adargo

[adargo]

My illust for Fractured Fairy Tales charity zine based on A’dargo’s amazing Fyodor-centric story: Aurum.

The digital zine is up for purchase until the end of March!

[adargo]

Aurum

Written for the Fractured Fairy Tales zine. (Still available until the end of March!)

Please take a look at the beautiful accompanying art by ryethe as well <3

Northern wind swipes across the land. It ripples the surface,  moves pebbles both ice and stone,  water waving oh so gently, as if the lake before him longs to be a sea. 

To be moon-bound. It stings against the white of his skin, it guides away the warmth of his breath. Yet, he cannot retract his hands from the salt of the air, from the sight of the water. Hands, laid bare for hours upon his lap.  Hands, brittle-nailed fingertips bitten blue.  Hands, gifted by the Gods. 

Blessed. Cursed. Forlorn, he smiles, no longer knowing which one to pick. Northern wind swipes across the land, ripples the water and moves both ice and stone- 

Until he can’t feel its cold sting no more. “I…”

...

..

.

Sorrow finds him when he’s young.  It catches him for but an instant, through a woman’s longing stare at a lonely daffodil, surrounded by nothing but the birth of spring. Its remnants in her eyes wilt away underneath a hopeful smile, soft, like the blossom-pink of her hair. “Life is so very fragile, my child.” Violet only blinks. Contemplates. Watches her walk away. 

Stills- 

The daffodil droops on its stalk.

As he grows, it encounters him more and more often. 

In the lonely frown of a classmate, In the tears of a chaffed-open knee, In the words, spit like venom between adult’s mouths, In pain, disappointment, fury. He shrugs it off as easily as he drinks it in, the crippling feeling not as arduous before him as it feeds within others, finds that, in his youthful stubbornness, the light of a mere smile sometimes radiates stronger than any word, than any false promise.  “Tomorrow, things will be the same as always,” he simply says, the curl on his lips tugging on those of his little brother’s, the shake in those big eyes dying down even as words coated in spit and fire continue to seep through the floor beneath. 

It’s enough.

There comes a day when it isn’t. A day where the sun fails to blink through the carpet of clouds and not a single songbird’s melody reaches him.  The coffin sinks into the earth before his feet. Small fingers wrapped around his own. Priest’s lips parting and speaking holy words of deliverance, salvation, of light… It’s an entirely different kind of sorrow, Fyodor thinks.

Soon enough, green turns to gold, once water-filled veins crumpling underneath the soles of his feet as autumn arrives to claim its toll.  And he swears, with every new visit it brings, with every passing, every rip of a dying leaf from its shrivelled stem- the wind thugs at him, at something within him that bit more easily.  At something, wanting to wrench loose.  More and more and more-  “How do people end up like that?” a voice besides him starts, followed by a curious hum birthed from yet another’s throat.  The question isn’t meant for him in particular, but his eyes stray upon the figure across the street anyway, a sore image, huddled up in nothing but tattered cloth. “Who knows…”  “Just be very unlucky, I guess?”  Empty replies. Not that he expected much else from his classmates whom disengage from the topic as soon as the bus arrives, all racing straight to the back lest the best spots be taken… It drives off, leaving him rattled with all the possible answers he could come up with, the question still lingering in his mind as he wonders… 

One day, will it be different? 

One day, will it change? Fyodor stares into a city sorrow-built. 

It stares right back into him.

And yet, one day, as time continues to tick forwards and seasons pass him by… One day, it makes way for something else. “Come here you little shit!” A sharp sound reverberates throughout the dense network of alleyways, metallic and far heavier than the voices mixed in with its echoes.  “You’re just going to scare it off like this…” “Shut up.” Three kids, not much older than himself, stand near an old garbage container, one of them holding up something akin to an old walking stick that he’s sure doesn’t belong to them. A hiss comes from above their heads, a clawed paw reaching out to flick at the stick before a distressed cry follows.  A warning. A plea. They don’t notice him until he speaks, until he’s there almost right next to them. “Preying upon those weaker than you…” They turn to him in surprise, almost staggering- as if they’d just seen a ghost.  “How typical.” “The hell did you just say?” comes the stick-wielder’s dented response, a different kind of fury settling in his eyes than the one contained in his own. He doesn’t back off when the other, confident and broad, steps forwards, invades far too close, grabs him roughly by the hem of his coat. 

Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t speak a single word. Doesn’t need to.  “Dude…his pin…” another speaks up and the eyes before him consequentially flicker to the gleaming gold and silver on his chest, a token of his descendance.  Ever so slightly, the grip on his coat falters. 

“Let’s just leave it man, it’s not worth it,” yet another calls. Fear, a spider that crawls over his voice. And despite his better judgment, the smirk edges unto his lips, high purely on control, for he knows the other has no choice but to let him go and leave things be.  The price for messing with a noble is one nobody wants to pay, after all. So all he receives is a flinch, a somewhat coarse release of his coat bordering on a push, and a positively fuming glare pointed his way before the other turns and leaves, even dropping the stick in the process.  He stands there as he watches them go, lips smoothing back into a thin line, adrenaline falling away in his veins… When he glances up at where the cat was before, his eyes find nothing but a wisp of stray furs. So he smiles, at nothing in particular, only to turn and leave. “Why did you help me, human?” It hits him out of thin air, rising, resonating around him, blowing wide his eyes, near-stumbling his feet- He stills. 

There, the cat sits, black and fire-patched fur dancing upon brilliant white. “Why, like all the others, did you not just ignore it?” Once again, it speaks, yet its mouth does not move as the words wisp around him, swerving into him from all sides. Still, he dares to calm his jittered breath as those big eyes search his own. 

Curious. Analysing. “Because it was wrong,” comes his answer, doubtless like falling rain.

A simple truth. The cat only blinks at him slowly, crescent moons thinning. “To show you my gratitude, I will grant you a gift.” Wielding a thousand voices, the words shatter through him and reality alike, every echo sucking away every colour, every shape, until there’s nothing left but him and the big, brilliant brown eyes peering up from below. “A gift?” It nods, slit pupils disappearing again for but a moment. “Upon the touch of your finger, you shall deliver this gift upon the Earth.” Dark eyes stare into him like he is a story, an open book. As if they can see his past, his present, everything that’s yet to come. “It can be anything you wish for.”

Anything… He breaks loose from the gaze before him, only to stare at the depth of the mists.  In it, he sees the loving smiles of his family, the cheery grins of his classmates, the helplessness of an old man stumbling in the middle of the street, the starving gaze of the homeless, the layers of greed exchanged through blackened fingers… It all traces out to the same end.  Unsmiling, he understands, lays his eyes to rest at the palms of his open hands as a voice whispers to him in the solitary of his mind. 

One day, will it change?  He knows what he needs to do. The violet in his eyes hardens as it meets the warm timbers before him once more, his words laced with certainty on his lips, right before the world fades to black. “I wish for-

…

..

.

Just for a moment, as he stirs from deep sleep, his brother’s wake-up call coming from beyond the door like any other morning as quick feet jumble down the stairs and into the kitchen for breakfast, Fyodor thinks it was all just a dream.  It almost makes him want to laugh out loud, almost, right until the doves on his windowsill flutter off by the smallest twitch of his fingers.  

They never do. And so, that very same evening, he awakens,

stretched-out fingertip hovering over the stilled body beneath, over nothing but a heap of flesh and bones that had simply ceased to function...  Shuddering, his breath evaporates into the frost of stale air. His eyes, stuck to the sight before him, ever-quivering.  There’s no mistaking that the man was a thief, he had witnessed it so first-hand, being quite the dusk-lurker himself. If only to observe, to validate humanity’s cruel nature.  The man before him had no mercy, no regard for life as long as he could take whatever he wanted. 

So why should he treat him any differently?  The quiver in his eyes steadies, all doubt and remorse hardening into pure, rebirthed resolve. “I wish for the touch of death.” He smiles as he stares into the city before him, equally tied. 

This is only the beginning.

He starts out small, 

merely scavenging the maze of the underground like the inner walls of a house, mapping, observing, sniffing out sinner’s blood from the shadows. It doesn't take him that long however, to actually unravel his claws and strike- making no distinction between those renowned for their crimes and those pulling the puppet strings, hands coated just as red.  He will paint them white. With every new moon, another target hits the floor.  Yet by the time he’s made a name for himself his family is none the wiser of his nightly escapades.  The dream-like effect sticks to him every morning, right until white-speckled wings flutter up and away from his windowsill and the housecat’s hiss reaches him from across the kitchen table as he calmly eats his breakfast. “So cranky lately,” his mother comments though doesn’t think anything more of it. She turns to him again about seeing a doctor for his hands. He only nods, knowing she won’t continue on the subject anyway as she prepares for another long day of work. His brother is not that easily sated, the lie Fyodor had coaxed up about accidentally burning his hands against the hot hearthstone of their fireplace all the more festering the worry in his voice. “Do they still hurt?” he asks, eyes bleeding with that innocence Fyodor himself can never attain again. He only nods, bandaged fingers curling into the cloth on his lap. “It’s going to for a long while...” It’s not exactly a lie, but that doesn’t lessen the sourness of its taste. 

A necessary evil.

Soon enough, rumours are circling through the halls of his school, the mysterious deaths striking the city a subject on nearly every tongue he passes, newspapers and magazines marked with his actions plied open to dozens of curious eyes. NO CRIMINAL IS SAFE- is what he catches by a glance and it almost makes him chuckle, if not for the truth of the media’s statement. The vile fear him while the virtuous praise him. But Fyodor knows that even with the support of the common folk, the law will not turn a blind eye to his methods… Gloved hands dig further into the warm confinement of wool as he feels something unfurl in in his bones, biding, like rosebuds awaiting spring. Another smirk edges itself upon his lips.  It’s time to step up the game.

And as summer and ice rake through the land, inevitable and merciless, year after year after year- he is never far behind. Every step, calculated, careful, but not entirely absent of flaw. Sometimes, he still catches glimpses- Of horses’ wails, heavy hooves rampaging through both wood, steel and flesh as a carriage runs rampant throughout the streets, only because he was on the outer end of it. 

Of the detective’s gun staring him down, long hair fluttering behind an idealistic mind reflecting his own, spouting at him how wrong, how disturbed his sense of justice is. 

Of innocent blood spilled by his hands, as well as those he owns, of snapped puppet strings, of unforeseen slip-ups.

Of life, death and everything in between. “Brother, look!” The familiar call sucks him back into the present, effectively cutting still all thoughts. He looks up to see his little brother run excitedly to the fence bordering the forest road, to the pack of deer staring back at them from the center of the meadow.

Yet, they’ll never come closer. It’s almost as if with every layer of youth that melts away from his skin, the toxicity of what lies underneath festers, spreading death like it’s a disease instead of deliverance. “Come on,” he coaxes gently, smile slipping over his lips as smaller feet run up behind him again, passing him by just as quickly. He watches the other scavenge, bright grin stretched across his face as he points out whatever new he spies around the snow-carpeted path. It seems so unreal. Like he’s walking inside of a dream he’s not supposed to have. Eyes untracking, he thinks back to the city he had changed- the lives he had changed. Crime-rates dropped to the bottom, corruption signalised and dealt with, the right pawns shifted into the right places… 

An example to the world. He takes a breath, the snow crunching underneath his feet a sound far too nostalgic. It hadn’t been easy at moments, to find the right pieces to play with, to buy, be it with simple greed or cold-blooded manipulation, just so he could focus on the big guns whilst they took care of the fodder. Adding log after log upon the funeral pyre, lighting up his path, that long black and white-tiled lane ahead of him.  Yet…  There’s so much more to come.  Suddenly, feet are circling around him, impatient and curious. On pure instinct, his hands delve deeper into the thick pockets of his coat as he regards the mischievous smile on his brother’s face. “So…what did you get me for Christmas?” Inwardly, he gives a laugh, eyebrows raising up to the heavens. “Not much of a surprise if I tell you, is it?” The other scoffs, hopping off to the side of the road to stare at nothing in particular. “You never even drop a hint,” comes the complaint and he can’t do anything but chuckle this time, knowing it’s true, almost fails to catch himself from stopping to pet the other on the head, a habit so drilled into his bones from when they were younger- it catches him off guard. That feeling- that yearn for warmth. Instantly, he pushes it away, again, again, and again. 

For thinking about it will earn him nothing... He simply walks on and soon, small feet follow again, never noticing the worried frown on the other’s face. Peering upward to a sky, grey and stacked to the brim, he tries to distract himself from his previous thoughts- turns back to the flutter of pages in his head, all the steps he still has to undertake, the obstacles he still has to overcome. A list, never-ending. A murder flutters through the white peaks of pine and violet wanders back to the small form up ahead, jumping up and down in the thick, unblemished snow, the grin now aimed at him just as bright but so, so much more warm. 

Golden. And it’s a terrible ache- to think about the times when they would huddle up on the couch by the fire for sleep to take them, where thumb-fights and forehead-poked goodbyes were all just a normality, of touch. I cannot stay here, he thinks, the repeated thought coated in worry, in sorrow, in fear- There’s a sound, birthed from his next step, far from the simple crunch of snow and the gentle jitter of laughter up ahead. He never even noticed they strayed off the path. Eyes wide and heart stilled, he stares at the crackle of ice underneath his foot. And then, everything is but a blur. First comes a shout, a name drifting over the stretch of a frozen lake, echo overcome by the deafening shift, the break that follows. Hands, shooting out of their illusionary restraints, reaching, grasping, feeling. 

A thousand knives shoving into his skin. 

Relief is a wave, far different from the bitter sting of ice, yet it rips through flesh and bone all the same, for he’s got him, he’s got him, he’s got him, he’s got him, he’s- The feeling is strange, overbearing, right there between the crease of a glove and thick, woollen cloth. -gone. Small fingers, clasped around his naked wrist. “Life is so very fragile, my child.” That day, the light dims in his heart. 

That day, the reaper disappears from the city.

Never to return.

…

..

.

Northern wind swipes across the land, ripples the surface, moves pebbles both ice and stone, water waving oh so gently-

But his hands, his hands are all he sees. “Would you like me to take it away?” Its words whisper into him, whiskers like shards of pure white. Divine. Merciful. “Without reason, without a light, how will you move forwards?”

Light, his mind mimics, a concept too far too grasp. Right until the moment he’d lost it. Right until he had sniffed it out with his own two hands. “I…” “It’s interesting, isn’t it?” The voice comes unbidden and for once, Fyodor leaves the shock on his face unveiled in its wake. “How it spreads death so easily, denying any form of life…” He only stares at the man. At the loose, black sleeves dangling in the wind. At the white cloth wrapped thinly around skin. At an empty eye, peering into an equally empty lake. 

At salt and water. “Death…” his lips repeat thoughtlessly, gaze once more turning to the waves before him. Maybe… “Is that not why you’re here?” The man is staring at him now too, the words flowing from his mouth holding more certainty than actual wonder. Like he’s an open book. 

And then, silence. 

The slither of wind over salt-dried stone. 

Darkness staring into darkness. It holds him down as the question repeats itself in his mind, beats back and forth against glass walls. His head an empty cathedral. His hands open heavens. “Maybe…” Fyodor’s lips part, violet breaks away from pitch black. “It is because I’m not that different from this place.” Because just like the salt quenches the life from the lake, his hands suck away any and all they dare to touch… He thinks back to the day he wished for this, to the day he moulded his future in a mere second, the path he’s walking down framed at all edges, like a painting not yet ready, but soon to be. What colour would the ridges be… “Hm,” the man hums, stepping closer before gingerly sitting down next to him, the large, salt-stricken rock no doubt going to stain the black of his coat. “Perhaps, we are alike then.” It was the strangest thing, for he doesn’t know this man at all, and yet, within those dark pools drinking him in, he meets something he never expected to find in his entire life. 

Understanding.

Still… 

“No.” Fyodor just says, nothing but sorrow in his voice. 

“You are nothing like me.” 

You cannot be. A scoff then, and Fyodor can’t really hide his surprise at the smile the other shoots him like there’s no truth to it at all. 

Disarming. “Maybe not,” the other speaks, all carefree, unconvinced- It sends him dizzy, makes him fail to notice that curious gaze stray downwards. Unyielding, the words of a God invade his mind once more, echoing in his head like mixed prayers. A wire waiting to snap. Jittering on and on and on like a symphony composed of a thousand songbirds that fly to and fro, to and fro, to and fro- 

And then his lungs forget how to draw in air, 

his eyes darting down to the hand covering his own. 

Touching him.

No, the thought is instant, a knife at both his mind and throat. 

No, no, no, no- “But you can’t hurt me.” The words shatter him, gently, like the gaze pointed down at his hands. Warm. Breathing. Alive.

“For I am…”

The man looks at him and Fyodor drinks in his sorrow like gold in the flame of fire.

“No longer human.”

Light.

Northern wind swipes across the land, ripples the water, moves both ice and stone…

But Fyodor only smiles as it sears passed his cheeks.

I think I’ve found it.

[adargo]

my piece for the bsd AU illust book [이상한나라의 스트레이독스] in june. inspired by a very special fanfic from @adargo. ♡

[adargo]

Death’s Dance

Rating: T  Words: 1871 Warning for: Blood, Violence For @portmafia-week​ - Day 4: Speculations/Origins | Comfort The first shot always rings the loudest, 

echoes violently as it cuts through the silence, as heavy lead rakes through shafts of timber and steel.   “Too sloppy.”  He sprints, leaps, uses the next obstacle upon his path as a stepping stone to lift himself higher, and fires, wooden splinters scattered anew through the air.  “Too impulsive.”  Swift as a shadow, he swipes downwards, finally pulling out his other gun as he arises from the cold sting of the floor, two fingers tight on their trigger as sharp eyes lock unto their next target.  “Too temperamental.”  Two empty shells hit the floor right as the timer on the wall hits zero with a low buzz, a sound his brain is starting to filter out already, even in the silence now spreading over the large hall.

Something his mind cannot seem to find… 

“Always playing with fire.”  Hirotsu’s critique continues to run through his mind even as he reloads his clips, as he gets ready for yet another round with curved down lips, the grumbles of “damn old man” and “always dissing on me” pushing through them not justified, he knows. He knows because, the focus he just had in here had been nowhere to be found out there, nor his ability to remain a calm demeanour, nor the quality of his precision.   He knows because Hirotsu was right.  A sudden clap resounding from the darkness interrupts the sigh that threatened to leave his lungs, wide eyes whipping towards the two hands coming together in a casual applaud. “You’re pretty good with those.” His next breath stays down, too heavy to take, when hair as bright as embers strikes his vision, blue sucking him in deep. Like gravity’s pull. “N-Nakahara-san.” The inward slap for the stutter does nothing for his up-wired nerves, abruptly tense like over-tuned strings. “Please,” comes the light retort, those blue eyes darting around the hall in curious inspection before they fall on him again. “Call me Chuuya.” He then stalks closer, long black coat swirling behind him as every tack of his heels echoes over the air, reflects against every wall, stakes right through his heart. “Tachihara-kun, right?” Michizou just nods. It’s all he’s physically able to offer at the moment. “A perfect run…” Chuuya whistles as he walks passed him to scan the damage on the targets, the black-dotted centre of every circle blown apart. “Don’t see a lot of dual wielders like you around here.” He instantly wonders if Chuuya partakes in this type of training as well, but the curiosity in his eyes must’ve spoken for him. “I prefer knives myself,” the other says with a smirk, the tips of a dagger dancing between his fingers with practiced ease. It slides back somewhere underneath the other’s dark cape in a movement so swift, Michizou is unable to follow. “So then, Tachihara…” Chuuya coats his name in foreboding invitation, his smirk crawling further into his cheeks like sprouting branches. “How about practicing with a moving target, hm?”  He blinks only once, unable to further break those challenging blues pointed at him, the amber of his own eyes clean with surprise at the other’s insinuation. “Naka- shit Chuuya-san, you mean-” “Don’t worry.” Chuuya simply waves the hesitation in his words away. “You can’t hurt me.” His mouth opens, but all words fail to come out in reply to the bold statement that sounded more like a taunt than a reassurance. Yet, Michizou doesn’t snatch at the bait like he usually would. Because just now, this man, one half of the infamous Double Black- of the mafia’s strongest duo, just challenged him, a mere rookie if nothing less. Then again, Michizou already knew, the moment he’d first laid eyes on him… He’s nothing like the others.  “The rules are simple,” Chuuya speaks, casually leaning against one of wooden caskets surrounding them as he shrugs in the next. “Hit me once within the time limit, and you win.” Nervous eyes glance at the timer on the wall, now reset to a mere four minutes. When they fall back to where Chuuya was standing before, they widen once more, the other nowhere to be found. He hadn’t even heard him leave…  “Let’s dance!” The first second ticks down the clock at Chuuya’s smirking call, igniting his veins by the raw fervour of adrenaline. Though with fight or flight, he doesn’t yet know.  Triggers tight underneath quivering fingers, he points them out in front of him, ears peaked high on everything that surrounds him. It’s eerily quiet however, and Chuuya is obviously not keen on showing himself so openly, no matter how large and littered the place. Or so Michizou thought. Something rushes by him, not even two meters away, black flashing, twirling around the obstacles upon its path with zero effort. It takes him a good second to realise his gun’s eyes are only staring along with his own before a bullet is finally launched. Far too late. It gets lodged into nothing but the cold steel of the outer walls, his target once again disappeared into an un-rippling black sea.  The silence only weighs further unto his nerves, before a whistle beckons from behind, making him spin faster than any bolt, the consequent bullets launched from his guns faster than any arrow, yet still… None arrive at their target.  Flinching, the control over his shaking muscles and breath wavers down further, his form growing more rigid with every messy step as he continues to splinter wood and bend metal into the other’s dance of death. He’s not even close…  A glint arises from the dark, flies, cuts past him before it lodges itself firmly into the crease of a wooden beam. It is only when he feels the sting of naked flesh against open air that Michizou realises the knife hadn’t actually missed him…  “You hesitate,” a heavy voice falls over him from above. Looking up, blood trickles down the bridge of his nose and unto his cheeks, but its warmth goes forgotten the moment he’s gripped by shivering blues. With his two feet standing firmly upon the ceiling, Nakahara Chuuya stares down at him in stern sovereignty. A yet unfelt kind of intimidation.  “Don’t fight the fire, that anger inside of you. Turn it into focus. Hone it.” The words weigh down on him, straight and true from the heart, with no fear nor doubt lingering anywhere in their track. “You want to win, you have to shoot to kill. Nothing less.” And so, Michizou nods, a new resolution birthed in his eyes, narrowed as they follow the other’s lean form slither down back to his level. The knife coated with his blood gets pulled from dead wood before Chuuya disappears into the courtfield like a mere shadow once more. And with his lips pressed into a thin line, sharp teeth wrapped in themselves, Michizou finally stills the shake in his limbs. For time is ticking.  His first shot always rings the loudest, this time at the tiniest twinkle of silver from behind a cover of oaken walls, already written over with holes. The frail material blasts apart underneath the strain of his bullets, again and again and again as they chase the shape moving behind it like it’s an untraceable mirage…  You have to shoot to kill.  His next breath reaches deeper than any before, the black of his dilated pupils ticking along the ridge with every second that passes, 

watching the silver chain glint in the meagre light as it dangles from a black hat. Deciphering, calculating-  He locks on.  Only one finger pulls the trigger. Only one bullet is necessary. Shattering the air as it flies towards the black shadow, he watches it arrive right at the perfect point, the perfect place in time.  And so, the shadow falls.  Eyes blown wide like empty deserts, Michizou watches Chuuya spin into and throughout an entire line of debris with furious velocity, dust and splinters scattering up into the air… He lets his guns drop to the floor without even realising it. “Chuuya-san!” He runs, the urgency in his voice a reflection of the mantra of ‘What the fuck have I done’ repeating in his head over and over while fear digs into his heart like a sharp claw. “Nice payback,” the comment resounds from within a fractured mess of mahogany, a gloved hand firmly holding a hat in place while the other’s fingers are softly resting on the floor beneath. “Didn’t expect that bullet to be so damn heavy.”   As Chuuya then rises up from his cat-like crouch, fiery curls circling his sharp face as he simply starts patting the dust off his clothes- Michizou’s worries dissipate like dew in the morning sun.  “Ah, you alright?” Michizou blinks up in confusion at the genuine question. “You look a bit blanched.” ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that instead?’ his mind replies, but when he gives the man before him a proper once-over, he realises… There’s not a single scratch on him.  “I’m…”  The buzz of the timer hitting zero pulls both their attention away for a moment, Michizou’s heart still pounding with the conflict between relief and disappointment. So he just sighs a little laugh, the sad smile coating his lips only a small contradiction. “Guess I lost, huh…” “Hm?” Chuuya turns to him with an eyebrow raised in question. “What are you saying?”   Then, held up between two black-clad fingers, rests a single bullet, its metallic coat shining as if new.  “That last shot was right on point.”   Michizou can only stare in both awe and disbelief, then almost fails to catch the thing as Chuuya casually flips it up into the air. “Told you though,” he adds, blue eyes as playful as the curl on his lips. “You can’t hurt me.”  Michizou watches Chuuya smoothly whip his coat over one shoulder as he walks off, the nonchalance of it all just further suiting to the man’s unique elegance… He truly is unlike anyone else...  “Ah, here,” Chuuya speaks up right before they exit the hall, fumbles around in his pockets before he turns to Michizou once again, palm laid bare and open. “A victory deserves a reward no?” An unfamiliar spark runs through his fingers where they touch the other’s, though Michizou doesn’t quite linger on it, simply smiles down at the little bandage like it’s the greatest achievement he’s reached since a long, long time… “I’m joking,” Chuuya laughs, places a firm hand on Michizou’s shoulder and looks at him as if wondering if he got hit in the head.  “You did well.”  And It’s not about the pride welling up inside him at those words. Nor is it about the silly thing now stripped over the bridge of his nose, over dried blood and cracked skin. It runs far deeper than that.  “Chuuya-san…thank you.”  The other blinks for a moment as if surprised. Then blue disappears between fiery lashes and Chuuya only nods, smile subtle but genuine as he walks out into the cold of night, Michizou falling right into step.  “Say Tachihara, have you ever had the pleasure of tasting a real Pétrus?”  The words wave over him as smirks and thinks to himself, Playing with fire isn’t all that bad… 

[adargo]

Tagged by @nenufair Thank you <3 (And a (Belated) Happy Birthday to you! I hope you had a wonderful time~)

Post the first line of a work in progress and then tag as many people as words in that line. 

There comes a howling. 

A tick of time, of awakening, as metal arms strike midnight across every clockwork stretched up and throughout the sleeping city of Yokohama.

Yet, they say a city never truly sleeps.

I cheated and turned ‘first line’ into something more so I’m just going to tag everyone whose lovely writing comes to mind because I should really be sleeping right now ^^’ (No obligations of course!): @kurapls, @deyanirasan, @likeshining, @melowmarsh, @chvvva, @chuuyay, @on-the-boundary-line, @chom-raaa, @catsbythegreat, @nenufair (bouncing this back just because yes, your writing is so very lovely). 

[adargo]

Alice ;; I can’t believe this, such magnificence! Your friendship is one of the most beautiful things I have ever gained, thank you so so much! I am truly blessed, I must be dreaming! ♥ 

Happy Birthday, @adargo you lovely soul~ Thank you for blessing me with your amazing writing and voice and friendship, you perfect human being <3

[adargo]

Ah, my feelings!  I always loved this part from the novel and you've brought it so beautifully! Thank you so, so much! I will always treasure this ♥

Happy birthday, @adargo !! I know we don’t talk much, but I still wanted to give you a birthday/appreciation gift. I really enjoy reading your fics and I hope you have a great birthday! :D

[adargo]

In Thunder and Flame

Theme: Pokémon AU Rating: G  Words: 2035 (Happy birthday @emmikin ♥)

Purpled gold widens in awe,

narrowed pupils taking in the structure beaming grandeur in the heart of the village as both excitement and carefully suppressed fear ripple over sunlit skin like a wave.

He’d seen so many places by now, had struggled through tons of hardships, had engaged in countless battles, some more easily stumbled through than others…

And yet, even at times when the odds weren’t exactly in his favour, Nakajima Atsushi had always found a way to move forwards.

Though he believes that’s hardly thanks to his own capabilities…

And even with the support of his friends, who are currently fetching some crêpes at the nearest diner, there’s a great many things in this world that send his heartbeat pounding fight or flight into his ears.

The chance of simply meeting one half of the notorious ‘Double Black’ is definitely on that list…

Such is the name the duo was given after solely wiping out an entire illegal organisation in just a single night, and in their rivalrous, also called a rather disharmonious dynamic, Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya remain globally awed for their lethal combo of strength and wits.

Legend says they’ve only once known the taste of defeat, to a supposed ‘Demon’ that had attempted to end the world of Pokémon as they knew it.

Yet, in the end, that had all landed on its paws somehow…

After that, however, they’d decided to each go their own way, both now ruling their own Gym in neighbouring towns…

Though according to the whispers of the town’s folk, they’ve yet to actually drop the cleaver on that ‘chord’ struck tight between them.

Old habits die hard, after all.

Atsushi understands that all too well himself.

Still, when he had finally gathered every ounce of courage in his blood to enter the intimidatingly large building stroked with the glory of hardened flames…

He admits, he did not quite expect this…

“Come on Dazai, stop dilly-dallying around!”

Bitten lowly yet with an exceedingly playful edge, the words dripped out from between none other than Nakahara Chuuya’s grinning teeth.

Before him stands the most majestic Flareon Atsushi has ever laid eyes on, a howl, equally as vicious as its owner’s blazing from the pits of its lungs.

It cuts through the air like a blade, blood crawling up the sides of his veins.

“Pfft, always so impatient Chuuya…”

Osamu Dazai however, doesn’t seem to be in a pickle about the current situation at all, his rather drowsy looking Gengar just as unfazed as it continues to simply float around the large arena like an empty cloud.

“It’s not my fault he’s not in the mood for a fight.” Dazai then shrugs with a somewhat apologetic smile though it doesn’t seem to serve its purpose as Chuuya’s lips only curl down into a frown that speaks disappointment.

“Maybe if you actually spent more time with your Pokémon than with your ‘admirers’ they’d have some more discipline, Dazai.”

The Flareon backs up its master’s statement with a snapping snarl though it’s soon startled by the shadow ball impacting right at its paws.

“Now that’s more like it!” comes Chuuya’s immediate response, leaking excitement as his long coat flaps from the blaze of Flareon’s flames, the grinning Gengar seemingly having changed its mood as if offended by Chuuya’s earlier words…

Dazai merely smirks in pure amusement, as if everything is going according to plan… Meanwhile, still standing there with his mouth slightly hung open in a daze…

Atsushi is at a loss of what he should do.

On one hand, his nerves are spiralling around his spine so tightly it’s starting to feel paralysing, and on the other hand…

Interrupting a duel between these two doesn’t seem like a good idea, no, not at all.

Right at the moment when Chuuya is about to shout out his first command, a curious howl calls out from the side, and Atsushi immediately turns his head to the sound, only to meet the fire-molded eyes of a Ninetails, staring at him most attentively.

Silence cuts through the room like a whirlwind, all heads turning to him…

And for a moment, Atsushi just wants to fall dead on the spot.

“Eh….”

It’s all Atsushi’s mind is able to come with at that moment, an inward-slap already following suit at the amazing salutation as he desperately looks for an excuse to high-tail it out of there…

“S-sorry to interrupt, I was just about to-“

“Oh, a new challenger!” Dazai interrupts his babbling, hands pressed to his cheeks as if overjoyed, effectively freezing Atsushi’s tongue once more.

“Lucky you, Chuuya.” Dazai then winks at the other rather playfully though he gets no recognition for it.

Those sharp blues are focused elsewhere.

“Please.” Arms crossed yet not appearing all that annoyed at the disturbance, Nakahara Chuuya beckons him closer as curiosity glistens in his gaze.

“Do step forwards.”

And so, as he steels his bones and pushes back his shudders deep into his skin, Atsushi wills his legs to move…

For he wouldn’t dream of ever refusing that invitation.

With his steeled gaze focused on the azure one before him, Atsushi fails to notice the tiny blur suddenly sweeping by in front of his feet.

Needless to say, he makes possibly the most ungraceful fall of his entire life at that moment, a rather unflattering noise cutting loose from his throat as his face hits the ground…

Shame and nervousness explode over it just a second later, a thousand wishes to rewind time itself running through his head as he panics over his idiocy. Yet, in the very next heartbeat, all that remains on his features is astonishment as he stares dumbfounded at the hand laid out before him.

“You okay kid?”

A bit dazzled by the gesture, Atsushi allows himself to be pulled up by Chuuya in a single pull, the unexpected strength held within the other man’s small posture sending him a little awe-struck.

“I apologize, he’s still getting used to the environment…” Chuuya simply continues as he passes Atsushi by, softened blues pointed behind him at a tiny ball of fur still shaking on the floor.

Guilt then immediately stabs Atsushi in the stomach as Chuuya gently picks up the Swinub and allows it to muzzle into his arms.

“I-I’m sorry little guy!” he offers, though the creature seems to be completely enveloped by the berating, yet comforting words of its master.

“Now, now, tripping guests is something that bastard Dazai would do, now isn’t it?”

It comes rather unexpected, Atsushi has to admit, to witness the grand leader of this famed Fire Gym shushing a tiny Swinub…

“Ah, don’t worry about it!” Dazai then enters the fray, hands shoved down into his pockets as he walks closer, an overly cheerful smile covering his face.

“The town midget picked up that little mudball just yesterday…”

“He was alone and shivering in the rain, you-” Chuuya just snaps back, the vein running above his eyes twitching with his every word.

“Pfft Chuuya’s heart always melts so easily...” Dazai sighs, as if disappointed.

“Shut it asshole, at least I have one, unlike you,” comes yet another volley before Chuuya softly puts the Swinub back down on the floor.

“Just make sure it doesn’t nest in my bandages anymore.”

“That’s all they’re useful for!”

“…”

Once again, Atsushi is left just standing there, a little unsure of what to do as he watches the two bicker like an old married couple while all the Pokémon surrounding them just roll their eyes at the scene.

Out of nowhere, a large Houndoom then approaches him, and Atsushi does his best to keep calm as the dog-like Pokémon curiously sniffs at his clothes, its devil’s tail waggling in delight before it goes to softly paw at its master’s leg.

“Huh?” Chuuya just goes, suddenly snapped out of the ‘conversation’ with his former partner as he blinks down somewhat questioningly at his Pokémon’s excited behaviour.

“Ah right, sorry about that…” Chuuya then says, giving the Houndoom a little pat on the head before turning to Atsushi again, eyes shining with renewed sincerity.

“So, what’s your name, kid?”

As a full-fledged eighteen-year old, Atsushi rather disagrees with the recurring and somewhat ironic diminutive, though when he opens his mouth to respond, he gets beaten to it.

“Nakajima Atsushi, am I right?” Dazai quips, the knowing smirk creeping from ear to ear carrying a rather dangerous touch to it.

“This kid, Chuuya,” he continues, his dark gaze flickering aside to meet questioning blue.

“Has been defeating Gym after Gym ever since he started his journey over the continent just three months ago…”

“Oh?” A single eyebrow raises upwards in interest as sharp blue falls upon blinking purple again.

“So, Atsushi-kun…you now wish to challenge me also, do you?”

The smirk coupled with those words is as intimidating as it’s graceful and Atsushi can feel his face reddening by the sudden change of dynamics, a sudden rush of adrenaline pulsing through his system anew as he gives but a single, determined nod.

There’s no going back now.

“Very well, Nakajima Atsushi…”  Grin widening in nothing but raw fervor, Chuuya seems highly content with the decision.

“I accept!”

And with that, the floor underneath them jolts, a rumble cutting loose from the Earth beneath as Atsushi nearly loses his balance, tiles suddenly shifting and walls discolouring as the entire arena pieces together like a puzzle, into a visualised cacophony of fiery oranges, reds and golds.

Silver blinks as the chain of a hat dances in the flames yet Chuuya’s stance remains unyielding as both fire and lava settle around him in a majestic display of raw supremacy.

And finally, Atsushi understands exactly who Nakahara Chuuya is rumoured to be, as he gazes in awe at the black coat fluttering against the copper inferno blazing behind him.

The night engulfed in flame.

“Good luck,” Dazai merely chuckles at the scene before smirking at his companion.

“Partner.”

Flinching to the side, Chuuya only uncrosses his arms to swat the other away in a near-automated salutation.

“Yeah, yeah, just get the hell off my field already!”

Chuckling, the ‘Youngest League Champion in History’ isn’t intimidated at all as he simply starts waving at Atsushi rather cheerfully.

“Good luck to you too, Atsushi-kun!”

Blinking a couple of times in surprise, Atsushi almost forgets to reply as the words cut through the tension of anticipation stiffening his every muscle.

“T-thank you, Dazai -san!”

Much to his ‘former’ partner’s delight, Dazai then finally heads over to the side-lines, his Pokémon floating behind him somewhat lazily.

And so, before doubt might once again take over and stone his nerves again, Atsushi grabs his pokéball with a stern yet gentle grip, taking but a moment to whisper to it his faithful encouragement.

Let’s do this…

His companion finally cutting loose from its confinement, Atsushi allows a little smirk of his own to coat his lips at the widening of those icy blues across from him.

Together!

A deep, low purr cuts loose from between two large sabre-tooth fangs and rolls over the ground like thunder as Raikou materialises before them in its grand form, sharp lightning bolts snapping to life around four majestic paws.

“This should be interesting…” Dazai just smirks from the sides, though Chuuya seems equally as amused, pale-blues already narrowed down in sharp excitement.

Right as he’s about to speak his mind however, the Swinub from before suddenly shifts forward, already buzzing with an icy storm circling around it…

To which, of course, Dazai cannot contain his laughter,

Chuuya simply facepalms,

yet both Raikou and Atsushi only blink in confusion at the tiny ball of furry ‘intimidation’…

It soon gets swept away to the side however, the Ninetails from before gently tucking it away in a divine blanket of snow-like fur.

“Right…“ Chuuya mumbles as he takes a moment to cough into his fist before turning to Atsushi again, The flame of fervor re-lit in those sky-blue eyes.

Black-clad fingers gently caress a curled horn while the other hand rests upon a lean hip, a crooked smirk painting Chuuya’s sharpened face as his Houndoom stands firm beside him in malevolent pride.

A picture worth every decision made till this very day…

Wisps of fire are already burning at its three-toed paws while two splinter-sharp canines glint in the wake of bloodlust. Yet, Raikou is hardly intimidated as two pairs of smoldering scarlet eyes continue to stare each other down.

“You ready for this, kid?” Chuuya then calls out, the innocent nickname from before now just a tool to taunt with.

Amused, Atsushi nods once again, confidence flooding his veins anew as Raikou unleashes a most thunderous roar that shakes the very ground beneath them.

“Then…Let’s dance!”

[adargo]

So I've had Noir bookmarked on my phone for the past couple of weeks and have been trying to read a chapter a day while hiding in corners at Christmas parties or before bed or once in the grocery store because the previous chapter ended on a cliffhanger and I just finished it tonight and just...holy wow that was amazing. So I felt the need to send you an ask and say thank you for writing it. So thank you. I've already sent it to my friend with the caption "SUFFER WITH ME IN THE BEST WAY"

Suffer with me in the best way- perhaps I should put this as Noir’s summary instead? :’)And oh no, I’m so sorry for all the angst I added to those Christmas parties! I have to say, I’m very honoured that you took the time to read my work (also at such occasions no less) and also remain pleasantly dazed by your use of the word ‘amazing’…

Thank you so much for this kind message, your every word is a true replenishment for my heart ♥ 

[adargo]

I have just binge-read your 'Noir' fanfiction, and I just want to say thank you for creating such a beautiful piece of literature. It isn't often I see such deep and reflective writing make me so awestruck, with vivid imagery painting your spell-bounding take on the Bungou Stray Dogs universe, delving that much more in depth than just referencing the anime and manga. I could go on for hours about how much respect I have for you, so thank you!

Oh my, these were such beautiful words towake up to this morning! I’m still abashed by your praise to be honest, so Ineeded some tea to recover first from these overwhelmingly lovely feelings!

Noir has been a true pleasure to write andit was a most wonderful journey for myself as well, but to know that otherssuch as yourself enjoyed it so thoroughly is truly the greatest accomplishment!

Thank you so much for your kind words, please have a lovely day ♥

[adargo]

Quick draw inspired by @adargo‘s fic- Noir! :3

If you haven’t read it yet, you can read the amazing piece by click this link! (Don’t miss out it’s definitely amazing, go go go!)

Thank you for writing such an inspiring piece! :) Hope you do more fic writing in the future! :D

[adargo]

Hello I finished reading Noir yesterday and trust me I'm speechless! You have huge talent I love your style of writing! By the way could you recommend me your favourite Soukoku fanfics? Cause I don't know what to do rn and I'm sure you have great taste xD

I see you enjoy smothering my heart morethan once! I swear all these cotton-candied words will one day be the end ofme. Again, thank you so much for the love

Picking out favourite fanfics is like pickingout favourite songs for me however, It’s nigh impossible! There’s simply somany wonderful creations out there and I haven’t had the time to fully exploreeverything myself. Let me gather my thoughts for a bit though and I’ll hit youup with a message soon!

Do have a wonderful day~

[adargo]

a couple drawings that were inspired by a Soukoku fic I am absolutely in love with…

my dying breath: please read Noir by the great @adargo

[adargo]

Ah, it’s so wonderful, as always!

Thanks so much once again Emmi, I can feel my soul returning to me as I stare at this beautiful piece...(My heart is forever yours <3)

A little doodle for @adargo - Congratulations on completing Noir!!!

My eternal love and gratitude… and chuuatsu to heal the soul ///

[adargo]

I still can't fully grasp what the hell happened in last chapters of Noir, but it was a beautiful rollercoaster of feels, thank You for writing this overwhelmingly long and great work. You deserve all the love and kudos (/^o^)/💕

Ah anon, you are too kind! Thank you for joining me on said ride! I’m still quite overwhelmed myself, haha

[adargo]

Noir

Pairing: Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya  Rating: M  Words: 42,186 Tags: Graphic depictions of violence, Angst, Suppression of feelings, Physical/Emotional agony, Mentions of suicide, Fighting, Canon divergence,... In the past, he never truly understood that darkness growing behind Dazai’s eyes.

Yet lately, Chuuya thinks, when he stares back into the black of his own, encircled by those pale-blue skies…

He’s starting to catch glimpses of it. Read on AO3  Translations

- To Russian (by Alex Alisker) - To Vietnamese (by fujoshikiseki)

[adargo]

I am literally crying right now, Noir is so beautiful. You did an incredible job of capturing the personalities of every character, and I love how you portrayed the relationship between Dazai and Chuuya. I've never bothered with fanfic before because anything I tried was just pointless fanservice without any real connection to the source, but your fic was such a joy to read and I'm sooooo glad I gave it the chance. Thank you for being awesome, can't wait for the finale on Sunday

Oh sweetness, I am but a humble servant to my own vivid imaginations! Your words are truly kind, I’m glad you enjoyed my story so much that you wanted to share your thoughts with me like this I hope you’ll find many more stories to dive into, there’s so many beautiful creations out there, after all. Thanks for the love and see you Sunday! ;)