#tw!violence

[satoji]

come fall down | i. yuuji

yuuji itadori x f!reader

word count: +14k words

summary: a prisoner far from home and the son of a disgraced knight. a darkness which beckons them to join in folly, to claim back what was lost.

tags & warnings: nsfw + historical au + mentions of war & pows + implied ideation of suicide (no depression) + mention of sexual assault & violence + cult & dark worship w/ animal sacrifices + implied drugging + orgies + exhibitionism + body/soul possession + sukuna makes an appearance + dubcon + brief monsterfucking + details of blood, violence & some gore + it goes without saying that yuuji is an adult

notes: this has been in drafts for nearly a year, it was supposed to be finished in summer 2021, then for kinktober, then for winter... it decided to write itself when it was ready. 47 pages of madness. let’s go!

The sun lays high above the castle, illuminating the hovering dust in the stifling room.

It is midday and soon the young men in the courtyard will freshen from their spar, then resume until the sun lowers to the west. The same routine you’ve seen them follow since arriving here, bound and dragged to this rotten place following your country’s fall to the enemy kingdom—no thanks to the brutal assault and pillaging of the bordering villages led by this castle’s very own lord.

Your forehead presses against the murky window, ignoring the other servant behind you. Already a full moon since then, but the image of houses set ablaze in the night and the distressed wailing of children ring in the back of your mind; the misery of the raid extinguished what little willpower you previously had, accepting whatever fate the enemy prescribed you. The jeers of ridicule as you were forcibly hauled through the mud—by the haughty duke and the leery soldiers who never seem to sober in the wake of victory—still burn your body in humiliation, and you press your eyelids shut before turning away from the window. The loss of a country you had no hand in governing, yet burdened by the dishonor of being among its people conquered.

And though they still have to further disgrace your person beyond forcing your hands to labor around the castle, the possibility of suffering a fate worse than death at the hands of these people still floats at the back of your mind and has had you considering jumping down from this window in front of the men outside more often as the days trickle by.

A familiar knock on the door. The other servant moves to check.

“Change of guards.” A different man, at the same time of the day. He’s the second to come, and after him will be one more for the night shift.

You don’t understand the need for such tight security; you nor any of the servant girls could ever best a trained man, perhaps topple one at most by surprise, but the relatively green soldiers have been strict regarding their watch. You would understand the mental strain and suspicion of the trenches following them to their homes if these were war-trained men, but these were fresh trainees, some of them likely to be younger than you. Perhaps a show of obedience while their lord is away to make up for the fact that they haven’t been sent to war?

The servant and the guard exchange a few friendly words in the back, taking no notice of your person. “There will be a new rota in the coming days. The men who returned from the last unit will get settled in.” The young man then quietly stands by the entrance of the hall, but it is of no consequence to you.

The days are marred by bleak clouds, like the permanent darkness of the foggy woods stretching to the edge of the horizon.

The chill of the wind reaches the bones of your fingers. But no matter how much you scrub, the stains fail to come out. Stubborn grime.

They’ve finally realized it is more worthwhile to assign all the prisoners to some serious work than to leave you rotting in peace—you must earn your bread, and bread is brought by the men whose clothes have been soaked in blood so dark, your fingers are nearly about to fall off.

Squeezing the murky water out of the rags, you think they’ll forget about you all soon enough, and you will end up another faceless peasant stuck in this stone-cold castle without any merit nor future, without a place to call home.

In the near distance, the clanking of swords echoes through the open grounds, fierce and harsh. There are more men than before, with the last of the duke’s army marching home days ago following the kingdom’s absolute triumph over the continent. There are many faces you don’t recognise, out of place with your routine observations, none of them any friendlier than before. Rather you notice a notable difference between the returnees and the green recruits, in the sure way they carry themselves with pride and their scarred hands on sharp blades.

“Done with those yet? You still need to air them so they dry before tomorrow.”

Another servant carrying more laundry crouches next to you, snatching your batch and dropping her burden.

“Don’t dally and pick up pace. Now that the men have returned to their lord’s castle, we keep running out of fresh clothes.” Her annoyance hastens her movements. “If only they teach these men to clean after themselves the same way they make them slice throats, we wouldn’t be here from dawn till sunset working ragged to our bones.”

Loud swears resonate through the courtyard. A squabble seems to have broken out between the gathering, but you fail to catch the reason, instead watching as one of the larger men threateningly puts a knife to a frightened young man. If he presses any harder, the poor chap would soil his bottoms. You watch with no real interest, but the servant seems to read something on your face.

“Don’t get involved with them. Even women don’t receive pity from the sharpest edges of their swords.” A show of concern, you recognise, but oddly placed since you don’t even know her name. She jults her chin to the far right of the crowd. “Especially those that have been at the front lines since their youth. Bred for war and ready to die for it.”

A boyish laugh catches your attention at that moment, and also those of the squabbling men. With a deep scar across his face, the man—a knight?—sheaths his own sword and ignores the threatening blade between the dispute; no one makes a move to stop him from sliding in between the two men, pushing them away from each other with ease and easygoing chatter. He seems somewhat different from the others; jaunty and all smiles with an innocence unbefitting of the scar carved on his visage, telling of the horrors of the war he likely partook in. You think he shines with a certain charm, and transfixed, you observe him deescalate the situation, stoutly standing in the center; making you wonder who he is, what he has achieved.

Once the offender relents and turns away grumbling, the scared young man spins on his heel and catches your gaze across the courtyard as if he felt it. Guilty of being caught, you quickly look down at your dirty basket and shaky fingers, ears burning.

The pitter-patter of the starting rain is soothing for the first time since you arrived here. You take your time smoothing out the linens under your palms.

Surprisingly, nothing of note has happened yet, other than the rising and piling number of chores delegated to the prisoners-now-servants, thanks to the increased traffic among the castle’s populace and the chance to deal with all sorts of cleaning, with the lord away to the capital.

You go about your work, slowly and meticulously to keep you indoors until the weather outside clears, ignoring the guard’s presence and his watchful gaze on your back. The dusty boxes and chests of this particular supply room keep you occupied, and you try not to yelp when a handful of critters make their appearance. A lull falls upon the otherwise eventless room.

The knight observes your movements, then skirts his gaze about the corners of the turret storeroom, darkened by the overcast sky outside. Nothing out of the ordinary for this dull place. Just a few cobwebs you missed, out of your reach.

Rain falls in a gentle spray, softly knocking on the only window of the room to be let in. You’re struggling with something, and behind the hunch of your shoulders, the man perceives a silver gleam. He’s over you before it falls on your feet.

Startled, you whip your head to your right. Thunder rumbles in the heavens outside, and a flash briefly illuminates your surprised expression in his eyes. Your gaze briefly trails along the deep gash running between his brows, and the room falls in darkness again, the only sound your tangled exhales and the rising gusts of winds against the window. You only move out of your stupor when you feel his warm breath on your face. Too close!

Stumbling on your rear, you blink at the fact that you never heard him move, not even the rustle of his armor—except you belatedly realize he’s not wearing one.

“You should leave handling these weapons to the knights, my lady.”

“Pardon?”

His lips pull back into a charming grin. “Otherwise you can imagine how easily it would cut through your skin if you hold it wrong, right? Ladies should leave sharp tools to the men.”  He inspects the sword you found rummaging in the chest, unwrapping the cloth around its handle to see its handicraft.

When you become aware of the unflattering way you’re sprawled on the cold floor, you scramble to dust off your skirts and stand at a distance from the man. He spares you a friendly glance.

“Thank you…”

“Itadori. Yuuji.”

“…Thank you, Sir Itadori. I didn’t think they would leave a weapon with the linens… but I suppose it was mixed up in all the loot?” You pointedly glare at the leather of your shoes, suddenly very aware of just how awkwardly you stand by him, like you don’t know what to do with yourself.

From the corner of your eye, Yuuji runs the pads of his fingers across the carvings on the hilt, as if trying to make sense of it, before wrapping it away and under his cloak. “I’ll take care of it and make sure that it finds a worthy owner.”

You don’t question it when he secures it by the sword at his belt, only looking expectantly at his kind face. He’s definitely the man you saw days ago in the courtyard in the company of the other soldiers. You remember the way he moved, how he swung his sword before jumping in between the other men. Now, standing so close, you realize how young he looks, despite the deep injury.

“Change of guards!”

You reach your hand out to Yuuji before you’re aware of the movement, then retract it when he looks at you questioningly, biting your lip. “I… am no lady, sir,” you correct him.

Yuuji’s eyebrows raise in mild surprise, but he waves you off with a genteel twinkle in his eyes. “I can’t say I’m too weighted by formalities. All women are ladies to me!”

Oddly elated at his chivalry, his words draw a shy smile from you, and you clamp your mouth shut before you say anything you would regret, cheeks tingling as he leaves.

“I told you to keep your nose out of matters you would regret involving yourself into.”

But you could not forget the shine of his kind eyes in the darkness. Surely there is more to him!

“Please! Tell me what you know about Sir Itadori!”

You’ve practically cornered her with no way out. But the cooker’s pressure is whistling, and you both have tasks to get to.

“Move and get to work.”

“I’ve already finished scrubbing the tiles in the pantry and swept the leaves across the backyard,” you list out.

The servant gives you an expectant look.

“...and I’ve sent the cattle’s feed to the stable boys.”

“As long as you’ve dealt with those beasts, I guess…” You’re into her personal space at once, and she wrinkles her nose at you.

“Fine. Help me chop the onions.” She fully takes advantage of the fact that you’re nearly willing to do about anything for a sliver of information.

Steam clings to the high windows of the kitchen, the sound of knives hitting against wood repeatedly permeating the silence.

She eventually speaks, gathering her words. “This is a sort of… open secret no one talks about anymore, because it’s of no consequence now, but Sir Itadori—Yuuji—is the young boy of one of the previous royal knights.” When you fail to give her an appropriate reaction, she pettily shoves more onions onto your chopping board.

“You country bumpkin,” she huffs and puffs as if personally offended. “How can you not know a single thing about the land you were brought to?”

Then leaning in as if sharing a scandalous secret, she whispers, “The royal knights directly serve the king! They are headed by our own duke. Actually, His Grace’s predecessor and his knights were executed under accusations of treason towards His Majesty, Lord have mercy on his soul. I don’t think I believe any of that, but don’t let anyone catch me admitting it.”

“Oh!” When she sees the pieces starting to fall in place from your expression, the senior servant proudly beams, delighted at having found her newest gossip partner.

“Sir Itadori was such a scrawny, meek lad at the time of the incident that the new duke didn’t even take notice of him and he let him be, as with the other young children of the old knights. I think His Grace eventually forgot about him, since he left straight for the campaigns to take over the surrounding lands. And it’s been such a long time! Hard to believe it’s all over.”

“What exactly happened to his father?” You sniff, stopping your knife.

“Oh, him? He and the whole lot of the previous royal knight lots were beheaded, with their lording duke, of course. I suppose this is the fate of losers, to have their heads hung over the walls, but it surely wasn’t something I can forget. It was a massive scandal in high society. But the boy has grown up rather well and made a name for himself despite his past, I’d say. He is still well-recognised among the older soldiers and servants. Like a grim reminder of what used to be, you know?”

You turn to her, eyes tearing over the onions. “That’s horrible… Surely he might want to seek revenge?”

Aghast, the servant dramatically grips her bosom, “And why exactly would he do that?! Would you like to send him on a one way path to dishonor? He has a sensible head on his shoulders, and he’s managed to survive so far because he decided to forget about the past and look forward instead. Now, look! The stew is overflowing!”

Still mildly unsettled with the earlier conversation, you move on with the rest of the day’s work. Evenings are usually rushed, with the last rays of the sunset chasing you to the edge of the castle walls, the items under your arms threatening to fall before you reach the storage area by the outer gate.

Turning around the corner, you miss the shuffling of a soldier’s armor over your head before it’s too late.

“Well, aren’t you a lass I haven’t seen before?”

Face obscured by the growing shadows of the evening, the man has your wrist in an iron-clad grip before you can jump back, refusing to let go when you try to pull free.

“Sneaky of you to come to this area at this time of the evening. Shirking your duties to dip by the men’s quarters, little maid?” Rambunctious laughs join him from behind. You see several men, perhaps half a dozen, some out of their garbs and propped on various carts and barrels.

“No—I—please, let me through—!”

He cuts off your meek cry, leaning forward to block your view, “If you’re finished with work, I know some boys who will be plenty happy to get something else done.” The stench of liquor is heavy on his breath, making you pull back in disgust, retching. More guffaws and whistles, all too ill-bearing and stomach-churning, and your body tenses in anticipation of running. But the man doesn’t let go, relishing in the fear reflected in your eyes.

No! Just when you were getting used to this place without incident. But what a naive mistake to forget and to make; you were still a lone, foreign woman brought as collateral, a booty for men with arrogance bigger than their morals. Images flash in your mind, and you suddenly become very cold, very aware of what they can do—

You start trashing in his hold, with all might, blindly kicking and elbowing where you can reach him. He attempts to contain your struggle, and agitated, the other men come to surround the commotion. Maybe if you make enough noise, someone may come. But with each hold on your limbs pushing you down, you bitterly begin to regret that maybe you shouldn’t have come here so late in the day, shouldn’t have started to get comfortable with the other servants and prisoners, shouldn’t have stopped yourself from—

At the sound of metal clinking and surprised yelps, you’re dropped to the hard ground. You cannot see behind the men’s broad backs, but the sound of a quarrel breaking out gives you the opportunity to crawl back, until your limbs get tangled in stray fabric. The cloth is as dark and thick as yours, but before you get the chance to make sense of its familiarity, a shout alerts you.

“To the open gate!”

Just as a furious hand shoots out to reach for your ankle, adrenaline kicks you in a run through the closest opening without a look to spare back.

You run with all might, willing your limbs to go and go through any open path of the wild groove. It feels like forever; the never-ending stretch of the woods blurring past has your lungs screaming for air and sides cramping. Only once you stumble and halt, you realize that you’ve lost a shoe and you are very alone in the middle of nowhere, the castle walls lost behind the height of the trees long ago.

In the eerie silence of the night, the only sound disrupting the dark are your heaving breaths and the rushing of blood in your ears. There is no way you are going back there—not now, not until you can make sure those men won’t get to you again. But these woods are uncharted territory, and with the sky having bled into darkness, you aren’t any safer here.

Body thrumming with the rush of escape, you jump when the nearby foliage rustles.

“Wow! You could give messenger boys a run for their money.”

“Sir Itadori!” You’re breathless, but the familiar scar across his face makes your shoulders slump in relief. “I’m sorry—! I didn’t—Were you the one who helped me back there?”

“You should have called for me earlier!” Yuuji dusts off his armor, a stray branch caught in his cropped hair. Forehead damp with cooling sweat, you mumble, “How could a servant dare call for a knight…” Frowning, you zone on your dirty foot.

He looks straight at you, face uncharacteristically serious. “I will always come for you.” And then lightly, “But thankfully I was at the right time at the right place, however the saying goes, right?” Your cheeks warm at his serious expression melting into a fond grin, heart rate picking up in a growingly-familiar thump thump. Tiny stones press into your bare heel, and you shyly whisper under your breath, “You don’t have to.”

Yuuji runs a hand through his pink locks, stepping towards you. “But I do,” he whispers under his breath. But he’s not walking to you, instead brushing by your shoulder and continuing the opposite way from the castle.

“Wait, I don’t think that’s the way—!”

“Those guys back there aren’t gonna get up anytime soon, and I doubt they will want their superior to know that they let a single woman run through six of them, right? I think it would be good for them to get a taste of discipline!” He looks back at you before you can ask him to elaborate, and in the darkness of twilight, you see his lips pull into a mischievous grin. “Since we’re here, why not make the most out of this opportunity? Let’s go sight-seeing.”

You wouldn’t dare return to the castle without him, so you have no choice but to follow him through the foliage. He somehow seems to know where to go in the darkness and among the indistinguishable trees, and you blindly follow his lead, eyes on the rough shirt on his back. He seems so broad… you’re sure he’s carried deadly weapons into battle and slain countless numbers of men, perhaps some from your own village. And despite his seemingly young age, Yuuji seems reliable and so sure of himself; you remember the first time you saw him among the other soldiers, how he stood out to you. The two of you couldn’t be any different.

You almost miss the dirty bundle resting over his waist. The cloth looks familiar. “Is that the sword I found in the storeroom at the castle?”

You think you imagine Yuuji’s shoulders tense under your inquisitive gaze, which seem to slack once he enters a clearing in the groove of trees. There is nothing that catches your attention, meanwhile Yuuji seems to inspect the soil underneath a particularly large tree. Huh, he must not have heard you.

You pay no mind as he rustles through his belongings, turning away to peek through the height of the foliage to the twinkling stars. You’ve never really looked up to observe the night sky, but you think you can appreciate their gentle glimmer, far, far away from where you stand. They remind you of flicking candles, and your mind briefly wanders to the situation at the castle. The walls would be lit by braziers by now and the night posts would likely be on the lookout for you, probably waiting to throw you to the gutters under the dungeons, never to see daylight again. The kitchen servant’s face flashes in your thoughts, her story reminding you of your companion.

You turn to Yuuji once again, bare toes beginning to lose feeling in the night chill. “Sir Itadori… how much longer? We should return, I don’t want you in trouble because of me…”

He spins to glance at your wringing hands and your disheveled clothes, exhaling through his nose and walking over to dust you down around your skirts. He pointedly eyes your feet, saying nothing about your lost footwear. “Do you like it that much there? I don’t see why you’re so desperate to go back. I figured you would appreciate some fresh air.” The corners of his lips pull down, as if hurt.

You can’t seem to explain why you are so pressed to turn back. The woods have been creepily quiet, despite it only being autumn, when the animals should be making the last of their preparations for winter. It was downright eerie, almost unnatural. But it is another anxiety that has been brewing deep in your belly since quietly following him, perhaps because you’ve never really encroached the woods at night or just simply that you knew it was wrong for a servant, a prisoner, to have run away (even if you really, technically hadn’t); and not that you can claim to know him well, but your senses are telling you that Yuuji is acting odder than usual. But regardless of how bad you wanted to grab him by his arm and drag him back, undoubtedly, he was your token to survival should you encounter a wild animal out here, or worse. So you swallow the growing lump in your throat, the guilt dropping to your stomach.

“I just know that if I don’t return quickly before they find out, they will be hard on me. I didn’t ask for all of this; I don’t want trouble, I just want to live quietly.”

Yuuji raises an eyebrow at your sentimental tone, awkwardly scratching his head. A life of quietude… he could never imagine it. The thunder of battle echoes in his ears, and follows him wherever he goes, to remind him of the path he has chosen. “Uhh, if you’re so worried about being accused of runnin’ away… I assure you that a servant would probably not be high on their list of concern at this moment. And when they find that little group of losers, they’ll have their hands full dealing with their situation.”

As he turns his back to you once again, he tries to reassure you, “And you’re with me, right? Just trust me for now. Honestly.” Yuuji resumes his blind trail further into the darkness of the forest, leaving you with little choice but to follow him, nails digging into the palm of your hand.

With no source of light, the silence feels even more suffocating. The further you follow him deeper in the woods, the worse your vertigo feels, as if you are about to fall into the abyss. Until you hit his back, stiff as a log. You feel Yuuji’s heartbeat under the grasp of his shirt and strain to hear it, but another sound slowly draws your attention instead.

A hazy singing, your mind registers, and over your held breath it continues to flow between the two of you. It can’t be too far; you’ve come quite a distance from the castle, and perhaps there are lodgements among the trees.

Just when you are about to call out to him, Yuuji deeply inhales and strides towards the source of the voice. In your efforts of trying to keep him within your sight, you trip on overgrown roots, stray branches catching your clothes. Music now guides Yuuji and your heart thunders under your ribs at the mellow song, now clear; something dark settles in your stomach and clamps your throat when you see a fire in the near distance.

“Sir Itadori, you’re going too fast!” But Yuuji clearly doesn’t share your reservations, and he enters a sudden clearing in haste, his dumbfounded expression illuminated by a raging orange. Unsure if the flames or the sight burn your face, you stop in your tracks next to him.

“What the…” Yuuji mumbles under his breath.

In a large glade centered by a humongous fire, a number of people lay on the ground, bare, limbs entangled. Chants and the strumming of instruments drown out your hitched breath, and you reach for Yuuji’s arm to retain composure, to keep still on trembling legs. You look up to glance at him, hoping to see the same stupor you feel reflected on his face. But a moment of uncertainty washes over you, clearing the embarrassment from the raunchy display when you see the contorted expression on his face, the fire casting shadows on his features that make you release his arm. “What is this place? Sir Itadori, did you plan this? You knew about this place, didn't you? This is why you didn’t want to return?! This—this witchcraft—!”

The spell on Yuuji breaks. He whips his head at your accusations, eyes suddenly clear and brows furrowed into an intense, cheeks red. “What? Why would I know of—this—you think I would bother to leave post and make trouble for myself to see people fuck in the wild?”

For sure your body burns at his blunt words now; mouth agape with embarrassment, you fail to retort, and Yuuji ignores you to enter the clearing. “Since we’ve come so far from our miserable hole, I should find out who they are. If you want to stay here, suit yourself.” He pays no mind to the people laid on scattered grass and cloth, going straight to a person clad in embroidered robes, the skull of a sort of animal masking his visage.

You want to follow to stay close to him in this madness, but your gaze falls to the roaring flames. You missed it before; the staked head of an animal hangs above, its blood dripping into the licking fire. At the feet of the burning logs, more masked people adorned in various animal bones and colorful, patterned cloth sing and play a misty tune, an accompanying incense wafting under your nose to lull you into a trance. You can’t help but be drawn to the cries and moans permeating the place, from men and women joined in languid movement, caressing and groping in the most brazen and unrestrained ways.

You feel your knees weaken and a heat runs down to your navel; a woman lays on her back, knees held apart by two other women who slide their fingers over and into her cunt, spitting on and rubbing her clit while she gasps between another woman’s thighs who tweaks and pulls at her pert nipples, rocking her hips over her parted lips and wet tongue; you can almost hear it from this distance.

Your head turns away when her intoxicated gaze catches yours and she lewdly smiles at you between her companion’s legs, only to see a man splitting a cunt with his hard, glistening cock, hands grabbing and pushing apart the flesh of her cheeks to reveal the way he reaches up to his balls—while another man holds his face to turn his head back and meet his lips, rutting his own hips into the man before him. The woman under them wantonly moans and snakes a hand under and between her to rub the middleman’s balls into her wet clit.

Head feeling light, you think you are about to faint with heat and the display of desire. You call out to Yuuji, who stands over the masked man, now unclothed and on his knees, hands clasped over his chest with a bundle of his arms. But Yuuji himself stands unmoving, only looking down with an expression you cannot see from behind.

When you move to reach for him, a hand softly runs up your leg, smoothing over your thigh. You look down. A woman on her knees with her hand up your dress, the other clutching the fabric over your hips; her tits jiggle with the movement, her glossy lips shining in the light of the fire. You jolt out of your reverie when she gropes up too high, running to Yuuji and clutching his shirt.

He turns to you, eyes shining with something you cannot truly discern at this moment, that makes you feel like you’ve walked into the lion’s den. He turns away from the kneeling man—you try not to look at his leaking cock—to face you instead, grasping your shoulders gently. “Let’s go back.”

He says it with a gentle, calm face, but it does nothing to shake off the urgency of needing to leave the area, with the mounting singing and moans setting you off the edge the longer you stay. Ignoring the ghost feeling of roaming hands across your ankles and calves, you remind yourself that you cannot return without him, knowing the punishment awaiting you without a reliable word would be worse than standing amidst this madness.

So you follow his slow steps out of the gathering, resisting the urge to cast a glance behind and straining your eyes on his person instead, willing yourself to forget the parade of wantonness.

The days and nights blend into an unending loop. Scrub. Wash. Brush. The gray sky seems to never let up, a constant darkness hanging over the castle, a reminder of the colder times sweeping across the land.

The scene outside the window remains unchanged, the woods the same dark backdrop as before, swathing in mist. But you know better now of its shrouding darkness; it doesn’t help that the sight of Yuuji brings up memories every time you see him.

His gaze rests upon your back, turned to him. You don’t need to look anymore to know it is him; you feel his presence like your own shadow, like a stubborn chill brushing against your skin. But you don’t pay him any attention, dead set on ignoring the weight of his curiosity carried in his stare.

“What are you thinking about?”

What an annoying pest. Sick man.

“Are you still upset about that time? Talk to me.” His sweet innocent facade deserves an applause. The disgust and betrayal all come gushing up like a need to vomit, and if you hadn’t made it clear enough before, you turn your cheek towards him so he can see your resentful grimace.

How silly of you to trust him. The butterflies in your stomach from the first time you saw him perished in ashes of treachery. Should have stood still, heart.

To the servants’ horror, one of the girls was found battered and violated the evening you ran out. It took you days to clock on, how Yuuji was so sure nothing was going to happen when the both of you returned from your excursion. The patrolling guards were indeed busy trying to clear up the incident that they missed your fleeting shadows, and the drunk men were punished for assaulting the girl. For soiling war booty. You felt so sick, so disgusted, as if it was your fault. That was his distraction, his plan. Because Yuuji knew. But why? The frustration and impatience have reached your limit.

You break the silence after a while.

“Is it true they displayed your father’s head along the castle walls because he was accused of treason?” You turn in time to see his face light up when you stop giving him the cold shoulder, but his features quickly stiffen, overtaken by a frigid cold. He says nothing, standing deathly still with his hands clasped behind his back, a dark look over his face. With a scoff, you turn back to the window. Puffs of exhale cling to the cold glass, and you wipe away the condensation with a murky rug.

“You put an innocent girl’s life in harm’s way—for what? Just so you could frolick outside for a few hours of fun?” You scrub the window harder, the squeaks interrupting your words. “I didn’t want to believe it, but it just makes sense. And I cannot forgive you. She was a girl just like me.” You want him to understand. The grim reality that people, girls, like you stick together in the face of men’s war and their consequences. And although you barely knew this girl (and it doesn’t make much sense that you are suddenly so wrought up about this), you had enough time to yourself, to process everything and get a cold reality check—and now you want an explanation.

“It was not me.” Yuuji hisses, head tilted forward so you cannot see his vexed expression. But it just makes you angry. Because it could have been you; you looking over your shoulder in mistrust of these little lords parading in knights’ armor, of men with glinting swords in the shadows. You, clothes in disarray, limbs smeared with dirt and blood, laying cold and forgotten for someone to find.

“But you could have helped her!” You spit, more irate than you have ever felt, partly because you think the worst could have been prevented if he only acted to confront those men and call for help.

Yuuji retains his silence when you turn to look at him, tired. “What I don’t understand is; you’re a knight. You could just walk out with some excuse and they would let you, Sir Itadori. Just why use that poor girl?”

The heavy, cold silence hangs after your bitter words until Yuuji sighs and extends the olive branch.

“I just can’t walk out for any reason.” He admits, scratching his pink hair.

Mildly perplexed, you stand from your crouch to walk closer to him, urging him to continue with a wave of your hand. “Even though you are a knight? Didn’t you come back from months-long expeditions? Isn’t there some sort of, I don’t know, unspoken reward for all your great deeds?” Your words are almost insolent for a servant of your position, but Yuuji doesn’t seem to take it personally.

He cringes, eyes zoning on the dust in the corner.

“You’ve heard of how my father served as a royal knight? I was promoted to a rank high enough to be able to join the same order. Recently, actually. I want to walk in my father’s footsteps,” he recounts with chagrin and pride, mind standing on the same grounds he frequented as a child, accompanying his honored father. “He was so proud of his achievements. And I worked hard to follow him. But… all his efforts—his reputation was just ruined overnight, and I couldn’t just let him down. Kinda like a legacy to carry on, you know?”

You can scarcely imagine it, the figure of a younger Yuuji, without all the hard muscles and scars. He would be so different, just a twig of a boy, wanting to swing a sword like his father and dreaming of romantic explorations at the request of a virtuous lord he would serve.

But it was neither a dream nor romantic, and the flames of nightly passions engulf your vision. It does nothing to explain why and how the two of you stumbled on the… the—

Shaking your head to dispel the image of interlocked limbs, you accusingly glare at Yuuji. “Wait, wait. This still doesn’t explain what on earth we were doing walking in on that gathering in the woods. You remember that, I’m sure? Since you were the one who had the bright idea of following the trail deeper in the woods.”

Contemplating, Yuuji looks at you with pursed lips, on whether or not to tell you the truth. “When I was younger, my father would read me books.” A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he recollects, and you envision a young, mischievous but curious boy. “They had books that read like stories, something that a child wouldn’t be able to resist.

“More than what was good for him, I suppose.” Yuuji adds after a moment of contemplation and grins, recounting a memory of a past long gone. “There’s always been stories and legends of people who live in the darkness of the woods, but they are usually told to scare the children from talking to strangers—enemies outside the castle.”

The wind knocks on the window with renewed force, the rain singing a dark premonition. You’re vaguely reminded of the first day you talked to him; it had been a day with weather like this.

You prompt him, “Or else?”

Yuuji casually shrugs his shoulders, but the thunder outside makes you jump. “They get taken by wild animals and eaten.”

Your mind flashes back to orange flames surrounding the remains of animal skulls, and the crooners adorned with bones  But it doesn’t answer all of your questions. “So… in the woods, you just knew it was them? It could have been anyone living out there.”

But Yuuji shakes his head. “They were said to be ancient people, probably settled here long before the lands established a ruler. They likely have a lifestyle different from ours. Doesn’t it just make sense after what we saw?”

He watches the wheels turn in your mind, brows pulling into a frown. “I’m still quite confused… all that from a children’s book? And you left that sword with them though, didn’t you? I haven’t noticed it on you recently.”

The room falls back into silence; the heavens outside close their door to the pouring rain. You think you can hear your own heartbeat through the quiet. Yuuji’s throat bobs up and down with his swallow, his lips stretching into an unsure smile. Then, as if remembering something in the moment, he smacks his fist into his palm. “I gave it to one of the new squires! He needed a new sword after his chipped. Found a way to a new owner, like I promised.”

Yuuji then walks up to you, a satisfied grin plastered on his proud face. “Are you… still mad at me?”

“Change of guards!” An echo runs through the hallway outside.

Hesitating and unable to forget the bitter taste and slight contempt you felt for him earlier, you look at him up and down, ignoring his hopeful eyes. “I guess… but I still can’t forgive you for not fetching help at that moment. That would be difficult for me to forgive.”

He grasps your shoulders into his strong hands after your confession, leveling down so you can see the honest remorse in his gaze. Your skin heats up through your clothes where he holds you. “I’m sorry about that. I promise it won’t happen again, on the honor of my knighthood. I didn’t take the appropriate actions at that time because of my shortsightedness, because I was worried about you.”

With his face so close to yours, and his ardent effort to make you acknowledge his regret, you shy away, shoulders hunching under the warmth of his palms. “Alright, I suppose we all make mistakes, and as long as we regret and learn, we become better people”.

You give him a shy, forgiving smile, and Yuuji thinks he can see your true personality under the burden of living as a prisoner. He wets his lips and gives you a pat on both shoulders before standing straight, all previous bad air now dissipated between the two of you. His face stretches in a huge grin. Your eyes are drawn to the massive scar between his brows once again.

“I’m happy we can be friends again! And… you need to take care too. Make sure you don’t die.”

You raise an eyebrow at his sudden request, giving him a strange smile. “Suddenly asking for my life, are you?” You try to say cheekily, but a glint in his eyes drops a nervous trail to the bottom of your stomach.

Letting his hands run down along your arms and briefly holding your hands before he lets you go, Yuuji delicately whispers, “Something like that.”

The air between the two of you clears after that particular conversation, and Yuuji allows himself to relax in your presence when you are alone.

You pass each other often, with you being busy cleaning and stocking and him leading new trainees and supervising the castle on rotation.  Yuuji makes an effort to thread your fingers in his whenever you brush past one another, and gives you brazen looks to draw smiles out of you and make heat bloom in your chest.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by the senior servants; one of them pulls you on the side to remind you of propriety and the fact that servants like you were too lowly to be friendly with knights graced by the king. You don’t take it personally, because Yuuji has a way of making your heart flutter like a young maiden in those short moments of privacy; but you also remind yourself that he is jovial by nature and gets along with everyone, his liveliness brightening the otherwise dull, cold days.

Yuuji’s smile is contagious and inviting, and you see the younger knights in training (squires, Yuuji corrected you once) follow him around everywhere he goes. You feel proud of him although you cannot claim to have helped him achieve anything, however he declared himself to be your friend once when pulling you into a quiet corner to caress your cheeks, so you feel joy for him regardless.

Except you realize, when Yuuji draws you out one breezy night to a remote corner of the courtyard, that your steady infatuation may actually border on something a little more intimate. Standing so close to him without armor has your body heating up in excitement, and you think his wandering hands are as improper as your newfound feelings for him.

Yuuji frees his hands from his leather gloves, grazing his bare thumb over your parted lips and observing you with a certain hopefulness. Asking permission. And you give it to him by closing the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a bashful imitation of your nightly fantasies.

Stopping himself from devouring you completely, Yuuji pulls away after brushing his wet tongue with yours, breathing hotly on your face and peering into the depths of your dilated pupils. “This is royally unbefitting of me to do this, but you’ve been on my mind so often recently, my lady.” He wraps his arms around you in a passionate embrace and burying his face in your shoulder, confessing his thoughts to you, boyishly coltish.

You follow along and play the part of a coy upper class lady, clinging to the fabric of his shirt and returning his affections, looking up to the glimmering moon hovering above your improper tryst. You welcome the quiet and peace of the night, unclouded and chirping with nightlife, in the arms of a man you think you might start to genuinely care for.

And as if jolting into reality at the implications of that tenderness—of what the two of you were engaging in—you find yourself suddenly feeling very small and embarrassed. “Spring; it’s coming soon it seems,” you awkwardly change the topic, and Yuuji questioningly lifts his head from where he presses kisses on your clothed shoulder.

The soft, faded buzzing of night insects fills the night. Yuuji’s expression softens at your averted gaze, a suave smile spreading across his face. “We should go out when spring fully arrives. After all, it is the season of new beginnings. That’s what my father used to say, at least.”

You return his expectant gaze with a look of uncertainty, resting your hands on his chest. “Do you want to get in trouble again?”

Yuuji takes hold of one of your hands, pressing a lingering kiss on the back of it, looking up at you through his lashes the whole time his lips make contact with your skin. “Never. I’ve decided I’ll look after you. I’ll put in a request for a couple days of leave, and I’ll get you some time off too. Like you said one time, I should ask for favors for the great deeds I have performed in war, shouldn’t I?” He sends you a wink, and you bite back a smile. “Or… I can always resort to bribes.”

Releasing your hand and wrapping an arm around your shoulders instead, he guides you back inside, avoiding the nightly patrols he’s claimed to have memorized like the back of his hand so he could arrange time with you alone.

That night, as you settle yourself in your modest bed, crammed with the other girls in the servants’ hall, you have a dream. A young boy walks under the sun in a field of flowers, fingers grazing through the foliage, laughing and running as if playing, until he reaches the edge of the field, approaching a hovering shroud of black. You perceive his curiosity as he reaches his hand to touch the darkness; stopping him too late, the scenery blurs and changes to nothing. You find yourself observing the void, unable to move when a speck in the distance slowly appears closer and closer, until it stops before you and you recognise the height of the flames from the venture in the depths of the woods that one night with Yuuji. There is the same familiar clench in your gut, the tightening of your skin from standing in close proximity to the fire and the soft chanting and whispering in the wind. You almost forget about the young boy, until you hear crying. You strain your hearing to decipher the direction which it comes from but you are frozen in place like an unwilling observer, not even able to twist your neck to check behind you. The cries get louder, until the boy is shrieking with all might and you find yourself closing your eyes in distress; his screams resonate in your ears for what feels like an eternity, until it all stops, and everything goes silent. Unsettled and pulse racing, you open your eyes, and before the fire stands a large tattooed man, naked like the day he was born and observing the couples shedding the layers of their clothes, baring their bodies in the gathering. Your eyes fly to the ground in familiar mortification, instead zoning your gaze on the moving shadows cast by the raging fire. Except they move languidly, almost sinister, and you notice one odd silhouette among them, of the lone man standing over everyone else. As if a cold bucket of water was dropped over your head, a frigid realization washes over you when you notice the large shadow looking straight at you. But with your limbs stuck in a limbo, you can only watch in trepidation as the shadow growls larger into a shape you can only describe as monstrous, creeping closer to you until you feel its chilling hold on your ankles.

With an ominous whisper in your ear, you’re dragged through the darkness and to awareness, jolting awake between your tangled sheets, heartbeat thundering and heaving like you’ve forgotten how to breathe. The silence of the hall has you observing shadows with blown, suspicious pupils, mind still reeling from the vision of your unconsciousness.

After a short while of trying to calm your pulse you realize you’ve broken out into a cold sweat, and that you’ll need to freshen up unless you fancied sleeping in damp clothes. You belatedly realize that you’re also wet between your legs, thighs rubbing together in search of relief, and the thought that you might have gotten aroused from that little show of a nightmare is too uncomfortable to acknowledge at the moment.

The unease from that dream follows you as you complete your duties over the following days. You don’t bring it up to Yuuji when you see him, throat clamping up when the little boy’s screams ring in your ears. You only manage to give him a stiff lift of your lips, unable to meet his gaze when he casts flirty looks your way.

It’s on a mild day when you even remember about Yuuji’s story, when you pair up with another servant close to the duke’s arrival to clean one of the archives piled so high, you can’t even see the walls of the room. You don’t know much about bookkeeping, but you would imagine keeping them tidy was one way to keep them safe for the future. It takes you hours to dust the place and by the end of it you’re both sweating in the stuffy room, deciding to sit on the hard floor to cool down.

While resting with your head on your crossed forearms, your eyes casually roam over the stacks of binded books until your attention is caught by one particular hardcover. Lifting yourself up in interest, you grab hold of it, running your fingers over its front and back, heart rate oddly picking up. And it’s as if you’re alone now, with the object in your hands calling for you to open it. Nervously swallowing, you wonder what it contains, what the words will reveal; is it a story of the likes Yuuji told you, of hidden tribes and malevolent creatures? Would it tell you dark stories to jolt you awake in sweat and arousal?

You reveal the contents, pages flipping open in the quiet room, but your shoulders slump in defeat when you realize you cannot read. The words are foreign, and reality comes crashing to you, leaving you with an odd feeling of despair. It is claustrophobic, and you suddenly want to run away, somewhere wide and open where you can breathe until your lungs hurt and your lips dry.

A hand falls on your shoulder. “What are you doing? You know we can’t touch these.” The servant’s face pops up in the corner of your vision, and her lips stretch in a suggestive smile. “Or… did you find something naughty?”

Closing the book shut and almost catching your nose in its pages, you return her smile with one of your own, dispelling her amusement. “No, just… some boring book about birds.” You return the tome back to a random pile, dusting your clothes and walking out with your companion on your heels, mind swirling with thoughts.

You recount Yuuji’s words; if there were story books kept in the castle as he claimed then the servants would know about it, for what reason would they be kept but to entertain children, usually minded by the older female servants? So on the day the castle would be busiest, the afternoon before the duke is to return from the capital, you make your way to the kitchens and cozy up to the woman whose true skill lies in gossip.

“Say, if I wanted to practice reading the local language, does the castle keep easy books? Those for children?” You’re shoved onions to chop once again, forced to put up with tears for a bit of information.

“Oh, we used to keep a small book room for collections that were not appropriate to keep in His Grace’s study. No one’s checked up on them for a long time though!”

Feeling as if you are about to unearth something, you will yourself to restrain your excitement like a naugthy child. “Where, exactly?” you try to casually ask through the sharp sound of the knife chopping on the board,

“There was an attached store room in the servants hall, but—” You shove the diced onions to her before she can finish, wiping your hands on your clothes, running through the door with a quick thanks. “Wait—!” You hear behind you, however the flames of curiosity have been fanned, lending you strength to skip steps as you climb and navigate through the stone walls of the castle, until you reach your destination.

There is no one else in the servants’ quarters at this time, with nearly everyone busy with dinner duties and furnishing for the awaited arrival. They won’t be missing a pair of hands in this excitement, and you’ll have plenty of time until anyone returns so you push your sleeves up your forearms and start. Even if it was the case that you couldn’t read them you at least had the excuse that you wanted to learn, sure that someone would be willing to help with a trade off of some duties.

But a long while later and you’re still empty-handed; if it was a store room, the door would surely be obvious? There was a separate linen’s room for daily clothes and amenities, so wouldn’t it make sense that there was another room for throw-aways? Set on indulging your curiosity, which you hoped would lead to some elucidation on that ever-troubling dream you convinced yourself to be related to the nightly convocation, you look closer to any cover ups you may have missed.

And you think you’ve found it, when you move a wooden board to reveal—stone. This was the only place left for you to check behind, and bewildered you run your hands over the cold wall. Was the kitchen servant calling you to tell you about this? Inspecting closer, you notice the slightly discolored area, as if this particular part of the wall was new; perhaps sealed off?

“You won’t find anything there.”

You jump at the peeved voice, turning to see Yuuji at the entrance of the hall, visibly irate. What was he upset about? “Sir Itadori! What are you doing here?” you ask, meeting his hard stare with a confused expression.

“I saw you run out from the kitchen.” He steps in the hall, footfalls heavy. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Moving away from the wall you were previously inspecting, you face him with full attention, a warning brewing in your gut. “I wasn’t—not on purpose at least. I’ve just been busy.”

“Hmm. ‘That so?” He stops in front of you, observing your pursed lips with a tilt of his head. He’s appraising your words, you realize; to see if you were lying? It was true that you hadn’t really made the effort to meet with him for your nightly trysts, and you wonder if he was upset because of that. But it wasn’t truly on purpose; your mind was full of other worries, of things you were too embarrassed to share with him.

“They sealed off that little corner years ago. You won’t find any books there.” On top of that, Yuuji seemed unusually sensitive, his oddly serious composure putting you on edge. He’s only been this sangfroid and mystifying when the two of you ran into the gathering in the woods, months ago now. He leans closer to you so you’re eye-level, looking into the depth of your pupils, his breath warm on your face. “I know what you’re looking for.” 

Like a child caught red-handed, his words run a chill down your spine, all amiability gone from his countenance. You try to steel yourself from the bite of his words; it’s not like you were doing something that warranted this sort of mistrust, so you straighten your back and lift your chin at him in defense.

“Fine. I wanted to see those books you mentioned last time.” You admit, fisting your hands by your sides. But Yuuji just raises an eyebrow at your defiance, casting a glance to the wall, then back to you. “Why? Do you not believe me?” He narrows his eyes.

It is… too odd. The way he was reacting at the mere thought of you wanting to see some stories from his childhood. A doubt nags you in the back of your mind, telling you that there was something more to it. Yuuji is hiding something from you; a cold realization washes over, and you try not to show it across your expression.

Instead, you opt to give him a yielding smile. “I do. But, someone brought their child to the kitchens earlier, and it reminded me of you. Of what you told me.” Shrugging, you move the headboard back into its place, dusting yourself up and standing in front of him again, to show your sincerity by meeting his unconvinced stare. “But if we don’t have anything, it’s fine. I’m sure there are toys to keep the child busy if he comes again.” Casually brushing past him with your heart thundering in your ribs, you hope he buys your act. You can always come back later; maybe even when Yuuji leaves on another expedition, so you can probe and search at your own leisure and see what this is all about.

But you realize there may not be another time, because Yuuji takes hold of your arm as you pass him, and the dark shadow across his face tells you that something is wrong.

“I don’t think so.”

“Pardon?”

“It has to be tonight.”

The grip on your arms tightens hard enough that a worry crosses your mind, of how easily he could break your bones. But it is forgotten by his confusing words, and Yuuji drags you along with him, uncaring if you are stumbling on your feet to keep up.

“Let go! You’re hurting me!”

“Shut up.”

You feel sick, a foreboding feeling warning you to run away now. But Yuuji doesn’t release his hold on you even with your nails painfully digging into his skin, breaking bloody crescent-shaped marks on his wrist. “Let me go, or I’ll scream!”

“Try all you like. There’s no one here.” His self-assuredness tells you that he’s telling the truth.

“The servants are going to return soon, sir. Please release me.”

He stops to hold your captive arm up, hissing in your face. “They won’t. Unfortunately for you, they are busy.”

A deja vu. Your jaw slackens in shock. “You… You’ve done something again, isn’t it?”

Yuuji’s lip curls in annoyance. “Not this time. It wasn’t planned.”

“What? What is going on?” If something happened again, you needed to know, if only to put your mind at ease.

“The duke is returning earlier than expected,” he bitterly admits, pulling you along through the surely empty corridors and hallways until you reach outdoors. He must be saying the truth, if no one even stopped the two of you and what suspiciously looked like a kidnapping attempt. But you have to remind yourself that you are truly alone, to defend yourself, so you dig your heels in the dirt, trying to stall for time. A drop of hope convinces you that if you stop close enough to the castle walls, someone might see you and help.

“Wait! Where are we even going?! I can walk!” You try to bargain.

Yuuji clicks his tongue in aggravation at your efforts, stopping like you hoped. “We’re going back there.”

Your eyes zone into the darkness of the woods, night having fallen and creating a more sinister vibe. Wind blows through the trees, reverbing the sound through the shroud. “You mean, to that gathering?” Wincing, you try to pull your arm free.

“Bingo. Now stop dawdling.” He’s dragging you again, seemingly knowing which way to turn, ignoring low-lying branches. They all spring back and hit you instead, and your mind presses to come up with something else to stall him further. “What about your father?! Didn’t he warn you from going there?”

Yuuji barks a laugh so unlike his own, like a changed person. Calming, he turns to look at you with an amused expression. “Do I look like a child to you?”

“Well, no, but… I’m sure your father was a great man. He would have wanted his son to keep himself safe. And I don’t think going there is anything close to safe.” Your teeth nearly chatter in nervousness.

“Don’t talk about my father. He didn’t lose his life for such an idiotic reason.” His words are bitter, but they probe an unlikely thought in your mind.

Slowly and carefully, you try, “When you say losing his life, what do you mean?”

Yuuji spins on his foot, uninterested, but eyes look above you, lost in thought. “He lost his life for serving the duke out of his own means, that’s what. But the new king—that usurper—called it witchcraft and evil.” He then looks at you, serious. “My father really was of the knightly order. But what he couldn’t make up for his commoner status, he had to make it with help.” Ominously, “from a power dormant in the woods.”

Scenes of your dream flash across your eyes; of a figure standing over the fire, tall and strong, and devious shadows dragging you in the dark. The children’s books—they were no books at all, but writing about the people and the rituals. Suddenly, it all starts to make sense.

“So your father, he had the power to… summon a beast, a demon that the wood people worship.” You feel nauseous, but you need to know, now that he was willing to indulge your curiosity. “And the king thought it was bad, so he accused your father and the duke of treason.”

Yuuji scoffs. “The spirit dwelling in the woods is ancient, all-powerful. Demon. Whatever you wish to call it. Older than anything and anyone who rules this kingdom.”

“Is it… the demon they feed children to?” You drawl, afraid of his answer. He looks at you mildly astonished, refuting you, “No, you silly.”

“...Then what does it need?”

Yuuji’s grip on your arm tightens. “A few things. Like an ancient blade. And a virgin’s blood on the winter solstice gathering.” He sees your confusion across your face, but provides nothing else and watches the cogs turn.

It takes you moments to understand what he means, and suddenly, you’re retching over your feet, head spinning. Yuuji looks at you unconcerned, lips set in a straight uncaring line. “Well, now you know.”

Taking moments to compose yourself, you ask, disturbed. “...and you’re going to kill me too, this time? What is it now, the spring sacrifice?”

Blowing a stray leaf from his front locks, Yuuji says, “Not quite. The spring equinox needs something else.”

Ignoring his questioning trap, you ask instead, “And why am I coming with you?”

“Because you want out of here.” You only look at him, confused.

“Because you look like someone who needs to escape. That’s what a poor prisoner like you would want, right? To return to your home?” He says with mocking concern. “You just happened to be the first woman I saw when I came back.”

“So? You could have chosen any random person. I’m sure we could find someone willing to accompany you to your sick… freak show… your ritual.”

“You’re telling me that you like this place that much, still?” The reality is, you want to get away. You’ve never settled, mentally, and you want to be as far away from this insanity as possible. But you slowly realize things aren't going to go your way.

“What exactly do you want from me?” Exasperated, you raise a suspicious eyebrow.

He looks at you, conchallant. “I want to have sex with you.”

Taken back by his candidness, you stare at him stupefied, and he rolls his eyes at you. “Come on, haven’t you wanted to have me too? A young, hot-blooded man, strong and confident.” Whispering into your ear enticingly, he teases, “I could show you a good time.”

You push him away in embarrassment, but he doesn't laugh, awaiting your response.

“...Are you actually wanting an answer to that?”

He stares at you, nonplussed.

“You must be joking.” Wringing your hands, tired and imparted at the madness getting to you, you relent. “And after we… do that, you’ll let me go?”

As if making a point, he releases your now numb arm. “Sure.”

“But what exactly are you going to do?”

“You’ll see. It won’t be something that you will ever forget.”

Your shivers reach your bones. As if you are going to literally jump out of your skin. Your pulse quickens the closer you get, heartbeat matching the rhythmic murmurs of the people.

You’re suffocating under the weight of your decision. You want to run.

But your feet feel like lead, and Yuuji’s grasp on your left wrist is absolute—refusing to release you, to bring you to whatever hell his feet drag the both of you to.

You don’t even feel the chill of the night anymore; even when the women surrounding you start to pull at your clothes, tugging up and away and you stand bare next to Yuuji, his body radiating warmth. Almost comforting.

Hands then glide along your limbs and torso, smearing a slightly fragrant, oily substance. Calves. Inner thighs. Buttocks. Stomach. Breasts. Arms. They reach and grope, pulling on the fat of your ass, your tits, running between your thighs. The burning smell of incense hangs in the gathering, relaxing your muscles.

The fire is grander than you remember, and you stand close enough that you feel your skin tighten; turning to your side when the heat becomes unbearable, you see Yuuji standing in bare glory, proud and strong next to you.

His skin glistens with the oil, catching the colors of the flame, and you almost think he’s on fire. Except it is your cheeks that burn under his intense gaze, unmoving from the strained features of your face.

“Sir Itadori—“

A shiver runs along your skin, raising goosebumps when the chants and huffs change course and the surrounding air fills with a foreboding energy.

Yuuji grasps your shoulder, the heat of his palms making you melt, almost making your knees give out under you.

“Yuuji. You must call me Yuuji. Who I am.”

He says it so amicably, the serious, strained look on his face seems out of place. Gone are his smiles and pleasantries, and what comes instead is the beginning of fear and a choking ball of lead that sinks to your stomach. You can’t move, and Yuuji’s hands slowly glide along your upper arms, down the inside of your elbows.

He’s pushing you down until you hit the soft felt of animal hide under your back. Women come surrounding you, their garments long gone, soft hands smoothing away the worries on your face. Their perfumes unknowingly soothe your nerves, and you let them reach to kiss your arms, leave open-mouthed licks across your neck, grope your tits and suck your pebbling nipples.

Yuuji sits back on his knees to watch you slowly unravel, soft moans leaving your lips and hands reaching for the bodies over you, mouthing along someone’s tits. Your knees are pulled away by the women, and transfixed, he languidly watches your glistening folds get wetter. His own cock hardens painfully at the display before him, heavy and hanging, leaking at the tip.

But he reels himself from wanting to sink into your inviting cunt; behind him, a man offers the silver sword wrapped in embroidered cloth. Yuuji raises it before him, the blurred writing catching the light of the fire next to him, still illegible. Carefully, he points the sharp end to your chest, to your heart—bewildered, you stare at him with swollen lips, until he slowly drags the tip between your legs, and you try to close them; the women hold the back of your knees still, and Yuuji moves to flatten the edge of the sword against the wetness of your cunt, the cold making you hiss. He does the same to himself, smearing his own pre-cum with yours.

The sword is then passed along until it lays in front of your gathering, engraving facing the dark sky, the tip pointing to where Yuuji’s knees rest between yours and before the fire.

The humming in the air changes once again and after reaching a crescendo, silences. The women move away, and you absentmindedly see couples and groups forming around you, around the fire, as Yuuji takes hold of your ankles, raising them in the air, his eyes never leaving yours as his fingers run down your legs. Until they reach the puffed out folds of your cunt, waiting to be touched with your bated breath upon your lips, the scent making him woozy, driving him to run the rough pad of his thumb across your slit.

“A pretty pussy like this…” Without warning his mouth is on your awaiting cunt, your sudden gasp breaking the silence of the gathering. The warmth of his face, of his tongue flattening on you makes your hands push against his forehead. Instinctively your thighs come to close around his ears, hips rolling with each lick and suck of his hot mouth. Nothing but your rising moans and whimpers reach your ear, deafening against the silence. When Yuuji’s tongue slips inside you, your face turns to your side, and the sight of being watched so intensely by others has you tensing your and rolling your hips into Yuuji’s chin.

“Yuuji! I’m going to—!”

Yuuji lifts away from you to sit on his haunches, face drenched in a mix of your arousal and his saliva. He says nothing; in your lucid state, the sudden, rapid speaking and chanting fails to startle you—when Yuuji’s hand begins to run along your thigh and your waist, a shiver runs along, and you feel so terribly cold. Empty. Your hands reach for him as he leans over you, trailing along his muscled biceps and shoulders.

A beat of a drum.

You feel his heavy, hot cock against your cunt.

Another.

His lips slot against yours, hot and inviting, tongue brushing against yours.

A third.

You tense and whimper as his leaking tip pushes past your folds, his strong hands coming to keep your legs apart when they come to close. He pushes in, in, until all breath leaves your lungs and you’re gasping against his mouth. But he never relents, pushing past the burn of being stretched to the brim, and when you think your heart is going to stop from being so full, Yuuji breaks his lips away from yours, gaze still holding yours.

“Don’t die.”

There’s a twinkle in his eyes, the intimacy of it washing affection over you. Moans and gasps begin to accompany the rhythmic humming, and soon the air becomes humid and heavy.

Perhaps it is the lack of shame of your company, but you begin to unravel, your voice coming undone by the weight and burden of the man above you. Yuuji’s sweat from the proximity of the fire drips down your collarbone, his eyes never leaving yours, and you are close enough that his hot breath hits your damp cheeks and you see your reflection in his dilated pupils. He doesn’t falter, and his unabashedness spurs you to run your hands down his back, his ass, and in between the two of you to touch where you are joined together to press on your clit, the relief and desire making your gasp. It just feels so good, and soon enough, you begin to see white around your vision, your previous climax returning, coming and coming closer—!

The moment Yuuji feels your cunt pulsating against him, he moves to grab your ankles above his head, stilling the movement of his torso, leaving you in misery and frustration. But before you can raise yourself to your elbows and whine at him, Yuuji’s head whips to the side.

“Do it—now!”

A glimmer of silver and a splatter of warm liquid on your face, before you realize what has happened. Your shrill scream is lost in the darkness encompassing the surrounding woods.

“Yuuji! What are you—?!”

You are hysterical, wetly sobbing and thrashing in his hold but held in place by the sword rammed through the both of you. Yuuji gently smiles through the blood splattered on the two of you, holding your cheeks in the smoothness of his palms in what feels like a horrible, mocking display of affection. He shushes and presses his thumbs under your eyes, your tears running down the back of his hands and wetting the furs under you.

Everything around you is quieter now, with a few silent shivers of pleasure reminding you that you are still at the gathering, an ill-conceived idea you repeatedly told Yuuji on your first visit. You had told him, you told him you had a bad feeling—

But Yuuji’s eyes still hold yours, and he’s talking normally, as if you were back at the castle, without struggle, but the adrenaline and the hysterics wracking your mind have made you deaf. Then you notice it. You think it is a trick under the still roaring flame behind you or the wetness of your eyes, but it happens again. Yuuji’s face twitches and begins to morph and dimple, his hands stiffening and pressing harder into your cheeks to the point you think he might break the delicate bones of your face. His hands feel so much bigger; you think you are hallucinating—except something really is happening to Yuuji’s body, and several horrified gasps around you begin to shake you into reality and confirm your disbelief.

With his form beginning to take a grotesque shape, Yuuji’s voice changes into what you can only image is what a terrible nightmare sounds like, a varying range of voices that begin to make your head wince and tells you to move and get as far as you can, except the end of the sword is still run through you, until Yuuji grows large enough that the thickness of his torso swallows the sword completely. Lumps grow under his arms, and you start feeling sick enough to move and dry heave, to try and crawl away from under whatever was happening—except Yuuji, or this monster, still holds into one hand your ankles with his cock is still inside of you, and soon to begin to feel a burning stretch through the wetness of your cunt that makes you shriek and push him away in pain.

One of Yuuji’s mangled hands comes to hold your midsection, his palm encompassing the width of your waist and holding you down, and you feel his knees against your ass before he starts to resume rocking into your leaking cunt, unbearably stretching around his growing girth. You cry out in pain, but the rutting of his hips above you and his massive, deformed body seems to cover you and block your sight, and you are rendered immobile as he fucks into you until he stills, feel something hot and drippy leak from where you are joined.

The deep, painful growling above you reverberates through your cunt and the rest of your body, and you raise yourself to your elbows to see between your thighs. Yuuji’s—the monster’s cock is nearly as big as your arm, the sight of it making your head spin, taking your mind off the pain of being stretched so wide.

Your head is pushed back to the ground suddenly under a large palm, the sheer size of it covering your neck and suffocating you. Your nails claw at Yuuji’s bulging forearm, the pressure under his strength making your pulse go wild at the thought of him just being able to squash you at any moment. You’re deaf to the sudden screams around you, the voice above your head shaking you to your soul.

“I feel it, the awakening!” An inhumanely deep grumble, the monster over you seems like he has stepped out from the dark pits of hell. Just when you think you are about to die from the lack of air, the pressure is suddenly off of you, and Yuuji’s monstrous cock slips out of you, leaving your cunt gaping and leaking with a ridiculous amount of cum, white dripping down to your ass.

It takes you moments to gather yourself and stop your head from spinning, unaware of the deformed monster howling in pain over you, stumbling in his final transformation and falling into the pit of fire, the hung heads of animals falling and incinerating. The participants of the gathering untangle from each other, some scurrying to gather their clothes. You’re propped up on your elbows and raising your head to see the unfolding carnage, dazedly watching as a woman runs up to the monstrous creature oddly resembling a mocking depiction of Yuuji, spreading her arms up and declaring something you miss over all the noise.

You think it sounds crazy, but you realize the creature has sprouted another pair of arms, hands gripping the locks of pink atop its head, abruptly turning to the preaching woman. He is immensely big, the sheer size of it next to her staggering, and running a nervous trail down to your navel, wet cum rubbing between your thighs. And you must really be out of it, because instead of inspecting the splatter of blood on your torso, your eyes are honed into the monster’s hard, drippy cock instead, swinging with its movement. The woman tries to convey something good-natured, but one of the creature’s massive hands encompasses her in a grip, and it presses a long finger inside her cunt. You can only watch as the finger pulls out graphically out of her, covered in entrails and blood, and as he drops her to the ground.

You don’t have the chance to make out what happens to her, as the monster parading with Yuuji’s visage turns on the gathering, stomping its feet as it parades around, towering as high as the trees. People are caught under his heels, blood splaying everywhere, some sizzling in the uncontrolled fire catching grass and foliage.

He suddenly turns to you amidst the screams and your body freezes, legs trembling and unable to get you up. You crawl back on the now soiled furs, raised knees exposing your bare cunt, and he stops before you to lean down and press his face against your body, nose burying in your still-gaping, wet cunt. Breath held, you don’t dare move a muscle as he sniffs and grins. You’re taken back by his appearance; ink runs down his limbs and face but still so much like Yuuji, and reflexively, you call out to him.

“...Yuuji?”

The monster stills. He lifts its chin to see you, and you see him. Except he grins at you mancingly, sharp teeth bared in a mocking display of recognition.

“Wrong.” The voice is deep and ancient, and it travels through your body, suddenly thrumming in agitation.

He lifts his upper body away from you, all four arms stretched out.

“It is Sukuna.” He laughs then, as if someone had shared a terrible joke, observing his outstretched hands, clenching and unclenching. “This foolish boy… he has called for my divine soul, wretched it out from the darkness of this ancient land.”

He slowly and painfully turns to look at you then. “And by your joining together, he succeeded.” He stands before you unmoving, and it’s as if the world quiets to hear his next words, “Tell me. What do you want?”

You do nothing but stare at him, exposed and bared, but the shame has left you long ago, mind reeling on what is taking place before you. His face—this being calling itself Sukuna—looks disturbingly like Yuuji. You remember his words on the way here then, when you both sealed the deal and marched together towards this madness.

The vision of your dream reels in your mind. Yuuji had rebuked you previously, but still oddly curious, you slowly ask him, “Do you… eat children?” He looks at you with what you think is the same surprise, followed by a laugh. As if it was an adequate answer, he repeats his previous question.

“What do you want?”

“Are… you strong?” Throat dry, you choke on your words, eyes trained on him for any movement. And he is Yuuji, it dawns on you, when his face stretches out in a familiar, cocky grin.

“The strongest.”

You don’t doubt his words. Your eyes fall to his massively hard, standing cock between his enormous thighs, and you swallow nervously, bringing your eyes back to his.

“Then… I want you… to grant me freedom,” you say, regaining some of your confidence. “I want to go far away.” Sitting up properly and composing yourself, you mentally will that Sukuna, for all his boasting, would agree to grant you what Yuuji promised you in exchange for spreading your legs for him. Sir Itadori… if you’re in there, please uphold your end of the deal!

Sukuna observes the surroundings, lifting himself to his full height to observe the horizon over the trees. He stares hard at a particular direction south, where you assume the castle stands, but you keep your eyes on Sukuna’s towering form, recognising the sheer power he now exudes now that he has finished transforming. He truly is inhuman, something worshiped since ancient times, and it seems as if the air surrounding him thrums with power. You realize, heart falling to your stomach, that you have potentially struck a deal with the devil, the conversation you had with Yuuji taking on a whole new meaning if he knew of what was to come.

While you simmer in a bundle of nerves, Sukuna turns his attention to you once again. “As a reward for helping set me free.” You light up at his affirmation, your previous doubts dispelled.

“Yes! Thank you—” Sukuna moves to grab you in one of his hands, the size of it encompassing your torso. It is hard to breathe within his grip; you try pushing away the finger pressing into your chest, breasts uncomfortably squashed. You feel your nipples perk in his hold, the power radiating off of him grazing your skin, warming your body to the point your chest feels tight, and your heart might stop.

“Where are you taking me?!” Struggling, you kick your legs to no avail, the sticky residue from your previous coupling rubbing against your thighs. You’re still very much naked, and so is Yuuji—or Sukuna; his strong, muscled legs walking through the trees with no annoyance, as if they merely scratch him. He’s making way towards the castle, the familiar stone walls and turrets coming closer with every heavy step he takes.

You’re dropped unceremoniously to the ground then, rattling your head. Sounds of conflict rise behind, the shouts of men and screaming women making your head hurt, like the time you were taken away from your home.

You’ve twisted your ankle in the drop, feeling the sharp pain of the quickly swelling ankle as you struggle to stand. Ignoring the chaos overtaking the castle you slowly trek through the woods, leaning on each passing tree for support. You have to get away from here, in whatever state you can. You feel no shame in walking around bare, with seemingly no one following you through the dark woods. Catastrophe mounts in the close distance, and a particularly large blaze makes you turn around with a gasp, hairs rising on your neck. The turrets of the castle are on fire, crumbling down beyond the trees. You can strain to hear the clinking of weapons, but Sukuna’s deep growls reverberate through the darkness, telling you that it is still not over.

Is it Yuuji laying destruction to the castle? His will driving Sukuna to lay waste to the place that mistrusted and killed his father—or the other way around? Questions swarm your mind, the pain of the sprained ankle keeping you awake and aware, lending you a drive to escape as far away from the madness like you should have long ago. The rest of the wildlife escapes along you, birds unsettled in their nests, most flying away from the source of unrest.

You make progress until the pain is so severe you cannot touch feet to ground anymore, taking a moment to lean against the bark of a tree. Your legs are covered with dirt, stones digging in your soles. You’re reminded of the time you lost your shoe after running away from the leery men, when Yuuji followed after you.

The sword.

Suddenly, you have an epiphany. If the sword was the catalyst for Yuuji’s transformation into the monster—the creature calling itself Sukuna—you could potentially reverse the change if you could take it out from his back. Your shoulder falters when you realize the humongous task of needing to climb over him and lodge it out of his skin; would it be hardened around the blade? Would it even slide out? Or need another ceremony of sorts?

Lost in thoughts, you fail to notice when your surroundings still, too late until  Sukuna’s bloodied face is next to yours, hot breath on your head. You scream, startled, back hitting the tree behind you. He invades your personal space, jaded eyes on your body as if seeing through you, and you fear he’s heard your thoughts. With his powers you wouldn’t be surprised if he could, somehow, smell the treachery on you. You swallow the fearful lump in your throat, willing him to step back so you could breathe without the threat of death hovering over your head.

“You—did you lie to me? I told you to set me free! I want to get away from here! It was a deal!” Shivering under his unmoving gaze, you manage to choke out. Sukuna says nothing for a bated breath, letting the deafening silence of the woods resonate in your ears.

He speaks when he finally moves to stand. “You will be free.” He confirms, grabbing for you once more. When you try to crawl back into the tree, you notice the shadows at his feet converge and malform into something sinister—just like the dream, your mind interjects—and as his shadow eats up yours, you hear a far off shrill of a young child.

With you trapped in his hold, Sukuna begins to sink into his own shadow, ominously promising you, “There is plenty of space to run free down there.” He’s sinking with you, ignoring the wild trashing of your legs and your bite on his fingers, relishing in the way you scream as he drags you down to the abyssal hell.

The woods remain still until the dark cluster of shadows dissipate from the ground, slowly coming back to life once all threat is gone, leaving no proof or reasonable explanation of what transpired on this night.

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

|Test-shot|

It’s just a test piece, so don’t come for me if it’s OOC, I’ve been in the fandom for less than a week, y’all U_U.

Motivation to do this came from @coffeeebeeans

U_U Thank you for encouraging me to write for this when my motivation was in the negatives

Mikey x Reader

Synopsis

You would do anything for your friends… including sacrificing yourself to keep them together. Your lover has a hard time accepting this…

Warnings:

Angst

Lots and lots of pain

knives, violence, murder U_U

Canon divergence- with a major plot point (cause I may or may not have a personal beef with this scene and refuse to accept it)

Self-sacrifice (cause you know we’d all do it)

Takemitchi hasn’t attempted to fix the future in this timeline yet...

So it’s canon divergence on the original timeline???

Possible spoilers for bloody Halloween if you aren't there yet.

Characters present:

Mikey,

Baji,

Kazutora (mention)

Words

1831

The heat of the sun against the tens of teenagers gathered around swallowed the area with sweat as crimson spread throughout the battlefield. Who thought teenagers, some no older than 14, could be more brutal than the adults of this world? Whoever imagined that children had such urges to kill, manipulate, and harm those around them. Were teens at your age not supposed to be hanging around arcades, laughing about the stupid things in life, complaining about school, smacking each other playfully, insulting one another, even getting into small fights that resulted in both sides pouting? Why were you here… why were any of you here?

Your hands swung, hitting their mark here and there. Occasionally wiping blood from a busted lip and cussing out an opponent or two. Everything was going fine, everything was right. Outnumbered, most of the members were feeling the pain, the dread, humiliation, and exhaustion begin to set in. Even though you were starting to tire. Underneath the sun that beat down on the day, a day that should have been for costumes and roughhousing among friends, wild parting, and pranks, was turning into a bloody battle. Why? That answer would never be settled beyond… this world was too cruel. Your eyes occasionally jumped to Mikey, who fought just as brazenly as you. Though he covered more ground while focused on an upper member, occasionally looking out for his friends.

You never backed him up, he didn’t need it… he was the great Mikey… the invincible Mikey. Your cheeks always rose in warmth when he flung his head back, hair bouncing as he dodged a hit and swung a kick. You were distracted, but not too distracted as to not avoid attacks. Sure, a few landed, but nothing brutal. Your eyes locked with his, and he flashed you a small confident smile, helping your energy slowly return.

Time went on and your limbs were growing sore, bruises sure to form along your face, a real pity. You were able to catch a break, slow your breathing, and stretch your ever-falling stamina. It was in that moment where you saw an old friend… somebody who you hadn’t known too long before they ended up in juvie. Panic set in when you noted the knife in his hands. His feet were slowly moving across the pavement towards another friend, somebody close to Mikey… if it had been another extra, you probably wouldn’t have taken too much attention. But the man’s dark hair pulled into a ponytail only belonged to Baji, a founding member.

Without thinking your feet were moving, pushing past those who hadn’t noticed yet. Somewhere inside your mind, the thought that you were not worth enough planted itself in your mind.

What had been racing, slowed, every movement too slow, stretched out before you. The way you skidded to a halt in front of Baji just seconds before the blade shoved itself into your stomach played out with little to no speed. Though it took only a second, it felt like hours as Kazutora, horrified, and stepping back, pulled away the blade. He mumbled things to himself you couldn’t care to listen to as you gripped the wound and sank to your knees. “Y/n!” His voice was… a little soothing as the pain spread its webs around your nerves. Considering you’d jumped before him, the wound wasn’t exactly where it had been aimed, off to the side, but it unquestionably punctured something important… based on the pain, it had to… or did being stabbed always feel this way? You’d experienced cuts before, hell broken ribs, broken noses, busted lips… this was new… middle-schoolers didn’t usually aim to stab people… that was usually not something that happened in fights. Weapons were actually pretty rare in fights… Most people had too much pride to pick one up.

“Fuck…” You mumbled out before familiar blond waves etched in your blurring vision… oh, blurring vision… you hadn’t noticed how weak your body was feeling, considering you were so focused on thoughts of how, why, and just when this happened.

“Why did you…” Baji’s voice stopped being static as you blinked away the dots in your vision and looked down to see how coated your hand was with your blood. Is this all mine? You asked yourself the question within your mind

“Who… who did it?” Why did… Why did Mikey sound so… different? You smiled, tilting your head.

“I’m…” it hurts to talk… Why did it happen? Were you dying? No, you’re not even in high school yet! You haven’t gotten to tell Mikey about your stupid crush, haven’t had a lover, there’s so much left to do… you weren't… you’re too young to die… all of you are too young to die! “Gonna be okay…. R-right?” The tiny stutter in your voice must have snapped something in Mikey. His head looked so clouded… blinded by rage and regret, and the pain of both the mental and physical kind swallowing him.

“… yeah...” though the grip of the boy you’d protected tightening around your arms and the way he wasn’t looking at you… that told a different story… shit, were you really about to…?

“Sorry, Mikey...” Your throat stung… like somebody was shoving acid down it… the cough that eventually left wasn’t clear saliva leaving your throat… the familiar color of blood dripped from your lips and panic began to set in. “M-Mi-Mikey… I don’t… I…. oh god… I don't wanna die…”

“Somebody already called an ambulance… Mikey… we should-”

“Shut up…” he’d been hanging his head, staring down at the blood seeping from the upper right of your stomach, but now his eyes had shot towards the kid holding the dripping knife.

His foot kicked in his signature movement. A kick so lightning quick, the eye couldn’t see it coming. The poor kid landed on the ground, eyes dizzy looking around, no time to react when Mikey grabbed his collar and swung his fist onto their face before your eyes. You reached out, realizing just how weak you were… so pitiful, like a breaking doll. “Mikey… stop… Mikey… M-Mi...” As blood spilled from your lips again, your position was shifted by the man behind you.

“Stop trying to talk, you fucking dumb-ass! Stop worrying about others and focus on yourself, you selfless idiot! You shoulda let me be stabbed, Mikey… Mikey’s got a crush on ya dumb-ass!” Baji spilled the words, his hair still held up as he continued pressing on the wound. There was some specific routine for this… but what? What was it?

“He’s… he’s gonna kill him Baji…”

“So what? He stabbed ya.”

“But we won’t get a happy ending if he goes to jail when I'm all f-fixed up… m'not gonna die.” Baji’s hands were shaking… his hands… never shook. You shivered in your spot… it was getting cold and you were… sleepy. Your eyes still focused on Mikey, pounding down on the boy's face. Over, and over, and over again… he was genuinely going to kill Kazutora… his old friend. It began to feel like breathing through a straw. You couldn’t exactly tell when the air in your lungs began tightening and the oxygen in your body led to further fatigue, but your eyes hardly kept themselves open. How long had it been since you’d been stabbed?

“Hey… you can’t close your eyes!”

“I’m tired…”

“Keep watching Mikey then! Do something, just not closin your eyes, you dumb shit!”

“C-can… tell Mikey m’love’m?” Baji couldn’t make too much sense of those words, slurred together as the rasps in your breath got louder and you teared up. You honestly were going to die here… without getting to see the world through adult eyes…

You must have closed your eyes, fallen out of it for a moment… Mikey’s knees buckled beneath him as he dropped next to you. Your eyes were open for another moment as he took your body from Baji… As you looked up with half-lidded eyes, you met eyes deprived of anything. There wasn’t any rage, no sense of despair… just an empty void of darkness. His face splattered in blood, along with his fists. “Still…here” you croaked, trying to nuzzle closer, but he held you in the same position.

Sirens wailed in the background and there was a small bit of hope… you wanted to hold onto it, but you couldn’t keep your eyes open or get too much air in. You could only let tears drip as your eyes closed and the rest of your body went completely limp in his arms.

The last you heard of the outside world contained the many voices contained in the static of people trying to save you before your thoughts led you to the end. I’ll protect him in another life… keep his eyes from looking like that…

~

Your eyes opened in a gasp reaching down to your stomach. Expecting hospital walls, you were all too surprised to be shielding your eyes from the sun, laying on a field of grass. “Jeez, you take long naps.” Mikey… you went to sit up, but arms around you kept you laying on your back. “Mmm, don’t feel like getting up!” Mikey chuckled before another familiar voice clicked his tongue.

“Jeez, stop flirting and making the rest of us feel single as fuck.” Your eyes lifted to spot Baji sitting on a wall, one leg dangling, his hair moving with the breeze, down around his shoulders.

Mikey sat up looking away. “We weren't flirting! Y/n was shaking in their sleep, so I was keeping them warm!”

“Flirting…” Draken pointed to Mikey with his typical scowl. Now tears started to drip from your eyes. Draken… was alive… you were alive… everybody was here. Was this a dream?

You pinched yourself, and Mikey dropped his jaw before hitting your hand away. “O-Oi! Y/n! Why’d ya do that?”

“Checking if I was dreaming...” you mumbled before hugging him, and everybody glanced a bit creeped out.

“I think they went crazy…” Baji huffed, pointing to you as you chuckled.

“Just had… a bad dream...” Yeah… now you could find a way to help him without getting yourself killed. You didn’t want to die again… not like you had there. “Mikey… I have a crush on you.”

“Woah! Did they just-” Baji had his mouth covered by a familiar blond female.

“Shhh,” she hissed, watching the two who had become the utter center of attention.

Mikey smiled, patting your head before pressing a kiss to your forehead, turning away giddily… right… This was Mikey before all his friends were killed, like Draken… and yourself. “Then I guess we're dating.” You smiled, at least that… whatever it had been, gave you enough confidence and urgency to tell the boy how much you wished to never leave his side.

“Aaaa! This calls for Sushi!” Emma hummed as you chuckled, pink spread throughout your face as you possessed everything.

“Yeah… it does.”

[theaudacitytowrite]

Hide-out

Loki x Teen!Reader (Platonic)

WARNINGS: tw! mention of past abuse and violence! (nothing too descriptive)

A/N: The last drabble request for the 250 follower celebration! 

#16:  “Don’t be scared, I’m right here.”

#23:  “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

word count: 1.657

After the fight had broken out between the various Loki Variants, he had hidden in the far back of the bunker, waiting for the air to clear up again. It took a long while before he was able to step out from his hiding spot again. The bunker seemed to be fully abandoned now, everyone who could still walk had left it some time ago. The only thing left behind were the motionless bodies of unfortunate Loki's that hadn’t survived the turmoil. It begged the question if those had been actual Loki Variants or just sly imposters. Latter would explain the carnage Loki had to step over before he reached the battered couch that held itself together on a few brittle strings. He sighed heavily as he let himself fall onto it. 

In what messed up state of affairs had he gotten himself? His loathing against the TVA only grew with each passing second he was forced to exist in this god-forsaken void.

His body tensed when he suddenly made out a faint shuffle and a tin can hit the floor before it rolled out from the shadows. His senses heightened instantly as he tried to make out from where and more importantly from whom this disturbance occurred

“Who’s there?” Loki jumped to his feet, summoning daggers out of thin air immediately. He clasped his fingers tightly around the handles as he slowly approached the pile of junk.

“No need to hide...” Loki cooed though his entire body was tense, “I can hear your breath… I can sense your..” Fear?

“Don’t be afraid… I’m not here to fight or to harm you.” Loki slowly unclenched his jaw and straighten up into a less intimidating posture. He stared into the darkness for what felt like an eternity when slowly but surely he could hear someone shuffle towards him hesitantly.

“A girl?” he whispered to himself in disbelieve as a little girl, maybe a teenager, came into his sight. Her face was beaten up and bruised, her clothes torn and covered in grime. She must’ve been in the void for quite some time. She looked brittle and exhausted.

“Are you a Loki, too?” the girl looked at him quizzically, “Or rather a Sylvie?” Loki inquired further, only receiving another confused glance from the girl.

 “What are you doing here?” he asked when he hadn’t received an answer. Maybe the girl tried to keep an upper hand by withholding information or maybe she had just swallowed her tongue since a stranger stood in front of her, still holding daggers In his hands. As quickly as he had summoned them, he let them vanish in his dimension pockets. 

“I just wanted a safe place to stay.” the young girl sniffled upset, her shoulders relaxing visibly as the daggers disappeared before her eyes.

 Now that Loki thought about his questions, it seemed to be an unnecessary one. Of course, she would’ve been in search of a safe place, so the lioth wouldn’t get her.

“I am Loki. Who are you?” he tried another, more sensible approach as he slowly approached her, extending his hand welcoming.

“I-I’m Y/N.” the girl mumbled sheepishly, gently shaking his hand. Loki almost shivered at her touch, her hands almost as cold as has his.

“Everything is ok now, Y/N. Yeah?” he noticed how Y/N seemed to shrink into herself every time he raised his voice to speak. His eyebrows furrowed as he could only imagine what that young girl had gone through to end up in the void.

“Can you remember how you got here?” he tried to soften his voice as much as he could as not to frighten her even more.

“I thought I was finally free..” Y/N sniffled the cryptic words.

“What happened, Y/N?” Loki asked softly.

“I was running away and suddenly I ran into someone. They grabbed me harshly and pulled me through this glowing door. And all of a sudden I was in this weird building and they stripped me of my clothes and made me sign stuff and this weird little man pushed me through some sort of body scanner?” she rattled off the events as quickly as possible.

“I see.“ Loki nodded, the same procedure he went through when he had arrived at the TVA.

“Then they put me in front of this judge and she accused me of so many crimes against some ‘sacred timeline’. They didn’t even give me the chance of defending myself, the woman simply proclaimed me guilty, sentencing me to pruning. I was torn away from the little pedestal and they just shoved this glowing stick at me. The next thing I knew, I woke up in this wasteland. First I thought they had sent me back to him…, but I was weirdly relieved when I couldn’t recognize my surroundings.” Back to him?

“You’re in the void,” Loki explained softly, not that this information helped her in any way. But maybe being able to name her whereabouts would make her feel more in control and less frightened, “You said you were running away. From home?” The young girl nodded sheepishly, her hands hidden in her long sleeves and her eyes fixed to the ground. Loki nodded slowly as he started to grasp the situation.

“So your bruises...” he rasped out.

“I already had them when they abducted me,” Y/N confessed ashamed.

“I’m so sorry.” Loki carefully placed his hands on her shoulder, expecting her to shake his hand off of her. When she didn’t shy away, he gently rubbed her arm comfortingly. 

“Come on, let’s sit down.” Loki softly nudged her towards some crates that sat on the ground.

“How long are you here already?” he tried to distract her by diverting her focus onto another topic.

 “I don’t know… it feels like months but at the same time like only a few hours.” she gnawed on her nails.

“And how did you find the bunker?”

“I saw the young boy and his grandpa from afar and wanted to ask them for help. But then I saw this crocodile-”

“Alligator.” Loki interrupted in thought, “Sorry. Go on.”

“I saw they had an Alligator and they started arguing and fighting with this guy with this hammer. That’s why kept my distance… I thought maybe they would lead me to more people but they ended up here and I simply followed because I didn’t know where else to go.”

 “That was really smart of you.” Loki complimented her with a warm smile.

“Have you been here long?” Y/N asked only over a whisper.

“Honestly, I don’t know. As you noticed, time passes differently here.” Loki gave her a weak smile. 

“Have you a plan to get out of here?” she asked as she played with her hair, trying to console herself with it. 

“I don’t just yet… but as soon as I get out of here, I will burn this godforsaken TVA down to its ground.” Loki didn’t want to crush the little hope she might still have in her brittle bones.

“What is the TVA?” the question took Loki by surprise. Hadn’t they have the decency to explain to her what was happening? Hadn’t they shown her the video he got to see? 

“The TVA is an organization created by the time-keepers that protect and preserver the proper flow of their so-called ‘sacred timeline’.” he began to explain thoroughly, “And if someone veers off that timeline that nexus event could result into a multiverse that could start another multiversal war. So they set back time on its predetermined path and erase anyone who hasn’t a place on that timeline anymore.”

“How can they just decide what's right and what's wrong? This is so unfair.” Y/N croaked out, tears were brimming in her eyes and only now Loki noticed how upset the young girl had become while he explained the function of the TVA.

“I don’t know… that’s why I’m trying to take these bloody bastards down.” he tried to calm her down.

“Who do they think they are?!” the sudden outburst of Y/N baffled Loki. She seemed to have done a full 180° in her demeanor.

“How can they just decide that it’s ok for people to be hit and abused but as soon as they try to take their destiny into their own hands, it’s wrong? That’s not right… it wasn’t my fault! It can’t be my fault!” she began to hiccup in between sobs that tore through her body.

“Hey, shhh. Y/N, come here.” Loki pulled her against him, securing her tightly against his chest, “I’m here. I won’t let them or anybody else hurt you ever again, ok?”

“They practically told me that that’s how my life is supposed to- to end…? He was supposed to...” Y/N choked on her words as she began to sob uncontrollably.

“Shh, it’s alright.” Loki pulled her even closer, gently rubbing her back and her hair, “Hey, don’t be scared anymore, I’m right here. They can’t do anything to you anymore.”

“Do you promise?” she cried against his chest.

“I promise, I won’t let anything bad happen to you ever again. I will protect you from anything that will come our way. And I won’t let them decide over your destiny, ok?” he pulled her away slightly, just enough so he could look at her properly.

“Do you trust me?” he asked softly, knowing this was a big request coming from a stranger she only knew for some moments.

“Yes.” Y/N nodded weakly. What other choice did she really have anyway? Loki thought sorrowfully. He wiped away her tears and offered her a warm and reassuring smile.

“Come with me, I will get you out of this godforsaken hell hole.” his determination to destroy the TVA and get to take his destiny in his hand only grew more and more now that he had even more motivation to succeed. If not for him then for Y/N.

Taglist:  @lucywrites02 @funsized-mimi @gaitwae @variant59 @austynparksandpizza @tinctureofmaddness @user13cabs @marvelfanfn2187a113 @1marvelnerd3000 @lunalavenderfairy @onlyforloki @that-one-girl-that-simps @donaweasley @plainlo-inthemorning @with-inked-solace @darkacademicfrom2021 @sititran @handmaiden-of-mischief @donttouchmylaevateinn​ @lostgreekgod @msturi2u @the-simp-of-mischiefff @high-functioning-lokipath @marauder-no5 @sayairene​ @dead069ssworld

Let me know if you want to be added:)

[fergusthetracionloco]

[since i am bored imma yeet a story at yall]

*Fergus sighs in his shed that was built into the side of the hills at the cement works*

furgus: i wish i could be more useful

*a soft engine humming can be heard*

furgus thinks: who up at this hour?

*furgus sees a tone of gunpowder vans all over the tracks exept for his sideing that gose to his shed*

*a voice could be heard*

??.??????: excellent once we set up the detcord to go off the minute the Express gets here hopefully the fat hat will give up the railway.

d10: boss we should get going.so we don get cought.

??.??????: your right diesel 10. lets go

*d10 and the unknown man leave after seting the cord and fergus was in his shed the whole time*

<in the morning>

*Gordon thundered down the line with his Express and passes the cement works*

*the gunpoder gose off destroying the cemnt works, derailing and injuring Gordon and his Express, and derails and injuries furgus who was in his shed*

[to be continued and also planed out]

i would like imputbon if this is a good sorry start or no? so... @just-an-oliver-simp-existing @mothtrrash @octavia-pama @mtgc858 @chuchuboi33 @annerogers31 @be-kind-and-rewind-again @chewyscribbles @chimyanimatesdrawing @diesel-10-simp @kiwi-engines @pileoftrashsstuff @sudrianforces

[xsjakalen-blog]

Free birds shouldn’t be kept in cages - 1/3

Part 2 Part 3

Part 1 - Pride

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence

''What the hell is this?'' Dad asks with a raised voice while looking through the monthly bills, eyes narrowed. Mom looks up from the ironing board in front of her. Dad is as usual seated in his armchair by the old television, resting his tired legs on the footstool, his cane by his side. Phil and Martyn are sitting beside him on the grey carpet, eyes fixated on the cartoon playing in the television. Phil keeps quiet. Martyn has taught him to.

Mom places the iron back on the ironing board and takes place beside Dad, who points at something on the paper with a stiff finger. She bends down to get a closer look, takes a step back as she finds out what he's referring to. ''The oven broke,'' She explains with a weak voice, folding her hands in front of her. ''I had our landlord come fix it.'' Dad grabs the remote, turns off the TV.

''Hands on the wall.'' Mom doesn't cry as she obeys, she never does. Phil clenches his small fists and looks to his big brother. They both know what comes next. Dad arises from his chair, grabbing his cane. Martyn covers Phil's eyes with a hand, but he can still hear the well known sound of wood against flesh, the screams of pain that follows. -x-x-x-

''Howell,'' A female guard commands Dan to step out from the line of newly arrived inmates, voice monotone and eyes fixated on the clipboard in her hands. She hands Dan a small paperclip and an identification card as he approaches her with stiff steps, signals for him to tag along with a quick, impatient hand gesture. Dan attaches the card to the pocket of his orange jumpsuit and follows her hasty steps. The obnoxious colour makes him stick out among the grey sweatshirts, white tank tops and jogging pants adorning the other inmates, signals his status as a newcomer, a newborn to the hierarchy behind bars.

''Breakfast starts at six, lunch at one, dinner at five,'' The guard informs him as she leads him past the dining hall and activity rooms, quiet criminals staring him down, calculating his every move. There's no hoard of dehumanized animals awaiting him, no wordstream of profanities and dirty promises flowing his way; just an agonizing, straining silence, making his ears ring and blood boil. A lot of them are covered in tattoos, steroid muscles prominent through their shirts. Dan has neither, got nothing but his pride. ''Work hours are between breakfast and lunch, phone and shower hours between lunch and dinner.''

Dan walks with his chin raised, face stripped from every emotion. He won't show them any sign of weakness. ''Got it,'' He responds and fixates his eyes on the prison's concrete walls, painted in a mocking pattern of blue and white, symbolizing qualities none of the men within these walls posses; hope and innocence. The entire interior seems cynical and impersonal, every single furniture Dan passes is made of steel and bolted to the floor beneath his white canvas shoes.

The guard guides him up a staircase leading him to an elongated corridor filled with claustrophobic cells, only segregated by metal bars. When he'd awaited his trial back at county he'd been isolated twenty three hours a day, but at least his concrete cell had provided him with an illusion of privacy and space. ''We lock down at nine, all lights are out at ten.'' The guard stops in front of a cell and scribbles something on her clipboard with the pen in her hand. The cell contains two steel beds bolted to the floor, two small steel cabinets mounted on each side of the wall, a small window in the middle and a steel toilet underneath it. No sink. ''Your cellmate is inmate Liguori, he'll fill you in on the rest.''

Liguori, a young man Dan guesses to be around the same age as himself, looks up from the book in his hand at the mention of his name, offering Dan a short nod out of courtesy. Despite the friendly gesture the man's hooded eyes are cautious and calculating, defined jaw locked in a tense frown, distrust engraved in stern facial features. Dan returns the nod and enters the cell, wondering how long it will be before that look adorns his own face.

''I don't get any toiletries?'' He asks the guard as he sits down on his bed, the thin mattress reminding him of a piece of cardboard. The question makes both the guard's eye and Liguori's lip twitch, one in annoyance and the other in amusement.

''This is a category B prison, inmate,'' The guard barks, finally looking up from the clipboard. Dan knows his existence has been reduced to nothing but a waste of air by the glare he receives. ''Not a goddamn hotel.'' The guard slams the cell door shut and storms away.

Liguori leans forward, watching her leave through the bars and only arising from his bed once she's completely out of frame. He grabs a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste from his cabinet, throws it to Dan.

''Thanks,'' Dan mutters as he catches the items, placing them beside him. He leans back against the bars, sighs as he tiredly rubs his face. The inmates at county all claimed prison would be better, some even adding additional charges to their sentences just to get transferred, but so far Dan can only doubt the truth of those statements. County is for the criminals who still have a chance of making it on the outside, prison is for the criminals who are no longer wanted on the outside.

''I'm not your friend, newbie,'' Liguori responds as he closes his cabinet, combing a hand through a mop of curly hair. Dan nods slowly in understandment, pushing his pride aside and respecting the yet undefined rules. ''But we were all new here once.''

''Yard time?''

''A privilege, not a right.'' Liguori takes place in front of the toilet, pushes his jogging pants a bit down and proceeds to take a piss. ''Hell, even the fucking air we breathe in here is a privilege according to those pigs.''

-x-x-x-

During breakfast the following morning Dan chooses to take seat at an empty table, defying the hierarchy among the rest of the inmates. The majority of them are visibly divided into groups, the leaders seated in the middle of the steel tables, their followers scattered around them. Apart from the tattoos, bland clothing and concrete surrounding them, the scenario truly looks like something taken out of an old renaissance painting. Dan doesn't want to take any part in it, his pride won't let him.

The movies all got one part right in their portrayals of prison; the food absolutely sucks, and Dan refuses to believe it was ever made for human consumption. He struggles to identify the grey sludge in the tray in front of him, but guesses it's supposed to resemble oatmeal. Before he gets to taste it the sound of approaching footsteps reaches his ears, and as he looks up a group is making their way towards him, steps laced with confidence and chests puffed up in a silly display of domination. Dan straightens his back, relaxes his shoulders and raises an eyebrow their way.

''Me and my crew would like to welcome you,'' Their leader starts out, his parade of dancing monkeys forming a half circle around him. Dan's cellie is there too, keeping his gaze down as Dan tries to catch his eyes. Their leader stands in the middle, arms crossed as he pins Dan down with his hazel eyes. He's older, a few years, with a square jaw and straight hair that haven't been cut in a while. ''Maybe we can help each other out while we're here,'' He says and moves closer to Dan, arms crossed over his chest. Dan can feel the rest of the inmates looking at them, eyes glued to the scenario as if it's an episode of a tv series. The guards near the two exits in each side of the dining hall are watching too, making sure all their tamed animals don't cross any boundaries. ''Make our stays a bit more pleasant.''

''I don't think so,'' Dan responds, the rejection finally making Liguori raise his eyes from the ground, offering Dan a gesture so subtle he almost misses it; a brief, sharp shake of his head. Dan squints his eyes at him, his fingers clenching around the plastic spoon in his hand, a vague fire of anger burning within him. Dan doesn't need help, doesn't need whatever protection both Liguori and the man in front of him seem to offer. He walks alone. He walks with pride.

''Careful,'' The man exclaims as he slams his fist down on the table, the force of it making the food tray clatter and tremble, specks of oatmeal escaping from it, landing on the steel surface instead. Dan takes a deep breath through his nose, calmly places his spoon in the tray. The leader bends down to meet him, points toward someone observing them from a distance. ''I'm not the only one who got my eyes on you.''

''Get your ass back in your seat or that's a shot, Kendall,'' A guard barks, but the leader, Kendall, stands still. Dan follows his finger's direction, is immediately captivated by a pair of wide, unsettling eyes a few tables ahead, bluer than the painted walls behind them and greyer than the concrete floor beneath them. They're like windows; the owner can look out but Dan can't look in.

''I only ask nicely once,'' Kendall continues the conversation against the shell of Dan's ear, but that's not what sends shivers down his spine. The face of the wide eyed stranger is graced by a touch of youth, childishness even, the only thing giving away that he's years older than Dan being the soft wrinkles in his porcelain skin, appearing near the corners of his mouth and eyes as he straight up laughs at the display before him.

''Last warning, inmate!'' The guard barks once more. Kendall stands up straight again, not yet leaving, both him and the observing stranger awaiting Dan's answer. The stranger rocks gently from side to side, bites down on plump lips and burrows thin, long fingers in black hair in excitement. He looks absolutely mad. Dan can handle mad. Dan can handle Kendall. Dan can handle every fucking thing as long as he got his pride.

''I only decline nicely once, too.''

-x-x-x-

''How's home?'' Dan asks as soon as Adrian picks up on the other end, his voice a frail whisper despite the hallway being completely silent, empty. A fight had broken out in the yard a few minutes earlier, and Dan had seen an opportunity to finally make the call. Violence has never really entertained him anyway.

The phone in his hand is old, connected to an orange box mounted on the concrete wall through a curly wire. Calls in prison are expensive, each call charging the receiver around two pounds a minute, which is money Dan is very aware Adrian doesn't have, not anymore. He'll keep it short. He just needs to hear his brother's voice, just needs to know that life goes on outside the prison even if it feels as if the earth has stopped rotating inside it.

''Shitty,'' Adrian responds after a few quiet moments, Dan guessing he too is at loss for words. They haven't talked since Dan was first incarcerated, not even at Dan's trial. It's not that Dan hadn't had the opportunity to call at county, he just hadn't known what to say before now. He knows Adrian feels guilty and responsible for what happened, but not more than he does himself. Dan doesn't regret his crimes as much as he regrets the costs of not getting away with them. ''How's prison?'' He sounds tired, yet the languid voice still bears a touch of the cheekiness that used to characterize Dan's little brother.

''Pretty shitty, too.'' Dan relaxes his shoulders as the conversation goes on, slowly easing into comfortable familiarity. He wonders where Adrian is staying, how he manages to get by. There's so many questions he wants to ask, but also so many answers he's not ready to receive. He rests his free arm against the wall in front of him, looks down at the floor, mahogany orbs fixated on a speck of dirt on his white canvas shoes.

''You'll survive,'' Adrian promises, voice laced with a fierce certainty despite the layer of dullness wrapped around his vocal chords. The words result in an ugly grimace spreading across Dan's facial features, making his eyebrows knit together and the corners of his mouth tug downwards. He's tired of merely surviving; it's the bare minimum of life, a weak, shameful state of living reserved for society's fuckups, the bottom of the food chain.

''What about you?'' Dan truly couldn't care less about his own well being. It doesn't matter if he'll spend the rest of his days locked up, rotting away in his prison cell. Nothing matters as long as Adrian is okay. Nothing ever has.

''I'll survive, too.'' Adrian's certainty isn't so fierce anymore, but Dan is still grateful for the lie.

''Good.'' The sound of lazy footsteps in the distance makes Dan resume his prideful posture, body standing tall within seconds, the vulnerability that had previously adorned his face quickly turning to stone. ''I'll call again soon, okay?'' He promises, the air heavy with words that'll never be spoken. They don't need to say it, never really have. They just know.

''Yeah, yeah,'' Adrian responds, the sound of shoe soles scraping against concrete floor becoming louder, approaching. Dan turns his head as the steps comes to a screeching halt a few feet from him, and is immediately met with the same mixture of grey and blue from the dining hall a few days ago. The man just stands there, staring at Dan with wide eyes while fiddling with the hem on his sweatshirt. ''Take care, don't drop the soap,'' Adrian bids his farewell on the other end. Nothing about the man's demeanor reeks of danger, yet Dan still feels intimidated and cautious underneath his unnerving gaze.

''Little shit,'' Dan responds even though Adrian has already ended the call. He places the phone back on its stand and then turns to face the stranger, who looks as if he has something he wants to say. ''Got a problem?'' Dan asks, taking a step towards him, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. The question seems to entertain the man, a tight smile claiming his lips in seconds, revealing a row of white teeth. He's skinny, but Dan can still sense the patches of firm muscle beneath the sleeves of his shirt. He takes another step forward. There's only a feet between them now.

''You won't survive on your pride in here,'' The man responds as if he got his plan figured all out, sees right through the tough facade Dan trusts to keep him safe in here. His voice is deep, a smooth sound laced with heavy excitement that makes Dan's blood boil. He closes the gap between them, standing barely an inch taller. He reaches out, grabs the small identification card attached to the man's shirt.

''What will I survive on then, Lester?'' He asks, the name tasting foreign and bitter in his mouth. Lester doesn't flinch, doesn't front, doesn't do anything. He just smiles as if he can predict the future, as if Dan's fate is a book he has already read and knows the ending to.

''Submission.'' The word drips off Lester's tongue like venom, but he speaks as if it's the antidote. Behind the madness in his glossy eyes there's a primal emotion; hunger, need, desire. Dan feels sick.

''I'd rather die.''

-x-x-x-

The day Dan finally gets to discard of the obnoxious orange jumpsuit is the same day he gets assigned to work in laundry. The laundry room is in the prison's basement, a cramped and damp room without any windows, the only source of light being a small lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. The small room is filled with the soft humming of the washing machines and dryers, filling in the silence between Dan and his work partner. They're standing at a steel table, folding the grey jogging pants and sweatshirts, stacking them according to size. The job pays barely a pound a day, but Dan is still grateful for the solitude and comfortable atmosphere. Down here he's not a prey.

''It's pretty nice, isn't it?'' The man on the other side of the table asks, offering Dan a friendly smile as he looks up from a pair of pants. He's fit, a bit shorter than Dan, smooth skin baring traces of a tan that refuses to disappear despite being deprived of sunlight, eyes warm and brown. ''Keeps your mind busy.'' Dan nods slowly, agreeing. It reminds him of home somehow. ''I'm Padilla,'' The man introduces himself and reaches his hand across the table.

''Howell.'' Dan takes the hand, shakes it and reminds himself he's not in prison to make friends. Him and Adrian used to do the laundry every third day together. When they were younger Dan would take the warm towels from the dryer, cover Adrian's tiny, thin frame in them while he folded their clothes himself. It's the weirdest, smallest things he misses in here.

''First time?'' Padilla asks and Dan wonders what gives him away; the heavy bags underneath his eyes or the permanent lines of worry between his eyebrows. He'd gotten a glimpse of his reflection in the cell window this morning, and could barely recognize the person staring back; curly, untamed hair and a five o'clock shadow had never been part of his appearance before now. ''What are you down for?''

''Are you asking me what I did, or what I'm convicted of?'' Dan responds, earning a humoured chuckle from Padilla, proving he too knows the law system doesn't care about intentions, merely evidence; that is if you're too poor to afford an actual lawyer, and is stuck with a public defender like Dan was. The court didn't care that Dan was trying to save Adrian. The court cared that Dan had shot a guy and left him paralyzed from the waist down. ''Armed robbery, twelve years.''

''Parole?''

''In eight.'' He'd accepted a deal, plead guilty to one count of armed robbery, and in exchange they'd looked past around five counts of burglary alongside the possession of an illegal firearm. Twelve years is a long time, but some might consider him lucky. It doesn't matter now. Whoever said time is money couldn't have been more wrong. ''You?''

''I've done three so far, got one left,'' Padilla informs, face briefly lightening up with joy at the mention of how little time he got left. ''Got caught with a couple of grams on me.'' The guy seems like a ray of sunshine, and Dan can't even bring himself to feel jealous. Maybe he can befriend a single person in prison, just one. ''Wrong place, wrong time.''

''I can relate to that.''

-x-x-x-

''Boys,'' Dad warns during dinner, nodding towards the brothers' plates from behind the newspaper in his hands. They're all seated at the big dining table, just like a normal family would be. There's a big portrait of the Lesters hanging on the wall behind Dad, his hunting riffle mounted on the space above it. The plates are nearly empty, just a few pieces of steamed broccoli left on each of them. Phil hates steamed broccoli. ''Eat up, your mother spent a lot of time cooking this.''

''They're not hungry,'' Mom excuses them. Dad looks up from the newspaper with narrowed eyes. He calmly folds it in his lap and places it beside his own plate, then grabs Mom by her hair and bangs her head repeatedly against the surface of the table. The boys both shovel down the remaining broccoli, Dad only releasing Mom once both plates are completely empty.

''They don't pay for the food in this house,'' He says and picks up his newspaper again, chuckling a bit at a comic strip. Mom thuds to the floor, covering her bleeding face in her arms. Martyn grabs Phil's small hand underneath the table, clenches it reassuringly.

-x-x-x-

The nights are the worst. Dan always lies awake, tossing, turning, mind a battlefield for aggressive, undefeatable thoughts. He thinks about a lot of things; how Adrian is doing, what cell Padilla is in, when Kendall is going to approach him again. He tries to keep Lester out of his mind, but his unsettling, grinning face always appears as he's finally about to fall asleep, immediately stirring him into full consciousness again.

''Liguori?'' He asks one night after giving up on getting any sleep, instead staring at what the cell's tiny window allows him to see of the night sky. There's a bunch of twinkling stars adorning the blackness tonight, making the darkness seem less empty.

''Shut the fuck up and go to sleep, Howell,'' Comes the respond a few delayed moments later, Liguori's voice rough with sleep and hostility. The man pulls his blanket over his head and turns his back to Dan, trying to end the conversation. He can't blame him.

''I can't.'' Silence dwells upon them for a few moments, and Dan briefly thinks his cellie has fallen asleep again. Liguori groans defeatedly, the bed creaking as he sits up, something humane behind the tough facade awakening. He tiredly rubs the palms of his hands against his face, yawning.

''Look, man,'' He starts out and rests his back against the steel bars. Dan finds his hooded eyes through the darkness, the stern look engraved in Liguori's facial features softening a bit. ''Prison sucks, but you'll be fine.''

''Thanks,'' Dan says even though it isn't himself he's worried about, and for a brief moment he thinks he sees a glimpse of a smile dancing across his cellie's lips. Maybe Liguori's not so bad after all.

''I'm not your friend,'' He reminds Dan as he lays down on the thin mattress again, turning his back and leaving him to ponder his thoughts alone. Silence dwells once again upon the suffocating cell, a serenade of muffled screams of submission somewhere further down the corridor eventually lulling him to sleep.

-x-x-x-

''Wanna sit at our table?'' Kendall whispers against Dan's ear while they're standing in line for dinner, the exhales of air against his skin making the bile in his stomach rise, the small appetite he had for the prison's poor excuse for food immediately lost. ''Final offer.''

''No thanks,'' Dan responds flatly, directing his rejection to both the man behind him and Lester's eyes imprisoning him from across the room. The inmate behind the kitchen counter slides him a food tray. Dan seats himself at his usual table, alone and prideful.

-x-x-x-

The last friday of each month the inmates are allowed to watch a movie in the activity rooms, cramped together on a row of steel chairs in front of an old tv. It's Dan's first movie and he has almost survived a month in prison. He's trying not to keep count, knowing he'll have to endure a minimum of ninety five more, a hundred and forty three at max. Tonight they're watching a documentary about predators in the savannah, which has been carefully picked out by inmate Lester. ''You've got an admirer,'' Padilla whispers in Dan's ear while shoveling down a handful of stale gummy bears from the commissary. Dan doesn't need to turn his head to know who it is, can feel the lunatic's eyes resting on him, his skin burning where they linger, observing his every move. In the TV a lion is doing the exact same thing, hiding among some yellow grass, waiting for a nearby, unsuspecting gazelle to pass him by.

''Crazy eyes over there is the least of my problems,'' Dan responds and leans back against his chair, the words raising doubt behind the secure facade. There's a reason Dan haven't been jumped yet, put in his place and stripped of his pride. He suspects it has something to do with Lester, always watching from afar as if his gaze is some kind of forcefield. He's not proud to admit he seeks out those wide eyes from time to time.

''I wouldn't be so sure about that.'' Padilla looks to the unopened bag of liquorice resting in Dan's lap. He shoves it towards him with a roll of his eyes, Padilla throwing his fist up in victory as he rips open the seal. Dan would smile if he didn't feel so cautious. There's a burning curiosity flickering inside him, a desperation to get under Lester's skin now that the man is under his own. The gazelle in the TV is moving closer. The lion prepares to attack.

''Why?'' He asks, immediately biting his tongue in regret. He's not sure his pride will save him once he knows what Lester is capable of, what lengths the man will go to. The gazelle is standing right in front of the lion now, merely seconds away from becoming prey.

''Kendall might be a hardcore criminal, but he isn't convicted of two counts of first degree murder.'' The lion springs from its hiding place with a mighty roar, burrowing its sharp teeth in the gazelle's neck, tumbling it to the ground. The gazelle fights for a brief moment, quickly giving up as the blood starts to flow, succumbing to the predator. In the corner of his eyes he sees Lester rocking aggressively from side to side in his chair, unable to contain his madness and excitement, a tight smile dominating his lips. His eyes aren't even on the TV.

''Really?''

''I think he's been down thirteen so far,'' Padilla informs, stuffing a few pieces of liquorice into his mouth. A guard who's been keeping track of the inmates moves from the room's door frame, turns the TV off as the credits starts to roll. ''Spent four years in psych before that.'' All the inmates arise from their chair, making their way towards the exit. Kendall slides a firm hand across Dan's neck as he passes him, and Dan can't help but think the most dangerous predators doesn't approach their prey, they wait for them to come on their own.

-x-x-x-

''Dropped the soap yet?'' Adrian asks as soon as he picks up on the other end. It's one of his good days, Dan can hear that by the hidden snicker lingering in his dull voice. He can imagine how the cheeky brat is smirking weakly on the other end, and can't help but smile a little himself. There's no fight in the yard this time, inmates standing impatiently in line to use the phones. He'll have to make it quick.

''Little shit,'' He responds even though Adrian hasn't been a little boy for a couple of years now, twenty years old. He'll always remain the little brother Dan had to keep close during thunderstorms, the one he'd sacrificed his childhood for so he could have one himself. Their parents had crashed in their old Toyota when Dan was sixteen. Adrian must have been ten. ''How are you?''

''I'll be fine,'' Adrian yawns, the brief moments of silence allowing the beeping of a heart monitor to inform Dan where he's staying. Adrian being in the hospital means he has a roof over his head and food on the table. It also means he's reached a point where he's no longer able to take care of himself. Dan chooses to look on the bright side of things. He has to.

''Good.'' He'd found the marks when Adrian was thirteen, specks of blue and purple scattered down his spine. He hadn't taken him to the doctor until the reoccurring nosebleeds started. Maybe things had been different if he had. ''Visitations are on Tuesdays, you coming?''

''I'll try, yeah?'' Adrian offers, a female in the background muttering something inaudible to him. Dan hopes the nurses takes good care of him. ''Next week, maybe.''

-x-x-x-

The prison's shower room is like the laundry room a small, cramped and damp room without any windows, but instead of a single lightbulb actual lamps are mounted to the ceiling. It's the only part of the prison Dan has been in so far that isn't completely made of concrete, the floor beneath his naked feet instead made of linoleum tiles. He guesses they've been white at some point in time, but either the shady lightning or years of filth and dirt makes them appear yellow.

In one side of the room the faucets are lined up, rusty pipes staining the concrete wall with specks of brown and red. In the other is a bench where the inmates can place their towels and clothes. There's currently one set of each folded neatly on it, but Dan can hear the rustling sound of someone discarding of their clothes behind him. Showers in prison aren't safe. There's no guards placed at each side of the exit, keeping a close eye on their caged animals, making sure they remain tamed. He feels the heavy gaze find rest on him, lingering on his naked form; that exact animal isn't tamed.

''Kendall wants you,'' Lester announces and turns on the faucet next to Dan, combing a hand through his black hair as the luke warm water wets it, slicking his fringe back. Dan turns his face towards him, takes in his form. Lester's skinny, but Dan can see the subtle outlines of muscle engraved in his pale skin. There's scars, long and thick across his back, the skin raised and bearing a purple tint. Where Dan's body is yet smooth with youth Lester's isn't, a thin trail of dark hair leading from his groin to his navel, starting again at his chest.

''I didn't know,'' He responds, eyes finding rest at Lester's face, voice coated in a layer of heavy sarcasm. The man lets out a short chuckle, a soft sound that makes Dan's blood boil and sends shivers down his spine. Lester does a weird thing where he rolls his tongue and bites down on it with his front teeth, a gesture Dan would consider adorable hadn't it been executed by the lunatic. ''Jealous?''

''Yes,'' Lester admits shamelessly, eyes never leaving Dan's. Sharing eye contact with him is like staring at the sun for too long. They're too bright, making him feel dizzy, and Dan thinks they might burn through him if he continues. ''Do you fear him?'' The man asks with a tilted head, curiosity and amusement gracing his deep voice.

''No.'' Dan doesn't fear anyone, his pride won't let him, so when Lester in a single step is standing in front of him, trapping him against the wet wall by placing a hand on each side of his face, he simply stands tall, chin raised. ''Fear is a choice.'' They're close, Dan can feel Lester's calm heartbeat where their chests are touching, his own heart beating fast with adrenaline.

''What else is a choice?'' Lester asks, leaning closer, hot exhales of air landing on Dan's plump lips. He turns his head, studies the hand trapping him to his left, constantly clenching and unclenching, desperate to touch. Lester turns Dan's face towards him again by grabbing his chin with his other hand, demanding and awaiting an answer.

''Pride,'' Dan responds, eyebrows furrowing as Lester releases his chin. The answer makes that unsettling, tight smile reappear on Lester's lips. Dan can't decide if it's in mockery or amusement. A combination of both, maybe. He looks like a kid on Christmas Eve.

''Submission, too.'' He begins caressing Dan's cheek with rough fingertips instead, his touches too soft and gentle to come from such bloody hands; Lester is petting him. Dan takes a deep breath, the words making every cell in his body burn with anger. He reaches behind him, turns off the faucet and pushes Lester's hand out of the way. Lester takes a step back, releasing him.

''That's not an option.'' Dan says, making his way to the bench, grabbing his towel. It's not entirely true, he knows that; whatever game Lester, Kendall and him has been playing is about to come to an end. There's only two possible outcomes. Either Dan unwillingly becomes a prisoner or he willingly imprisons his pride.

''Pride can be taken,'' Lester reminds him as he gets dressed, taking place underneath the spray of luke warm water again. ''Submission can't.''

-x-x-x-

''Howell!'' Liguori yells from behind Dan, making him stop in his tracks. He's standing in the hallway between the dining hall and yard. Lunch starts in half an hour, but he finished his work shift in laundry early today. Liguori must have too. The man jogs till he reaches him, places a hand on his shoulder, a friendly gesture that's unfamiliar and doesn't usually characterize his cellie. ''Yard time?''

''Maybe later,'' Dan responds and feels Liguori's hand twitch through the fabric of his sweatshirt, catches the way his lips raises in a frustrated snarl for just a single second. He tries to catch the man's hooded, wandering eyes, narrows his own as he fails. They start walking again, their steps echoing off the walls in the empty hallway. It's just the two of them. The other inmates are still working.

''Come on, let's shoot some hoops,'' Liguori continues, voice coated in a thick layer of desperation. He practically jumps in front of Dan as they reach the entrance to the dining hall, blocking it and prohibiting Dan from entering. Dan crosses his arms over his chests, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. ''It'll be fun, yeah?'' The amount of conversations they've had so far can be counted on one hand and definitely haven't been about basketball. Something is up.

''Fine.'' The words seem to ease Liguori, who lets out a relieved breath of air Dan didn't know the man had been holding in. Liguori moves from the entrance, guides Dan further down the hallway by placing a hand on his shoulder once again. There's a tiny voice inside Dan's head screaming for him to get away, but the mighty roar of his pride drowns it out. He pushes open the door to the empty yard, enters the small area secured by a barbed wire fence. There isn't even a basketball court, just a few weight benches and other work out equipment. ''We're not here to play basketball, are we?''

''No, you're not,'' A voice states from behind him. Dan turns his head and is met with Kendall's hazel eyes, his hoard of puffed up gorillas standing behind him, arms crossed over their chests as they keep watch by the door. Kendall pats Liguori on the back, but Dan's cellie doesn't look proud. There's still twenty minutes to lunch, the other inmates and guards wont be nowhere near the yard for at least a quarter.

''I'm sorry,'' Liguori says as Kendall retreats his hand, makes his way towards Dan. The apology is sincere, he can hear that. ''Survival and loyalty doesn't walk hand in hand in here.''

''Had to happen eventually, I guess.'' Kendall cracks his knuckles. ''You're not my friend,'' He says, mimicking Liguori's catchphrase. The man looks genuinely remorseful, shameful even, can't even meet Dan's eyes as Kendall's followers approach him. He doesn't fight back when they grab his arms, twisting them behind his back, offering him to their leader. Dan stands tall, chin raised.

''Sorry,'' Liguori repeats, turning his back to him as Dan receives a knee to his torso. He involuntarily bends over in pain, bites his lips to prevent any sound from escaping. A guy behind him hauls him back up by his hair, and Kendall repeats the process. He hears the ribs crack before he feels it, isn't allowed any time to react before his face is repeatedly met with Kendall's fist. His left eyebrow and lower lips splits, blood oozing down Dan's face, coating his sweatshirt and dripping onto the concrete beneath him.

Kendall takes a pause to wipe his bloody fist against his jogging pants, then motions for the gorillas to release Dan, who drops to the ground. He spits out some blood, wipes his sleeve across his face then looks up at Kendall.

''Still got your pride?'' Kendall asks with a cocky smirk, and Dan can't help but let out a deep laugh. The voice sounds deranged to his own ears, a crazy, cackling sound that makes the man in front of him frown and swing his white canvas shoe into Dan's stomach. He falls over on his back, lies on the ground while clutching his stomach.

''It's going to take a lot more than that,'' He manages to croak out between the laughs. He doesn't know what's so funny, maybe it's just the irony of it all. Kendall makes a swift hand gesture, making his followers repeatedly slam their shoes into his sides. Before Dan loses conciousness he looks up into the sky above him, a beautiful mixture of grey and blue, remembering Lester's words.

-x-x-x-

''What are you doing?'' Martyn asks, observing Phil chasing the small sparrow that always flies around in their backyard with a piece of bread. Phil huffs as the bird takes shelter in their apple tree, looking down at the brothers from a safe distance.

''I'm trying to feed the bird,'' He exclaims excitedly, jumping up and down in front of the tall  tree, waving the bread at the bird who turns it head, uninterested. Martyn sighs and grabs the bread, sits down on the grass and pats the space next to him.

''You have to make it come on its own.'' Martyn plucks the bread into tiny pieces, then throws some of it in front of him. Phil sits down and watches in awe as the bird flies down from the tree, plucking at the bread on the ground with its beak. Martyn then places the remaining pieces in Phil's hand, slowly guides it toward the bird.

''Do you think we can get one?'' Phil whispers quietly, careful not to scare away the bird now eating directly from his hand.

''Dad would never allow it,'' He responds, earning a frown from Phil. He pats his brother lovingly on the back, following the bird with his eyes as it flies away after finishing its meal. ''And free birds shouldn't be kept in cages.''

Part 2 Part 3

[alicechugstea]

trndsttr (fire when the strobe hits you)

zoro fanfic - character study 

Hey you, can I learn your flavour? It's brand new, now it's in the papers All I seem to see Must be something underneath

The shape of his identity is an undulating sea of cloud, stained by the names carried through the scars on his skin. A storm rages underneath, pulsing in unpredictable bursts, in time only to the melodic singing of steel against steel and the flex of well corded sinew tightening against the sky.

In the dojo of his hometown, the weathered, yellowing parchment flutters tiredly in the warm breeze. Torn, frayed edges, stained transparent from the oils of a thousand fingers, the ink has nearly faded away. But the one thing that stays sharp and piercing, as constant as the sunrise and the sunset, as inevitable as the day when your own life will come to a close, is a piercing stare of unwavering determination, of promise, of ambition.

Even when the ink fades and the paper crumbles, all will quiver under the unspoken challenge of his eyes.

Take two, I'm still tryna figure out what makes you Hard on the call, I guess it comes from your heart 'Cause when your head's right, you take your time It's something about the love of things you like

He’s not one for nostalgia, for reminiscing of things past and beyond control (that’s what he tells himself, but in the dead of the night, there’s a weight that sinks into his chest, his heart, fills his lungs, that for all the strength of him he can’t shift) but it serves as the accelerator for his ambition, a roaring train slamming through towering waves of dark, dark water, his bark of laughter against the shadow of an unknown curse, a simmering undercurrent barely kept under wraps, waiting, waiting, waiting for the last taste of salty blood.

On the deck of the Sunny, his gaze is levelled, travelling down the blade of his sword to face the forward unknown. Zoro lets the sweat drip down his face, lets his body swim in his exertion and draws in a breath as he brings the blade smoothly across the air. Scarred fingers contract and relax, the glint parallel to the intensity in his sight.

An echoing roar of gasping laughter splashes across his mind and only the smallest twitch of his mouth gives him away. The rustling of a straw hat joins his thoughts and the scent of the sea only grows.

His inhales, fills his burning lungs, lunges as his unknown enemy, feet dancing furiously across the lush grass, and exhales.

Fire when the strobe hits (you, you) Bet you're looking for something new I feel the heat with you staring off across the room I dare you, play your cards, boy you bet I'm a trendsetter, too

Zoro’s life is defined by a set of promises turned mantras. Each individual phrase carries its own weight and if laid out on a sheet of paper could easily reveal each step of his journey. Promise me, promise me, whispers the white sheath at his side, caressing a twinge in his heart. Never again, never again, howls Kitesu, its teeth eagerly sinking into the most vulnerable side of him, taking its time to slither under his skin and burn, burn, burn a cauterized path.

Shusui’s voice does not speak to him as the others do in the same haunting, chanting way. But he can hear it in the way he draws it, unyielding in his ambition to stand at the front. It watches him with a careless ease, but he can feel the pressure as a hot stinging sensation on his unmarked back. It is the last mantra that sets the tone for the rest of his volatile journey to stand at the top, to match yellow eyes with his own.

He hears it in the scars on his ankles and the forever stitches across his broad chest. He hears it echo in the unspoken beats of his nakama, in the clear, open, forever there eyes of his captain.

Sometimes he wants to laugh so hard he throws up, to cry until his chest rises up and down mocking the last gasps of a dying man, to clutch his head in his hands and writhe and scream and scream and scream, just like Thriller Bark, just like, just like, the split boat and his bleeding chest, (just like Kuina and the white of the sheet like a blanket of snow burying what can but never will be forgotten) his voice a choir of the swords he carries with him, forever and now.

But a promise is a promise, and if he loses all that he holds dear, the only thing left will always be his iron clad will.

Fire when the strobe hits you Bet you're looking for something new Staring of across the room Bet I'm a trendsetter, too

“Across the nine mountains and eight seas, there is nothing I can’t cut!” he thunders, black blades slicing through the stone Pica like melted butter.

There is no one to argue back – how can you possibly do so, to prove a law of nature to be wrong?

Bulletproof on another level, I hit up the crew Select never settles, it only gets better the more you see Powerful and free, confidence is key, So watch me, figure it out

His crew always jokes that he’s a walking blood bank, what with the amount of high pressure gushing that results whenever he so much as receives a scratch, but for his line of work, it’s a true blessing in disguise.

At least to them, anyway.

Chopper places his hand on the IV and carefully draws the needle out.

“Here, keep the cotton ball on it and press hard.”

Zoro snorts, “You know it’ll seal up in less than a second,” but humours the doctor and does so anyway.

Chopper clicks his tongue as he whirls back in his chair with the surgical tape, carefully tying the cotton ball to his arm. “Just because you’ve got enough blood and plasma to keep this whole ship running, doesn’t mean I’m going to treat you any less as a patient!” he chastises, wriggling his horns in annoyance.

Zoro slips off the bench and slides his coat back on. “Besides, even someone like you is going need a transfusion here and there and I’d rather by prepared for how much you’re going to need.” Chopper continues as he buries his face into his notes, labelling the four packets of donated blood. “Though it really is a miracle how your body can contain that much volume. Biologically speaking for your mass, it really should be impossible…but ah well…this is the Grand Line…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a freak of nature, what else is new?”

Chopper blinks and giggles at the irony, especially in this crew. Then he gasps and calls out at Zoro’s retreating back. “Don’t forget to swing by the kitchen and grab a glass of orange juice! You’re going to need the sugar! NO BOOZE FOR AT LEAST 12 HOURS!” Zoro’s gives a half-hearted wave like a benediction and the door clicks shut with finality.

It’s a good thing, in his line of work, that he’s able to pump so much blood. The crew will always wonder how it’s even possible, but he knows that will never know.

Asura rouses deep within him, a dark shadow that settles down in the pit of his stomach. He closes his eyes and focuses, feels the thump of his heart, the rush of blood refilling his veins and bloating his arteries. He’s thick with it, wet and drowning and strangled by the heat of the blood, the blades singing along with the rest of his body.

In the quest to reach the top, there will always inevitably be ones that fall behind and serve as the stepping stone for his climb upwards. But unlike so many others that crush broken bones and shatter dreams underneath their toes, he draws thanks them, keeps them closer than any enemy will ever hope to get. Their simpering and laughing, shrieking and snickering form the lifeforce within.

The blood of their loss and his victory exists with him, keeps him alive, working, moving, surging towards his goal.

It's all about what you bring to the crowd Where your preference is love, they're calling me over Set your fire on me, like what I see you getting closer He calls out to his captain, knocks him on the head, forces him, demands him to stay steadfast, stubborn, strong. The blades shake, a thousand voices clambering over each other, bubbling sluggishly through him. The loss of a nakama is nothing but traumatic, and he can’t help but lower his eyes away from Usopp’s beaten face, but real tragedy is still lurking around the corner, watching intently with cruel, thirsty eyes.

If the trust is lost, then the blood all will surge, and it will stain the deck and bleed out, dry and dense and heavy, swallowing the sea itself. Tragedy will cry in glee and gorge itself, guzzling the sweat/blood/tears of his nakama, where it will grow fat and bloated and sag across the cobblestone streets of the town in pure, sickening gluttony.

i i have been baptised thrice, once in water, once in flame, last in steel.

(HE’D RATHER TAKE HIS OWN LIFE, BLEED OUT INTO THE VAST OCEAN)

i survived because the fire inside burner brighter than the fire around me.

i fell down into your dark chasm, but the fire burned on and on, for woe! woe to the new world that leads my flock astray, for if I am not

(THEN FEED THE TAUNTING JEERS OF THE GRAND LINE OF THE NEW WORLD)

our shepherd

then I must

be

the

wolf

Hey trendsetter, see your fire when the strobe hits you I-I-I didn't see who you came with Bet you looking for something new I feel the heat with you staring off across the room

Luffy watches his first mate strike across the deck, lifting the ridiculously heavy weights with practiced ease.

Tanned skin – a roadmap for his journey, still waiting patiently for the blanks to be filled in, Luffy thinks as he absently traces the faded lines with his eyes.

Zoro pauses at the end of his next kata and turns curious eyes towards his Captain. Luffy giggles, caught red handed in his observation. He leaps up from his perch and bounds over to Zoro, voice hollering his name with as much enthusiasm as anyone can muster.

Zoro gives a sharp grin, the one that most perceive him as the demon he can be, but he brings one sweaty hand to ruffle Luffy’s hair roughly, despite the younger man’s protests, quickly dissolving them into helpless screeches as he traps the captain and begins tickling underneath his vest.

The Thousand Sunny creeks, almost in merriment to the tune of their voices.

I dare you, play your cards, boy You bet I'm a trendsetter, too I feel the heat, fire when the strobe hits you Bet you looking for something new Staring off across the room Bet I'm a trendsetter, too

The shape of his identity is a draping deep cloth, flowing gracefully into the lives it ensnares, embroidered by the names carried through the scars on his skin and stitched together by the hands of his nakama. A sea ebbs and waves underneath, pulsing like a gentle heart in time to the song of the ship and the grasping flex of a hand reaching for the white sun in a bright, bright sky.

[fergusthetracionloco]

[so part to of meh stort]

*the break down train(aka rocky) and a bunch of ambluances arives with scotsman pulling it. scot was worried about his brother and the expres.*

Gordon: brother?

scot: yes brother i am here. what happened? and how did this happen?

Gordon: an explosion came from the cement works and the fore of the explosion hit me i guess.

scot: lets get you to the steam works brother.

*Gordon gets pushes to the steamworks on flatbeds by scot*

*sir bertrum toppem hatt calls a meating of all functioning locos at the steam works to make an amount witch was every rare especially since the last all loco meating was at the end of ww2*

*bertrum stareted to cound the locos who were at the steam works*

*mr persivel and the owner of the arsldale railway were there as well*

bertrum: everyone please settel down. i know the recent news has you all woried but do not threat. we will not stop until we find out who made this attack! but untill then we must be on guard and prepare. i have contacted miss jenny and her construction crew as well as the main land steal works and bothbare willing to help rebuild and fix the now destroyed cementworks. we will have the new rails deliverd by rail with the help of Murdoch and sam. mr.persivel, mr owen and i have agreed to have soem of our locomotives on watch at each main station. so if this happens again we can be informed and all locomotives will be fitted with radios to inform each other of what they saw. and harvy and scotsman will go back to the cemtworks to see if fergus has survived the blast. i will visit each of the sheds to check if anyone saw anything that includes narrow and miniture gauge. now please go back to your sheds and rest.

*the engins do so*

*sam and Murdoch head off to the mainland*

*scot and harvy head off to the destroyed cement works*

*the scotish twins head off takeing the narow and minter gauges back to there respective railways*

[TBC. i got bordd of typeing for a bit]

@just-an-oliver-simp-existing @mothtrrash @octavia-pama @mtgc858 @chuchuboi33 @annerogers31 @be-kind-and-rewind-again @chewyscribbles @chimyanimatesdrawing @diesel-10-simp @kiwi-engines @pileoftrashsstuff @sudrianforces