walked back and cleared his throat, observing Y/N hastily fixing her hair, trying to conceal any signs of mischief like a naughty child.

"It's moments like these that make me question my morals. Can't we all peacefully share Y/N?" he declared, opening the door to his room.

A gentle nudge on Satoru's arm and Y/N appeared before the door. "What do you all need?"

Nobara and Yuji immediately started discussing urgent matters with Y/N, seemingly oblivious to the time constraints. Meanwhile, Megumi noticed how their sensei looked at her with a broad, nostalgic smile he hadn't seen in years. Oh, boy.

Knock, knock, knock. The door opened instantly. Satoru had returned from a mission. "Sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to — "

Before he could finish his sentence, her arms tightly wrapped around his waist. She trembled with cold, her eyes red and wet from another nightmare. Without hesitation, he pulled her close, resting her head against his chest, disregarding the dirt on his uniform.

"It was just a bad dream, Y/N. Only a dream," he reassured her. Yet, her sobs persisted. Holding her hand gently, he pressed a kiss on it. "Look," he urged, encouraging her to open her tightly shut eyes. "There is no blood on your hand." He tenderly stroked her hair and kissed her temple.

She stared at her hand, almost disbelieving that the blood had vanished upon his arrival. Sniffling, she remained silent for a while.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" he asked with concern.

She raised her head from his chest and remained silent.

"What's wrong?" He gently wiped away her tears with his thumb. He was the strongest, yet something about this formidable woman brought out his weaknesses.

"Oh, nothing," she replied, a faint smile appearing on her lips as she lowered her head.

"What's amusing?" He grasped her chin and lifted it. Her eyes were still red, but the sadness seemed to have dissipated. Nevertheless, being with her made him feel complete, and for the first time in a long while, he experienced genuine happiness. Was he falling in love with her?

"It's just..." Her words snapped him back to reality. "...this is the first time someone has asked me that," she paused. "It caught me off guard." Balancing on her tiptoes, she hugged him, humming softly. "Yeah, I think I'll be okay. Thank you for asking," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"Y/N." His arms tightened around her, assuring her he would never let go. He would hold her like this indefinitely if it would mend her broken pieces. Because she was the missing piece he had longed for in his life: she and her pure heart.

Knock, knock, knock . Y/N rapped her knuckles against the wooden door. Knock, knock, knock. Silence greeted her. Trying again, she hit once more. Still no response. Her hand dropped to her side in the dimly lit hallway as Y/N leaned her forehead against the door. She had just arrived from Okinawa and Utahime's wedding, and despite her exhaustion, frustration, and the ache in her heart, she was determined to address the unspoken issue between them. She refused to accept that Satoru could be the person her eyes had seen that day. He couldn't be because what would that leave her to believe?

Knock, knock, knock. No answer.

It appeared that he was nowhere to be found.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. "Where the hell are you, Satoru?" Y/N's voice was raspy, and her arms and the side of her face bore bruises. She shouldn't have been out of bed.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as her fist continued pounding on the door while her other hand clutched her stomach. "We need you, Satoru. Where are you?" She turned and scanned her surroundings. Why had she hoped that Satoru would sense her pain and return? Collapsing onto the cold floor of the hallway, her back sliding against the door, silent tears stained her cheeks.

"Y/N? What brings you here?"

She raised her head from her knees and faced Shoko. She shrugged her shoulders. "I couldn't sleep." An obvious lie.

Shoko glanced at the door and then at her tear-streaked face, concern evident in her eyes. "Why don't you tell me exactly how you managed to defeat all those Gojo jerks?" she suggested, settling down beside her. Nights like these were better endured with a companion so the darkness wouldn't win over the dawn.

"I think he might be sleeping, or he's not in his room," Megumi's whisper came from behind the door.

Ignoring the explanation he had just heard, Yuji knocked on the door again. "He can't leave the school. Once he's cleared from the investigations, they'll assign him as Y/N's executioner again," Yuji commented without bothering to lower his voice. "And if he's sleeping, well, he's a teacher. How about being responsible for once?"

"What if he's also feeling sad? I mean, I know she was a part of your family, but I believe she was his family too," Megumi whispered, the words not concealed behind the door and reaching Satoru's ears.

"What?" Yuji exclaimed. "Are you saying he's miserable? Did someone inform you about something?"

Megumi began mumbling once more. "Didn't you want to witness him in pain? I thought that was the entire purpose of us being here."

Yuji let out a sigh. "That doesn't mean I want to see him messed up. I'm still angry at him, but I must talk to him!"

"You know Y/N didn't leave because of him, right?"

"I know," Yuji replied. He fell silent for a moment before speaking again. "But I haven't forgotten his significant role. If he hadn't broken her heart—"

"He did what he did to protect her. It wasn't healthy for her to be around him, Yuji."

"Fine," Yuji scoffed. "Stop defending your stepfather!"

"Ugh, Yuji. You need to—"

Megumi's sentence was abruptly cut off by the sudden swing of the door, revealing their sensei standing in the doorway with messy hair. The sight of their sensei caught them off guard, but it was Satoru who seemed particularly affected. He instinctively lowered his head, his hand reaching for his sunglasses in an attempt to hide his red-rimmed eyes behind the dark lenses. Although he tried to conceal it, Satoru couldn't shake off the feeling that Yuji had caught a glimpse of the dark circles beneath his eyes. This suspicion was confirmed by the noticeable softening of Yuji's previously furrowed expression as if he understood the silent struggles Satoru was going through.

Satoru abandoned the effort it took to punish himself. Maybe he deserved to have a companion in these hard days. Talking to a real human being might make things a little easier. He practiced using his voice, shaping his lips around the familiar words unfamiliar to his mouth.

Satoru, amidst his inner turmoil, finally reached a point of surrender. The weight of self-punishment became too heavy, and he realized he deserved to have someone by his side, especially during these challenging times. The notion of connecting with another person and engaging in a conversation started to stir within him as a glimmer of relief.

Pretending not to hear Yuji and Megumi's earlier talks, Satoru spoke, "How can I help you, kids?" However, his voice felt strange, unrecognizable even to himself. The usual playfulness and goofiness that accompanied his conversations with students were absent.

Megumi's gaze shifted between the two of them.

"I have a favor to ask of you," Yuji said, deliberately avoiding making direct eye contact with his sensei.

Satoru fully opened the door and stepped aside. "Then come on in," he invited Yuji, his tone welcoming. He then turned to Megumi with a grateful smile. Megumi's defense of him in front of Yuji held great significance. "And what about you, Megumi? Care to join us inside?"

The boy with black hair scratched the back of his neck. "No, thanks. I have to join Maki," he replied. "She's waiting for me at the training grounds," he added, glancing at Yuji one last time and nodding before turning away and walking off.

As Satoru gently closed the door behind him, his gaze fell upon Yuji, who was already seated at the table and waiting quietly. He understood that this discussion would be far from easy, as it required delving into painful truths and facing the consequences of his actions.

Satoru had to face the fact that, in a way, he was responsible for his brothers' deaths, too. It was a bitter pill to swallow, acknowledging his role in their tragic fate. Yet, amidst the confusion and lingering questions, he found himself grappling with the perplexing connection between Y/N and Yuji. The circumstances surrounding their relationship remained shrouded in uncertainty, leaving Satoru with a sense of unease.

Summoning a deep breath, Satoru released a heartfelt sigh. Bracing himself, he approached Yuji, the atmosphere between them charged with unspoken emotions. He pulled out another chair, sat down, and positioned himself before Yuji, prepared to navigate the difficult interaction ahead.

Yuji's gaze remained fixed on the table as he abruptly began speaking. "I need you to locate her and assist her in finding our brother before the higher-ups intervene."

Well, Yuji was straightforward so that Satoru could respond with the same honesty. "I can't," Satoru said, running his hand over his face and pausing it at his mouth.

"What do you mean you can't? You must! You always said you did everything for her well-being, and now you're saying you can't? Is it because of the assignment the higher-ups will give you? You're Satoru Gojo. You can do whatever you please! You never conform to the rules!"

"Yuji," Satoru called out, and finally, Yuji looked at him. The white-haired man's smile was tinged with bitterness. "There are things even I cannot do," he said, glancing at the hair tie on the table. It belonged to Y/N. He reached out and pulled it around his wrist. "Y/N is skilled at hiding. You won't find her unless she chooses to be found."

"Why did you allow her to leave?" Yuji's anger flared.

"Don't ask about things you already know the answer to," Satoru replied, leaning back in his chair. "Staying here would have cost her life. She's better off without me and the Jujutsu Society."

With a trembling voice, Yuji accused, "You destroyed her life." Satoru didn't need to look at the pink-haired boy's face to understand that tears were streaming down it, but he maintained his composure and remained silent, allowing Yuji to express whatever was weighing on his heart. "You weren't there when she needed you. You weren't there when your own family tried to harm her and her child. You weren't there when that powerful curse emerged during the Exchange Event. You only show up now to find an excuse to kill our brothers because that's who you are. I don't even know what I expected from a man who murdered his friend in the name of following orders."

Upon hearing the final sentence, Satoru jerked his head and met Yuji's piercing gaze. Every word Yuji spoke was undeniably true, and that truth cut deep. Satoru couldn't argue against it. The pain he felt was a deserved consequence. Yuji had every right to harbor such intense hatred toward him. After all, what kind of father fails to protect his daughter and her mother? What kind of man disappoints the love of his life and, as a supposed apology, ends the lives of her brothers?

Yet, just because something is true doesn't mean he was prepared to hear it.

He was unaware of the true magnificence of the world, but when Y/N entered his life, she shattered his perception. She revealed the hidden beauty in everything, and now that she was gone, all the beauty in the world seemed to vanish along with her. He had also lost her, which caused him pain, even though he knew he was the primary cause of it all.

The truth broke him.

His voice faltered. His back bowed. His knees weakened. His face crumbled.

He gripped the table's edge tightly to prevent himself from collapsing out of the chair.

"Did you love her?" Yuji asked, breaking the silence. His face was averted as he gazed at the rain through the window.

"I wanted to marry her."

"What?" Yuji turned his head, his eyes widening as he looked at his sensei.

"I have numerous enemies, and I knew they would never let my family be safe. However, while she was building sandcastles with a child in Okinawa, a moment of fear struck me. At that instant, I realized that I wanted it. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I wanted to create a future together. I wanted to grow old with her. I wanted to marry her."

"Did you get her a ring?"

"No."

"What? What do you mean, no?" Yuji paused. "Did you at least do something, like light a candle or make her dinner?"

"No."

"Buy her chocolates? Get down on one knee?"

"No."

"No? You didn't do any of those things? None of them?" His whispers escalated into whispered yells. "You're the absolute worst, you know? The worst. You don't deserve her."

Satoru sighed. "I thought that was already clear."

"Damn." Yuji slammed his hand down. "You two were engaged, and none of us had a clue?"

Satoru's gaze was fixed on the floor, his thumb caressing the hair tie. He appeared composed, but when he whispered, "No," the sadness in his voice cut through Yuji's heart like a knife.

"You never proposed to her, did you?"

Satoru glanced at Yuji's face and shook his head. "No, I never did."

"Good," Yuji replied, tightening his fists. "She didn't need another heartbreak. I know how much she desired a family."

Satoru nodded, unable to find the right words to say. The sound of raindrops tapping against the window filled the room.

After a while, Yuji broke the silence. "You won't kill her when you see her, right?"

"You think I don't love her, right? You think it was easy for me to watch her leave. You think it wasn't painful to see her run away from me? Well, maybe you never truly understood who I am," Satoru retorted. "Because if you did, none of these thoughts would even cross your mind. I understand that labeling me as the devil makes it easier for you to accept her absence, to move forward, to cope. But if you truly knew me, you would understand that since she left, my love for her hasn't wavered, not for a single moment. So, no. Not only will I not kill her, but I will also stand up against anyone who wishes to harm her."

Have you thought about glue?

No one bothers to ask about how the glue is doing, whether it's tired of bonding things, concerned about coming undone, or even wondering how it's managed to survive through the weeks.

Satoru was somewhat similar.

He was like glue. He did his utmost to hold things together and safeguard those he could, yet nobody stopped thinking how he was faring.

Now that Yuji was paying attention, he likely noticed the fatigue in Satoru's eyes, the burden weighing on his forehead, and the tension in his shoulders. Perhaps it was time for Yuji to contemplate what Satoru was experiencing, what he wasn't revealing. Because, just maybe, throughout all these days, nobody had asked about how he was holding up. Because nobody ever anticipated the strongest person to be anything but fine.

Yuji gently pulled on Satoru's shoulder. "Megumi was right. You're not okay, are you?" Yuji whispered.

Satoru's eyes softened instantly, displaying weariness and faint amusement. It took him a moment to realize he hadn't answered the question. Only when he looked away did he eventually nod and say, "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

"It's okay, Yuji. I'm not feeling sad. I should have expected this from the start. It seems that anything I don't want to lose always ends up slipping away. That's just how things have always been for me. The moment I obtain something worth wanting, it becomes lost."

Yuji started playing with his fingers. "I'm still angry, but I understand you made her happy like no one else ever did. So, I want to believe that you'll find a way to be together in the end. I know a bit about her binding vow to you, but deep down, I don't think it all happened solely because of that. Hence, get a ring and be prepared for the next time you see her," Yuji said, offering a smile for the first time in months.

Satoru's eyes briefly showed surprise before he averted his gaze, running a hand along his neck to soothe the tense muscle. After a moment, he shifted his focus to the window. "The weather sucks," he remarked.

Yuji understood it as a code for "Thank you."

"Yeah," Yuji replied. "Does it always rain on your birthdays, Sensei?"

Tag list: @hecateria @whattowritewhattonot @@readxeer00 @sunamew @yoongi-holland @sanokana @soft--grunge--burrito @move-in-mysterious-ways @tanu003097 @spookytreeeagle @wonderlandjthedaydreamer @littlecarrot06 @kurooyy @angeliccutie007 @misaki17 @yungliddysyx @nanamiswh0r3 @smokeyfuzz @sumii @zukisbabe @geidly @evalynanne @antheialy

55 notes · View notes

adobe-outdesign · 7 months

Note

Cherubi/cherrim reviews? 🍒🌸

Cherubi is pretty straightforward, really just a double-stemmed cherry with a face, but it is pretty darn cute with its little legs and multiple faces. I mean, look at it:

Visually, there's not a whole lot going on with it; it's got a simple two-color palette and very minimal details, with only a single stripe down the face to break up the pink a bit. I find myself wishing the leaves were more detailed—even just a line down the center (ala Chikorita) would help a lot.

I also have to mention that the smaller cherry is only there to serve as nutrients for evolution, which I think is genuinely really interesting and some fun speculative biology.

I do find it kind of strange that this line effectively evolves backwards—in fruit-bearing plants, the fruit comes after the flower as a result of pollination. Not that it really matters that much for a fantasy monster, of course, but it's one of those things that always struck me as ironic.

Anyway, Cherrim's overcast form is... alright, definitely the better of the two forms. I really like how its eyes are at the bottom of its body now, and it looks like it's snuggled up under its own petals asleep. You can also see how the body still kind of looks like Cherubi, with the line down the body and the little legs.

However, I think it suffers from the same lack of detailing Cherubi does, only to more of an extent. Its stem is just a swishy shape that improbably connects at a point, the leaves are just a single jagged shape, and the petals are solid color with nothing breaking them up. If the leaves just overlapped each other properly, maybe even curled up a bit to mimic the petals, and the stem was better drawn, it would work a lot better. It's not a huge deal, but lack of detail makes it look kind of plastic-y.

Also, the colors are all about the same brightness, which lowers the contrast. A lighter green and pink would've helped a lot to contrast against the dark purple.

Cherrim also has this sunshine form, which it switches to in strong sunlight. There are some actual plants that open up in sunlight (though ironically I don't think cherries are one of them), so it's a pretty decent gimmick.

However, I'm not huge on this form. It's based off of sakura cherry blossoms, which are very well known in Japan:

But while it fits conceptually, it doesn't really fit visually with the rest of the line. The overcast form has Cherubi's body, albeit partially covered; but this form doesn't really share any similarities with either, save for maybe the face (which is now back to being on top of the body). I kind of feel like they might've had two different cherry designs and combined them into one line later, but that's just speculation.

Regardless, this form looks a bit off. The petals are a weird shape (once again, could use more detail) and positioned in a way that makes the head feel sparse, like it should have more petals than it does. The two head balls (cherries? I guess??) don't help with this. The body has a random green bit for no reason, and is otherwise fairly generic. I like how cheerful and sun-shiny it looks, but I don't find it particularly memorable outside of its gimmick.

Anyway, as a whole, Cherubi is pretty cute and probably the best out of the line. Between Cherrim's two forms, overcast is better designed and fits the line better than the sunshine form. Not the best plant 'mon out there, but still charming in its own right.

#cherubi #cherrim #pokemon #pokemon reviews

44 notes · View notes

leggerefiore · 1 year

Note

I really love the letters, they're so domestic and sweet. What about s/o leaving one for them and the twins' reaction to it? It'd just melt Ingo's heart, I'm sure of it.

▲Ingo▼

● The Subway Boss awoke to an empty bed on his day off. This was a truly horrifying sight to behold, as he expected his morning to be filled with cuddling and sweet conversations between you and him. Your absence was something that forced him from bed to search around your shared home. Maybe you had gone to the bathroom or headed into the kitchen for a variety of reasons. Each location was struck down. Where were you? Just as he went to make himself a cup of coffee to help wake him up, he spotted a letter. Picking it up, he read what the sheet held for him.

● “My sleepy husband, it has come to my attention that we're out of eggs and milk this morning as I tried to make you breakfast in bed. Alas, if you're reading this, it means my plans were ruined, and I have yet to return from my run down to the nearest convenience store. Please understand I tried my best :)

Either way, I love you and can't wait to see you again and return to our bed. The temperatures tell me it's not going to be a fun outing, so I'll be appreciating a nice warm hug from my sweet heater of a husband. Your sleeping face is always so sweet to see… You look so relaxed. I hope I make you feel like that, too.

Love, your tired spouse.”

● Ingo pressed the letter is his chest as he smiled to himself. Love… husband… warm. All the words swirled in his mind like wine on a taster's tongue. You were so sweet to him; Ingo simply felt unworthy to have married such a kind person. He fell into a slight daze of emotions, swirling with blissful feelings. Then he snapped of it. There was little he could make with eggs or milk to surprise you with, but when you returned he would be sure to help you cook.

▽Emmet△

○ Emmet opened his lunch box with an eager smile. He had won all of his battles today and has a few multi battles with his brother. No trains had been delayed and there were few commuter complaints. It was a good day, about to be made better by cooking from his spouse. He knew there had to be a sweet hidden away in it for him, which excited him endlessly. Reaching in, however, he felt a sheet of paper under his fingers. Pulling it out, he read it.

○ “My clingy Emmy, did you know that you cuddled me last night like you were trying to suffocate me? You were truly trying to end me. I think it's partly why I had some strange nightmare where you were an eldritch creature that was borrowing the form of Ingo for who knows what reason. The other half was that horror movie we watched before bed.

Needless to say, you do, in fact, not have eight eyes nor teeth that appear to be all canines. Which means in safe to say, I love you. Even if you were some monstrous being, I'm quite sure I still would. You're soooo cuddly and cute, while weirdly mature and confident. There's just so much to take in with you, and that's fun. I'm glad that we get to have so much happy time together…

Love, your haunted spouse.”

○ Emmet giggled at your letter as he ate the flan you packed in the lunch box. What a goofy letter. Him? A monster? Only certain times in bed. If you would let him. Everything else, however, made his chest warm. You thought he was cute and fun? That's literally all he could ask for (outside of one other verrry important thing)! The lovely dessert you made tasted much sweeter with sugar of your words. Emmet would have to repay with you with a happy time later.

#ingo x reader #emmet x reader #ingo/reader #emmet/reader #pokemon ingo x reader #pokemon emmet x reader

208 notes · View notes

peachyghuleh · 11 months

Text

Fanfic: Absolution (Papa Emeritus III and Cardinal Copia help the reader with Anxiety)

Hi lovelies! Here's a lil one for all you ghuleh's with anxiety! Mostly a shameless self-insert because it's something I'm dealing with rn.

Anyways enjoy!

WC: 1.4k

AO3 Link

──────── ⛤⋅⛧⋅⛤ ─────────

I felt particularly anxious that day, the coldness of the Abbey that I quite enjoyed was replaced with a strange, warm feeling. Not the good kind, almost too warm. I had the familiar heavy feeling in my chest, but I decided to ignore it and head out to mass anyway, I couldn’t miss another, I already missed out last night.

As I walked down the Abbey halls to mass, twiddling my thumbs with anxiety, I nodded graciously to all the sisters I passed, thinking if I faked being okay, I would be. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that. Since I was early, I found a seat in the row closest to the front, sitting down next to an eager sister who was already there. Other siblings began to make their way in, mass was particularly full that day, crowded almost, I had sisters either side, our thighs touching uncomfortably as everyone tried to squeeze into the pews.

The ghouls began to make their way in and stood behind the altar as they always do, Papa Emeritus III and Cardinal Copia followed shortly after. Papa approached the altar and began his nightly sermon. I listened for about 5 minutes when a wave of nausea hit me. A warm rush through my body made me widen my eyes. Satanas not now. For the rest of the sermon, I had to stare at the stone floor and put all my focus into not throwing up on the floor in front of me, I felt terribly ignorant for ignoring Papa but I just couldn’t look up. My chest felt heavy and tight, my heart beating incredibly fast and a lump formed in my throat. The room seemed to be spinning, everything around me becoming a blur.

Before I knew it mass was over and all the siblings who attended started filtering out of the doors, chatting about everything Papa had just said. I sat there, still, quiet, not able to get up, scared stiff. I worried that someone would notice but my body just wouldn’t let me move. I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, turned my head slightly, wide-eyed, it was the Cardinal. “I-I’m sorry Cardinal, I’ll make my way back to my bedroom in a moment” I told him. “Sorella, are you okay?” He asked, “You had your head down for the entirety of mass and now you’re sitting there, stiff as a board”. I decided to try and stand, hoping my legs would take my outside for some fresh air, alas, an intense wave of nausea and dizziness struck me. Papa rushed over and grabbed my arm, steadying me “Cara, you look pale, sit” he gestured to the pew, and I sat. The Cardinal signalled for one of the ghouls to come over, Aether hurried over, a look of concern and confusion evident in his eyes behind the mask. “Would you be so kind as to go get a glass of water?” the Cardinal said. With that command, Aether rushed to fetch some water.

“I’m sorry, I’m okay, really” I said, still staring at the stone flooring. “If you’re sick Cara, we can take you to the infirmary” Papa assured. “No. It’s not that kind of illness…” I replied, “It’s in my-my head.”

The Cardinal gave Papa a look of concern. Aether returned with the glass of water and handed it to me, it was ice cold, exactly what I needed when my head felt like it was on fire. The Cardinal took off his glove and placed his bare hand on my chest, “Cara, your heart is beating out of your chest, what is troubling you?”

“It’s just some anxiety Cardinal, I will be fine, you and Papa should leave me, you must be busy” I replied. “Tesoro, we are never too busy for you” Papa assured me. “Also, I don’t think it’s just anxiety Cara, you’re as white as a ghost, eh?” the Cardinal added. Warm tears trickled down my face, the kind of tears you just can’t stop, tear after tear landing on my lap. Papa placed his pointer finger under my chin, moving my head so my eyes meet his “Tesoro, talk to us, we’re here to help”.

“I keep getting horrible nausea and dizziness when my anxiety gets bad, it’s-it’s just so hard to get out, every time I need to leave my room, I feel nauseated and I don’t know what to do anymore” I sobbed. The Cardinal sat to my right and Papa sat to my left, both close enough to feel their warmth, this eased my anxiety somewhat. The Cardinal put his hands on the small of my back, rubbing gentle circles as I sobbed. “How long has this been happening?” the Cardinal enquired. “I’ve had anxiety for years, but the nausea and dizziness has been a more recent thing, a couple of months maybe?” I answered. “Tesoro, I wasn’t going to say anything but I’ve not seen you in the dining hall recently either, how have you been eating?” Papa asked. “Barely Papa. My appetite is practically nothing at this point” I confessed. The Cardinal looked at me, eyes full of concern but managed to show me a comforting smile. We sat in silence for a couple of minutes, both Papa and the Cardinal urging me to take small sips of water.

“Okay, Tesoro, you’re still looking very pale, I think we should get you back to your room, sì?” Papa suggested. I nodded reluctantly. Papa took my left side, and the Cardinal took my right, holding me up as we walked through the Abbey halls. Realising how far my quarters were, Papa suggested we take a rest stop at his office nearby, we entered his office, it was dimly lit with candles and the fire was still going, only just. They laid me on the deep-red sofa that sat near the window. “Here, take this Cara” the cardinal said as he gently handed me a knitted blanket. I wasn’t cold but blankets brought me comfort, so it was very much welcomed.

The Cardinal took a seat directly next to me in an armchair, he softly grabbed my hand and began rubbing his thumb in circles, it was comforting. “You must be tired after enduring all of this Cara, don’t be afraid to fall asleep.” He told me. “Cardinal, the nausea is just so overwhelming, and I can’t seem to shake it. I know it’s in my head, but I don’t know how to get rid of it” I said, tears slowly rolling down my cheek again.

Papa walked over and knelt beside me, he placed his hand softly on my face and began to wipe the tears. “Tesoro, we’re here now. Have you eaten at all today?” he enquired with a soft tone. “No Papa, I-I couldn’t leave my room, the feeling in my chest was just too persistent” I replied. “How about we get you something to eat? Then you can sleep here, we will both be here all night, I promise Cara” he insisted. I nodded shyly, feeling embarrassed that my Papa had to make sure I was eating. I couldn’t even look after myself. Lucifer, I couldn’t even eat properly, I was a mess.

Papa swiftly left to get some food, noticing how late it was while the Cardinal stayed by my side. It wasn’t long before Papa was back, I must have nodded off at least a little bit because I remember nothing from when he left to when he returned. He walked into the room with a small plate in his hands “Okay Tesoro, I got you some toast, only a few slices, if you haven’t eaten all day we don’t want anything too heavy, we don’t want to upset your stomach, sì?” It was unusual to see this soft side of Papa, normally every other sentence was some sort of sexual innuendo but I was grateful for his father-like behaviour in these moments. He handed me the toast which I gratefully accepted, “Thank you Papa.” I began eating the toast, savouring every mouthful of this simple dish my own Papa had prepared for me while the Cardinal was sat nearby urging me not to eat too quickly.

After finishing my food, I felt exhausted beyond measure. All the anxiety and weeks of not eating properly had finally caught up to me. I yawned, feeling my eyes droop from my tiredness. “You look tired Cara, you should get some sleep, eh?” the Cardinal remarked as he began running his hands through my hair. “Yes Tesoro, sleep now, we’ll be here in the morning” Papa told me. I wasn’t going to argue “Goodnight Papa, Goodnight Cardinal. Thank you”

“Goodnight Tesoro” Papa said softly.

“Goodnight Cara, sweet dreams” the Cardinal whispered.

I immediately let sleep envelop me, hoping that I would wake up to better days.

──────── ⛤⋅⛧⋅⛤ ─────────

Peachy⛧Ghuleh

#the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #papa emeritus fic #shitghosting #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus the fourth #papa emeritus lll #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus 4 #ghost band #fanfiction #comfort #hurt/comfort #anxiety #peachy writes

17 notes · View notes

pinkafropuff · 10 months

Text

the weak and the strong

The Warrior of Light was closer to them, true. In fact, Alisaie might say too close. There was almost a desperation about it, to be sure they were all safe, hale and hearty and whole, and all she could think was that maybe, just maybe, the young Elezen had not been the only one devastated by the Scions' sudden departure that day in the alliance meeting. But that would be moot. Alisaie did not say how, but she knew it to be true. For one thing, she thought a great many things about Aran- things that were obviously different than the other ways people saw the Warrior of Light (but mayhaps that was the point, something, something perceptions, humanity, opinions) and it came out sometimes in words.

In the beginning she thought nothing of her in particular; strange eyes, silent, maybe a little mean. A little curt, lest she say nothing at all. Then rude, though the others Scions did not see it so; that is simply how Aran 'is' they said, and Alisaie thought herself better for not spending time with her. Now, of course, she knew the truth. That there was real, honest truth in that assertation that Aran was simply not like the rest of them. She was sure more than anything when in Kugane and then Doma that Aran Utar separated the world into the strong and the weak-

And that Alisaie Leveilleur, the younger of the two youngest scions, was weak.

----

"You never stay very long, do you?" It was easy to say whatever she wanted now that the shadow of war had passed them over, now that most of the fighting was done. Aran was not one for parties, true, and they had learned it the hard way; Alisaie herself had heard about the debacle with her disappearing for some number of months, leaving only a letter in her wake from her brother to find. "I'll admit, the crowds are a bit much, but you could at least stay for a drink or two to make the rest of them happy."

From her place in the Ala Mhigan Quarter, The Warrior of Light only turned her head. It was as though she had not heard those words, as though she had ignored or otherwise let them pass her by, eyes fixed on a particular point past the stone walls flanking them all about. There weren't any others milling about- Alisaie had been sure of that, given finding Aran was its own ordeal- so it wouldn't be possible for her to not hear, unless she was really trying not to, so she found herself marching over to the Auri and stopping just short of her armored figure. "Did you hear me at all?"

She did not turn at first. If a storm had struck right then, Alisaie wondered if Aran would have noticed. Instead of waiting for an answer, she chanced to step around her so that Aran could see her face, which, when she did, earned a look of surprise.

She really couldn't hear me? How very queer. "Did you hear a word of what I said?"

Brown irises, smoldering at the edges. It reminded her of an eclipse. After a moment or so, she answered with a simple headshake- the most curt that Alisaie had ever seen before.

A sigh. A very heavy sigh. "Look, if you don't want to hang out with the rest of us, I won't stop you, but you'd better at least leave your linkpearl on this time before running off. Alphinaud clucked about like a hen for weeks last time and I do not want to go through dealing with him again."

The change was subtle. So subtle that only one so close could have recognized it. No, maybe it wasn't how close she was, maybe it was how much she was paying attention. Because for a moment, right there, between the eyes and mouth of the vaunted hero, was a look of confusion and grief. Confusion. As though it was the worst thing Alisaie could have said to her in the world, and least obvious solution to make. Her eyes slid to one side, its meaning unknown, but when they re-centered on Alisaie's face, she gestured with her head towards the outskirts of the city. "No," was all she said at first. Her eyes closed in thought before she shrugged and smiled- smiled- and said, "I'm just gettin' some air ✨ Might hunt, you know?"

There was something really irritating about the whole phrase. Just say what you mean. "Aren't you tired? You must be, after all the fighting. I know I'm rather winded, and...you know, no one will be upset if you just take a rest or something." She gestured with one hand. "A real rest, I mean. Not...whatever it is you do when you vanish and come back with a different hairstyle."

Aran winced- visibly winced- before tilting her head and closing her eyes again. Unable to create an answer Alisaie was satisfied with, she turned away. The sun was setting already. If she was going hunting, it would be dangerous (at least in Alisaie's mind, as she didn't have night vision of her own like some other races) so aloud she said, "If you still want to go hunting, I'll come along. It's been a little while since I stretched without a life-threatening situation."

She did not seem happy about this. In fact, the Warrior of Light seemed more apprehensive than ever, which almost made her grind her own teeth. Typical.

"...if it's that much of a bother," she began, bile rising up her throat, heat roaring in her ears, but was cut off just as Aran decided,

"Okay. Let's go."

Alisaie's head snapped up. It astonished her so much her mouth flew wide open- only to snap shut again, almost with the clack of her teeth.

Aran's hand rose then, palm flat and straight in front of Alisaie's face. As though to make her pause. Conditions. A pause, then two or three- then she signed, carefully and slowly, 'I cannot protect you this time.'

The words may not have had a sound but they buzzed in her ears, burned at her throat. Bitterness leaving a taste in her mouth, she shrugged and half-shouted, "I didn't want you to!"

Why wasn't she looking at her? Because she offended her? Gods, they were all the same. Looking down on her. Especially now, especially about this. At least Aran was strong enough to look down. At least Aran said it outright, to her face.

Or so she thought. For a while. A long, long while. She remembered it again, on the First, the weariness in her steps as she crossed the threshold into Alisaie's quarters and laid down on the couch, throwing one arm over her face and letting out a long exhale.

"Who told you to-" She began, and then stopped when she saw the shorn parts of her hair, the blighted white burns on her scales, the dents in armor in need of more than a single mending. "Oh, gods, do you- I can call Alphinaud, or-"

The Warrior of Light- of Darkness- waved her free hand carelessly. Instead she just lie there, completely still, for a long, long time. When she could see Aran's face again, it struck her that it had always been there, hiding but entirely misunderstood. Resigned. Crumbling beneath their fingertips.

'I cannot protect you this time.' She'd said. But what she meant...

I cannot protect myself.

How many times did you die? She wanted to ask. But she couldn't. Instead Alisaie sat on the ground beside that couch and stayed with her for a while, not saying anything, feeling useless and much like a child. After a while, she hugged her knees. Aloud, she said, "When this is over, I'll buy you those sweets I promised."

Silence. For a brief moment Alisaie worried that Aran might have died (a stupid thing to think, of course, but a worry nonetheless) before she shifted and let her arm slip away from her face. A great many things drifted across that face, between the scales on her forehead as they wrinkled and the still-healing scar near her left cheek, and when they settled she closed her startling eyes and whispered in a low and crackling voice that Alisaie had never heard before.

"Yeah. I'd like that."

#aran utar #ffxiv #alisaie leveilleur #yeah. im happy about it.#shadowbringers spoilers #stormblood spoilers #fic

8 notes · View notes

twilightmalachite · 11 months

Text

Altered - Heaven and Hell 19

Author: Akira

Characters: Shu, Natsume, Kanata

Translator: Mika Enstars

"You “should not” force yourself to talk “too much”, Shu. I “worry” your “soul” will slip out alongside your “voice”."

Season: Autumn

Location: fine Stage (Past)

⚠️ This is an import from a unproofed Twitter Livetweet!

Shu: Your complexion looks terrible, little boy.

Natsume: …You shouldn’t be the one telling me that, Shu-niisan.

Is it safe for you to come heRE? I’m a fortune tellER, not a psychotherapiST, I can’t tell you what’s right to dO, but…

Your mental health has broken down noticeably since autuMN, Shu-niisan.

Shu: I’m fine. All of you are here.

Even if everyone else here are all enemies, you see.

It’s always been that way for me. I’ve always thought that everyone surrounding me is my enemy.

It is why I was so pressed to open the eyes of the vulgar masses who understood nothing.

However, as I continued to recklessly challenge myself against this vague world, I began to be joined by fellow companions who came to my side, despite such exasperation towards me.

Of course, this doesn’t refer to you, the Five Eccentrics.

But about the children of Valkyrie of whom I called my dolls, and turned into pawns.

It’s too late to realize it now, however.

Alas, I have brought needless shame upon those kids who had devoted themselves to me and offered me their support. We fell into a trap and swam in a cesspool of manure, all because of my own shallow-mindedness and arrogance.

I have dirtied those beautiful children. I have dirtied their youths.

That is what I regret the very most.

If only I could do it over—

No, that is a foolish thing to say.

Life is precious and beautiful solely because it cannot be redone.

Natsume: (Nii-san really doesn’t seem to be mentally weLL… He’s mumbling about abstract things in a quiet voiCE. It’s a little scaRY.)

(BuT, the words he’s mumbling are more positive than I expectED. No, they’re filled with self-reflection and the will to improve himseLF.)

(Niisan didn’t just break and stOP. I think he's just saving up strength so that he can get back on his feet in a more skillful fashion one dAY.)

(That’s whY, I’m sure you’ll be fiNE, Shu-niisan.)

Kanata: You “should not” force yourself to talk “too much”, Shu.

I “worry” your “soul” will slip out alongside your “voice”.

Shu: As always, what you say doesn’t make any scientific sense.

Kanata: There is more that “exists” in this world than what is recognized by "science".

You need to be more like myself, probably.

Natsume: (On the other haND, Kanata-niisan appears to be fine.)

(It’s as if he hasn’t been defeated at aLL, like he hasn’t lost a thiNG.)

(It’s like the calamity that struck the Five Eccentrics somehow never existED.)

You’re stroNG, Kanata-niisan.

Kanata: No, no, I am not strong. I am weak, helpless, and always the one being saved.

Kanata: It’s simply because, unlike Shu, I had been “finished off” by gentle people.

And, I was “saved” by kind, strong people.

That is why I am so energetic. I am a “fish” out of water, flopping vigorously.

And so, because I am fine, I want to support everyone.

I do want to just be given, but to give, this time around.

We have gone through a bad experience. We have been hated, bullied, and trampled by everyone.

But, if I am able to give something “kind” in “return”…

Little by little, I feel that this strange “world” can even become something soft, warm, and “wonderful”.

So that is what I want to do, and will do, now. It is difficult to explain, ehehe.

I want to “digest” the “bad things” given to me, and turn it into something beautiful.

I’m sure that is what my “role” is originally supposed to do.

Thanks to everyone, I have realized this.

That is why I am able to say that I am glad for this.

So this all wasn’t just “senseless incident” that nothing good could have come out of… I’m sure.

Natsume: Learn from our mistakes and tragediES, and grow as human beinGS, huH?

You’re also very positive about thIS, Kanata-niisan.

Kanata: I can’t “force” Nacchan to also be, though. If you don’t like it, it’s okay to say you don’t like it, and it’s okay to cry if you want to.

But, once you’ve cleared it up and feel better, let us start walking again.

With our own two “feet” that were given to us.

Look, Wataru seems to be doing so as well.

Natsume: Wataru-niisan—

← prev | story directory | next →

#altered #translation #event #kanata shinkai #shu itsuki #natsume sakasaki

8 notes · View notes

elliewiltarwyn · 8 months

Text

FFXIV Write 2023 | Prompt #4: Off the Hook

make-up day! hope you understand why this might have needed some fine-tuning @.@;

-1630 words -Spoilers for Sorrow of Werlyt storyline

----

When Gaius turns away from M’naago and the militia officer, Mia makes sure she has planted herself there in front of him, arms folded, eyes narrowed, her brow furrowing around the third eye in her forehead. “I need to speak with you.”

To his credit, Gaius does not shy away from her; when he sees the look in her eyes, he nods, the lines in his face creasing and deepening as resolve settles in. “Very well.” He cocks his head towards a nearby alleyway, then gives Severa a brief nod when she looks at them questioningly. She does not follow them into the alleyway.

The moment they’re out of sight, completely hidden behind the wall and its shadow, Mia whirls around and punches Gaius across the cheek, then grabs the front of his coat before he’s even finished shouting in pain and slams him against the wall, pinning him against it—and she brings the tall ex-legatus down to her level, glaring at him with fury blazing in her eyes, her forearms braced across his chest.

“How dare you?” Mia growls, her vision blurring. “How dare you reap these rewards, this lenience, this respect—even though the whole reason we’re in this situation is because your past crimes are catching up with you!”

Gaius’s face is frozen in a wince, and he continues nursing the cheek that she struck. “...My… past…” he murmurs.

“The legacy you left behind, the values you instilled in those children!” Mia slams him against the wall again, eliciting another gasp of pain. “You came unto Werlyt, unto Ala Mhigo, unto Eorzea as a conquerer, to inflict and enforce your ideals unto them— ‘twas terrible enough in its own right, but to learn that you raised orphans from those lands to believe in the same things—!” Mia hauls off and punches him again—tears are forming in her eyes and her throat is beginning to go hoarse. “And now that’s what they’re not just fighting for, but throwing themselves onto the pyre for—it’s all because of you, Baelsar!”

Gaius lowers his hand, apparently resigned to the bruise on his cheek. His grey eyes slide up, meeting Mia’s out of the corners. There isn’t a hint of the anger or imperiousness he displayed on that funicular in the Praetorium’s depths. “...It is,” he says softly. “...They are my sins.”

“And yet you are rewarded—granted command over the militia you conquered, allowed custody over the daughter whose mind you poisoned!” Something burns within Mia’s breast, and she squeezes her eyes shut and grits her teeth, but she can’t prevent it from erupting as a strangled, agonized shout of sheer frustration. Her hand blisters with pain again, this time lasting longer on her knuckles; when she opens her eyes, she realizes it’s because she’s slammed her fist into the wall next to Gaius’s head. The force has left a barely-noticeable impact crater in the stonework.

“...Aye.” Gaius’s voice is so quiet, in comparison. So weathered. So tired. “I have been extended… a shocking amount of grace.”

“...And I was extended none.”

These words bring a strange life back into Gaius’s eyes, and he stares down at Mia. “How do you mean?”

Mia shuts her eyes again and breathes in, deeply. She dredges through her memories, trying to find the traces of beauty within all the sludge. There isn’t a lot. “...You know who I was before.”

“...Aye.” Gaius swallows. “...Maia jen Asina… the daughter of Aulus mal. The chief engineer behind many of the Empire’s most dangerous magitek. The architect of the artificial Echo that Fordola and Zenos wield.”

“And how,” Mia begins, her lungs burning with heavy grief, “do you think it went over when I defected?”

“...I cannot imagine you had an easy time of it.”

“That’s putting it lightly. Dear old dad cast me out, rejected me from my family and friends forevermore. I walked into Ul’dah with nothing but a rusted cuirass and the sword on my back—no home, no rights, nothing to hope for—cast out from your ideal Empire.” She sucked in air through her teeth. “I toiled in the ranks of the Gladiators’ Guild for years, until somehow, the Echo suddenly awoke in me and granted me a chance to fight back.” Her vision flares up again as she sets her gaze on him once more. “Against you, as you may recall.”

“I will never forget it,” Gaius murmurs.

“And yet here we are. You at the head of a revolutionary militia. Your crimes swept under the rug—and then roaring back out from under it to attack us.” She feels her whole body vibrating in fury. “And you’re just… being let off the hook.”

Gaius just looks down at her for a long, long time before he exhales and says, “And you are completely correct; I do not deserve a single onze of the grace I have been extended.”

Mia stops short, freezes over entirely, down to her bones and the blood in her veins and her heart. “Wait, what?” Of all the tacks she had expected him to take, she never once thought he would agree with her.

“It pains me that the Alliance trusts me to lead their efforts against Valens’s ambitions, when I myself am responsible for everything about how those ambitions have taken form.” He keeps his gaze fixated, unwavering, on Mia, but he does rapidly blink as tears begin to roll down his cheeks—right over the bruise Mia had left him. “That they think I am still worth trusting… that Severa and Valdeaulin and Allie still believe me trustworthy… when I may as well have thrown Allie’s siblings upon the pyre myself. ‘Tis beyond the pale.”

Mia wants to keep pushing; she feels she has so much more she has to say—so much shit she’s been through that Gaius needs to know so he can maybe finally grasp some understanding.

…But does he already understand?

“...And you are right. Those ideals… the ones they have been sacrificing themselves for. The ones I upheld, as I marched forth into these territories to conquer them in the name of the Empire.” His shoulders sag, and he hangs limply against the wall, propped up solely by Mia’s grip. “...Madness. Nonsense. And ephemeral—Valens makes mockery of the Empire that I believed in… but that Empire never existed in the first place.” He squeezes his eyes shut in pain. “‘Twas naught but honeyed words, to satisfy the personal ambitions of cruel men.”

Mia tightens her fist in the front of his coat. “...That Empire was also a flawed, terrible, and self-destructive concept at its core.”

“...It was.” He opens his eyes and his gaze flickers elsewhere, nowhere in particular, but Mia has an idea of what he’s thinking about. “...Naught proves that better… than the corpses of Milisandia and Ricon and Rex… and all those in our wakes.” The shadow in his eyes makes it all too clear to Mia; he is deathly, horribly afraid that Alfonse and Allie will be added to that list.

…His children.

Orphans, by his hand… but children that he nevertheless cared for and loved. In the way that my father never did. Never had the capacity to.

…I did not believe the man we fought in the Praetorium had that capacity either. I still don’t, and I doubt he did when he destroyed those children’s families before.

…But what about this man before me?

Mia suddenly releases her grip, and Gaius staggers and nearly falls over before regaining his footing. He rubs his shoulder and grimaces as he straightens back up and meets her gaze once more. “I don’t deserve your trust either, Mia,” he says quietly. “And I will not ask for it. But… there is something I would ask of you.”

She clenches and unclenches her fists, stretching her fingers out, her lips tightly pressed against each other as she breathes. “...What?”

“…Please hold me to account. Even if the Alliance will not.”

“…You’ve asked the same of Valdeaulin and Severa, have you not?”

“I have. And to their judgments, I will also submit.” The look Gaius fixes her with is filled with resolve—and none of the fury she had seen in his grey eyes when she destroyed his eyepiece in the Praetorium. “...But before then… in this moment… I must right the wrongs I have committed. Whether or not the Alliance believes it meet or just for me to do so… whether or not my children believe otherwise. I must face my sins and bear the weight of the consequences inflicted on not just me, but so many innocent peoples.” He does not waver. “And though you may not trust me… I certainly trust that you are capable of putting me back on that hook.”

And mayhaps for the first time ever, Mia sees Gaius Baelsar’s mouth curl into a wry smile. “You have done so once already, after all.”

Mia’s gaze flicks down, then up, scanning him from head to toe. She sighs out a deep exhale and meets his eyes once more. “I didn’t do it alone.” Ellie’s and Lily’s faces, smiling kindly upon her, surge to the forefront of her mind.

“...No, I suppose not.” He lets out a small huff. “I believe that’s proof enough you were right all along.”

For the first time ever, Mia favors him with a wry smile too.

“Gaius—Mia—I hate to interrupt.” She’s shocked from her reverie and turns to see Severa at the head of the alleyway, her brow knit in concern as she looks between them. “But we have to address Allie’s situation.”

“Allie?” Mia’s veins freeze over once more.

Gaius breathes a deep, exhausted sigh and plaintively looks at her. “It seems I must ask you for that favor even sooner than I had hoped.”

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2023 #my fanfiction #ffxiv fanfiction #werlyt is...*contentious* in some of the ffxiv circles i run in #like “screaming about how much this ruins the game” contentious #i don't think the actual writing is that good and the way it handles some very sensitive topics is pretty clumsy #but for some reason gaius's character in it is fascinating for me--probably because of mia #like how would she feel about his apparent treatment when she's garlean herself. obviously it's not *great.* how could she process that.#also hey! think this is the first time i've mentioned: she's aulus mal asina's daughter!#she doesn't regret killing him at all! he was an asshole! :D #anyhoo uh yeah. hoping i didn't poke the hornet's nest that harshly.

3 notes · View notes

ruiniel · 11 months

Note

Do you have any WIPs you’d like to talk about?

I dooooOoooo 😓 but have to haul a$$ to actually update one of the 7 in-prog multichapter fics I've got going...

One of them is something I hadn't updated since 2020 and that's my sword of Zamolxis-fic... it's a dark fantasy AU set in the Fourth Age, where Sauron won, regained his ring and his fair form, and Aragorn is his prisoner (similar to Húrin in another Age):

The prisoner showed no outer emotion concerning the event as the new presence crossed the wide space with light, even steps, his soundless, black booted feet leading him forward. This one stood taller than perhaps any being in Middle-earth, and his face was pale and fair to look upon. Long hair of a russet shade ran in waves down his back, and eyes of amber looked ahead as he came to stand at the side of the seated man. His fair form was a reminiscence of the days of old, and once he had regained that which was rightfully his, he had returned to it. His bearing was regal and strong, and deceptively open. That was until one saw his eyes: molten flame that not even his highest servants dared to look upon lest they be burned to ash. "Well met, my friend," a low, metallic yet melodious voice addressed the old man. The other remained silent, but for another fit of coughing, his gaze set afar. The new presence looked upon the prisoner then, and his eyes were terrible. "Your companions, the dark-haired twins died yesterday in the slave quarters." If not for his unbeatable hearing, he might have missed the swift sigh of the other. "I thought it my duty to personally impart the tidings." A long silence followed, broken only by the billowing of his black robes in the wind. "They have both been quite brave to the end, enduring what they did in the mines. Alas," he pondered facetiously, "The Firstborn have always suffered from this flaw. Hard to bend though delightful to punish, and oft-times falling prey to their self-adulation and pride." The old man said nothing, though his eyes were reddened and his fists clenched on the arms of the seat where his hands were cuffed, his legs bound in a similar manner. Seemingly undeterred by the soliloquy, the pale one continued. "Twenty-five of your years have passed since the great mockery at the Gate. I still recall your regal, impudent bearing when you struck upon my gates, and demanded I surrender. " His flaming eyes focused to the East, where a storm of lightning struck the skies and brushed the mountain tops. A long, pale hand motioned to the seated man. "And now look at you," he said, venom in his voice. "But the long life of your line does well by you. Though weakened, I surmise you and I will have a few more good years to spend together."

Anyway, the focus is on a half-orc grunt who ends up traveling with a *very* changed Legolas who has an obvious purpose in mind, but focuses on her growth... a hero's journey of sorts, a picaro:

Finally, she heard him speak. "I will allow you to follow to the fringes of this land, after which we part ways." It was strange, to feel the stirring in her chest. The corners of her mouth were turning upward. She had seen this expression on none but the alchemists of the Tower, but more often than not it was accompanied by different acts of cruelty. She went to stand by his side. "Then we are... agreed?" The elf looked sideways at her. "Hinder me, lead me for one moment to believe that you are a spy, show any form of fell intent and I will not hesitate to do what I had not before." Kal nearly scoffed at the preposterous notion, but his hardened mien showed her the elf fully intended to follow through with his threat. Another putrid wind and ash blew through the forest, sending yellowing leaves flying onto the road. "My sole intent is to escape this place," she said. The elf merely gaped at Kal for a short while before pacing ahead. He knelt and brushed the blade of the dagger against the rusted grass. "Will you give me back my weapon?" she tried. "No," came the curt reply. Curse you. With a groan she did not even attempt to hide, Kal returned and drew the scimitar off the fallen Uruk before following after the retreating figure. Kal realized she never learned his name, for obvious reasons. Perhaps it was time. Surely elves had names? "I am Kal." "So I have heard," the elf muttered as Kal fell in step with him. Or, perhaps elves did not value names, as such. "What of your name?" There was a pause. The blades of grass and leaves onto the forest bed wailed with crunching sounds beneath their feet. The elf appeared strangely absorbed by this, his head lowered as he stalked forward. "It does not matter. Not anymore."

It has an eventual romance subplot, enemies-to-lovers

The Problem? I have to rewrite the entire 110k words worth of it. I've grown and changed some headcanons along the way, and even though the story is Not abandoned, it'll take me a while...

#ruin babbles #random fic snippets

3 notes · View notes

magdasabs · 2 years

Text

The headwind to Wembley was a bit too strong

by Zećira Mušović

We went in with high expectations and a belief in finally bringing home that long-awaited championship gold to Sweden. A championship in England that would mean a whole new level of interest from supporters and media. It was a record-breaking championship in many ways and the grand final at Wembley remains in the tournament, although with Sweden eliminated where we didn't really have the margins on our side this time. There will be no gold this year, no matter how much we hoped and believed in it. There was a bit too much headwind.

We start at the bright end. We start by highlighting our supporters who created something magical for us during this tournament. Already in our opening match against the Netherlands, I felt the support of the yellow wall, which coolly decorated large parts of the stands and which let the match through. And the yellow wall followed. The crowds we got to witness before our matches both on site in England but also in various places around Sweden were moving to see. When we rolled in on the bus for our semi-final against England, we drove past a huge sea of supporters for the two nations. I had to hold back the tears. It struck me how far we have come in the sport, what moves have been made and how much we engage and inspire. There was palpable joy among the fans, who happily waved and stood fascinated with their cellphones trying to get the best picture of the player buses. These are new times now.

In order to go all the way in tournaments, everything needs to work out. Skill, momentum and luck along the way. Constant headwinds have rarely been a winning concept. Not this time either. The Corona pandemic reminded itself again and crept into our bubble. Injuries came untimely and also posed some tough questions. There were factors that meant that before each match, new constellations were created, which take their little time to sharpen to the extreme. It may appear to be excuses for some, but I am absolutely convinced that there are elements that cause it. Despite trials, we always gave it a try, we struggled to create our flow.Then add good resistance that invited dancing along the way. Nations such as Switzerland and Belgium probably guess some uninitiated are blueberry nations that we should easily beat. Those opinions were evident not least in certain media forums where some experts swung wildly over, what they thought, non-performance. But those of us in the game, who are a little more savvy than watching highlight clips and quickly Googling before doing an analysis, know that there are no such nations in a European Championship. It takes a lot to win.

Together with France, we managed to finish tied for third. Incidentally, I think it is strange that no bronze match was played in such a big championship. Now I understand that it is not done on the men's side either, but I think that in both championships a bronze match would have meant additional interest and an even greater hype around the concluding final. Alas, it was a bronze medal after a top group where we managed to get ahead of reigning champions the Netherlands. A tough and nervous quarter-final against an organized and tactically astute Belgium, with a match-winning goal in the final seconds by none other than Linda Sembrant. Then the English got a little too heavy in the semi-finals. Managed four goals against us and zero scored by us. Despite that, the statistics after the match showed that it was even. Details once again decided,

We went for gold but didn't make it all the way. A few days after our departure, I as a player have a strange feeling in my body. Being in a championship bubble for so long, with all the stresses that come with a tournament, makes it feel strange to leave when the day finally comes. This becomes especially noticeable if the journey home is suddenly earlier than what the brain has been preparing for for so long. Imagine the balloon slowly deflating, with a feeling that it all came to an abrupt end. We wanted to go to Wembley but had to finish in Sheffield. This time we have to settle for bronze, no matter how much we wanted the gold.

#zecira musovic #article

15 notes · View notes

archaictold · 1 year

Note

hey zhilan get rekt ∗ 28﹕ sender strikes receiver with a pillow .

⧼ 🌱 ⧽ ┊ ❛ 100 NON-VERBAL PROMPTS.

❝ Sorry, I'll be right there! If I don't jot down this idea that's struck me, I'm afraid I'll forget it. ❞ With his back to his visitor, the tip of his pen scratched like mad against his parchment, a gleam in his eyes and a knot in his brow. Zhilan was a poor host in all meaning of the word, though neglect of his company was not his intention. It was simply difficult to pry him fully from his work, much less when he was blessed with rare inspiration. It didn't stop Wang Yi from trying, though. However, he was strangely silent to the sound of this particular bout of the scholar's insistence. It would almost be suspicious—that is, if Zhilan had any natural inclination toward suspicion to begin with. ❝ Hey. ❞ Wang Yi eventually said. ❝ Mm? ❞ ❝ I've fluffed the pillows. They needed a little sprucing up. ❞ Zhilan, entirely unassuming, stood with a smile, shutting his book with an air of finality, thereby concluding his studies for the night. ❝ Did they? I must have overlooked that—— ❞FWOOP! As if in demonstration of these well-fluffed pillows, Wang Yi slugged one directly into his face with a satisfied grin, effectively stifling the rest of that sentence and knocking Zhilan's spectacles clean off his face. ❝ Ah— Wa-... Wang YI! ❞

It huffed with all the energy of an angry matriarch as arms batted away the offending pillow, where it fell onto the floor alongside his glasses with a quiet fwump. Then, Zhilan's hands were atop his hips, his eyes narrowing on the now-blurry Wang Yi. ❝ You fluffed the pillows, did you...? ❞ Though he tried to look intimidating, there was no sincerity in it. His façade threatened to crack under a smile as he took the pillow from the carpet, advancing on his target. ❝ Well... ❞

❝ If you ask me, I don't think they've been fluffed well enough! I'll have to use you to fluff them instead! Come here! ❞ And so Zhilan sprung on him, pillow brandished, whapping him several times for good measure! Thwap, thwap, thwap! But alas, he could not win against his amusement. He laughed like a child in play as he resourced a second pillow and their battle waged on. Work was all but forgotten, his idea but a flash in the pan. Good thing he wrote it down, huh?

#FIGHT! 🤼#wang yi's attack exposed one of his adversary's greatest secrets.. his Glassesless Face #nobully #answer tbt.

5 notes · View notes

cordeliaflyte · 1 year

Text

Answer 1: "Say something loving and sweet to her."

Answer 2: "Say that you are looking forward to spending some time with her. Be genial."

Answer 3: "Comment upon the weather," I murmur, knowing that Frankincense must surely desire a word of affection from Rory.

Answer 4: "Er…um…that is…" My mouth is suddenly very dry.

#tally ho

2 notes · View notes

umbralsound-xiv · 1 year

Photo

I’d opted to go on a walk. Nothing... Pressing. Just me and my own company and footsteps. I’d opted to visit Gyr Abania... No particular reason, only that it is the road less travelled. I have found myself wandering much, these last few suns.

I’d found a cosy little cliffside where i’d settled to write, to replenish myself, watching the comings and goings of people on the road. Merchants. Wanderers. Strange groups of people bound for a graveyard...

...But i didn’t think anything of it. Not then, anyway. Not until i heard the familiar sound of conflict...

By the time anyone noticed, the scene was already coming to an end. In the light of the dying Gyr Abanian sun slouched an ever-proud Ishgardian, blood spittle dripping at a careless pace with an ever-condescending grin as the man stood against a gaggle of his adversaries. Two Elezen and a Xaela brandished their blades while two more Xaela held rods at the ready. From a distance, shouts of some contention could be heard, something heated and quite definitively to the brim with ire.

Though the words of Mattisaux, gripping his sword with lamed hand, glistening with his own shade of red, held fast to a self-satisfied malice that dragged his voice. “...And I would do it again and again. This time slower... to savor your screams... and the women.” Despite there only being men present, he still knew that their faces would twist and watched as he allowed their emotions to fly. Fly in particular with a billowing stream of flames aimed straight at him to which he held his sword up at a diagonal to defend against it though the rest of himself was widely left open.

It had been a good many bells since she had seen the small procession of people enter the graveyard, high up from the ledge in which Bexy had nestled herself. Often, she found watching the comings and goings of people to have interest, and more so when no other pressing matters had garnered her attention. Still, it had been some time, now, since they had arrived, and she had spied none leaving between penning lines of poetry. Her attention was only broken when the familiar cacophany of combat filled the air. Curiosity drew her closer to the scene, expecting undead, perhaps voidsent at worst... But the scene before her was more far flung than anything her imagination might conjure up.

Bexy's eyes widen almost immediately, and instinct takes hold. Were this a contract, she may well have bided her time to learn of the situation. Alas... It was not. A bow is instinctually formed at her fingertips at a moment's notice, leather boots gaining ground on the situation until she was but only several fulms away from Mattisaux. She doesn't call his name; she wagers he would know. The telltale whistle of an arrow sails forth to one of the flame-wielding foes, with intent to end him.

In an abrupt, choked fashion, the surge of flames died and dispersed, leaving Mattisaux open to dashing forward and ripping into one of the Elezen standing close who was caught unaware by the fall of his comrade. For an instant, Mattisaux also hadn’t a clue what was happening, not until a skin-crawling chill whizzed past with the arrow that struck the mage down to a crumple. “You said he was alone!” The last robbed mage panicked, looking to Bexy with his rod pointed at her. The Xaela wielding a sword, who also seemed to hold some vague authority over the group, shouted in return. “That doesn’t matter now, kill her too!”

I had no clue, no idea for what was transpiring. My friend was in trouble, and i wasn’t just going to stand idly by and watch, be damned for the consequences!

I would put down the resistance, and ask questions later.

“Bexy!” Mattisaux barked without looking at her. “Do -not- kill these Xaela. Wound them.”

"You can -try-!" Bexy barks back, head inclined. "---You'd best have a damned good explaination for what in the -Hells- is going on, Mattisaux!" Still, it seemed that she'd heeded his words, arrow aimed for the knee of the remaining mage; attempting to skewer him and freeze the limb to the ground. "...Three Hundred and Four..."

...How many moons has it been since i’ve killed someone, now?

...It felt strange. But i can’t think about it. Not now.

The mage, in the middle of casting, thought he could at least finish his weave of lightning before Bexy was able to let her next arrow fly, but the miscalculation led to his sharp yelp of pain and an awkward fall to the ground. Now with only one Elezen and the lead Xaela left, Mattisaux felt slightly empowered enough to chuckle deep.

Mattisaux gathered a reckless rush of blackened astral energies around him, whipping bloody scarlets for that menacing effect before he jumped and dove his blade into the other Elezen who thought he could defend himself with his feeble shield. The Xaela, already seeing how bad the situation was turning, rushed to try and strike Mattisaux before his comrade got skewered.

Bexy catches the hurried rush of the other Xaela as he closed in, a breath drawn and held as another icy arrow formed, long and slender against her fingertips. The bow is drawn taught, as she watches, steady and waiting... Before the arrow sails forth. This one moves for his sword arm, aiming to render it similarly wounded.

It was merely a choice between helping a comrade or slaying the enemy and the Xaela opted for the former. However, to his misfortune, he achieved nothing. In attempting to strike Mattisaux, not only did his sword fall from his grip, he also had an ice-clad arrow through his arm.

The crippled mage struggled to raise his rod to whisper a spell, soon whipping a flurry of wind around everyone to knock them off their feet. “Gah! No, you will not best us!” Unfortunately for him, it did not stop Mattisaux from staking his sword and ending the last Elezen in their group.

Bexy narrows her eyes, opting to still her assault with the threat of the wind potentially sending an arrow anywhere but where she wished it to go. Instead, she opts to close the ground, taking her bow in her hands and seperating it; now two crudely formed daggers in each hand which sharpen to a point. She offers no words; pale gaze only dancing back and forth between enemy and ally; but poised and ready to lunge.

With the Elezen gladiator dead and bleeding on the ground, Mattisaux’s laughter grew to something that could be considered devilish. “And like that, you crumble!” Despite how his arm drenched in his blood and the searing pain that coursed from the unseen battle before, the adrenaline kept Mattisaux alive and elated. In a few fluid movements, as the leading Xaela dove to retake his sword, Mattisaux swiped low to slice his knee and lop the leg off. The wind was not quite as strong as its initial burst, dying rapidly as time drew on and his fear increased. As Bexy changed from bow to daggers, he continued to weave his spell though he seemed rather clueless on what else he should be doing that would not get him immediately killed.

Bexy makes her move, then; towards the only other who would give her trouble. A swift lunge posessed more of an animal than a woman as she skitters around him to drive a knee into his back, and a blade into the offending arm, pinning it to the ground. The tip of her free blade rests gently at the edge of his throat; close enough for the warning of cold to be felt against flesh. Only then does she speak. "...So much as another movement out of you, and i will pick the teeth from your head and peel you like an apple."

“I yield! I-I yield...!” The mage toppled easily, perhaps a bit too easily, dropping his rod to the ground in the tackle and sucking in a shaken breath then the cold edge of her knife pressed against his neck. “Arban, please! We must stop this if you want to live!” As his comrade pleaded, ‘Arban’ was naught but enraged, most especially after losing half his leg. “You disappoint me, Oktai! You-” His dialogue was cut off by Mattisaux’s boot colliding into his cheek. “Shut your mouth, you disgusting filth of the earth. You lot barely put up a fight and now you expect me to listen to your sodded crying?” After spitting in the man’s face, he finally looked to Bexy, slowly walking toward her and the mage. “You can leave him to me now, I have work to do.”

"No." Bexy's single word was spoken sharply; eyes narrowed into thin, eerie slits. "You tell me what the hell happened, Mattisaux." Her tone shifts an ilm; concern and accusation, both. "What would have happened, had you not been lucky enough that i was in the vicincity, hm?"

I wasn’t leaving without an answer. If i am to bloody my hands, even by choice, i would know why i had done it.

And i would get it from him, himself... Or his enemies.

...However i was able to.

Bexy’s curt answer widened Mattisaux’s eyes before filling them with an annoyance now directed at her. “Leave your curiosity for when I have the patience for it, girl. I would not have died to -these- things so you can step away from it now. I need to take care of him.” Of course, hearing Mattisaux so casually speak those words startled the mage. “N-no! We, no, -I- am sorry! I will never harm you again, just leave me out of this!” The young Xaela was not above swallowing his pride to save his skin, something the older, bleeding Au Ra misjudged.

Bexy's gaze settles on Mattisaux flatly, ears slowly pinning back in irritation as her tongue runs over her briefly bared teeth. "No. I want to know -now-." Her attention... Diverts, to the mage in her grasp. "You. Oktai, was it not...?" A slow tilt of her head, as her voice dips into a chilly whisper. "Since my dear friend deigns not to keep me informed of situations i am now involved in, would -you- care to bring me up to speed... Hm?"

“Bexy! You will do as I say!” His frustration yanked the collar of her coat with his less injured hand. “Or I will-” Before he could finish his threat, Oktai shrilled to attention. “Of course, madam! Please, let me!” Of course, the moment Oktai opened his mouth, Mattisaux shouted all manner of colorful expletives at the man to quiet.

Bexy -hisses- as her collar is yanked; a sound rarely heard even to her enemies, never mind her friends. "----Let him speak! Unless you have something to hide? Hm?" An interrogatory glare was given to Mattisaux, then; remaining much where she was, despite his pulling.

An intense bout of staring paused his speech, holding her in his grasp until ultimately shoving her back to herself, not like she moved to begin with. In the tense silence, Oktai thought the moment was as good as any to start explaining himself. “We came as heretics to hunt down this Mattisaux...” His bright, white limbal eyes flashed to Mattisaux before looking forward, suddenly hesitant to continue. “You will not kill me should I confess?”

...I almost felt sorry for him. I... Did. Perhaps he didn’t deserve his fate. He seemed... Young. Misguided, perhaps? I do not know.

...But he chose his path. I would not kill him, no.

I didn’t need to.

“Oktai! Do not tell your enemies about us! Have some pride in your final moments.” Arban still managed to keep afloat despite his blood loss though he was largely incapacitated.

"I will not, no." Bexy spoke, sweeter and softer than she had before; even if the blade didn't budge an ilm from his throat. "It does not sound like a personal grievance..." She mused. "Not from you, at least, Oktai. Tell me more, mm?"

Regardless of how sweet her words were, they did not give Oktai too much confidence in them. He remained stiff and afraid but spoke rather freely. “You are correct to an extent. The, uh... Ishgardian there who will not kill me, yes? He has killed a great deal of my kind and plenty worse to some others and we only wanted to put an end to him in return. Simple revenge, yes? He had slain us in cold blood, even after we have pleaded and bowed. We thought he may have died before, but now that we see he was still here and alive, we saw our chance.” Mattisaux merely sighed, resigning to hearing something he did not quite enjoy but patiently waited until the end. “There you have it, Bexy. You already know as much, now let me handle the rest.”

Bexy withdraws the blade from his neck, and releases the one still in his arm, to keep it there. Gently ruffling the hair of the Xaela, she rises more fully to her feet; to look Mattisaux in the eyes before standing beside him. "That wasn't so difficult now, hm?" As for the recipient to her words, that wasn't so easy to tell. Bexy moves her gaze away, then; towards the other who had kept his quiet, before. She offers no further remark.

Oktai voiced several breathy gasps of pain, half expecting to be killed regardless. When she rustled his hair about, he even squeaked a yelp before realizing he was alive enough to be embarrassed. “I am free...?”

Arban, meanwhile, growled weakly, growing paler by the instant. “Freeing this one will do you no good, Demon. More of us will come for you and if you are not shown dead, your friend will die by our hands.” Mattisaux had already lost his patience, and the sheer fact that the more annoying of the group taunted him stomped him by the Xaela’s side to strangle him quiet.

"I will not kill you." Were Bexy's only words to Oktai; but there's no smile that greets her expression for speaking it. Instead, it sours considerably when Arban speaks, narrowed eyes back upon him once more. "You can -try-." She repeats, watching as Mattisaux's boot is driven into him, before her attention is pulled back up to the Elezen's face. She holds her silence, and only watches, now.

In a matter of gasping moments, Arban was silenced for good and Mattisaux was only marginally satisfied. Upon lifting himself from the ground, he huffed a heavy breath, muttering, ‘Now for the other one’ before striding over to snatch Oktai’s neck. “That you would give him just false hope, dear. I would commend you if you had not wasted my time and a bit of fun I could have had.”

"I said i would not kill him. I never mentioned anything about you." Bexy responds a little coldly, watching as he grasped him. A short, sharp movement as she half moves to defend him, clear conflict on her expression. A held breath, as she moved to call out... And doesn't. A singular sharp, chilly huff is exhaled from her nose, the sorrow in her gaze evident. "Oh, do what you will, Mattisaux!" She barks, before storming away to the tree; frost catching each tuft of grass as she made her way.

...Something about the entire altercation just...

...I know it’s for the best. That they die. No one to come back for revenge. No one to watch for when you sleep with one eye open. So why, then?

Why was this... Different?

I didn’t kill him. But i know Mattisaux well enough.

A quick death was the greatest mercy he could hope for.

Mattisaux, wrapped in a need for a lengthy bloodlust, paid no mind to the madness that was Bexy’s expression, but the moment she chided him was when he had a problem. “And -what- are you having a tantrum for?” He stood up to follow after her but not before stabbing his blade into the Xaela’s shoulder to keep him in place. “Stay there, you cretin, or I will do worse than what I have planned.” Oktai merely cried in pain and grief at his personal turn of events.

Mattisaux hardly reached her halfway when he shouted at her. “You act like a child now after killing a man out here?”

"Mattisaux, if i was having a tantrum, you'd be picking pieces of your own organs out of your hair. If you knew me half as well as you claimed to, you would understand. Just..." She looks to the squirming Xaela, and back. "Get it over with quickly." She snapped, offering a glare over her shoulder, before turning away. She does not watch.

All he could do was wheel his eyes up and around at her back, soon turning around to Oktai. “Consider this a mercy at the behest of this ridiculous woman that seems to have taken a sick liking to you. Take solace that -you- have escaped my descaling, however, your brethren that I catch will not be so lucky.” He guaranteed that Bexy would be able to hear him though he never had to put the effort in with his natural volume.

Plucking his sword free from the mage’s shoulder, Oktai barely had time to react when his neck severed from the rest of his body. As much as Mattisaux would have enjoyed prolonging the inevitable, he was more concerned with the unusual attitude from the frosted Miqo’te. “Now, what happened to that ruthless Miqo’te I used to know? Have you switched conscience with that girl you lot have buried in your front lawn? The one we thought was really you?”

Bexy gives a sharp sigh at the sound. Regret. Relief. It was hard to tell which. Both, perhaps. "...It is better that he died." She responds, bitterly. Ice begins to crawl up the side of the tree, and she opts to rest on it, refusing to look behind her. "Do you know -why- i opt to kill people, Mattisaux? Have you ever considered it, just once?"

“You tempt me to be facetious, dear. The only reasons to kill a man is to do away with them for any given reason or because you enjoy the struggle before their end.” He wasted little time in answering, flicking the blood from his weapon and sheathing it away at his waist. Stepping closer to her, he continued. “You have told me of your days as that Midnight Coeurl, I know how you do enjoy it, dear, so why ask?”

"It is different, to then. And i won't deny that it is enjoyed... When it is deserved. Properly deserved... Not like this." She gazes outwards, attempting to dismiss the picture her face wore before he got close enough to see it. "Because killing them is easier than the alternative. Easier than watching your back every sun. Easier than worrying about threats of vengeance."

By the time he reached her, he, of course, tried to move around her for a better look at her face. “-You- did not kill any but the first, dear. Lamenting about -my- doing will only age you in rather unattractive ways. And you speak as if they were not planning to come after me regardless.” He huffed; the adrenaline and pain from earlier was still at bay but he could feel that he was well past the peak of it. “Listen, Bexy. I know what I have done, but I will never forgive them. Do you understand?”

"I don't lament it. They are dead. Gone. They will bother you no longer, even if others will. You are safe, for now. And that... That is what matters." She swallows, dryly. "---As my friend. That is what matters most to me. Be damned for anything else i might feel."

...How far will i take it, to see a friend safe?

...Would i murder innocent people? How many of them?

...When i am forced to choose between my own personal redemption, and their safety...

...I think i know already what my choice will be.

“And what -else- are you feeling? Pity for that scalekin I had slain? Regret that he died and you did not stop me? Sorrow that I still breath despite your empty-sounding words? Why come to my supposed rescue if you think it unjust?” Whether he willed it or not, he could not help but lace his words with frustrated soreness.

"...I don't know why they attacked you. If you'd care to enlighten me, with your side of things." She responds, a little lackluster. "...He was young. Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong decision... But the decision was made, regardless. He picked his path when he chose to oppose you." Glassy eyes gaze to his, and finally drop to the floor after a short while. "...---Because i am your friend, Mattisaux. Or i should like to think so, despite everything... Some things are more important than justice. At least to me."

“I, too, would like to think of you as something of a friend, at least at this point of my life. Were I to chance upon someone attacking you, I would jump at the opportunity to slay them all, no questions asked, if that satisfies you. However, that does not mean you should do the same. While I do not know how they found me, I have already told you at least some of the terrible things in my past, my regrets, but you needn’t jump at my enemies even if I look like I am bloody and bleeding. Again, do you understand me? I know how hard of hearing you are.”

"It's a comfort..." Bexy half-smiles, even if it falls almost immediately. "I don't doubt the terrible things you did. Not one of them. Good or bad, justified or not... You had reason for your actions. Even if i do not agree." She takes another, more stubborn breath to drag her gaze back up to meet his again. "---What kind of friend, given the capacity, would simply stand idly by and watch as you were attacked? Not when i can do something about it." She pauses, quietly clearing her throat. "...But i want to know why, Mattisaux. Why they attacked you. You have killed so many of them, this is true enough. I... Can imagine. Is that truly the only reason?"

I did not think it so simple. I had heard it from the Xaela, for their reasoning. But i wanted to hear it from him, too.

If he would deign to speak of it, that is.

While he wanted to comment on what was likely a rhetorical question, he only sighed to the following. This time, he was not so quick to respond, not when the answer left a nasty taste in his mouth. Though, regardless of how his nose wrinkled and mouth pressed flat, he shifted himself to gaze toward the opening leading to the graveyard a few yalms away with tightly folded arms. “They have somehow convinced the one person I thought would always be on our side, my side, during the war. I suppose he still was in the end... -They- turned him against us. Not our other brethren. Those black-scaled dragons you call people. It fills me with an unimaginable fury to think that others do not feel this same way, Bexy. Especially so in Ishgard where we now break bread with them and more and laugh about the days we disemboweled each other’s families.”

Bexy gives a sharp sigh, shaking her head. "...I know my words won't convince you. I'm sure you've heard. Been told. Why would i be any different?" A long, drawn out exhale is given. "Your anger is misdirected. You are -allowed- to be upset, Mattisaux. Be angry. Hold a grudge. Seek vengeance... But for the love of Halone, or whatever god or goddess you opt to follow, direct it at the right people. You live so mired in your own past, that you either cannot, or refuse to see anything aside your own conclusions." Her words arrive more defeated; confident nothing would have swayed him, regardless. "---The longer you continue to punish people who have no hand in it, the longer the people truly responsible are allowed to walk free. And if you have put them to the sword already, as i suspect you already have... Then what is the rest of this? ...It's grief. Isn't it?"

...There are few more powerful emotions than grief. It is complicated, difficult understand. Difficult to process... And leaves a bitter sting more sharp that any kind of love.

...The things it can drive people to do, i...

...I only thank the Gods that none so close to me have been so cruelly taken. I dread to think...

The intensity at which his jaw clenched should have shattered his teeth; for a while, it appeared as if he had stopped breathing. Eventually, after a reluctant pause to keep from lashing at her, he shut his eyes. “Must you ask? The very ones who turned him are dead. Buried and tattered beneath the snow. Were I to have two wishes, one would be to bring him back and the other would be to raise those responsible so I could give them a proper, slower death. An agony they would feel for moons and years to come. How my heart yearns for that sort of fantasy yet breaks knowing that will never be. Does that answer satisfy you?”

"No. It doesn't. Not even an -ilm-." Bexy marches in front of him, head inclined even if she was several fulms shorter. "Because you don't have two wishes, Mattisaux. You have but a single, solitary life to lead. How many more people until you are satisfied, hm? Will you -ever- be?"

The instant he heard her move was the instant a long, irritated breath flattened his chest. When he opened his eyes to stare back at her chilled gaze, he glared back in defiance. “I will not. Was that not obvious already? I will continue as I am until I am killed or worse and, for everyone’s benefit, it ought to be the latter. What will you do about it, anyroad?”

"If you die? What will i do, Mattisaux?" A shred of grief laces her tone. "I will mourn a dear friend for the rest of my cycles. I will weep for the cycles spent in persuit of a revenge that could never be sated. And i will grieve for a man who so desperately wished things had turned out different, who had so deeply cared for his dearest friend, that he spent his life dedicated to the memory of how his ended." Bexy swallows a lump; but her expression holds a defiant, almost arrogant gaze that locked grief behind her expression. "I will spend some time in regret. That i was not able to convince a man that he had friends, and people who -cared-, even after the one he had lost."

Hearing her words, a not-so-terribly secret truth spoken so plainly for him to hear, upset him. “Are you through with your lamentations, dear? I do not need this from you nor do I need you to weep over me. Shed tears on someone else that matters like those you call your family should they ever pass before you expect.” After speaking his piece and loosening his arms was when the anesthetic of battle faded and the aching of his sword arm reared. Unintentional grunts of discomfort settled in his throat though he made an honest effort to keep them mostly to himself. “When next we meet, we will not revisit this topic.”

"You DO matter! And you need to hear it from -someone-, Mattisaux!" Bexy's voice rose as the temperture dropped, refusing to move an ilm from where she stood. "I will mourn and shed tears for whoever i damn well feel like, Mattisaux... Twelve knows you did for me."

As much as he did enjoy the cold, he knew better when Bexy was the source. It was enough to slightly shake him from his stubbornness and twist his brow for another reason. “You do not know -exactly- what I have done because of you, and regardless of that, you are clearly worth doing that and more. Must I list all you have done to help those miscreants you call family? It is more a charity house than a mercenary company.”

"No, but a well wagered guess told me enough." She fights the smallest curl at her lips before they move to something a little more sincere. "...Because they are my friends, Mattisaux. You might not be of the company anymore, but that does not change the terms of our friendship. I care." She pauses. "...Even if i think you're a stubborn, abrasive ass, from time to time."

Her ‘guess’ had him narrowing his eyes, quick to find anything else she would say to latch on to. “As a word of advice, you should not consider all who join your company family and friends. You, of all people, ought to know how awful people can be. You were only lucky with me since I happen to favor you over the other vicious and airheaded kittens out there. Though, now you make me curious over the times I come off as polite and sincere.”

"I do. I consider them my family; good and bad both. If they were truly terrible, Mist nor Adelle would let them join. You know this." She pauses, considering quietly. "...Yes, i remember all four occasions very well."

“Gods, girl. I am telling you to trust in your own judgment more than those two. They both are mad, though I doubt you will truly listen to me on that. That aside, let us move on from this friendship, caring talk. Now that this false leve is completed, I need to figure out who exactly sent me here and if he has already been killed, now that I am thinking about it.”

Bexy half rolls her eyes from his words, but gives a quiet, short nod. "...Best done before the trail goes cold." She confirms, looking at his arm. "...You will be well?"

Seeing where her eyes diverted, Mattisaux shoos his able hand in front of his blood-crusted arm to distract her. “I have yet to die, I doubt I will on my way back to Ul’dah. If I cannot use my arm, I still have my teeth... You coddle me far too much.”

"I -care-. And unless you want me to stay on the topic of friendship and all the other things you love so much, i suggest you accept it." She gently rests a hand on his good arm, before stepping aside. "...Be well, Mattisaux. Don't die."

“Gods damn it,” was all he could think to breathe before moving on. On reflex as her hand rested over his arm, he lifted his other to pat hers only to realize how deep his wounds ran. A sharp gasp surprised even himself, but soon had him sighing. “I will be -fine-. Mayhap I will send a letter later if I remember. Anyroad, you ought to quit this place before long. If the rest of their band do not show up to figure why they have not returned, the wildlife here will.”

Bexy slowly looks over to the side, beyond the tree, and gives a quiet sigh, only thankful the grass and brush obscured her vision. "...Yes... Indeed.” She slowly moves away from him, offering a small, faint smile. "...Until then, Mattisaux." She responds, before moving onwards towards the gate.

...I pray he sees sense. He finds some other way... Before he gets too far in over his head.

I won’t say he’s a good man. I believed it once, and... Now, i’m not so sure.

But he’s my friend, despite all of that. And i...

...There is so little i would not do for my friends.

#Muse: [Bexy]#Chapter: [Purpose]#FFXIV #IC #Screenshot #Writing #Textlog #TW: Violence

3 notes · View notes