And The Audience Clapped

The world spins before your eyes. Blotches of various colors paint your vision, without any shape to go with them. A violent shiver overtakes you, like a creature crawling its way under your skin.

“Senpai! Senpai, are you okay?”

You blink rapidly, and at last, the world settles back to what it used to be. Mash and Arash are both leaning above you, concern on their face. You’re laying on your back. “Whuh?”

“You got hit by the enemy’s beam.” Mash explains helpfully. “How are you feeling?”

Arash extends a hand down. You take it, and slowly, you sit up. Alright, check up time. No pain anywhere, check. Vision and hearing clear, check. No visible wound or blood, check.

“I’m good,” you reply. “Honestly, I’m more worried about-”

You cut your sentence here. You have no idea how you meant to finish it.

Who are you worried about? Because you are feeling concern right now. Or- were, at least. Inexplicably, a flood of relief is invading you.

You glance at Mash, then at Arash. Neither of them seems hurt, so there’s no reason for you to worry in the first place.

Your eyes look down on yourself. Your heart is beating. It is not particularly slow, nor is it particularly fast. It is merely beating. Merely! As if there is anything simple in the complex set of building blocks that form the human body. Merely! As if life itself wasn’t anything short of a miracle, the heart pumping blood into veins to feed organs to move an entire body-

“I think I have a concussion.” You state plainly.

Mash frowns, then hauls you up, shoving one of your arms above her shoulders. You almost protest, but the words get caught in your throat. Begrudgingly, you have to admit that it might be for the best to cut today’s training session short.

She drags you out of the simulator, into the corridor. On the way to the infirmary, you pass by various servants. Most are completely nonplussed by the situation- it’s far from the first time you’ve had a training accident. You cross path with a pack of casters at one point. Geronimo wishes you a speedy recovery. Waver just kind of sighs. Artoria

Artoria.

Artoria.

Artoria.

She’s speaking. She’s saying something. Her voice is lovely. She sounds much better when she’s honest, obviously- something she never is in polite company- but god. God. Her voice. Her lips. Her face. Artoria. Artoria. She’s so, so pretty. Her skin looks so inviting. What you wouldn’t give for just a touch- a whiff- a taste- god, you have never wanted to hold her hand more than you do right now. To touch her face, to pet her hair, to pepper kisses over her neck and sink your teeth in her shoulders and claw red marks onto her belly-

“Senpai?”

Your chin feels wet. Your mouth is open. Slowly, you bring your hand to your lips.

“Eh?”

You’re drooling.

The medical bay staff subjects you to a frankly absurd number of tests. Apparently, hypersalivation is a common symptom of food poisoning. Who’d have thought.

However, after examining your brain, your stomach, and your magic circuits, even Nightingale has to admit there is nothing wrong with you. You’re sent back to your room with explicit orders to rest for the day. Personally, you think that’s a- waste or time- a fair assessment- you don’t need to be coddled, you can’t afford to lose time over something as minor as this- you need the rest, your body is a fragile thing-

… Maybe they were onto something, considering the conflicting thoughts you keep having. A nap should set your mind back straight.

You go to the bathroom first to wash your face, hoping that the cold water might help clear up your ideas. After doing just that, you let your gaze wander over the mirror. You don’t typically pay attention to your appearance (there are, in fact, been numerous occasions where you had forgotten you had a body at all, though that is not something you should tell Mash) but today you feel compelled to look at yourself more throughoutly.

You have two eyes, as most people do. A nose, right between them, slightly crooked from that one time you broke it during training. A mouth, which holds thirty-two teeth, a number you honestly didn’t know you could pull from memory. Skin covers your whole face, keeping your muscles and your blood tightly inside.

Huh. So this is what you look like.

… Okay, when you start thinking that kind of things, that’s a clear sign that you’re lacking in sleep. With a shrug, you leave the bathroom and head to bed.

You dream of death tonight.

That much is not unusual. It is common of you to end up in someone else’s memory. You have walked with Marie-Antoinette to her execution, choked on your own blood as Okita, and held Asterios in your arms as Jason dealt him the final blow.

This is different, though. This dream doesn’t belong to anyone but you.

You dream of Cernunnos, this massive corpse bloated in curses. Mash in the frontline defending you with everything she has. You raise a hand, call forth your command spells, and-

One of the god’s cursed hands chop you in half.

Further back. Barghest. The calamity that is this black dog. You pump yourself full of stimulant, press on the syringe with tembling hands, and-

Your heart stutters. Spikes up. And fails.

Cernunnos again. Those massive hands again. You dodge the first chop. Avoid the second. Mash deviates a third away from you.

The fourth takes hold of you, and squeeze.

Further back. Persephone. This song, this song, this song. Your servants fall one by one, charmed. There is no one left to defend you. She takes aim.

Further back. Gawain, Gawain of Camelot, Gawain clad in sunlight and duty. Euryale is not in your frontline- but didn’t you bring her back then? David falls, shatters into stardust. Robin holds as long as he can, but it isn’t enough. Gawain strides towards you, raises his blade, and-

Cernunnos again. Cernunnos again. Cernunnos again. They’ve all killed you at least once but Cernunnos got to you over and over. This fight is stupidly difficult and you are scared, scared, terrified, you are going to die, you are going to die, you have to get up little one we can’t let it end here, you’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re going to die as you have done so many times-

And then, finally,

You wake up.

“Good morning, Senpai- oh!” Mash startles when you pull her into a hug. After a couple seconds, she hugs you back. “Are you alright?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?” You part from her with a smile. You’d be lying if you said you got a good night’s sleep, but- well, frankly speaking, you haven’t had such a thing in years, so you’ve gotten used to that. Most importantly, Mash went through the trouble of greeting you so early in the morning- how could you not be overcome with affection towards her? Your Kohai deserves a little physical affection.

Your good mood lasts through the entire morning, actually. Every servant your run into makes you feel unbelievably happy. Most are glad to indulge you with a high five or some hair ruffling.

MHXX stops you before you can touch her though, which is… honestly a surprise. But hey, you can respect boundaries. If she says no touch, then it’s no touch.

“Master,” she says, in an oddly serious tone. “I am going to say something, but I need you to not take this personally. I’m not talking to you at all, alright?”

“…Sure?” You’ve had stranger requests.

She nods to herself. Then, she looks up- she’s always looking up when she’s with you, because she’s on the smaller side of servants and you’re a respectable 170cm, but you can’t quite tell if she’s looking at you or above you. “Breaching the veil between worlds without a visa is a violation of article 3.4 subset 26 of the galactic constitution. Don’t forget about it.”

This isn’t funny, but you feel the urge to laugh nonetheless. Is she even still a cop, now that Chaldea has hired her? What is she gonna do, arrest- (arrest who?)

Without any further due, MHXX walks away, having spoken her piece. After a few seconds, you decide to take her initial request to heart, and consider that you just happened to overhear a message that was not meant for you.

You only start connecting the dots in the cafeteria.

You’re eating katsudon, mindlessly chatting with a couple servants, when you catch a glimpse of blond hair in the cafeteria queue- Artoria, Caster (the best Artoria, though you’re not supposed to play favorites.)

For some reason, you find yourself staring. Though, who could blame you? She’s your best friend. She’s- very important to you. As important as Mash, as important as Oberon (and oh, how you miss that bastard- one day you’ll manage to drag him out of the summoning circle, impossible as it may sound. You will. You will.)

She must notice you too, because you see her wave at you. A surge of love rushes through you. You almost get out of your chair right here to walk up to her and kiss her senseless. Just push her against the counter and take her right here, in front of everyone, show all of them that she’s yours yours yours your friend your love your prey. You bite down a piece of chicken and imagine it to be a piece of her- an arm, a thigh- imagine how easy it must be to carve a bruise into her pale skin. Human teeth are so dull- can you break the skin? Can you make her bleed? You imagine lapping at her open wounds, lapping at her wet cunt. You want to hold her hurt her fuck her you want to split her open with a cock with a knife you want to hear her scream and watch her fight back against you-

You get up as fast as you can. “I’ll finish eating in my room.” You say, in the calmest tone you can manage, and then you flee the room.

What the fuck. What the fuck.

You- okay- Artoria is a very attractive person, objectively speaking. You know that. You- to be crude, you’ve certainly jerked off to the thought of her in the past. Sue you, what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her. It doesn’t mean anything.

But this- this-

Your entire body shudders. You feel so disgusted you could throw up. That wasn’t- that- who the fuck does that?! Who the fuck fantasizes about- about- you don’t want to think about it anymore. You don’t want to put words on these thoughts. You don’t want to describe the things you’ve wanted to do to your best friend, even if only for a minute.

You’re hard, which only makes you feel worse.

You stumble into the bathroom. You need a cold shower. You need to get these thoughts out. You hate them. You hate them from the bottom of your heart. They feel like foreign, disgusting things, like they do not

Belong

To

You.

You snap your head towards the mirror. MHXX’s words ring clearly in your ears.

“… hello?” You say out loud, dumbly. “Hello?”

There is no answer- not any you can hear, at least. You spin around. Dimly, you recognize that you are panicking. The self-awareness does not help.

“Is there anyone here? Anyone at all?” Talk. Talk. It’s what you do best, don’t you? Talk enemies down, talk the most insane of berserkers to loyalty, talk, talk, the only thing you’ve ever had is your tongue. “Please, I need you to answer. Please- anything.”

Worry blossoms between your ribs. You are concerned about- no. You have no reason to be concerned about anyone at all. Which must mean you aren’t concerned. Worry blossoms between your ribs, like someone else being concerned about…

There is only one person in this room.

Concerned about you, apparently.

This is the last straw. You burst out laughing, tears in your eyes.

Your first instinct is to rush to the infirmary. You get as far as the front door, actually, fist raised to knock, but… at the last second, you decide against it. Disconcerting as- this entire thing is, it’s not actually dangerous, as far as you can tell. You should try to deal with it on your own first. God knows how much work Sion and Da Vinci already have.

The next best thing, then, is to ask the very person who made you realize what was going on. So you make your way towards MHXX’s room. Predictably, you find her half-naked lounging on her bed. She squeals when you barge in unannounced.

“I need your help.” You say, locking the door behind you. “It’s about-”

You don’t finish your sentence.

More accurately: you can’t finish your sentence. You know the words you want to speak, know exactly what you want to convey, you just- can’t. Your voice is stuck in your throat.

“It’s about the-” you try again, to no avail. “I have a problem with- in my- it’s in my-”

There is

Something

Inside

Of you.

You can feel it. You can feel the phantom fingers around your neck. Inside your neck. In the small space between the skin and the flesh. And every time you’re about to say something compromising- they squeeze.

MHXX, bless her, is quick on the uptake. Years of fearing unpaid overtime if she doesn’t get results must do that to you, you assume. “Ah. Your, uh. Reader?”

You quirk up an eyebrow. “Reader?”

“It’s not really a guest, as far as I can tell. It’s not fully in this world yet. But it’s… observing, I guess? Stalking? Haunting? Hovering above your shoulder? Like the audience of a comedy show, you know? They can’t walk through the screen, but they can watch and yell stuff. You see what I mean?”

Kind of? Is that why you can’t talk to them? They’re not quite here yet, and so they cannot speak? Or is it that they have no tongue, no word that humans can hear?

“But that also mean I can’t really do anything. It’s not illegal to read someone’s story through their eyes. Unless they straight-up possess you without your consent, this is outside of my jurisdiction. Sorry, Master.”

… Okay. Okay.

Okay.

“If they do possess me, you’ll stop them, right?”

“That is quite literally my job.” She replies.

“You promise?”

She sighs. “Yes, Master. I promise.” You can tell she doesn’t want to do that, but you think she means it. You think she’d do it, to honor her paycheck if not your trust.

Alright. Alright.

Alright.

“Hello?” You are in your room again, calling to the void. You’re much calmer this time, though. Having even the vaguest idea of what is going on is doing wonders to your mental health. “Can you hear me?”

No answer, but you expected it this time.

“Okay, buddy. I’d like to get to know you better. That’s fine with you, right? It’s just talking. There’s no harm in talking.” You’re useless with a spear, mediocre with a gun, halfway-decent on hand-to-hand self-defense, but talking- that you know how to do.

“First thing first, do you consider our ally, or our enemy?”

Silence. Do outer gods even have the concept of sides in a battle? They might not even have understood the question.

“Why are you here?” You try instead.

Suddenly, you find yourself thinking of all the servants in Chaldea. Jason. Medea. Arjuna. The human staff, too. You’re quite fond of them. Just thinking of them make you smile. Love spreads through your entire body, like the most gentle of warmth-

“You love?” You ask out loud. You love, love every single person in Chaldea- but this wasn’t just you. This was more than you. This was you, echoed, amplified, like two mirrors facing each other. “You love them?”

Your eyes look down, at your own hands. They’re good hands. Nine fingers, callouses. Hands are the most human part of the body. It’s with hands that we touch each other, and with hands that we can craft tools, and with hands that we perceive the world.

Suddenly, you understand the meaning behind that train of thought. “And you love me.”

Satisfaction curls at the back of your throat- satisfaction over cracking a puzzle, satisfaction over being understood. It’s a bit jarring, to feel so much without knowing at first glance whether this belongs to you or not.

Love is not necessarily a good thing. You’ve been taught that lesson in blood. But considering how dire things are right now- you’ll take any help, even that of a mad god from another world. You’ll just have to… learn to live with them, you suppose.

You’ve certainly learned to live with worse.

“Alright crew, let’s get this party started!” Francis Drake is grinning like a shark, her guns shining at her hips.

You smile in kind. You haven’t seen her in quite a while- it’s a pleasure to get to fight together again. The past few days have been quite stressful to you, on account of the whole, semi-possession thing, so you’ve forgotten who would be up next for the training sessions in the simulator. You’re glad to see she’s here. “Slow down, captain. We’re still waiting for one person.”

Who was meant to join you today? You can’t remember. Judging by the current rooster- a caster? That team would need a decent support. Someone like Andersen, or-

“Sorry, sorry! I overslept!”

You feel the rush of drool in your mouth before you even recognize her voice.

No. No. No. No. No.

“Master? You okay? You suddenly went pale.”

Don’t turn around. Don’t look at her. Don’t cross her eyes.

“Ritsuka…?” Fingers graze your wrist.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” You whirl around, yelling at the top of your lungs- mistake. Mistake. Mistake. You see Artoria’s eyes, wide with shock, those blue little stars in the sky of her face. You want to see her lost in the throes of pleasure. You want to see her stricken with despair. She’s so small. You could so, so easily pin her against a wall stop that thrust your tongue in her mouth stop that wouldn’t it be wonderful if she accepted you? Wouldn’t it be so entertaining if you had to force her? Stop that. Phantom hands- clawed hands- graze your chest, as if whispering promises of what you could have, of what you could take, stop that you could cherish her you could cut her to pieces you could carve your name in her skin with your teeth you could hold her until her bones snap STOP THAT I DON’T WANT TO SEE THAT I DON’T WANT TO THINK THAT I DON’T WANT TO DO THAT

“Senpai-”

You turn the other way, moved by a frantic fever that cannot be named, rear your head back, and slam your forehead against the wall.

The entire world turns to a blur. Your ears are ringing. You think people are screaming. You don’t care. Pain is splitting your head open. Something warm, something sticky, is running over your face. You hate this. You love this. This is what you want, this is what you want. Flesh and violence and blood and love, to tear apart a human body and see what it’s made of. You want that, you want that, you can’t do that, not to a friend never no no, but to yourself, oh to yourself-

You headbutt the wall again. You are acutely aware of every inch of your nose as it collapses under the shock, tip then middle then base. Copper pours over your lips, over your tongue, drool and blood both flowing out of you. This is what you want, destruction beyond measure, to unfold the origami of your body and see what makes it tick.

Hands grab your arms, circle your waist. Try to pull you away. You force back with everything you have, all the strength you never knew you had. You rear your head back, and-

“Alright crew, let’s get this party started!” Francis Drake is grinning like a shark, her guns shining at her hips.

You blink rapidly, blinded by the light. Hesitantly, you bring a hand to your face. Your nose is whole. There is no blood anywhere.

“Senpai?” Mash looks at you with concern. “You can rest some more if you need to, you know.”

“It’s fine.” You shake your head. “Just a bad dream, is all.” A dream. Is that what it was? You haven’t been able to tell whether your eyes are open or closed for quite a while now. This was like- those visions you’ve had, with Cernunnos, and Gawain, and Cernunnos, and Barghest, and Cernunnos, so many times over. Were those- truly dreams?

“Sorry, sorry! I overslept!”

The voice sends such a sharp spike of panic inside of you that all your thoughts are wiped out.

“I need to go.” You say. You rush through the team, keeping your gaze low. You need to leave, you need to leave, you need to-

“Ritsuka! Are you-” Those fingers, again, grabbing your elbow, those calloused fingers of a farmgirl that make you want to kiss lick suck for the love of god please touch me-

You shove your entire wrist inside your mouth.

“Ritsuka?!”

The flesh is so tender. It caves under your bite, bends under the pressure, further and further and further and oh, THAT’S how hard you would need to go to break the skin. Someone tries to pry your arm away from your jaws but you hold on with your entire being. They pull and pull and pull and you endure endure endure

With a disgusting, ripping noise, they tear your arm away from you. A long stripe of flesh stays in your mouth, a gross raw little thing that makes you shiver in pleasure and disgust. You want to throw it up. You want to swallow it. You want to eat this girl alive but you cannot, not her, you could never hurt her never never she’s already been through so much if you are to eat another human being let it be yourself-

“Alright crew, let’s get this party started!” Francis Drake is grinning like a shark, her guns shining at her hips.

The taste of blood is still strong in your mouth. You have not felt so clear-headed in years.

You understand now. The dreams. They’re memories too. Memories of this old god who keeps forcing you to wake up, layer upon layer, wake up five minutes before the fact, in a simili-timeloop where the only way out is your survival.

Laughter bubbles up your throat, loud and bright and completely outside of your control. You’ve died. You’ve died so many times. And for so long you didn’t even know, this old god firmly on the audience bench away from you to hear- but now you do, you do, you do. You know death and fear and pain the likes of which no human was ever meant to know.

“Senpai?” Mash reaches out to you. She looks worried. You don’t want to worry her. Neither of you want to worry her.

“I got this. I got this.” You wipe your tears away with the palm of your hand- when have you started crying?- “Don’ worry. I’ll rewind, and next time, I’ll do better. I promise.”

She frowns. Opens her mouth. Is about to ask a question.

You dive for Drake’s belt. She yelps in surprise. Her gun is cold in your hands, and fear is cold in your guts.

You’re surprised to find that some of that fear is yours. You’d think death would be less scary if you’re the one to do the deed- or at least less scary if you know it to not be definitive. Maybe the opposite is true. Maybe you’re so profoundly scared because you know how much death hurts.

You take aim. Someone screams. You pull the trigger- 

“Alright crew, let’s get this party started!” Francis Drake is grinning like a shark, her guns shining at her hips.

You smile back at her. Steady your breathing. Keep your face under control. Compartmentalize. You know how to do that, don’t you?

“Sorry, sorry! I overslept!” Artoria barges in, apologizing profusely. Keep smiling. Keep smiling. Pretend you’re not seeing all the world’s horrors behind your eyelids. Pretend you’re not getting a boner imagining her at her absolute lowest point. Pretend you’re not a sick fuck who derives pleasure from suffering. Keep smiling. Keep smiling. Keep smiling.

Keep smiling.

You abscond as soon as the training session is done. You must look suspicious as hell, but you don’t care. You need to get out of here as soon as possible.

You lock the bedroom door behind you, and collapse on the bed. A tinge of foreign frustration ripples through you. You feel petty satisfaction at that.

“Why,” you hiss through grit teeth, “why are you like this?”

Something pulses through you. Acknowledgement, perhaps. A greeting.

“You told me you loved the Chaldeans. All the Chaldeans. Why are you so violent about Artoria?! What has she ever done to you?!”

Memories flash before your eyes; Gloucester, a hand in yours. The garden of lost wills; her eyes on yours. The garden of Avalon; your eyes on hers. This abyss with no name; the promised she honored even after death. “Yes. I know. I was also there. What could possibly piss you off so badly here?!”

You love her. You love her in a way you can never put into words- friend and partner-in-crime and, if you allow yourself some wishful thinking, lover. Can’t they love her too?! You love her so much it makes you sick, so much it makes you into an animal, so much you-

Oh.

Oh. You understand.

They love her too. That’s precisely the problem. They love the way only gods like them love- in a way that conflates intimacy and violence.

You throw an arm over your eyes, and allow yourself a single: “Fuck.”

Okay. Okay. You can work with that. You have always managed to work with even the most ruthless of criminals. You’ll find a way here too.

Your ears suddenly pick up a light, clinking sound. You almost dismiss it, but you can’t seem to tune it out. It takes you a second to realize this old god is specifically pointing it out to you. Man. You need to get better at speaking their language.

The sound is kind of familiar, now that you’re paying attention to it. Where did you last hear something like that? Metal against metal, a precise work that requires swift hands and keen attention-

Oh fuck you remember.

That’s the sound of lockpicking.

“Don’t come in!” You dash out of your bed, just in time to see the door crack open. You slam it shut with your shoulder. “I’m naked!”

“At least try to lie convincingly!” Artoria’s voice yells back. In a single push, she rams the door wide open, shoving you on the floor. Curse servants and their ridiculous strength. She strides in, slamming the door closed behind her, and stands above you. “We need to talk.”

“We really don’t.” Don’t look at her. Focus on getting back up. Keep your gaze down. Fuck, you’re already salivating. You rub your mouth with the back of your hand and hope it seems like you’re only scratching an itch. “I’m tired. Can we do that another day?”

“Are you for real? Are you for real right now?” You’re purposely looking away, but you can imagine her expression so easily, that angry frown and kissable mouth and damn it. “You’ve been acting weird all week. Talk to me.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“Sucks to be you then.”

“Ritsuka.” She reaches out to-

“DON’T!” You back away from her as fast as you can. If she touches you, you- there’s no one here but the two of you. There’s no one here to stop you. You want her. You want her. You want her. You want her in your mouth and under your hands and you want to be inside of her in her cunt in her mouth in her guts feel her liver and heart and lungs around your fingers you cannot hurt her you cannot hurt her you cannot hurt her.

Confusion flashes on her features. She pauses, for a second.

You take your chance. You run towards the door, hoping-

“Oh no you don’t!” She tackles you right back to the floor. You briefly wrestle with her- to no avail. You end up face-first against the wood, her weight on your back, and her hands holding your wrists behind you.

“Why won’t you just talk to me!” She seethes at you. “I want to help you! Let me help you! I am sick and tired of everyone dying around me because I was too slow to get to them in time!”

Oh

Oh.

“Please.” Her tone is still heavy with vitriol, but it’s anger born from worry. She’s begging. She’s genuinely begging you here. “Talk to me, Ritsuka.”

You want to talk to her. You want to listen to her voice for hours at the time. You want to hear her laugh, and cry, and moan, and call your name in every emotion known to man. “I can’t. I can’t lie to you. You’ll know what I’m thinking. You- you’ll hate me for this.”

“I already hate you.” She says matters-of-factly. “I hate your stupid pride and I hate that you think so lowly of yourself that you never ask for help and I hate that after all we’ve been through you still think there is anything in this world that could make me leave you.”

Your entire body shivers. She must have felt that. You try to angle your face away from her, to hide your expression. You doubt it works. What is she seeing, right now? Some rabid dog drooling beneath her? How long until she realizes she needs to put you down? “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Ritsuka.” The pressure on your wrists increases. “You can’t even break free from my grip right now. You physically cannot hurt me. I’m a servant. The only way you’d be able to hurt me is if I let you.”

… Oh.

She has a point.

You’re suddenly acutely aware of the position you’re in- beneath her, defenseless, unable to even properly see her face. She could do whatever she wants to you like this. She could snap your neck in one move, collar you and muzzle you like a pet, grope every part of you-

The fantasies shift immediately. You imagine your fists on her skin and hers on yours. You think of bending her over a desk- of her immediately turning the tables on you. Of her digging her nails in your back, of her tying your limbs in rope so tightly you lose your sense of touch, of her turning you into her personal toy, of her, of her, of her, you want everything from her, want her submission and dominance want to fight for either of these, and-

“Hey,” she clicks her tongue, “You still there?”

“Ah…?” ah. Fuck. You blink rapidly. Focus. Focus. “I was- thinking.”

“Cool. Now think less, and talk more.”

You hesitate. Take a deep breath.

And then you talk.

You tell her everything. The violence. The lust. What it does to you- disgust and arousal included. You tell her of how vivid these thoughts are, of how you both want and don’t want this, in a way that makes no sense at all. You tell her about death, and cannibalism, and sex, and blood. You tell her you are a monster.

Artoria does not say anything. Not to the gore, not to the lust, not to the rape fantasies that often include both. She listens to you as you grow less and less coherent, as you start crying and wailing mid-sentences.

When you are done, she raises a hand. You close your eyes, expecting a punch, a punishment of sorts- but all you get are gentle fingers threading through your hair. You can’t tell if that’s better or worse.

“Damn.” She says that word so softly. Of all the possible reactions- anger, disgust, rejection, fear- you had not expected pity. “Your life sucks, Ritsuka.”

Hesitantly, you crack an eye open. “Aren’t you… grossed out?”

“I mean it certainly wasn’t pleasant to listen to, but I figure actually thinking about those must be a nightmare. Man.” And then, a little quieter: “you can’t even crank your hog in peace.”

It’s a stupid reaction, considering the topic at hand, but you can’t help a laugh at that last comment- you don’t recall hearing Artoria ever being so crude before.

She has a small smile at that, so maybe it’s not so bad. “Hey. Do you trust me?”

“With my life.” You respond in a heartbeat.

“Do you trust me to stop you if you do something I don’t want you to?”

This one takes a bit longer. “… Yes.”

“Alright. Alright.” Her hand leaves your hair, then go to fish your phone out of your pocket. She is still successfully holding you in place even with one hand, which is not helping you think any straighter. “I booked room 4 of the simulator.”

“… Okay?”

“I don’t like fighting. It’s scary. I don’t like being in pain. I don’t like dying either.” Her hand comes back to petting your hair. “But I do want to beat the fuck out of people sometimes. Just go all out. Or at least get to pretend to go all out once, in a situation where I can’t actually be badly injured. That is what I actually want.”

Aaah, you get it. She wants to plummet you into the ground. That is well-deserved. You can do that much for her.

“I think you need that too.” She continues. “Just let it all out for once, without worrying about actually hurting someone. Like bloodletting. That’d do wonder to your mental health.”

The pieces are all here. The subtext is obvious. It just makes absolutely no sense. “…What?”

“I’m saying,” she leans forward, closely, so closely you can smell her hair falling over your shoulder, her breath right next to your ear: “catch me if you can.”

Suddenly, she releases her grip on you, springs up, and bolts out of the room.

You watch her leave, stunned. You think her legs look absolutely wonderful. You think you want to grab her. You think you want to shove her onto the ground and bite.

It occurs to you, suddenly, that she’s running towards room 4 of the simulator.

You get up, more by instinct than by conscious decision, and you chase after her.