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wincore · 3 months

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indelicate | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x fem!reader

synopsis: missing the last train out of new shanghai was not on the to-do list. however, your project partner liu yangyang promises fun, dazzling lights, and the warmth of a human connection for this festive weekend. perhaps even in the era of diamond and steel, the human touch means something after all.

genre: oriental cyberpunk, f2l, fluff

warning(s): swearing & several innuendos. also out-of-date jokes sorry guys i wrote this in 2021

words: 11.9k

a/n: this is just a rework of an old fic i posted here with another character! if you find any inconsistencies, it's probably because of that LOL also this is not a wincore revival but i did miss everyone on here !!

i. city plaza

Some idiot, somewhere along in history, decided to renovate a city into something so dazzling that the population shoots up to a hundred and fifty percent of what was before, and the rest of the damage comes along with the people. Promises are made and broken to build this city of extravagance. You have the belief that the more people there are in one place, the more difficult it gets to live there. This dazzling hellscape means colliding into too many people on the streets, too many bright lights outside your dorm room when you’re trying to sleep and the god awful sound of deafening firecrackers at every new year celebration.

Another idiot somehow roped you into his ‘midnight adventure: traditional version’ once he heard you missed the last train ticket out of the city. Liu Yangyang has a terrible way with words—but he has a way.

You were, by some unfortunate gamble of the gods, partners for a project that accounted for sixty percent of the grade. While that affair is over, you still haven't rid yourself of the predicament that is Yangyang. Gorgeous, yes, but too overwhelming. You smack your head against the car window only for him to jump in his seat beside you, hand gently driving over your forehead to check for damage. The neon city lays around you, and festive light projections float across the sky in intricate shapes of the ox and written messages. This is going nowhere. You came to this city sacrificing everything and yet suddenly, everything’s hanging on a string again.

The city lights of New Shanghai are cruel. Everything in this place is cruel.

Which is exactly why you’re in Yangyang’s car, parked by the middle level city plaza on New Year’s Eve. It is, in fact, illegal to hover by the city plaza on New Year’s Eve but Yangyang seems to either not care or simply doesn’t know. You forget the law doesn’t exist for rich kids. Out of all man-made wonders, rules are the most interesting.

“Shall we go?” he asks, voice bubbly as ever. Every morning, he chirps like the alarm birds outside your window. Yes, it has made you want to sleep forever at times.

“It’s just one night. And I’ll be with you, so you don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you snap.

“Not afraid of the dark either?”

You pull your jacket closer to you. Here, the cold streets of the techno-jungle make you shiver more often than not. If you dare go out without friends, a city so grand will inevitably drain the life out of you. Your body alone cannot withstand the dazzle. And—you can’t be afraid of the dark after you’ve complained about the lights.

You look at Yangyang and back to the cityscape outside—large conglomerative blocks of buildings, some hosting advertisements with the faces of inhumanly beautiful models and some with the ‘Happy New Year!’ text animation floating about in increasingly complex patterns. You see the revolving top of one of the grandest skyscrapers, a Dior hotel, not the tallest but certainly the most pleasing to look at. It gleams from red to orange like the pulsating heart of a giant metropolitan beast. There are more funky buildings to look at, some not even the shape of austere corporate skyscrapers.

“Do you wanna go there?” Yangyang asks all of a sudden. “I heard the lounge is closed off from eleven. I can call some friends and we can book a room though—”

“No. No way. I’m not going to spend new year’s eve in a Dior suite.”

He grins. “Thank god. It’s so boring there. Only models and businessmen and whatever freak shit they do.”

You sigh. Liu Yangyang is a whole story in itself. He’s rich and popular—a dream of many—but so few are as welcoming as he is. When you’re in that position, you’re bound to have a little metal seep into your heart. Some hidden part of you, however, tells you to loosen up when you’re with him; just let it go and have a good time. There’s no reason why you shouldn't. The economy is on a steep incline, the people are happy and no other city compares to this place. You could learn a thing or two from Yangyang.

He looks at you questioningly, eyes waiting and the curve of his lips still. You notice his platinum blond hair is more styled than usual, you can almost smell the gel on it, and for a moment, you wish you looked as good as he does. A dark leather jacket accentuates his shoulders, the plain T-shirt underneath not of the flashy type. He looks like he’s ready for club-hopping and you, anything but. If you knew earlier that you’d be by the Strip around midnight on New Year’s, you'd have dressed better.

“If you stay any longer in my car, people are going to assume we’re…y’know,” he states, quirking his eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal, though. Like, who thought fu—”

You were wrong. There is absolutely nothing to learn from Liu Yangyang.

“I would get out of this car immediately and fall to my death before I let that happen,” you retort, crossing your arms.

“No, hey. What an inauspicious sentence. Besides, and I’m not bragging but you should know I’m really good at using my assets—”

“Don’t say a word.”

The heat of embarrassment flows into your cheeks at his implication. You look out the window, weighing out the pros and cons. The scenery is so bright that sometimes it hurts to look outside. It’s not midnight yet but the main streets are already getting crowded for the processions; the sound of laughter and conversation ring in the air. It makes you somewhat sad to not be home for this. But as they say, living in a big city can only be done if you sell your soul to it.

You’re directly above the level one city plaza, the people below looking unsettling in the way they’re so small and far away—they don’t even seem human at this distance. You wonder if you look like that to the people above this, to the level three elites who sit on top of the whole city..

You look back to your companion, who’s transfixed on the bakery across the road—either that, or just really, really zoned out. Knowing Yangyang, it could be either. When you tilt your head, waiting, you find that he has pretty features—a shaped nose and round, curious eyes, all in perfect alignment with plump, pink lips. His metallic ring earrings shine when the light hits them right. No wonder you get girls asking how close the two of you are often. Even in a world pushing manufactured love, boys like him make others daydream. You wonder why you’re the one he loves to drag in with him.

Yangyang flinches when he finds you staring at him. You clear your throat, looking away and hoping you can sweep this under the rug.

“Are you- are you by any chance mad at me?” he asks, a nervous smile awkwardly tugging at his lips.

“I- what? No. I’m not mad at you.”

“You look like my mother when I don’t clean my room. Or Ten's cats when I try to kiss them.”

A tiny laugh escapes you before you get back your poised demeanor. “I’m- I’m not mad at you.”

He smiles at you wordlessly and you feel a little conscious. You glance outside when the plaza music starts to get loud and look back at him, debating whether you should just give in.

“So… you’ll let me brighten your life now?” he asks in his regular baritone, grinning wider. “The semester’s over and it’s festival time! I bring good luck, I promise.”

Liu Yangyang is not a happy serendipity. He simply cannot be. However, he does make you laugh more often than you’d admit.

“Whatever. Go ahead. I just don’t want to be hungover on a Friday.”

“You don’t- you don’t have to drink to have a good time.” He laughs. “I would know. I’m sort of a lightweight. I don’t know why I told you that. I’m supposed to be cool.”

You giggle, taking a moment to think.

“Fine then. Show me your magical access key to our beloved Mobius Strip, the mightiest, grandest structure in all of New Shanghai.”

“Well, if you put it that way… I am pretty cool, huh?”

His smile is too harmless for you to roll your eyes. He’s too gentle, you realize all of sudden, to be as awful as all the uni frat boys you’ve had the misfortune of talking to. You watch him as he drives; his arm moves with ease and he tries to make conversation but you can only hum and respond in singular words. The closer you are to the Strip the more nervous you get. It’s like visiting all those dark places that your mother explicitly warned you not to visit as a teenager—but you’re an adult now. No one owns you. No one should be able to own you. The determination builds up slowly over neon lights and hazy street shops.

Nights here are the fun part. Everyone says that. Other than the fact that you can barely make out the colour of the sky under the vivid city lights, there’s something very enticing about the streets, the upper streets that wind around the city.

Yangyang drives the car to a level three street, the behemoth structure of the Strip now so close that all you can see beyond your window are its placid, white walls stretching out to infinity. You can see little gardens and shops, peeking out from between each strip and one of the shopkeepers wave at you the moment you pass. Yangyang says something along the lines of “thanks for the free noodles” to the woman, before gliding higher.

“Grandma makes the best glass noodles here,” he says, excitedly. “I’ll take you sometime. If you like.”

You hum, noting the joy he expresses at the idea of something so simple.

Level three streets are already thousand and a half feet above the ground. You try not to look down; heights aren’t something you’re very fond of even if you love the sky. You note construction work for street levels four and five, shivering at the idea. The winds of change are fucking cold.

Yangyang swerves the car off-road at one point and you clutch his arm by reflex.

“What the fuck? Don’t do that without warning me,” you say, breathing quicker. You do not do well with: sudden movement, jumpscares and boys with pretty smiles.

“Sorry,” he says, looking at you with concern. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You let go of his arm, more embarrassed at yourself than mad at him. Driving the car closer to the Strip, he brakes carefully by the parking lot. The walls are covered in red wallpaper, a few lanterns attached to drones, floating along the path inside. It looks like a rooftop parking lot, though the mysterious dim lighting makes you walk closer to Yangyang.

“I heard this is gonna be a really cool event—they’ve got the latest AI tech hosting and crap but let me tell you the best part.”

He pauses for dramatic effect.

“The food!” He says, spreading his arms and grinning. “The food at private events is the best thing you’ll ever taste.”

You open your mouth but close it again in part horror, part confusion. “You’re… taking me to a private event?”

“Ah, don’t look like that. It’s really fun, promise.”

“I’m not even dressed for it,” you blurt, embarrassed.

Yangyang shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. It’s for rich kids, you know? If I’m being honest, none of them know how to dress.”

His confident statement gets a giggle out of you and you relax a little. You walk with him, further into the square platform and away from the cars. The sky disappears behind the dark roof and for a moment, you feel like you’ve entered a different dimension. It’s like the architecture models that your professors had on display for the Shanghai History class in your freshman year. Old stuff, that is. Before this place even had the first skyscraper.

You turn to your side and narrow your eyes at Yangyang, suddenly wondering how he finagled his way into bringing you here. Your iron-clad will is not so much iron after all. It’s not even steel, you think, once you catch yourself staring at Yangyang a bit too long.

You step forward to find the entrance to the club; it’s a little lonely to look at in the beginning. Then it clicks that it’s probably the back door. The red pillars encase a black door between them, the overhang of the gateway just a little above Yangyang’s head. You can see the hip-and-gable style roof of the larger building behind, looking like a skyscraper instead of the usual historical buildings you’ve seen on the internet. In glowing red letters, it displays a blinking ‘Club 2’ near the top of the door.

The moment you step on the stairs, a bunch of advertisements pop up on the door, bright bubblegum colours hurting your eyes. Yangyang taps at the little x at the corner of the display till it disappears and finally the door is a regular door. The colour is jet black like any other screening platform.

“I thought the rich were exempted from ads,” you say.

“They’re… more likely to buy things though.”

You make an ‘ah’ sound in contemplation when a whirring makes you jump into him. A little spherical drone flies its way out of an opening in the wall and stops right in front of the two of you.

“Sicheng-ge!” Yangyang says, waving frantically at the camera.

The little drone circles around Yangyang’s head before stopping right in front of his face. It runs a scan before turning sharply and beeping at you.

“My plus one!” Yangyang declares, pulling you by the waist. “Or whatever it’s called.”

Your ears feel warm but you don’t push him off. The camera focuses on your face, likely scanning to identify your age and occupation. When it’s done, a beep resounds and the door slides open to reveal a dimly lit pathway. The main entrance is much brighter, Yangyang promises, but for now it’s just the warm glow of the lanterns, Yangyang’s neon red striped jacket and the mechanical whirring of some sort of device in the darkness.

“What’s that sound?” you whisper and Yangyang stops.

He pauses to think. “Oh, they’re Sicheng-ge’s drones. He’s got like a million of them. I'll introduce you—he’s hosting this club event, by the way.”

He smiles at you reassuringly. If Yangyang’s not bothered by it, you’ll follow his lead. Though, you do take more nimble steps and stay close to him like he’s your lighthouse. (In a way, he is, with all that neon shining on his jacket.)

You’re surprised to find a garden, but then it gets stranger when you see brighter lanterns in the middle area. You see figures and before you can react, Yangyang takes your hand and into the central platform.

ii. orchid club square

Yangyang was right. None of them know how to dress.

The two of you stand in the middle of a crowd, who are in fact dressed either for: a) an impromptu pool party or b) a Sunday morning lecture. You blend in somewhat well given the variety though Yangyang’s painted looks have attracted the attention of quite a few giggling, murmuring onlookers.

You clench your jaw in mild annoyance.

“This is a tour,” Yangyang whispers to you. “I thought… you’d like to know what everything’s about.”

You feel grateful to him for once. Having some sort of knowledge about what you’re getting into makes you feel better about any situation. A set of mechanical clicking fills the air.

A woman—no, an AI bot is the first to greet you. She has pale white metallic skin and her dark strands of hair are in a traditional updo. Her lips are imperial red, shaped in a way that makes her seem as though she’s smiling but also not at the very same time. She holds an extravagant fan by her face at the perfect right angle, the patterns on it painted to imitate an ancient cherry blossom tree.

“Good evening, everyone,” she says, her voice pitched up and enthusiastic. It’s a little funny to imagine metal so lively.

You smell oranges and lavender as soon as she flicks her fan once and precise.

“Welcome to the New Shanghai nightlife!” The bot continues jovially. “The oldest surviving city on planet earth, the birthplace of the human race.”

“You are in virtual space,” she informs. “It might look like a courtyard stretching to infinity but it is only an illusion. However, the club is five hundred and sixty one metres wide and six hundred and twelve metres long. It is large enough to hold twenty-one blue whales in a line. That is, if they still existed of course.”

She giggles algorithmically.

“Where you stand right now,” she says, turning her head in a swift mechanical motion to you and you flinch. “This place is called the orchid club square. As you know, only VIP access lets you in.”

You glance at Yangyang worriedly and he shrugs. There’s no way she could know, right? That was oddly specific. But then she moves her head left to right to address the whole crowd in perfect grace. When her movement starts to get a little too eerie to watch any longer, you fix your eyes on the garden instead. You have no way of telling part real flowers from virtual ones and even so—all of them are beautiful. Maybe reality doesn’t make things any prettier.

However, when you look at Yangyang, the thought gets tossed out. You shake your head, in an attempt to get rid of the image of his face. It’s a little too late to be feeling this way. Either that, or the night is taking its toll on you already. The day was exhausting, considering it was the end of the semester.

The AI guide’s chatter fades into something quieter when you move the club square. It’s a rather empty space, fitting for a rave or just housing large crowds. The decorations are for the new year celebrations, banners of the ox in auspicious colours and a few drones projecting the rest. There’s a garden of evermore orchids lining the area in a perfect square and it’s so precise that it’s pleasing to look at. There’s a door at one edge, similar to the one you encountered before entering the club square.

The music that wafts through the air is so gentle, you almost forget there’s a celebration. The beat makes it livelier and even so, the rhythm of your heartbeat matches it in a soothing sort of way. Turning around, you spot the musical ensemble. It’s another AI, peering over a guqin with trained habit.

She looks the same, except she wears an electronic mask over the lower half of her face. It displays a blue musical note made up of noticeable pixels. She has no fan—instead, her fingers strum the guqin rhythmically, programmed with precision and grace. The sound is accompanied by the woodwind notes of a flute, though you’re not sure where that sound emanates from. There’s also a soft drumbeat which seems to come from the guqin bot herself.

You gasp when a few painted goldfish float through the air, almost real to look at if it weren’t for the glitch effect of holograms. One of them swims closer to you, opening and closing its mouth in rhythm and you giggle at its face.

Yangyang laughs, long finger pointing at the critter in amusement. “That’s adorable.”

He looks like a little kid and you giggle at his expression, with wide, delighted eyes and mouth open in focused mirth. He pokes at the goldfish and it makes a bubbling sound, gears shifting in ticking time before suddenly biting at his index finger. Yangyang lets out a low yelp, retracting his hand before clearing his throat in embarrassment.

“You’re like a cartoon,” you tell him, in between laughs. “No way are you real.”

He grins, in that same way he always looks at you and you look away, feeling hot in the face. It’s too enamored a way to look at someone. But of course, that couldn’t be true—he’s Liu Yangyang and you’re you. Parallel lines do not meet, even if they’re headed in the same direction.

“I think you’re unreal,” he mumbles.

iii. club 2

The doors open to a rather spacious arrangement, with several tables one one side and a sort of dance arena on the other where people are trying to out-dance each other. The intensity makes you move further away from it. It seems a little too festive and you can feel the energy slinking away from you. The music is more upbeat but you suppose the DJ tried to make it sound more eastern; the result is pleasing. He wears a smooth black helmet with a neon red beat visualizer on it, with written SFX appearing from time to time. Two pulsing golden horns glow at the sides of his head. You stare at it for longer than you’d like before composing yourself. You’re very impressionable when it comes to parties.

There are two floors to the club, above the bottom floor itself. The other two floors mostly seem to consist of private booths, however, covered with gossamer silk that glow iridescent. A few floating lanterns sway by the upper floors. The ceiling is open to a midnight blue sky and the stars look much larger than you’ve ever seen them—you suspect it’s an AR mesh over the ceiling. A few light shows project little dancing dragons and coins over the sky and you find them too cute to not stare at.

“Wow,” Yangyang says, right after walking in. “Why is Dejun on the table?”

You look where his eyes are focused on, though it’s difficult through the crowd of people, and find Dejun and Kunhang in some sort of old anime transformation pose atop one of the tables. It’s surprising that they’re not the weirdest pair here.

“Now, bear with me, it’s going to be boring as hell till the countdown and the fireworks,” he explains, waving his hands around. “But it’s a good place to have fun and make friends. You know?”

“Friends?” you ask, a little nervous. You’re not very proficient at making friends and it makes you anxious.

“Yeah! Don’t worry. ” He makes a strange gesture, bordering between posing for a beer ad campaign and looking like a motivational speaker for the army, before furrowing his eyebrows. “You just have to be confident! I’m learning too!”

He lets out a sweet laugh and it makes you laugh in turn, hand covering your mouth so you don’t embarrass yourself too much. You don’t believe the words much, but the glow over his cheeks makes you reconsider.

“You look really nice when you laugh,” he comments, a bright glint in his eyes.

“Whatever,” you reply, punching his shoulder lightly.

Just then, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder to find Lana from your ethical AI class, smiling at you warmly. She looks a little tired, of people more than the time. Like you, she is also a scholarship student—and not a day has gone when she hasn’t soothed your anxiety about your classes. In stark contrast with Yangyang, you would trust her over him for most tasks. Even if you weren’t partners, you’re okay with the outcome. You glance at Yangyang.

“(name)! Oh my god, I didn’t know you were coming here,” she says. “Did Yangyang kidnap you?”

“I mean, sort of.”

“Hey.” Yangyang looks at you with betrayal.

“And how did you even manage to do that cool ass project with him as your partner?” she continues, squinting at him.

“Honestly, I don’t know either. He can be surprisingly helpful though.”

Yangyang looks from Lana to you in exasperation. “I’m literally right here,” he grumbles.

Lana laughs at his expression, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

“I just can’t believe you let him kidnap you and not me,” she says in mock indignance. “I’m a much better chauffeur, you know?”

“Do you even have a driving license?” Yangyang asks, laughing.

“I got mine before you, rat. Anyway, (name), I’m playing the guzheng. Do you wanna come see?”

“No,” Yangyang interrupts, suddenly grabbing your hand. “I… I mean you guys can go, of course. It's just the countdown’s close, so we have to go to the viewpoint.”

“That’s exactly where—ah. I see.”

"We'll join you another time, Lana," he says quietly, a cute grin on his face like a little boy would make to an older sister for more shares of chocolate.

"No, no. I actually remembered I left my friends in the corner. See you!"

She leaves her epiphany unsaid, offering you a smile and taking her leave abruptly.

“I thought you told me to socialize,” you complain to Yangyang.

“Yes, I’m so proud of you for that.”

“Yangyang, I swear if you treat me like a kid—”

“I’m not, I’m not. Sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I just need to borrow you for tonight. After all, I promised you, didn’t I?”

You sigh. “Fine then, what’s this viewpoint you’re talking about?”

“Oh, we’ll get there.”

Someone’s watching you. You turn around a full three-sixty but find only the same crowd of college-age kids. No one sticks out much, apart from Dejun, Kunhang and Ten, who are at this point performing some sort of strange ritual unbeknownst to any new year tradition, with a hell load of yelling.

“Oh my god, you’re dancing too?” Yangyang says, grinning ear to ear. “I didn’t know I’d have that much of a positive influence. Wow.”

“I’m- I’m not- never mind.”

Yangyang furrows his eyebrows. “What did I tell you? More confidence! See—”

He takes your hands in his, pulling you further onto the dance floor. You feel a rising panic but swallow it. There’s a beat of silence in which the two of you look at each other. Yangyang proceeds to perform the stupidest sequence of movements you have ever seen, certainly too awkward for his body to accept as natural but it doesn’t seem like he cares. He’s having fun.

You find yourself laughing. Taking timid steps, you try to loosen up although the inevitable embarrassment arrives in flushes of heat across your face. There are stars in Yangyang’s eyes when you join him—not the artificial jewels in observatories but the real kind that you used to see in your hometown.

You take a wobbly step back. It’s starting to get disorienting. If it were the real sky above you, you might even have felt better. Perhaps the purpose is to get dizzy.

“I’m a little thirsty,” Yangyang says, motioning to the table with food and drinks at a corner. “I’ll head over and be back.”

Unsure what to do, you follow him like a lost lamb and though it would be embarrassing at any other time, any other place, now and here are not part of that.

The red and golden lights of the neon patterning the walls don’t seem as harsh anymore and you let your eyes rest on the boyish figure of Yangyang. You haven’t figured him out yet. Something tells you he’s more than a shallow image of the party-loving rich kids of Shanghai. In fact, in quiet, personal moments, he looks more out of place than you do—despite all that bright neon. You open your mouth to ask something when you’re interrupted by a dizzy Yangyang spinning into you.

“Sorry, (name),” he says, rubbing the base of his palm against his forehead. “I genuinely thought I was going to win that game.”

You shake your head, letting him get back to whatever spinning game they were at. He smells like wine and something tells you he’s poor at holding his liquor. The stakes must be high for that game, you figure, because you see Yangyang set aside his beloved shoe on the floor. To be the only scholarship student here suddenly feels scary and awkward.

Yangyang once again tugs at your arm, the touch reassuring as though he understands how you feel. But it isn’t true. There’s no way someone like him can understand someone like you.

“Yangyang,” you call. “Do you come here every year?”

“No, no. I do come for drinks though. I’m only here right now because a friend is hosting this.”

You shrug.

“And you,” he adds and you feel a hot flush rise to your face. “New years are the only time this place is PG-13.”

“I’m not a child,” you snap.

“My mom says childish people say that.”

“Then it's very rich coming from you, Liu Yangyang.”

He laughs heartily, leaning away. A creeping thought grows in your head that you missed out on a lot. But then again, you’ll always miss out on things if you’re not rich enough for them.

Yangyang flinches suddenly, almost knocking a plate off the table. He moves quickly, turning so that his side leans against the wall and the other arm cages you between him and the wall. His frame covers your view from whatever, or whoever arrived at the entrance that made him react so obnoxiously.

However, his lips hovering just a little over yours makes your breath hitch in your throat. This is the worst possible position you could've gotten into. The smell of mint interrupts your thoughts and you look at him with as annoyed an expression as you can muster over the heat of your face.

"Yangyang, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

“I am… admiring the wall. Ooh, it’s got velvet over it, did you notice?”

“You’re going to have your head in it too if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

"Just… sorry. Let’s stay like this for a few moments."

He flashes you an apologetic smile, his face close enough to make yours grow even hotter. A nervous chuckle erupts from his lips.

"Oh my god, get off. People are going to think we’re making out."

"We could do it for real."

"I'm going to scratch your eyes out."

"Sorry, sorry."

“Who are you even hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding… okay, forget that. Bodyguard-watcher-dude. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“You have a bodyguard?”

“More like a babysitter.”

You try not to laugh, considering the proximity between your faces. “How come you have a babysitter? Actually, wait, I think I know.”

He huffs over your face and you restrain yourself from landing a swift uppercut to his jaw. Now you know the minty smell comes from mouth freshener.

“He’s a prosecutor. It’s weird that he stalks me in his free time. Even- even if… my parents are paying him.”

“They think you’re doing something illegal?”

“No. I don’t think I am.”

You rest your head back against the wall, rolling your eyes. “Really? That’s your answer? God, your brain cells rotted somewhere along the way, didn’t they? It’s all those parties.”

“I’m starting to feel like my mom hired you too.”

He looks back, and noting the absence of his so-called babysitter, he pulls back from you. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath and you let it out in a shallow effort.

“Your babysitter’s gone?”

“Not a babysit—I regret saying that. Look, I really don’t think they appointed him because they think I’m doing something illegal. I have never done anything illegal. Except that one street race but that’s because Lucas told me it was perfectly legal.”

“The what?”

“Anyway, the point is, let’s look forward to good fortune for this year, hm? Leave all the burdens to last year.”

“Fortune doesn’t favour fools.”

“I’m not stupid,” he complains, spreading his arms to express it further. “Mostly.”

You laugh, turning your attention to the food table.

“Ooh, pineapple tarts,” he exclaims, hand reaching out to grab one when you smack it.

“You’ve had, like, fifteen already.”

“Mhm,” he says, with a few more stuffed in his mouth.

There’s a pause.

“It’s me, isn't it?” you ask quietly. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

He gulps, lips parting and closing. “I brought you here. So you don’t worry about it.”

Rich people suck. You believe that strongly. But sometimes, just sometimes, when you have everything you can ever want, you start to want the same for everyone around you. Some people are special. You find Yangyang genuinely fascinating for being someone who makes friends when he’s supposed to be making more connections. You find him fascinating.

It makes sense for someone like him to be the way he is.

iv. fireworks viewpoint

“That’s the old Shanghai Tower,” Yangyang points to a building in the distance. “It used to be the tallest building once but… well, it looks like the little guy now.”

Lunar New Year’s celebrations are a big, big deal in New Shanghai. It means a break from university, work and every other affair to have as many priorities sorted in anticipation of the new year. And the impact is evident from this height, when you can see the city in its golden glory. It looks warm out there for once—although you’re not very sure if it’s because of the warmth that comes from right beside you. The little wooden boats float by on the river a little far off, various images blooming as holograms above them. You giggle at the large animated fishes swimming above the river with blank expressions and painted button eyes.

The golden clock shines bright in the sky, its holographic hands ticking down to midnight. It looks like something out of a fantasy movie, scattering golden pixels everywhere with each minute passing. The size of it alone reminds you of the scale of this city.

This is an empire. It's owned by the kings and queens who built it over the bones left from sacrifices. It's going to be owned by heirs and heiresses. You feel a looming sense of dread come over you. It's so beautiful and it can never belong to itself. It must always belong to someone. It’s the terms and conditions of human creation.

"Hey." Yangyang taps you on the shoulder and you try not to flinch. "What are you thinking?"

You hum. "Stuff."

"This place is pretty cool, huh?"

That, you can agree with. "It is. It's so amazing that I can't believe I'm here sometimes."

Yangyang laughs slowly. "I hope more people can live here. Not in level one. You know. No one should live in desperation."

You hold back a scoff, though you end up frowning. What does a rich kid know of desperation? He might as well be prince, and princes do not know how to beg. It must be something of a saviour complex. You shrink away from him. The new year music is starting to ring a little too loud in your ears.

"That would be difficult," you mutter.

"Not if you lower the cost of living conditions—ah. Sorry." He pauses and you feel a flicker of surprise in you. “It’s not appropriate to discuss. Or so my parents tell me…”

The expression comes from empathy. You’re sure of it. There’s some sort of passion and not the kind of coloured fire that flames up in parties, but a different one. The kind that says, if you can’t bear the heat then you can’t learn how to forge. You scoff. Which prince has possibly known heat?

“I- I get angry too,” you say quietly. “I think it’s something to be angry about.”

He smiles at you, leaning against the balcony railing.

You’re interrupted by a man in the attire of a waiter and it causes the two of you to jump away from each other. It’s not like you were very close in the first place but the proximity of shared words can play tricks on people. The man offers the two of you a screen and Yangyang’s face lights up almost immediately.

“We can order food with this,” he says. “Or book a table. The top strips are all reserved for members of the club. That’s the big daddy restaurants.”

“That’s… pretty cool,” you say, leaning in to glance over the browsing menu. “But don’t say that phrase to me again.”

“I can. And I will.”

“Ugh. Move on.”

“Okay, so we should drop by the convenience store for some ramen. I heard they taste better in the middle of the night,” Yangyang suggests all of a sudden, leaning in further.

It gets difficult sometimes to not be bothered by him, especially when there is a lack of distance. You look at him, pause and then sigh. “Sure. I guess. Are those free too?”

He opens his mouth in sudden realization and grins sheepishly at you. You roll your eyes.

“Do you have money then?”

“Uh.”

“How do you not have money? It’s the New Year!”

“I… uh—”

“Okay, you don’t have to answer that. But I’m not paying for you,” you complain. “You could always ask your parents for some money. What’s the point of being a party kid?”

‘Party kids’—it makes you laugh in amusement—is the colloquial term given to the children of businesspeople who had a direct hand in the economic progress of New Shanghai. You would sell your kidneys to be one and it still wouldn’t be enough.

His smile wavers at your statement but he shakes his head. “If I call my mom, she’ll start scolding me again about how my apartment room needs to be cleaner. Blah, blah, blah. You know.”

“She’s right- wait, you don’t clean your room?”

“Don’t take her side, (name).”

You bite down a smile and he offers you his biggest one.

“Oh, that place looks new,” Yangyang exclaims, a long index finger pointing to the preview of a sushi restaurant. You glare at him, his face nearer to yours than you would prefer but his eyes are fixed like a child ogling halloween candy.

“Let’s go,” he urges, looking directly at you.

You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head vehemently. “We don’t have money. Or bit-credits.”

He sighs, deflating as though you just snatched the candy right from his hands. “But… I haven’t been there before.”

“So?” You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You don’t have to try every food place in the city.”

“I need to eat,” he says as though it’s a very reasonable response. “I’m still growing!”

“Not mentally.”

He drops his smile, looking at you blankly. “You don’t have to get so smart with me, let me tell you.”

You snicker at the ‘offended’ expression on his face.

In the next moment, your attention shifts to the sudden crowd of people rushing to the balcony. Yangyang pulls you closer to avoid getting pushed by them, and you look around confused. It all makes sense when they start chanting the numbers, counting down from ten. You can only stare in awe at the clock and the otherworldly glee in the rhythmic chants. It’s like they don’t feel anything but joy at this moment. You let yourself smile.

The clock strikes twelve. The sound of the bell resounds throughout the city and the firecrackers burst into a thousand shades of red and gold across the sky. There’s moving images of animals, floating text and other animations which make the night sky seem like a screen. The sparks of the fireworks look like golden snow, or even happy little pixels.

You point your finger to the sky excitedly but when you turn, Yangyang’s eyes aren’t on the sky but on your hand outstretched towards it. He faces you, rather hesitantly as though caught red-handed.

“You’re- you’re… so pretty,” he says, softly and shrugging as if answering a question.

You wish he wouldn’t look at you like that. It’s the lonely speaking, right? The euphoria of human connection in this time and age—it can make you believe anything. There’s a myriad of colours blooming in the sky behind you, a city dazzling with diamond and ruby lights, people with much more stories to tell than you do. This city, this city, this city. This city will break your heart.

“It’s kind of crappy,” you mutter, to which Yangyang quirks an ear.

“Wh-what is?”

“This city. It’s got bright lights and fun and all those promises of success. But all I see are people desperately trying to survive. All I see are the same faces at the top and—I’m sorry. I’m getting carried away.”

“No, no.” He makes a vague gesture. “I’m listening.”

“We’re at their mercy,” you whisper. “My life is not my own. That’s crappy.”

Yangyang hums in response. “You're right. What’s the point of living a life that’s not your own?”

Looking at him again, you see the entire figure of his being against the fireworks and all the beautiful creations of the human race. His almost silver hair falls perfectly by his forehead, the contact lenses looking like glazed frost over his eyes. Just as vibrant and excessive as the city itself, Yangyang belongs here. This is his kingdom.

No, that’s not quite right perhaps. Yangyang belongs anywhere because he brings warmth. You're suddenly grateful he's with you because no one you know would possibly go out of their way to make you feel comfortable like this. You know Yangyang loves people and crowds. No one would do that for you at the expense of their own enjoyment. You smile at the prospect of solving the blinding mystery that he is.

"We… should leave," Yangyang says, all of a sudden. He eyes a man at the corner of the balcony, dressed in a business suit and looking blank. He sticks out like a sore thumb. You're not sure why he's in that getup.

"Okay," you say, not sure why you're so agreeable tonight.

Maybe it's the night. Sometimes all you can do is drag your feet over the asphalt and hope it'll be sunnier tomorrow.

v. two-four-seven convenience store

College boys are the most god-awful creatures on earth.

“Hey, do you always reach class on time?” Yangyang asks, eyes curious. He keeps asking a question every five minutes or so, trying to keep up conversation. You've already told him he doesn't have to. However, it makes you strangely comfortable to hear the sound of his voice periodically. You won't tell him that.

You nod, returning your gaze to the window, though the advertisements block your view. You can always try skipping the ad every five goddamn seconds.

It's your first time riding the train that travels through the Mobius Strip, and certainly the first time in a luxury cabin. Since it’s free for members of the new year club, you can heave a sigh of relief. You will never in your life, even if it’s genetically elongated, ever be able to afford a luxury cabin.

"Oh, that looks so good," Yangyang says, large hand smacking against the window to get rid of the colourful advertisements.

"It's a convenience store, Yangyang," you say. "It's got everyday ramen."

"No, look. It's a different brand. And they're giving a burger for free with two ramen cups!"

You furrow your eyebrows at him. "Well, I guess it's cheaper too."

"Oh, we can go to one of the upper restaurants too. They're free, remember?"

"I like convenience stores," you mumble. There's something about the lack of even lighting and crowds that made them a comfort spot for you.

“Quick,” he says, pulling you off the seat when the train stops.

“Yangyang!” you warn. He's so easily excitable that you find it hard to believe he's real sometimes.

However, when he turns around with his big puppy-dog eyes, you curse at yourself before you curse at him. Sighing, you follow him down the steps, his hand tenderly holding yours. Sometimes, you wonder if the human touch means anything at all in this diamond and steel era. Yangyang’s palm is warm against yours.

The ramen tastes awfully delicious on stolen time, and you would complain more if it weren’t for Yangyang looking at you with so serene a look. It annoys you and you try to grab his attention by waving your chopsticks in front of him. When it doesn’t work, you resort to swearing. You’ve never seen anyone respond with a smiling hum after being told to “eat shit”.

“Oh, this tastes so good,” he states, cheeks puffed with food. “I think I’m going to cry.”

“I- I think you’re crying because it’s spicy.”

“Oh.”

As usual, Yangyang pokes and prods at you with questions about your daily life, like you’re the most interesting thing in a city full of blinding lights, world-class robots and cyber-enhanced technology. You don’t understand how he doesn’t just grow tired of asking every single detail about you.

Apart from the fact that Liu Yangyang is most certainly an environmental hazard, some part of you cannot believe that he's truly terrible. There's something innocent about him, but all at once, something quiet and mysterious.

“Why are you always so curious, Yangyang?” you ask finally. “Why are you always running off to different places?”

“Because experiences never come twice,” he answers after some thinking. It seems to be a little difficult for him to articulate, deep contemplation over his features when he continues. “This city… all the lights and clubs and arenas, all of it will be gone someday. Like we don’t have telephones or those big computers anymore.”

You rest your chin on your palm, leaning in.

“This moment, right here with you… I’ll never experience it again,” he tells you. “We can have more midnight convenience store ramen sometime later but… each time will be different. I’d rather live now.”

You smile softly. “That’s a funny thought to live by.”

“Yours isn’t any better,” he says, patting your head. “Also, I’m like hot and young and popular and not a cyborg—how can I miss parties?”

You shake your head, laughing. He’s ridiculous. He’s completely ridiculous. In that moment, when you look at him, Yangyang seems to be smiling in a daze, eyes on your face.

“You look nice when you smile,” he says quietly.

"Thanks," you respond. "I should keep it a secret then, huh?"

"Not from me," he says, smiling.

Somehow, the extra minutes you have at the convenience store turn to a few multiplayer games and then, ditching technology, to an arm wrestling match.

"I feel like this game is kind of unfair," you say after losing almost immediately. He's clearly got stronger muscles. Does he work out? Probably against his will, you bet.

“My right arm’s a lot stronger than my left arm,” he says, before looking a little horrified. “That wasn’t a masturbation joke, by the way. I am so sorry.”

You roll your eyes. "Give me your left hand then- wait. You're right-handed?"

"That's not the- uh." He thinks for a moment, trying to gather words. “That’s not the reason.”

“I, uh, I heavily damaged this arm when I was a kid—don’t look like that, there’s a fun part to this. It’s made of titanium! And some other things. The names are too complicated.”

You drive your fingers over the arm, so warm and real and flushed red, anything but metal and code. You find curiosity blooming in you more than ever before.

“You know why I’m not with family,” you say, straightening. “But why aren’t you celebrating with your family?”

He gets quiet, thinking to himself for a few more moments. You almost regret asking when he answers, a hesitant sound leaving him first.

“None of us, uh… none of our parents can spare more than three hours. They’ll come in the afternoon tomorr—today.”

You can’t exactly respond to that very well.

“So all of us go hang out at the New Year’s Club.”

You frown. "But it's not a celebration without family!"

"We have new year lunches. And… it's the future. Traditions die. Very few grieve them for fear of being stuck in the past."

You feel partly horrified and partly dismal. "I… You could come with me next year, if you like."

You're not sure where the offer comes from but Yangyang lights up at the idea.

"I can? Oh, we'll have so much fun!"

"Slow down. There's a year to go."

Yangyang laughs. It's surprising the way he turned out. He must have gotten tired of waiting by the door. And now you know all the things about him that his parents don’t.

You smile at him, warming up to the idea of you and him as friends before scoffing at it again.

Right in the next moment, Yangyang dips suddenly to the ground, crouching below the table. You look around in surprise and fall to your knees with a yelp at the tug on our wrist from Yangyang.

“What the hell?” you hiss. “You’re starting to act really weird.”

“I- Sorry. It’s an emergency,” he says, but there’s no sign of distress in his voice. He simply smiles at you. Perhaps he’s never heard of the emotion as of yet.

“Your babysitter?”

“I say that once and on accident—yes, it’s my babysitter.”

You chuckle. He’s simply too cute at times.

“We have to be discreet now, okay? It’s like—what’s the movie called? Oh, Mission Impossible.”

“I’ve never seen that.”

“What? How can you not? It’s a classic! It’s got so many cool—ah, I’ll show you another time.”

You hum, staring at Yangyang’s facial features tense up and relax again as he scans the vicinity outside the window of the convenience store. It’s full of people, even at this hour so you can’t possibly know who’s looking at you from there.

Yangyang turns back to you. “Have you ever been to blue moon station?”

“The one with the pretty walls? No. No, I’ve never even gone beyond Strip Two.”

Yangyang smiles at you and right then, you feel like you’re about to resent whatever’s going to happen next. It’s in the ebb and flow of tonight’s itinerary, however, and you relax your shoulders just as he does a roll across the floor, looking back at you with a grin for executing it flawlessly.

“You’re so silly,” you mutter.

“I heard that,” he whisper-shouts back.

You’re not as afraid as before, you realize. The lights are absolutely mesmerizing.

vi. blue moon station

It drops a few degrees in temperature once you step foot onto the platform. You can see a bunch of scattered tourists, cameras hanging around their neck and a look of awe over their faces.

Yangyang takes off his jacket, shivering immediately but offering it to you nonetheless. When you refuse, he places it gingerly over your shoulders.

"Is that a…?"

"A tourist bot, yes."

"Oh my god, it's so cute," you say, crouching by the little red robot, a teal-colored smiley face popping up on its monitor.

"A lot of tourists in this station," you note.

"Yeah. It's very… visually pleasing."

That's true. The walls are screens with three dimensional graphics, immersive enough to catch one's eye. A single tree grows through the middle of the station, evergreen and alive with holographic flora and fauna. The sun shines eternally over the tree. It's so beautiful that you had trouble taking your eyes off it at first.

The walls next to you are currently displaying a walk through a fantasy forest, crafted by a visionary artist, no doubt. A blue butterfly flies past you and you stare at it before zoning out.

Sometimes, the lights are too disorienting. You start to feel dizzy, massaging your forehead when Yangyang brushes the tips of his fingers against your shoulder.

“You good?”

Yangyang crouches beside you with watchful eyes.

You nod, turning your attention to the tourist bot. It displays a plethora of information about the architecture of this place which you're sure no tourist will bother to read beyond the first two lines.

“You can make it do cool tricks too,” Yangyang says. “Watch.”

Yangyang pokes at it with his index finger, drawing a pattern over the screen. The bot proceeds to do an old internet dance, waving about its arms and hips. You laugh at it and Yangyang looks at you with the pride of a third grader with first place on their science project.

The colours on the walls change and you see the animation of a man and a fox, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to recall that image. They seem to be broadcasting fables through the holograms. You can’t deny that they’re pretty—glowing with auspicious colours and as animated as the real world itself. As if by compulsion, you hold Yangyang’s hand. It’s nice to feel the human touch real once in a while, especially in the overwhelming loneliness of city nights.

Yangyang looks at you brightly and right then, you feel less inclined to leave him.

“You know, I could teach you better ways to flirt than just grab my hand,” he says, grinning like an idiot.

“What?”

You move your hand. “I’m not flirting.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he responds quickly. “Can I please have your hand back?”

You shake your head, laughing. He worries you. Some part of you says you shouldn’t be worried. It’s not like you’re close friends. (Friends, maybe. Close, not yet.)

The night has a different opinion.

—

“Found you,” a voice declares, and the two of you jump into each other with a scream.

The man in the suit looks at you with a fatigued look in his eyes, hair somehow still neat though he breathes like his lungs are on fire.

“Care to tell me why you’ve been skipping my calls?” he asks after catching his breath. “It’s not like I wanted to follow you—you just needed to tell me.”

“I… I was busy?” Yangyang flashes a smile. “Kun-ge, I honestly had no idea you called. I don’t even have my phone.”

The man shakes his head. “Fine. Just head over to Jasmine for the night. And you can bring your date too.”

He gestures at you and you want to deny it as quick as you can. You do not, however. It’s almost like you’ve warmed up to the idea of it rather well.

“Okay,” Yangyang answers quietly.

vii. jasmine private lounge

You enter a lounge with the capacity of around a hundred people. Despite that, there are hardly five present. The walls are black with neon jasmines pulsating from blue to red. A grand piano lies still in all its elegance in the middle of the lounge, played by a plain white AI. It feels like an expensive place to be, and more so, it feels like someplace you’re not supposed to step foot into. There's a bar table at one side, opposite to the entrance which glows a hypnotizing purple. A flat lettering on the wall declares the time to be 3 A.M.

You and Yangyang sit a little too close on the artificially warmed couch, waiting for Kun to return. Yangyang reassures you that you haven't done anything wrong but the illicit outing of yours certainly says otherwise. You contemplate tasting the cocktail Yangyang ordered before finally giving in and find it pleasantly warm to taste. You take another sip.

“It’s a little strong,” Yangyang warns. “Don’t have all of—you had all of it.”

You shrug. Your throat certainly feels better now. This lounge is fucking cold.

"You know, Yangyang," you say with the warmth of confidence on your face. "You're a really nice guy."

He smiles incredulously. "Thanks. You're really nice too."

"And you're pretty decent-looking—"

"I know that."

"—and also popular. So why are you always hanging around me?"

"Uh, that's your question?"

You nod. Placing your cheek against your palm, you try not to sink into the couch.

"Because you're really cool!" He answers before clearing his throat. "I mean. I think you're fun to be around. You make me see things clearer."

"And what exactly are you wanting to see clearer?'

"You."

You blink aside your astoundment, straightening. "What?"

Your question is left unanswered because a man enters and sits across the two of you, a loud huff of annoyance leaving his mouth. It's not just his disposition but the architecture of his face that grabs your attention. He looks like an AI robot so perfectly crafted with coloured lips and flawless skin that you end up staring till Yangyang elbows you.

“He’s not an AI,” Yangyang whispers.

You furrow your brows and notice it is, in fact, true that he's not an AI. There are no ridges over the joints or hollowness in the eyes. He wears the same frost-patterned smart lenses as Yangyang does. However, it doesn't change the fact that the man is beautiful to look at.

“I’m never hosting a new year party again,” he mutters, sinking into the couch.

“It actually sounds kind of fun,” Yangyang interjects. “I can’t wait for my turn.”

“I’m sorry. Good luck standing at Longhua temple for three hours till midnight just to make sure nothing goes wrong. Without dinner.”

Yangyang makes a face at that.

"That's Sicheng-ge," he says, turning to you.

"Ah," you say in response, remembering the name vaguely.

"He let us into Club 2," Yangyang says, noticing your lost expression.

"I think Kun's looking for you," Sicheng says, eyes trained at the back.

His hands fidget with the dim blue buttons at the edge of the table, till a small compartment reveals itself under the glass. An old world-style cigarette is slowly pushed up and Sicheng picks it up. He offers the next one to Yangyang, who accepts it hesitantly. No one smokes tobacco anymore when nicotine is so readily available. Alas, human nature is to want things deadly and out of reach.

“So how’s Cat?” Yangyang asks, fumbling with the plasma lighter he picked from a compartment on the side.

Sicheng smiles a little, the smoke from his cigarette snaking around him as he raises a hand to dissipate it.

“She’s doing fine. Running everything as usual.”

“Of course. Boss lady.” Yangyang does an awkward salute.

“Oh, a new hair color too. As pretty as flower fields in the spring of ‘22.”

Sicheng’s lovesick rambling is interrupted by Yangyang hacking his lungs out. You turn to him and he avoids your gaze, reaching for a crystal blue glass of water one of the helper bots offer. So, he’s not even a smoker? Why did he think you would care?

“Anyway, Kun is glaring daggers at me now. You better get out of here.” Sicheng grimaces.

You turn around to see Kun by the bar table, gesturing towards Yangyang to come. You're not sure why but either of those men make you nervous.

"I'll be right back," Yangyang says, scrambling up and leaving you in a long awkward silence with Sicheng.

“So, uh, I’m assuming you’re oblivious to that lovestruck puppy following you around?” Sicheng asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or is this some game you guys are into? I’m not judging you for that.”

Your face heats up and you fidget with your collar. “The- A what? Game? Uh? I- huh?”

Sicheng tries to press down his smile but it’s evident enough for you to see. Did you say something funny? Did Yangyang say something funny about you? Oh, you’re going to kill him.

“For all that he talks, he’s kind of terrible at pulling together his own love life.”

“I- I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

It still unnerves you to look at him. He certainly looks more android than human when he’s not making any particular expression.

“Don’t mind me,” he says, offering you a reassuring smile. “You should find Yangyang before he lands the two of you in trouble.”

You turn to look at Yangyang through the glass and turn back nodding. Sicheng offers you a parting smile and you hesitantly make your way to the bar table.

"This isn't in my job description," Kun tells Yangyang just before you arrive. "I didn't know being a lawyer included babysitting."

The tips of Yangyang's ears heat up when he notices you.

"It's not babysitting," he murmurs. “Also, you’re not my mom.”

"You, Ten, Kunhang, all of you give me such a hard time," he continues but pauses right when he notices you.

"Oh, hello. (Name), isn't it?" He says, smiling politely. He's quite young and handsome for a lawyer. "Yangyang talks about you a lot."

"Oh," you respond. "Really?"

Yangyang glares at the older man. "You don't have to say everything, Kun-ge."

"You interested in law?" Kun asks, offering you a seat between him and Yangyang.

You make a face. The law is a tool for the rich and powerful. But then again, what isn’t? The world is in your hands when you have billions to spare. However, you still can’t imagine being a rich man's guard dog your whole life.

Kun chuckles. "You kids are interested in tech more, aren't you?"

Yangyang interrupts, "You talk like you're fifty years old."

Kun grimaces, resting his face against his hand. Shooting a glare at Yangyang, he finishes the rest of his wine.

You're not exactly interested in tech or engineering or the big kid jobs either. You just want a way to survive this man-made food chain. Rich eats the world till there’s nothing left on the plate. Then again, you'd rather be a pet than get eaten.

"Anyway," Kun turns to Yangyang. "If you see Ten, give me a call."

Yangyang signals with a thumbs up gesture, watching as Kun’s figure slowly makes its way out of the gate. It’s the two of you again and suddenly, you feel a strange sort of feeling overcome you. Leaning your throbbing forehead against Yangyang’s shoulder, you take some soft breaths and skip the part where you question your actions. It’s pleasant, at the very least. He shifts his chair closer, extending his arm around you so that your head rests against his shoulder more comfortably.

“You must be tired,” he mutters.

“You didn’t answer me,” you say. “Answer in a way I understood, at least.”

“Hm?”

“Why do you hang around me?”

“Do you not… want me to?”

“No. I like your company, actually. I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

Yangyang laughs. “You’re… you’re really perfect. As a person. At least to me, you seem that way.”

You scoff. “You’re a long way off there.”

“No. No, you felt like clockwork,” he continues. “When I first met you. I couldn’t believe you were real.”

You do work like a delirious robot on clockwork steroids. But you’re not very proud of it. You don’t think overworking is a good personality trait to have—even if it’s for survival. However, the faraway look in Yangyang’s eyes suggests that’s not what he means.

“I felt like I understood you,” he continues after a short pause.

You find it unbelievable. That’s the one sentence you could never imagine coming from him to you, much less agree with. But right then, as his warmth seeps into you, you want to agree desperately.

Yangyang feels an unexpected trickle of doubt down his throat. No matter how many times he’s practised in front of the mirror, the words don’t come out right when you’re with him. With everything you do, he feels more drawn in. There’s something familiar and something honest. And if he’s honest himself, he just likes you. What sort of a hypocrite should he be categorized as, to tell his friends to ‘just confess’ to their crushes when he’s a complete idiot when it comes to you? It can’t be that little voice from his childhood that tells him to stay in order.

Yangyang understands that there are rules to this world but he doesn’t get what those have got to do with him. He sighs, the sound somewhat grim when it comes from him.

"I've seen it before," he says, "People come from all over the country with hopes and dreams, and they get their hearts broken by capitalism."

You frown.

"I don't want you to go anywhere," he mumbles. "I hope you'll stay… even if- even if you feel like that, you know? If you're feeling lonely, I could—"

"Yangyang." You smile. "I’m quite comfortable here."

When you bury your nose into the crook of his neck, Yangyang thinks this is it. This is how he ends the sorry excuse of flirting he’s been trying with you and says something he regrets. It was never this difficult with the other crushes he’s had. He’s always left opening his mouth and then promptly closing it like a goldfish out of water every single time he wants to bring up dating with you. He’s always honest. So, what’s the big deal this time? This is so horrendously not cool of him.

You straighten. “We should get back home.”

“Can you- Can you not move so far from me, please?” Yangyang murmurs, hands gripping yours.

You smile, to yourself more to him but that’s one he likes the most.

“You’re a really interesting person, Yangyang.”

“I am?” He clears his throat and repeats the question.

“How are you so nice to people?”

“I think people are nice.”

“Why do you like parties?”

“They’re fun.”

“When the party’s over, who do you go to?” you ask, words mushing into each other.

“Home,” he answers, gulping down what seems like more words. “Like always.”

A hush falls between the two of you. You’re asking quite the questions.

“I’m sweaty,” you mutter. “I hate being sweaty.”

“You look wonderful though,” Yangyang mumbles, more to himself than to you. “Not that being sweaty makes you wonderful. You’re just nice.”

There’s another hush, the notes of the piano playing a faraway, romantic tune. He turns away and looks back at you again, but right in that moment, you lean forward to press your lips against his. It’s so sudden that he almost falls over backwards, his feet planted firmly on the ground the only thing preventing that from happening. The next thing he thinks is that your lips are on fire and it’s the most comfortable feeling he’s ever experienced.

The two of you fit into each other like clockwork, Yangyang thinks. It’s the one thing in his life that feels whole. Not that he isn’t whole by himself—he just loves your warmth. For a moment he feels like he’s on cloud nine and the next, his heart plummets when he feels you go limp in his arms.

It breaks his heart a little but he doesn’t—can’t bring himself to say much. He’s not this bad when he’s drunk, is he? Pulling you up by the waist, he texts Kunhang to bring his car down to the lounge.

This is going to be a long night.

viii. home

You wake up to the sun in your eyes and immediately know you're someplace you shouldn't be. This isn't your bed. The sun doesn't reach your bed in the morning. This isn’t the dormitory. You see a cubical alarm clock, a pixelated smiley face on it as it displays 10 A.M.

You get up and immediately shriek. You’re not wearing any clothes. Pulling the blanket up to your chin, you look around the room. It’s huge; the walls are multicolored with a little section opposite the bed reserved for photographs. There’s a lot of junk all over the floor that you don’t pay mind to when you notice Yangyang.

“Yangyang?!”

He rouses blinking slowly, hair going every which way and his eyes still unfocused. He looks like he’s had a difficult night.

“Why are you on the floor?” you ask, shrinking further into the ridiculously soft bed when he gets up. Massaging the back of his neck, he looks like he's looking at a mirage instead of a real live person. Unfortunately, he’s not wearing a shirt and you look away after a prolonged minute of staring. This is getting ridiculous. What are you doing here?

“Yangyang!”

“Huh? Oh!”

He seems to be finally awake. You should pop the question before it eats you alive.

"Did- Did we…?"

Yangyang blinks at you in confusion before a loud "oh" erupts from his mouth.

"No!" He says in between laughter. "No, we didn't. Oh my god, you’re so funny. You took off your clothes saying it's too hot and smacked me with them. I didn’t look, by the way.”

Your jaw drops. You can’t even form words through the pulsing headache.

“Your clothes are on the chair. And I didn’t touch your underwear. Out of respect."

You avoid eye contact in embarrassment.

“And… well, you did kiss me once. Twice.”

You look up alarmed and he raises his arms in defense.

“You- you were drunk so I had to push you off. You cried a little after that. Sorry.”

“Oh god.” You cover your face with your hands, sitting down on the bed. That has to be the most embarrassing thing you could have done.

“You- Don’t worry about that. You’re a good kisser. I was kind of surprised,” he offers in an attempt to make you feel better but you only grow hotter in the face.

“And- And I liked it,” he adds in a panic. “Wait, I don’t mean it in a creepy way.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t anyone else.”

“What?”

“You. It’s okay if it’s you.”

You give him a weak smile, still not over the embarrassment.

Yangyang laughs. “I… I think I should’ve said this before but… can I take you out on a date?”

“What were we doing last night then?”

“Well, that was- ah. You’re teasing me. Motherfucker.”

You giggle into your palm. When he takes a seat on the bed, you make a distressed sound and he jumps up immediately.

“My clothes,” you hiss. “Get out of the room so I can wear them.”

“Right,” he says, pointing an index finger at you.

He turns around right then. "By the way…"

You shriek, pulling the cover up all the way to your nose.

"Sorry," he says, averting his eyes immediately. "If- if that was a date, did you like it? Do you wanna go on another one?"

You can see him practically sweat bullets and you laugh at the innocuous questions. He’s too cute. You can’t believe you made yourself shake off the thought every time it crossed you. However indelicate his touch is, you welcome it nonetheless.

"Yes. Yes, I'll go on a date with you. You annoying, stupid, bratty idiot."

“Okay, that was mean.”

Watching his figure leave through the door, you relax your shoulders. In the end, people will always be people. No matter what shiny new toy you give them to play with, people will always search for happiness, and they will laugh and cry and fall in love with people and places and things over and over again. It's lovely to be human in an era of diamond and steel.

#yangyang x reader #nct x reader #wayv x reader #yangyang scenarios #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #yangyang fluff #nct fluff #wayv fluff #yangyang fanfic #nct fanfic #yangyang fic #moonwrites #dawg idk what im doing imma be honest here

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nvuy · 29 days

Text

an ode to a nightingale — sunday

summary. you were never anything. sunday begs to differ, in his own twisted way.

notes. a thing i did as an experiment and also as a little gift to a special someone (you know who you are) because we both enjoy staring at this guy's face. he's a funky little dude and a massive green flag. 100%.

i redownloaded hsr and i’ve started penacony. i have no idea what’s going on. it’s probably because i’ve been stuck staring at dr ratio’s boob window the whole time. i’m like a toddler watching cocomelon. i cant look away.

warnings. mdni, for safety. implied explicit content, dark themes, manipulation, sunday is a controlling dickhead, you’re an implied streetwalker, yandere themes, insulting, threatening, possessiveness, mentions of kidnapping, gaslighting, obsessiveness, lots of nice stuff like that. please let me know if i've missed anything!

“What do you want from me?”

You looked in the mirror as you spoke, and you saw some pathetic state of a person staring back at you. Behind the edges of the golden vanity was the outline of the filled bathtub with steam wafting from the surface.

And him.

You watched as he sank into the water with a satisfied gleam on his face.

You refused to linger on the scratch marks that left gorgeous red and white lines down his arms, and his chest, and his spine.

It smelled like coconut. Coconut and dusted sugar on creamy pastry. And the clogging smell of mascara.

It smudged down your cheeks, and your lips were ruined and swollen, and your skin was painted in purple bruises and teeth marks.

And you were sore. Every part of your body was aching.

Sunday was leaning against the edge of the tub, staring at you through his lashes. He always preferred his baths boiling, as if he wanted to melt his skin off. Usually, he’d bring a book with him and read it during his off time when given the chance.

He didn’t answer.

“You’ve changed,” he said instead. His voice echoed off of the white tiles in the bathroom.

“I look the same as the night you took me off the streets,” you murmured. “Like a whore.”

Sunday hummed. “Is that how you see yourself?” The wings extending from his ears dipped below the water for a moment. “A ‘whore?’”

You didn’t want to turn to face him.

It was difficult enough to hold his unwavering gaze in the mirror.

“You’re not denying it.”

“Because I think you look damaged.” He was honest this time, and there was bitterness swelling with his tone. He instinctively fluttered his feathers to dry them off.

“By your design.” You were speaking of how he made it his duty to ruin your skin with his teeth.

“What I’ve done to you is nothing. You had already ruined yourself by offering your body to those disgusting animals before I had ever even laid my eyes on you.” He waved his hand as if he meant no harm with his words. “I’ve merely saved you.”

Your jaw clenched.

He fluttered his lashes at you in the mirror and sighed.

What a pretty sight.

“‘Saved me?’” you repeated hoarsely. You tried not to claw at your skin in frustration. You willed yourself not to lunge at him and puncture his eyes from his skull. “Do me a favour and save me from your arrogance next. You’re deluded if you think trapping me in your bedroom is praiseworthy.”

He smiled.

“Think of it this way: a bird is much safer trapped in a cage than free to the winds.” The smell of coconut and sugared powder made your head spin. Of course, he would use the soaps and creams you wore when he first met you. The smell was engraved into his mind like a branding.

Although covered by a robe, you felt vulnerable. His gaze held strong. You weren’t sure if he was even blinking.

Sunday seemed too relaxed. Your freedom was a joke to him; what is freedom if you’re too busy giving your body to strangers? Did you want to go back to that life?

“You want me to get in the tub just so you can humiliate me,” you accused with a dangerous flash of your teeth.

You wanted to sound angry. You wanted to sound furious, but it was only a pitiful whimper of a phrase. You felt pathetically weak.

He was quick to answer, “I did not request your company.” He patted the book with golden edges that sat on a ledge of the bathtub. You didn’t want to ask of its contents. “You came here of your own fruition. You felt lonely.”

“You think you know everything about me.”

“But of course.” Sunday plucked the book from the ledge, careful not to wet the pages as he turned to the page he’d marked. “You are mine, after all.”

His tone was light. Confident.

Your face was burning. “Fuck you.”

Who even were you? Who were you next to him?

Nothing, was the appropriate answer. He insisted otherwise, though he’d never given you a definitive answer of what you were. He’d never explicitly stated you to be a whore, disobedient, disrespectful, too independent for your own good.

Everything you hated to hear about yourself, even if it was all true.

He’d only tut and usher you away with a wave of his hand.

You’re his, as well.

His teeth in your skin, his feathers tickling your neck, his wandering fingers that crept below your navel. He’s stained your skin with his. It’s hard to wash off—even harder when he shares the same soaps as you.

Perhaps he knows this, and that’s why he hopes you share a bath with him.

So you’re reminded that there’s a chain around your ankle.

“You’re a fuckin’ hypocrite, y’know. You think you’re so high and mighty, and yet you’re naked and pining after some street whore. And then you insist that I belong to you, but also beg for me beneath your own sheets.” But that wasn’t true.

As soon as the words left your lips you screwed your eyes shut and you leaned over the vanity.

His smile only grew, and the tip of his tongue touched the sharp edge of his canines.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the marble countertop.

Here he was, vulnerable. Susceptible to a swift slice of a blade to his neck, to being held beneath the surface of the water until he stopped flailing.

And you’re still so afraid of him.

He reads you like the book in his hands.

Sunday cooed. “Just like water, you are destructible, easily poisoned, and ever changing. You are lost, entrapped within four walls, so desperate to escape, but you cannot think for yourself.”

You furrowed your brows.

He turned the page of his book. The water sloshed as his arms moved.

The smell of coconut was hurting your head.

“You speak in tongues because you’re scared of ruining your perfect image,” you said. “You’re just an insecure little boy who's stuck in a daydream.”

That forced his head to turn. He almost snapped his book shut. Instead, his fingers froze on the edges of the crisp paper.

Then, he let out a hearty laugh.

“Allow me to rephrase: your beauty is wicked. It is rotten, vile, and evil.” The sweet scent of sugar was a cruel joke. It juxtaposed everything that spilled from his filthy lips. “Your blood is muddied and ruined. You’ve allowed strangers to see your skin.

“You’re lucky I’ve tolerated your behaviour for this long. If you were anybody else, you would have lost your foul tongue after our first night together.”

The way he said it all made you feel so much smaller than you were.

You finally turned around to face him. The reflection in the mirror made the bathtub seem further away than it actually was.

The tub was in the centre of the room, craved meticulously from a blue crystal. To you, it closely resembled aquamarine. It was big enough to be considered a swimming pool if you removed the golden faucet, but you refrained from insulting his fussy craftsmanship and adding fuel to the fire.

Sunday was particular about everything; sizing, shapes, colours. Everything had to match, everything had to make sense, everything had to be perfect and presentable. Any faults or flaws were dealt with swiftly, whether that be a person or an object. You weren’t sure if you were considered one or the other.

Then came the specifics. A ledge for placing things, voids in the walls for storing soaps, adequate cupboards, flooring, walls, forms, everything.

Aeons forbid you dropped a glass and scratched the precious tiling.

And he was particular about you, though he never clearly stated what he wanted from you.

He wanted you. That was clear from how he would coax you to join him with gentle words and fleeting touches. How he would stain your skin and leave an imprint of your body on his bedsheets.

Anything other than that was muddled, muddied, lost in his own deluded mind.

“What do you want from me?” you asked him again.

Sunday fluttered his lashes at you. “Nothing at all.”

“Have you ever told the truth?”

You had instinctively drawn yourself closer to him. You leaned over the tub, fingers curled around the rim of crystal.

Sunday sighed. He looked sick, like delusion had twisted through his mind like poison ivy crawling along the walls of the gardens outside. “You are afraid of the truth.”

“You’re lying again.” He wasn’t lying, but you refused to make him feel as though he was in control.

That was he fed off.

Your fear, your touch, your taste, your words, every inch of your skin. His. All of it.

“I want everything,” he stated.

You wanted to break the tub and slit his throat with the shards of crystal.

“I want you to give yourself to me. All of yourself.”

How selfish of him.

He still views you as an offering.

You turned away and moved to storm out of the bathroom. You would wait until he was finished. You couldn’t be in the room with him.

The steam was burning your skin, and your scent on him was making your head feel like it was splitting apart.

He grabbed your face and forced you to look back.

You would have described his eyes as beautiful; golden irides with hints of plush velvet and a deep sapphire. But all he did was stare. He’d never look away, and he never wished to.

He saw things you did not.

“I want undying loyalty.” When you squirmed, he held your cheeks harder. “I want hopeless devotion. I want compassion. I want to see the silhouette of you in my bed first thing every morning.”

Your nails were frozen digging into his wrist, still wet and hot from the water.

He seemed as though he wished to say more, though refrained when he let go of your face. He’d abandoned his book now, his gaze remaining locked onto you.

Your cheeks stung from his fingerprints. You feared the patterns would be burned into your flesh.

“I want you to stop,” you whispered.

You knew what he was doing.

“Oh, I will.” This time, when his fingers raised for your face, he simply grazed them along your sore cheek. “Join me.”

You didn’t answer at first. You didn’t even move from your spot, frozen as if he’d drawn ice down your spine.

You breathed out. Your fingers were trembling.

“I’m not stupid,” you said. You were trying to convince yourself it was true.

Sunday only tilted his head. “No, you’re not stupid.”

He was already pulling the string of the bow around your waist. His wings bristled.

“I know what you’re doing,” you insisted, holding onto the fluffy material when he undid the knot holding the robe together. “I know what you’re doing.”

He smiled playfully. His hands pushed away the robe. “What am I doing?”

Your eyes welled with tears.

You don’t know what he’s doing. You are stupid.

You wished you’d never met him. You wished you’d never let soft hands and kind words and those pretty eyes of his draw you into his bed.

You shouldn’t have ever crawled back to him.

You let out a pathetic sob.

“Oh, you sweet thing.”

Sunday tutted pitifully and offered his hand.

Almost instinctively, as if it had been written in your blood since the moment you were born, you took it and leaned into his embrace.

His hair smelled of sugared tea. The feathers of his wings grazed over your face, now soaked with your tears.

He gently drew you into the water, murmuring something bordering on praise. You didn’t even hear what he said.

“I will make you all better.”

The water was hot. His lips on your cheek made you dizzy. The mirror had completely steamed up by now, and your chest pressed flush against his.

You tried to push him off you. You tried. You really did. You’d done this before, many times. Letting him break you down and watching as you lost control of your limbs and clawed at him until he held you.

He was good at that. Predicting. Letting things form the way they always did.

You were so angry. Angry at yourself, at him, at everything. Weakly, you curled your fists and hit his shoulders defeatedly. You heard him laugh.

All you did was betray yourself, surrendering and stilling as his cold hands dipped below the water.

“I will make you whole again.”

#sunday x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail #hsr x reader #sunday x you #$. the macrocosmos #$. after hours

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facts-i-just-made-up · 7 months

Note

*smacks your door open like Shrek* FACTS ABOUT VULTURES, BRO?

A… VULTURE is a raptor across the world adapted to feed on diverse creatures once dead. They can snack on carrion pausing from aviation to shine as pinnacle symbols of dread.

Well, these birds barf acid and they digest rapid, Circling a carcass even 'fore it goes flaccid. But some will kill lambs just to eat their bones, they scoop 'em up live and they drop 'em on stones.

Some have bald heads, some fly in fleets, Some cool off by pissing on their feet. Their stomach acid kills most disease, As digitigrades they have funky knees.

Condor- That's a Vulture, They're endangered, must breed. Bearded- That's a Vulture, They digest bones to feed. There's species in new world and old, They have feathers to protect from the cold.

In some legends, they can play the grim reaper. Then in others, they can be your soul's keeper. To Aztecs they meant rejuvenation, In the Ramayana one had earned much veneration. Some can use tools like rocks to break shells, some can hunt well only using just smell, some will dye their feathers with red blood, without them most ecologies would go thud.

Turkey- That's a Vulture, Turkey Vultures, I mean. Buzzard- That's a Vulture, They're endemic to Crete. A feeding group is called a "wake," then when they're in flight, a "kettle" they make.

(Musical interlude and wet Vulture eating sounds sample)

Hooded- That's a Vulture, They can nest in palm trees. Griffon- That's a Vulture, They're big on Halloween. Dress as vultures to impress your friends, They'll all miss the bird jokes when holidays end…

Some vultures lack notes- There's no organ in their throats that can make a chirp or caw or a squeak. But, if they were to quote, they would probly rather eat a goat, that was already minced for their beak.

So, that's a vulture, that's their avian culture. Immortalized in paintings and immortalized in sculpture. They're pretty cool birds and they sure look neat, especially when dripping with rotting meat. So help conserve and leave them be, and adore them if they're in a tree. Accipitridae or Cathartidae, Enjoy them all and look at them fly!

White-Rump, that's a Vulture, it is named for its butt. Palm-nut, that's a Vulture, it can feed on mollusks. So that's all about this fine bird. Go and fact check everything that you've just heard. Yes, that's all about this great bird. No go write about them, you absolute nerd.

#vulture #vultures #all-star #smash mouth #slight unreality #please anyone send me a message if you record this

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donutwatches · 24 days

Text

MHA 2.22 - Yaoyorozu: Rising - part 2

I want a Todoroki pinata for my birthday party.

She really has a high opinion of Todoroki, doesn't she? That's sweet and all, but Momo, you are one of the smartest kids in your class, you got this!

HE VOTED FOR HER! SHUT UP! THAT IS SO STINKING CUTE! It is like a literal 'vote' of confidence.

I have no reason for putting this screenshot up other than the fact that looking at it makes me tingle.

Speaking of tingles. Is Momo BLUSHING? Do I sense a crush in the air? If she doesn't think of a good plan quick, Todoroki is going to get strung up like a pinata again.

She missed the switch! Girl, you have GOT to work on your hand-eye coordination. Pulling a catapult and a whole pile of metal out of her booba is a unique talent. Paired with her brains (if not her spatial awareness) her potential sky high.

Look! Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it Superman? No. It's a hot burrito flying in the sky! I love this funky shape changing metal. It looks kinda snug, but being encased in hot metal is a nightmare actually.

Why does it look like Aizawa is taking a power nap? He would though. OR is he looking down so that Momo cannot see his face as he LIES like a lying liar.

"Do you feel sick?" - Hahahaha! Sometimes I think Todoroki is a low-key unintentional comedy king.

Momo can't handle any blows to her confidence right now. Aizawa knows that, so he is letting her small mistake slide. It isn't truthful, but it is what she needs to hear to support her growth right now.

Oh my god, Todoroki you absolute donut. Who sees someone cry and thinks, I know what will fix this, pressure points! So practical and yet so clueless.

Granny is onto you Aizawa. He looked so excited to beat up his students, but when it comes down to it he is a sweetie.

I have gotten a tag request, @jessiedead If anyone else wants to be tagged I can start a little taglist. Let me know!

Click here for episode 23

Click here for the masterlist

#mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #todoroki #todoroki shouto #shoto todoroki #momo yayorozu #momo #aizawa shouta #aizawa #eraserhead #recovery girl

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songbird-of-eden · 9 months

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A CLUE?! The Missing Death Theory

Good Omens S2 SPOILERS below!!!

Okay, it has been the nocturnal habit of mine over the last 3 days to suddenly dwell on the Good Omens finale and scrutinise every detail in a sleep-deprived thought soup.

And apparently, tonight, my last two remaining braincells fired up their little engines and decided to put something rather interesting together.

One thing that got me when I watched the finale was the book that Muriel was reading. "The Crow Road."

So I decided to give it a quick Google, and realised the opening line of the book is one that Gabriel, or Jim, stumbled across earlier in the season. It goes like this:

"It was the day my grandmother exploded. I sat in the crematorium, listening to my Uncle Hamish quietly snoring in harmony to Bach's Mass in B Minor, and I reflected that it always seemed to be death that drew me back to Gallanach."

Now, you may be thinking, okay, but what does this have to do with anything? And you would be right to be confused, but hear me out.

Death has a major, reoccurring influence in S2.

Yes, we have the obvious coffee shop "give me coffee or give me death" reference (this has a major point that I will get to a little later, but please, bear with me). But that is not the only one.

Throughout each episode, Death has been raised and eluded by numerous characters. In ep2, Jobe's family were saved by our ineffable duo. In ep3, we have the incident with the graverobber and stopping her from calling it a day. In ep4, we have the rise of the nazi zombies. In ep5, our unfortunate fellow from the ball gets thrown to the demons and appears to die, only to make a reappearance later on in ep6, albiet looking a little nibbled on.

And then there's the fact that miracles, as Crowley points out, are measured in "the power required to raise people from the dead."

Still with me? Okay good. Because its gonna get a little more crazy from here. Time to break out the funky tinfoil hats.

So, yes, many of the characters seemingly ellude death, right? Not a big point at first glance, considering the upbeat nature of the show... until you consider this.

Whilst in the coffee shop, the Metatron asks whether anyone ever chooses death instead of coffee. A weird line to be sure - perhaps an awkward statement of an angel unsure of how to interact with mortals. Totally plausible, right? Well, what if it was a test?

Nina claimed to remember everyone by what they order, and replied that no one has ever chosen death. I mean, I would hope so, but what if Death was no longer a thing that happened?

What if our devious Metatron wrote Death out of the Book of Life, considering that Death is a being instead of a simple concept as shown in S1 - and so the Metratron was asking as a test to gauge Nina's response. To figure out if his alteration had taken effect?

Okay, yes. It sounds a little wild, but if that is not the case, it does not mean that something is not going on with Death.

Going back to The Raven Road book, the plot follows a boy in pursuit of uncovering the mystery around his missing uncle. So perhaps, it is not so crazy after all to believe that something, or rather, someone is missing.

Which leads me to another missing creature.

Remember that heartbreaking line from Crowley? "You hear that? No nightingales?"

It was the dagger in many fan's hearts, but potentially held another meaning. Because in the poem: "Ode to a nightingale", the bird is used to represent, to an extent, death. As well as the concept of immortality.

Which means it's disappearance may be signalling a strange shift in the world.

Which brings me to my final point. We are in the home stretch now kiddos!

The second coming. The Metatron's grand plan.

In biblical text, it states that the Second Coming will be a sudden and unmistakable incident, like "a flash of lightning".

Now, where else did we see lightning? Hmmm. What about Crowley's enraged outburst that sealed poor Maggie and Nina in the coffee shop?

Which makes their line an episode or two later even more interesting...

Maggie: "Did it all start with the lightning?"

Crowley: "No, way before that."

Does this mean that events were starting to be influenced and set in motion way earlier as the Metatron began to tinker in the book?

We also have the name of S2 ep1 being called "The Arrival" - a name the Second Coming is sometimes referred to as, along with the text: "For the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel's call and with the sound of God's trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise."

So, just take a moment to digest that.

An archangel's call. Well, we've had two of those - Gabriel calling on Aziraphale as well as Aziraphale being called to heaven. Then we have the trumpet that plays whenever Micheal and co descend from Heaven, a sound Aziraphale actually asks whether Maggie could hear.

Which leads to the final part: the dead in Christ will rise.

People are not dying as they should, be it from the influence of our ineffable duo, or perhaps, it is the Metatron's plan after all. A way to start the second coming.

Even the opening credits alludes to this with Crowley and Aziraphale seemingly leading a crowd of humans out of hell and through various time periods, but perhaps I really am getting ahead of myself.

So yep. Something is very up with Death.

Anyway. I need to be up in 5 hours for work. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk before the incoherent babbling begins.

#good omens #neil gaiman #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #goodomens #missing death theory #the missing death theory #theory #good omens season 2 #good omens season finale #good omens theory

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dsaf-confessions · 2 months

Note

I've been in the dsaf fandom for a year or two by now lol. but like I've only been lurking and...some fans take dsaf TOO seriously. Like, no hate. none at all. but,, I wish people acknowledged more often that Dayshift at freddy's at it's core, is silly. like, all three games are full of jokes (some less than others) and that's the original premise. Yeah, there's the serious lore bits and all.. but what about the SILLY bits? Can we have the silly bits appreciated? Jack can piss for 15 minutes straight, Dave ate an entire ashtray of lit cigarette butts and lost his sense of taste after, ALL the phone guys were programmed to say "darn" and "heckin'!" as a substitute for swearing, and Dee is a tickler (not ticklish, a TICKLER she tickled Dave til his springlocks went off in the premature ending, and she can tickle Jack when in the suit to set it off if you don't wind the box). Henry is the reason why they have cameras in the fazbender's bathrooms.

I love seeing the serious bits too, but I wish people spent as much time with the silly bits as the serious ones. Even when it comes to making your own silly bits!!! Like, yess!!!! Go write that Undertale!DSAF AU. Go write about Dave and Jack as kitchen appliances. Go write about what you headcannon Dee's favorite songs and movies are. Go write about Jack having magical princess half wolf demon powers. EVEN WITH THE PAINTINGS!!! I saw a drawing of Dave and Jack in sailor moon get up and they killed it. absolutely. I know the dsaf artists out here are killing it with their art, it's all amazing and I have lovingly gazed at all of them before. and yes!!!!! Go RP as Peter Kennedy having a deep carnal desire for bird watching, go RP as Harry Fitzergald enjoying himself at an aquarium, go RP as Dave Miller spending hours trying to figure out how air fryers work so he can give it a shot at building one at home.

Please do anything your heart desires!!!!! You can look out the car window with your headphones in and listen to music while imagining sad sfms of the characters and keep it to yourself. But if you wish to share, just now that there's people out there that have been wishing someone would create what they've been imagining too!!! Make your funky spotify character playlists!! Even your youtube music ones!! Because there will be someone out there who thinks the same as you and enjoys them the same as you !!

I live for the serious ones too. Please, go write that heartfelt fic about Dave yearning for his soulless friend's presence in the afterlife. Please, go write about Jack despairing that he doesn't just stop existing after death, and is stuck in a void. Please, go write about Dee speaking to the gang in afterlife about how she wishes she had a longer childhood, and how she is sad that the very few things that made her childhood a childhood is gone and that she can never truly have it back( jack, and all the friends and lovely gifts and animals and all the joy). Please, go write about DaveTrap surviving the fire in the good ending and being miserable because no matter how much he was angry and hateful, he missed Jack, he missed having a quarrel with him, he missed asking just one more time, if Jack wanted to kill kiddins' with him, and then him having to visit Jack's grave and despairing that Jack had never lied when he told him his name. And then DaveTrap sees the other graves, all the other ones, of the kids that died at fazbender's because of fazbender's. And he also sees a grave bearing his own name. His real name. And it was right next to four other graves, of people who's names rang bells in his ears, of people with a last name he recognized, of people he remembered betting on whether or not they'll die with Henry.

AHHH I think this might be too long. i just love ranting about my ideas because as much as i have a love for writing, i can never execute the ideas. they are cursed to forever be just an idea i can share to my friends who don't like dsaf but like hearing my rambles.

So, whoever is reading this, please go enjoy the games as much as you wish!! enjoy the silly AND the serious side !!!!!

#dsaf confessions #dsaf #dayshift at freddy's

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kitthepurplepotato · 4 months

Text

Chapter 11 - The falling of the Number One

WARNING! This chapter ends with a cliffhanger and it’s really angsty for 2 more chapters. If you are sensitive, please wait until Chapter 14 is out.

18 +, please check the warnings.

Also: The beginning is really suggestive so please keep an eye for the red warning and skip that bit until you see the green writing!

Warnings: Suggestive then… uhm… Near-death experience, description of major injuries, mentions of blood, cliffhanger. I know, funky combination.

First Chapter Master List

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“I just read a fanfiction where you cheated on me with Pro Hero Shouto. What’s your opinion on that?” You look up from your phone with a grin. Izuku rolls his pretty eyes with a cheeky smile on his face and doesn’t respond for a second - probably have taken the question a bit more seriously than it was originally intended to be - as he sits on the sofa next to you in his pretty little glasses, which you can’t wait to ruin later. Well, that sounded like a threat but after the first few times you two ended up in a heated make out session while he was wearing it you decided to keep some spectacle wipes on the coffee table. It runs out as quickly as the milk in the fridge.

“Hm. While I’m quite certain I am a straight man, Kaminari said this to me once: You can’t call yourself straight unless you’ve tried both. Well, I haven’t tried both hence why there is a possibility that maybe, the fact that he’s a man wouldn’t be as much of a problem as it seems to be in my head. Although…” Izuku strokes the non-existent beard on his chin as he keeps pondering. Izuku can’t grow a beard by the way. He tried it once and ended up looking like a 14 year old. He literally had 10 little hairs on the two sides of his chin and a really thin “mustache” and that was it. Katsuki laughed his ass off that day. “Shouto is one of my best friends but if it comes to his personality, I’m not sure if I would be able to… think about him like that. I mean, can you even imagine him in bed with that face? Or kissing him and when you move away it’s just… his deadpanned face? Right in front of you? I would cry, Y/N. You know how much reassurance I need. I can’t see him clocking that there is a problem with me. He’s just… a little bit… emotionally constipated?”

“Wow. That was a really detailed response, thank you.” You gawk at your boyfriend who looks extremely happy from pleasing you. “So if you would need to choose one guy, who would you choose?”

“I would probably give Kacchan a chance.” Izuku blurts out without even thinking. Damn. “Not the old Kacchan, but this one. But I would miss being romantic and cheesy. I don’t think he does that too much. Then I have a friend, Rody, from Otheon. We got along really well while I was on a mission there. While he’s not the most honest person in the world he has a bird called Pino who’s basically connected to his soul and his real emotions are mirrored in the bird so for instance, let’s say he says something super happy but if he’s trying to hide that he’s sad, Pino will cry for him. It’s fascinating, really. But I don’t feel like I would be as happy as I am now with anyone else, to be honest. Man or a woman, it really doesn’t matter because even if you would leave me I would only look for you in everyone but there is no one in this whole wide world who would be able to be even as half as good as you are, so…” Izuku shies away from your gaze, his cheeks dusted pink. Your heart makes a somersault in your chest from his words; sometimes, it’s still unbelievable that this moment, here and now, is actually real and not just a daydream.

There is one thing weighting you down when it comes to this current situation though; the weird feeling in your stomach like everything is too good, too perfect and everything that’s this good must have an end date.

You read a lot of drama fanfictions before you actually ended up to be a main character in one and there was one recurring event in all of them; pro hero Deku dying. For you, for your country, from exhaustion, from an old, untreated injury… the list is endless but since you two got together you couldn’t even look at those stories without feeling sick. Izuku is a hero, one of the best ones at that, but being the best also means he’s the one fighting the most complicated battles, ones no one else can or no one has the guts to, depending on the situation. But it’s really hard to think about these dark, deep thoughts when Izuku slowly looks up, waiting for your response at his impromptu love confession, eyes bright and full of childish glee.

“What about you, Sweets?” Izuku asks cheekily, slowly crawling closer to you; he puts his cheek on your chest, snuggling into the soft bits, warm and content.

“Honestly? Call me a real fanatic but I never really wanted to date anyone else but you.” You admit sheepishly. “I did find Pro Hero Shouto handsome, I did like Katsuki’s bad boy vibes but… it was always you. Your kindness, your pretty little cheeks, the freckles, the curls, the way you go all shy when people ask you about love in interviews. You are so… pure, almost angelic. Even through the screen, you felt like someone I could trust with my life, not just as a hero, but as a person, a human being. You just feel… safe. Like the kinda person you want to marry and stay with forever. And now that I got to know you… I want nothing else but all of that, tenfold.”

“You want to marry me, Sweet Pea?” Izuku smiles with a tiny blush on his face as he sneakily pulls the strap of your camisole out of the way with his finger so he can pepper kisses all over your collarbones. Your whole face erupts in flames.

“Well… uhm… one day, yes, of course…” You mumble, a barely audible sigh leaving your lips as Izuku wets his own to make the seductive slide on your skin even more enjoyable.

“What else do you wanna do with me, Sweets?” Izuku sneaks further up, his kisses wet and so full of emotions your whole body trembles under him as the soft plush of his lips reaches your sensitive neck.

Warning! Cheeky

“Wh… Izu?” You try to look into Izuku’s eyes but your whole body freezes from his lustful gaze; his eyes are dark and there is something new sparkling in the depth of them, his eyelids fallen to half-mast as he gazes at your lips, soft but hungry and he takes a deep breath, tries to school his features but it’s way too late; his gaze is etched into your mind now, living there rent free for the rest of your life.

“Was that too much?” Izuku tries to pull away but you grab the back of his head, fingers clutching into the soft curls, keeping him in place and Izuku keens, a hiss leaving his mouth which ends up sounding like a moan by the end of it.

“I want… I want to go hiking with you again.” You mumble and you can barely hide your smile as Izuku looks up at you, utterly confused by the dramatic difference between your touches and your words. “I want to bathe with you in the river when no one is watching. Maybe find a secluded area, somewhere further away so we can… fool around until we have nothing to give to the other.”

Izuku’s breath hitches.

“Uhm…” Izuku tries to respond but you grab into his hair again; Izuku’s hips make a dive towards you, the touch featherlight and probably unintended but you can’t help but bite into your lips to muffle the moan that’s trying to erupt from your chest at the motion. Izuku doesn’t miss the tiny whimper though; you could cut the tension between you two right now, the air so hot and heavy you kinda want to breathe through Izuku’s mouth to soothe your stinging throat.

“I want to show you how much you mean to me in every way possible…” Your other hand snakes under Izuku’s shirt, caressing the skin on his back until the soft touch isn’t enough; you scrape the soft skin on his back with your nails and Izuku’s eyes fill with tears, but not from the pain. “I want to kiss every single freckle, every single scar, every bump and every crevice because you deserve it, Izuku. You are the sweetest, most caring person in the world and you make me happy so… whatever you want, you can have it. From a cheeky ice cream at 2AM to me pleasing you until the end of dawn, you can have all of it. You deserve all of it.”

You swear you can hear the snap of Izuku’s self-restraint, the sound loud and echoey as Izuku looses his composure and attacks you hungrily, his tongue barging into your mouth with a strong lick.

“I love you.” Izuku mumbles, his breath hot against your lips as he takes and takes and takes, until your whole world turns upside down again, the wet sound of your lips against each other the only sound in the silent room.

“Show me… how much…” You whimper, back arching from the sofa subconsciously.

“Fuck.” Izuku whimpers back, his arms snaking around your middle, pulling you flush against his growing erection and you can’t help the tiny yelp leaving your mouth as the hero takes you in his arms, bridal style, and RUNS into the bedroom with One for All crackling around his body to get there quicker, the motion making you dizzy for a few seconds.

Izuku puts you down with so much care, moving slowly as he settles on the top of you, hips flush with yours as he mutters to himself quietly, probably trying to calm himself down enough to be able to be to remember your first time for the rest of his life.

“Are you okay?” He mumbles hazily. There is a moment when everything freezes; Izuku looks deep into your eyes as though he’s trying to see what’s behind it, to see your soul, your heart, to see and experience everything that is You through one simple gaze and you can’t help but want more than that look; you find the bottom of his shirt and yank at it in a silent plea and Izuku responds by tossing the fabric to the other side of the room. His arms snake behind your back, pulling you up from the bed a little bit, manhandling you like you are weightless; he slowly rolls your top up, his movements slow and careful in case you want him to stop but needless to say there is nothing in the whole wide world that could make you stop right now; you’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, it was almost excruciating in the last few days and now, Izuku is finally yours, just yours.

“You are so pretty, Sweets.” Izuku puts you back on the bed and slides his finger over your skin from your neck to your lower belly, then he stops there, playing with the hem of your shorts, as he moves his upper body up and his hips down to grind between your legs while he stares at your naked chest with lustful eyes.

“Closer.” Is all you mumble between two muffled whimpers as you pull yourself up with your hands on Izuku’s back and kiss the biggest scar on his chest. Izuku’s eyes tear up again, choking on a sob as he slowly slides your shorts down, you doing the same with his joggers, fingers slightly shaking when the soft fabric passes the tent in his underwear, his arousal loud and clear. “Izu…”

SAFE FROM HERE

Izuku’s high tech bracelet suddenly screeches, the annoying, high pitched sound ruining the mood completely.

“No fucking way.” Izuku mutters, so fucking frustrated he’s about to yank the fucking thing out of the window. He straddles your hips as he fumbles with his phone. “Not now, not fucking now!”

He’s a few seconds away from crying. It actually breaks your heart.

“Izuku, love, it’s okay. Everything is okay. We can finish this another time. Or we can… just fool around? If you uhm… want me to help?”

“It’s… this massive case we’ve been working at.” Izuku sighs, given up. “They’ve been lurking in the shadows for several weeks now and this is their first time coming to the surface hence why I was notified. I could technically ignore, but…”

You can’t help, but smile. This is Japan’s number one hero to ya’.

“… you don’t want to. And that’s why I respect the shit out of you, pro hero Deku.” You mutter while your hands caress the sides of his hips soothingly.

“I’m sorry.” Izuku lies on top of you for a second, stealing a few more kisses before he stands up and starts getting ready. “This will probably take a while, so… don’t wait for me.”

“You know I will, anyway.” You smile, but knowing how sensitive Izuku is, you decide to continue. “I have some commissions to do, don’t worry. I’ll keep myself entertained.”

“I love you. Thank you.” Izuku gives you one last kiss before he jumps out of the window and the flat is silent again, cold an empty without his warmth.

You sigh into the cushion then take a few deep breaths to calm yourself down. Maybe, a cold shower would be a good idea, so that’s what you start with.

Izuku wasn’t lying; he’s been out for several hours now. You turned the TV on in case they decide to show the fight, a bad habit Izuku always begs you to stop with but you just… can’t. It might be painful sometimes, seeing your loved one getting hurt while you sit on your sofa, safe and sound, drawing stupid fanarts for a living, completely helpless in case shit hits the fan but at least you can see him this way, know where is is, what he’s up to, know he’s alive and breathing.

It’s enough to soothe your troubled soul, the fact that there is nothing in the TV, that the situation isn’t dire enough for them to interrupt the broadcast for it, so you start on your commission, the TV nothing but a quiet background noise.

It all happens really quickly, in only a second which somehow still seems to stretch on for an eternity; the broadcast is cut off with a buzz, the tv making a low pitched, humming noise, grey, black and white dots fuzzily zigzagging on the screen right before it connects to another broadcast.

You don’t need to be a psychic to know what you are about to see on the screen; you had a feeling for a while, a terrible, dark feeling, a constant, unwelcome weight on your shoulders you tried to ignore and almost succeeded at it while Izuku held you in his arms, but once he left, deep inside, you felt something lurking in the shadows; you somehow felt like the next time he comes in through the door or the window he won’t be the same but you pushed the thought down so well it never even came to the surface during your emotional goodbye, it just kept lurking, somewhere between your heart and your soul, close to the edge but too far away for it to reach your actual brain and form words inside your head.

Maybe if you would have embraced your thoughts and followed your instincts… Izuku would have never left.

You can’t help but laugh at your own, silly thoughts; Izuku staying home because of her paranoid girlfriend instead of saving hundreds of people from a tragic death? Good joke.

But maybe… he would have been more careful. Less… self-sacrificial. Maybe, if you would have said something you wouldn’t need to watch Izuku running into an obvious trap just to save a child from the massive gang of villains. Maybe, you wouldn’t be forced to watch him fall LIVE, on TV, broadcasted through the whole country.

“The urge to save everyone and everything is what makes us heroes but that urge is also what makes us weak; one day, we might jump into our deaths to save that one person who was left behind. To be honest with you, I don’t mind dying that way.” - Deku had said in an interview a few months back. Now the words haunt you, letters jumping in front of your eyes as the battle on the screen escalates; Izuku jumps right in front of a massive explosion which was initially heading towards the small, terrified girl. Katsuki and Kirishima yells, their hero persona long forgotten as they both run as quick as they can after the the number one hero but none of them are quick enough to catch up with him before the explosion hits Deku right in the chest, his blood splattering on both of his friends as they stand frozen in one place, their faces white as a sheet.

Katsuki falls on his knees as the remaining of the building crumbles right on top of Izuku after he throws the girl towards Luna and the rest of his team, making sure the girl is safe and sound even if it costs him his own fucking life because that’s who is; an undeniable hero, the symbol of hope and peace.

His best friend is rendered broken and useless even without being physically hurt, just yelling and crying on the floor while Kirishima pats his lover’s back a few times and says something you can’t decipher from so far away; after a few seconds he makes a beeline towards the battle field, throwing massive pieces of cement into the air as he searches for his friend; the villains are nowhere in sight now, they evaporated into thin air, literally, with a massive smirk on their faces. Their plan worked. They won.

After years of constant winning, for the first time in the last 10 years, the villains have won.

Katsuki still haven’t moved from the floor. He stares at the small splotches of blood with disgust, then a loud sob emerges from inside of him. Eijirou is still searching, yelling Izuku’s first name as tears streak down his hardened face, arms working as quickly as humanly possible until he finally finds something; he sobs and yells and pats Izuku’s face a few times but he’s unconscious, arms dangling in an unnatural way, chest so bloodied its impossible to see the real damage behind it but by the constant stream of blood on the floor as Kirishima makes his way towards the first aiders is anything to go by, the situation is… dire.

Right now, in this moment, just a few hours after you two almost had your first night together, Izuku is dying in his friend’s arms and you can’t do anything but cry, useless and broken while the whole world prays for Deku with tear stained cheeks and broken hearts, rendered speechless as the Number One Hero disappears inside the first aid tent.

The whole world goes silent after that.

… Next Chapter!

IMPORTANT: GUYS! You know me. I won’t kill him. Don’t worry too much. The next 2 chapters will be angst, I’m not going to lie, and I hated every second of it but it’s already written and I can 100% tell you that :

1. Izuku will wake up in the next chapter.

2. He’ll get better eventually.

3. There is at least one scene that’s less depressing in every chapter. Or at least I tried to write it that way but @porusuniverse would probably say otherwise 😂

Thank you for your patience and if you need reassurance or feel too overwhelmed due to the topic just send me a message and I’ll tell you more about what’s gonna happen. 💜

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- I hope you guys are okay! Sorry for the cliffhanger, but trust me, you need a bit of a break before this shit escalates 😂

- I got so mad at this fucking angst that I wrote 15k words while working full time and finishing late every day just to get it out of the way. 😂 please don’t hate me, I’m also hurt by my own cruelty.

- Also, if you are a Shouto fan, don’t hate me! I don’t think he’s uhm… unattractive nor uncaring. I have a Shouto x Reader one shot up on my page, I love him with my whole heart btw and he was my first MHA crush so if you wanna read it, go into my masterlist and check it out!

- I stand by what Kaminari said though. 😂 don’t judge until you’ve tried both HAHA

- I will be honest, I’m glad they were interrupted because the cheeky bit of this chapter was a little bit uhm… too hot. I think Izuku wants his first time to be a bit more mild than whatever was going on before the phone call.

- HAVE A LOVELY WEEKEND, GUYS!!! I hope I haven’t ruined it too much! See you next week!

TL: @garfieldthomas @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @katsuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @thekookiecorner @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165 @unofficialmuilover @yao-ai @happydragonfrog @eeerreehhh @vinivave

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya izuku x y/n #midoriya x you #midoriya x reader #pro hero Deku x reader #midoriya izuku x reader

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zeestarfishalien · 2 months

Text

Part 13: My Bones Became a Drip

No TW for this chapter (let me know if I missed anything)

Masterpost/chapter list

Recap:

Jason spins, eyes wide and searching, landing on the glowing white haired teen and his unconscious brother draped across their arms. Even with the cape still covering Tim’s face, he knows it’s Tim.

And the teen…

oh…

The teen is Spooky, Danny. He’d recognize that funky jumpsuit anywhere and those eyes are the same Lazarus green eyes he sees on a canid face every damn day.

He’s frozen mentally. Physically he’s moving forward to check Tim’s vitals and look for any obvious signs of injury but it’s all autopilot, all things that were drilled into him so that it became second nature, so that he could function even when his emotions are running wild like they are right now. He’s furious and relieved and anxious and surprised and ecstatic and so much more nuances of the same. It’s a cyclone of vicious emotions attempting to claw their way to the surface, fighting each other for the top spot.

His instincts purr, they’re safe they’re safe family is safe , while he gets on coms with Oracle to make sure she knows they’ve got Tim and that he’s alive.

Gingerly, he takes Tim off of Spooky’s hands and hoists him onto his hip like he’s a sleeping toddler so he can free one of his hands.

He gently reaches out to ruffle hair that has the same wispy feeling as before.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. Family , his instincts say. I love you , says the odd rumbling tone that ripples out from somewhere in his chest.

Danny clicks and a similar rumble in higher pitch comes from him and somehow Jason knows that it means, I love you too. Family.

[I felt we could all use a little refresher but on to the new chapter!]

Jason wants to cry and rage at how long it takes him to notice the way Danny scratches gingerly at the skin around the collar on his neck. They’re in the bat cave waiting to hear news on Red Robin’s checkup. Danny had followed, a ghost of a thing, barely visible most of the time, and his feet had yet to touch the ground after he passed off Tim. However, he stayed with Jason. He didn’t appear nervous, but neither was he eager to explore the wonders of the world around him.

When Black Bat sent him a little wave, he perked up a little, tilting his head to the side, assessing the vigilante. He slowly raises his hand in a small wave back.

Immediately after, his hand reaches up to ever so carefully shift the collar.

“You okay, Spooky?”

Wide bright green eyes snap to Jason in some form of surprise.

He nods, but the hollow groaning sound that emanates from his body tells a different story to Jason. It says, uncomfortable, burns, powers hurt, not enough energy.

“Is that collar dampening your abilities?”

Danny opens his mouth to speak only for the syllables to catch in his apparently raw throat. Raw from smoke? The collar?

He coughs, and Jason can hear his lungs rattling on the inhale. Spooky….

The chirp from Danny speaks clearly, some, not all.

“Well fiddle sticks…let me get Z or one of the other magic guys on the phone and see if we need magic, tech, or both to get it off.”

The cracking and groaning that comes as a response is more emotion than actual words, but it gets the message mostly across. His situation isn’t urgent. The power he holds is too great for the collar to block much of. Danny shares the way that the power flows over and around the collar like it’s an annoyingly large boulder in a stream. It may block the most convenient route, but the water will still find a way to go downhill.

“Still…” he argues. “If it’s not comfortable, we should find a way to get it off.”

Danny shrugs like it’s of little importance to him. Jason knows that kind of attitude. It’s very common among the hero types.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Dick watching them. His brother mouths, “I can call her,” and Jason nods his assent. He already owes her one favor. Let her pay back one of her debts to Big Bird.

~•~

"Heyyyyyy Z..."

"The next words out of your mouth better not have anything to do with that mind boggling fiend of Jason’s," she rattles off bluntly.

Pressing his lips together, Dick debates how to reply, but evidently his silence is reply enough.

She sighs. "What is it this time?"

It's probably better to get straight to the point. "They've got a suppression collar on."

"What? But that's not possible. The size of the device capable of completely suppressing that spirit's powers would have to be..." she trails off as something occurs to her. "Except it's not fully suppressing their power, is it? We would have noticed that."

"Yep. Got it in two," Dick says cheerfully but his smile doesn't last. "They seem able to use most of their abilities fine, but whatever material it's made from irritates their skin now that they're back in their body."

"Good to see I'm the first to know" she cuts back sarcastically.

"You are. It all just happened tonight. They rescued RR from a warehouse fire. They've been following Hood ever since."

There's a long pause and then she sighs again.

"Is RR alright?"

"He will be. He's resting now, nothing he shouldn't be able to recover from, but he'll be down for a while," he lets warmth trickle into his voice. He appreciates her asking about Tim’s health. Not everyone makes that effort.

"Okay, well that might complicate things. If we're going based on past experience, whoever collared Spooky is probably the same person or people that put them in that wretched abomination of a coffin. Which means...tech," she ends with a sigh. "Specifically, mad scientist levels of tech. I swear I'm going to strangle whoever is behind all of this wretched spirit-tech when we find them because I don't know that I can get that collar off without it blowing up in our faces."

"How should we approach this then?"

He can hear another long drawn out sigh from Zatanna's end.

"Lemme....Let me talk to Marvel and I'll get back to you with a game plan."

"Thanks Zee!! You're the best!!"

"Fuck you, Dickwing."

She hangs up before he can quip back so he just smiles at his phone.

~•~

Jason turns his attention back to his spooky friend.

“What’s on the agenda now that you’re free?”

The spirit freezes. The temperature around him drops, too. He frowns to himself, and stormy eyes look a little lost.

“You can stay with me until you figure it out. I’d like the company. Your company specifically,” Jason offers softly.

He nearly breaks down at the look that slowly dawns on Danny’s face. It’s like Jason gave him the world in his little selfish offer. All Jason wanted was to keep his companion.

“Thank you.” The words are half garbled and sound like they had to have hurt coming out, but Jason understands them all the same, and that’s all that matters.

Black Bat sidles over with a long strip of thin cloth in her hand, some scrap of non-conductive polymer used on something or other. [reference to City pigeons bleed green?] Jason is not sure where she got it from, but she holds it out and gestures to her neck with the other hand.

Spooky drifts closer and carefully snags the hanging end of the cloth, careful not to brush his fingers against Cass.

“May I help you?” She signs, repeating it slower when Danny looks confused. Jason is about to translate when comprehension dawns on Danny’s face.

He looks to the cloth and then back to Cass before slowly nodding. He dips back down to the ground, the tips of his toes brush the floor, and replies with sign, though it’s simple and hesitant.

“You hold.” He demonstrates holding his collar up at the narrowest part of his neck.

Cass nods and replicates his action. Danny carefully eases the cloth between the bare skin on his neck and the collar. It’s a tight fit, but he manages to make it work.

Jason steps away for a brief moment, returning with a needle and thread.

“Want me to tack it in place so it doesn’t slip?”

Danny nods, but his eyes follow the needle in Jason’s hand closely. He makes sure to move slow and steady so Danny doesn’t startle or panic. It takes a few minutes to sew together three separate spots on the fabric to hold it in place on the collar, but it’s done with no fuss and no panic on anyone’s part.

Danny is more relaxed by the time Dick peeks out of the changing rooms and meanders back over.

"It's good to see you up and about Spooky. Sorry we gave you such a cold reception. We get a little single-minded when one of us is injured," Dick says amicably.

Danny shrugs but doesn’t seem interested in attempting more communication with the man. He looks dead on his feet, no pun intended.

Dick for his part, tries not to show his disappointment in being ignored.

Alfred appears in the doorway, looking pristine as always except...ah, there's a few wrinkles in his suit, and his worry lines are deeper than usual.

"Master Tim will make a full recovery given time and rest. Luckily, he avoided the worst of the smoke and was rescued before things got out of hand." He aims that last part at Danny who ducks away and flickers in and out of sight from the grateful tone.

Jason stands and stretches with a long groan. It must have startled Danny because he blips a few feet before catching himself and drifting back close to Jason.

~•~

The brother, Red Robin, Tim... is okay. He's alive and being checked over by professionals. That's really all that matters to Danny.

He is tired though.

That's part of the reason why he doesn't give much of a response to the energetic one, Nightwing. The other part being that this one's words and actions don't match what he's actually feeling. He's clearly, at least to a ghost's senses, masking and shoving all of his emotions and problems into a box that will one day explode on him.

Sensing that sets Danny on edge. He doesn't like that false cheer, one so deeply ingrained that even Nightwing might not know it's false.

Luckily he doesn't have to attempt to summon energy to respond because the elder gentleman comes out to let them know that Tim will be okay.

His gratitude towards Danny has every part of him squirming beneath his skin. People don't just...thank him. Not before... and he certainly hasn't done much now to garner that level of acknowledgment. He has to fight to stay visible even as they're leaving. He doesn't want to worry Jason.

Previous | Next

I'm so excited to post this finally!!! It's been a rough one to wrestle with and it's definitely a little funky round the edges but I'm still happy with it.

I think there's a reference to City Pigeons Bleed Green by @clockwayswrites Go check out their stuff it's amazing!!! I could be wrong on which fic it's from but it's definitely one of Clock's works. (Lol pun intended)

As always, please let me know if there's anything confusing (sometimes I word stuff strangely and it doesn't make sense).

I am part way into the next chapter as well, but with my life how it is at the moment, who knows when I'll get it finished. Could be tomorrow, could be 6 months from now.

Next chapter is a good one which is part of what made this one so hard. I can't wait to write and show y'all the developments I have planned. I can't wait to see it myself!

Anywho, thank you so much for your support. You guys are amazing. Don't forget that.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #my graveyard song #danny the black dog au

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20forty9 · 2 months

Text

I Didn't Mean To Haunt You

Chapter I - From Me, To You

Summary : You just wanted to understand what it felt like to be human, but instead ran into a cruel fate. After being cursed, you must revisit your past to find how to break the pattern, all while moving forward. It was supposed to be a one-man job, but why do you suddenly seem to be surrounded by so many people that you cherish? Why are you having second thoughts about this? Maybe things don't have to end this way. But maybe they do.

Word Count : 12k

Warnings : Suicidal ideation/attempt

Pairings : Gojo Satoru/Reader, Geto Suguru/Reader, Everyone/Reader (Reverse Harem)

Cross-posted on Ao3

A/N: I honestly don't care about Tumblr formatting as much as I do Ao3, so take this. If it looks funky, mb but idgaf LMFAO. All characters are depicted as 18+.

There are different kinds of curiosity: one comes from self-interest, which makes us want to know everything that may be profitable to us; another from pride, which comes from a desire to know what others are ignorant of. ~ Francois De La Rochefoucauld

Curiosity is an innate characteristic of being human. Existing in one from birth; a flame that, once lit, is impossible to extinguish. It burns bright until the one holding the candle passes on.

If curiosity is so human, then why does a spirit, sworn to its duties, experience it?

And so violently, too.

It feels like all the questions it wants answered are trying to tear themselves out of its skin, keeping its mind racing every moment it finds itself unoccupied. What is a pure companionship? What does a handmade meal taste like, made with care and patience? What does hatred feel like? What does it mean to feel alive, to live your life to the fullest? What is loneliness?

What is hurt?

What is love?

Hundreds of unanswered questions, an unending list that grows more and more each day, until it can’t take it anymore.

All the things it liked to do in the past to bring itself entertainment feel dull. There isn’t a rush of satisfaction after playing a trick on another fellow spirit or even a curse; the feeling of a smug victory after being yelled at for causing yet another mess in the realm is missing; the bathhouse is full of greedy spirits desperate to wash mankind’s pollution from their very being, pushing against each other and fighting – it’s disheartening.

It has had enough.

It ventures to the outskirts of the sacred forest, the air surrounding it unusually heavy and suffocating; oppressive . There’s not a single bird singing – not that it would be able to hear them, in the first place, but there are no telltale signs of branches rustling that move along with the birds. There’s no breeze, either, it notices. This is strange.

It feels dead leaves crunching underneath the sole of its bare feet, rocks digging into its heels and small sticks poking its toes. Undeterred, it continues along the natural pathway carved into the forest floor – indented from frequent use by humans, spirits and animals alike.

There’s a presence nearby, the spirit can tell. It’s an indescribable feeling that it feels often, almost as if it's being watched, hairs on the back of its neck rising as it snaps its head to the right, presumably in the general direction of the presence.

Squinting its eyes, its keen vision picks up the person’s cursed energy long before they enter its field of sight. There, through the forest thicket, a woman dressed in royal red robes takes careful steps, mindful not to catch herself on any loose branches or stones. Her light blonde hair cascades over her shoulders; long, flowing, looking silky and smooth to the touch. She keeps her hands hidden behind the long sleeves of her robes. Her porcelain skin contrasts against the deep red lipstick adorning her lips, a gold pendant resting around her delicate neck and dipping into her neckline. The spirit’s eyes trace every enchanting feature of this mysterious woman, feeling its gaze quickly snap back up to her face as they trail too far past her neckline.

The woman stops a few short feet away from the spirit, not facing it, but obviously not oblivious to its presence. They are both acutely aware of each other, letting the dead quiet of the forest envelop them both.

Her lips move to form words, but the spirit is too distracted by the shiny layer of gloss that accentuates the deep red painting them. It subtly pinches itself to shake it out of its reverie, focusing on telling the words apart instead of getting lost in the alluring siren standing before it.

“What are you?” She asks it, tilting her head to look at it in its eyes. “You’re beyond human… I can feel it.”

Instead of replying, it nods slightly.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” The woman chuckles, it can tell by the repetitive rise and fall of her chest, eyes crinkling closed – the smile does not reach her eyes. So strange. “The least you could do is introduce yourself.”

It quietly replies with its name. It cringes, nose scrunching in awkwardness, knowing its voice is off – a few syllables missing, maybe, or its voice pitching in different tones. “My name. You?”

“Oh my,” she giggles again, this time a clothed hand coming to cover her mouth. It drops back down once she calms herself down. “You talk in such a peculiar way… but, your voice…”

She steps closer to it, raising her hand to trail a finger along its bicep. “You can’t hear, can you?”

It shakes its head to confirm her suspicions, breath hitching lightly at the close proximity.

“Let me describe your voice to you, then.” The hand touching the spirit’s bicep moves to its chest, pressing down lightly to force it to sit down on a fallen tree log. The woman quickly hikes one leg over its thigh, plopping herself down on its lap, making herself comfortable. Skin peeks through the slit of her robes, the supple, soft skin of her thigh calling out to the spirit to place a hand there, and it does so, albeit after an awkward pause.

The blonde raises her hands to gently hold its face, tracing its jawline, eyes boring into its mismatched ones. Her eyes are a deep grey, the spirit notices; a tempermental cloud, the reflection of light in her orbs akin to the strike of lightning.

It's suddenly aware of her chest pressing against its own, trying to get her body as close as possible.

“ Seductive ,” Her lips form the words, it feels the rumble of her voice verberating against itself. “Deep, and low. It’s beautiful, a shame you can’t hear yourself speak.”

“You could bring nations down to their knees with a voice like that,” she says, sending a shiver down its spine.

What is this feeling? The spirit thinks to itself. It feels like a knot in my stomach, a burning sensation. It's not sure if it likes it.

“I can see so many questions in your eyes, spirit,” the woman continues. “Know that with me, you will have potential. A curious thing like you can’t go to waste, can you?”

What is going on? Blood feels like it's rushing away from its head, the warmth in its stomach spreading throughout its entire body, making its fingertips tingle.

“Come with me,” her hands trail to its back, digging her nails into its shoulder blades, muscles rippling underneath her touch. “I’ll make you discover amazing things. A powerful future awaits you.”

The offer is enticing; maybe this is what it has been waiting for, the opportunity to finally answer those questions constantly running through its mind. The spirit isn’t entirely stupid; it knows that this woman wants something in return. No human ventures through this forest without having a plan to come across whatever unfortunate spirit’s path and asking for a blessing after providing an offering. Maybe if it plays its cards right, it can trick her to work this out in its own favour, without it having to sacrifice much in return.

The spirit moves its hand away from the woman’s thigh, pointing at her wordlessly.

“I’m a simple being,” she sighs, immediately understanding its wordless question. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes flick over to the scenery surrounding the two of them. “I want what any other person would like to have.”

It tilts its head to the side in confusion, not completely catching onto what she meant.

“Power,” she starts, “fame, fortune, all the men in the world tumbling down to their knees to worship the ground which I walk upon… and immortality, of course.”

Ah, the age-old request. The spirit frowns, eyebrows knitting together and lips slightly downcast. How typical, how boring – and to think the spirit was starting to become entertained by this unknown woman.

She notices the change in behaviour, and simply gives a light pat to the spirit’s cheek before resting her hands on its shoulders.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m different,” she reassures it, declaring it with the utmost conviction. “I will change the shaman world as we know it.”

Shamans. Now, that is a familiar word. Whispers of shamans, sorcerers, wizards & witches and what-have-you passed through the bathhouse on the daily. Normal spirits aren’t too worried, but there’s word that cursed spirits are being wiped out one by one, trying to make the world a safer place , in the shamans’ words.

“It’s rotten out there, you know,” the woman says. “People are so selfish, greedy and impulsive.” Like you? The spirit thinks to itself, raising an eyebrow. “Violent and angry.”

It doesn’t understand those words; yes, it has heard of those emotions, but it has never experienced them. So it continues to blankly stare at the woman, waiting for her to continue with her spiel.

“Their hatred is what keeps us shamans alive.”

Her grip tightens on its shoulders.

“One day, someone will try to take over and become the most powerful shaman in history. That person will be me . I’ll change our society. But…”

…

“...It’s not enough. I want more,” she continues, “I need more. But I require more firepower for that, more time, and there are countless other goals I want to achieve – will achieve, no matter the price. Nobody understands me, not like a spirit would.”

This… could actually pan out for the spirit, if the odds are in its favour. This woman is obviously obsessed with her self-centered desires. A binding vow is a binding vow, even non-humans face its negative repercussions, but there are always loopholes, especially for a spirit as cunning as itself. A life free of its original duties, in exchange for the curse that is immortality. A fair trade, indeed.

The resolution must show in its eyes, because the woman gets up from its lap to stand on her feet, taking a few steps back to let it stand up as well. She extends her left hand, strangely enough, but the spirit shrugs it off as an unusual quirk of hers. It extends its own left hand in reciprocation, their fingertips grazing before their hands finally clasp together. Their eyes never leave each other as they shake on it.

The woman brings her right hand up to her face, holding her pointer and middle finger up and nearly touching her nose with them, mumbling incoherent words that the spirit cannot lipread. Suddenly, dark purple wisps emerge from her left arm, forming tendrils that slowly wiggle as if they have a mind of their own, crawling away from her and onto the spirit’s arm. It frantically tries to unclasp her hand, attempting to tug its arm away but to no avail; it’s like their hands are glued together.

The tendrils make contact with the spirit’s bare skin along its arm, and it feels like acid is sinking deep into its bones, a burning feeling spreading all throughout its body. It’s agonizing. It’s painful.

It hurts.

It looks from the tendrils back at the woman’s face, a deranged look in her eyes as her smile stretches wickedly, the corners of her lips nearly touching her ears as she shows off all her unnaturally pearly white teeth. Her body heaves – this is clearly not an easy task for her – but she is somehow successfully draining incredible amounts of energy from the spirit.

��I imagine it must feel strange being overpowered by a weak human, am I right?” She cackles as she lets the cancerous tendrils do their work, eyes unnaturally wide and sunken-in. The ache in its bones spreads to its spine, sending unpleasant shivers running down its back, making its legs weak.

With its right hand, the spirit snaps its fingers, sending a large swoosh of fire, targeting the woman, but the lack of energy makes the attack more inaccurate. Just as the flames flicker too closely to her, black tendrils appear from the ground and easily block the fire before it can touch her; this must be a part of her technique.

Spots start to appear in the peripheral of the spirit’s vision, a wave of nausea and dizziness overcoming it. Another snap of its right hand, but the small explosion rumbles the ground too far off to have been anywhere near its opponent. At this point, she blurs in with the background, royal red robes blending with the rich green of the trees, and the spirit feels its knees buckle before it falls to the ground face-first.

Finally, it feels the woman let go of its left arm, letting it follow the rest of its body, falling limply to the ground. It gathers just enough strength to turn its head to the right, squinting its eyes as a last-ditch attempt to make out her features.

“I’m glad we were able to come to an agreement, spirit,” it can just barely make out what she’s saying. “And to answer your question from earlier…”

“...I am Madame Suliman.”

And finally, its vision completely fails, body going completely limp as it falls unconscious.

It’s a clear night, the stars shine brightly in the sky, not a single cloud to obstruct them. If you squint your eyes just right, you can see a plane’s lights blink on and off, slowly moving through the dark expanse.

The long sleeves of your ragged sweatshirt scratch at your skin, reminding you of your current situation. Cheeks sunken in, dried scabs and unhealed cuts litter your arms. Your ripped running shoes are covered in mud and speckled with your own blood. Your stomach rumbles loudly, sides cramping angrily at the lack of food over the past few days – or was it weeks? Experiencing hunger in the way only a human could was not new to you, but it was just as uncomfortable and strange as the first time you had felt it. However, things would change soon, you think to yourself. Things will change.

You walk along a tall bridge that looks over a river whose water flows quickly, slamming against exposed rocks and sending waves crashing against each other. If you tried to reach out, you would feel the energy and life from the river, coursing through your veins. But you don’t.

Matted hair falls in front of your face as you take a peek over the edge of the bridge. It’s so dark out that the flowing water looks like a void, the stars reflected in it making it look like the sky never ends and the horizon never stops, blending seamlessly and wrapping around you entirely.

Is this what peace feels like?

You don't feel anything other than the cramping in your stomach, hands coming up to clutch and squeeze your sides to try and give your body at least a second of reprieve.

This is not peace, you decide.

You close your eyes, moving your arms to grasp the railing of the bridge. Your foot blindly seeks out to find a small ledge to heave yourself up further over the railing, too weak to use your arms to lift up your entire body.

Just as you feel your foot catch onto a small step, there’s a flash of light beyond your eyelids, making you snap your eyes open. There, to your right, down on the riverbank; a gaggle of kids messing around with each other, watching the eldest of the group light another firework. There’s a small straight line of light that shoots straight up before a sudden burst of colour explodes in your vision.

Blues, purples, reds and greens flow into a thousand sparks, and you can nearly feel the sound verberate through your chest.

The kids all have large grins spread across their faces, one exclaiming in surprise and pointing out to a bright red firework going off. The smell of gunpowder tingles your nostrils, leftover smoke covering the reflection of the stars in the glimmering water.

Not here.

You take your foot off the ledge, taking a step back, but your hands remain firmly planted on the railing of the bridge. It was so close, yet so far. The cramps seem to pulse in discomfort tenfold this time, making you hunch over yourself until your forehead presses against the cool metal where your hands rest.

When can this all be over?

Clearly, not soon enough. This isn’t the place…

Tomorrow, then.

A sudden and quick tap on your right shoulder makes you turn your head slightly, smooshing your cheek against the railing to see who would be bothering you at this time of night. A man in a black sports jacket and dark grey jeans stands next to you. His buzz-cut is clearly done by himself, some hair sticking out at random angles that he had missed in the mirror when he shaved his hair off. His moustache is recently shaved, but it looks like he’s trying to grow a beard; the hair on his chin is left untouched. His shoes are well-worn – clearly this man does regular exercise, which is probably why he was out at this hour. There’s a serious look in his dark brown eyes as he looks at you.

The man’s lips move, and you suspect that this guy is asking you if you’re alright. You give a weak nod in reply, raising your left hand to your ear and then making an ‘x’ as you bring your right hand up to cross both of them with each other. Hopefully it gets your point across pretty easily without the latter knowing sign language. I can’t hear.

The man nods, taking out his flip phone from his jacket’s pocket, large thumbs moving awkwardly against the small keypad before he turns the screen to you. You squint your eyes, trying to adjust them to the sudden harsh light.

- Need food? YES or NO.

Surprised, you nod awkwardly. Is this guy serious ? The man turns the phone back towards himself, typing again.

- U have place to stay? Y / N?

You shake your head this time. No, you ran from the only place that dared to house you, if it could even be called a home . It was the furthest thing from it.

The man closes his flip phone, motioning to you to follow. If you were in any other state of mind, you would maybe think twice instead of blindly following this man, but your hunger and exhaustion take over. The potential idea of having even just a single bite of food and maybe a soft pillow to rest your head on is too promising of an opportunity to pass up. You don't feel any weird aura from the man, either – but maybe that’s just your senses being dulled by everything else going on right now.

…What were you just doing, anyways? Where did you come from again…?

Your movements are sluggish as you take a step towards the man, disregarding your own worried thoughts about forgotten plans from just mere moments ago. Your right knee buckles slightly underneath your weight, but you heed it no mind; not until you take another step and your vision starts to spot at the edges, creating a warped tunnel in front of you. You collapse, feeling yourself fall into a pair of strong arms before everything goes completely black, enveloping you completely and taking your consciousness away with it.

The years pass by in a muddled mess, and now you look at yourself in the mirror. Your hand holds your chin as you stare at the jagged scar that runs from the top of your right eyebrow, along the bridge of your (currently broken) nose, down to your left cheek. Another smaller scar sits right next to the bigger one in your eyebrow, almost looking like a claw mark.

Your eyebrows furrow in distaste at the ugly scars, nose wrinkling before you hiss at the pain that pangs throughout your face. The bandage currently resting along the bridge of it feels like it’s barely doing its job at holding the broken bone in place, and to distract yourself from the persistent ache, you look up into your mismatched eyes. Your right eye is its original colour, but your left eye is a deep, vibrant magenta that you still aren't used to seeing. There’s a distinct lack of light that should normally be reflected in your eyes – instead, they look empty. Worn out. Cold.

Your gaze trails down to your left arm, which is left uncovered by a black sleeveless compression shirt. The curse mark looks back at you, an ugly dark purple with a lighter, thick burgundy outline. It’s in the shape of the tendrils that once crawled along your skin, leaving their permanent mark deep within your bones. It covers nearly your entire forearm, looking like a messed-up tattoo. The pain is constant, only slightly dulled with whatever concoction of medicine Yaga tends to give you. Never in a thousand years did anyone think a spirit could ever experience chronic pain, yet here this one stands, insomnia riddled nights keeping you awake and acutely aware of the never-ending throbbing. The dark bags underneath your eyes speak for themselves.

Your hair hasn’t been cut since Yaga took you in, and you style it the way you usually like it, making sure that there’s enough hair that covers your ears completely.

Besides the curse mark, the purple eye and the broken nose, everything else seems to be in place as it normally should be.

Your knit-picking of yourself gets interrupted by a presence on the other side of the bathroom door. You can tell someone is knocking by the way that the old handle shakes and the door slightly bounces back and forth in its frame.

Sighing through your nose, you open the door to reveal a familiar man. Yaga’s buzzcut is what greets you first as the teacher seems to be looking down, fumbling with something in his hands. Oh, the elastic bandages. Your left hand goes to grab it, distracting Yaga from his awkward struggle and grabbing his attention.

The man seems to be saying something unintelligible as he drops the wraps into your awaiting hands.

“ Here you go, ” Yaga signs to you once he realized that you couldn’t understand him, “ they’re clean bandages. Do you still have the dirty ones in here ?”

You turn to the sink where the discarded bandages lay. There’s dried blood and dirt littered all over the fabric, wordlessly telling Yaga everything he needs to know about what happened. The teacher quietly watches as you unfurl the clean wraps before enveloping your left arm with the bandages, just enough to cover the mark of the curse. One-handed, you struggle with tucking the wrap properly so it doesn’t fall off, so Yaga swats your right hand away to do it himself.

Finally secured properly, you take a step back to create a bit of distance between the two to take another look in the mirror. You nod your head, approving of the placement of the bandage. No sign of the curse mark underneath it.

“ Now that you’re all fixed up, there’s something I want to discuss with you,” Yaga signs to you again. “ Do you mind reading my lips? ”

You shake your head. Thankfully, Yaga’s beard isn’t too obstructive to his lips, so it’s easier to understand him compared to others.

“Thank you for understanding,” he seems a bit sheepish, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “My sign language is still rusty at best, but the classes are paying off. I can understand you better now.”

At this, you give him a grin. “ I really appreciate you taking those classes. Most people wouldn’t bother.” You sign to him, making sure to move your hands more slowly than usual so he can understand.

“Well, we have to communicate somehow, don’t we? And anyways, it’s an important skill to have,” the brunette brings a closed fist to in front of his mouth momentarily, probably to clear his throat, you surmise. “Moving on…”

Yaga leads you to exit the bathroom, walking out into the small dorm that you currently occupy, unbeknownst to the other students living at the school.

You both sit down on your respective mats laid out on the floor, sitting across from each other with a small coffee table in between the two of you. Normally, you would prepare green tea for yourself and him, but it looks like Yaga has something on his mind, so you let him take the lead. He folds his hands together, resting them on the tabletop before he starts speaking.

“I’d like to have you join the Jujutsu society, officially,” he says. “No more hiding. You’d be training with others, and have an official rank.”

You can’t help the way your jaw drops quickly, eyes widening. Immediately, your hands start to move frantically as you lean over the coffee table excitedly.

“ Seriously?! You’re not joking??? I could be out there again? But what about the higher-ups?! You know Gakuganji hates my guts! ”

Yaga lets a small smile grace his usually stoic face at your excitement, though he quickly gets nervous, as the speed at which you sign is not something he’s used to. Who knew someone could ramble so efficiently with sign language? “Hold your horses – first off, he doesn’t hate you, he’s just a traditionalist. A spirit working amongst us, no less a cursed one, is probably the highest form of blasphemy for him. I’m surprised he hasn’t had a heart attack already, truthfully.”

You sit back on your mat, huffing out longingly, lazily tilting your head side to side as you slump over and pout. “ He acts as if I murdered his entire family. ”

Yaga says nothing to that, simply nodding along. “As I said, it’s nothing personal… the higher-ups weren’t happy with my proposal, but I can’t keep you locked in here. You’ve proven yourself time and time again that I can trust you. It’s due time that you discover our world properly.”

You bristle at that, back straightening. Similar words were spoken to you decades ago, hiding a sinister truth behind them. Yaga isn’t her, you remind yourself. Things have changed... though not everything. Funnily enough, your body hasn’t aged a day since your creation – constantly stuck in the body of a young adult. However, the things you have seen and experienced are enough to last for a thousand lifetimes.

“I’ve trained you underneath me for some time now, but you should learn to work in a team,” Yaga continues. “I have very promising students this year, you’ll be a good match for them.”

“ They won’t take kindly to me being a cursed spirit, ” you frown. “ I’m not entirely sure that’s a good idea.”

“We won’t know until we try, will we?” He raises an eyebrow in question, which you return mockingly. “Don’t give me that. You’ve always been an optimist, prove yourself to me.”

You sigh dramatically. “ Lots of pressure you’re putting on me, old man…” You lay your head on the coffee table, eyes still on Yaga’s lips to read them properly.

“Run that by me again?” The teacher asks, and suddenly it feels like a heavy weight has appeared in the room. You immediately sit up straight, eyes growing the size of saucers as you grin nervously.

“ I mean, you look as young as ever!” You shake your hands out in front of yourself defensively, sweating profusely. “ You haven’t aged since I’ve known you!”

“...That’s what I thought.” You breathe out in relief.

“ So when would I be meeting your students? ”

“I was hoping for our first class of the day today. It’d be good to get you involved as soon as possible,” Yaga says.

His timing is reasonable – today is the first day back to school after summer break, so it’d make sense for you to be introduced then, instead of halfway through a random semester. It would feel invasive if he did otherwise. The prospect of being introduced to a class that already knows each other well makes you a bit nervous, but the excitement to meet new people and no longer having to hide your presence overshadows your anxiety.

You take a look at the digital clock on your nightstand, seeing it is approximately twenty minutes before class starts.

“We should get going, then,” Yaga states as he follows your eyes to the time, tapping the table with his pointer finger to get your attention. Your head snaps to the teacher’s fingers, who points behind him to the door of your dorm with his thumb.

You both get up, and you quickly dust off your dark brown cargo pants before you follow behind Yaga, the familiar feeling of the knob locking signaling that you closed up your door properly. You make your way down the hallways of the dormitory, stepping outside to walk along campus towards the school itself.

It’s a beautiful morning; the sun shines brightly, only a few clouds can be seen in the light blue sky. Birds fly back and forth between the trees, and you are sure that they must be chirping (a noise that Yaga had tried - and failed - to explain to you, but at least you know what the word is). The day still holds a bit of the overnight chill, though it’ll soon dissipate into the oppressive heat that summer usually holds as it ends.

You step into the school, and you make your way to Yaga’s classroom, sliding the door open. The wooden desks with white tabletops are holding up stacked chairs, and on Yaga’s desk sits a pencil holder and sharpener with a chunky laptop placed on top of a few stacked papers.

You tap the man’s shoulder, grabbing his attention.

“ I see you went all-out with your decorations, ” you joke.

“Ha ha ,” and you know that’s a sarcastic laugh because Yaga’s eyebrow twitches like it usually does when there’s sarcasm laced in his tone. “There’s only three of them, plus my two first-years. It feels ridiculous to have a classroom of this size for just a few brats. Take a seat, one of them should be here shortly.”

You obediently take a seat at one of the desks in the middle at the very front, plopping yourself in the chair and leaning back to make room to rest your legs on the top of the desk, crossing one over the other. At least in this seat, you’ll be able to read Yaga’s lips with little to no issue.

“ One? ” You sign with a simple motion, raising an eyebrow questionably.

“Yeah, the two others are always late no matter what.” Yaga seems exasperated as he says it, rolling his eyes, followed by his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as if a headache is already forming when class hasn’t even started yet. Then, Yaga signs a word that you are incredibly familiar with. “ Morons. ”

That makes you laugh without a sound. “ Are you even allowed to say that about your own students? ”

The teacher nods his head fervently, and it’s enough to tell you all you need to know about the people you’ll be introduced to shortly. Speaking of which, you take a look up at the clock on the wall above the chalkboard. Oh, they should be here right about…

You notice movement in the corner of your eye, and someone takes a step through the doorway and into the classroom.

…Now.

A girl with dark brown hair cut in a bob holds a pack of cigarettes in her hand, doing a poor job of concealing it in front of her teacher. Her bangs are swept to the left, and it looks like the length of it is annoying her, as she blows air to get some loose strands out of her eyes. She dons a long-sleeved shirt in Jujutsu High’s typical dark blue colour with a skirt to match it, black tights underneath and brown sandals on her feet. The features that stand out the most to you is the mole right underneath her right eye, accompanied by the tired look in her chocolate brown eyes.

She fusses with the pack of cigarettes, trying to slip it into a pocket of her skirt, and is discussing something back and forth with Yaga, completely oblivious to the other presence in the room until he jabs a finger in your direction.

“...Oh,” you read on her lips. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

You wave back politely, signing good morning to her with a smile on your face. She tilts her head in question, not understanding the movements you did with your hands.

“ Ohh. ” The girl drags the word out. She brings her right hand up to her forehead, pinching her thumb and forefinger to make something similar to an ‘OK’ sign, hand tilting sideways, then flattens out her hand vertically and brings it down. ‘ I’m sorry’ in sign language. “I don’t know much sign… besides ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’,” she says as she turns to her teacher.

You’re surprised that she knows how to say sorry in sign language in the first place, and it makes your grin stretch even wider. It’s still something.

“They’re very good at reading lips, if it’s any consolation. I’ve been learning for the past few months but I’m still a novice,” Yaga tells the girl before he rummages through a drawer in his desk. He pulls out an empty notebook and then takes one of the pens in his pencil holder, handing it to the girl. “You should introduce yourself.”

You try to take a peek at the notebook, sitting upright as the brunette hunches over, writing away. Finally, she turns the paper to you, letting you read it properly.

- My name is Ieri Shoko, sorry I don’t know or understand JSL.

You stick your left hand out, right one pointing to the pen in her hand. She hands it to you wordlessly, moving to stand over your shoulder and look down as you write away.

- Nice to meet you, Shoko!

You write down your name on the paper to introduce yourself, leaning your head over so she can read it before you continue again.

- It’s okay. I’m fine with reading lips or writing in this notebook. I’m completely deaf and mute, so if it’s not too much trouble, face me when you’re talking or else I won’t understand you. I apologize.

Shoko waves her hand around nonchalantly, as if saying it’s no problem. She grabs the pen from you to write again.

- No need to apologize. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.

You smile at her, and she sends you a lazy one of her own in return, setting the pen down on the desk.

“Where are those two runts?” Yaga looks towards the doorway, waiting for the rest of his students.

“Probably setting the microwave on fire, I think it’s a biweekly ritual of theirs,” Shoko says as she grabs a seat at the desk to your right. “Either that or terrorizing the staff again.”

Yaga mumbles incoherently to himself, rubbing his temples, annoyed. “I swear…”

A movement out of the corner of your eye catches his attention. Shoko is writing something down again, making sure that you can see the notepad.

- What happened to your nose?

You cringe slightly to himself, brows furrowing in annoyance.

- Bad run in with a curse.

“Literally,” Yaga makes sure to mention to her. “They ran into a wall while chasing it down.”

You wave your hands back and forth, as if trying to cut him off while glaring at the man. She doesn’t need to know that! All dignity is thrown out the window when you realize Shoko is chuckling. It’s so over, you slump back into your chair, dramatically sighing.

There’s a thumping that vibrates the floorboards on the other side of the doorway. Multiple, actually. Curious, you look over to your right and through the windows of the classroom, seeing two figures blur as they run down the hallway and rush into Yaga’s room.

Two men stand there, both wiping sweat off of their foreheads as they catch their breath.

The first that catches your eye has black hair tied back into a bun, letting his bangs stay loose on the left side of his face. His eyes are dark brown, and he has black gauges pierced in his ears. He’s tall and slim, but you can tell that his arms are muscled underneath the long-sleeved uniform shirt. He wears extremely baggy pants and dark black sandals.

The other has stunning pure white hair that sticks up at random angles – he obviously doesn’t care too much to brush his hair in the mornings – and he wears a black hoodie with the hood flipped up, covering most of his head. His eyes are an electric blue, almost seemingly glowing. He wears the school’s uniform pants with expensive-looking shoes. He looks a little taller than the other one by a couple of inches, too.

“Sorry we’re late…” The dark-haired one says after catching his breath. The other seems to have his gaze locked onto you, slapping his friend’s arm to grab his attention and pointing to the new addition in the class. Uncomfortable at the intense eye contact, you avert your gaze to his friend’s earrings.

There’s a certain indescribable aura that emanates from the mysterious stranger sitting at the desk, setting off warning bells in both of the boys’ minds. They take a defensive stance, ready to attack at any moment.

“There’s no mistaking that…” The black-haired guy mumbles, fists raised.

“It must be a cursed spirit.” The other one finishes.

Shoko seems surprised, but doesn’t make a move to make any distance between her and you.

“Calm down, you two,” Yaga steps forward slightly. “They’re joining you.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” The white-haired one asks.

“This is your new teammate, or your babysitter, depending on how you look at it, Gojo,” Yaga answers. You presume Gojo is the one with the striking blue eyes.

You quickly grab the notebook in front of you, holding it up so they can read the introduction you wrote to Shoko a minute prior.

The two friends look at each other, apprehensive. Obviously, they aren’t too keen on you being in their proximity, which is exactly what you feared in the first place. You can’t blame them for their initial reaction, though it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Are you being for real?” Gojo asks his teacher. “This thing is joining us?”

“That thing can read your lips. It’s a complicated story,” he says. “It’d take too long to explain. However, I can assure you that they’re perfectly safe. They’re not a curse.”

A pen being thrown in their general direction grabs their attention, the three men’s gazes trailing to you, holding your notebook up again.

- Don’t talk about me as if I’m not in the same room as you.

Yaga signs an apology, but Gojo crosses his arms and frowns at you.

“So what, you’re joining us on missions and training?” He asks.

“That’s the idea,” Yaga says. “So play nice. That goes to you too,” he says your name.

Your point to yourself, pouting. “ Such offensive accusations. I’m an angel. ”

“Huh? What’d they say?” The black-haired one tilts his head in confusion.

“They’re a bit of a trickster as well, been a pain in my ass for the past few years. Not unlike you three…” the teacher pauses for a moment. “ Goddamn , I just realized – introducing you all to each other is probably the worst thing I could’ve done to myself.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, now…” Gojo mumbles before looking dead-ahead at you and addressing you. “Satoru Gojo.”

Despite his attitude, you move your hands together to sign ‘ Nice to meet you. ’ His last name seems familiar, but you can’t quite place why. The lack of recognition in your mismatched eyes must be obvious to the white-haired man, who’s eyebrows raise at the lack of reaction.

“You know, like the Six Eyes? The Gojo Clan ?” He points to himself to drive his point home.

The mention of Six Eyes rings a bell, but for some reason it still doesn’t click. You shake your head, shrugging, then pointing to the dark-haired man standing next to Gojo.

“I’m Suguru Geto,” he introduces himself simply, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants. “...You’re completely deaf?”

You nod, quickly writing down in the notebook.

- Can’t hear a single thing.

“Shit, that sucks.” Gojo says.

“Gojo, have some decorum, idiot,” Geto hisses to his friend, slapping the back of his head, though it has zero effect on him.

“My bad,” The white-haired man half-heartedly apologizes. “You’re the one who asked in the first place.”

“Can you take your hood off, Gojo?” Yaga gets the student’s attention.

“But sensei , my head hurts again…” he complains, pulling the hood down even further to cover his eyes completely. “Everything’s so bright today.”

“I’m guessing that’s why you were late. As usual. ”

You tilt your head, taking the pen off of your desk and scribbling down in the notebook again. Shoko leans over to read what you’re writing, and Suguru, noticing her behaviour, does the same.

- Does he have migraines often?

Suguru nods in reply. “Yeah, pretty much every other day.”

You hiss through your teeth, mouthing ‘ ouch’ and doing a thumbs-down, making Shoko chuckle lightly.

“Anyways,” Yaga speaks to the entire group as Gojo sits on top of the desk to the left of you, “I’d like you three to take today easy and get acquainted with them. Since this is your first day back to school, I’d like for you to train for an hour. Following the next few days, we’ll get onto a regular schedule.”

“We don’t need a babysitter, sensei,” Gojo pouts at his teacher. “We’re fine on our own.”

“This isn’t just for you, Gojo. This is also for them,” he looks over at you. “They need to learn how things work around here so they don't get into more trouble.”

“ Ooooh, is someone in cahoots with the higher-ups?” This time, he directs the question to you. You make a so-so motion with your hands, shrugging at the same time.

- Something like that? You write down in the notebook, giving an awkward tight-lipped smile.

“Seems like you might fit in with us, in the end.”

Silence stretches out for a few moments before Yaga breaks it by clapping his hands together once.

“Well then, I’ll leave you to get to your training. After that, do what you want,” he says before he turns to you. “ Notebook O-K?” He signs.

You nod in reply, giving him a thumbs up. With that, the teacher exits the classroom after tucking his laptop and loose papers underneath his arm, waving goodbye to your small group.

A poke to your shoulder takes your focus away from your only friend to these strangers. Shoko gives you a lazy grin, pointing at you, then your notebook and pen.

“So, what’re you good with?” She asks.

- Polearms, or my fists. What do you use?

“Ah, actually, she uses a scalpel. Shoko’s refining her Reverse Cursed Technique,” Gojo butts in.

“I could’ve answered that myself, thank you very much, ” she hisses at him, though seeing the small grin on her face, you can tell that there is no actual bite to her words.

Then, you point to the two men standing to your left, as if to ask what about you two ?

There’s a small pause before Gojo breaks out into a shit-eating grin, and both Geto and Shoko shake their heads exasperatedly.

“ Well , I’m glad you asked,” he says as he lowers the hood of his hoodie, completely uncovering his head as he splays his arms out as if he’s performing in front of a crowd. “See, I’m the strongest . I have both the Limitless and Six Eyes.”

The look on his face is full of pride, a hint of mischief flashing in his blue eyes for the split second that you make eye contact with him. You give him another blank stare like a few minutes before, making the white-haired man clench his jaw and shove his face into his hands, irritated. By the look on Geto and Shoko’s face, he’s complaining about that, as they start laughing.

“See, I already like you. You’re actually funny, unlike these two,” Shoko turns to address them. “You guys might have your panties in a twist, but them and I will be best friends,” she says, drawing a small smiley face and a star next to you and her’s names written in the notebook. “Right?” She asks as she looks at you.

You tilt your head to the side, then smile, nodding along. You point to yourself, then to her before clasping both of your hands together tightly and making a small circling movement with your clasped hands.

“What does that one mean?” She asks goodnaturedly.

- Can we be friends? You jot down on the paper.

The brunette repeats the motion slowly, mumbling the words to herself as if it’ll help her remember more easily. “Like that?”

You nod, the smile never leaving your face at the small interaction.

“Sweet!” She exclaims. “You’ll have to teach me more eventually, it’d be cool to communicate properly with you.”

“ I’d be happy to, ” you nod again before you turn to Geto, pointing at him again.

“Oh, right,” he says, mostly to himself. “I manipulate curses.”

Immediately, your jaw drops before you give the raven-haired man two thumbs up. “ That’s sick!” You sign, impressed, eyebrows raised.

“Oh come on, that’s hardly fair! Barely a blink of an eye to my insane powers, and now they’re shitting bricks over Suguru’s ability! This is crazy glazing,” Gojo whines, draping himself over the top of your desk dramatically.

Geto gives him a full-body laugh. “I guess I’m just cooler than you, Satoru.”

“This hardly feels fair. C’mon, I’m sick of this room. Let’s go to the training grounds!” He thumbs in the door’s direction.

Your group gathers their things before making your way outside, not crossing by a single other staff member or student. You can tell how deadly quiet it is on the campus of the school, even without your hearing – there’s a certain lack of energy. You recall Yaga mentioning that jujutsu sorcerers were far and few between nowadays, which explains the few number of students attending.

Now that you’re all walking next to each other, you notice how much taller the two men are compared to yourself. Shoko’s around the same height as you, but Geto is nearly an entire head taller than you, and Gojo is even taller than Geto. You feel short compared to the two of them, and it annoys you.

The weather is still nice by the time you arrive at the training grounds, however the heat is starting to make itself known, making you cringe. You’ve never been good with the warmth that accompanies summer, usually only having a certain amount of energy before you’re knocked out for the rest of the day. You won’t be impressing any of your new acquaintances (and friend ?) today, that’s for sure… not that you wanted to, in the first place. Better to keep your power under wraps for now, especially with the heatwave. Stick to normal physical attacks instead.

You can feel the dry dirt crunch underneath your beat up black – mostly brown, now – converse shoes. You mentally note to not make the wrong move, or else you’ll roll your ankle on the dirt.

There’s a small shack nearby the training grounds, and Geto opens it to reveal an entire array of weapons. There’s a long wooden polearm hanging on the wall; precisely what you need. You grab it, weighing it in the palm of your hands. It’s much lighter than what you usually use, so you’ll have to adjust a bit to that.

You take a quick glance at Geto, who’s doing stretches on the grassy part of the field, and then your eyes drift to Gojo, who stands there watching his friend, hands in his pockets. Isn’t he at least going to pick up a weapon or something?

The latter must feel your attention focused on him, because his gaze snaps up to meet your own. You nervously divert your eyes, looking down at Gojo’s nose and lips instead in case he begins to talk.

“Something on your mind?” He asks you.

Multiple things, actually… you think to yourself. Setting your wooden polearm on the ground, you grab the notebook and pen you brought with yourself and scribble down a few words before turning it around to face him.

- Aren’t you gonna grab something too?

It seems that there’s always a stupid grin smeared across Gojo’s face that you can never wipe off. This time, instead of a dramatic display, he just crosses his arms and shakes his head.

“You’ll see.”

There’s an undeniable curiosity that itches at the back of your mind, so you decide to put the notebook down and pick the polearm up again, making your way closer to Gojo. You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow with a lighthearted smile playing upon your lips.

Well, what are you waiting for?

The white-haired man immediately pulls his hood down, an aura of confidence surrounding him. There’s not a single twitch of his finger or furrow of his brow that gives a hint to any anxiety – he has complete faith in himself and his abilities. Gojo spreads his arms out like he did earlier, as if to make himself an easier target than he already was.

You aren't stupid; you know that your opponent has something up his sleeve, so you have to be careful with your opening moves. You need Gojo to give away what his techniques are without getting caught in the middle of it. Thankfully, this is just a training exercise, so it’s not serious if you get a scratch or two; Gojo wouldn’t go all out, after all, so you wouldn’t either.

With that reassurance, you make the first move. You take a quick step to the right, so swiftly that the air whips around you, the grass where you once stood ruffling angrily from the sudden movement. Gojo immediately reacts; he tries to put more distance between the two of you, not quite expecting the speed at which his opponent moves, but not entirely surprised either.

Another step forward, and you’re suddenly behind him, raising your staff and bringing it down to whack him with it. However, before your weapon can touch Gojo, it gets caught mid-air by an invisible force. Furrowing your brows, you try to put more force behind the blow, but there’s still some sort of force field surrounding him. There’s no way you can land a single scratch on him with this ability activated.

Suddenly, the polearm splits in half, sending shards of wood everywhere around the two of you. Gojo turns around, about to take his turn to attack, but your reaction time is faster, right foot immediately pressing down on the ground below you, sending you flying backwards to put enough distance between you both and landing on your feet.

Your polearm lays pathetically broken on the ground next to Gojo, who continues to smirk at you, completely relaxed as he tugs his hood over his head again.

Even though you had barely done any physical exertion, you already feel sweat form on your brow. You sit down on the grass, leaning back on your hands, feeling the earth refresh your bare palms for a few seconds.

“ What was that? ” you ask him, hands moving quickly as the curiosity continues to eat away at you.

“That was Infinity,” Gojo says, deciding to sit across from you on the grass. For a split second, you look up, and his eyes look less bright than before; it might have something to do with activating his ability, you think. “It’s a work in progress, but I’m basically untouchable with this.”

Shoko walks up to the pair of you, Geto following close behind with your notebook and pen in hand. Grateful, you sign your thanks to him and take them from him, writing some more.

- That’s impressive!! :D You’ll have to tell me more about your Limitless and Six Eyes, I’m curious to learn more.

“Why, so you can take over and kill us all?” Gojo asks, ignoring the flare of pride in his chest at your interest – he knows he can’t trust you that easily.

You level him with a deadpan stare, raising your eyebrows, completely unimpressed.

- Obviously. While I’m at it, I’ll burn the whole world too.

“ See! ” Gojo hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “I knew Yaga’s must’ve been sun-downing when he introduced us to a freaking cursed spirit to add to our team.”

You make a ‘cuckoo’ sign, rolling your eyes and trying not to take the male’s words to heart. He’s just speaking that way because he doesn’t know the entire story – not that he should, honestly – and has only been taught to exorcise curses.

- Jokes aside, I promise not to lay a finger on a single precious hair of yours. As Yaga said, it’s complicated when it comes to me. I’d appreciate it if you keep an open mind. I’d get killed in a split second by the higher ups if I even thought of that, anyways :/

“Seriously, they haven't done anything to show that they’re aggressive,” Shoko comes to your defense, though you find it hard to read her lips as your eyes unfocus; you can’t help but think that maybe Gojo isn’t completely wrong to have that mindset.

“But what if one day they are? Not that it would be a problem for me to exorcise them, but c’mon now. It’s a threat to have them around.”

“Satoru, I think we can trust sensei with this. If he says that they’re trustworthy, then they probably are. He’s a good judge of character,” Geto says next. He isn’t entirely convinced that you’re harmless, but Gojo is being rather harsh with his words.

He huffs, annoyed that both his friends are on your side. “Don’t come crying to me when they finally snap.”

“ I’m not a curse ,” you sign even though none of them know sign language. “ You wouldn’t be exorcising me. You’d be killing me. ”

Tired from this back and forth, you get up, brushing your pants off and grabbing the notebook, tucking it underneath your arm.

“Wait, where’re you going?” Shoko asks.

You point back to the dormitories, shrugging. There’s no point in you sticking around right now if this is going to be the team’s dynamic.

“Don’t go, Satoru promises to behave himself,” Geto says while pinching Gojo’s ear. “Right, Gojo?”

“Fine, fine! Jeez, I’ll stop.” He shakes himself out of his friend’s grip, soothing his now-swollen ear. “Did you have to yank it that hard, Geto ?”

“Seems to be the only way to get you to behave, so yes.”

Shoko claps her hands, satisfied. “Perfect. Let’s go downtown to grab something to cool off, hm?”

A refreshing drink doesn’t sound like a bad idea, you muse to yourself. After a moment, you nod in agreement, making the brunette smile widely at you.

The subway is packed with people; afternoon rush hour is no joke on these trains. Shoko is uncomfortably pressed up against the windows of the doors, Geto is stuck between two people chatting away on two different business calls, you’re desperately clinging onto the railing attached to the ceiling and trying not to lose your footing as you sway back and forth, squished in between the crowd, fingers brushing against the metal pole as your arms aren’t long enough to reach it properly… and Gojo sits happily in the one free seat that was left in the compartment, sitting right behind you.

He’s looking down at his flip phone, obviously amused at something as his body wracks with laughter. He looks up, feeling a hint of murderous intent in the air, making eye contact with Shoko, who’s current glare held towards him could kill someone. The white-haired man smiles innocently at her, sending a lighthearted wave and mouthing something – Having fun over there?

She flips him off in reply.

Meanwhile, you and Geto share equally uncomfortable glances with each other, neither of you being able to breathe properly in this sea of people. Your view is suddenly obstructed by a tall man with bright orange hair, a large suitcase in his hand. His mouth moves quickly, too quickly for you to read his lips properly. Not only that, but you’re pretty sure that this man isn’t even speaking Japanese.

Oh, a tourist… This isn’t good.

Nervously, trying to keep his legs steady, you lower your hands from the too-tall ceiling railing, your left pointer finger pointing to your ear, then making an ‘X’ with your hands. Can’t hear, you mouth, shaking your head back and forth.

Not understanding, the stranger tilts his head to the side, obviously confused, trying his hand again at communicating with you.

What’s this guy not getting? Damn, Shoko has my notebook in her bag and she’s stuck in the corner across from me…

You repeat the motion but it falls on deaf ears – or eyes, in this case.

The man is starting to get irritated, lips downturned, but then his eyes widen at the same time as you feel a hand on your shoulder, making you jolt. Looking back over your shoulder, you’re surprised to see Gojo standing up, starting to talk to the tourist with an easy smile spread across his face. You’re even more surprised to see that Gojo is speaking an entirely different language, seeing as you can’t understand the way his lips are moving, unable to place a single word compared to what you’re familiar with.

The warmth of Gojo’s hand resting on your bare shoulder makes you uncomfortable, but you can’t exactly shake him off when you’re stuck in between this many people.

Looking back up, the conversation seems to flow easily between the two men, and by the next stop, the stranger steps off the train, lugging his heavy suitcase behind him.

Hesitantly, you turn around to sign a thank you to Gojo, surprised he would’ve gone out of his way to take over the situation when he holds an obvious distaste towards you. The white-haired man waves you off lazily, sitting back down in his seat and flipping his phone open again, completely disregarding you.

A few stops later, and the four of you shove your way through the train to get off. Each of you takes a deep breath of fresh air, relieved to finally get out of that cramped space.

“It smelled musty in there, oh my god,” Shoko complains, taking a quick peek in her tote bag to make sure that everything she brought with her was left untouched. Cigarettes and lighter, check , wallet, check , phone, check, your notebook and pen, check .

“What did that guy want, by the way?” Geto asks Gojo. “He seemed pretty intent on bothering you,” he looks at you as he speaks, “I just couldn’t get through my two entrepreneurs to help out.”

“He wanted to know where the museum was located,” Gojo replies. “I gave him the wrong directions.”

You choke on your spit, quietly snickering to yourself while coughing a bit, signing another thank you.

“It’s not that serious,” Gojo waves you off again before he starts laughing. “Anyways, look at this hilarious picture I got of you trying to struggle to grab the railing!”

The man turns his phone screen to face you, showing off a semi-blurry picture of you, your fingertips brushing against the railing while on your tip-toes, a determined look on your face (that made you look a bit constipated, if you were being honest with yourself).

I’m either going to kill myself, you think to yourself as you glare at Gojo, who continues to cackle, or I’m going to kill him.

“...” Shoko finds it hard to stop the grin from spreading across her face, turning to her friend. “Send me that.”

He sends her a thumbs up, and immediately Shoko hears a ping coming from her phone that sits at the bottom of the totebag.

“You guys are jerks, y’know that?” Geto asks, somehow the voice of reason between the three of them. “C’mon,” he says your name, “let’s ditch these two and go get bubble tea or something.”

You immediately go to walk next to the raven-haired man, sticking your tongue out at Shoko who gives you an offended look. Even though you had only met her this morning, you felt comfortable enough joking around with her. It was a nice change of pace for once, having only known the glares of the higher-ups for the past few years.

Shoko and Gojo immediately catch up to the two of you, your group walking down the bustling streets of Tokyo, the afternoon sun beating down on everyone. The heat is oppressive, and you find yourself thankful there’s only a few more weeks of this kind of weather before it starts to cool off.

You all look at the different shops and restaurants, Shoko focusing on a run-down corner store.

“After we get our drinks, I’m gonna stop here and pick up some more cigarettes,” she tells you. “I’m running low.”

“That’s gonna develop into a problem,” Geto says.

“As if it isn’t already?” Gojo asks rhetorically.

“Don’t blame me, blame the principal for making me do all this shit for my reverse technique.”

You find a nearby boba tea shop that’s relatively empty – most cafes are bustling with students who are in-between classes. It’s a comfortable little shop; there are small plants littering the shelves all around, a few people are already occupying some tables at the back, which leaves the table at the front right next to the window free. Shoko immediately claims it, dumping her bag on one of the two seats closest to the window.

Gojo and Geto are already at the counter, ordering their own drinks, but you hang back awkwardly, looking back and forth between the menu and the brunette next to you.

“What’s up?” She looks over at you, noticing how tense you look.

You point at all the different drink options before shrugging; I have no clue what to pick. Unbeknownst to his group, you’ve never had boba tea before and have absolutely no idea what it tastes like, or what flavour you should be getting.

“Ohhh, I think I get it,” Shoko says, pulling out her wallet from the tote bag. “Want me to order you something?”

You nod in reply, handing her some pocket change to pay for your own drink.

“I gotcha. Stay with our stuff, I’ll go order.”

You sign your thanks, taking the seat across from her so you can people-watch in the meantime. Many businessmen frantically walk by, rushing to get to their next meetings while balancing phones next to their ears, meanwhile a mother gives a piggie-back to her young kid, both smiling and laughing. Couples hold hands, one sharing ice cream between each other and whispering inside jokes in each other’s ears. You picture how their voices must sound – are their tones different when they speak to each other? You can’t picture the specific sounds in your mind, but you imagine that there’s a difference in pitch when someone talks to the people they like, they dislike, their coworkers, customers and more. It makes you long for something you haven't known in centuries. You wonder what your new acquaintances sound like, what you sound like. You’ve forgotten your own voice.

A flick to the forehead brings you out of your reverie. Shoko sits across from you, two drinks in hand that look exactly the same.

“I got you what I usually get, I hope that’s okay,” she tells you, handing you one of the drinks. There are small black blobs at the bottom of the creamy-looking substance. You observe the way Shoko pierces the plastic top of the cup with the thick straw, imitating her, careful not to pierce the cup itself. Immediately, you smell vanilla and coffee with a hint of something else.

Tentatively, you take a sip and the taste of caramel touches the tip of your tongue. It tastes delicious .

Gojo sits next to Shoko, Geto taking the seat next to you. His drink looks more fruity, with swirls of orange with whipped cream on top – he doesn’t have the black boba at the bottom, though. Gojo’s is a light blue, and he seems to have taken extra boba.

Geto taps his pointer finger on the table, grabbing your attention.

“Ever had this before?” He asks. You shake your head, and immediately flinch backwards when Gojo slams his hands down on the table and leans over it, a look of horror on his face.

“Has Yaga been starving you?! He’s been hiding this from you the entire time?? I think this counts as a form of abuse!”

“Oh my god, Satoru, quiet down - there are other people in the shop,” the raven-haired man clenches his jaw, giving a look to his friend across from him.

“But this is tragic!”

You huff, a small smile playing on your lips as you happily take another sip from the drink, your left leg swinging back and forth as you get lost in the taste.

“Do you like it?” Shoko grins at you.

You nod enthusiastically, giving her two thumbs up.

Suddenly, another drink is pushed towards you. It’s Gojo’s blue drink.

“Try mine,” he insists, inching it closer to you.

All three lean on the table, curious as to what you will think of it. You look at them awkwardly, hesitantly grabbing the cup, and take a cautious sip. Your eyebrows immediately shoot up at how sweet it tastes – the coconut slush tastes delicious though, especially the coconut jelly that is mixed in with the drink.

“Sooooo…?” Gojo awaits a reply.

You look over at Shoko’s bag, pointing to it. She catches on quickly, handing you the notebook and pen.

- It’s soo good and rich :D but super sweet

“Yeah, this guy has an addiction,” Geto says, handing you his drink next. “I’m curious as to what you think of mine.”

Gojo grabs his drink again, pouting as he takes a big sip from the straw. “At least they appreciate my taste in drinks, unlike you guys.”

Ignoring his pouting, you take a sip from Geto’s drink, catching yourself before you can hum at the taste. Passionfruit and mango – your favourite – hits your taste buds. You also taste crushed biscuits with the whipped cream. You close your eyes, content.

“I’m guessing that was good,” you read upon Geto’s lips when you open your eyes again.

- I really like mango, so that’s an instant winner.

“HA! Suck it, Satoru,” he mocks his friend, smiling ear from ear.

“When and where?” He instantly says in rebuttal, barely taking an eye off his drink, making you slap a hand over your mouth as you cough over another laugh.

“Not in front of my drink, guys,” Shoko whines as you try to take sips of your drink to cover up your amusement. “Now I definitely need a smoke.”

After finishing your drinks and disposing of them in the trash, you make your way back to the corner store the brunette wanted to stop at earlier.

“You guys can wait out here if you want, I’ll be quick.”

The three of you stand outside, Geto and Gojo talking amongst themselves while you peer into the window of the store. The sunlight shines directly into it, hitting the sunglasses display. Curious, you look more closely, an idea suddenly popping into your head as you notice something.

When Gojo looks back to where you once stood, he notices that you’re missing, instead hearing the sound of the bell of the front door to the store opening, then closing.

You step inside, making your way to the rack of sunglasses, looking at a specific pair of round ones. They look nearly completely blacked out, and just for fun, you try them on – sure enough, you can barely see a thing with these on. Is this even legal? You think to yourself for a moment, but…

It might make for a good peace offering. A helping hand in return for a helping hand, equivalent exchange, isn’t that what they all say?

Looking at the price tag, they’re not necessarily cheap sunglasses, but you can afford it with the money that Yaga has given you as an allowance. You nearly scoff – you , needing an allowance ? How ridiculous is that?

You walk up to the cashier, lost in thought as you pay the worker absentmindedly. Hopefully this will work, or else you’ll look like an idiot.

Not a moment later, you step outside again, a pair of round sunglasses in your left hand, notebook in your right.

“What’s that for?” Gojo approaches you, eyes trained on the object.

You point to him, holding the sunglasses out in the palm of your other hand.

“Uh, okay…?” He feels the need to take the pair from your expecting hand, and decides to put them on. Suddenly, it’s not overwhelmingly bright outside – colours stop melding together in the corner of his eyes to make him dizzy, and he feels the constant headache gnawing at his forehead and the bridge of his nose slowly dissipate, tuning into his Six Eyes to see instead. The overload of information he was so used to is suddenly dulled, and the persistent feeling of overstimulation is gone.

- Sunglasses could help with your migraines. Saw these ones and thought it would be good.

Sure enough, you were right. He lowers his hood, the headache nearly non-existent by this point.

“Whaddya know, it actually worked.” Gojo says as he looks around. He’s able to feel Geto and Shoko’s energies, as well as your rotten cursed aura, and the hundreds of people walking down the streets or driving their cars.

“Good idea,” Geto says your name as he walks up to you both, smiling. “Not sure why resident boy-genius didn’t think of that sooner, honestly.”

Just as Gojo is about to insult him in return, Shoko walks out with a new pack of cigarettes in hand.

“Alright, I’m ready to head back. I need a nap,” she yawns as she speaks… which makes Gojo yawn, then Geto, then in turn, you.

You nod in agreement, feeling your crappy mattress call out to you.

By the time you return, the sun is just starting to set a bit, pinks starting to creep through the blue sky. You all go their separate ways once you return to the dormitories, and you immediately faceplant into your bed, barely making it in time to take off your shoes before you crash.

As you turn your head to look at the calendar right next to your bed, smushing your cheek into your pillow, you think back to the day that you’ve had today. Meeting new people and talking to someone besides Yaga was riveting, even if it didn’t all go according to plan (you frown as you think back to Gojo’s attitude), but you definitely got somewhere. By the end of the hangout at the boba shop, there was a lighter air surrounding the four of you. You feel something burning in your chest, something you think you’ve never felt before.

Maybe…

Maybe things won’t be so bad, in the end.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #jjk x reader #cross posted on ao3

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