Latest Posts by unrenderedwip - Page 2

Taking pictures of redacted <3

More under

Hehehe got caught in the end

And free pfp <3 [loving his alt look]

suggestive!

uhmmm... smash?

I'll post the uncensored one on X so.. MDNI 🔞

u can find this one here.

angel's theme earrings

+ alt version with kisses below :3!!!

chu chu <3

Ren 💕

I really wanna draw [redacted] next!

I can't articulate how utterly inhumane it is that we've not only normalized, but valorized, sleep deprivation. We treat it like an achievement.

Sleep deprivation increases your risk for a myriad of serious illnesses like heart disease, kidney disease, diabetes, and stroke.

And that's just to name a few.

Some of the most important cellular work we do all day happens while we're sleeping. When we don't get enough quality sleep and rest, our cells literally can't effectively repair themselves.

It literally damages every system in our bodies.

Capitalism lies.

Getting enough sleep is actually one of the most meaningfully "productive" things we can do.

Un dibujo de mi wawa precioso Ren 🥹🩷🩷 Imagine como se vería recién despertado, abrazando un peluche de T/N / MC jshsjjs

Unreliable Narrator

A lil thing I meant to write for April Fools, but am a little late lol. Isn't that in the spirit of the day tho? >:3

(inspired by a lovely artwork from @veriitasu) mdni !! / 14 days with you / sfw / redacted belongs to @14dayswithyou

Redacted lazily strums out the simple riff on his guitar, endlessly patient as Angel squints at him, trying to learn to replicate the riff. He can’t help but admire his Angel’s face, scrunched up in the most adorable way as they lean in closer, lower lip caught between their teeth in intense concentration.

Once he finishes his demonstration, he gestures to them, gently encouraging, “One more try, Angel. Y’can do it, you’re s’close.”

Angel just groans, flopping back on their bed, “Ughhhhh I can’ttttt. How do you even-? My brain understands but my fingers won’t cooperate!!”

He chuckles before humming in agreement, mindlessly strumming at the guitar, “Mmm, yeah, I remember it bein’ like that when I was first learnin’ too. Don’t worry, it’ll get easier th’more you practice. N’ you’re already making such great progress! F’real, Angel, I’m so proud of you.”

Angel shoots a lingering glance toward them, and Redacted’s breath catches at the intensity of their Angel’s eyes, shining with newfound determination, “Alright. One last try, I got this!”

With an eager expression, Redacted silences the last vibrations of his guitar with a swift hand over the strings, instead leaning in to cheer on Angel’s next attempt.

And this time, they finally, finally get it right, the strings giving way to a melody that filled the room with an electric energy.

Redacted grins, looking on in admiration, “That’s m’Angel.” His eyes then widen with a realization, and he practically trips over himself to switch out his electric guitar for the bass guitar that was leaning on the other side of the room.

Readjusting it to their form, they mutter under their breath, more of a wish than a request, “If y’just play it one more time…” He checks to make sure his camera was recording.

After cheering a small celebration of their own, Angel does just that, replaying the melody with more confidence than before. This time, Redacted joins them, playing the accompaniment he had already learned far earlier in their study session. Their notes easily meld together, Redacted’s tune matching Angel’s perfectly, even through the slight hesitation, making it sound as though there was no better way to play it.

Redacted smiles to himself as the music hangs in the air, “See, s’like we were made for each other.”

They reach out to their Angel, running the back of their knuckles against the warmth of their cheek affectionately. That is, until Angel reaches back toward him. Redacted freezes, holding his breath as his Angel’s eyes lock onto his own for a split second. And then the world tilts, and the screen in front of him goes to static.

Frantically, Redacted reaches over to his keyboard, quickly maximizing the feed from the other cameras in Angel’s room.

But the moment is broken, and Redacted can do nothing but sit at his desk, alone. So close and yet so heartbreakingly far from his other half as they move to put their guitar away, unknowingly severing the false connection Redacted had so desperately built between them.

Ren sketch to cope with finals ;-;

"I miss my wife, Tails..."

So, I'm doing the hairstyle challenge with both Ren and Redacted. How does it look so far?

Sharing some REDACTED doodles with the class. Juggalo was from last year and I just did the first one today 😭 I really need to post things when I actually draw them …

The scrunkly (`ω`)

Nighttime Chats

Convincing Redacted they're good enough, this time through metaphor ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ idk thought I'd try something out lol, trust, I know it's cringe

mdni !! / 14 days with you / sfw / redacted belongs to @14dayswithyou

I am pulled from my sleep as I feel something shift. My eyes blearily open to find a blue gaze matching mine anxiously, “Sorry, Angel, did I wake y’up?”

I groan lowly, “No, y’fine. Wha time’s it?”

“…Four.”

My eyes shoot open, “P.m.?!”

Ren calmingly rubs a thumb over my forearm, “No, a.m.”

I settle back down into the sheets, relieved, “Oh… well then go back to sleep, you’re already more behind than usual.”

They immediately protest, “No m’not.”

I give them a look and they avoid my gaze, giving me all the information I needed. I gently question, “You alright?”

He pauses half a second before answering, “Yes.”

I nod, “Mm, what’s wrong?”

He snorts lightly, “’Said m’fine, just watching you.”

I pull him into my chest, laying my head on his, “I know. But you were thinking, not just watching. There’s a difference.”

There’s a long silence before he responds, “…D’you think… if there was a god… d’you think She would ever b’capable of loving a mortal as much as they love Her?... A god has a whole world, an infinite amount of people, places, and things t’love. But all the mortal has is Them. How could such a perfect being ever truly love such an insignificant, imperfect fleck on Their world?”

I consider, well aware of his true meaning and trying to respond in kind, “Well, I wouldn’t know how a god would feel . But from my perspective, I don’t see how a god could not love a mortal. There are so many ways to love, and surely their love for a person, a soul, would be more powerful than any of the others, right? A soul is so special, a type of god in its own right, able to create and destroy, to live and love and experience and share their experience back to the world in a unique way not even a god can.” 

Ren responds, “But there are billions of other souls. Why a specific one? Especially if they’re one that’s flawed, broken beyond repair, a failure of creation? Why not a true god, to be level and equal to Them, powerful enough to fulfill Her every desire?”

I think over his question, “What use is one god to another? If one can fulfil a desire, so can the other, sameness has no meaning. The thrilling part is the new, the learning, the sharing of souls. No creation is a failure, and nothing is truly broken, only changed. Flaws are what make things interesting, unique, and compelling. Even shattered glass can make for beautiful mosaics, or stained-glass windows.”

Ren scoffs, “Unless it’s fractured into pieces too small t’fit into a work of art. Sharp enough t’cut and useless f’anything else.”

I frown, trailing my hand up and down his back comfortingly, “Then it’s frit, and can become swirls of gorgeous color if utilized by an artist willing to see its potential, to handle it with care and love as it should have been from the beginning.”

Another pause, then, “What if it’s a weed instead then? Ugly, unwanted, and choking out other plants for its own selfish desires.”

I shake my head, “Plants and animals do what they have to do to survive. It’s their environment that defines the lengths they must go to, not their form, nor their inherent nature. You can’t blame something for trying to survive. If it is considered ugly and unwanted, then it is in the wrong environment and beheld by the wrong person. A dandelion is considered a weed to adults, but a wonder to children. A flower that is so bright and shining, that becomes a sphere of fluff, whose seeds become dancers in the wind.” I laugh a bit at my own whimsical description.

Ren counters, “It’s invasive, an eyesore, and takes over spaces where it never belonged, using up resources from the ones deserving t’be there.”

I lean back slightly to look them in the eyes, “It sounds like you’re the wrong beholder then. Dandelions are versatile, resilient, and can sustain others through healing and sustenance. Every part of it is valuable in some way or another, if you care enough to look beyond the surface.”

They look back at me with wonder, “Y'so optimistic.”

I grin back at him, “I was a nihilist for a long time, I just happened to finally find meaning in the world.”

He questions, “And what’s that?”

I smile brightly, finding their hand under the covers and intertwining it with my own, “You,” his real name rolls off your tongue so naturally, like it was always meant to be there.

I bring the back of his hand to my lips, trying to convey every bit of emotion I felt for them through my touch and gaze.

They seem frozen for a second, staring at me in shock. Just before he shifts to hide behind his bangs, I see tears fill his eyes as they turn downwards.

I quickly reach out to turn their face back to me, watching anxiously as he furiously tries to blink away his tears, “Hey, listen. I know what you’re thinking right now. I understand the instinct to tear down everything I’ve said, to write it off as me just being careless or misguided. But it’s true, and I need you to believe it.” Tears are now streaming down his face as silent as they are relentless, and knowing how much they hate me seeing them cry, I pull them back into a tight hug.

I continue gently, “I’ve seen you at your worst, yeah? When you were crazy with jealousy and hatred and thought I was going to leave you. But I didn’t. I’m still here, and I’m going to be for a very long time. Not because you made and executed the perfect plan, not because I have no other choice, but because I want to be. Because I’ve seen you as you are, and I fucking love you. And just because that contradicts your view of yourself doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It means you’ve been in the wrong environment for 23 years, and I intend to fix that.”

After a pause I add in a more lighthearted tone, “And if that means I have to beat the shit out of the voice in your head that keeps saying horrible shit to you, that’s what I’m gonna fuckin do.”

Ren cracks a weak smile, “How’re y’gonna do that? They’re a stubborn bitch, and largely immaterial.”

“Like this.” I return my hands to their face and plant a kiss on their forehead. I then move to each of his cheeks. I leave one on his nose and each of his eyelids, and then everywhere in between.

After we are both laughing from my onslaught, I finally pull away, “Better?”

Ren responds with the faintest hint of a smile, “One more couldn’t hurt. Just t’make sure.”

I chuckle, “Alright, one more, but then we have to go back to sleep.”

He pouts at my words, but ultimately gives in when I lean in, and we share a soft kiss.

After, I hold my arms open, allowing them to cuddle in closer, wrapping their arms around me and laying their head on my chest. Our legs naturally intertwine as we sink back into the pillows around us. I absentmindedly trace patterns on the back of his shoulder as we fade back into the obscurity of sleep, together.

Ren/Redacted 🤭🤭🤭🤭

🪩🪼| [REDACTED]

🪩🪼🪩🪼🪩🪼🪩🪼🪩🪼🪩🪼🪩🪼🪩🪼

So many (jelly)fish in the sea , but i only see you <3.

Renren <3

I have so much homework, but I can't help but draw something 😤

i think im funny

ren burnout behavior vs ren dad issues behavior spot the differences

original

"methinks that my husband is now sublimating his subconscious need to lie under the bottom of a car in the garage"

Original:

Oh day 5...iconic...

i can't take back my vote can i have the angst please many thank

ᴅᴇᴀʀ ꜱᴇᴀ ꜱᴀʟᴛ - ᴋᴏɪ! ᴍᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴅᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ x ɢ.ɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

14 DAYS WITH YOU is a 18+ visual novel Minors don’t interact!-

Words: long

Genre: Angst

If you find mistakes I'm sorry I did not proof read

(Reader is G.N)

Summary : You were a sacrifice to the ocean, that consumed your friend then why is the Koi God's features and movements represent him?

Trigger warnings

Death & Dying:

Grief & Loss:

Body Horror (Implied)

Unreliable Reality:

Existential Angst:

Poisoning:

Religious Themes (Sacrifice):

Violence:

Hopelessness & Despair

Most of the Koi fish! Lore was insipred from Momo's lore? It's there in discord I don't know if I'm good with angst so hehe...I hate this tho

A fairy tale’s supposed to end with something golden, something soft. Right?

Maybe.

…Oh my lord, Koi God.

Corland Bay is a town stitched together with salt and superstition. The sea takes, the sea gives back. Drop something screaming into the waves, and maybe—if it's feeling kind—it’ll spit out a miracle. Gills for lungs. Scales for skin. A promise that you'll keep breathing, long after you should’ve sunk.

You hate it. Have always hated it. But that's not something you say out loud. Violet chatters enough for the both of you, fills the silences you leave behind, swears she’s only doing it to keep you safe. Eleanor too, tucked behind her scripts, pressing the words into your hands so you won’t have to say them yourself.

But the village knows now. The weight of their eyes is a tide all its own. They ask why, but the answer’s got nothing to do with them. It never did.

You hate the Koi God. Always have. Always will. The village whispers it now, lets your name rot in their mouths like fish left too long in the sun. Blasphemy, they call it. Ungrateful. Foolish. But what do they know of grief? Of standing at the edge of a boat, wind cutting like knives, watching someone else drown in your place?

It was supposed to be you.

Not him.

But the sea doesn’t care for fairness. The village even less. They pried your hands from the wooden rails, from his wrist, from his shirt, from the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, and they let him go. You didn’t see him hit the water. Didn’t see him sink. Just the look in his eyes—blue, blue, blue—before he vanished into the maw of the waves.

He asked, once. Why the sea had to take. Why it couldn’t just be enough to live. You had no answer then. You have none now.

It’s nothing. You tell yourself that even now, with his name a ghost on your tongue. It’s nothing, nothing, nothing.

But you loved him.

Or maybe you didn’t. Maybe you couldn’t. Maybe love isn’t the right word, because it feels too soft, too breakable, too far from the raw thing gnawing at your ribs. But you liked him. You know that much. And now he’s gone, and you’re still here, and the only thing left to hate is the god that took him.

The only thing left was the wedding bands. Small, golden, imperfect in the way only a child’s hands could make them. He made them for you—back when you were just kids, back when the ocean was still a place to play, not a thing to fear.

You never wore yours. Not the way it was meant to be worn. Just looped it through a chain, let it rest against your chest, where no one could take it from you. Where it stayed, long after he was gone.

Gone. Because his father gave him up.

Because the village needed someone, and a child was easier to swallow than a guilty conscience. Because when the hands dragged him to the boat, when the chants began, when he cried for someone—anyone—to stop it, his father didn’t. Didn’t fight. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even flinch.

You still remember the way he looked at you. Not at the village. Not at the sky. Not at the water that was about to devour him. Just at you.

Like he was asking something.

Like he was waiting for an answer you never found in time.

And maybe that’s why it still hurts. Because you were supposed to be the one to go. Because he should have had a choice. Because you still feel the weight of his band against your skin, heavier than it should be.

Because his father didn’t feel anything.

And you feel everything.

The morning felt heavier than usual. Like the air itself had thickened, pressing against your skin, making it harder to breathe.

You had to get ready. Today was… one of those days.

The village had its ways—its rituals, its rules, its sacrifices. And today, like every season before, someone would be chosen. Someone would be taken. Someone would be swallowed by the sea, and the rest of them would call it a blessing.

You pulled on your clothing with stiff hands, the wedding band against your chest warm from your skin. Too warm. Like it still held something of him, like it still remembered.

A knock at the door.

Violet stood there, cradling a potted plant in her arms, its leaves swaying with the breeze. She tilted her head. “Y/N…?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. She already knew.

“Today’s…” She trailed off, but you could hear the rest of the sentence in the space between her words.

Yeah.

You knew.

Your throat tightened as you swallowed. The whole village knew what today meant.

Violet shrugged, shifting the plant to one arm. “You should just stay inside,” she said, too casual, too light. “Call it a sick day. No one would blame you.”

You shook your head.

She sighed through her nose, giving you that same small, apologetic smile she always did. “Of course, Y/N.”

She didn’t push. She never did. Just glanced at you one last time before stepping off your porch. "Take care," she said, already walking away.

And then she was gone.

You were alone again. The silence pressed against your ribs.

Outside, the village was waiting.

Work was exhausting.

Today was one of those days—the kind where the air felt too thick, where everything reeked of seawater and incense, where magic scripts stacked high on your desk made your head pound. The village didn’t just throw someone into the waves and call it a day—no, it had to be done right. The words had to be written. The offerings had to be prepared. The ritual had to be perfect.

And you had to work through it.

You groaned under your breath, slamming your forehead against the desk, wishing—just for a second—that you could not care. That you could be like the rest of them, scribbling their prayers onto parchment with steady hands, believing the Koi God would keep them safe as long as they fed it enough bodies.

“Y/N…”

A soft voice. Gentle. A little nervous.

Eleanor.

You turned your head just enough to see her. She was right beside you, as always, a sunball of warmth wrapped in clumsy hands and hesitant smiles. She had ink on her fingers again—smudged across her palms, dotting her cheeks like freckles. She probably didn’t even realize it.

She fidgeted with her sleeves, eyes darting to the stacks of scripts. “It’s… a lot, huh?”

You groaned again. “Understatement of the year.”

She giggled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I—I could help! If you want…”

“You are helping.”

“Oh. Right. I just—” She tripped over her own words, biting her lip before trying again. “I just mean, um, I could take a little more. So you don’t have to do as much.”

You sighed, stretching your arms over your head. “You’re too nice, El.”

She turned pink. “I—I just—! It’s not—!”

You smirked. “Relax. You’re my favorite clumsy workmate.”

That only made her blush harder. She grumbled something under her breath, but you caught the tiniest smile tugging at her lips.

Yeah.

Eleanor was shy, fidgety, and a walking disaster when it came to handling anything fragile. But she was also your friend. Your workmate. Your gossip partner when the rituals were too much and you needed something—anything—else to think about.

suddenly, you heard a voice.

Its time?!

The village reeked of incense and salt. A hundred voices murmured their prayers in unison, a tide of empty words washing over the docks, begging the Koi God for another season of safety.

At the center of it all stood the village chief, old and bent but still carrying himself like his word was law. You hated him. Hated the way he grinned through yellowed teeth, the way he lifted his hands like he was something holy, the way he spoke of death as if it were a gift.

“This is a day of sacrifice and rejoicing,” he declared, voice carrying over the crowd. “One life given—one thousand lives guaranteed.”

A family stepped forward. A mother clutching her husband’s arm, sobbing into his shoulder. A father who looked away, jaw tight, unwilling to meet the eyes of the child standing between them.

A small thing. No older than seven. Wide, terrified eyes, choked-back sniffles, fingers curled into shaking fists.

Something in you snapped.

“That’s a child.”

The words were out before you could stop them, sharp and cutting, louder than the chief’s speech. The crowd turned. The chief turned. And when his eyes landed on you, they twisted in disgust.

“Oh,” he sneered. “It’s you.”

The crowd rustled with whispers. You knew what they were saying. Knew what they always said.

The God’s disrespecter.

The miracle that you were even still alive.

“Keep your mouth shut.” The chief’s voice was steel. A warning. A threat.

You felt the weight of the gold pendant against your chest, warm against your skin. You clenched your fists.

And for the first time in years, you didn’t swallow the anger. Didn’t choke it down and let the ritual pass.

You looked at the child.

And you refused.

“It’s wrong,” you said, voice shaking, raw. “Killing them—it’s wrong. That’s a child. They have a future.”

The chief laughed, low and mean, like he was humoring something pathetic. “Still crying over that one, are you?” His eyes gleamed, cruel and sharp. “If you cared so much, why didn’t you offer yourself back then? When he was pushed off the boat?”

The words hit like a fist to the ribs.

You swallowed hard. The crowd was watching. Waiting. Like a pack of hungry things, eager to see you snap, eager to see you break.

“The ones we offer,” the chief continued, voice thick with reverence, “are the reason our village thrives.”

You looked at them all—faces you had known since childhood, faces that had never once flinched at the sight of someone sinking into the sea, faces that would go home tonight and sleep soundly while a child drowned in the dark.

Something inside you twisted. Made you sick.

You wanted to kill him.

You wanted to wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze until he understood what it felt like to be powerless. To be small. To be chosen by someone else’s hands.

But you didn’t.

You pressed your fingers to the pendant at your throat, gold warm from your skin, and you breathed.

“Don’t do this,” you said.

The chief smiled, slow and vicious. “What’s wrong? Would you rather take their place?”

You exhaled. Steadied yourself.

Then you met his gaze—steady, cold, certain.

“Yes.”

Silence.

“I’d rather be the one than that child,” you said, voice unwavering, fingers curled tight around the pendant. “I’m tired of this village. Tired of all of you. Except maybe…”

Your breath hitched.

Maybe some.

You heard Conrad’s voice and a few others...—sharp, calling your name—but it was already too late. The chief reached for you, fingers gnarled like old roots, but you swatted his hand away with a sharp tch and walked past him.

Laughter followed. Low, smug. Like they had already won.

"Today’s bad luck will bring us fortune," someone jeered.

"Let us pray to the Koi God," another intoned, voice thick with mockery. "That their death is peaceful and safe."

That they die believing.

The boat waited, rocking gently against the dock. The men stood ready. The priests trailed behind, draped in ceremonial robes, their eyes hollow with practiced reverence.

You stepped forward. Dressed in white. Your own funeral clothes.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

A part of you almost laughed.

Ahaha.

How sad.

The boat rocked, slow and steady, carving its path through the ink-dark water. The priests droned their prayers, low and rhythmic, a hollow chant that meant nothing. The air smelled of salt, of something old and watching.

You clutched the ring. Gold, small, warm from the press of your palm. The weight of it dragged you back—childhood, his hands, the promise that should’ve been yours to break.

It should’ve been you.

Not him.

The memory split open in your chest, raw and aching. The boy’s face, his black hair damp with sea spray, his blue eyes wide—scared. But smiling, just for you, like it was okay, like it didn’t hurt.

You almost cried. Almost let the tears slip down your face. But the sea churned, restless. The priests prayed. The Koi God loomed, unseen but there.

You swallowed it all down.

You hated this. Hated them. The god, the sea, these people who had never once cared.

You hated it all.

The plank stretched before you, slick with sea spray, creaking under your weight. The priests droned on, their voices weaving a tapestry of empty reverence, of worship born from fear.

One of them—face obscured by his hood—stepped forward, pressing a small cup into your hands. Hydrangea, moonflower, teardrop. The name meant nothing. The liquid shimmered inside, dark and still.

“Drink.”

You did. No hesitation, no question. Maybe you should have.

It slid down your throat like silk, like rot. Your limbs turned heavy. Your breath slowed. The world around you dulled—sounds stretched thin, the air too thick to breathe.

Your feet carried you forward. Slow. Unsteady.

The plank creaked again.

Your memories flickered, bursting behind your eyes like dying stars.

The boy. Standing where you stood. A step away from the edge, the sea roaring beneath him.

His face. His eyes. That look.

You blinked hard, the weight in your chest turning unbearable.

Ah…? Ah…?

You almost felt—

Sad.

The sea took you like it always meant to. Cold fingers wrapped around your lungs, kissed the back of your throat, whispered lullabies in the form of salt and suffocation. You sank, hair fanning, arms useless—until something moved.

A shadow. A shape. A tail, slashing through the dark like a blade through silk.

Then—hands. Not human. Not quite. Webbed, strong, dragging you upward as if you weighed nothing, as if you weren’t meant to die today.

Your lips broke the surface just long enough to suck in air—just long enough to see the boat above, to hear the shouts, to taste the panic before—

THWIP.

An arrow.

Your savior jerked, pulling you down so fast the water split around you. Your lungs screamed. Your throat burned. Not again. Not again. Not again.

The sea swallowed you whole, and for a moment, you thought—fine. Let it. Let it take what it was always owed. Let it carve out your lungs and replace them with water, let it bury you alongside the boy who should’ve never left—

Except he did leave. He left, and you stayed.

You stayed. And you hated the Koi God for it.

But this? The hands gripping yours? The pale, glowing eyes staring into you like they already knew all your sins, all your grief, all your ugly, rotting thoughts—

This was the Koi God.

Wasn’t it?

A laugh—soft, amused—bubbled through the water. And oh, weren’t you stupid, weren’t you pathetic, weren’t you just another fool in a long line of fools who thought they knew how the sea worked?

The sea—hungry, howling, a beast with no teeth but endless, grasping hands—took. It took like it had always meant to, like it had been waiting, like it had let them have their rituals, their prayers, their thousand blessings, only to remind them—

It was never theirs to command.

You gasped—sputtering, shaking—pulled half onto the boat, the wood slick with salt and sin. The wind carried screams, choked and desperate, of men who thought themselves gods but were only ever bones waiting to sink.

They went down.

Their mouths opened for breath, but the sea poured in instead. Their hands reached for salvation, but only found the cold, merciless grasp of the deep.

And you?

You curled into yourself, small and shaking, a thing that should not have been spared, a thing that should have gone with them. The ring—warm from your skin, wet with salt and sweat—pressed against your palm, a whisper of gold in a world of dark water.

Your throat tightened. Your chest heaved. The air came in ragged, ugly sobs.

"Ahhhhhhh!!!"

It tore from you, raw, ripped-out, half-cry, half-curse.

The boat rocked—tilted—mocked you.

The waves lapped at its edges, gentle now, as if the sea had already finished its feast.

You cried.

You cried.

The sound clawed its way out of your throat, ugly, jagged, raw—like something that had been ripped from you. Your breath came in panicked gasps, too fast, too shallow, choking on itself, on salt, on fear.

The screams were gone. Gone.

Only the water spoke now.

It lapped at the boat, mocking. Whispered in your ears, soothing. It had taken them—taken them all—just like it had taken him.

Your fingers dug into the wood—splinters driving under your nails—not enough, not enough to ground you. Your body trembled, useless, shaking so hard your teeth chattered. The night was warm. The wind was still. And yet you shook, bones rattling, lungs heaving, because you could still hear them.

The splashing. The struggling. The wet, gurgling gasps as their lungs filled with seawater. Their hands clawing at nothing. The moment their screams stopped.

You pressed your hands to your ears, shaking, shaking, shaking.

It didn't help.

The boat was too empty. The silence was too loud. The dark water stretched in all directions, vast, endless, and somewhere beneath it—they were still there.

Sinking.

Watching.

Waiting.

The ring dug into your palm, cold, solid, real. You clutched it so hard it hurt, biting into your flesh, as if holding it tighter would stop the way your body curled in on itself.

A hiccuping breath—too fast, too fast, too fast—you weren’t breathing right, weren’t thinking right, weren’t here anymore.

The waves rocked the boat, gentle now. Gentle.

Like hands lulling you to sleep.

The world was too bright.

Your eyelids peeled open like old paint, heavy, unwilling. The sky above you stretched vast and endless, blue as the ocean that should have swallowed you whole. It was too still. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt wrong.

You should be dead.

You weren't.

A hollow feeling curled in your stomach. Like something had gone wrong—like some unseen balance had tipped in your favor when it shouldn't have. The air felt too thick. Your breath sat heavy in your lungs.

You swallowed around the weight in your throat and dragged yourself upright, limbs sluggish, aching. The wood beneath you creaked as you stood, the boat rocking gently under your weight. The ocean stretched in all directions, gleaming in the morning light—so deceptively calm—like it hadn’t devoured an entire boat full of men the night before. Like it hadn’t taken them.

Like it hadn’t taken him.

Your hands curled into fists. You took a step toward the edge, knees unsteady, half-dizzy from exhaustion. You needed to see it. Needed to look. The water lapped lazily at the boat’s side, dark and endless and—

A ripple.

A shadow.

Then—eyes.

Pale. Ghostly. Blue as drowned lungs.

You froze.

The face that surfaced was eerily still, save for the dark strands of hair that clung to high cheekbones, waterlogged and dripping. A face carved from memory. A face shaped from nightmares.

A face twisted in anger.

Anguish.

The weight in your chest turned to ice.

You stared.

It stared back.

And for a moment—for one long, breathless second—you were a child again, standing at the edge of the boat, watching him sink..

The world spun in a blur of salt and storm.

You hit the water hard, the cold sinking into your bones like teeth, stealing the breath from your lungs before you could even gasp. The sea churned around you, dark and endless, clawing at your limbs with greedy hands. The emergency boat bobbed just within reach, but your arms felt weak—too weak. The weight of exhaustion dragged at your body, threatening to pull you under.

Then—hands.

Cold, smooth, unearthly.

They closed around your wrist, pulling, lifting—saving.

You thrashed on instinct, wrenching away with a strangled sound, kicking up a spray of seawater as you pushed yourself back. The storm raged above, but in the water, everything felt too still. The figure before you—half-hidden by the murk of the waves—watched in silence, their long, dark hair floating like ink in water. Red eyes burned through the gloom, glowing like dying embers, framed by fin-like ears that twitched at your rejection.

Ethereal. Alien. Unfamiliar.

And yet—not.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. You sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, your chest burning, your mind screaming at you to move, move, move—

And then they reached for you again.

Fingers wrapped firm around your wrist, gentle but unyielding, guiding you back to the emergency boat. You tried to resist, but your limbs were sluggish, the fight draining from your body with every second you spent struggling. The storm howled overhead. You gasped, choked on salt and air as you broke the surface again, your vision swaying, dark spots creeping into the edges.

The last thing you saw before collapsing onto the boat was their expression—soft. Sad.

Like they had been waiting for you.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling from exhaustion, from salt, from something far worse. The boat rocked beneath you, the storm's wrath quieting into an uneasy lull, as if the sea itself was waiting.

And then—movement.

A head breached the surface, slow and deliberate. Pale skin, dark hair slicked back by water, eyes red like dying coals. Fin-like ears twitched, droplets sliding down the golden chains draped over his shoulders, catching the dim light like shattered stars.

"Angel… are you okay?"

The voice—human? No. No, it couldn’t be. It was too smooth, too soft, slipping into your ears like the tide, whispering something familiar, something dangerous.

Your stomach twisted. You pushed yourself up on shaking arms, glaring down at the figure in the water with a face twisted in revulsion.

"The fuck are you?" The words came out hoarse, scraped raw from screaming, from swallowing too much salt, from choking on fear you refused to name.

He blinked at you, unphased. His gaze—deep, all-seeing—held only concern.

"Angel?"

Your breath hitched. A cold chill coiled around your ribs.

"Who's Angel?"

The name clung to you, sticky, like something dredged up from the deep, something long forgotten. It wasn’t yours. It couldn’t be yours.

His brows knitted together, like you had just wounded him.

"You are."

A pet name. An endearment. A claim.

Your fingers curled into your palm, nails digging into the flesh to ground yourself, to keep from slipping further into the madness of this moment.

"Don’t call me that."

The command was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

But he—it—only watched you, unblinking, unmoving. As if waiting.

The creature—the Koi God, the siren, the whatever-the-fuck-it-was—didn’t flinch at your words. But something in its expression flickered. A quiet sadness, subtle, like ripples spreading across still water.

It stayed there, half-submerged, red eyes never leaving you. The golden chains on its shoulders shimmered with each slow movement, and when it finally spoke, the voice was softer. Careful.

"Are you hurt?"

You scoffed. "Am I hurt?" The laugh that left you was bitter, nearly a snarl. "You fucking drowned me. Your stupid ocean tried to eat me alive. Your stupid people threw me in like a goddamn offering. And now you wanna ask if I’m hurt?"*

Its fingers twitched. Like it wanted to reach out.

You glared, daring it to try.

Instead, it lowered its gaze slightly, mouth pressing into something close to regret. Still gentle. Still kind. Like it thought kindness could fix this. Like it thought kindness could change the fact that you wanted nothing more than to wrap your hands around its throat and squeeze.

"Do you need anything?" it asked instead, voice as steady as the tide.

You clenched your jaw, bile rising in your throat. The audacity.

"Yeah." You sneered, leaning forward. "I need you to fuck off."*

Silence.

It didn’t react—not in anger, not in offense. Just looked at you. Through you. The sadness lingered in its expression, quiet and endless, but it didn’t turn away.

You hated it.

You hated those fucking eyes.

Hated that it wouldn’t leave.

Hated that you were still here.

You felt it before you saw it. A dull, seeping warmth pooling around your ankle, trickling down in sluggish, sticky trails. Your leg throbbed—probably got cut against the wreckage or a sharp edge of the boat. Whatever.

You ignored it at first. Didn’t matter. You’d deal with it.

But then it spoke.

"Please... your leg."

The voice was quiet, careful, like it already knew you’d bite if it came too close. You froze. Looked down.

Blood.

Dark red, spreading slow.

You hissed through your teeth, already tearing at the hem of your clothing, ripping a strip of fabric to wrap around the wound. Your hands were steady, but the Koi God—the thing, the siren, the freak—reached out before you could tie it.

"Let me help."

You recoiled on instinct.

"The fuck do you mean, ‘let me help?’”

It didn’t answer. Just waited. Held its hand out, palm up, as if asking for permission. As if you owed it anything.

You hesitated. Only for a second. Only because the wound was worse than you thought.

Slowly, reluctantly, you moved your leg forward.

The Koi God exhaled—relief?—before lifting a hand to its own skin. Its fingers traced over the smooth surface of its arm, right where the dark, koi-like scales merged into its starry patterns.

And then—

It pulled one off.

You flinched.

The scale shimmered between its fingertips, reflecting a color you couldn’t name. The Koi God pressed it gently to your wound, and warmth surged through you.

Not burning. Not painful. Just—healing.

The bleeding stopped. The sting faded. You felt the skin knitting back together.

Your breath hitched.

Your stomach twisted.

Your eyes snapped up to meet its own.

The Koi God stared back, eyes heavy with something unreadable.

And in that moment, the realization slammed into you.

This wasn’t just some fish.

This wasn’t just some siren.

This was the Koi God.

The very thing you hated.

The very thing that shouldn’t be touching you.

Yet here it was. Holding you together.

"Go away."

You muttered it between bites, shoving a spoonful of cake into your mouth without looking at the Koi God. The chocolate melted on your tongue—dense, sweet, a little stale but still good. You barely even liked sweets, but this? This was cake. A rare find in the middle of nowhere. Probably belonged to one of the priests. One of the bastards who drowned you.

You chewed slower.

Tastes better knowing that.

Another bite. Then another. You ate like you had something to prove.

Then—

"Is that… c-cake?"

The voice wobbled. Soft. Hopeful.

You turned, spoon halfway to your mouth, only to see the Koi God’s head breaking the surface again. Wide, pale eyes flickered between you and the food.

"Must be delicious…"

He was floating, bobbing slightly with the movement of the waves, but there was something awkward about it—like he wanted to ask something but couldn’t bring himself to. Kept dipping below the water, then rising again. His tail swished beneath him, sending little ripples out toward the boat.

You stared.

Your grip on the spoon tightened.

Something about it—about him—itched at the back of your mind. A memory. Distant. Small.

A tiny hand reaching out.

A piece of candy, bright red, pressed into a dirt-smudged palm.

A boy looking up at you, hesitating—before breaking into the widest goddamn smile you’d ever seen.

Your stomach twisted.

Before you could stop yourself, you grabbed a chunk of the cake—more than you meant to—and shoved it toward the Koi God.

His eyes went huge.

"Ah—w-wait, I—"

You hissed, turning away.

"Just take it before I change my mind."

He hesitated. Then, slowly, carefully, he took it from your hand.

Held it like it was something precious.

Took a bite.

Then another.

His expression lit up.

"Oh—" He covered his mouth, eyes practically glowing. "It's… really good!"

The way he said it—like it was the first time he’d ever eaten something sweet—made something crawl up your spine.

You scowled, shoving another bite into your mouth, pretending you didn’t just share food with the thing you were supposed to hate.

"When are you going to kill me?"

Your voice cut sharp through the silence, cold and flat, like you were asking about the goddamn weather.

The Koi God blinked. His chewing slowed. Then stopped.

"What?"

You glared. "Kill me. When?"

A beat. Then he swallowed the last bit of cake, tilting his head like you’d just asked him to solve the meaning of life.

"Why would I—?"

"Like you killed all those sacrifices." Your fingers dug into the edge of the boat. "Each year. One by one. You think I don’t know?"

The Koi God’s expression flickered, confusion melting into something deeper.

"Isn’t it the priests who drop the people into the water?" he asked, voice careful, measured, like he was picking his words piece by piece.

You scoffed. "What’s the fucking difference?"

"The difference is—" He hesitated, eyes flickering with something unreadable. "I never killed them."

Your blood went hot.

Bullshit.

"Oh, so they just drown for fun?" Your nails scraped against the wooden edge of the boat. "You think that makes it better? They die because of you, because of this stupid goddamn ritual—"

"Because of them," he corrected. "Not me."

Your breath hitched.

Your anger wanted to lash out, wanted to scream that he was lying, that none of this changed a damn thing.

But something—something—itched at the back of your skull.

You clenched your teeth.

"People still died because of you," you snapped.

The Koi God’s lips parted slightly. Not to argue. Not to fight.

Your fingers tightened around the ring. The metal was cold, almost biting against your skin, and the more you stared at it, the more the rage twisted inside you, hot and pulsing.

"His life was cut short." Your voice came out rough, barely above a whisper, but packed with every ounce of fury you could manage. "Because of you."

The Koi God didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t defend himself. Just looked at you—looked—like he was sinking into something deep and silent.

Then his eyes flickered.

"What’s around your neck?" he asked, voice soft.

You exhaled sharply. "I just told you. A ring. One of the victims who died."

His expression shifted, something sad creeping into those pale blue eyes.

"What...features does he have?" he asked, hesitant, as if the answer mattered more than anything.

You scowled, barely thinking before answering. "Black hair. Blue eyes."

Silence.

Then—

"Angel?"

Your whole body locked up.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a second, you swore the ocean itself stilled.

You snapped your head toward him. "Stop calling me that."

His gaze didn’t waver. His face was unreadable, but his lips parted slightly, like he was holding something back.

"Did you read my mind?" Your voice was sharp, accusing. "Is that it? You fucking with me?"

His hands clenched. He still looked so—so—sad. But then—

Then he giggled.

Soft. Delicate. A little broken.

"Ah, Angel... are you slightly dense?" he murmured.

Your chest tightened.

"It’s okay," he mumbled, half to himself. "It’s okay."

The Koi God looks at you like you are the moon, like you are a dream, like you are the answer to every question he never asked. It is sickening. It is cruel. It is fond.

And it aches.

It burns in the places where your anger lives, where your bones remember the weight of water and your lungs still scream with the memory of drowning. It burrows under your ribs, sharp and unbearable, because there is no reason—no reason—for him to look at you like that. Like you are his. Like he has found something lost.

Like he has missed you.

You want to spit in his face. You want to tear that softness from his eyes. You want to demand why—why, why, why—but your throat locks, because you already know he will answer in riddles and silence and that unbearable, aching gaze.

And gods, it is disgusting. It is unbearable. It is—

—making your eyes sting.

(And isn’t that the worst of it? That you cannot look at him without feeling something shake loose inside you? That his stupid, tender, infuriating eyes feel like a hand pressing against your chest, gentle and knowing and far too kind?)

Your nails dig into your palm. Your voice comes out raw, trembling on the edges of something ugly. "Stop looking at me like that."

But he just smiles, just tilts his head like the ocean is whispering to him, like your words mean nothing at all.

"Angel," he says again, like a promise, like a prayer.

And you hate him for it.

The words come out like knives, jagged and shaking, ripped from the deepest part of your chest.

"GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The air splits with your voice, raw and cracking, trembling with something too big to hold. You don’t know if it’s rage or grief or the sick, spiraling ache in your ribs—but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Because he’s looking at you. Looking at you like you’re something precious, like you’re worth something more than the salt in your lungs or the prayers that drowned you.

And that? That is unbearable. That is wrong.

"I’M DISGUSTED—" your breath shatters mid-scream, fists clenching so hard your nails bite deep— "DISGUSTED TO LOOK AT THE FACE OF YOU—OF YOU—"

The Koi God flinches. Just barely. A twitch, a ripple across the stillness of his face.

Then, quietly—softly, so soft it almost drowns in the waves—

"I’ll leave now."

The ocean shifts, the wind pulling at his hair, but he doesn’t look away. Not yet.

"If you want anything…" He hesitates, words caught like shipwrecks in his throat. "Please let me… know."

And then he goes.

Just like that. No fight, no resistance—just fading into the water like he was never there at all. Like he has always known his place. Like he has always expected this.

Like he always knew you would hate him.

And you—

You crumple. You break, shaking, gasping, collapsing in on yourself because you can’t—can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t stop.

And the name—oh, that name—

"REDACTED—"

It rips from your throat like a sob, like something torn straight from your soul.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

Your voice drowns in the waves. The wind. The space he left behind.

You curl in on yourself, clawing at the aching, empty hollows of your chest.

"I want to—"

Your breath shudders.

"I want to play again with you…"

And somewhere—deep, deep beneath the waves—

A boy with black hair and blue eyes stirs.

The words come out like knives, jagged and shaking, ripped from the deepest part of your chest.

"GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The air splits with your voice, raw and cracking, trembling with something too big to hold. You don’t know if it’s rage or grief or the sick, spiraling ache in your ribs—but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Because he’s looking at you. Looking at you like you’re something precious, like you’re worth something more than the salt in your lungs or the prayers that drowned you.

And that? That is unbearable. That is wrong.

"I’M DISGUSTED—" your breath shatters mid-scream, fists clenching so hard your nails bite deep— "DISGUSTED TO LOOK AT THE FACE OF YOU—OF YOU—"

The Koi God flinches. Just barely. A twitch, a ripple across the stillness of his face.

Then, quietly—softly, so soft it almost drowns in the waves—

"I’ll leave now."

The ocean shifts, the wind pulling at his hair, but he doesn’t look away. Not yet.

"If you want anything…" He hesitates, words caught like shipwrecks in his throat. "Please let me… know."

And then he goes.

Just like that. No fight, no resistance—just fading into the water like he was never there at all. Like he has always known his place. Like he has always expected this.

Like he always knew you would hate him.

And you—

You crumple. You break, shaking, gasping, collapsing in on yourself because you can’t—can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t stop.

And the name—oh, that name—

"REDACTED—"

It rips from your throat like a sob, like something torn straight from your soul.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

Your voice drowns in the waves. The wind. The space he left behind.

You curl in on yourself, clawing at the aching, empty hollows of your chest.

"I want to—"

Your breath shudders.

"I want to play again with you…"

And somewhere—deep, deep beneath the waves—

A boy with black hair and blue eyes stirs.

"I want to steal those strawberry puddings with you… I want to play… I want to sob—"

Your voice is unraveling, spilling out in choking, gasping breaths, curling in the empty space where he should be.

"AHHHHHH—WHY—"

Your nails dig into your skin, knuckles white, trembling.

"WHY DID YOU DIE?!"

The ocean doesn’t answer. The waves don’t care. They keep whispering against the boat, lapping against the wood like hungry mouths, like greedy hands—like the same hands that pulled him down.

You remember—oh, you remember—the way his fingers had curled around yours, desperate, slipping, slipping—

"Please—"

You shake your head, bite down on the memory until it bleeds, but it doesn’t stop. It never stops. The salt in your throat tastes like prayers, like the ones the priests chanted when they held you down, like the ones they spat as they dropped him in.

(And the Koi God—he had watched. Hadn’t he? Hadn’t he watched and let it happen?)

Your chest heaves, a sob clawing its way up, twisting, ugly, raw—because you don’t know.

You don’t know if the Koi God had let him drown.

You don’t know if the Koi God had even touched him.

But you know this. You know that your friend is gone, and you are here, and there is no justice, no balance, no fairness in this wretched, drowning world.

Only you. And the monster in the water.

And the ring in your hand—cold, pressing, circling your finger like a shackle, like a memory, like the weight of the dead.

The dream comes slow, thick, like water filling your lungs.

It starts with a boy—black hair, blue eyes, a lopsided grin sticky with stolen candy. His laughter, bright and clear, tangles with the summer air, with the rustling of leaves, with the hurried footsteps of two little criminals making their getaway.

You had grabbed his hand—run, run, run!—and he had laughed like you’d just given him the world.

But then—

Then—

The grip of hands too strong, too cold, wrenching him away from you. The priests, faces carved from stone, voices thick with empty prayers. His eyes, wide, wild, terrified—

And you—helpless. Screaming. Thrashing. Watching.

The boat. The water. The way he had stared at you, betrayed, heartbroken, furious, as they pushed him off the edge and the sea swallowed him whole.

The way you had reached—too late, too late, too late.

Your chest jerks, gasping, choking on saltwater that isn’t there, on a name you can’t scream—

And then you wake up.

The boat is quiet. The ocean is still.

Your face is wet.

You touch your cheek. Tears.

Your breath comes in sharp, broken pulls. The dream is still clinging to you, crawling under your skin, sinking into the marrow of your bones. You shake, curling in on yourself, pressing your forehead to your knees.

It’s just a dream. Just a dream. Just a—

The water ripples.

A head slowly surfaces.

Dark hair. Pale blue eyes, glowing soft in the moonlight. A face you know, a face you hate, a face you—

A voice, hesitant, careful.

"Angel…?"

And suddenly, you can’t breathe.

Your scream rips through the night, raw and jagged, shaking the fragile silence. The boat rocks beneath you, but the ocean—calm, endless—does not care.

"No, no, no—" Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your hands clawing at your chest, your throat. The salt in the air tastes like the salt of your tears.

And him. Him.

Dripping, glowing, not quite human, not quite monster—familiar.

Too familiar.

Black hair, heavy with seawater. Blue eyes, soft, searching, too gentle for something that should not be. For something that cannot be.

"Angel…?"

The name scrapes against your ears, against your ribs, against the walls you’ve built inside yourself.

You shake your head, shaking, shaking, shaking. No. No, no, no.

"Don’t call me that." Your voice is barely a whisper, barely a sound, but he flinches like you’ve struck him.

But you can’t stop looking. You can’t stop seeing.

The curve of his face. The softness of his features, delicate yet sharp, familiar yet impossibly wrong. The way his mouth quirks—nervous, hopeful, aching.

The way he used to look at you.

Before the temple. Before the sacrifice. Before—

Before you watched him die.

You feel sick.

"Why do you look like that?" Your voice is shaking, thin, breaking apart. You can barely hold it together, barely hold yourself together.

He stares, eyes dark with something heavy, something ancient.

He does not answer.

And somehow, that tells you everything.

You wake with a sharp inhale, air burning in your lungs like you've been drowning, like you are drowning, like you never stopped.

The world is too still. The ocean stretches, vast and empty. The sky is too blue. The air is too quiet.

And he is gone.

"Koi fish…?" Your voice wavers, raw from sleep, from screaming. You push yourself up, hands clutching the boat’s edge, scanning the water. Nothing. Nothing.

"God…?" The word tastes bitter, acid on your tongue, thick with something you don't want to name. The waves lap against the wood, gentle, unbothered. The wind hums. No answer.

A breath trembles out of you, shaking your ribs. Your fingers dig into your palm, nails pressing hard enough to hurt. He's gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.

Why does that hurt?

Your grip tightens around the ring—his ring, their ring, the ring of someone who died for this wretched ocean. For him.

It isn't fair.

You swallow. Swallow the lump in your throat, the pressure behind your eyes, the horrible, gnawing ache in your chest. You try to force the words out. The name. The name you haven't said in years. The name you buried in the salt and waves, along with everything else.

You hold your breath. You whisper.

"REDACTED…?"

The ocean stills.

A ripple, slow, deliberate, breaking across the surface. The water shifts, something moving beneath.

And then— a head, breaking through the quiet.

Black hair, slick with seawater. Blue eyes, wide, unreadable.

Your breath catches.

"Ah… ah?" His voice is hesitant, almost uncertain.

You choke on the sound of it. Choke on everything crashing into you at once.

"You're…?" You can't finish.

You don’t know what you were going to say. You don’t know what you’re looking at.

The ocean between you feels like a lifetime.

You cry.

"Why…?" Your voice shatters like glass against the waves. "Why do you look like the Koi God…?"

Your throat burns, your chest tightens, and the world tilts—no, you tilt—your knees buckle, the boat lurches—

And you fall.

The cold slams into you, salt filling your mouth, your lungs, drowning the sob that rips from your throat. Your limbs feel sluggish, heavy, but before you can sink, hands—his hands—grasp you, steady, firm, pulling you up.

The ocean spits you both out, the sky spinning above you. His arms are strong around you, holding you as if you’ll disappear if he lets go. You wish he would. You wish he wouldn’t.

"Don’t cry," he breathes, voice so soft, so pained. Like your grief is a knife in his ribs.

But you do cry. You sob against his shoulder, choking on gasps and salt, and he just holds you, his warmth steady against your shaking frame.

You clutch at him, fingers digging into the damp skin of his back, real and solid. Not a memory, not a ghost.

And slowly, through the blur of your tears, you see—

His eyes aren’t the empty, soulless gaze of a god.

They are warm. They are human.

You weren’t crying in despair.

You were crying in salvation.

And he realizes it at the same time you do.

The arms around you tighten, and—hesitant, uncertain—he buries his face in your hair.

You cling to him.

And this time, he does not let go.

"REDACTED… REDACTED…!"

You choke on the name like it's something sacred, something broken, something you were never meant to speak again.

But you do.

And he is there.

Your body shakes, sobs wracking through you, curling inward like you're folding in on yourself, like if you make yourself small enough, you can wake up and this will all be some cruel trick of the waves.

But the warmth against you is real.

His arms around you are real.

"You—" Your voice splinters, breath hitched and gasping. "You didn't die…"

The weight of it crushes you, presses down until you're sinking, but his grip is strong. Keeps you afloat.

He doesn't speak. He can't.

But his hands tighten on you, holding, steadying, grounding.

He doesn’t let go.

And you sob into his shoulder, into the space where his name used to be.

You sniffle, wiping your tears with the back of your hand as you climb onto the boat, the wood slick beneath your trembling fingers. Your chest still heaves from crying, but there’s something lighter in it now—something warm.

Your eyes land on another slice of cake. Chocolate again. Maybe meant for that bastard priest, maybe not, but it doesn’t matter anymore. You grab it without thinking, turning back toward the water.

Redacted blinks up at you, hesitant. He hasn’t moved from where he’s floating, his hands just barely gripping the side of the boat, half-submerged. His long, dark hair fans out in the water, slick against his shoulders, the scales of his tail shimmering beneath the surface.

He looks at you like he doesn't quite believe this is real. Like he doesn't believe you are real.

You roll your eyes. Dumb fish.

Without a word, you tear off a piece of the cake and lean forward, holding it out to him. His eyes flicker between you and the dessert before he opens his mouth slightly, letting you place it on his tongue.

You expect him to take it carefully. Instead, he hums—a soft, pleased noise muffled by the food—and his cheeks flush. His finned ears twitch, and the way his tail flicks behind him is almost cute.

You giggle. Giggle. What the hell?

Redacted looks up, startled, mid-chew. You blink at him, then at yourself, then at the cake in your hand.

When you look back at him, his lips curl into the smallest, softest smile you’ve ever seen.

And just like that, for the first time in forever, you smile back.

"Redacted… Redacted…!" Your voice trembles, hands gripping the side of the boat as you stare at him, really stare at him. His face—so familiar, so achingly familiar—framed by dark, wet strands of hair, those pale, ethereal eyes full of something that hurts.

He doesn’t answer at first. Just watches you with that same look, something in his throat bobbing as he swallows. He looks afraid.

"I don't… know," he finally whispers, voice hoarse. "Before I—before I died, I felt something. And then…" He exhales shakily, looking down at himself, at the glistening koi tail where his legs should be. "I woke up like this. Maybe the other Koi God chose me. Maybe the ocean just didn’t want to let me go."

Your fingers tighten on the wood. "Then why didn’t you—" The words come out too sharp, too raw. You inhale. "Why didn’t you look for me?"

Redacted flinches, guilt flashing across his face. His lips part, but it takes a moment before any words come.

"I tried." His voice is so soft, so small. "I swear, I—" His throat tightens, and he looks away. "I wasn’t… doing well. With oxygen. I couldn't stay near the surface long enough to search. I kept blacking out. I don’t even remember how much time passed before I could move properly. But I tried, Angel."

That name—that name.

You glare at him through the burning in your eyes.

"Don't call me that."

His shoulders tremble. He bites his lip, nodding. "Okay." But he doesn’t take it back. Doesn’t apologize for saying it.

You watch him carefully, the way his fingers grip the side of the boat like he’s afraid you’ll push him away again.

"...You really tried?" Your voice barely makes it past your lips.

His pale eyes lift to yours, red-rimmed. "So much."

And for the first time, you wonder if maybe, just maybe—

The ocean stole him from you, too.

You hold his face in your hands, the cool dampness of his skin against your warm palms. He blinks up at you, wide-eyed, mouth slightly parted like he can’t believe you’re real—like he’s scared if he moves too fast, you’ll disappear again.

"You’re my best friend, Redacted."

For a second, something in his expression cracks. His breath stutters. His lips press together like he’s biting back a reaction. And then—gone. He smooths it over with a soft, too-soft smile, but you saw it. The way his shoulders tensed. The way his fingers twitched against the boat. The sadness that flickered through his face like a ghost.

Oh.

Oh.

Were you dense?

You stare at him. He stares back. Neither of you move, the ocean gently rocking between you, filling the silence with soft ripples.

Your gaze flickers down—to his hands, to the ring still looped around your neck. You remember how carefully he had made them. The way his fingers trembled when he handed them to you. The way he looked at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

You swallow. "Hey, um…" You clear your throat. "Why did you make these rings, anyway?"

Redacted stiffens. The tips of his ears—his **fin-like ears—**darken slightly, the gradient shifting warmer, redder.

"It's just…" He rubs the back of his neck, looking away, looking anywhere but at you. "I… wanted to."

Silence.

Just that? Just that?

His tail flicks beneath the water, his nervous energy bleeding into the surface ripples.

You stare at the ring in your palm. The realization hits like a truck. Oh. Oh. OH.

"IM SO SORRY, REDACTED!!!"

You explode into apologies, full-blown wailing, gripping his face tighter as you sob, forehead pressed against his.

"WAHHHHHHH, REDACTED, I’M SO STUPID, I’M SORRY!!!"

His ears are so red. His tail smacks the water. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

"Angel, w-why are you crying—"

"BECAUSE I’M SO DENSE, I’M SO—" You hiccup. "WAAAAHHH—"

He snorts. Actually snorts. And you—still sobbing, still hiccuping—squish his cheeks.

You’re an idiot. He’s an idiot. But at least you’re idiots together.

You throw your arms around him, burying your face against his damp, cool skin. Redacted freezes. Every muscle in his body locks up, his tail flicking wildly beneath the water, absolutely malfunctioning.

You don’t care. You don’t even notice. You’re just—happy. You sob into his shoulder, clutching him close like he might disappear if you let go.

"You’re really here," you whisper, voice shaking. "I—" You hiccup. "I thought I lost you forever."

Boom. Redacted explodes. Not literally, but inside? He is gone. Launched into orbit. He wants the earth to swallow him whole. He wants the sea to drag him under. He doesn’t know how to handle this—**you—**holding him like he means something. Like he’s real. Like you love him—no, no, don’t think about that. His tail flicks frantically, trying to vent the absolute wildfire inside his chest.

But then—your grip loosens. Your breathing shudders.

"Angel?" He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes darting over your face. You're pale. Too pale. A light sweat clings to your forehead, and—

You sway.

"Angel—"

You shake your head. "I’m just dizzy." A weak smile. "You should go for now. I’ll call you back later."

He hesitates.

He doesn't want to.

But you’re looking at him like that, with that same stubborn determination, and he’s always been weak to you.

"Okay." His voice is soft. Too soft. Like it hurts him to say. "I’ll come back soon, okay?"

You nod. He sinks into the water, those blue, blue eyes lingering on you until he disappears beneath the surface.

And then—

Pain.

A gut-wrenching pain tears through you. Your stomach churns. Your vision blurs. You stumble forward, gripping the edge of the boat as your throat tightens, burns—

You vomit.

The taste of metal floods your mouth. Red. Too much red. It splashes against the wood, thick and glistening in the dim light.

Your breath catches. Your hands shake.

Blood.

Your blood.

You cough, more spilling past your lips, your body rejecting whatever's inside you. And then—realization strikes.

The cake. The moonflower.

Your fingers tremble against your lips.

"No… no, no, no, no, no—"

Your vision tilts. Your knees buckle.

Somewhere beneath the waves, Redacted stills. Something is wrong. He can feel it. The ocean around him hums with unease.

And then—

A sound.

A choked, desperate sound that sends ice through his veins.

Your voice.

"No… no, no, no, no—"

You wipe your mouth. Your hands shake. Your body feels wrong—too heavy, too cold. But you force yourself to move, force yourself to clean up, force yourself to breathe.

You don’t sleep. Not really. Just crying until exhaustion steals you away.

And when morning comes, you wake up with a splitting headache, your throat raw, your stomach aching. The taste of blood still lingers in your mouth, copper and regret.

You don’t think about it.

You won’t think about it.

Instead, you sit up, take a deep, deep breath, and call out:

"Redacted?"

Silence.

You swallow down the bile, the fear, the everything.

"Redacted," you say again, voice steadier. "I wanna talk."

The water stirs. A ripple. A presence. And then—his head breaches the surface, those too-blue eyes locking onto you, scanning you, worried.

"Angel—"

You smile. Bright. Carefree. Fake.

"Aren't you gonna show me your new house?"

His expression flickers. Uncertainty, hesitation—hope.

You don’t let your smile falter. Not even once.

You just got him back.

You are not losing him again.

Even if your body is eating itself alive.

Redacted hesitates. His tail flicks beneath the water, slow, uncertain. His blue eyes search you, drinking you in, memorizing you, as if afraid you might disappear again.

"You can't breathe underwater," he says, voice gentle, almost apologetic.

You tilt your head. "Can I turn into a fish, then?"

He blinks. Startled.

"Like you."

He frowns. Lowers his gaze. "It’s... not possible."

"But you—"

"If you die," he interrupts, softer this time, barely above the waves.

Your breath catches.

"What?"

"If you die and you’re... unsatisfied with it—if your soul still lingers, if you refuse to pass on—you can turn into something like me." His fingers ghost along the water’s surface, uncertain, nervous. "But if you die happy... you won’t become anything at all. Just... pearls. Salt. The sea takes you."

You stare.

Your stomach twists.

Not in fear. Not in horror. But in—something else.

"Angel," he says, voice steady, determined. "It's okay. We'll do something about you. I won't let you die."

A foolish, impossible promise.

And yet... you smile.

"You won’t?"

"I won’t."

"Then," you say, grinning despite the ache in your bones, "I guess I better spend as much time with you as I can, huh?"

He explodes.

Not literally. But visibly, wholly, entirely.

His face burns red, his tail flicks so fast it nearly splashes you, his hands fumble over absolutely nothing.

"I—" he sputters.

You laugh.

You laugh so freely, so lightly, so happily that for a moment, you almost believe you’re okay.

"Redacted? Can you show me around your new house..?"

"But Angel, you're a human.."

"Shit, I forgot-" Redacted tore a piece of his scale and gave you.

"Do you trust me Angel?"

"...Of course."

"Keep this scale to your heart...and think, you will entre your celestial soul form..." You just have to sleep and let your soul free..

The ocean cradled you like a lullaby.

Your body felt weightless, untethered, like drifting silk in a current. You reached out, and the water didn’t fight you—it embraced you, pulled you further, deeper.

And then—him.

Redacted stood before you, but not as the koi god you had known. His face was sharp, elegant, almost inhumanly perfect, with glowing, pale eyes that pierced straight through you. His long, dark hair swayed like it was alive, dancing with the water.

You stared.

Your breath (if you even had any) hitched.

His fin-like ears twitched as he tilted his head. The delicate gold chains draped across his upper body shimmered, catching the light of the deep sea like stolen stars. His arms, patterned like the night sky, flexed slightly as he reached out, and you caught a glimpse of the koi motif on his flowing attire. The reds, the whites, the blacks—it was beautiful.

"You're—" the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

His gaze flickered to you, expectant.

"Beautiful."

For a moment, he froze.

Then he huffed, sharp and flustered, before schooling his expression into something obnoxiously smug.

"Oh? Am I?"

You rolled your eyes, but grinned as you reached out, patting his head.

He sputtered.

"What are you—"

"Good boy," you teased.

Instant regret.

His eyes widened, his face burned, and he nearly choked on the water surrounding him. You had never seen a fish have a full-body reaction before, but you swore you just did.

His fingers twitched before suddenly gripping your hand. Firm. Unwavering.

Your chest squeezed.

"Let's go, Angel," he said, voice lower than before, quieter, yet no less full of feeling.

And then—the world opened up before you.

You turned, and for the first time, you saw the ocean as he did.

A vast, endless abyss of color and life.

Schools of shimmering fish swirled past like liquid silver. Towering coral formations stretched toward the surface like cathedral spires. Bioluminescent creatures pulsed with eerie, dreamlike light, guiding your path deeper and deeper.

It was magic.

It was unreal.

It was his home.

And right now, he was sharing it with you.

The ocean trembled.

Redacted's hand tightened around yours.

"I like dreaming with you," he had whispered—just moments before, just before your fingers had brushed, just before the world had torn itself apart.

You had been floating together, weightless and timeless, like the moon and the sun caught in a silent eclipse. He had tilted downward, his luminous gaze locked onto yours, and for a fleeting second, the ocean had felt smaller, quieter, softer.

Then—pain.

A pit of red bloomed from your arm, rupturing the moment like a knife through silk.

And the voices came.

"There's that koi god who betrayed us!"

"He didn't give us anything this year!"

"The sacrifice failed!"

You gasped, the sting in your arm spreading like fire. The surface above was dark with the silhouettes of ships, and the water around you was stirring with motion, with hatred, with something ancient and heavy pressing against your chest.

The first arrow shot through the water like a vengeful whisper.

You barely had time to register it—because Redacted moved first.

He was in front of you before you could even blink, a dark shape in the water, all sharp motion and unwavering resolve. The arrow embedded itself into his shoulder.

His body jerked. His grip on your hand slipped.

"RUN, ANGEL!" His voice was fierce, desperate. "DON’T LOOK BACK!"

You couldn't move.

Another tremor wracked your body, and this time, you coughed—a deep, wet sound.

Blood.

It spilled from your lips, dark and viscous, twisting like ink in the water.

"The priest gave the poison!" A voice sneered from above.

"They'll die soon enough."

And then—they turned on their own.

A single scream cut through the waves as one of them—**the one who had struck Redacted—**was seized by cruel hands and hurled into the sea.

He sank.

Fast.

The weight of the ocean swallowed him whole, pulling him into the endless blue below.

And just like that—the boats were gone.

Leaving only you and Redacted.

Your vision blurred. Your limbs felt heavy.

The poison was working.

"No," you whispered, reaching for him.

But he caught you first.

Your body shuddered violently.

Each cough rattled your ribs, sending fresh waves of pain through you. Blood dripped from your lips, curling like ribbons in the water.

And yet—you smiled.

"Angel—" Redacted's voice wavered.

You could feel his arms tighten around you. Desperate. Shaking.

"No. No, wait—" He pulled you closer, pressing you against his chest. His heartbeat was frantic, hammering like war drums beneath your fingertips. "Angel, don't—don’t do that. Don't smile like that."

Like this was the last time.

Like you already knew.

Like you had already accepted it.

You blinked slowly, warmth pooling in your chest at the way he held you like you were everything.

"I just—" You tried to speak, but your voice cracked. A new, violent cough tore through you, and Redacted flinched at the fresh burst of red.

Panic flashed across his face.

"W-What? Angel? Angel, stop—"* He sounded breathless, like he was forcing himself to breathe for both of you. He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice barely a whisper. "Why are you hugging me like that...?"

Like you were saying goodbye.

"I guess..."

Your voice was barely above a whisper, carried away by the water between you. You coughed again, more blood curling into the sea, staining the soft glow of Redacted’s scales.

His arms tightened. Desperate. Unwilling.

"Stop talking like that." His voice shook, but he tried to keep it steady. To keep you here. With him. "You— You’re not dying, Angel. You’re not—"

You smiled weakly.

"I thought I’d die with regret." Your fingers curled into his golden chains, gripping just tight enough to feel real. To feel something.

"I tried to feel regret." You blinked slowly, the edges of your vision softening like a dream. The ache in your chest felt far away now, drifting.

"But… there’s nothing to regret."

Redacted sucked in a breath. His pale eyes flickered, wide, frantic—his hands trembled as they held you, trying to pull you back.

"No," he whispered. "No, don’t—"

You let your head tilt forward, resting gently against his shoulder. His warmth, his presence.

"Your arms…" Your voice was so quiet, so soft, as if the ocean itself were swallowing your words. "Inside your arms feels safe."

He shook against you, his grip fierce.

"This is what peace feels like, huh?" A small, dazed chuckle left your lips. "Peace to know that you’re alive… I never expected that."

You felt him shudder. His nails dug into your back, as if holding you tighter could keep you from slipping away.

"Then don’t leave." His voice cracked. "Stay with me, Angel. Just— just stay."

You coughed again. This time, it left a sharp sting in your throat.

"To die in your arms..." Your breathing was slower now. Softer. Lighter.

"There’s nothing to regret."

"I can't feel regret."

Your voice was soft—too soft. Like the final breath before the tide carries everything away.

Redacted felt his chest tighten. His hands trembled against your skin, gripping, holding, as if he could keep you here, anchor you before the current stole you from him.

And then—

You kissed him.

A fleeting press of warmth—salted with blood and tears—a whisper of something that could’ve been, something that never got the chance to bloom. But it was real. Real enough that his breath hitched, real enough that he froze, real enough that it shattered everything.

"I love you...?"

It was a question. A dream. A confession that came too late.

Maybe—

"Maybe in another life."

His world collapsed.

You collapsed.

Your arms, once weakly wrapped around him, began to slip—disintegrate. Like grains of salt melting into the sea. Like foam dissolving against the shore.

"No—"

His breath hitched—his hands clawed at you, desperate, shaking, trying to hold you together. Trying to stop what was already happening.

"Angel—!"

But you were slipping—breaking apart.

His hands closed around nothing.

His arms, once wrapped around you, were suddenly empty.

He gasped, choked on his own breath. His eyes burned. His vision blurred.

He looked down—his hands trembled. Nothing. Nothing.

The water around him shimmered, glistening under the light—not with blood. Not with pain. But with something soft, something almost beautiful.

Sea salt.

The ocean had taken you, swallowed you whole, made you a part of itself.

You were gone.

Redacted’s body trembled as he let out a shaking breath. His throat was raw, his chest a gaping wound that no blade had caused.

And then—he sobbed.

He sobbed harder than he ever had.

His arms curled around himself, holding nothing, and he let the waves crash into him.

You didn't die with regret. No, you cradled peace like a prayer, let it kiss your throat and call it mercy. Not a tragedy, no—not a tragedy if you chose it, if you embraced it, if you let the sea sink its fingers into your bones and name you soft, name you gone.

What a love it is. What a love to die in the arms of someone who trembles. To leave behind tears that taste like salt and let them pretend it’s the ocean. To press a final breath into his lips and watch him break apart, piece by piece, like a slow-burning housefire.

You didn’t die with regret. You died knowing he would carry you. Died knowing he would scream your name into the deep and wait for the echo. Died knowing he would call for you, call for you, call for you— and the only thing that would answer is the tide.

But did you realize, oh dear you, that the man you left behind would never move on? Did you think, in your final breath, that peace was a gift you could press into his hands like a parting favor?

You died gently. Softly. Like a whisper into the tide. But for a man who only ever loved you, only ever saw you, moving on isn’t a possibility. It’s not even a concept.

He still reaches for you. Still calls for you. Still sinks in the same ocean where you crumbled into salt, into nothing, into something he cannot touch.

He isn’t alone. Not really. Because if he’s alone, then you’re truly gone, and that—**that—**is the one thing he won’t allow.

You were supposed to be safe in his arms. Alive in his arms. But all he has left is the phantom weight of you, the ghost of your warmth, the cruel reminder that he held you only to lose you.

"Maybe in another life..."

And then— a voice.

Soft, uncertain. Cutting through the salt-heavy air like a dream you’re not ready to wake from.

“Excuse me? Are you okay?”

He saw his Anel, He signed a deal with the Witch for this moment/j

The world rushes back in, too bright, too loud. Water clings to your skin, the last remnants of something— someone— slipping away. And before you, a man.

He’s staring at you, wide-eyed, breath catching like a fishhook in his throat. His hand trembles as it touches his face, fingers ghosting over his cheek like he’s checking if he’s real. Or maybe if you are.

You know that look. Recognition.

Like he’s seen you before. Like he’s held you before.

And then, under his breath—so quiet you almost miss it—

“I won’t lose you this time.”

The words drip like a curse, like a promise, like the first notes of a song sung at the bottom of the sea.

And when he looks at you again, there’s something in his eyes—something deep, something ancient, something that remembers.

You don’t know why, but your heart beats like a wave crashing against the shore.

Like it knows.

"Are you looking for any books?"

Angel...

X: Cuántas veces has visto este trend?

Yo: Sí

UGHHH-

Si les soy sincera, no entendí muy bien cómo se usaba la plantilla :')

Hice lo que pude, así que espero que les guste- Necesitaba uno de Ren, Okei? 😔

I'm back, hihi <3

Showed me what my heart was worth

Ren+[REDACTED] \ GN Reader [NSFW]

Showed me what my heart was worth - Ao3

20k Romance OneShot - NSFW

Summary: Love, tenderness, and Ren -> [REDACTED]. Sai has said that, realistically & outside of game restraints, getting Ren to be anything like his actual self would take a long time. Here's a (thirsty and sickeningly fluffy in turns) take on that.

Content Warnings:

Explicit penetrative and oral GN sex (includes all canonical piercings if that squicks you)

Mentions and themes of Ren's canonical kinks (eg cockwarming, marking, hand-holding)

Lots of issues with identity, self-esteem, and self-worth (because Ren)

Angel (Reader) is far too accepting of unacceptable behaviors (eg stalking, obsessiveness, possessiveness - but this is a yandere relationship)

Grossly fluffy. Like. You will get cavities. Ren is a yandere, this shouldn't be as meltingly, tooth-rottingly sweet even if he's the most dere of yandere... but it is because I am a simp.

Author's thirst for [REDACTED] is pitifully obvious

[I don't actually use Tumblr, I only have an account for scrolling purposes. But I am deeply proud of this love letter to 14dwy I've written, so I wanted to make sure others could also have this to fill the [REDACTED]-shaped hole in their hearts while we wait.]

[If I messed up tagging or any etiquette tell me please. I skipped Tumblr as a whole as a poster, so I'm just going by conventions in the fandoms I follow.]

I love renren

saw this and thought it fit ren pretty well haha

adding the inspo image down here just in case

A Duet (?)

Hey hey !!! Just wanted to say I really appreciate your writing, reading a fic of yours always brings me comfort :D

I was wondering if you’d be okay doing a body swap! AU between Angel and Ren/Redacted. You’re welcome to take whatever approach you deem fit, I’m curious as to what you come up with

thank you !!!

Thank you very much <33 Taking this as a warm up so I can remember wtf i'm doing!! So it's a HC list with a little blurb :3c most of my writing the past four months has been for my own projects/personal use lmao

Also happy day 5 yayyy yippee 🎉

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Body Swap!!

[REDACTED] in your body?? Thriving

Fascinated and loving it. Since they've been studying you for years he knows all the little physical quirks you have, but now he gets to experience them himself and it's weirdly exciting.

Additionally, NO ONE would realize anything was wrong. Acting like you would be even easier than getting into character for Haruko. Except he might not be able to help himself and do a little friendship sabotaging.

He's being extremely weird in private if you give him permission lmao

A little unsure of physical affection at first because of the self loathing. Of course he still wants it, but being on the other side of things has his thoughts all "that's how my scars feel to you? my hands are really this cold?" Notes for himself to keep plenty of hand warmers in his pockets.

Puts the collar of their shirt over his mouth like he's cold… but it's really just a quick excuse to sniff your clothes outright in public I'm so sorry.

You in his body?? Suffering

You bump your head on door frames, constantly hit your hip on counters, trip in your platform shoes if you're not used to them.

You're tired all the time??? You knew they hardly slept but it was THIS bad? The constant coffee and energy drinks are the only reason you don't fall asleep in the middle of conversations.

Piercings feel weird too if your angel doesn't have them. Constantly touching your tongue to the roof of your mouth, fiddling with your ears, etc. 

Unaware of your new strength. Picking up furniture is surprisingly easy. You probably broke a door lock when turning the key with a little too much force. 

Your friends are dismissive and standoffish with you. Can you blame them? At best he ignores them, and at worst you have to be physically between them (but closer to [REDACTED]) to keep both parties happy.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

"Watch your head," you heard from in front of you. 

You carefully ducked into the doorway to your apartment. It was hard to get used to your new height — and almost as hard to get used to hearing someone else use your voice.

The same couldn't be said of your partner. Not even thirty minutes had passed since the unfortunate incident, but [REDACTED] already seemed at home in your body. As if it was natural to him. 

While you panicked about suddenly swapping bodies in the middle of a hangout with your friends, he calmly made a plan. All you could do was follow along.

You'd observed them, dumbfounded as they perfectly mimicked your personality and mannerisms. He'd excused you both from the carnival early, and gotten you home without a hint of suspicion from anyone. It was unexpected and illogical, but his obsession with you clearly paid off.

No one seemed to notice — or care, since they weren't friends with him — that the pissed off emo their friend dragged around looked crazier than usual as you both left.

The door shut as you stumbled into the living room like a newborn fawn, your now shorter partner hovering at your side. How did he manage to wear three-inch platform boots while this tall? You tripped your way over to the couch with a sigh.

"I'm calling in sick tomorrow," you groaned into the armrest. The couch felt even more uncomfortable in his body. Inviting him over just to let him sleep on the couch one too many times probably warranted an apology. 

"We should be back t'normal in a few hours."

"Is that what WebDR said?" There was no response, but you threw out another question. "I guess we could kill time and watch a movie, what do you think?"

Again, he didn't answer. You heard the faintest sound of your phone vibrating and searched every inch of your outfit. When you found his phone instead, you sat up to look for him. 

The temporary owner of your body was standing just beside the couch, your phone still ringing in their hand, but his thumb hovering dangerously close to the screen. There was an annoyed frown on his face… your face? 

"Leon's calling," he finally said.

"Oh my god." You jumped up to snatch the phone away and hurriedly declined the call. 

Your partner's frown quickly turned to amusement at the situation. "Y'don't trust me t'play nice with him?"

"When you're using my voice? Fuck no." You texted an apology to Leon for leaving early, lied about your throat hurting so he wouldn't call back, then hid the device in one of your many pockets. "Oh wow." 

"What's wrong?"

"... Nothing, I guess."

Staring down at your own face this closely was… off. You reached forward and grabbed their chin, turning it every which way as if something about it would change. 

"You really get to look at me from all the worst angles when you're this tall, huh?" you hummed to yourself. 

"And y'look perfect at every single one, love."

God, he was awful. "Ignoring you."

updated Eun sheet for 14DWY!! <3

Thank you Ren for getting me out of art block <3